by Nicola Marsh
I didn’t like tattoos. Couldn’t fathom what drove a person to scar their skin like that. But as Tanner leaned his forearms on the table, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the sheer artistic beauty that started above his wrists and wound its way up.
Elaborate vines. Stunning roses. Intricate motifs. Symbols I couldn’t decipher from this distance but wanted to get closer to.
I found myself inadvertently leaning forward before realising what I was doing, and when I glanced up Tanner grinned like he knew exactly how fascinating I found him.
‘See anything you like?’
‘No,’ I snapped, sounding uptight and prudish, the situation made worse by the wash of heat flushing my cheeks.
‘They extend a lot further than my arms,’ he said, his voice low and gravelly, the underlying hint of naughtiness making my thighs clench. ‘In case you were wondering.’
‘I don’t like tattoos,’ I said, making a mockery of my supercilious declaration when my gaze strayed to those forearms again.
Strong. Sinuous. Sexy.
Damn.
‘Many people don’t.’ He shrugged, like my opinion meant little. ‘They see tats and think bikers and drug lords. They don’t get the artistic angle at all.’
‘You like art?’
It was the safe thing to say, a conversation starter that would get us off the topic of his tattoos and his body. I hoped.
‘I like ink.’ He leaned back in his chair and interlocked his hands behind his head, a guy comfortable in his own skin.
Which he revealed more of as the hem of his shirt rode up and I got a tantalising glimpse of more ink on his lower belly. I couldn’t make out the design, but it looked suspiciously like a cutlass and a hook.
‘A pirate, seriously?’ The words popped out before I could stop them and while I was horrified I’d articulated my thoughts, he laughed so loud nearby patrons turned to stare.
‘Don’t look so shocked,’ he drawled, filling our glasses from the water bottle between us. ‘I like a good pillage like the next pirate.’
I compressed my lips before I blurted anything else. Like how I’d rather walk the plank than be pillaged by him.
Though that wasn’t entirely true, and after my disastrous marriage, I’d made a promise to myself to never lie again—especially to myself.
In less than thirty minutes, Tanner King had made me feel more alive than I had in years. He riled me. He taunted me. His cocky, laid-back attitude annoyed the crap out of me.
But I liked the buzz making my skin prickle and the weird hollow feeling deep in my belly. Like I was missing something. Like I craved something.
Much to my horror, I had to admit that he turned me on a little. A lot. Whatever.
Bastard.
‘Let me guess. You’re going to make some crude remark about what constitutes the pirate’s peg leg.’
He laughed again, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes endearingly cute. ‘You’re funny. I like that in a woman.’
The natural retort, that he’d like all women, hovered on the tip of my tongue but a waitress appeared and after she’d taken our orders—double shot espresso for him, soy latte for me—I was back to being scrutinised by his intense golden gaze and liking it too much.
I needed to get this meeting back on solid ground. Professional. Far from charming smiles and pirate peg legs.
‘Remy told me you’ve run restaurants?’
A shadow clouded his eyes for a moment, a hint of sadness, before he blinked and I wondered if I’d imagined it. ‘Yeah, but nightclubs are more my thing.’
I bet. I could imagine him prowling around a dim room like a panther stalking its prey at night. Senses on high alert. Watching. Waiting. Before pouncing on some poor unsuspecting female.
Though with the amount of testosterone radiating off his taut body, maybe I should amend that to lucky female.
‘I haven’t seen you around the patisserie?’
He’d been toying with the cutlery on the table and he stilled, like I’d taken a shot at him for not being around for his brother. ‘I’ve been working in London and LA. Helping friends set up similar nightclubs to the ones I run here.’
‘How altruistic.’ The sarcasm slipped out before I could stop it and I wasn’t surprised when he frowned at me. ‘Sorry, that sounded bitchy. It’s an important day for me and then Remy fell and I was so worried...about him and the patisserie and getting everything done...’
Great, now I sounded like a rambling loser. But to Tanner’s credit, he didn’t make a joke. In fact, he looked surprisingly serious, the first time I’d seen him like this in our brief acquaintance. I liked it. That he could lose the clown act when called for.
‘You won’t have to do it on your own, that’s why I’m here,’ he said, eyeballing me with curiosity. ‘As for my big brother, he’ll be fine.’
He paused, a glimmer of a frown slashing his brows. ‘So it’s an important day, huh? What’s the occasion? You getting hitched?’
I snorted and wrinkled my nose. ‘Been there. Done that. Tore the bouquet to pieces.’
‘You’re married?’
‘As of today, officially divorced.’ I made jazz hands. ‘Woop-de-freaking-do.’
‘Being divorced has gotta be better than being married,’ he said, making married sound like a dirty word.
‘It is when you’re married to a cold, heartless dweeb because it seemed the right thing to do at the time.’
Even now I could see that day so clearly. The rear garden of my parents’ harbourside mansion converted into a winter wonderland. Massive marquees. White chiffon draping everything. Fairy lights twinkling in the perfectly manicured trees. Five hundred of their closest acquaintances. And Bardley, waiting at the altar, staring at me with avarice, like he’d scored a prized portfolio.
I should’ve made a run for it then. But I’d been a people-pleaser to the end, and given up my soul in the process.
Never, ever, again.
‘I thought women viewed marriage as hearts and flowers and all that crap, not something to do because it’s right.’ He made cutesy inverted comma signs with his fingers. ‘Want to talk about it?’
His mouth eased into a sexy smile. ‘Tell Uncle Tanner all your dirty little secrets.’
If he only knew.
‘No dirt and it’s not a secret. Married at twenty-one to a guy I’d virtually grown up with. Family friends. Our folks pushed us together constantly so it seemed like a natural progression to get married.’
My chest tightened at the memory of what had happened after I’d said ‘I do’. Of how Bardley had morphed into a sadistic, controlling monster. ‘Moved into Vaucluse. Perfect house. Perfect life. Except it wasn’t so perfect...’
I trailed off, wondering why the hell I was revealing all this to a virtual stranger. Then again, maybe that was the attraction. I didn’t know Tanner and he knew jack about me. Today was a turning point for me. Proof that I’d walked away from my old life. I’d been counting down the days until I was officially divorced and who knew? Maybe once I’d purged all the crap I’d bottled up for so long I might be able to finally accept that the past didn’t control me any more.
‘Did the bastard hit you?’ Tanner growled, and I glanced up, surprised to see his hands clenched into fists. ‘I don’t care if you’re divorced. Tell me where to find the prick and I’ll beat him to a pulp.’
‘Whoa, he-man.’ I held up my hands. ‘Bardley was emotionally and verbally abusive, but he never laid a finger on me.’
‘That other shit’s just as bad,’ he muttered, his hands relaxing a little. ‘What kind of a dickhead name is Bardley, anyway?’
I smiled, his ferociousness as sexy as the rest of him.
‘“That other shit” is why I left him. It got to a point where I couldn’t take it any more...’ I shook my head, remember
ing the exact moment I’d taken control of my life.
He’d belittled me in front of his friends, forcing me to try water-skiing when he knew I was petrified of any water above bathtub level. I ended up spraining my wrist after taking a bad tumble the first time I tried to stand on the skis. It had been a suspected fracture. Bardley had mocked me. Been totally indifferent to my pain. Had called me names.
I’d packed with my one good hand that night and taken a cab to a motel. Spent a good hour emptying my bank accounts and maxing out my credit cards by paying a top lawyer most of his fee in advance.
I regretted being a fool. Being the kind of woman to put up with that treatment from anyone. Then again, I’d been doing it my entire life, so I guess my idiocy had been ingrained from birth.
‘So what’s the plan?’
‘Plan?’ I mimicked, coming back to the present, almost surprised to find myself sitting at a harbourside café on a glorious spring day with a seriously hot guy.
‘To celebrate your divorce.’ He lowered his voice. ‘You have got something in mind to celebrate, right?’
‘I’d envisaged leaving the patisserie early tonight to kick back with a spectacular red wine and Channing Tatum, but it looks like I’ll be stuck working ’til late, taking over Remy’s duties and prepping for tomorrow.’
He rolled his eyes, his upper lip curled in derision. ‘What is it with women and Channing Tatum?’
‘Hot bod. Chiselled jaw. And the guy has the moves. What’s not to like?’
‘He’s a fantasy.’ He sniggered, a decidedly wicked sound. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer a real man?’
I saw the challenge in Tanner’s unwavering stare. Taunting me. Encouraging me to say yes.
I knew what he was offering.
A night of debauchery.
A night to wipe away sour memories of my marriage.
A night to come alive.
But I had to work with this guy for the next four weeks. Remy was depending on me, and no way in hell would I screw up his faith in me by screwing his brother.
‘I’d prefer if we drank our coffees and got back to the patisserie,’ I said, exhaling in relief when the waitress appeared to place our order on the table.
‘Fair enough,’ he said, but he wasn’t done yet. The twinkle in his eyes alerted me to the fact that every second I had to spend with him over the next month would be pure, unadulterated torture. ‘But if you want to ditch the fantasy in favour of the real thing, you know where to find me.’
He picked up his small coffee cup and raised it in my direction. ‘Here’s to a good working relationship, real-life celebrations and finding the elusive peg leg.’
I choked on my first sip of latte and he laughed, a low, sexy chuckle that sent a jolt of longing through me.
Yeah, it was going to be a long four weeks.
CHAPTER FOUR
Tanner
I TOOK ONE step into Le Miel and wished I’d said hell no when Remy asked me to help him out.
There was a reason I avoided the patisserie. With its polished honey floorboards, sunlight spilling inside and the tempting aromas of warm yeast and sugar heavy in the air, it reminded me of home.
Of Mum.
I’d been ten when she died, twenty long years ago. My memories of her might have faded with time but I’d never forget standing next to her in the kitchen while she baked. Passing her cups of flour. Gently handling eggs. Having my own board to roll pastry on. Licking icing from my sticky fingers.
Our kitchen had been huge, almost industrial-sized. Mum had run a makeshift cupcake business from home but mostly she’d loved to cook. It was her passion, like she’d been my father’s, the Frenchwoman who’d stolen his heart on a gap-year trip to Paris.
Pity the romance hadn’t lasted.
From what Remy told me, Dad had taken one look at Claudette Allard and she’d become the number one woman in his life. They’d married in two months, had Remy a year later and I’d arrived five years later. And from what I’d overheard that fateful day Mum had died, everything had turned to shit about then.
Dad avoided the kitchen and even as a youngster I’d been glad. We were happier when he wasn’t around, me, Mum and Remy.
I’d loved those days when we’d all be in there together: Mum smacking my hand for sneaking a croissant before it had cooled. Remy helping me with a tricky letter on the icing. Me proudly presenting Mum with her favourite chocolate cupcake that I’d baked from scratch. Just the three of us, laughing and joking around. Happy. Together.
Until that day I’d heard my parents argue, the kind of argument that had imprinted on my brain no matter how many times, how many drinks and how many women I’d used to dislodge it. The day Mum had been so upset she’d rushed out of the house, got in her car and been killed in a crash, leaving us with Dad.
And my hell had begun.
‘You okay?’
I glanced down to see Abby’s hand lightly resting on my forearm, concern crinkling her brow.
Annoyed I’d let memories get to me, I shrugged off her touch. ‘Yeah. Let’s get started.’
She didn’t believe me. She had this way of staring at me with those deep blue eyes like she could see right through me. It was disconcerting.
No one saw the real me. Ever.
‘You’ve been here before, right?’
I nodded. ‘Not for a while though.’
She didn’t ask why but I could see her condemnation in the flattening of her lips.
‘I’ll show you Remy’s office as that’s where you’ll be working.’
So she didn’t know I could cook? Interesting. I could have a lot of fun showing Miss Prim and Proper exactly what I could do with a rolling pin.
‘Lead the way,’ I said, with a mock bow, biting back a laugh when she gritted her teeth.
This could be fun if I concentrated on baiting my cool co-worker rather than mentally rehashing maudlin memories.
The late-morning crowd had thinned to a few mums with toddlers and an older couple reading the newspaper. From the few times I’d been here over the years, I knew early mornings and lunchtimes were hectic. Remy would have hired staff accordingly but a sliver of worry niggled.
I ran successful nightclubs employing hundreds of people. I’d run restaurants up and down the eastern seaboard. So why the touch of anxiety that I could be in over my head with one patisserie?
Because this place was Remy’s pride and joy, and I knew it. I owed my brother a lot. He’d cheered me up when I’d been young and reeling from Dad’s subtle hatred, even if he’d been oblivious as to the reason behind my sulks. He’d shown me how to cook, how to play footy, how to be a man by using clever words rather than my fists when kids teased me at school for not having a mum. He’d raised me when the old man had the decency to curl up his toes when I was fifteen, never complaining at being saddled with a recalcitrant teen when most guys were partying at twenty.
Remy was my hero, always had been, and the only person I let get close. So I’d make damn sure that not only did the patisserie continue business as usual, but also that it flourished.
As we passed the gleaming stainless-steel counter, a young guy popped up from behind it, balancing a stack of trays. Abby smiled and the poor guy almost dropped the trays. I didn’t blame him. I hadn’t seen the ice princess smile much since we’d met but when she did...kapow. I felt it like a kick to the guts.
‘Shaun, I’d like you to meet Tanner King, Remy’s brother. He’ll be the boss around here ’til Remy’s back on his feet.’
I stuck out my hand. ‘Good to meet you.’
‘You too.’ Shaun placed the trays on the counter and shook my hand. Firmly. Earning him brownie points. ‘Abby texted me earlier to let me know he’s going to be okay. That’s good news.’
‘Sure is.’ The kid couldn’t have been more than eighteen
yet for some reason the thought of Abby texting him about anything stung. Pathetic. ‘Have you been working here long?’
‘Two months,’ he said, shooting Abby a scared look, like he expected I’d fire him on the spot. ‘I’ve enrolled at a college to do pastry work, and I need the hours here as part of an apprenticeship.’
‘You’re in the right place.’ I tempered my tone so the kid wouldn’t look so damn frightened. ‘Remy’s the best.’
‘He sure is.’ A woman sauntered out from the corridor linking the shop to the kitchen.
If Abby was ice, this one was fire.
Flaming red hair, deep blue eyes and the body of a lithe goddess. She moved like a dancer, confidence and strength, like she knew her place in the world and wasn’t afraid to flaunt it. A stunner. Yet I felt nothing but appreciation for her as a beautiful woman, whereas Abby turned me on with a tilt of her snooty nose.
Go figure.
‘Hi, I’m Makayla Tarrant, waitress extraordinaire.’ She held out her hand and I shook it, a little relieved when there was no zing. ‘Hope you’re ready to roll up your shirtsleeves and get to work. Remy doesn’t appreciate slackers around here.’
Abby appeared outraged, shoulders drawn back and icy glare back in full force, and I laughed, liking the other woman already.
‘You’ll be pleased to know I intend to work as hard as the rest of you while I’m here.’ I pushed up my sleeves for emphasis, liking when Abby’s gaze drifted to my forearms.
She’d been mesmerised when I’d done it earlier at the café, like she’d never seen ink before. A blush had appeared on her cheeks as she’d studied me, and I’d had the craziest impulse to strip off and show her exactly how much ink covered my body and where.
‘Good, then let’s get started.’ Abby cleared her throat, oddly brusque, and that blush was back.
Oh, yeah, showing her the rest of my tats could be fun.
‘Nice meeting you both,’ I said, with a wave at Makayla and Shaun.
Shaun shot me a nervous smile and Makayla nodded, her gaze assessing, like she couldn’t figure me out.
