by CC MacKenzie
Chapter One - 'Run Rosie Run'
'You're not getting any younger.'
The clear frustration in her mother's voice booming through the telephone speaker made Rosie hunch her shoulders and count to ten.
Biting her tongue she added the final touch, an icing extravaganza of pearlescent calla lilies, to the cake topper of a five tiered snowy white wedding cake.
Woo hoo! It looked fabulous, even if she did say so herself.
'Rosemary Margaret Gordon,' the disembodied voice continued and Rosie winced, the use of her full name was a bad sign. 'I want what's best for my baby girl. You need to look at your work life balance. Living to work is not healthy.' The tone, Rosie noted dimly, was now wheedling. 'I'd have thought after Bronte had the twins you'd have pulled your finger out. But it's been two years, darling, and I'm worried. You'll be thirty soon. Tick tock, tick tock.'
Rosie sent the phone a dark look.
There were times when her mother never ceased to amaze her and this was one of them. She was twenty-nine on her next birthday not thirty.
'Tick tock, tick tock?'
'Your biological clock, if you'd lift your head out of icing and cake mixes you'd have read that many women are leaving it too late to have children. Rosie, you're worrying me.'
Well, that was a downright lie. When had she ever given her mother a moment's anxiety?
Never. Well, apart from the time she fell off the barn roof when she was ten; and the time she and her best friend, Bronte, made a valiant attempt to down a bottle of neat vodka when they were fifteen; and ... well, never mind that. In recent years she'd been as good as gold and hadn't put a foot wrong.
She worked hard and ran a successful business. Some mothers were simply not bloody satisfied. It wasn't as if she was out partying, or doing drugs, or having wild monkey sex every night - or any night for that matter.
'I think you've got the sequencing wrong, mother. Surely I need a man first?'
Rosie topped up her coffee from the pot and took a sip.
'Exactly! You need to get out there and find him. He's not going to stroll through the door and sweep you off your feet. In your line of work the men you meet are already taken.'
Which, Rosie had to admit, was perfectly true. Running a wedding cake business meant the men she met were the fianc? of the bride or the father of the bride who footed the bill.
It cost her, but she managed to keep the tone pleasant.
'What do you want me to do? Take out an ad in the paper? Join an internet dating site? Or do you suggest I pop along to a sperm bank?'
'Now you're just being silly, darling. No man is perfect. Compromise! It's the key to all things. Look at how I comprise each and every day with your father?'
'Poor sap,' Rosie muttered under her breath.
'I heard that. We've been married for thirty-four years and I might not love him all the time, but we're crazy for each other.'
'Crazy's the word all right. How is he anyway? And how's life in Cyprus?'
Her mother gave a heartfelt sigh at the change of subject.
'He's out jogging and it's hot. Rosie, promise me you'll think about what I've said? I worry that you're missing out on something wonderful. Look how happy Bronte is.'
Enough, Rosie decided, was enough.
'There's only one Nico Ferranti. I'll give them your love. Got to run, the timer's about to go. Bye.'
She pressed the red button and knew her mother wouldn't be happy at being cut off, but what was she supposed to do? The woman was driving her nuts. It wasn't as if eligible men were jostling to beat a path to her door.
The trouble was she'd trawled through the local male demographic years ago. Bronte had found Nico when he'd bought Ludlow Hall, both of them struck dumb by their amazing chemistry. Okay, Bronte might have loathed Nico in the beginning, but it had all ended in happy ever after.
And she wasn't jealous of her friend's happiness. Not really. Well, maybe a little. But she knew she'd never ever attain the dizzy heights of marital bliss her friend had achieved.
Rosie knew this for an absolute fact because she'd already met the man of her dreams and had lost her heart to him on her tenth birthday.
The trouble was she wasn't the woman of his dreams, more like his biggest nightmare.
Alexander Ludlow saw her as a sister like Bronte, a friend, or worse as a 'damned nuisance'.
Two years ago, she'd persuaded him to drive her home from a wedding party certain her luck was in. She'd gone all out with her hair and a fabulous red bustier to showcase her boobs. But he'd simply patted her on the head goodnight and that was it. The mortification, the dashed hopes, the bitter disappointment, the lack of hot, steamy sex, still stung.
Not even Bronte knew how much she pined after Alexander. And Bronte Ferranti knew pretty much everything there was to know about Rosemary Gordon. It was the one secret Rosie had kept from her friend and Rosie hugged it and kept it close to her heart.
She also squirreled treasured mementos in a locked wooden box under her bed.
A part of her wondered if her fixation with Alexander was healthy because contained in that box were items with which a shrink would have a field day.
In no particular order, the purloined souvenirs included; Alexander's lucky cricket ball that went missing when he was sixteen and she'd been nine. A pair of solid silver cuff links he'd been awarded for rowing when he'd been eighteen and still bemoaned the loss of today. Valentine cards she'd written every year since her twelfth birthday and never sent. Newspaper clippings documenting him receiving his degree along with many business successes and a tie in pure silk by Armani.
The tie was her most recent acquisition.
He'd left it behind at a party at Bronte's and she'd snuck it into her bag. The decision to take it had been made on the spur of the moment and to be honest the fact that she'd done such a thing both disturbed and shamed her. Even now her cheeks heated in mortification. No one must ever know she was a thief as well as madly in love with a man she'd never ever have.
Christ, alarm gripped her throat. Did that mean she was a stalker?
If Bronte ever found out... Rosie shivered. How embarrassing would that be?
Not that she let her undying, unrequited love for Alexander Ludlow get her down. Nope. Most of the time she didn't even think of him. Yeah right, her conscience snorted.
Rosie knew Alexander would never look at her in a romantic way and not just because she didn't come from the same background either.
Her late grandfather had toiled down a coal pit in the north of England. Although to be fair, the twelve year old Alexander had hung on to her grandfather's every word when he used to tell tall tales of his life.
Their mothers had been best friends and the families, in spite of the differences or perhaps because of them, had been close. Anyway, her background was nothing to be ashamed of, Rosie told herself.
Her father had worked hard for over thirty-five years and fought his way to the top in the oil industry. Due to the amount of travelling he and her mother did, they'd sent Rosie to boarding school with Bronte.
Alexander Ludlow found Rosie Gordon a 'Total pain in the ass and a bad influence on his sister.' She knew that for an absolute fact since he'd told her often enough.
The main issue that would never be overcome was she simply wasn't Alexander's type. He liked his women immaculate, tall, blonde and skinny.
Rosie's black hair with the riotous curls was like a bird's nest on a good day. She was five foot three and three quarter inches tall. She'd never be skinny no matter how hard she tried, and God knew she'd tried.
Alexander was attracted to women with names like Lucinda, Tabitha or Imogen with cut glass accents and a trust fund. The name Rosie didn't roll off the tongue in quite the same way. She'd gone to a good school but she certainly didn't have a trust fund.
Everything was soft about his women; they're hair, their skin, their voices. Women who glided, who'd been taught deportment and 'how to be a lady.'
/> Rosie had been taught how to climb trees, to scream like a banshee and not to cry at the sting of skinned knees.
Her father was big, broad and as strong as a bull, but gentle in his love for his little family. While her mother might be petite with dark eyes, but she had the roar and the heart of a lion. Her mother's displeasure made her big father cringe and her delight made him light up like a Christmas tree. They loved each other deeply. It was the type of love that Rosie wanted and would settle for nothing less.
However, something Rosie simply could not get her head around was the mystifying truth that Alexander still hadn't found the one. In fact, he hadn't even come close, and why was that?
She frowned. Now she'd come to think of it, he'd been in a dry spell for too many months. He worked too hard. Maybe that was it; maybe he hadn't met a woman who could put up with the amount of travelling he did. Business came first with Alexander and not many women were prepared to put up with that sort of thing these days.
And what was she doing thinking about him as if she had nothing better to do?
Irritated with herself for indulging in a useless daydream and with her mother for causing it, Rosie prepared to clean up and leave on time for once.
This was her favourite part of the day.
Sweet Sensation had moved from The Dower House of Ludlow Hall to the Tithe Barn just outside of town. Josh, Nico's architect, had done a fabulous job of creating the perfect working, living space for the business and for her. The sprawling open plan annex at the rear of the property was a self contained unit with its own entrance and she absolutely loved it.
She'd just placed the cake topper in the cool room when the arrival of a black glossy Range Rover in the car park had Rosie growl in her throat.
Think of the devil and it was sure to appear.
A tall man with wide shoulders and immaculately cut hair the colour of ripe chestnuts got out. Her heart, an organ that most of the time gave her no trouble, did its usual little shimmy. Alexander Ludlow had a haunting, brooding male beauty that attracted women like bees to honey. For too many years she'd watched normally intelligent women lose the power of speech when they saw him for the first time and how their eyes went wide, their face flush and their breath catch.
A vivid memory of the first time he'd fallen in love flashed into her mind. How those sea green eyes had gone all dark, hot and hungry when he'd looked at Lucinda Menzies-Smith, a tall, leggy blonde with no boobs and big blue vacant eyes.
Rosie had been sixteen and it had nearly killed her. She'd managed to avoid him until her late teens, knowing even then that her secret devotion to him had the power to destroy.
And not much had changed she admitted now. It was a total waste of a life and the time had come for her to move on. A fresh start was just what she needed. Time to grow-up, Rosie, and time to find out what the future held. Nothing was going to happen here. Alexander wouldn't be struck by lightning and see her. That sort of thing happened in romance novels, not in real life.
God knew she couldn't go on like this.
No other man made her respond to him like Alexander did. No other man could drive her crazy like Alexander did. No other man made her act out the way he did either. But there was a big wide world out there, surely there was someone in it, a man, who would want and need her the way she needed to be needed?
Alexander Ludlow mooned over no one and she'd put good money on it he never gave Rosemary Margaret Gordon a second thought.
Since the business had moved, he'd taken to casually dropping in two or three times a week to shoot the breeze with the staff and to make sure she was okay, along with pinching the odd muffin and drinking her coffee. In fact, he'd been using her space as his own personal coffee shop, doing the big brother thing and sticking his nose into her business for months.
Strolling through the door as if he owned the place, he had the face of a warrior, all plains and angles. A wide forehead with heavy brows rose above deep set eyes of sea green which changed colour according to his mood. The nose was long and straight. But it was the wide mouth that always did it for her.
One day, Rosie grimly promised herself, she was going to French kiss that mouth.
By the bespoke charcoal suit, white shirt and silk tie, he'd either come from The Hall or was returning from a meeting. The black Italian leather shoes, she had a thing for shoes, probably cost as much as her monthly salary. Look at him, Mr GQ, all long and lean and delectably gorgeous.
Seriously annoyed with him and with herself for being so pitiful, Rosie didn't return Alexander's quick grin.
Ignoring the strange little jolt in her tummy, she painted a bored expression on her face.
'Hey, you,' Alexander greeted her in a deep voice the tone friendly as he strode through the reception area into the huge open plan kitchen.
His eyes, a sparkling green, met hers.
At her lack of response, those slashing brows rose.
He moved into her personal space and she got a wonderful whiff of a healthy male in his prime and his cologne which did precarious things to her hormones.
Rosie swallowed a pathetic whimper.
Alexander's thumb and forefinger gently gripped her chin.
'What's with the face?'
She slapped his hand away, turning to the coffee pot to top up her mug and hide the unexpected heat in her cheeks.
What was the matter with her? He'd touched her loads of times and she hadn't reacted like this. Her throat appeared to have dried up.
Taking a sip of coffee, she turned to study him over the rim of the mug.
He ran the tip of his tongue over his top teeth, a sure sign he was irritated.
It was bad of her to take her mood out on him. How was it his fault that she was crazy about him?
'My face is fine. What do you want?'
Alexander took a couple of steps back at her belligerent tone and held up his hands in a peace gesture.
'Whoa, I'm going to turn around, leave, come back and we can start again.'
'Stop being stupid. What do you want?'
Those eyes went dark now and as sharp as a blade.
'Well, a coffee would be nice if you can spare one.' The voice was soft, the tone cool.
A sliver of aroused panic ran up her spine. This was ridiculous, and her pulse was banging in her throat. Too much caffeine? She couldn't do this. She couldn't sit and chat as if he was a normal person and she felt nothing.
Something must have shown in her expression because he moved closer, those glittering eyes narrowing fractionally as they searched her face.
Panic had Rosie retreat against the worktop, a fact which made her tone sharp and unleashed her inner bitch.
'Don't they serve coffee up at The Hall? Your little harem not bowing and scraping to their lord and master these days?' The administration staff at Ludlow Hall were lovely, and she knew it, but they were all uniformly young, tall and blonde. And all happily married Rosie reminded herself. But the poison kept on coming. 'I'm very busy. Too busy to waste time with someone like you.'
Fast as a snake he moved in and placed a hand either side of her on the worktop.
She closed her eyes to that marvellous mouth. And God he smelt fabulous.
Rosemary Gordon never trembled - she didn't do trembling. But she was trembling now.
'Harem? Someone like me? What the hell's got into you?'
Since he was in her personal space, in her face, she grabbed a hold of the spike of temper like a lifeline.
She smacked her palm on his wide chest and pushed.
He didn't shift.
'Back off!' Her eyes collided with his.
He stepped away and held up his palms.
'Okay, what did I do?' he demanded.
Her breath caught in her throat as her heart thundered in her ears.
She couldn't do this.
'Nothing, you haven't done a thing. Please, Alexander, leave me alone.'
Why was she behaving like a moron? The man was lo
oking at her as if she'd grown another head. Those green eyes were so full of concern she couldn't meet them. So she concentrated on that strong manly jaw and suppressed the insane desire to lick along the edge of it.
She took a shaky breath. 'Look, it's been a bad day, okay?'
Alexander grabbed her, pushed her into a chair, pulled up another to sit in front of her and took her hands in his.
Oh, no, no, no.
His voice went soft and low, 'What's the matter, angel face? Who's upset you?'
Rosie simply stared at their joined hands.
He had beautiful hands, she realised dimly, with long fingers and clipped nails. His thumbs were stroking her knuckles in a smooth rhythm that sent her blood fizzing through her veins.
How the hell was she going to get out of this unscathed?
She shook her head. 'I've just got off the phone with my mother.'
He gripped her hands tighter. 'What's happened, are they okay?'
The response was so typical of him; she gave a soft laugh and met his eyes.
'They're fine. She wants me to give her a grandchild, sooner rather than later.'
He released her, sat back and grinned.
Rosie decided she was seriously losing it because as soon as he let her go she had the sensation of being cast adrift, abandoned even.
'Who's the lucky man?' The grin turned into a big cheesy smile.
She narrowed her eyes and stared deep into his. 'You are.'
For a couple of heartbeats Alexander thought she was deadly serious.
Big eyes the colour of melted treacle stared into his and he had the weirdest sensation of drowning. Thick Bambi lashes blinked once, twice and then she grinned at him, her mood changing in a flash.
'Gotcha!' Her mouth was wide, with a sexy full bottom lip. He'd noticed that bottom lip many times before and did his level best to ignore it now, but his mouth watered.
Her hair was hidden under a white chef's bandana. He knew those curls, the colour of glossy jet, usually tumbled around her shoulders, down her back, and he fought the urge to release them from confinement.
Running a hand over the back of his neck, his jaw, he had the peculiar feeling of stepping into a mine field.
The idea that she was upset with him, angry with him, still tickled his tail bone. But he decided to leave it for the moment.
The thing about Rosie was she could be moody and she tended to take the odd swipe at him for no apparent reason that he could fathom.
However, she never held a grudge and whatever he'd done she'd tell him, eventually.
'Very funny. Talking of babies, Julie's due to return from maternity leave and I wondered if you could make her a cake. You know, a sort of welcome back to work cake,' he explained.
Those dark eyes sparkled into his and he found he didn't know what to do with his hands, so he stood and thrust them into his trouser pockets.
'Aww, that's a lovely idea.' She rose, crossed to a big black diary and flipped it open. Picking up a pen she turned to him with big eyes. 'When do you want it?'
'Ah, Thursday if you can manage it.'
Gorgeous eyebrows the colour of coal winged into her hairline as she scanned the busy pages. 'This Thursday?' Those fabulous eyes turned to him in amazement and she articulated the words very slowly as if talking to an idiot, 'Are you having a laugh?'
Chewing on his top lip he gave her a shrug and winced as she jabbed the page with her forefinger. He scanned the pages. She ran the business with military precision and by the look of things she'd been up since five-thirty this morning.
'Ah, I should have let you know sooner, but the idea came to me today. Sorry, look, I'll pop into town and pick up one at the supermarket or go into the bakery. No problem.'
Those dark eyes narrowed, that soft mouth pouted even as the stubborn chin lifted. And he thought, oh crap.
'That's what you think, pal.' She poked him hard in the chest once, twice. 'It's a good job for you I love and adore your PA or I'd let you embarrass yourself. Buying a supermarket cake is like buying wilting flowers from a petrol station instead of taking the time to go to a florist.'
Those nails were sharp so he grabbed her hand and decided he couldn't do anything right with her today.
'It's the thought that counts.'
Her dark eyes went icy as she tipped her head to look up into his face.
'Then the thought's cheap. It doesn't scream 'I value you' does it?'
He couldn't take his eyes from her mouth. That pouting bottom lip mesmerised, fascinated him and his pulse, his groin, gave a sharp jolt. Two things hit him. Her skin was soft, flawless and she smelt amazing. All warm woman, sweet and fresh with a fruity kick.
Alarm dinged in his brain. This was Rosie. She was like a sister to him. His thoughts, his physical response, were totally inappropriate. She'd deck him if he made a move and rightly so.
He dropped her hand and took a step back.
Attack Alexander always figured was the best form of defence.
So he glowered at her and ran a hand through his hair.
'I can't win with you, can I?'
Her fists on her hips pulled her pristine chef jacket tight across her pert breasts and his mouth went bone dry.
Those dark eyes flashed. 'Nope. Good thing we always carry emergency stock isn't it? I'm a girl. I plan ahead. You should try it sometime. It'll be ready for you on Thursday afternoon after five-thirty.'
'That's fine, five-thirty's fine. Thanks, Rosie, I owe you one.'
Normally he'd give her a peck on the cheek or lean in for a hug. Not today he wouldn't... he retreated instead.
As he opened the door, he turned to find her still standing there with a strange look in her eyes. She looked sad. No, bereft. The urge to turn back, to take her in his arms, shook him up enough to make him frown at her.
'Don't forget to lock-up behind me,' he ordered.
As he turned on the engine, he sent her a wave. She was still staring at him, but something else was going on with her. She'd been more touchy than usual around him lately. Perhaps he should have dug deeper? Maybe she was having man trouble? He'd speak to Bronte. If anyone knew what was going on it would be his sister. Rosie told her everything.
And he didn't stop to wonder what business was it of his or why he should care.
What was she? An idiot?
He'd become overly protective after Bronte had been attacked, which was, Rosie admitted, fair enough, but she was perfectly capable of locking up.
And she had absolutely no business mooning over him and behaving like a total idiot. What was the point of hankering over something you couldn't have?
Skimming over the lists of her freezer contents, Rosie found a couple of Bronte's walnut coffee mocha cakes, a twelve inch and a six inch. Maybe with a white chocolate filling which, she saw, they had plenty to spare, she'd make a two-piece and cover them in cream icing piped in pink, since Julia had had the sweetest baby girl. In fact, she'd make the whole thing a girly extravaganza. If she got up early over Tuesday and Wednesday she'd manage it. It could be the start of a new line for the business. Once the girls at The Hall saw the cake, they'd spread the word.
Time was money in her world, so it might not be such a bad deal after all.
The conversation with Alexander made Rosie frown as she wrote down a list of ingredients and ideas. Supermarket? She'd give him supermarket, cheeky bugger. By the time she'd finished, he'd owe her all right.
All she needed to do was to find a way to make him pay-up.
End of Chapter One - Run Rosie Run
Chapter One - 'The Trouble With Coco Monroe'