She turned, watching trees blurring past, green slopes spinning by. When had she lost the ability to see past the tangled web of head and heart, and food and love? How easily Melinda had seen the reason behind that sudden impulse she’d had to make dinner rolls the day Joel arrived, a reason she was only seeing for herself now...
From the moment Joel had turned his cool gaze on her, she’d felt the tug of desire, but there’d been something else too. That lost look behind his eyes had stirred her heart, had made her want to reach out to him in the way she knew best—with heart food—warm, comforting dinner rolls. But when it came to dinner itself, she’d stuck doggedly to the Michel Lefevre script, serving Lefevre-sized portions because—she bit her lips together—because she was good at it; because it was what she was trained to do; because it was her safety net.
She closed her eyes. When she and Tom had opened Blythe’s Bistro, the plan was for relaxed fine dining, but then Tom had changed the script. He’d decided they should be doing gastro-pub food. She’d felt angry. She hadn’t left a Michelin-starred restaurant to spend her days making shepherd’s pie; Tom could have done that himself! Even so, she’d tried to create dishes that worked for both of them, but after Raoul Danson’s pathetic two-star write up in the London Time magazine, Tom had lost it, had started calling her dishes ‘second-rate Lefevre’.
She felt tears burning behind her eyes. If she’d blindly buckled herself back into her Lefevre straitjacket, then maybe it was understandable. She’d compromised her integrity to make Tom happy and had lost him anyway...
Joel was braking. ‘We’re here!’
She opened her eyes, saw a blue wooden sign.
PELICAN RUM DISTILLERY
500 YARDS
She pushed up her sunglasses. ‘A rum distillery?’
‘You can taste four different blends here.’ He was smiling, spinning the steering wheel smoothly in his hands as he turned off the main road and drove them through a pair of weathered wooden gates. ‘I was thinking that you could choose the best one for your chocolate rum cake...’
She felt a prickle starting at the back of her neck. On the beach, she’d congratulated herself for not telling him the reason why she was testing recipes. She’d thought she was being strong by not opening up at the first sign of friendly interest, but now she felt small and ungracious. Joel was trying to be her friend, trying to win her trust with a sweet gesture when he didn’t even know what he was trying to help her with.
She felt something inside herself breaking apart and warmth rushing in. Café Hygge was hardly a state secret. Even if talking about it led her into a painful place, then maybe that didn’t matter. She felt a smile brimming in her cheeks. ‘Joel, that’s so nice of you, so thoughtful.’
‘It’s normal!’ He grinned. ‘For the Caribbean anyway. If we were in Sweden, we’d be tasting lingonberry likör!’
‘If we were in Sweden...’
What was his life like there? It was hard to visualise Joel under grey Scandinavian skies when Caribbean sunshine was dancing across his face. She wound a finger into her hair. His eyes were hidden by his sunglasses, but his expression was lively, full of curiosity as he navigated the bumps in the track, his teeth snagging his lip every time he eased the Jeep through the potholes.
She bit her own lip. It was hard not to stare at his mouth; hard not to notice his broad shoulders shifting under his shirt as he steered. He was handsome and kind and funny, but all she knew about him was that his fiancée had ditched him—why?—and that his generous friend had bought him an island holiday... She felt a frown coming. That wasn’t nearly enough to know about a man who had gone hungry to spare her feelings. Joel was a special person and suddenly she wanted to know all about him—sorrows, joys, history, dreams—everything!
The rush of her own curiosity made her heart thump. She looked up into the canopy, slow breathing, watching the sun splashing through the deep greens and limey fronds. She saw a flash of bright feathers, tuned in to the chuckles and clicks and shrieks of the birds, calling and answering. Quid pro quo!
She lowered her gaze. Even birds had conversations. It was normal to be curious about someone, normal to talk. It didn’t have to mean anything. If she wanted to know more about Joel, all she had to do was ask him a question to get the ball rolling—something mundane—normal! She twisted in her seat. ‘Joel...? What is it you do?’
His sunglasses glinted. ‘For a living?’
She nodded.
‘I’m in internet security.’
‘Oh.’ Not her area of expertise. She smiled. ‘In what way, exactly?’
‘I design security systems.’ The track was opening into a roughly made car park, beyond which was a loose collection of old, stone buildings. Joel swung the Jeep into a space and turned off the engine. When he pushed up his sunglasses, his eyes were twinkling. ‘Or at least I used to... I’m more of a CEO these days. My company manufactures and supplies software for business and also for home computing.’ His eyebrows flickered. ‘If you have a computer, you’re probably familiar with my brand...’
She pictured her laptop, the red padlock icon in the taskbar, and suddenly felt her mouth falling open. ‘You’re Larlock?’
He nodded.
‘Larlock antivirus?’
He nodded again, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
‘Seriously?’ She unclipped her seatbelt so she could breathe. ‘You’re Larlock Internet Security?’
‘Yes.’ The cute dimple in his left cheek was getting deeper. ‘It doesn’t get any less true the more times you ask me.’
She closed her mouth. Joel was the Larlock billionaire! It was the last thing she’d expected. His shirt was Sea Island cotton, probably designer, and his watch looked expensive, but when he’d told her that his friend had booked an island escape for him, she’d assumed that it was because he couldn’t afford one and the state of his loafers hadn’t dissuaded her. But Larlock Internet Security was the leading antivirus software. Off the top of her head, she couldn’t even think of another brand.
He was smiling. ‘Why are you so surprised...?’
She touched her chest, trying to steady her heart, but his gaze was warm and twinkly which was making it race all the more. She glanced into the footwell. ‘I think it’s because of your shoes...’
A shadow crossed his face, then he squinted at his feet, laughing roundly. ‘I love my loafers. They’re nice and comfy.’
* * *
Joel sipped, tasting his own lips for a moment and then his eyes snapped up. ‘What do you think...?’
She felt the fiery liquid sliding down her throat, felt its slow burn spreading through her chest and then she fanned her face with her hands. ‘Strong!’ She stilled, holding his twinkling gaze as the buzz travelled all the way to her toes and to the tips of her fingers. Was it the rum that was making her senses swim, or was it the way he was looking at her? It was hard to tell, especially after four shots. She didn’t have much of a head for spirits and daytime drinking was a killer. Thank God for the big lunch! Even so—she planted her hands on the ancient wooden bar—the room was spinning.
‘Emilie, are you okay?’ Somehow, he was behind her, his heat radiating through the fabric of her dress, his hands scorching her shoulders.
Emilie! She liked the way her name sounded on his lips and she liked the way his hands felt, firm but gentle. Big hands! The kind of hands she wished would go a-roaming. She felt a giggle vibrating in her belly. What would he do if she swayed backwards a little? He’d catch her, of course, because he’d caught her on the beach...his upside-down face, his lips parted, that tangle of fair hair falling into his eyes because it was long on top. He’d been wearing a different shirt, but the same cologne, and it had given her a little head rush then too—
‘Emilie...?’
A shelf came into focus, then a line of dark bottles with brigh
t labels, then more shelves, more bottles, then grey stone walls and then, with a little twist of her head, a pair of concerned blue-grey eyes. ‘I’m here! I mean, I’m fine.’ She wanted to giggle because he looked so serious, but she bit it back, trying to sound like a rum aficionado. ‘I liked the spicy flavour of that last one. To my palate, it was the best!’
‘Right.’ His hands tightened on her shoulders, ever so slightly. ‘Are you okay, though? You’re not about to fall over?’
The giggle in her belly fizzled out. His concern was disarming and suddenly it wasn’t the rum that was making her light-headed. It was his eyes, his heat, his proximity. She swallowed hard. ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’
His grip slackened and then he was stepping back. A moment later he was leaning against the bar again. ‘I liked that last one too.’ He smiled, mischief flaring in his eyes. ‘I’ll get you a bottle, strictly for culinary purposes, if you tell me what the story is with those cakes you fed me on the beach...’
She felt her cheeks flushing, her veins prickling with residual static from her silly game. Did he have to have put it quite like that? She held in a smile. Of course he did! She’d teased him on the beach and now he was teasing her back, quid pro quo. It seemed to be their thing! She ran a finger around the rim of her glass, steadying herself. ‘I’ve got an idea for a café: a quiet café specialising in comfort. Comfort food and actual, physical comfort.’
A corner of his mouth twitched up. ‘Sounds like my kind of place!’
For some reason, his approval made her heart glow. She smiled. ‘It was my grandmother who gave me the idea. She hates noise and hard chairs.’
‘She’s not the only one!’ He was shaking his head. ‘Those coffee machines in Roasta Coffee literally screech. I feel sorry for the baristas!’
‘Me too.’ He was so on the same page! ‘There’s nothing to dampen the sound so it’s not even great for the customers. It’s hard to hear what anyone’s saying, so then you have to shout and that makes everything even noisier!’ She moistened her lips. ‘I think there’s a gap in the market for a something different.’
His cute dimple was creasing again. ‘So you’re going to open a peaceful café with rugs on the floor and chocolate cake on the menu, and you’re trying to find the best recipes because you like everything to be perfect?’
‘Exactly!’
He leaned in, one eyebrow arching. ‘And are you planning to blindfold your customers?’
He was milking it to the last drop, but she couldn’t not to smile. ‘I did apologise...’
‘There was no need...’ His gaze was gently searching.
Suddenly the air felt too thin. She looked away, gazing around the strange little bar which wasn’t really a bar at all. Just a room with old stone walls and shelves for the different shades of rum. Before the tasting, they’d taken the distillery tour. As the guide had shown them the furnace and talked them through the process of rum making, she’d found it impossible to stop her eyes from straying to Joel’s face, and he’d seemed to catch her every time, rewarding her with a twitch of the dimple in his left cheek, and then she’d smiled, feeling warm all over.
And when she’d been examining a stick of sugar cane and had passed it to him, his fingers had shaved so close to hers that she’d felt her breath catch. All through the tour, they’d exchanged little looks and little smiles. It had felt like being seventeen again, flirting with Tom in the college kitchen, reaching for a bowl at the same time, laughing at everything, things which weren’t even funny. She’d forgotten what it felt like...
‘Hey!’ Joel was nudging her hands with a wrapped bottle. ‘One bottle of spicy rum. Hopefully, it’ll go down a storm at the peaceful café.’
‘Thanks.’ She smiled, burying the thought she’d just had and pulling another one on top of it. ‘But the café’s a long way away. It might never happen at all...’ Especially if she didn’t pursue Tom for the money. She pushed that thought away too. ‘I was just, you know, playing with the recipes.’
He seemed to hesitate and then his gaze turned blue and clear. ‘Emilie, I have so many questions, things I want to know about you and about your life. Is that weird?’
He was inviting her to step on to a bridge, not by flirting and teasing, but with a direct, open gaze. In her mind, she leapt, gliding over the bridge, and it felt warm on his side. It felt like a place she wanted to be. She swallowed, heart trembling. ‘No, it’s not weird, or if it is, then I’m weird too because I’ve been thinking the same thing, about you.’ She felt warmth rushing into her cheeks, but it didn’t matter because there was a new kind of light shining in his eyes, a light that seemed to say that they were the same. She shrugged a little. ‘I think maybe it’s normal.’
His gaze held her for a long moment. ‘Do you feel like walking off the rum?’
She nodded, feeling as though she was answering a different question. ‘Yeah.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘SO YOU GOT on a plane and came to Buck Island...’ He levered up a low branch so that Emilie could pass underneath. For some reason, the delicate floral scent that lingered in her wake was fuelling the fierce ache he was feeling in his chest. How could her partner have cheated on her like that, with her best friend, right under her nose, effectively forcing her out of her own bistro? No one deserved that, especially not someone as kind and lovely as Emilie. He felt a stab of guilt. That quip he’d made about the short contract—no wonder she’d looked so uncomfortable—he’d just stirred her pain around. If only he’d kept his big mouth shut!
‘It was a no-brainer.’ She was walking slowly, waiting for him to catch up. ‘There was nothing to keep me in England. The job gave me an excuse to run away. I wanted to be too busy to think about things.’
He felt another twinge in his chest. ‘And I messed everything up. The solitary guest who didn’t even want you to make his breakfast. I’m so sorry.’
‘No, I’m sorry.’ She stopped walking. ‘If I’d been paying attention, I’d have put two and two together right away, seen that you were a full English kind of guy...’ She tilted her head. ‘Do you understand what that means?’
He felt his mood lifting. ‘Bacon, eggs, sausage, mushrooms, grilled tomato, fried bread...’ Her eyes were widening comically. He laughed. ‘My mother’s half-English.’
‘Ahh!’ She was giving him snake eyes. ‘That explains the scrambled egg and toast.’
‘You’re a food detective!’
‘I might be good with evidence, but I need to hone my intuition.’
‘Hey! We squared it away.’ Why did she take so much on to herself? He nudged her shoulder. ‘Stop beating yourself up.’
She shot him a little smile then carried on walking. ‘So, two older brothers and two younger sisters...?’ He’d given her a brief anatomy of his family after she’d told him about her sisters—older, and twins—and her parents, who were living in Abu Dhabi. ‘What was that like?’
‘Hell on earth.’
‘You’re joking, right...?’ She was looking at him suspiciously.
Was he joking? Suddenly, he felt uncomfortable. He’d never had to answer a question like this before. Astrid had been a part of his family for so long that he’d never had to articulate his feelings to her.
When he was growing up, he’d mostly thought about escaping, about getting away from the non-stop clattering of feet on the stairs, from the clamouring voices over dinner as dishes were passed hand to hand, from all the bright-eyed teasing and the endless bragging, and from his father, Lars, the hub of the wheel, stirring it round, over-winding it like a clock. Did he want to get into all that with Emilie? No! He reached a hand to the back of his neck, mustering a smile. ‘Of course I’m joking. It was noisy, too noisy at times, but it was fun.’
Her eyebrows flickered. ‘You don’t sound so enthusiastic.’
‘Don’t I?’ He pictured sledging with J
ohan and Stefan, tumbling off, cold handfuls of snow being thrust down his back, the yelling, the jostling. He masked a shudder with a shrug. ‘Look, I love my brothers and sisters.’ Johan... ‘They’re good people, but I’m different to them. I’m the quiet one.’
She was smiling, warming him all the way through. ‘You really are the perfect customer for my café!’
‘You have no idea!’ He pushed a large leaf aside for her. It felt nice talking to Emilie. Easy! ‘My family owns an island north-east of Stockholm. When we were there, I used to go off sailing for hours.’ He caught her eye. ‘I’d take great big English-style sandwiches and a bottle of water. When I was tired, I’d stop, drop the sails and drift. It was heaven, floating on the sea by myself. I guess I’ve always been a lone wolf, wanting to do my own thing.’ He felt a knot tightening in his stomach, a quick beat of indecision, then he pushed on. ‘Much to my father’s displeasure I didn’t go into the family business.’
Emilie turned slightly. ‘What’s the family business?’
‘Larsson Lüning Construction. Large-scale projects all over the world. I’m the only Larsson sibling who isn’t on the Board—my choice.’ Why was he doing this, emptying all the drawers?
She went quiet for a moment and then her eyes settled on his. ‘But still, your father must be proud of you? I mean, hello, it’s not like you haven’t achieved anything.’
Harlequin Romance April 2021 Box Set Page 54
