Harlequin Romance August 2014 Bundle

by Douglas, Michelle; Gordon, Lucy; Pembroke, Sophie; Hardy, Kate

  None of your business.

  His lips twisted. Since when had he been able to resist a damsel in distress? Or, in this case, a Princess in distress. ‘What’s going down, Nell?’

  She turned fully to stare at him and folded her arms. ‘Really?’

  He wasn’t sure what that really referred to—his genuine interest or his front in asking a personal question. He remembered his devil-may-care insolence and shrugged it on. ‘Sure.’

  She made coffee and set a mug in front of him. Only when he’d helped himself to milk and two sugars did she seat herself opposite and add milk to her own mug. The perfect hostess. The perfect princess.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m so used to everyone knowing my business that your question threw me for a moment.’

  ‘I’ve only been back in town for a fortnight.’ And he and she came from two different worlds, even if they had grown up in the same suburb.

  Even amid all the disrepair and mess, she shone like some golden thing. Him? He just blended in.

  ‘I did hear,’ he ventured, ‘that your father had fallen on hard times.’

  Her lips tightened. ‘And nearly took the livelihoods of over a hundred people with him in the process.’

  Was she referring to the workers at the glass factory? It’d been in the Smythe-Whittaker family for three generations. Tash had told him how worried they’d been at the time that it’d go down the proverbial gurgler, that more unemployment would hit the area. But... ‘I heard a buyer came in at the last minute.’

  ‘Yes. No thanks to my father.’

  ‘The global financial crisis has hit a lot of people hard.’

  ‘That is true.’ He didn’t know why, but he loved the way she enunciated every syllable. ‘However, rather than face facts, my father held on for so long that the sale of the factory couldn’t cover all of his growing debts. I handed over the contents of my trust fund.’

  Ouch.

  ‘But I’ve drawn the line at selling Whittaker House.’

  Her grandmother had left it to Nell rather than her father? Interesting. ‘But you gave him your money?’

  She rested both elbows on the table and stared down into her mug. ‘Not all of it. I’d already spent some of it setting up my own business. Though, to be perfectly frank with you, Rick, it never really felt like my money. Besides, as I was never the daughter my father wanted, it seemed the least I could do.’

  ‘But you’re still angry with him.’

  She laughed then and he liked the way humour curved her lips in that deliciously enticing manner. Lips like that didn’t need lipstick. ‘I am. And as everyone else around here already knows the reason, I’ll even share it with you, tough guy.’

  He leaned towards her, intrigued.

  ‘Besides the fact he had no right gambling with the factory workers’ livelihoods, his first solution was to marry me off to Jeremy Delaney.’

  His jaw dropped. ‘Jeez, Nell, the Delaneys might be rolling in it, but it’s a not-so-secret secret that he’s...’ He trailed off, rolling his shoulders. Maybe Nell didn’t know.

  ‘Gay?’ She nodded. ‘I know. I don’t know why he refuses to be loud and proud about it. I suspect he’s still too overawed by his father.’

  ‘And you refused to marry him?’

  ‘Of course I did.’

  He flashed back to the way she’d frogmarched the suit out of her office earlier and grinned. ‘Of course you did.’

  ‘So then my father demanded I sell this house.’

  It wasn’t a house—it was a mansion. But he refrained from pointing that out. ‘And you refused to do that too?’

  She lifted her chin. ‘As everyone knows, I gave him the deeds to my snazzy little inner city apartment. I handed over my sports car and I signed over what was left of my trust fund, but I am not selling this house.’ Her eyes flashed.

  He held up his hands. ‘Fair enough. I’m not suggesting you should. But jeez, Nell, if you don’t have a cent left how are you going to afford its upkeep?’

  The fire in her eyes died and her luscious lips drooped at the corners. And then he watched in amazement as she shook herself upright again. ‘Cupcakes,’ she said, her chin at just that angle.

  ‘Cupcakes?’ Had she gone mad?

  In one fluid movement she rose, reached for a plate before pulling off a lid from a nearby tin. ‘Strawberries and Cream, Passion Fruit Delight, Lemon Sherbet, and Butterscotch Crunch.’ With each designation she pulled forth an amazing creation from the tin and set it onto the plate, and somehow the cluttered old kitchen was transformed into a...fairyland, a birthday party.

  She set the plate in front of him with a flourish and all he could do was stare in amazement at four of the prettiest cupcakes he’d ever seen in his life.

  ‘I do cupcake towers as birthday or special event cakes in whatever flavour or iced in whatever colour the client wants. I provide cupcakes by the dozen for birthday parties, high teas, morning teas and office parties. I will even package up an individual cupcake in a fancy box with all the bells and whistles...or, at least, ribbons and glitter, if that’s what a client requests.’

  He stared at the cakes on the plate in front of him and then at the mountain of dishes in the sink. ‘You made these? You?’

  His surprise didn’t offend her. She just grinned a Cheshire cat grin. ‘I did.’

  The Princess could bake?

  She nodded at the cupcakes and handed him a bread and butter plate and a napkin. ‘Help yourself.’

  Was she serious? Guys like him didn’t get offered mouth-watering treasures like these. Guys like him feigned indifference to anything covered in frosting or cream, as if a sweet tooth were a sign of a serious weakness.

  He didn’t stop to think about it; he reached for the nearest cupcake, a confection of sticky pale yellow frosting with a triangle of sugared lemon stuck in at a jaunty angle and all pale golden goodness, and then halted. He offered the plate to her first.

  She glanced at her watch and shook her head. ‘I’m only allowed to indulge after three p.m. and it’s only just gone two.’

  ‘That sounds like a stupid rule.’

  ‘You don’t understand. I find them addictive. For the sake of my hips and thighs and overall general health, I’ve had to put some limits to my indulging.’

  He laughed and took a bite.

  Moist cake, a surge of sweetness and the tang of lemon hit him in a rush. He closed his eyes and tried to stamp the memory onto his senses and everything inside him opened up to it. When he’d been in jail he’d occasionally tried to take himself away from the horror by imagining some sensory experience from the outside world. Small things like the rush of wind in his face as he skateboarded down a hill, the buoyancy of swimming in the ocean, the smell of wattle and eucalyptus in the national park. He’d have added the taste of the Princess’s cupcakes if he’d experienced them way back when.

  He finished the cupcake and stared hungrily at the plate. Would she mind if he had another one?

  * * *

  Rick stared at the three remaining cupcakes with so much hunger in his eyes that something inside Nell clenched up. It started as a low-level burn in her chest, but the burn intensified and hardened to eventually settle in her stomach. It was one thing to feel sorry for herself for the predicament she found herself in, but she’d never experienced the world as the harsh, ugly place Rick had. And you’ll do well not to forget it.

  She had to swallow before she could speak. ‘Scoff the lot.’ She pushed the plate closer. ‘They’re leftovers from the orders I delivered earlier.’

  He glanced at her and the uncertainty in his eyes knifed into her. He’d swaggered in here with his insolent bad-boy cockiness set off to perfection in that tight black T-shirt, but it was just as much a show, a fake, as her society girl smile. Still..
. She glanced at those shoulders and her mouth watered.

  In the next instant she shook herself. She did not find that tough-guy look attractive.

  He pushed the plate away, and for some reason it made her heart heavy. So heavy it took an effort to keep it from sinking all the way to her knees.

  ‘How...when did you learn to cook?’

  She didn’t want to talk about that. When she looked too hard at the things she was good at—cooking and gardening—and the reasons behind them, it struck her as too pathetic for words.

  And she wasn’t going to be pathetic any more.

  So she pasted on her best society girl smile—the one she used for the various charity functions she’d always felt honour-bound to attend. ‘It appears I have a natural aptitude for it.’ She gave an elegant shrug. She knew it was elegant because she’d practised it endlessly until her mother could find no fault with it. ‘Who’d have thought? I’m as surprised as everyone else.’

  He stared at her and she found it impossible to read his expression. Except to note that the insolent edge had returned to his smile. ‘What time did you start baking today?’

  ‘Three a.m.’

  Both of his feet slammed to the ground. He leant towards her, mouth open.

  ‘It’s Sunday, and Saturdays and Sundays are my busiest days. Today I had a tower cake for a little girl’s birthday party, four dozen cupcakes for a charity luncheon, a hen party morning tea and a couple of smaller afternoon teas.’

  ‘You did that all on your own?’

  She tried not to let his surprise chafe at her. Some days it still shocked the dickens out of her too.

  His face tightened and he glanced around the kitchen. ‘I guess it does leave you the rest of the week to work on this place.’

  Oh, he was just like everyone else! He thought her a helpless piece of fluff without a backbone, without a brain and probably without any moral integrity either. You’re useless.

  She pushed her shoulders back. ‘I guess,’ she said, icing-sugar-sweet, ‘that all I need to do is find me a big strong man with muscles and know-how...and preferably with a pot of gold in the bank...to wrap around my little finger and...’ She trailed off with another shrug—an expansive one this time. She traded in a whole vocabulary of shrugs.

  A glint lit his eye. ‘And then you’ll never have to bake another cupcake again?’

  ‘Ah, but you forget. I like baking cupcakes.’

  ‘And getting up at three a.m.?’

  She ignored that.

  He frowned. ‘Is that why you wanted to see me?’

  It took a moment to work out what he meant. When she did, she laughed. ‘I guess you have the muscles, but do you have the know-how?’ She didn’t ask him about the pot of gold. That would be cruel. ‘Because I’m afraid I don’t.’ She bit back a sigh. No self-pity. ‘But no, that’s not why I asked you to drop by.’

  His face hardened. ‘So why did I receive the summons? If you knew I was at Tash’s, why couldn’t you have dropped by there?’

  She heard what he didn’t say. Why do you think you’re better than me? The thing was, she didn’t. He wouldn’t believe that, though. She moistened her lips. ‘I didn’t think I’d be welcome there. I don’t believe Tash thinks well of me.’

  He scowled. ‘What on earth—?’

  ‘A while back I went into the Royal Oak.’ It was the hotel where Tash worked. Nell had been lonely and had wanted to connect with people she’d never been allowed to connect with before. For heaven’s sake, they all lived in the same neighbourhood. They should know each other. She was careful to keep the hurt out of her voice. She’d had a lot of practice at that too.

  There you go again, feeling sorry for yourself.

  She lifted her chin. ‘I ordered a beer. Tash poured me a lemon squash and made it clear it’d be best for all concerned if I drank it and left.’

  Rick stared at her, but his face had lost its frozen closeness. ‘And you took that to mean she didn’t like you?’

  She had no facility for making friends and the recent downturn in her circumstances had only served to highlight that. ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Princess, I—’

  ‘I really wish you wouldn’t call me that.’ She’d never been a princess, regardless of what Rick thought. ‘I much prefer Nell. And there’s absolutely no reason at all why Tash should like me.’ Given the way her parents had ensured that Nell hadn’t associated with the local children, it was no wonder they’d taken against her. Or that those attitudes had travelled with them into adulthood.

  He looked as if he wanted to argue so she continued—crisp, impersonal, untouchable. ‘Do you recall the gardener who worked here for many years?’

  He leant back, crossed a leg so his ankle rested on his knee. Despite the casual demeanour, she could see him turning something over in his mind. ‘He was the one who chased me away that day?’

  That day. She didn’t know how that day could still be so vivid in her mind. ‘Come and play.’ She’d reached out a hand through the eight-foot-high wrought iron fence and Rick had clasped it briefly before John had chased him off. John had told her that Rick wasn’t the kind of little boy she should be playing with. But she’d found an answering loneliness in the ten-year-old Rick’s eyes. It had given her the courage to speak to him in the first place. Funnily enough, even though Rick had only visited twice more, she’d never felt quite so alone again.

  That day John had given her her very own garden bed. That had helped too.

  But Rick remembered that day as well? Her heart started to pound though she couldn’t have explained why. ‘Yes, John was the one who chased you away.’

  ‘John Cox. I remember seeing him around the place. He drank at the Crown and Anchor, if memory serves me. Why? What about him?’

  ‘Did you know him well?’

  ‘I’m not sure I ever spoke to the man.’

  ‘Right.’ She frowned. Then this just didn’t make any sense.

  ‘Why?’ The word barked out of him. ‘What has he been saying?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She swallowed. ‘He died eight months ago. Lung cancer.’

  Rick didn’t say anything and, while he hadn’t moved, she sensed that his every muscle was tense and poised.

  ‘John and I were...well, friends of a kind, I guess. I liked to garden and he taught me how to grow things and how to keep them healthy.’

  ‘Cooking and gardening? Are your talents endless, Princess?’

  She should’ve become immune to mockery by now, but she hadn’t. She and Rick might’ve shared a moment of kinship fifteen years ago, but they didn’t have anything in common now. That much was obvious. And she’d long given up begging for friends.

  She gave a shrug that was designed to rub him up the wrong way, in the same way his ‘Princess’ was designed to needle her. A superior shrug that said I’m better than you. Her mother had been proficient at those.

  Rick’s lip curled.

  She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. ‘John kept to himself. He didn’t have many friends so I was one of the few people who visited him during his final weeks.’

  Rick opened his mouth. She readied herself for something cutting, but he closed it again instead. She let out a breath. Despite what Rick might think of her, she’d cried when John had died. He’d been kind to her and had taken the time to show her how to do things. He’d answered her endless questions. And he’d praised her efforts. The fingers she’d been tapping on her now cold coffee cup stopped.

  ‘Nell?’

  She dragged herself back from those last days in John’s hospice room. ‘If the two of you never spoke, then what I’m about to tell you is rather odd, but...’

  ‘But?’

  She met his gaze. ‘John charged me with a final favour.’

 
‘What kind of favour?’

  ‘He wanted me to deliver a letter.’

  Dark brown eyes stared back at her, the same colour as dark chocolate. Eighty per cent cocoa. Bitter chocolate.

  ‘He wanted me to give that letter to you, Rick.’

  ‘To me?’

  She rose and went to the kitchen drawer where she kept important documents. ‘He asked that I personally place it in your hands.’

  And then she held it out to him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  EVERY INSTINCT RICK had urged him to leap up and leave the room, to race out of this house and away from this rotten city and to never return.

  He wanted away from Nell and her polished blonde perfection and her effortless nose-in-the-air superiority that was so at odds with the girl he remembered.

  Fairy tales, that was what those memories were. He’d teased them out into full-blown fantasies in an effort to dispel some of the grim reality that had surrounded him. He’d known at the time that was what he’d been doing, but he’d wanted to hold up the promise of something better to come—a chance for a better future.

  Of course, all of those dreams had shattered the moment he’d set foot inside a prison cell.

  Still...

  The letter in Nell’s outstretched hand started to shake. ‘Aren’t you going to take it?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  She sat.

  ‘I have no idea what this John Cox could have to say to me.’ Did she know what was in the letter? He deliberately loosened his shoulders, slouched back in his chair and pasted on a smirk. ‘Do you think he’s going to accuse me of stealing the family silver?’

  She flinched and just for a moment he remembered wild eyes as she ordered, ‘Run!’

  He wanted her to tell him to run now.

  ‘After all, I didn’t disappoint either his or your father’s expectations.’

  Those incredible eyes of hers flashed green fire and he wondered what she’d do next. Would she frogmarch him off the premises with his ear between her thumb and forefinger. And if she tried it would he let her? Or would he kiss her?