When Chocolate Is Not Enough... (12 page)

Daisy stopped breathing so that the sound of her taking a breath would not disturb Max. But he’d opened his eyes and with a shake of his head rocked forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

‘Until then my life had been constant heat and living outdoors in tropical forests and wonderful beaches. Long sunny days playing with my friends and making my own fun.’ He sighed out loud. ‘I didn’t want to be here. I felt as though I had been ripped away from my one and only home. And I made sure that everyone around me knew that. Loudly. In every way possible.’

‘Oh, Max. How terrible that must have been for you. I am so sorry.’

He turned and smiled at her, but there was enough sadness in Daisy’s eyes that the depth of her feeling startled him. Her hand slid over across the bench and she meshed her fingers between his.

She had lost both her parents too, and the power of their mutual understanding hit him so hard that Max swallowed down a lump in his throat that he had not felt for a long time.

‘How did you …? I mean, how did you get through that?’ Daisy asked.

Max looked around him from side to side. ‘Boarding school helped. I was mostly feral, but I had a passion for sports and somehow the teachers kept me indoors long enough to get it through my thick skull that actually science and mathematics were useful things for a cocoa farmer to know about. Because one thing kept me going—my promise to myself that I would go back and work the estate.’

He stared down at their linked hands and waggled his fingers before taking a firmer grasp of hers.

‘But that was not the only thing.’ He smiled, and with his free hand lifted a long strand of her hair which had fallen onto her brow. ‘My grandmother gave me a gardening project of my own to do. Right here. In her secret garden.’

Daisy’s eyes widened in understanding, and she looked around her in even greater admiration.

‘Did you make all this on your own? It’s wonderful. How did you know what to plant?’

His reply was to half turn on the bench. ‘Before I answer that question I need you to lie back and close your eyes. Go on—just for a moment. Close your eyes. I’ll be right here all the time. Now, you are going to have to at
least try and relax. There. That’s better. Much better.’

Daisy flashed him one final glance before letting her head fall back. She sighed in delicious contentment as Max slid forward on the bench. Without letting go of her hand.

‘Now, don’t say anything, but focus on what you can smell. Flowers. Plants. We have spent hours working inside, so feel free to go mad; I know you can do it if you try.’

‘Smell? I don’t know. I’m a stranger to anything even vaguely horticultural.’

‘Nope. I don’t believe a word of it. Surprise yourself. Here. I’ll help. Open up your other palm. That’s right. What’s the first thing that comes into your mind?’

Daisy felt something drop onto the palm of her hand, and was so startled that she almost opened her eyes, but Max stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, calming her.

Her fingertips ran the length of a light dry stem with tiny blossoms at one end.

‘This feels like a flower, but there doesn’t seem to be any petals,’ she replied, then lifted her hand towards her face and inhaled. Instantly an intensely aromatic sweet scent filled her nostrils, and it was so heavenly that Daisy surprised herself by laughing out loud. ‘Oh, it’s lavender. I love lavender. Oh, that is wonderful. How inspired of you to plant lavender.’

‘That was my clever grandmother’s idea. She never did like chilli peppers and Caribbean foods. But she knew about plants and how a particular perfume could take you back to a place and a time. We couldn’t grow mango or bananas in this garden, but we could grow the kind of flowers that my parents had had in their garden on St Lucia—lavender, musk roses and jasmine. So that is what I planted here. To connect me back to the island.’

With a smile in his voice Max added, ‘And to enjoy late on a summer evening when you have been making chocolate for hours. Do you like it?’

Daisy breathed in the warm air and her senses went into overload at the complex combination of perfumes from the flowers which grew in such profusion all around her, the lavender she had crushed between her fingers, and the pervading smell of cocoa on her clothing and hands.

‘Oh. Oh, Max. That is …’

‘I know. Two different worlds but they come together so perfectly.’

‘That was clever. I think we all have places and moments we associate with specific smells—but this is just gorgeous. If only we could find a way of capturing this aroma.
Oh!
’

Daisy’s eyes shot open and she opened her
mouth to speak, but Max was right there, grinning at her.

In a flash she knew why he had brought her out here.

‘I know. And that is what we should do. The cocoa has more than enough spice—we need more perfume, more fragrance. I am thinking English country garden with a West Indian edge. Can you do that? It would be a long way from classical chocolate, but I think it could work.’

‘Lavender. Rosewater. Yes. Of course. Fusion cooking is everywhere. That would be totally brilliant,’ Daisy squealed, biting down on her bottom lip and clutching at both of Max’s hands as he drew her back to her feet. ‘I can make a warm chocolate cake that will knock their socks off. With perhaps some lavender and coconut ice cream on the side. Oh, Max. Has anyone told you recently that you are a genius?’

‘Not recently.’ He nodded. ‘But I am prepared to accept the title. Oh, and by the way, thank you, Daisy. Thank you for giving me a second chance.’

Max closed the gap between their bodies, and the expression on his face was so overwhelmingly full of understanding and emotion that the invisible bond that drew her to him
tightened so much it was impossible for her to resist.

It seemed only natural for him to tip her chin towards him, slant his head, and press his lips against hers. Softly at first, then firmer, harder, wider.

And Daisy kissed him back, filling her lips and mouth with such luscious sweet warmth that any lingering resistance melted away and she moved deeper into the kiss for a moment longer before she felt Max pull back.

His pupils were dilated, his breath felt hot and fast on her neck, and she could sense his heartbeat racing to match her own.

Daisy pressed the palms of both hands flat against the front of his T-shirt so that she could feel the pace of his heartbeat speed faster as he gently lifted a strand of her hair behind one ear.

‘I do have one more suggestion,’ he whispered.

‘Um …?’ Daisy murmured, her eyes scanning his face, focusing on the last rays of sunlight on the white thin scars on his chin and across his eyebrow.

His fingertips slid down from her forehead to her chin in one smooth motion, as though he was frightened to lose contact with her lovely smooth skin, which glowed in the soft, warm light of dusk.

‘I would love to make that fusion chocolate tonight, but it’s getting late. As in
very
late. Way too late for you to drive safely back to London. So … why
don’t
you stay here tonight? Think about it. We could carry on working and make an early start on the recipes in the morning.’

His fingers stilled on her chin, but his eyes were firmly locked onto hers.

‘Will you stay here with me tonight, Daisy Flynn?’

‘S
TAY
? Spend the night in the cottage with you?’

Daisy froze, her heart racing, as she tried to force air into her lungs and clear her head.

She already told him that wasn’t an option … hadn’t she?

But that had been before … Oh, boy.

She slowly, gently, pressed her hands against the strong, warm muscles of his chest to try and create some sort of physical distance between them. Because being so close to him, his mouth and his eyes and his body, was too tempting for any girl to stand and try and form logical thought at the same time.

Stay the night? Her fingers warmed to the heat from his body, and just for a second the sensual aroma of Max and the garden threatened to overwhelm her. But she had been here before. She knew that staying overnight would be a big mistake.

‘I’m not sure that would be a very good
idea, Max,’ she said quietly. ‘I know that you are concerned, and I thank you, but I have so much to do in London tomorrow. It would be much better if I head back as soon as we’ve made up the chocolate.’

Instantly the old frown lines appeared on his forehead, and she kicked herself for being the cause of them.

‘We are on a remote country lane, without streetlights, and there is no way we can blend this batch in under four hours—even if the perfect combination of flavours jumps out at us first time,’ he argued.

He peered at his wristwatch.

‘Make that five hours. You could easily get lost and you must be tired,’ he added. ‘If it makes any difference, search parties and St Bernard dogs are a little hard to find in this neck of the woods.’

His fingertips caressed her jawline, and she almost melted with the pleasure of it.

‘I don’t want you to get lost. Not. One. Little. Bit.’

Max lowered his head so that they were at the same eye level, and every ounce of resistance fled.

At that very minute an alarm signal sounded from inside the workshop.

‘Dolores!’ Daisy gasped, and stepped back as fast as she could, breaking the connection.
‘I think your old girl is jealous again.’ And with that she lifted her head and staggered back across the patio and through the garage door.

Daisy turned over in the bed and tugged the quilt high up under her chin, but then her toes felt cold and exposed to the cool air. She tried again but the same thing happened, so she gave up and sat back against the headboard, bringing her knees up towards her chest.

She was in the spare bedroom in Max’s cottage. In Freya’s bed. Totally annoyed with herself and even more annoyed with Max for being so right.

It had been after three before Dolores was finally turned off for the night and their precious, wonderful chocolate was safely collected. By the time Max had guided her towards the kitchen door in the moonlight she had been so tired that she’d hardly been able to keep her eyes open. Getting behind the wheel of a car would not only have been dangerous to anyone else on the roads, it would have been suicidal.

So she’d been forced to admit defeat and accept his offer of a bed for the night—Freya’s bed, of course. Worse, Max had insisted that she use the shower first, and in her half-dead
state she had practically fallen asleep in there and used most of the hot water.

Perhaps it was guilt that had stopped her from collapsing into a coma the moment her head hit the pillow. Instead she had barely dared to breathe as she lay awake, trying to keep as still and quiet as possible, listening to the sound of Max’s footsteps as he pottered around the cottage. The hiss of the shower and the gentle tapping of his bare feet on the kitchen tiles. The sound of his footsteps just down the hall. Only feet away from where she was lying.

If she wanted to, she could slip out of this tight single bed and skip the three steps to the double bed she had spied earlier through the half open door.

Max would not turn her away. She had no doubt that he needed the comfort and warmth of her touch as much as she needed him.

Daisy closed her eyes and recalled in every sensual detail what it had felt like when he kissed her on the patio. Warmth and controlled strength all wrapped up in a gentle smile and a sweet, sweet mouth.

She propped herself up on one elbow and punched the pillow several times. Then felt guilty about taking out her very personal frustration on an innocent bag of feathers.

She had got herself into this mess—and she had better get herself out of it. Fast.

A door latch fell. Max was out of the bathroom, walking down the hallway, and then he stopped outside her door, probably listening for her snoring or a polite invitation for him to join her in the single bed.

And, oh, that was more tempting than she could admit.

Loneliness did that to people.

Especially when there was a chance that Max Treveleyn might just have the right kind of glue to bring back together the tiny fragments of her broken heart and make it whole again.

If she let him.

But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Because that would mean having to watch him walk away. He could not be here for his own daughter. What chance did
she
have? Every time he took off back to St Lucia it would be like losing him all over again.

Daisy stared at the bedroom door over the edge of the quilt, willing it to open and terrified that it would at the same time.

But it didn’t, and his footsteps moved away, back to his own room.

Right decision. For both of them.

Now all she had to do was work with Max for three more days and then she could reclaim
her nice, orderly and calm life and focus on the shop. This was what she wanted. Wasn’t it?

A huge yawn stretched her face wide. Perhaps she could just catch a few hours’ rest before starting back to London?

Max had busied himself with tidying the kitchen and clearing away the last remnants of their quick meal while Daisy was in the shower, but every nerve and sinew of his body had been totally attuned to the tiny sounds coming from the corridor.

It had almost been a relief when he’d finally heard the extractor fan close and the tap-tap of her feet on the floor as she padded the few steps to Freya’s bedroom.

It had been torture to work side by side with her on that final miraculous blend of cocoa but he had done it. He’d had to. This was their future. But even their frantic drive to finish the chocolate hadn’t been able to overcome the tension in the room, where every physical contact had seemed magnified a thousand times.

At least they had kept their hands and minds fully occupied. But now? Now he had time to work through the turmoil of the events of the day, starting with trying to clear a path through the jungle of a garden and ending up kissing a girl he had only met a few days
earlier who had kissed him right back. And meant it.