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re-assembled in-situ. The designer glasses she wore he found
terribly erotic for some reason, and immediately wondered what the
hell was wrong with him.
    Rosie pulled
him to the side, out of Bronte’s line of vision.
    Bronte worked
with a single-minded focus and determination that totally threw
him. An iPod plugged into her ears, she spun the cake wheel with
one hand and piped icing in a steady rhythm with the other. A foot
encased in a white rubber clog tapped to the tune in her ears. The
pink tip of her tongue rubbed her top lip. And Nico had the
sensation of blood rushing to pool low in his belly. She was
stunning.
    His expert eye
estimated her height at five foot seven inches tall, one hundred
and twenty pounds, maybe less with a lean figure that was almost
boyish. The face was beautiful in the clear light of day with
creamy, flawless skin and high cheekbones. Her hair ran down her
back in a slippery tail and she had a chef’s cap pulled low on her
forehead.
    The urge to
pull her into his arms and taste that soft, seductive mouth shocked
him. He’d attempted to justify his reaction to her last night as
the effect of jetlag. Obviously, he was deluding himself.
    “She’s nearly
finished,” Rosie whispered. “If you interrupt her she’ll hand you
your head in your hands.” Surprised, Nico looked at her and
realised she was absolutely serious.
    Bronte finished
with an expert flourish that made him smile. Then boogied her hips
in a way that electrified his groin and Nico ordered himself to get
a grip.
    She turned and
saw him.
    He almost
missed the flash of awareness in her eyes before they cooled to
chips of emerald ice, and he managed not to wince. He couldn’t deny
the pang of disappointment in his chest.
    And couldn’t
deny that she looked gorgeous.
    Bronte
unplugged her ears and tucked her glasses into the top pocket of
her jacket. Pulling off latex gloves she gave him what he thought
of as her polite customer smile. The look in her eye told him she
wasn’t in the mood for a discussion, her dislike of him clear by
the stiff body language. Between last night and this morning, Ms
Ludlow had erected implacable defences.
    The air
crackled with the toxic mix of arousal and heightened awareness
from him and a deep loathing from her.
    With a jolt, he
realised Bronte Ludlow wished him straight to hell.
    Nico imagined
most men would back off and get the message. Unfortunately for her,
he was not most men.
    “What can I do
for you, Mr Ferranti? Are you in the market for a wedding cake?”
Her voice was firm, polite and precise.
    But the hint of
nerves intrigued him. “It is fantastic, Bronte.”
    He meant every
word, and her eyes widened at the compliment. Nico took her hand,
and testing, rubbed his thumb along her knuckles. The move brought
a surprised flush to her cheeks and he pressed home his advantage.
“You are very talented. I had no idea.”
    And the little
leap in her pulse under his fingertips made his day.
    She cleared her
throat. “As you can see we’re very busy this morning. Saturday
tends to be hectic.” She gave a tug of her hand.
    He held it a
second longer than was strictly necessary and read the beginning of
wariness in her eyes. She smelt of sugar, sweet vanilla and neroli.
It was an alluring, sensuous mix which spun around his heightened
senses.
    He had a
feeling she would taste even better.
     
     

CHAPTER
FIVE
    Bronte took a deep breath and ordered her
erratic pulse to calm down.
    Today he wore
jeans, the seams white with wear, with as much style as his
expensive suit. The worn boots and battered leather jacket, along
with the tousled hair almost made her swallow her tongue. While the
I-need-a-shave look had her hormones flashing on red alert.
    His eyes, the
colour of a stormy sky, held and trapped hers.
    From a great
distance she heard her friend and she turned to Rosie.
    “I’m
sorry?”
    “I said would
you like a coffee, Nico, and perhaps a little taste of something?”
Rosie said,