Читать книгу The Dare Collection: March 2018 - Nicola Marsh - Страница 27

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Abby

I DIDN’T HAVE time to wonder if Tanner had enjoyed the breakfast I’d left him or be grateful when he’d snuck out around six. Because at one minute past nine Makayla checked Le Miel’s website and discovered we had a massive order for a ladies’ function at Bondi. The kind of order that would send Remy into a tizz because of the possibility of repeat business. The kind of order to garner a week’s profits in a day.

‘How can we possibly do this?’ Makayla printed out the order, her brow furrowed. ‘It usually takes you and Remy working like maniacs to fulfil an order like this. Even then, it’s touch and go.’

I should say no. It was lunacy even contemplating trying to fill this order. Besides, my first instinct to say yes sent a shiver of fear through me. I’d determinedly set aside my people-pleasing personality a year ago, had worked damn hard to ensure I learned to say no.

Then I glanced at the computer, saw Remy’s face in the corner of our website’s home page, and my fear faded.

Agreeing to tackle a big challenge for the man who’d given me a break when I needed it most wasn’t being servile. It was a way of helping out a friend who’d helped me, a way of giving back. I owed Remy and I knew without a doubt he’d rather I tackled this massive job than wimp out.

‘What time do they need it by?’

Makayla stared at me like I’d lost my mind even contemplating this. ‘Delivery at two thirty for afternoon tea at three.’

‘Shit,’ I muttered, scanning the list and mentally prioritising. ‘We can supply the mini-croissants from the lot I baked this morning and put the “Sold Out” sign out front. Then I can make the strawberry tarts, the apple turnovers, the pains au chocolat and the beignets—’

‘You’re crazy. You’ll never get all that done.’ Makayla gnawed at her bottom lip and rustled the paper at me. ‘Seriously. We’re going to have to outsource—’

‘Remy never does that. He hates putting his name to products he didn’t make.’

‘I know, but what can we do? We’re screwed.’

I heard a footfall behind me. ‘What’s the problem, ladies?’

My heart leapt in recognition, and something akin to happiness, as I turned to Tanner. ‘A massive order just came in. Big profits. And I can’t do it without Remy.’

He stared at me, brows furrowed, eyes clouded with an unfathomable emotion I could almost label as fear, before he blinked and swiped a hand across his face. When he lowered his hand, determination accentuated the lines around his mouth, like he’d come to a decision and wouldn’t let anything or anyone derail him.

‘I can help,’ he said, rolling up his shirtsleeves, making me salivate a little at a glimpse of those striking tattoos. ‘What do you need me to do?’

I appreciated the offer but I still couldn’t shake the feeling he didn’t want to be here. Saddened by the thought it could be because of me and our newfound intimacy last night.

‘Unless you’re a secret pastry chef, there’s no chance in hell we can do this—’

‘I can cook.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Let’s get this done.’

‘I admire your tenacity but with all due respect being able to cook a steak on a barbecue and being able to create pastries worthy of the Le Miel name are worlds apart.’

One of his eyebrows quirked. ‘You’re doubting my skills?’

He made skills sound like I doubted his prowess out of the kitchen, and Makayla stifled a chuckle behind me.

‘This isn’t a joke, Tanner. This is Remy’s reputation on the line if we can’t deliver—’

‘Then stop wasting time and let’s get cracking.’ He strode into the kitchen, leaving me gaping after him—and unable to resist staring at his mighty fine ass.

‘Something tells me you two won’t need any ovens in there, you generate that much heat between you,’ Makayla said, her gaze speculative as she stared after Tanner too. ‘Look, we’ve got nothing to lose. Let him help. Get as much done as you can and if you can’t do it all I’m sure we can substitute the strawberry tartlets with lemon from the front store, and swap pain au chocolat for pain au lait from the massive batch you made early this morning at some ungodly hour.’

Makayla’s eyes narrowed. ‘Though why you’d be down here baking when you could be kneading some prime male is beyond me.’

I tended to agree with her.

‘No time to chat,’ I said, and Makayla laughed at my brusqueness. ‘Get in touch with the contact person on that order and ask if they’re okay with us substituting some of the items.’

‘Yes, boss.’ Makayla saluted, then shooed me towards the kitchen. ‘Now go cook with that delicious man.’

‘This is a recipe for disaster,’ I muttered, dragging my feet.

I liked Tanner. I liked that he was ready, willing and able to pitch in at a time like this. I didn’t like having to babysit him while I tried to concentrate on producing quality pastries in the fastest time possible.

Trudging into the kitchen, I was surprised to see him with apron on, hairnet and cap in place, with sugar, butter, flour and eggs in the correct quantities lined up in front of him on Remy’s workspace.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Making croissants,’ he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world that a nightclub owner could create Viennoiserie pastries. But he still hadn’t lost the haunted look, like being in the kitchen terrified him, and it worried me. ‘Remy taught me when we were teens, so I’ve got it covered.’

He waved at my workstation. ‘You get started on the rest.’

Stunned, I stared at him as he sectioned the butter and measured out the precise amount of flour.

‘Babe, I know you love perving on me, but you’re wasting time.’ He dusted his hands with flour and blew me a kiss, creating a tiny flour cloud in the air. ‘We’ve got an order to fill.’

Speechless, I headed to my workstation, methodically working through the pastries I needed to make while trying not to sneak peeks at Tanner, who appeared to be an expert in laminating dough and creating the perfect croissant.

I couldn’t believe it as he produced symmetrical and equal-sized croissants, filling two trays of fifty each.

‘One hundred enough?’ he asked, sliding the trays into the oven and setting the timer.

‘Yeah,’ I said, sounding a little awestruck. ‘Is there anything you can’t do?’

‘Climb the Harbour Bridge.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Afraid of heights.’

‘Well, lucky for me you’re not afraid of getting elbow deep in flour,’ I said, putting the finishing touches on the strawberry tartlets. ‘I can’t believe you made those croissants.’

‘I’m a man of many talents,’ he said, puffing out his chest in mock bravado. ‘As I’m sure you can attest to.’ He came up behind me and placed a kiss on the nape of my neck, sending a shiver of delight through me. ‘You’re pretty hot when you’re concentrating.’

He pressed against me, showing me exactly how hot he found me, and I groaned, rubbing my butt against him.

‘Later,’ he growled, nipping at my neck, my earlobe, before seeking out my mouth for a quick peck. ‘I’ve already pissed off Remy enough this morning. Let’s not add to his distress by mucking up this order.’

‘You’ve already been to see him?’

He came around the front of my workbench and I glimpsed worry in his eyes. ‘Yeah, visiting hours start at eight, I was there at seven.’

‘You told him about us?’

He nodded, the grooves bracketing his mouth deepening. ‘It went as I expected. Him warning me off you, me reassuring him I wouldn’t hurt you.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’

He hesitated before shaking his head. ‘No problem. My brother’s a worrywart, always has been. He thinks this may get more complicated than either of us anticipated.’

I didn’t want to tell Tanner I agreed with Remy.

Labelling Tanner the tattooed rebel as prime sex-toy material to purge my past had been fine at the start. But after having dinner with him last night, having him spend the night and now, watching him create incredible pastries like he did it every day of the week, I knew we were in serious danger of moving past a casual fling and into some nebulous, murky area I dared not label for making things complicated.

‘But right now, our only complication is who’s going to make the pains au chocolat, and if mine’s better than yours, what are you going to do about it?’

I chuckled at his cockiness and jabbed a finger towards his workspace. ‘You get started on them, I’ll make the beignets.’

‘I love it when you’re bossy,’ he said, with a wink. ‘In and out of the bedroom.’

Heat crept into my cheeks and I waved him away. ‘We’ve got three hours to get the rest of this order done. Let’s do it.’

‘And later tonight, we’ll do it for real,’ he said, his voice low and husky, making me yearn for him to bend me over and fill me in the way only he could.

‘Work first,’ I said, clearing my throat, my hands shaking a little as I reached for the flour.

‘Speaking of tonight, I’d like to take you out to dinner.’ He threw it out there, casual as you like, like asking me out on a date was an everyday occurrence. ‘Nothing fancy, but my favourite Thai place will soon become yours if you enjoy spicy Asian fusion.’

‘Sounds great, thanks.’

How I managed to sound offhand, I’d never know, while inside I did whirls and sidekicks.

‘Pick you up at seven thirty?’

‘Okay.’

We didn’t talk much after that, as we focussed on creating pastries worthy of the Le Miel name. But I was super aware of him working alongside me, the big, bad, baker boy, making delicate pastries with ease, making me crave him something fierce.

Was there anything sexier than a man who knew his way around a kitchen? For me, no. I liked a guy confident with a bowl and spatula, a guy who could combine sugar, eggs and flour and create magic, a guy like Tanner.

I liked Tanner. A lot. Today had solidified my feelings into one crazy, scary ball of longing deep inside.

The way he’d pitched in, the way he’d made a potentially stressful situation fun, the way he’d taken charge, all incredibly attractive.

But it was more than how he looked or how he behaved. Tanner was a good guy, despite doing his best to appear otherwise with the tats and the glower. He attracted me on some subliminal level I had no hope of analysing or explaining.

I wanted Tanner. Perhaps for longer than our short-term fling. Which begged the question: What happened to me at the end of our arrangement when he didn’t want the same?

I’d had the guts to walk away from my marriage and had been all set to walk away from Tanner with just as much nonchalance. Easy in theory, much harder in practice.

I’d never wanted to make this difficult. I’d wanted a casual, fun fling to take the edge off my otherwise routine life. I’d wanted to experience steamy sex with a hot guy. But now that we’d potentially moved past that...I had to admit to being worried.

I’d come so far in a year. I didn’t want a relationship where I could potentially revert to the meek, compliant woman who’d do anything to keep the peace and her partner happy.

That kind of commitment scared me. I had my goals. If I had Tanner in my life for longer than a few weeks, would I lose sight of them? I didn’t want to find out.

Remy had every right to be concerned.

Tanner and I were one big complication waiting to happen.

And there wasn’t one damn thing I could do about it.