‘Gorgeous,’ she agreed, hoping her use of the word didn’t sound like she was mocking his accent.
Within a moment he had an arm linked in hers and was escorting her through the market with the same masterful confidence he had shown when guiding her around Boui-Boui. The citrus notes of his cologne touched her nostrils, awakening the deep and dark longing in her loins that his mere presence excited. Trudy could not recall ever being more conscious of the smouldering heat that nestled between her legs. Hart seemed to have an easy ability to ignite her desire and make her acutely aware of the needs he inspired. She began to feel lightheaded as she walked alongside him, dizzied by the arousal he caused.
Market stallholders shouted cheerful greetings to Hart as he passed. A couple of them acknowledged Trudy, knowing her as a regular visitor, but most of them seemed anxious to capture Hart’s interest and sell him their goods.
He handled their greetings with friendly humility. Trudy knew he was a respected local celebrity, a chef who occasionally lectured at the local university, a restaurateur with Michelin stars and the former host of a couple of cookery shows from one of the satellite channels.
But, Trudy noticed, Hart didn’t exploit his status for special treatment.
Instead he simply shook hands, exchanged greetings and jokes, and made his way casually through to the rear of the market. His pace was unhurried. He seemed confident in the respect he had, without appearing to arrogantly believe that he deserved it. His humility was disarming and attractive.
He led her to a spice store at the back of the hall: West and White. It was an old place, the sign above the door said the company had been in business since 1870. Inside, Hart scowled defensively at the young woman behind the counter. She looked to be about Trudy’s age and there was something in her face that made Trudy think she had met the woman before.
‘Imogen,’ Hart began.
After the easy way in which he had dealt with everyone else in the marketplace, she thought his stilted interaction with the woman seemed singular. She frowned, trying to work out what could possibly have made things so uncomfortable between Hart and the woman behind the counter.
‘I’d like to speak with Finlay West, please.’
‘I didn’t think you were here to speak with me,’ Imogen returned stiffly. There was the cry of a baby from the back of the room and Imogen rushed away, blushing with her gaze lowered.
Hart gave Trudy an uneasy glance. He looked as though he was going to make a joke about Imogen’s reaction when the proprietor, Finlay West appeared.
West was elderly and bearded. He ignored Hart at first and spoke only with Trudy. He asked her about her degree and, when he learnt she’d done a module on the medicinal qualities of certain foods, West discussed her opinion on the health benefits of ginger and turmeric.
Trudy was happy to argue her opinions and, because West knew his subject, the conversation flowed easily. At one point West interrupted, asking Trudy if he could get Imogen to make them beverages whilst they continued.
Hart shifted impatiently from one foot to the other. He shook his head as if telling Trudy that he saw no reason to prolong the conversation with Finlay.
Suppressing a grin, Trudy thanked Finlay and declined. She could hear the sounds of a baby sobbing in the backroom and figured Imogen had enough work looking after a child and working in a shop without having to cater to the tea-drinking demands of West’s customers.
‘Mr Hart has been kind enough to show me one or two things in his kitchen,’ she explained. ‘I wouldn’t want to impose further on his time than I already have.’
West shrugged. ‘I’m sure Mr Hart can tolerate impositions from someone as pretty as you.’ Cryptically, he added, ‘Just make sure he doesn’t impose on you beyond what you want from him.’
Before Trudy could ask what the comment meant, West had turned to Hart and asked, ‘So, what is it I can do for you this morning?’
‘Sri Lankan cinnamon.’
West raised an eyebrow and smirked. ‘No banter? No chitchat? No discussion on the finer points of –’
‘Sri Lankan cinnamon.’
Untroubled by the apparent rudeness, Finlay shrugged and went into the backroom. He returned a moment later with a sealed, airtight box. The label on the side said C. zeylanicum. Trudy could see through the clear sides of the box. It was filled with golden rolls of cinnamon quills, harvested from the inner bark of the tree she guessed. They were identical to the ones she had used in the muffins she baked with Hart the previous evening.
When Finlay opened the box the air that was released was the smell of Christmas indulgence. It was a mouth-watering aroma that reminded her of so many things she had enjoyed the previous evening. The fragrance stopped her from fretting about the mysterious comments West had made before asking Hart for his order.
‘We’ll take a dozen quills each,’ Hart decided.
Finlay nodded. ‘Trust this man’s judgement on cinnamon,’ he told Trudy. ‘He knows his spices.’ He started away from the counter and paused before adding, ‘You can probably trust him with some other things too. He’s not as bad as rumours suggest. His only real fault is his stubbornness.’
‘I couldn’t be as bad as most rumours suggest,’ Hart grumbled. ‘If I were I’d be in prison.’
Finlay chuckled at that as he wrapped the cinnamon quills carefully in plain brown paper. When Trudy attempted to pay for hers Hart shook his head and pushed the package firmly into her hand.
‘It’s a gift from me,’ he said as he then opened the door and ushered Trudy out of the shop.
She smiled and thanked him.
‘No need to thank me,’ he assured her. He moved his face close to her ear. ‘There’s a favour I’m wanting from you.’
He spoke in a low, confidential tone. He pressed his lips close to the nape of her neck when he spoke. The tickle of each word inspired a delicious memory of the previous evening. His words had tickled with this level of intimacy when he had been pushing his length deep into her sex.
‘I need to get a couple of steaks for tonight. It’s for a special meal. You can repay me by giving me your advice. What would you recommend?’
‘Steaks?’ She responded without hesitation. ‘Sirloin. Boned and rolled. You can’t go wrong with a good sirloin.’
‘You don’t think a couple of fillet mignon cuts would be better?’
It was not said as a challenge, or as though he doubted her ideas. She could tell he was just positing alternative opinions in the same way Finlay West had been testing alternative ideas when they had been discussing the anti-inflammatory properties of ginger.
‘It’s for someone very special,’ he added.
She scowled and attempted an indifferent shrug. ‘If you want to work with fillet mignon I’m sure you know what you’re doing. I heard someone say you work in a restaurant with a reasonable reputation. But I’ve never yet tasted a fillet mignon better than one of my sirloins.’
He nodded solemnly. ‘A confident and skilful chef. Are you free to cook it?’
‘What? When?’
‘On our date tonight, after Boui-Boui’s closed.’
Date? This evening? William Hart was asking her on a date? She pulled herself from his arm and turned to look at him to see if he was being serious. Did this mean that he thought she was more than an overly easy blonde that he’d managed to screw on first meeting? Or did he think that she would cook him a dinner and then fuck him for dessert?
‘We’re having a date?’
‘If you don’t mind being in the company of an old man.’
She didn’t mind being in his company. His age wasn’t even a consideration. He was attractive, successful and fun. He had also proven himself to be a surprisingly efficient lover, as the aching muscles in her groin could testify. Simply listening to his voice inspired electric tingles of longing to pulse through her loins and rekindle the ache in those muscles. But she didn’t want him to think that she could be summoned to Boui-Bou
i as some combination of competent cook and booty-call. Common sense told her that she should refuse the date and make it known that she wasn’t just there for his pleasure.
‘I have to tell you,’ she began. ‘About last night …’
He laughed.
She supposed she could forgive his mirth. Her words had sounded like an old line. She blushed and struggled to continue. ‘I don’t usually …’ She stopped herself. That wasn’t what she wanted to say. ‘I mean I haven’t ever done that before. Not on first meeting someone. Not ever. And it’s not that it wasn’t nice. Actually it was more than nice. But –’
His smile was not unkind. He held her by the upper arms and pulled her close. When his lips met hers Trudy couldn’t think of anything better than to have her embarrassed excuses kissed away by William Hart.
‘I’m aware that was something unusual and special for both of us last night,’ he assured her. ‘I don’t usually do that sort of thing on a first meeting either. That’s one of the many reasons why I want to see you again tonight.’
Her heartbeat raced. She pressed more firmly into the kiss, savouring the way he continued to hold her upper arms. Her nipples had hardened in response to him and she found herself excited by his nearness. The wetness in her loins was humid and insistent. Her need for him was as sudden now as it had been the previous evening. When she pressed close to him she could feel the thrust of his thinly concealed erection straining for her.
If they hadn’t been in such a public place, or if the market had been some other place where she and Hart were not both known as regulars, Trudy realised she could have easily and publically succumbed to the passion he aroused.
The realisation did not make her pull away from him.
Instead she savoured the sensations he inspired. His lips were on hers. His tongue was lightly exploring her mouth. The hands that held her arms were masterful and authoritative and she could have stayed in them forever.
‘I ought to spank your backside for the things you make me want,’ he growled. There was the threat of laughter beneath his words but she realised his suggestion was said in seriousness. ‘You make me want to do so many improper things.’
‘If you wanted to spank my backside I’d happily let you,’ she breathed.
The thought made the inner muscles of her sex tingle with a profound and hungry enthusiasm. She could imagine Hart’s broad hand landing smartly against the bare cheeks of her rear.
The idea left her breathless with need.
The muscles in her thighs, made sensitive from working on the quad killer earlier, now trembled from the effort of holding her upright. Trudy knew it would only take a small amount of exertion and the muscles would give up and leave her to collapse and quiver in a wanton heap on the floor.
‘I’d happily let you,’ she repeated.
He eventually stepped back from the kiss. ‘We must try that soon.’
She nodded. It took an effort of restraint not to say, ‘Very soon.’ Instead, she asked, ‘What time am I seeing you tonight?’
He considered this for a moment. ‘I have to do a favour for a couple of old friends this afternoon.’
Curious, she raised an eyebrow. Surely he wasn’t the consultant to Charlotte’s parents? That would make for an uncomfortable meeting at the Hadfield Hotel. She laughed at the absurd idea of them being victims to such a ludicrous coincidence.
‘A couple of friends want my opinion on an investment opportunity,’ Hart explained. ‘From what they’ve told me it sounds like a step into the world of geriatric venture capitalism, although I suppose I’ll find out more when I get there.’
She nodded with relief. That sounded nothing like the presentation that was being planned by Donny and Charlotte for the benefit of Mr and Mrs Collins. ‘Then what time will I see you tonight?’
‘I’ll be overseeing Boui-Boui kitchens until midnight. It would be good to see you at about eleven so we have time to prepare the steaks while the kitchen winds down.’
She nodded. It was impossible to draw her gaze away from the moist lustre that coated his lower lip. She wanted to kiss him again. In truth she wanted to do so much more than kiss him. The idea of finding a discreet alleyway in the market where she could press against him and unclothe him and enjoy him again was close to being irresistible.
Now that he had suggested the idea of spanking she dearly wanted to experience the pleasure of having his bare hand slap across her buttocks.
She trembled at the thought.
‘I’ll see you at Boui-Boui tonight.’ With a tremendous effort of willpower, she turned and walked away from him.
Chapter 10
‘You fucked William Hart?’ Donny’s words rang from the chandeliers of the Hadfield Hotel’s Admiralty Room. His voice rattled incredulously from the windows of the conference hall they had booked for the Sweet Temptation presentation.
It was a spacious room, panelled with wood and fitted with long, tall windows that overlooked a sweeping estate of lush green countryside and clear blue skies. The Hadfield Hotel was one of the town’s more prestigious venues for conference rooms, combining elegance and sophistication with such glossy technology as big-screen computer displays, surround-sound speakers and integrated Wi-Fi. Donny had been able to get Sweet Temptation a discounted rate at the Hadfield Hotel because of his casual relationship with Gemma Hadfield.
The interior of the room had been set up to cater for three diners.
A long table, covered with a pristine white cloth and set neatly, waited for the arrival of their guests. Facing the table, ready to be viewed by the diners when they were seated, the large computer screen displayed the Sweet Temptation brand name – sultry red letters on a black background.
Donny had a chair in the middle of the room facing the empty seats.
The screen was behind him. He had taken on the role of spokesperson for the business and planned to field any questions fired at him by Charlotte’s parents or their consultant. He looked absurdly professional in a suit and tie. The formal wear was a drastic change from his usual attire of jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned with an offensive slogan. He stared up at Trudy aghast. He shook his head with pantomime disbelief.
‘Is it true? Did you really fuck William Hart? Is that really what you did last night?’
Trudy and Charlotte had elected to wear matching black dresses for the presentation. They wore black heels and black stockings and, to break up the monotony of the colour, each wore a small sultry red lapel badge bearing the words Sweet Temptation. It had been Charlotte’s idea that they dress in the company’s corporate colours. Trudy tried not to think that black always made her look anaemic.
She turned to glare at Charlotte.
Charlotte had the good grace to look away, abashed.
‘Since when is my sex life any of your business?’ Trudy asked, rounding back on Donny.
‘We’re going into business together,’ Donny spat. ‘I think, the least you could have done is told us that you were into grave-robbing.’
It took Trudy a moment to work out where the insult had come from. William Hart was old. He was far older than Trudy. He was so old it was almost as though he was dead, therefore Donny believed himself justified in accusing her of grave-robbing.
‘How dare you!’ she exploded. ‘At least I knew his name before we ended up in bed together.’
‘That’s only happened two or three times to me,’ he snapped. ‘And I’ve never fucked anyone who owns a bus pass. You’ve set a new low there, Gertrude.’
Trudy seethed. She despised being addressed by the full form of her name. Gertrude was old-fashioned and a reminder of so many hurtful comments from when she was growing up that she still cringed at the uncomfortable memories that could be evoked on hearing the name. One of her lecturers had called her Gertrude on the first day of her studies at university. She had made such a fuss about it that the name had never been used again – by staff or fellow students. Trudy would have gone through the legal proc
esses to officially change the name if it hadn’t been for the fact that the name was the only thing she had left from her late parents.
Here, Donny’s use of her full name was particularly irritating.
‘Don’t call me Gertrude, Donald.’ She placed a full emphasis on the full form of his name. ‘You’re in no position to be judging anyone over their name.’
‘We went to Stanzas last night,’ he said quickly. His nose was wrinkled into a sneer. He constantly flicked his gaze over her as though unable to believe she had sunk to such a low. ‘I had no idea you’d be going down to the retirement home to try and pull.’
Trudy raised a hand. Her palm was flat and she was ready to slap the mocking sneer from his swarthy lips.
Charlotte slipped over to where Trudy and Donny stood nose-to-nose on the verge of breaking into a fight. ‘Don’t be so melodramatic,’ Charlotte told Donny. ‘You’ve been with older women.’
‘I’ve done a couple of cougars for a bet,’ Donny admitted. ‘And I’ve banged the odd glamorous granny when the bars have been quiet. But I only did those because older women are usually such depraved sluts they’ll do anything if they think you want it from them.’ He scowled at Trudy and asked, ‘Is that why you did it with Hart? Have you got kinky urges for wrinkles and grey hairs?’
She couldn’t find words to respond. She had never expected this level of acrimony. She had certainly not expected it to come from someone she had always considered a close friend.
‘My sex life is my business,’ she whispered. ‘I have never passed judgement on any of the dubious choices I’ve watched you make back at Eldorado and I’d thank you not to pass judgement on my choices.’ Stiffly, she added, ‘Don’t think you can tell me what I’m allowed to do, or who I’m allowed to do it with.’
‘Fuck me, Gertrude,’ Donny exclaimed theatrically. ‘I had no idea you considered a Zimmer frame to be an aphrodisiac.’
Trudy pulled her fist back, ready to punch.
Charlotte intervened, placing a hand on Trudy’s chest. She glanced at Donny. ‘So there’s an age difference between them.’ Her voice was conciliatory. ‘That doesn’t mean –’
A Taste of Passion Page 6
