Melting Ms Frost

Chapter Eight

EIGHT

‘No way in hell.’ Dressed immaculately in her usual crease-free perfection, it appeared that Annabel Frost’s only concession to ‘day off’ casualness was the substitution of her sharp black skirts for a pair of low-rise grey trousers draped with a hip-hugging chainlink belt, and the semi-letting down of her hair. Aidan noted that it was almost as long as it had been in his dream. Worn in a sleek ponytail instead of its usual tight bun, he could see the end flicking from one shoulder of her crisp white shirt to the other like the tail of an angry cat as she shook her head in denial. ‘Mr Landon always gives final approval on the Christmas Day menu dishes. Why would he send you? He barely even knows you.’

Quickly closing the door on the damp, blustery afternoon weather before a gust of wind had a chance to drive the sleet in to splatter against the polished floorboards, he made his way through the quiet of the closed restaurant to where Annabel stood by the only table laid up for dining, looking like she’d just swallowed an entire place setting. As well she might, considering it was only a matter of hours since she’d slapped the envelope containing his final written warning on the bar as she’d strutted past without a word or glance.

‘He didn’t get hold of you?’ Aidan’s stomach muscles tightened as her glittering green eyes now tracked his approach. He felt the force of that glare like a physical touch scoring across his skin. She was beyond gorgeous when she was furious, but knowing he still had worse news to break than the fact he was the boss’ ‘taster’ replacement, he bit back on the type of smile likely to incite violence. ‘He had something urgent come up.’

Annabel snatched her phone from where it lay on the white cloth to check the screen. ‘But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here. Why would he even think to contact you?’

Coming up on the opposite side of the table, Aidan shed his coat and draped it over the back of a spare chair before picking up the printed sheet of paper from the place setting in front of him and casting an eye over the list of tasting dishes to be served. ‘Let me find us something suitable to drink and then we’ll sit down and talk about it.’

‘I don’t want a drink,’ Annabel said as he turned and headed for the bar. ‘I want to know what the hell is going on.’

He knew she did. He also knew she wasn’t going to be happy once she found out the truth. It would change the dynamic between them and, although he’d known she’d have to find out some time, the more he thought about it, the less he liked his hand being forced so soon.

‘Did you hear me?’ she demanded, the stomp of her foot­steps following after him.

‘I heard you,’ he replied, not stopping and not turning around as he felt the nerve endings in his fingertips react to the petulant bite of her tone.

‘Well? I want answers.’

And she deserved to have them. But bastard that he was, half of him was hoping that if he let her frustration simmer for a little longer she’d lash out at him. Because if she lashed out, he’d have no choice but to break his promise and touch her before things changed irrevocably between them. In the name of self-defence he’d have the excuse to grab her, hold her. Wrap his arms around her tight as the length of that lithe body struggled and thrashed against the length of his and she fought to scorch him with her temper, cut him with her curses, maybe even scratch him with those lethally manicured fingernails. And he was so ready for the contact that every fibre of his being was strung taut with wanting.

‘I think we’ll go with prosecco,’ he said, swinging around the end of the bar before he did something stupid like turn around and reach for her. Just because he was ready didn’t mean she was. ‘It’s the perfect aperitif – the bubbles wake up the taste buds, the acidity cleanses the palate. It’ll be dry and light enough to complement Chef’s starters, too.’ Not to mention it would loosen Annabel Frost up a bit. If she attempted to eat anything in her current state of choler, she’d end up with a world class bout of indigestion.