words someone else had written for them.
But Charlie the art critic? Charlie was in a class of her own.
And in his crazy world, that was pretty unique.
Who was this woman and what had he done to upset her? He had met her before, that was certain. And from that frosty glare she had given him when he’d sat down next to her, chances were that it had not been one of his finer moments.
Now all he had to do was work out what terrible crime he had committed. Rob could never resist a challenge.
He was going to chase this woman down to her lair and find out her name before the night was out.
Maybe he could salvage something out of his nightmare of an exhibition after all?
‘Charlie. Just a moment,’ he said to her back, and strode after her across the exhibition space, back towards the reception area where waiting staff were stacking side plates and cutlery onto white tablecloths over polymer tables.
It had been a long day and his body clock was starting to kick in. Perhaps it was time to show his appreciation for the lady who had finally given him something to smile about?
With his long athletic legs and her shorter high-heeled ones, it only took Rob a few steps to catch up with Charlie, who surprised him by stepping behind the desk.
‘Hold up. You never did give me your name. A business card. Email address. Phone number, if you are old school. Come on. You know you want to keep in touch. For...follow-up questions.’
Rob’s voice faded away as he stepped closer.
‘You’re wearing an apron. Are you waiting tables?’
‘You’re right, the rumours about you could not possibly be true. You are more intelligent than you look,’ Charlie said, and flashed him a glance in between giving directions to the very young-looking art-student waiters. ‘But I can only hope that you have a sense of humour, as well. Because it’s even worse than that. You see, I am not an art critic. Never have been. Probably never will be. I’m the chef who is taking care of the canapés this evening.’
And before Rob had a chance to take it all in, Lottie picked up a tray of steaming-hot savouries and thrust it out towards him like a weapon.
‘Could I interest you in one of my humble pies? I think they are just what you need.’
THREE
‘Not at the moment, thank you. No. I think I’ll pass.’
Rob picked up one of the business cards that Lottie had fanned out next to the condiments and the deep frown creased his forehead as he read the address out loud.
‘Lottie Rosemount’s Cake Shop and Tea Rooms? That’s where Dee Flynn works.’
Lottie could practically see the cogs of Rob’s mind work as his gaze ratcheted up one notch at a time from the business card past the platter of savoury canapés and finally to her face. Where it settled for one millisecond as the inevitable hit home.
‘Please tell me that you’re not Lottie Rosemount.’ He finally groaned.
Her breath caught in the back of her throat for a second before she smiled it away with a quick flick of the head.
Busted! Playtime had officially just ended and it was back to work.
‘Sorry. Can’t do that. Life is so unfair sometimes. Don’t you think? Welcome to my world, Mr Beresford.’
Shame. She had enjoyed being taken seriously as an art expert for a few minutes. Now it was back to being plain old Lottie the cake maker. It was always curious to see how people’s expectations changed when she announced that she baked for a living, but she had not expected to see that stunned look on Rob’s face. He was in the same business, after all.
Her body still tingled at the touch of his hand at the small of her back. One thin layer of silk was all that had separated his clever long fingers from her naked skin.
Time to jump in and take control while he was still at the glaring-in-disbelief stage. ‘I did tell you that my name was Charlotte and people call me so many nicknames that it’s fun to have a change now and then. Just for the variety.’
‘Lottie Rosemount.’ Rob nodded slowly up and down, then gave a low whistle. ‘I don’t believe it. So you like playing games with people? Lottie. Or do you have another nickname you prefer to use on social occasions?’
Games. Hell, no. He was not accusing her of playing tricks on him.
‘Oh, no. Lottie works fine. As for playing games? On the contrary. It goes against my principles.’
His reply was a choked cough and he gestured towards the bench, which was already occupied by other patrons.
‘But it was okay to string me along just now and pretend that you were an art critic. Did you even like that painting you were staring at or just doing it to impress me?’
She heard the annoyance in his voice and was shamefully delighted.
‘I don’t recall saying that I was a critic. And as for trying to impress you? Well, someone has a very high opinion of themselves. For the record I have always adored contemporary art and I love these pieces. Especially that painting. If that is okay with you? Or are you one of those people who think that the catering staff should stay in their place? Out of sight. So that they are not able to embarrass the management.’
His back stiffened and instantly Rob seemed to grow about five inches taller.
‘No. I am not one of those people, Lottie. Far from it, actually.’
The words whirled around inside her head at the confused signals. He was acting as if she had insulted him. Well, that was rich.
‘Good. Because I do love that painting and was pleased to have the chance to see it. So, seeing as we share a common interest, I think it only fair that I share my other passion with you before the masses of starving media arrive.’
‘You have more than one passion? Please, carry on. I would hate for you to feel that you cannot act on your principles. Heaven forfend.’
Ignoring the sarcasm was not something Lottie found easy, but she got through it by focusing on opening up a new batch of bakery boxes.
The next thing Rob knew he was holding a dessert plate with a piece of cake on it. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed.
‘Lemon sponge?’
‘I do hope that you enjoy it. The gallery gave me strict instructions that Adele Forrester had specifically requested two desserts. Individual dark chocolate tarts and lemon drizzle cakes. A special order from a fine artist. Now that, Mr Beresford, I could not fake. Dig in.’
His lips closed around the forkful of cake and her gaze locked on to those lips.
She had never seen such sensual lips on any man before and, oh, boy, they looked good enough to eat. The tip of his tongue flicked out tantalisingly and wiped away a smear of lemon sauce.
A flash of raw and unadulterated attraction hit her hard. Unexpected and entirely inappropriate. Strange how it felt seriously good.
Do that again. Please.
Lottie didn’t realise that she had stopped breathing until a very loud ringtone smashed through her foodie trance and she instantly whipped the other cakes onto the platters and arranged them artistically on the buffet table so that the guests could help themselves.
Saved by the bell.
Rob put down his plate and casually fished the mobile phone out of his pocket, checked the caller identity. And flicked the phone closed with a crisp clip.
‘Interesting cake. But I have to go and meet another lovely lady. I’ll be seeing you around.’ He smiled at Lottie, then gave her an outrageously over-the-top wink. ‘You can bet on it.’