Crown Prince's Chosen Bride. Kandy Shepherd
by smell. Its scent told her this cake had a way to go. This kind of solid mud cake needed slow, even cooking.
That was what she’d be looking for in a man in future. A slow burn. Not instant flames. No exhilarating infatuation. No hopping into bed too soon. Rather a long, slow getting to know each other before any kind of commitment—physical or otherwise—was made. The old-fashioned word courtship sprang to mind.
She’d managed six months on her own. She was in no rush for the next man. There was no urgency. Next time she wanted to get it right.
Still, no matter what she told herself, Gemma was superaware of Tristan’s presence in her kitchen. And, even though he seemed engrossed in his conversation with Eliza, the tension in the way he held himself let her know that he was aware of her, too. The knowledge was a secret pleasure she hugged to herself. It was reassuring that she could still attract a hot guy. Even if there was no way she should do anything about it.
She scraped clean her mixing bowl and spoon and put them in the dishwasher while keeping an ear on Tristan and Eliza’s conversation about the party on Friday and an eye on Tristan himself. On those broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips, on the long legs she imagined would be lean and hard with muscle.
Catching her eye, he smiled. Her first instinct was to blush, then smile back. For a long moment their gazes held before she reluctantly dragged hers away and went back to the tricky task of finely slicing strips of candied lemon peel.
Okay, she wasn’t in dating exile any more. There was no law to say she couldn’t flirt just a little. But she had spent six months fine-tuning her antennae to detect potential heartbreak. And there was something about this handsome Montovian that had those antennae waving wildly with a message of caution. They detected a mystery behind his formal way of speaking and courteous good manners. It wasn’t what he’d said but what he hadn’t said.
Then there was the fact Tristan was only here for a few days. To be a good-looking tourist’s vacation fling was not what she needed in order to launch herself back into the dating pool. She had to be totally on guard, so she wouldn’t fall for the first gorgeous guy who strolled into her life.
She’d learned such painful lessons from her relationship with Alistair. It had been love at first sight for both of them—or so she’d thought. Followed by an emotional rollercoaster that had lasted for eighteen months. Too blinded by desire, love—whatever that turbulent mix of emotions had been—she’d only seen the Alistair she’d wanted to see. She had missed all the cues that would have alerted her he wasn’t what he’d sworn he was.
She’d heard the rumours before she’d started to date him. But he’d assured her that he’d kicked his cocaine habit—and his reputation as a player. When time after time he’d lapsed, she’d always forgiven him, given him the one more chance he’d begged for. And then another. After all, she’d loved him and he’d loved her—hadn’t he?
Then had come the final hurt and humiliation of finding him in the bathroom at a party with a so-called ‘mutual friend’. Doing her as well as the drugs. Gemma doubted she’d ever be able to scour that image from her eyes.
After that there’d been no more chances, no more Alistair. She’d spent the last six months trying to sort out why she always seemed to fall for the wrong type of man. Her dating history was littered with misfires—though none as heart-wrenchingly painful as Alistair’s betrayal.
On her first day back in the dating world she wasn’t going to backtrack. Tristan was still a mystery man. He had perhaps not been completely honest about himself and was on vacation from a faraway country. How many more strikes against him could there be?
But, oh, he was handsome.
Eliza had suggested that Tristan follow her into her office. But he turned towards Gemma. ‘I would like to speak to Gemma again first, please,’ he said, with unmistakable authority.
Eliza sent Gemma a narrow-eyed, speculative glance. ‘Sure,’ she said to Tristan. ‘My office is just around the corner. I’ll wait for you there.’
Gemma could hear the sound of her own heart beating in the sudden silence of the room as Eliza left. Her mouth went dry as Tristan came closer to face her over the countertop.
His gaze was very direct. ‘So, Gemma, you did not get a chance to answer me—will you show me your home town?’
It took every bit of resolve for her not to run around to the other side of the countertop and babble, Of course. How about we start right now?
Instead she wiped her suddenly clammy hands down the sides of her apron. Took a deep breath to steady her voice. ‘I’m sorry, Tristan. But I...I can’t.’
He looked taken aback. She got the distinct impression he wasn’t used to anyone saying no to him.
He frowned. ‘You are sure?’
‘It wouldn’t be...appropriate,’ she said.
‘Because I am a client?’ he asked, his gaze direct on hers.
She shifted from foot to foot, clad in the chef’s clogs she wore in the kitchen. ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s company policy.’
Just for a moment, did disappointment cloud those blue eyes? ‘That is a shame. As I said, I would very much enjoy your company.’
‘I...well, I would enjoy yours, too. But...uh...rules are rules.’
Such rules could be broken—as Andie had proved. But Gemma was determined to stick to her resolve, even if it was already tinged with regret.
His mouth twisted. ‘I know all about rules that have to be followed whether one likes it or not,’ he said with an edge to his voice. ‘I don’t like it, but I understand.’
What did he mean by that? Gemma wasn’t sure if he was referring to the Party Queens rules or a different set of rules that might apply to him. She sensed there might be a lot she didn’t understand about him. And now would never get a chance to.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll email the amended dessert menu to you.’
‘Dessert menu?’
‘Using Montovian chocolate for your party,’ she prompted.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I will look forward to it. I am sorry I will not be seeing more of Sydney with you.’
‘I...I’m sorry, too.’ But she would not toss away all that hard work she’d done on her insecurities.
‘Now I must let you get back to work while I speak with Eliza,’ he said, in what sounded very much like dismissal.
Gemma refused to admire his back view as he left the kitchen. She liked a nice butt on a man. For better or for worse, that ship had sailed. And she felt good about her decision. She really did.
But she was on edge as she prepared the coconut frosting by melting white chocolate and beating it with coconut cream. She kept glancing up, in case Tristan came back into the room. Was so distracted she grated the edge of her finger as well as the fine slivers of lemon and lime peel that would give the frosting its bite. But a half-hour later, when his meeting with Eliza concluded, he only briefly acknowledged her as he passed by the doorway to her kitchen.
She gripped her hands so tightly her fingernails cut into her hands. The sudden feeling of loss was totally irrational. She would not run after him to say she’d changed her mind.
* * *
An hour later, as Gemma was finishing her work on the cake, Eliza popped her head around the door.
‘Cake ready?’ she asked. ‘The smell of it has been driving me crazy.’
‘Nearly ready. I’ve been playing with the candied peel on top and tidying up the frosting,’ Gemma said. ‘Come and have a look. I think it will be perfect for the Sanderson wedding.’
‘Magnificent,’ Eliza said.