‘Actually, I come from a family of bakers,’ she replied. ‘So I can honestly say that …’
‘Yes?’ He winced. ‘Go on. I can take it.’ He flashed her one of those ‘oh-lord-please-do-not-do-that-again-because-my-poor-heart-won’t-be-able-to-take-it’ smiles that lit up the room and made the air between them in this small room seem even hotter.
‘Considering that you made them yesterday, and they have probably been bashed around a little between here and London, your tea party cakes are … not bad. Not bad at all. For a packet mix.’
His reply was a smile filled with such genuine pleasure and delight that she could not help but smile back.
‘Really? Thanks.’
‘Do you often cook with Freya?’ Daisy asked as her fingers carefully folded up the paper case into triangles. ‘She must love that you take time out to do that with her.’
Daisy was too busy for a few seconds whisking away cake crumbs to notice that Max had not replied, and she glanced up. Then her hands stilled. Because in that split second she had looked at him his face had twisted into an expression of such pain and regret that she wondered if he was physically in pain. And then his eyebrows and jaw relaxed and the pain was gone, but the temperature of the air between them seemed to have dropped several degrees. She already missed the man who had been enjoying his cake only a few minutes earlier.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked. ‘Headache?’
The fingers of his right hand tapped out a beat on the wooden table. ‘Nothing that spending more time with my little girl wouldn’t cure. But it’s her birthday next week—we’ll have a great time.’
Oh, how stupid of her. Max was divorced. And his ex-wife had a boyfriend. No—he had said fiancé earlier. Ouch. Being a single dad was hard enough, without his daughter being presented with a new stepdad. Double ouch. That had to be difficult—especially when Max lived in the Caribbean.
Her foolish heart reminded her of her dad, and how precious their one-to-one time had been when she got back from school and the shop closed for the day.
She only hoped that Freya and Max had that kind of relationship during the short time they spent together.
‘I hope she likes her chocolate rabbits.’
‘And the rabbit poo. How could I forget that?’
He looked up, and his face relaxed just a little more until it was almost back to normal as he smiled across the table at her.
And in that instant Daisy felt that same tug of connection between them that she had sensed in the restaurant twist tighter and tighter, as though a great wheel was being turned inside her stomach, drawing her closer and closer to Max with an invisible rope which she could not possibly break. The feeling was so intense that when he spoke every other sound in the room and the garden outside seemed to fade away, and his words reverberated inside her chest and head.
‘We both have our own reasons for making this chocolate today. So let’s give this our best shot. Besides …’ He smiled. ‘Dolores will be missing us.’
Max stood back from the mixer and stretched his right arm out high above his head, to try and relieve the tension that had been building up over the past few hours.
They had worked so hard—both of them—but Daisy was still not happy with the chocolate.
The good news was that Dolores had decided that she loved them again once Max had managed to find the instruction manual that had been supplied with the mixer. Of course the electrical settings had been written in French, so Daisy had had to translate as best she could, but with much prodding of buttons and exasperated stomping they had finally found the programme that matched what they were trying to achieve. Molten chocolate paste. Smooth, refined and delicious.
The even better news was that Daisy had stayed with him every step of the way, cheering when the paddles started moving the way they should, and standing shoulder to shoulder with him when his digital thermometer gave up and the cocoa liquor looked more like lava than a luxury ingredient. She had never given up or run off screaming.
Rolling his shoulders backwards, Max paused for a second to watch Daisy. She was standing with her stomach resting on the worktop, her body hunched over the tiny sample pots which she sniffed and tasted. Her hands were in constant motion, noting down the subtle differences in each blend they had so carefully prepared.
He was close enough to see the way her red hair curled up at the base of her neck in the heat, and the cute way her lips came together as she concentrated on the sample she was holding in her hand.
He came across to lean one hand on the worktop, inhaling the intoxicating blend of perfumes on her skin. She smelt of everything good in his world. Vanilla. Spice and chocolate. Very good chocolate.
She was really quite remarkable.
‘I don’t understand it. We have already tried three variations on this formula, and if I add more vanilla the sweet creaminess will mask the spice in the cocoa … What?’
She half turned to look at him; as though she had been talking to herself and forgotten he was there.
This girl needed a break—and there might be something he could do to help.
‘Daisy? A suggestion. Why don’t we go outside and take in some fresh air for a few minutes? I don’t know about you, but my tastebuds are exhausted. It might do us both good to have a quick break away from all these flavourings.’
Daisy looked past Max at the containers where their previous batches were cooling and blinked. ‘That is the best idea I have heard for a while. I had forgotten how overwhelming the smell of chocolate can be when you are making up such large quantities.’
She gave him a quick nod and a smile, then her shoulders seemed to slump with tiredness.
‘I shall need a local guide to recommend the finest viewpoints,’ she continued in a pretend serious voice. ‘And a chair would be wonderful.’
Max responded by taking her elbow and guiding her to the garage door. ‘I shall be happy to oblige on both counts.’ And then he stopped as Daisy came to an abrupt halt. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘The sun is almost setting. Wow. I had no idea it was this late.’
‘Best time of the day. Here. Try this for a viewpoint. And it even has a seat.’
Max pointed to an old wooden bench which Daisy had not even noticed on her mad dash that afternoon from the kitchen to the workshop. It was half hidden in a tiny arc of flowering bushes and potted plants which almost covered the surface of a small paved patio area. Completely secluded and separated from the cottage by a low hedge, it was a perfect private space.
And quiet. So quiet and peaceful that when Max sat down next to her she did not think it bizarre that he was happy to lean back against the carved wood, his legs outstretched, so that they could both sit and enjoy the last warm rays of the sun on their faces before it set below the trees.
A pair of black swifts calling to each other above her head broke the reverie.
‘What a lovely spot,’ Daisy murmured after a few minutes. ‘I can see why you would want to come back here.’
Max closed his eyes and laid his head back against the wooden bench, so that when he spoke it was as though his words were addressed to the sky.
‘The first time I saw this garden I was fourteen years old and had just arrived from St Lucia after a nightmare flight. My parents had been killed in a car crash and my grandmother was my designated guardian. It was January. I was angry, bitter, and so cold I thought I was going to freeze to death. Which at the time felt like a far better option than trying to come to terms with the shock of being taken away from everything I knew.’
Daisy stopped breathing so that the sound of her taking a breath would not disturb Max. But he’d opened his eyes and with a shake of his head rocked forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
‘Until then my life had been constant heat and living outdoors in tropical forests and wonderful beaches. Long sunny days playing with my friends and making my own fun.’ He sighed out loud. ‘I didn’t want to be here. I felt as though
I had been ripped away from my one and only home. And I made sure that everyone around me knew that. Loudly. In every way possible.’
‘Oh, Max. How terrible that must have been for you. I am so sorry.’
He turned and smiled at her, but there was enough sadness in Daisy’s eyes that the depth of her feeling startled him. Her hand slid over across the bench and she meshed her fingers between his.
She had lost both her parents too, and the power of their mutual understanding hit him so hard that Max swallowed down a lump in his throat that he had not felt for a long time.
‘How did you …? I mean, how did you get through that?’ Daisy asked.
Max looked around him from side to side. ‘Boarding school helped. I was mostly feral, but I had a passion for sports and somehow the teachers kept me indoors long enough to get it through my thick skull that actually science and mathematics were useful things for a cocoa farmer to know about. Because one thing kept me going—my promise to myself that I would go back and work the estate.’
He stared down at their linked hands and waggled his fingers before taking a firmer grasp of hers.
‘But that was not the only thing.’ He smiled, and with his free hand lifted a long strand of her hair which had fallen onto her brow. ‘My grandmother gave me a gardening project of my own to do. Right here. In her secret garden.’
Daisy’s eyes widened in understanding, and she looked around her in even greater admiration.
‘Did you make all this on your own? It’s wonderful. How did you know what to plant?’
His reply was to half turn on the bench. ‘Before I answer that question I need you to lie back and close your eyes. Go on—just for a moment. Close your eyes. I’ll be right here all the time. Now, you are going to have to at least try and relax. There. That’s better. Much better.’
Daisy flashed him one final glance before letting her head fall back. She sighed in delicious contentment as Max slid forward on the bench. Without letting go of her hand.
‘Now, don’t say anything, but focus on what you can smell. Flowers. Plants. We have spent hours working inside, so feel free to go mad; I know you can do it if you try.’
‘Smell? I don’t know. I’m a stranger to anything even vaguely horticultural.’
‘Nope. I don’t believe a word of it. Surprise yourself. Here. I’ll help. Open up your other palm. That’s right. What’s the first thing that comes into your mind?’
Daisy felt something drop onto the palm of her hand, and was so startled that she almost opened her eyes, but Max stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, calming her.
Her fingertips ran the length of a light dry stem with tiny blossoms at one end.
‘This feels like a flower, but there doesn’t seem to be any petals,’ she replied, then lifted her hand towards her face and inhaled. Instantly an intensely aromatic sweet scent filled her nostrils, and it was so heavenly that Daisy surprised herself by laughing out loud. ‘Oh, it’s lavender. I love lavender. Oh, that is wonderful. How inspired of you to plant lavender.’
‘That was my clever grandmother’s idea. She never did like chilli peppers and Caribbean foods. But she knew about plants and how a particular perfume could take you back to a place and a time. We couldn’t grow mango or bananas in this garden, but we could grow the kind of flowers that my parents had had in their garden on St Lucia—lavender, musk roses and jasmine. So that is what I planted here. To connect me back to the island.’
With a smile in his voice Max added, ‘And to enjoy late on a summer evening when you have been making chocolate for hours. Do you like it?’
Daisy breathed in the warm air and her senses went into overload at the complex combination of perfumes from the flowers which grew in such profusion all around her, the lavender she had crushed between her fingers, and the pervading smell of cocoa on her clothing and hands.
‘Oh. Oh, Max. That is …’
‘I know. Two different worlds but they come together so perfectly.’
‘That was clever. I think we all have places and moments we associate with specific smells—but this is just gorgeous. If only we could find a way of capturing this aroma. Oh!’
Daisy’s eyes shot open and she opened her mouth to speak, but Max was right there, grinning at her.
In a flash she knew why he had brought her out here.
‘I know. And that is what we should do. The cocoa has more than enough spice—we need more perfume, more fragrance. I am thinking English country garden with a West Indian edge. Can you do that? It would be a long way from classical chocolate, but I think it could work.’
‘Lavender. Rosewater. Yes. Of course. Fusion cooking is everywhere. That would be totally brilliant,’ Daisy squealed, biting down on her bottom lip and clutching at both of Max’s hands as he drew her back to her feet. ‘I can make a warm chocolate cake that will knock their socks off. With perhaps some lavender and coconut ice cream on the side. Oh, Max. Has anyone told you recently that you are a genius?’
‘Not recently.’ He nodded. ‘But I am prepared to accept the title. Oh, and by the way, thank you, Daisy. Thank you for giving me a second chance.’
Max closed the gap between their bodies, and the expression on his face was so overwhelmingly full of understanding and emotion that the invisible bond that drew her to him tightened so much it was impossible for her to resist.
It seemed only natural for him to tip her chin towards him, slant his head, and press his lips against hers. Softly at first, then firmer, harder, wider.
And Daisy kissed him back, filling her lips and mouth with such luscious sweet warmth that any lingering resistance melted away and she moved deeper into the kiss for a moment longer before she felt Max pull back.
His pupils were dilated, his breath felt hot and fast on her neck, and she could sense his heartbeat racing to match her own.
Daisy pressed the palms of both hands flat against the front of his T-shirt so that she could feel the pace of his heartbeat speed faster as he gently lifted a strand of her hair behind one ear.
‘I do have one more suggestion,’ he whispered.
‘Um …?’ Daisy murmured, her eyes scanning his face, focusing on the last rays of sunlight on the white thin scars on his chin and across his eyebrow.
His fingertips slid down from her forehead to her chin in one smooth motion, as though he was frightened to lose contact with her lovely smooth skin, which glowed in the soft, warm light of dusk.
‘I would love to make that fusion chocolate tonight, but it’s getting late. As in very late. Way too late for you to drive safely back to London. So … why don’t you stay here tonight? Think about it. We could carry on working and make an early start on the recipes in the morning.’
His fingers stilled on her chin, but his eyes were firmly locked onto hers.
‘Will you stay here with me tonight, Daisy Flynn?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘STAY? Spend the night in the cottage with you?’
Daisy froze, her heart racing, as she tried to force air into her lungs and clear her head.
She already told him that wasn’t an option … hadn’t she?
But that had been before … Oh, boy.
She slowly, gently, pressed her hands against the strong, warm muscles of his chest to try and create some sort of physical distance between them. Because being so close to him, his mouth and his eyes and his body, was too tempting for any girl to stand and try and form logical thought at the same time.
Stay the night? Her fingers warmed to the heat from his body, and just for a second the sensual aroma of Max and the garden threatened to overwhelm her. But she had been here before. She knew that staying overnight would be a big mistake.
‘I’m not sure that would be a very good idea, Max,’ she said quietly. ‘I know that you are concerned, and I thank you, but I have so much to do in London tomorrow. It would be much better if I head back as soon as we’ve made up the chocolate.’
Instantly the old
frown lines appeared on his forehead, and she kicked herself for being the cause of them.
‘We are on a remote country lane, without streetlights, and there is no way we can blend this batch in under four hours—even if the perfect combination of flavours jumps out at us first time,’ he argued.
He peered at his wristwatch.
‘Make that five hours. You could easily get lost and you must be tired,’ he added. ‘If it makes any difference, search parties and St Bernard dogs are a little hard to find in this neck of the woods.’
His fingertips caressed her jawline, and she almost melted with the pleasure of it.
‘I don’t want you to get lost. Not. One. Little. Bit.’
Max lowered his head so that they were at the same eye level, and every ounce of resistance fled.
At that very minute an alarm signal sounded from inside the workshop.
‘Dolores!’ Daisy gasped, and stepped back as fast as she could, breaking the connection. ‘I think your old girl is jealous again.’ And with that she lifted her head and staggered back across the patio and through the garage door.
Daisy turned over in the bed and tugged the quilt high up under her chin, but then her toes felt cold and exposed to the cool air. She tried again but the same thing happened, so she gave up and sat back against the headboard, bringing her knees up towards her chest.
She was in the spare bedroom in Max’s cottage. In Freya’s bed. Totally annoyed with herself and even more annoyed with Max for being so right.
It had been after three before Dolores was finally turned off for the night and their precious, wonderful chocolate was safely collected. By the time Max had guided her towards the kitchen door in the moonlight she had been so tired that she’d hardly been able to keep her eyes open. Getting behind the wheel of a car would not only have been dangerous to anyone else on the roads, it would have been suicidal.
So she’d been forced to admit defeat and accept his offer of a bed for the night—Freya’s bed, of course. Worse, Max had insisted that she use the shower first, and in her half-dead state she had practically fallen asleep in there and used most of the hot water.
When Chocolate Is Not Enough... Page 9
