The Secret Ingredient. Nina Harrington

excellent view of the sweetest clinging dress above spectacular legs.

      She had a waist he could wrap his hands around and meet in the middle, and the way she lifted her chin as she strode away?

      Dynamite.

      This girl moved as if she were gliding. Head held high and still, focused on the path ahead, determined. She was like a swan on the water, a perfect example of restrained elegance, both understated and explosively seductive.

      Even the way she walked screamed out that she came from a background of old money plus an expensive education and all that came with it.

      Either that or she was the best actor that he had ever met, and he had met plenty of actresses in the hotel and restaurant trade. Hollywood and Broadway. A class and C class. They were all the same under the slick exterior. Girls ready and waiting to say the 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.’