Frozen Heart, Melting Kiss. Ellie Darkins
she studied his face. The tightness in his chest lightened.
‘And that space is gone anyway. The client called me—they managed to find someone to fill it.’
‘Well, can’t you run it with one extra?’
Maya shook her head and went back to her sauce, stirring more gently now. But Will didn’t make a move to leave. He had to get her to agree, somehow, and she looked as if she might be thinking it over, reconsidering. Eventually, she spoke.
‘I can’t. There’s not enough space in the kitchen and it wouldn’t be fair on the other students. If you’re serious, though—if you really want to learn—I have some time the following week. I’ll have to fit in some development and planning work, but if you’re happy to work around that I can run another course.’
He gulped. ‘One on one?’
‘One on one.’
MAYA FIDDLED WITH her necklace as the car door slammed and forced her feet to the floor, determined not to be waiting for him at the door. This was a bad idea. The hurt she’d felt in his office was something she’d thought she was long past. The feeling of rejection was something she’d not felt since she’d last seen her parents. But after an hour in this man’s company self-doubt had been needling her non-stop.
If it hadn’t been for the flash of fear and hurt she’d recognised in his eyes—well hidden, but still just visible—she’d have turned him down again. But in the face of his desperation, and her curiosity, she’d known she had to think of some way to help him. And perhaps if she could get him here, get him to enjoy her food, those doubts would fade. Her faith in the joy she could bring with her food could blossom again.
She tidied away the last of her lunch dishes and surveyed the kitchen. It was always spotless, of course, but this morning, with summer in the air, it seemed to glow more than usual. It had been carefully designed to balance the charmingly old and the strikingly modern—the stainless steel of a professional grill with rich, warm Cotswold stone and aged oak beams. Perhaps the charm of the old cottage would mellow him, she pondered nervously.
Nervous anticipation spread through her body at the thought of being alone in the house with the man who had so riled and frustrated her. Their last two meetings had left her unsettled, and she knew that she was gambling with her emotions, with the happy life and the confidence that she had built for herself, and couldn’t quite recall why she had suggested this.
Because when he had come to her, asking her to reconsider, she’d seen a glimpse of something in his eyes that had made her pause—just for a second he’d seemed vulnerable. So different from the coolness she’d felt in his office—and she was curious. She had also seen what he’d been trying so hard to hide—he needed her. He was desperate for her help. And she’d found that she couldn’t say no, whatever it might cost her.
And then she remembered how he had looked at her, his wide eyes skimming her, almost in disbelief...how her mouth had watered and her lips had tingled at the sight of him...and she suspected she might have had an ulterior motive.
She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him in the days since they’d met. To start with it had been easy to ignore her attraction, to concentrate instead on her hurt and her anger at the way he had completely rejected her food—and, by extension, her. But since he’d come to her door, begged her to reconsider, she hadn’t been able to get those silver eyes out of her mind, trying to work out what was beneath.
The doorbell rang and she knew that it was too late for doubts and worries. She would make this work.
Smoothing back her hair, she forced her shoulders down and went to answer the door.
‘Will, welcome to Rose Cottage.’ He flinched as she said the words, and she had to school her features not to reflect it back to him. Acting on instinct, she reached out and placed a hand on his arm to reassure him. She hated to see anyone distressed, ached to make things right. But he pulled away from her abruptly, shock and annoyance on his face. She cringed; she’d only been trying to help and he’d rejected her. Again.
Now, of course, she was questioning the wisdom of having him here more than ever. But she had a chance to make this cold, indifferent man fall in love with food, to make his world a brighter, more joyful place, and she couldn’t resist it.
And the plan had one other redeeming feature, she supposed: Will was pretty easy on the eye. He wore another grey suit today—Maya doubted he owned any other colour—and a crisp white shirt, open at the neck. She guessed that he’d come straight from the office, no matter that it was a Sunday, and he had the look of a man who spent too many hours staring at a computer screen. But the austerity of his clothes highlighted the sharp steel of his eyes and the hint of shadow below his cheekbones. A calculating look came over those grey eyes then, and she could practically see the cogs turning as he tried to turn the situation to his advantage.
She looked over the evidence of his apprehension: set shoulders, grim face, flat voice. She realised that she was never going to convince him of the joys of her cuisine if they were both approaching the week like this. One of them would have to make the effort to brighten the mood in here. She’d pasted on a happy face often enough before; she could do it now.
There was no getting away from it: he was gorgeous. She’d noticed it the first time she’d set eyes on him. But even with those sharply defined cheekbones, the hint of stubble, the lips she was dying to taste, there was one flaw she couldn’t overlook. He just wasn’t quite...there. Any time she’d sensed she might be getting a look at the real Will Thomas, every time a conversation took a turn away from the strictly rational and objective, he’d disappeared into himself in an instant.
Sometimes the shutters just slammed down. At other times they wavered long enough for her to see something lingering—a tiny suggestion of past hurts, perhaps, that had made him the way he was. Whatever it was that she’d glimpsed, it was enough for her to know that getting involved would be bad news
She’d spent the first eighteen years of her life devoid of affection, lacking warmth and love. She’d been an unwelcome surprise to older parents, shunted from nannies to boarding school and back again, and she had never stopped trying to impress them, never stopped hoping that one day she’d make them proud.
Even when she’d gone to a prestigious university, as they had, and completed her history degree, as she’d thought they’d wanted, it hadn’t been enough for them. Her whole life she’d been a disappointment to them. But when she’d discovered her passion for food, the joy that she could bring to her housemates and friends with her cooking, she’d also found the warm glow she could create in a room. She wanted, needed, to live her life among people who were happy and contented, and she’d do everything she could to make those around her feel that way. So she’d used the money her parents had given her—she would have swapped it in a heartbeat for genuine affection, but that was the one thing they’d never offered—to start her culinary training and then her business.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow herself to develop feelings for someone who was never going to be able to return them.
* * *
‘So, are you ready for this?’
Maya eyed the knives laid out on the scrubbed oak countertop and wondered if this had been the wisest move. It looked as if she had some sort of medieval torture lined up for them, and from the resigned, stoic set of Will’s face she could see that he was expecting nothing less. She didn’t like the thought of hurting him, and wondered again whether she was doing the right thing? But he had come to her wanting to learn, and she was determined to help, to bring him happiness.
‘I thought we’d start with something simple. So we’re going to cut a fillet from this fish—’ she gestured, smiling tentatively, to where she’d laid two gleaming fresh fish in a bowl of ice ‘—and then make a herb butter. It’ll be delicious.’
She’d