It seemed only natural for her to mesh the fingers of her right hand between his.
She looked up into his face as he stroked the hair back from her forehead in silence, content to listen to her speak although her voice was so thin and strained.
‘It was a lovely sunny day, so we ran away to the seaside and walked along the beach and ate fish and chips for lunch. Then I drove us back home for a quiet afternoon watching his favourite movie, to be followed by a meal made up of all of his favourite dishes. With his Fleur Delice to finish. I had just poured the wine and I went to wake him from his nap. And he was gone, Max. He had just slipped away in his sleep.’
The words caught in her throat, and he wrapped his arm around her waist so that her head could fall onto his shoulder.
‘When I was on my own that night I ate the Fleur Delice. All of it. Every single mouthful. And it was so amazing. It would probably be a bestseller, but I haven’t made it since.’
‘Of course you haven’t,’ Max murmured, his chin pressed against the top of her head. ‘It’s too special and way too personal for you to serve to your paying customers.’
Daisy closed her eyes and luxuriated in the warmth of his body pressed against her side. Without thinking of the consequences she leant sideways against him, daring to push the boundaries that they had set only a few days earlier.
His left arm snaked down the pillow to her waist and he drew her even closer to his body.
She could feel the pounding of his heart under the smart blue shirt as she pressed her fingertips to the soft fabric which separated his skin from hers, only too aware that one thin layer of mightily creased cotton was not perhaps the best outfit she could have chosen for a breakfast meeting with her cocoa-grower.
Who was she kidding? Max was more to her than that. She had never told anyone about that cake—not even Pascal or Tara, who would have seen it as a marketing opportunity if ever there was one.
Until this week she would never have thought it possible that she could forge so powerful a bond with this amazing man—and feel friendship and that connection back in return.
Pascal had been her lover and her colleague, and for a few idyllic and heady months in one of the most romantic cities in Europe she’d thought they had a future together in Paris—but, looking back, she knew now that Pascal had never been her friend.
Max shuffled even closer to her on the bed and Daisy breathed in a sensory overload of his scent. Cooked breakfast and coffee, of course. Then a spicy citrus-sharp scent—and something else. That subtle aroma of Max, which was totally unique—and if she could bottle it she would never need to work again.
It was so intoxicating that she blocked out all the excellent rational reasons why she should not get involved and leant even closer none the less, cuddling against Max’s body.
His heart rate increased to match her own heavy breathing, and she could feel his breath on her cheek. Hot. Fast. All linked to the deep feeling of warmth and connection that came from two single consenting adults who liked each other more than a little, lying on a warm soft quilt, in a quiet, sunlit luxury bedroom on a Saturday morning with nothing to do for at least an hour. With the sound of birdsong filtering through the open window.
She could stay this way for ever and not regret it. But just as her head lolled back against the pillow she sensed his mood change—as though someone had opened the window wider and allowed a cool breeze into the room.
His arm slid away from behind her back and he moved just an inch, then more, further along the bedhead. And their bodies slid apart, slowly at first, then more swiftly as Max shuffled off the bed and strolled over to the breakfast table.
The shock of being separated was like a physical blow to Daisy’s poor heart. But it was the look on Max’s face that truly startled her as he turned to face her.
Anguish, self-reproach—and unmistakable desire. For her.
Somewhere deep inside her she knew that Max Treveleyn cared about her. And wanted her.
She had not been mistaken after all. The way his hand had started to seek hers when they were out. The way she caught him looking at her when she least expected it. And that kiss on the patio had been real. The gentleness of his mouth on the nape of her neck which had turned her legs to jelly had meant as much to him as it had to her.
She didn’t know whether to grin and shout in glee while she had the chance, or be patient and let him take the lead.
This was why when he did speak the words he used touched her heart and made it weep.
‘I can’t do this, Daisy. You’re a lovely woman, and any man would be honoured to have you in his life, but we both know that I will be back on the island this time next week. It wouldn’t be fair on either of us to make promises we can’t keep. No matter how much we would like things to be different.’
Well. That answered that question.
Two choices. She could accept what he said and let him go with a smile on her face—or she could do something mad and challenge him.
Just the thought of not having Max in her life sent a cold shiver down her back. He was hers and nobody else’s. She had not even realised that until this moment. She had been through an unhappy love affair with a man who could never have been her friend, and she knew the difference now as clear as night from day.
She did not want to lose Max Treveleyn. She could not lose him—not now, not after all they had shared together.
She wanted Max, and she wanted him badly enough to fight for him.
Unless, of course, he was making excuses to shake her off and she had completely misread the signs?
‘Can’t do what, Max? Be friends with me? Like me and want to spend time with me? Want to hold me in your arms? Is that what you can’t do, Max? Please tell me the truth, because I’m starting to get confused by what your body is telling me and the words actually coming out of your mouth.’ Then her voice softened. ‘Aren’t I good enough for you?’ she whispered.
Before Daisy realised what was happening Max had crossed the few steps that separated them and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck. His fingers worked into her hair as he pressed his mouth against hers, pushing open her full lips, moving back and forth, his breath fast and heavy on her face.
His mouth was tender, gentle but firm, as though he was holding back the floodgates of a passion which was on the verge of breaking through and overwhelming them both.
She felt that potential. She trembled at the thought of it. And at that moment she knew that she wanted it as much as he did.
Her eyes closed as she wrapped her arms around his back and leaned into the kiss, kissing him back, revelling in the sensual heat of his body as it pressed against hers. Closer, closer, until his arms were taking the weight of her body, enclosing her in his loving, sweet embrace. The pure physicality of the man was almost overpowering, and the movement of his muscular body pressed against hers, combined with the heavenly scent that she knew now was unique to him alone.
It filled her senses with an intensity that she had never felt in the embrace of any other man in her life. He was totally overwhelming. Intoxicating. Delicious.
Just when Daisy thought that there could be nothing more pleasurable in the world his kiss deepened. It was as though he wanted to take everything she was able to give him, and without a second of doubt she surrendered to the hot spice of the taste of his mouth and tongue. Coffee and chocolate. And Max.
This was the loving, warm kiss she had never known. The connection between them was part of it, but this went beyond friendship and common interests. This was a kiss to signal the start of something new. The kind of kiss in which each of them was opening up their most intimate secrets and deepest feelings for the other person to see.
The heat, the intensity, the desire of this man were all there, exposed for her to see, when she eventually opened her eyes and broke the connection. Shuddering. Trembling.
He pulled away, the faint stubble on his chin grazing across her mouth as he lifted
his face to kiss her eyes, brow and temple.
It took a second for her to catch her breath before she felt able to open her eyes—only to find Max was still looking at her, his forehead still pressed against hers. A smile warmed his face as he moved his hand down to stroke her cheek.
He knew. He knew the effect that his kiss was having on her body. Had to. Her face burned with the heat coming from the point of contact between them. His own heart was racing just as hers was.
‘Is that the way you usually silence women who ask you tough questions?’ Daisy asked, trying to keep her voice casual and light. And failing.
He simply smiled a little wider in reply, one side of his mouth turning up more than the other, before he answered in a husky voice, ‘I save it for emergencies. And for when I need to answer tough questions.’
Max pulled back and looked at her, eye to eye.
‘Don’t you dare even think that you are not good enough. You have to know that it is killing me to even consider leaving you here when I head back home next week, but that is where I live. I tried commuting between Britain and St Lucia before, and I come back to see Freya whenever I can, but it is so hard, Daisy. So very hard. You deserve a lot better than a part time lover.’
‘Hmm?’ He was nuzzling the side of her head now, his lips moving over her brow and into her hair as she spoke. ‘Do I? I think that is the nicest thing that anyone has ever said to me.’
‘And I mean every word. Your life is here, where you have a brilliant future in retail. I can see it now. Not in some grotty house in the middle of nowhere in the West Indies.’
‘I think you are forgetting something very important here, Mr Treveleyn. This is me you’re talking to. Miss Entrepreneur. Don’t they have wonderful luxury hotels on your island? And don’t those hotels need dessert chefs who can work with local chocolate producers? And what about your cocoa? Wouldn’t you like to see it made into finished chocolate closer to home? Just think—the tourist board would probably make you an offer you couldn’t refuse if your chocs were bringing in tourists by the planeload.’
She was giggling now, and waving her arms about.
‘We have more options working together than we could ever have imagined. If you’re willing to give us a chance. This is our opportunity to be together, Max. Why won’t you let me be with you? Let me love you? Tell me, because I really do want to know.’
She was instantly rendered speechless as Max replied by cupping her face in his hands and running his thumbs across both her damp cheeks.
‘Why? Because I don’t feel good enough for you, Daisy Flynn. Not nearly good enough. Does that answer your question?’
He was serious. Max actually thought that he was not worthy of her.
Daisy sighed out loud, then tried to shake her head—but he was holding it like a precious china vase.
‘Of all the ridiculous things I have ever heard, that takes some beating. For a sensible man you do talk nonsense, Max Treveleyn. Look at what you have achieved on the estate. What was it like when you took over? And now you are here, at this conference, with a world-beating chocolate any chef would be proud to use. I know I am.’
He smiled and flicked her fringe back, apparently fascinated by her unruly bed-hair. ‘You are? That’s good to know. But it doesn’t get away from the fact that I am struggling to pay wages while you are on the up. I am not going to be responsible for another woman’s pain and disappointment.’
Ah. At last.
Daisy took hold of his clever, sensitive fingers, which were doing amazing things to her hormone levels when she was trying to say something sensible, and clasped them tight inside her own.
‘From what you tell me Kate had a lovely dream of an idea that her life on the plantation would be one long beach holiday. It wasn’t, and I am sorry for that—but, hey, I like cocoa. You may have noticed this?’
‘Maybe I have.’ Max grinned, then his smile faded and he shook his head. ‘But it doesn’t change the fact that there are times when I wish my little girl could be proud of her old dad. It’s hard spending time apart. And things are going to get even harder when Kate remarries. I want to be there for Freya when she needs me.’ He flicked his head back. ‘Things are going to have to change—and soon.’
‘Oh, Max. I haven’t met Freya, but I can tell you something. My dad gave up his dreams and his happiness so that I’d have the finances to go to catering college. He had so many wonderful ideas that he never saw through before he died. Don’t make the same mistake. I mean it. Freya loves you for who you are. Not because you own a cocoa plantation. She would never want you to give up your dreams for her. Never. I know. I’ve been there. So don’t you even think about selling up—okay?’
Max paused, and his wonderful blue eyes looked into hers with an expression of astonishment and recognition.
‘I knew I’d made the right choice that day at the food fair. You are right. You are so right and you have just helped me to make a decision. I am going to do something rash.’
‘Rash? What do you mean rash? Max?’
‘I’ve had a crazy idea about how to turn my plantation around, but I need to speak to a lot of people before I know whether it’s even feasible or not. Heck, have you seen the time? I have a whole twenty minutes to get changed before my presentation starts. Then it’s back-to-back meetings for the rest of the day.’
Daisy was about to reply but never got the chance. Max crushed his mouth onto hers in a kiss which left her breathless and reeling.
‘I know you can’t take phones into the kitchens, but I will be hovering around the main conference all day if you need me. Okay?’ he said as he practically jogged to the door, snatching a breakfast muffin as he went. ‘I’ll explain everything later. Bye. And, Daisy …?’ He stopped and looked at her from the open doorway. ‘Go and show them how it’s done. I know that you can do it. That’s my girl.’ And with a cheeky wink he was gone and the door closed behind him.
Daisy pulled a pillow over her head.
Men. How did she get herself into these situations?
It was after six that Saturday evening before Daisy finally managed to make it back to her hotel room—and only then because the head chef had physically taken the icing bag out of her hand, after she had spent ten minutes walking back and forwards, staring at the decorated dessert plates, adding a dot or an extra swirl, not daring to leave until they were as stunning to look at as she could possibly make them.
It had been almost painful to see her finished plates being whisked away by the waiters into the judging room, knowing that there was nothing she could do now to change the work and it was all up to the judges to make their decision.
It was not going to be easy. The kitchen had been organised so that the other contestant was working on the opposite bench. They’d faced away from one other and it had been impossible to peek at what the other chef was making. But judging from the delicious smells of toasted coconut, passion fruit and mango, the charming middle-aged chef from Ghana, who had chatted to her so calmly outside the kitchen for almost an hour as they’d waited to go in, was clearly working on a tropical theme.
Perhaps she should have done the same? Especially with chocolate from the West Indies?
The new dessert had been finished by four that afternoon, and it was the best chocolate cake that she had ever made. Her hands had seemed to move automatically as she’d folded in the cream and chocolate to make the light and elegant, delicate and frothy sabayon base.
Simple ingredients—the best that she could find.
So, so good.
But it was more than that.
For the whole hour or so that it had taken to make the cake batter she’d felt as though her dad was standing next to her at the kitchen bench, chatting away, tasting and testing, lining the baking tray, checking the temperature. Relaxed, calm, and happy that at last the culmination of so many years of work was finally being put to use in such a spectacular setting.
It had been totally crazy, bu
t somehow magical and special at the same time.
With her dad by her side, smiling and encouraging, even the discreet TV crews had not bothered her in the least.
Of course she had tasted a tiny sliver of the cake—she’d simply had to. It was every bit as good as she remembered, and it looked terrific.
Thank you, Dad.
But now it was all over. She had finished.
She had taken the challenge and worked harder than she had ever worked—she had done the very best she could to show how marvellous Trevelyn Estate chocolate could be.
No going back. No last-minute changes. All she could do now was wait for the after-dinner speeches.
Daisy collapsed down onto the silky cover of her luxurious super-soft bed and fell back with her arms out on either side as the stress and adrenaline of the past twenty-four hours hit her hard.
She raised one arm and squinted at her watch. Drinks were scheduled for seven, and then she would have to tuck into a four-course meal complete with rich, creamy and chocolatey sauces, made by the hotel chef, and a selection of the contestants’ desserts before the judges made their final announcements.
Assuming, of course, that she would be able to eat anything at all. She felt way too nervous to eat food cooked by someone else.
Of course Max and Tara would both tell her that she was overreacting.
She would be okay. What was the big deal about strolling into a ballroom full of elegant and beautiful aristocratic people who came to this sort of splendid hotel several times a week?
Thank heavens she would have Max by her side.
She shuffled up the bed and picked up her cell phone from the bedside table. She had been so tempted to slip out of the preparation room that afternoon and catch a few words of encouragement from Max, but she’d known that he was way too much of a distraction at precisely the time when she needed to focus on what she was doing.
And he had needed space to deal with his problems in his own way.
She held the phone with both hands over her head, scanned through two good luck messages from Tara and … there it was. Max had sent her a text message every hour, on the hour, during the whole day. His speech had gone well, he had serious customers, and he missed her. And then she noticed a voicemail from Max, sent around the same time as she had been standing outside the kitchens, palms sweating and mouth dry, ready to start.
When Chocolate Is Not Enough... Page 14