Conversation babbled loudly about the latest news on Master Baker. A former employee of Boui-Boui had apparently been shortlisted to appear on the show as a contestant. Trudy didn’t recognise the name Victor, although Frank and Damian both insisted that she knew him.
Trudy dismissed the matter. She had more important things to think about than TV shows and former members of staff.
Repeatedly, she found herself in Boui-Boui’s patisserie. She was working alongside Kali and constantly wondering if she could discuss one of her dishes in the article. Kali was an extremely competent pastry chef. Her caramelised banana puddings were aesthetically pleasing in their small glass ramekins, and they were deliciously satisfying as a dessert. Her carrot cake was incredibly rich, moist and succulent. But Trudy didn’t feel that any of those dishes would be quite the right thing to focus on for her column.
She managed to stumble through the remainder of the evening without much difficulty. There were no major upheavals in the kitchens and, if there were any problems at the front of house, Nikki handled them before they became an issue. By the time Nikki was locking up the restaurant, Trudy realised the night had rushed past in a blur of activity without her noticing much of anything.
She took a portion of handmade focaccia from the kitchens for her supper. It was seasoned with olives, rosemary and sundried tomatoes and still warm from sitting beside a hotplate throughout the evening. After the filling steak dinner with Bill at Melville’s, Trudy knew she would only be able to manage something light for her evening meal and a slice of focaccia seemed like the ideal choice.
It was because she was thinking about Melville’s that she suddenly knew what she could write about. She opened up her laptop and fired up the word processor. Typing swiftly, and barely thinking about the words until she reached the end, Trudy wrote about the way the Melville’s muffins had been presented.
She praised the restaurant for being a quality eatery. She spoke highly of their standards. And she explained how much she had enjoyed the Melville’s muffin even before she had taken a taste. The presentation of the desserts – golden pastries, iced to perfection and housed in attractive paper cases – was a lesson in how to make a dish appear appetising. The mere memory of their cherry muffin, with a huge morello sitting boldly in the top of the light sponge, made her salivate.
She checked out the Melville website and saw that the company had images of some of their muffins on their corporate webpages. Rather than simply attaching a picture she found the number for the restaurant and phoned George Melville direct.
‘Do you know what time it is?’ Melville asked in his familiar, querulous voice.
‘It’s Trudy McLaughlin,’ she explained. ‘I was in your restaurant today. I used to work for you.’
‘Yes,’ Melville agreed. ‘We were laughing about your confusion over an order of spotted dick.’ He chuckled as though he was still amused by the incident. ‘Do you want your old job back, Trudy?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m just writing an article about how much I enjoyed your muffins. May I use one of the pictures from your website to illustrate the article?’
‘Of course,’ Melville agreed. He apologised for his initial abruptness but Trudy waved the matter aside.
‘You’re right,’ she agreed. ‘It’s ridiculously late. The only reason I called was because I figured you would have just finished working for the night too.’
He asked when the article would be published and she told him it would likely be within the week. They exchanged a couple more pleasantries before she again apologised for calling so late in the evening and began to hang up.
‘Are you and Hart together?’ Melville asked.
The question surprised a nervous laugh out of her. ‘I suppose you could say that,’ she admitted. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘He’s a good man,’ Melville said quietly. ‘And he usually tries to do the right thing.’ There was an unsettling sadness in his voice as he added, ‘Try to remember that, won’t you?’
Trudy wanted to ask him to explain what he meant but Melville had already severed the connection. She was left brooding on what he’d said.
She yawned.
Admittedly, she was tired. And Trudy figured she could have postponed the writing of the article until the following morning. It was past midnight and she hadn’t yet received an irate call from a newspaper editor demanding to know where her story was. But now that she knew what she wanted to say, and had pictures that were going to illustrate the prettiness of Melville’s pastries, she figured she should invest the remainder of her waking hours in reading through what she’d written and finally finishing the piece.
It took a glass of scotch to push Melville’s words from her mind. Less than an hour later she had managed to complete the article so she was happy with the product. It told a neat story of visiting Melville’s as a former employee and being impressed by the dessert selection, and how she intended to use what she had learned to improve the appearance of the merchandise she sold at Sweet Temptation.
She smiled as she sent the piece off to Harvey.
It was only when she saw it disappearing from her email’s outbox that she had cause for concern. She suddenly understood that her afternoon’s preoccupations with the article had only been a convenient distraction. Now the piece was written and sent, she had nothing to occupy her thoughts except trying to understand why Charlotte was once again seeing Donny.
The thought troubled her dreams and made for a restless night’s sleep.
* * *
The next morning, when she awoke and began her exercise regime, she was disappointed to discover that Charlotte was not outside the university. Admittedly, Trudy acknowledged, she was behind schedule. Her internal alarm had needed longer to recuperate after the late night she’d had, finishing her column for the newspaper, and she had set off ten minutes later than usual. Also, her running this morning had been more of a stumble than a jog. So it was possible that Charlotte had been there, waited and then gone home.
On the off-chance that Charlotte was also running late, and that she might show up at any moment, Trudy stretched against the trees outside the university and took her time draining her isotonic drink. When there was still no sign of Charlotte after quarter of an hour, Trudy jogged despondently back to Bill’s cottage.
She showered and dressed before making her way down to HQ. From the gloomy colour of the skies, and the muggy fog that clouded her thoughts, she figured it was going to be a long day.
Given that Charlotte hadn’t been waiting for her that morning, Trudy wasn’t expecting to find her at Sweet Temptation. She wondered if Charlotte knew that her secret had been exposed. If so, perhaps she was too embarrassed to visit their shared offices. Most likely she would be hiding at Eldorado and trying to find a way of justifying a relationship with someone as unpleasant, manipulative and scheming as Donny.
But, when she arrived at HQ she was surprised to find Charlotte’s Audi parked outside the building. As she walked inside Charlotte’s cheery greeting was the first sound to reach her over the cacophony of the factory’s production noises.
The air was fragranced with the scent of coffee and pumpkin-pie-spice muffins. The flavour was sweet and the perfect reflection of the taste Trudy had been trying to achieve. It was impossible not to feel hungry as she breathed in the perfumed air. A smile spread across her lips and remained there. It felt almost convincing as she acknowledged Charlotte’s greeting.
‘Hi, hon,’ Charlotte bellowed. She was in the middle of a phone call but she started walking towards Trudy and ending her conversation.
Daryl stepped from behind the reception desk and nudged Trudy.
‘Prepare for a long day’s slog. We’re going through a boom period.’
‘A boom period?’
‘Sales are off the chart,’ Daryl explained. ‘The demand for your coffee and pumpkin-pie-spice muffins is incredible. We can’t produce enough of your blueberry-and-citrus muffins to me
et the current demand. We’re going to have to take on more staff if the orders continue at this level.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Charlotte’s even looking at expanding premises,’ Daryl said.
Charlotte stepped between them. Her grin was broad and affable. If Trudy hadn’t known better she would have expected her friend to kiss her.
‘I didn’t see you outside the university this morning.’
‘No,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘I didn’t go for a run this morning. I sent you a text to say I wouldn’t be there. Didn’t you get it?’
Trudy blushed. She hadn’t bothered checking her texts that morning. She supposed it was reasonable that Charlotte should have sent a message. But that didn’t explain why she was again involved in a relationship with Donny. Trudy desperately wanted to ask if that was what was happening.
‘You’re here early,’ she said eventually.
Charlotte shrugged. ‘There’s nothing keeping me at home.’
‘Weren’t you out with your boyfriend yesterday?’
‘I got to see him briefly,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘But he’s out of town at the moment.’ She frowned and asked, ‘Why all the questions about my boyfriend? You’re not going to start asking loads of embarrassing questions again, are you?’
Trudy shook her head.
She realised this wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have. She apologised to Daryl and Charlotte, stumbled tiredly up the stairs to the mezzanine, locked herself in her office and began to sort through the incoming orders.
Charlotte knocked on her door three hours later.
‘Are you coming out for lunch?’
‘I’m a little busy in here,’ Trudy called back.
‘You need to take on some sustenance.’
‘I might grab something later.’ Aware that her response sounded standoffish, she added, ‘Do you know where I could get a good muffin round here?’
Charlotte laughed and told her not to work too hard.
Trudy stayed at her desk and spent her lunch hour compiling a list of all the recipes she’d been collecting and developing since she started college. It was a chore she’d been working on intermittently for a while. A message from Harvey had prompted her to invest some proper time in the effort now because he said she needed to be working on a collection of recipes.
As a bonus, if she spent the afternoon locked in her office collating and filing all her recipes, she wouldn’t have to spend time with Charlotte and worry about how to ask her best friend if she was once again involved with Donny.
Chapter 20
It was the kiss that started it all.
Trudy had been willing to have a quiet night after work, when she and Bill could simply dine and then retire like a civilised, mature couple who weren’t driven by the need to get naked and funky at every opportunity. Admittedly, she didn’t get to see him very often on a Thursday night. But she didn’t want Bill to think she was so besotted with him that she needed to demand a passionate bout of lovemaking every time they were alone together.
She had served chicken with dried plums and sage. It sat on a bed of couscous, the tang of the plums and the balsamic vinegar adding to the sweetness of the flavour, and it had proved sufficient for both of them. Aside from their customary whiskies, neither of them suggested a dessert or an accompanying wine.
‘You got the balance of flavours just right,’ Bill noted.
She blushed at the praise. ‘I find the secret is to use the freshest possible sage,’ she admitted. ‘Anything less and the plums and the balsamic overpower the whole dish.’
He grinned. ‘Is this going to be the subject for your column next week?’
She considered this and then shrugged. ‘Maybe next week. Or maybe I’ll talk about it on the radio show.’
He shook his head and his grin grew broader. ‘You’re developing quite a media career, Ms McLaughlin.’
Every time he called her ‘Ms McLaughlin’ she wanted to shiver. She nodded towards the trophy in the cabinet. It had been installed in Boui-Boui that afternoon. It sat alone, its gold patina glowing dully in the fixed beam of a spotlight. Bill seemed so proud of the award she had half expected him to have an unveiling ceremony. Obviously, she could understand his pride. His reputation had been hard won and the award was thoroughly deserved.
But still, she thought, that didn’t mean she couldn’t tease him a little.
‘Are you worried about the challenge of my media career, Mr Hart?’ she purred softly. ‘Are you worried that you’ll have competition for that award next year?’
‘I’m a little worried,’ he admitted. ‘There’s some damned good celebrity chefs out there. But I was up against Kelly White and Carlos Fielding this year and neither of them offered much competition.’
‘And next year?’ she pressed.
He shrugged. ‘We’ll have to see. Heston Blumenthal or Jamie Oliver will probably win it back next year. It could even go to Nigella or Delia.’
She went to punch him playfully on the bicep. She hadn’t been referring to Blumenthal or Oliver or Nigella or Delia and she was confident that Bill knew as much.
He caught her hand before it could land on his arm.
His fingers encircled her wrist. With just a slight pull, and a shift of his weight, he wrenched her from her chair and she found herself sitting on his lap.
It happened so fast she was momentarily bewildered.
He was grinning at her.
His lips were kissably close.
She could see the scratchy whiskers of his five-o’clock shadow looking delectably tactile. She reached up to stroke the rough bristles with one hand and caught herself smiling as he pushed his face closer.
Because she was sitting on his lap she could feel the pulse of his erection straining to get close to her. The stiffening hardness made her draw a deep breath. She hoped that he felt able to satisfy the needs he had already awoken. She supposed there was still time to show some of the restraint she had planned at the start of the evening, but she also knew that the chance of demonstrating such willpower was getting less and less likely.
Their mouths met.
And it was the kiss that made her act.
Bill had a style of kissing that managed to excite her in ways she had never imagined. He used his lips to taste and experience her. He used his tongue to explore and arouse her. She had felt him use that tongue on her most intimate regions, licking her to a frenzy of euphoria and sucking, nibbling and tasting her until she was exploding with orgasmic satisfaction.
Now, as he kissed her mouth while she sat on his lap, Trudy felt herself revisiting all the pleasures of his more intimate kisses.
Her nipples stiffened.
Her sex grew moist.
She knew she was going to do whatever he demanded of her. And she didn’t doubt Bill would go out of his way to make their pleasures immensely satisfying.
‘It seems like only yesterday when we last made love,’ he murmured.
‘It was only yesterday,’ she reminded him. ‘You came back to calm my nerves before I did my radio show.’
He laughed softly against her kisses. ‘Of course it was,’ he agreed. ‘And you had a desire to be tied up, didn’t you?’
She blushed and tried to pull away. Her heartbeat was racing. She wondered if he was trying to embarrass her with the things she had suggested during their previous intimacy. If he was trying to make her uncomfortable, she didn’t think it was a pleasant game to play.
He had been quick before, when he stopped her from playfully punching his arm. He was equally quick at stopping her pulling away. He held her tight in his embrace and tilted her face so her lips again met his.
‘Don’t be coy about your desire to be tied up,’ he whispered. ‘I’m not shy to admit that I want to bind you.’
She groaned. In that moment she wanted to rub herself against him like some wild animal on heat. She stared into the steel of his eyes, trying to see if he was mocking her or deadly s
erious about the prospect of bondage. When he slipped a hand beneath her rear, cupped one buttock and pulled her body closer to his kisses, she realised he was going to give her exactly what she needed.
‘Take off my belt,’ he told her.
She didn’t hesitate. Her fingers immediately went to his pants and she unfastened and then removed his belt. The long length of leather slipped smoothly through the belt loops. When she handed it to him she did so with as much ceremony as when he had been presented with his award.
‘Thank you,’ he said, taking it from her hands.
He stood up, and the move made Trudy stand up too. She expected him to carry on kissing her but instead he turned her so she was facing away from him.
‘Put your hands behind your back, Ms McLaughlin.’
She did as he demanded.
It didn’t surprise her to feel him slip the belt around her wrists. She guessed he had pushed the end through the buckle because he pulled the belt securely tight without any effort. When he snaked the leather around her forearms, drawing them together, and then tucked the end against her skin so it pinched, she realised she had been effectively bound. He had managed the task as though such acts of domination and control were second nature.
‘Is this what you wanted, Ms McLaughlin?’
‘Yes, Mr Hart.’
‘Then why don’t we both enjoy it?’
He turned her round and then lifted her into the air. She had no idea what he was planning to do with her. He was strong and capable and fully in control. When he sat her on the corner of table thirteen she didn’t know whether to be disappointed that he wasn’t taking her somewhere else or relieved that he would be able to satisfy her needs more immediately.
His fingers gently began to pluck at the buttons on her blouse. His smile blossomed as he uncovered her body. She had already opened the top two to expose her décolletage. Bill teased the third and then the fourth from their holes. Slowly, he revealed the valley of her cleavage and then exposed the cups of her bra.
‘Lacy,’ he muttered. ‘Nice.’
She tried to pull against the restraint of the belt binding her forearms. It wasn’t that she wanted to be free. She was happy to be his bound plaything for as long as he needed her. But she wanted to make sure that she was properly secured. She also wanted to see if the belt really was inescapable. And she wanted to test its resistance.
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