Anything but Vanilla... by Liz Fielding Page A

stringing me along until you finished this order. That this was a one off.’
    ‘You didn’t believe I was serious? About making an offer for the business?’
    ‘Not for a minute.’
    Her forehead buckled in the faintest of frowns as if she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t taking her seriously. Maybe he was underestimating her. Judging her on appearance. Or just plain distracted by the flash-over of heat whenever they came within touching distance.
    ‘I’ve got events booked throughout the summer, Mr West. Weddings, hen parties, business parties. They must be in Ria’s diary.’
    ‘Ria and her diary are no longer in the ice-cream business so you’d better find another supplier or come up with an offer very quickly,’ he replied.
    ‘I will. Just as soon as I’ve seen the accounts.’ He waited for her to flounce out of the room. She didn’t. Flounce, bounce or depart with the kind of door-banging pique warranted by the way he’d spoken to her. Instead she continued to regard him with that slightly puzzled frown. ‘You must realise that it’s in your best interests to sell the business as a going concern.’
    ‘Must I?’
    Her throat moved as she swallowed.
    She might be sticking to her guns, no matter what he threw at her, but she was nowhere near as composed as she would have him believe. What would she do if he looped his arm around her waist, pulled her down onto his lap and let her feel just how discomposed he was?
    ‘You could keep Nancy on to run the ice-cream parlour,’ she suggested, when he offered no encouragement. ‘That way money will still be coming in and there’s more likelihood that the creditors will be paid. And the business will be worth more to any buyer.’
    ‘That it would be in your best interests, I have no doubt,’ he replied as the ground beneath him shifted, sucked him in.
    What would she do if he slid his hands beneath that scrap of cloth masquerading as a skirt and lifted her onto the desk?
    ‘Hardly.’ She leaned back, her bottom propped on the desk, almost as if she could read his mind, were inviting him to run his hand up the inside of her thigh... ‘I could wait until you’re selling up, buy the equipment and freezers at a knock-down price and rent a unit near my office.’
    ‘You’d lose the ice-cream parlour,’ he said, not sure why he was even wasting his time discussing it with her. Except that it kept her beside him, touching close.
    ‘That’s the upside,’ she pointed out, with a gesture that lifted her skirt another inch. ‘I have no use for a retail outlet.’
    ‘And the downside?’
    All he had to do was move his chair a few inches, slip his hand inside the starchy white coat, under her skirt and his hands would be cradling that peachy backside...
    ‘I’d have to start from scratch...’ her voice faded to fragments ‘...take time...transport problem...’
    ...fill his mouth with the taste of ripe strawberries and honey...
    ‘And it would be difficult for Nancy to get to Haughton Manor on the bus.’
    Haughton Manor?
    So, she was the offspring of minor gentry. No surprise there. The sexy clothes, the casual attitude, the silly ice creams were all the marks of a woman playing at business until the right man came along. One who could support her shoe habit.
    And he was reacting exactly like his father. A man who’d used his wealth and position to indulge his love of bright, shiny things. Cars, boats, women...
    See it, want it, discard it when the novelty wore off...
    It was a thought as chilling as a cold shower on a January morning.

FIVE
    Never send to know for whom the ice cream bell chimes; it chimes for thee!
    —from Rosie’s ‘Little Book of Ice Cream’
    ‘You shouldn’t be telling me that,’
Alexander said, telling himself that he didn’t give a hoot who or what she was. Or her business. And as for Nancy, he’d paid her off...
    Just like your father...
    The words dropped into his head like lead weight, but what else could he do?