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Always the Bridesmaid
Nina Harrington


Wedding to-do list… Amy Edler is a baker – not a wedding planner! But along with making her best friend’s wedding cake, Amy finds herself planning the wedding – with only her friend’s disapproving big brother to help!Gorgeous building entrepreneur Jared Shaw hasn’t made his millions letting other people run the show – so, although he’s normally allergic to weddings, he’s rolled up his sleeves and is helping sweet and sexy Amy with every last detail!And his last job is to buy the bridesmaid the perfect gift…













‘Let’s make a deal,’ Amy whispered in Jared’s ear. ‘I will allow you to help with the wedding, but only on one condition. You do the work yourself. Not your PA, not your events planner, not your brilliant admin team. You. Or is the great Jared Shaw scared of getting his hands dirty?’



And she looked up at him with the sweetest, most adoring, open-mouthed smile, complete with fluttering eyelashes for the benefit of the onlookers.



‘Do we have a deal? Squeeze once for yes and twice for no.’



Jared tightened his grip on Amy’s waist.



There was no backing out.



He squeezed. Once.


Dear Reader



Thank you for choosing ALWAYS THE BRIDESMAID.



The romance you are holding in your hands is a very special one for me, since it is my very first published book!



I am thrilled and excited to be joining the talented family of Mills & Boon authors.



I do hope that you enjoy Amy and Jared’s story, which is set in a bakery in London.



Food is one of life’s great pleasures, and I come from a long line of home bakers. I can clearly remember arriving home from school to a table laden with delicious cakes and savouries. A real English tea! It is little wonder that food features so prominently in my writing.



I would love to hear from my readers, and you can get in touch and find out my latest news by visiting www.ninaharrington.com



Nina Harrington


NINA HARRINGTON grew up in rural Northumberland, England, and decided at the age of eleven that she was going to be a librarian—because then she could read all of the books in the public library whenever she wanted! Since then she has been a shop assistant, community pharmacist, technical writer, university lecturer, volcano walker and industrial scientist, before taking a career break to realise her dream of being a fiction writer. When she is not creating stories which make her readers smile, her hobbies are cooking, eating, enjoying good wine—and talking, for which she has had specialist training.




ALWAYS THE BRIDESMAID

BY

NINA HARRINGTON





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To all the wonderful writers

in the Romantic Novelists’ Association,

who made this book possible.




CHAPTER ONE


AMY EDLER had three problems. All female. And all of them were demanding her attention at that very minute—or there would be tears. Added to that, she had a telephone crammed between her shoulderblade and her ear, a bakery full of customers, and the air-conditioning had chosen the hottest day in June to start playing the maracas.

It had been Trixi’s idea to offer two of Amy’s problems a chance to ice the chocolate cupcakes—a treat for the other girls at the children’s home.

Only this was real chocolate icing. And these two problems were eleven-years old.

Big mistake.

Huge.

Amy tried to catch Trixi’s eye, but her catering student was too busy chatting to the last of the customers for the day to help her judge the best-iced cupcake contest.

She looked down at the trembling lip of the taller girl, glanced swiftly at the still liquid icing, which had flooded the paper cases and pooled out over the plate, and decided that her phone call could wait.

‘I think these cakes were too warm from the oven. But look at that shine! They look delicious.’

The little girl gave her a warm, closed-mouthed grin and shrugged her shoulders in delight. But then her friend started sniffing. She had decided to freeze the icing to help it set, and now two thick slabs of brown fudge lay on top of each cake.

Amy quickly scooped up the plate, popped it into the microwave for twenty seconds, then spread the now soft luscious frosting into smooth layers.

Their owner’s mouth formed a perfect ‘Wow’, and then broke into a toothy grin.

Amy bent down to whisper. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t. They’re perfect! And well done for thinking ahead.’ She stood up, head high. ‘I don’t think I can judge this icing competition properly today, because of the heat—but how about next time? Was that a yes? Brilliant. Now, I would be in serious trouble if I let you go home like that, so it’s time to wash your fingers. Go on—I’ll guard your cakes!’

She couldn’t help but grin as the delighted little girls joined their pals in a gaggle of excited chatter, filling the room instantly with laughter.

This was just how she had imagined it would be.

Her bakery and her kitchen filled with happy children.

A sigh escaped from somewhere deep inside before she swallowed it down.

One day soon.

She knew she could offer a child a loving home. But first she had to pass the assessment process and prove that she could be a responsible single parent before she could even hope to adopt.

Amy dropped her shoulders and gave herself a mental shake. No time to dwell on that dream. Not at six o’clock on a Friday afternoon, when she still had to deal with problem female number three.

Which, in theory, should not have been a problem at all, since her friend Lucy Shaw had gone out of her way to find the most experienced wedding planner in London to organise her big day.

Pity that this planner was not answering any of her telephones.

Amy counted out the beeps on the answering machine. ‘Hello, Clarissa, it’s Amy Edler here, at Edlers Bakery. Sorry to hassle you, but you did say that you would get back to me about the orchids for the Shaw-Gerard wedding. Please call me as soon as you can.’ Then she added a cheery, ‘Thank you!’

Amy exhaled a slow calming breath, before squeezing her eyes tight shut and pressing the cool telephone to her forehead.

I have the situation under control. The wedding is not until next Saturday.

The cake is going to be perfect. The wedding is going to be perfect.

I can make sugar orchids in any colour Lucy likes. Not a problem.

And I will be transformed from a humble baker into a lovely bridesmaid.

This was going to have to be her mantra for the next seven days.

Of course it was entirely her own fault for offering to make Lucy’s wedding cake in the first place. The perfect cake, as her personal wedding present for two of the best friends she had in this world.

It had to be chocolate, of course. No dried fruit, thank you. Shudder.

And decorated with sugar flowers the same colour as Lucy’s bouquet—no sludgy icing to drip on the designer wedding dress.

And three tiers, made from different types of chocolate—all organic, of course.

Thank you for the sleepless nights, Lucy.

A peal of bright girly laughter broke through her thoughts, and Amy opened her eyes as the last girls from her after-school club waved on their way out, their arms laden with cupcakes and muffins, and their care worker tried her hardest to persuade them to get back to the home for dinner. It was like herding cattle.

‘Make sure some of those make it back!’ Amy called after them.

‘Not a chance. Sorry we can’t stay to clear up,’ the flustered care worker answered.

Amy grinned as the gigglers swept out of the kitchen and into the shop, taking with them the life and energy she loved, and leaving behind…Oh, dear.

With one shake of the head she was on her feet. Time to get busy.



Jared Shaw weaved his way along a pavement crammed with commuters rushing to get home on a hot Friday evening, before taking advantage of a red traffic light to jog across the road between the cars, messenger bikes and cabs to a row of three small shops.

Not that much had changed over the past eighteen years.

The newsagent where he had bought his first car magazines was still there, but the ironmonger who had mended their leaking tap in exchange for one of his father’s silk ties had been replaced by a swish-looking estate agency.

He couldn’t help but smile at the irony of that.

Friends in the trade had laughed out loud when Haywood and Shaw had bought properties in this part of London. ‘No profit there, mate.’

Well, he had proved them wrong. Many times over.

But it was the last shop in the row he was interested in. Edlers Bakery shone out from the brick and stone surroundings, with its familiar navy and white awning.

How many times had he pressed his nose against the cold glass, jaw slack, gazing at the cream and chocolate treats which might as well have been objects on a distant planet to a boy without the money in his pocket to buy them?

A giggling little girl on a tricycle trundled towards him on the pavement, followed by a man of about his age. She looked so like the young Lucy he caught his breath. Long straight blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smile that could melt the hardest heart.

Jared pushed back his shoulders, sensing the tension.

Perhaps this was a mistake? Too many ghosts lived on these streets.

There was only one person who could have persuaded him to come back to this part of the city.

‘It will only take five minutes to pop in and say hello to my pal Amy Edler,’ his sister Lucy had said, in her special pleading voice. ‘Just to make sure that she’s not running herself ragged trying to organise my wedding. She has enough to do making my cake, and you are going to be in London anyway!’

Right. Thank you, sis. He had just worked a ninety-hour week. The last thing he wanted to do was chat to a frilly bridesmaid about wedding cakes when he was already paying for the most expensive wedding planner in the city.

He earned the money, and Lucy and their mother spent it for him.

But when could he ever refuse his baby sister anything?

She was the only girl who knew exactly how to twist him around her little finger! He had somehow agreed to make a detour on his way back to his penthouse apartment from Heathrow airport and make time to chat to her friend Amy, when all he truly wanted was a good Internet connection to catch up with the New York office before they closed for the weekend.

Time to find out if Lucy had been right to trust Amy Edler…

A bell tinkled over his head as Jared swung open the door onto the terracotta-tiled floor of Edlers Bakery—just in time to hold it open for an elderly couple who were still laughing as they thanked him, their hands curled around the handles of Edlers Bakery bags, before chortling their way down the street.

As he turned back to face the counter, his senses were hit with a solid wall of lively chatter, bright lights and the aroma of baked goods. Spices and vanilla, combined with the unique tang of burnt sugar and buttery pastry and fresh-baked bread.

The overall effect was overpowering, compared to the metallic bitter diesel fumes from the black cabs and London buses on the other side of the glass, and as he inhaled a couple of times to steady his senses he picked up some type of perfume—not from the flowers he was carrying. Roses? Oranges?

He glanced around the room, his property developer’s brain taking in the cream and navy paintwork broken up by pale wood shelving.

It was a world away from the dingy brown wallpaper and cracked wooden shelves of the old Edlers Bakery he remembered. Yellowing torn posters for flour and fizzy drinks had been replaced with clean smooth walls in warm colours.

The overall effect was modern, stylish, but welcoming. Interesting. He should mention the idea to his design team.

Someone here clearly had an eye for texture and colour.

The bread was laid out behind the counter, but it was the display of cakes and pastries that had been designed to tantalize. Under pristine curved glass was a collection of amazing individual cakes, tarts and scones which any French patisserie would have been proud of. Most of the trays were almost empty.

Right on cue, the navy curtain swished open, and Jared looked into the brown eyes of a teenage girl in a smart navy apron over a T-shirt decorated with a strange combination of brown and white splodges. A small white badge declared that he was looking at ‘Trixi’.

‘Hello, handsome. Those for me?’

Jared was so taken aback that she had to gesture towards the bouquet of exotic blooms in his left hand before he realised what she was referring to. He had heard of casual customer service, but this took it to the next level.

‘Sorry. No. I’m looking for Miss Amy Edler. Is she available today?’

Without any further warning, Trixi turned away from Jared and bellowed, ‘Yo, boss. There’s a hottie out here asking for you. With flowers.’

A disembodied voice shouted in return, ‘Leave the poor man alone and send him through, please.’

‘Amy’s in the kitchen,’ Trixi simpered in a sweet voice, holding back the navy curtain. ‘And if there is anything you need, I’ll be right here.’

‘Thank you.’ He nodded in reply, well aware that Trixi was ogling at the rear end of his fine tailored suit trousers as he squeezed past her.

Into his personal vision of what chaos must look like.

The kitchen was a mess of smeared surfaces, spilled glop in various colours, and plates and cutlery scattered everywhere.

Worse. Jared tasted sugar at the back of his throat.

He hated sugar.

The only baker he had ever met before today had been the cook at his boarding school. That lady had been middle aged, built like a sumo wrestler, and a source of constant amazement to the hormonally challenged older boys because of her expansive bosom and what looked like her triangular legs sticking out from below her sturdy tweed skirt. And, wow, could that woman swing a rolling pin!

The only person in this small, incredibly hot room was a slim, short jumping bean of a girl, in navy and white check trousers and what at one time must have been a navy apron. Tufts of brown hair escaped from the edges of a blue and white bandanna, drawing attention to an oval face with dark eyebrows and a classically curved bow of an upper lip.

Her apron, arms and trousers were splattered with white and brown blobs. Dripping blobs that matched the contents of the bowls and plates she was clearing away, at what looked like lightning speed, and the colour of Trixi’s shirt.

What had Lucy got him into?

He sighed out loud. He couldn’t help it.



Amy whirled round at the sound, expecting to find Trixi, who thought that any unattached man who entered Edlers was a hottie.

So far she had been wrong every time.

But not today.

She gave Jared a second look, and then a third.

This hottie qualified under the very tall, handsome businessman category.

He had expertly clipped, ultra-short dark blond hair, and the last time a man had worn shiny black shoes and a pinstripe business suit in her kitchen he had been her bank manager—and he certainly hadn’t looked like this guy! The top two buttons of his pristine white shirt were undone, highlighting a deep natural tan, but he still had to be stiflingly hot under his buttoned-up cashmere suit jacket…

He definitely didn’t look like a social worker or a care assistant.

And yet there was something in the way he was looking at her.

The intensity and power of this man reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, as though he was daring her to look into his face.

His square jaw was covered in light designer stubble that extended up to thin sideburns and a faint blond moustache, and pale blue eyes focused on her below heavy brows, above a nose that had been broken more than once at its bridge.

There was something vaguely familiar about him—something she just couldn’t put her finger on. Particularly around the eyes, and in the deep crease between his eyebrows.

Interesting. They must have met before somewhere.

Amy swallowed down her surprise at being caught unawares, and gave her unexpected guest a smile.

‘Hello, there. Looking for me?’ She gestured to one of the hard chairs arranged around her kitchen table. ‘I’ll be right with you, but in the meantime why don’t you take a seat and tell me how I can help? And, since it is a Friday evening, how about some strudel? On the house!’

Amy dropped her icing-covered spatula into a mixing bowl, slid a white china plate towards him through the debris, then drew a long baking tray from the serving hatch.

‘I’m sorry—I don’t know your name. But welcome to Edlers. I’m Amy.’

She slid the fragrant warm pastry onto the plate with one hand, then lowered the tray to the table and extended her free hand towards him, her eyes locked on his. Her gaze was intense. Focused.



Jared stared at the food, then looked up into a pair of green sparkling eyes and took her hand.

It was warm, small and sticky with long, strong fingers which clamped around his. This was no limp girly handshake. This was the hand of a woman who cooked her own food, kneaded her own bread and washed her own dishes. Her wrists and forearms were strong and toned.

He was accustomed to shaking hands with men and women from all sides of the building trade every day of the week in his job, but this was different. A frisson of energy, a connection, sparked through that simple contact of skin on skin.

Her fingers gripped his for a second longer than necessary before releasing him, her eyes darting to his. The crease in her forehead told him that he was not the only one to have felt it.

Her eyes were not simply green. They were a kind of forest-green, spring-bud-green—the kind of captivating green which knocked the breath out of his lungs.

It was hot outside, but it had suddenly become a lot hotter in this kitchen.

Must be the heat from the ovens.

He had expected Amy Edler to be the business manager, or the finance director—not the cook! This was the girl Lucy had boasted about when they discussed her wedding plans? The bridesmaid who had become a rising star in the banking world before moving back to London? Surely there had to be some mistake?

Then he noticed the time on the wall clock behind her head.

Of course. Her chefs must have gone home for the evening, leaving her to clean up their mess. And she had her work cut out there.

Her attention was totally focused on him, and her head tilted slightly to one side as she waited patiently for his reply.

‘Jared Shaw, Miss Edler.’ He smiled back, glad to have a chance to squeeze a word in. ‘Lucy’s brother.’

Just for a second her gaze faltered, and a chink appeared in the façade through which he felt a faint glimmer of something unexpected. Suspicion, maybe, but also a fierce intelligence and power. It lasted only an instant. But it sent him reeling before the open-mouthed smile switched back on.

‘Jared. Of course! Sorry—I wasn’t expecting to see you until later in the week. Lucy mentioned that you might be back in town before the big day. Welcome to Edlers, just the same. It’s nice to meet you at long last.’

‘Likewise. And these are for you, Miss Edler.’

The pretty girl stopped moving and stared hard at the expensive bouquet of exotic bird of paradise blooms mixed with tropical foliage and sprays of yellow orchids for one second longer than he had expected, before slowly taking them from his left hand.

‘Is there a problem? Don’t you like them?’

Her head shot up. ‘Just the opposite—they are totally gorgeous. It has just…er…been a while.’ Then the sunny smile shone back at him, with a voice to match. ‘That was very thoughtful of you, Jared. Thank you. And please call me Amy. I’ll just put these in some water. Now, talk to me about the wedding while I finish clearing up. Lucy and Mike are going to have a blast.’

Jared straightened his back and ignored the chair, his eyes focused now on the back of her jacket as she dodged from table to sink. Had this girl truly been a banker? The few city girls he had dated were definitely not the types to get their hands or their clothing—especially their clothing—anything close to dirty.

‘That’s why I’m here. Lucy tells me that you have been working with her wedding planner to keep things on track.’ He casually raised one hand. ‘I’m going to be in London for a couple of days, and I would like to do whatever I can to help you with the arrangements.’ He opened his arms out wide. ‘It’s obvious that you’re busy. So you see, Miss Edler, I am completely at your disposal. Think of me as your Man Friday.’



Amy lowered the huge bouquet of stunning blossoms onto her draining board, turned slowly on one heel, and stared hard at the man standing in her bakery, her kitchen, leaning on one of her chairs in the home she had worked so very hard to create.

And burst out laughing.

A real belly laugh emerged from somewhere deep inside her, which made it quite impossible for her to do anything but hang onto the sink until the shaking had stopped.

When she had finished sniffing and wiping her eyes, she simply glanced in the direction of the startled blond hunk a few metres away and grinned.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, but that was priceless. Rather like your face right now.’

Jared opened his mouth, pursed his lips, tugged at the double cuff of his right shirtsleeve, then the left, before shaking his head and replying, ‘I’m confused. All I did was offer you some help. What was so funny?’

‘You were.’

Amy dried her hands and strolled over to the table so that she was facing him.

‘Lucy told me what you’d say. I didn’t believe her, of course. Except…well, you’ve just used the precise words she said you would—right down to the “Man Friday” offer. That’s all.’

There was silence for a few seconds. His fingers clenched and unclenched a few times around the back of the kitchen chair before there was an almighty sigh.

‘Did my precious sister also mention that I hate to be predictable?’

Amy nodded sharply. ‘She did. But I understand. You’re her big brother and you want her to have the best. Nothing wrong with that. Sorry for laughing—it wasn’t at you personally, just at what you said.’ And then she slapped her hand over her mouth as another bout of sniggering hit her.

He shrugged. ‘Perhaps I should come back tomorrow?’

Amy flapped both hands at him. ‘It’s been a long hot, busy day. Let’s start again, shall we? How about a cold drink? I might have some juice left. Or would you prefer lemonade or water?’

‘Thank you, but no. I’m still wondering what precisely you found so funny.’

‘Oh, no secret. Do you ever watch those talent shows on TV? You know—the kind where people audition to show what they can do? Sing, dance, juggle monkeys?’

‘I don’t have time to watch much TV, but, yes, I know what you mean…What has this got to do with Lucy?’

‘Last time she was in London we decided that we would both apply to be contestants on Girls Got Talent. She would show off her famous artistic skills, while I’d dazzle the judges by cooking up a hot soufflé on live TV. Simple, really.’

Amy strolled around the table and polished a pristine fork on a clean corner of her apron before placing it next to the pastry on Jared’s plate.

‘Just because I chose to become a baker, it does not mean that I handed my brain in at the gate with my company credit card.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Relax, Jared. Lucy’s hired a professional wedding planner. All I have to do is keep in touch every week and follow up on any questions they have. So far everything has gone very well.’ Amy nodded towards his plate. ‘So, now that’s cleared up, why don’t you enjoy your strudel? You look as though you need it. Long day?’

He paused before replying. ‘Yes, actually it has been a long day. And I’m sure it’s delicious, but I don’t eat cake.’

Amy shrugged her shoulders. ‘Good. Because this is not cake. This is strudel. My strudel. Which I made. Today. In this kitchen. At some silly time of the morning.’

Amy gestured towards the oven and then sat down on the corner of the table, her arms folded.

‘You made this?’ There was genuine surprise in his voice.

‘Specialty of the house. And nobody leaves this kitchen without trying my strudel. Including you. Jared Shaw.’

Amy uncrossed her arms and leant forward so that her face was only inches from his. Lucy Shaw was one of the few people Amy had called to her hospital bed when she’d needed a friend. And she had no intention of letting Lucy down when it came to the simple matter of organising her wedding.

The last thing she needed was a macho brother turning up, questioning her abilities.

Even if that brother did smell of sharp citrus with a hint of leather, and looked as if he had stepped out of a photo shoot for a fashion magazine.

In another time and place she might even had said that he was gorgeous.

He was staring into her eyes now, the corners of his mouth turned up with a flicker of something which could have been amusement, but was more likely frustration that she had not agreed to hand over the wedding plan to his PA. Yet.

The next few days were going to be demanding in so many ways. Although she hated to admit it, if there was a problem so close to the wedding it might be helpful to have someone she could call on in an emergency. Just as long as they understood who was in charge, of course.

‘I might be able to use your help on a few things,’ she whispered, in her softest, most seductive tone. ‘And then again, I might not.’

Her eyes ratcheted down to the pastry, then slowly, slowly slid up the front of his pristine suit jacket and back to his face.

‘It all depends on what you do in the next five minutes. So what’s it going to be? Jared?’

The creases at the corners of his eyes deepened, and Amy inhaled a powerful aroma of spicy masculine sweat and body spray, which was sweet even against the perfume of the fruit and nuts of her food.

She couldn’t move. There was something electric in the few inches of air between them, as though powerful magnets were pulling them together.

So this was the famous Jared Shaw, CEO of Haywood and Shaw.

At this distance she could feel the frisson of energy and strength of the man whose property development signs were outside homes and office blocks in cities all over Britain and the East Coast of America.

And he knew it.

This was the kind of man who was accustomed to walking into a cocktail bar or a restaurant and having head waiters fawning over themselves to find him the best table.

Well, not this time, handsome!

She could stick this out longer than he could.

The bell saved him. Amy’s private cellphone rang a couple of times before she dragged her eyes away from his, glanced down at the caller ID, twisted her mouth with annoyance, and stood up quickly to take the call.

Within seconds she had turned back to face him, and he instantly recognised a certain look in her eyes which brought his back even straighter.

‘Yes. I can be there in twenty minutes. Thank you.’

Amy exhaled slowly, then marched to the back of the kitchen and shrugged off her long apron, revealing a short-sleeved navy blue T-shirt.

She was still drying her hands when Jared walked up.

‘Do you remember the wedding planner that Lucy hired? The one with all the celebrity clients?’ she asked.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the man standing ramrod-straight next to her, his back braced. He was looking horribly tall, as though he feared the worst and the wedding plan might be about to hit the fan.

It hit the fan.

‘Clarissa has cancelled all her appointments and eloped to Antigua. With the bridegroom who was supposed to be walking down the aisle tomorrow morning. I’m going to her office right now to pick up Lucy’s file. Want to come along?’




CHAPTER TWO


HE HAD known something like this would happen.

Worse. It was entirely his fault.

He had taken his eyes off the ball and allowed a wedding planner he had never met to run a project as important as his only sister’s wedding. So what if he was in the middle of one of the biggest deals of his life in New York? Family came first.

He had promised his mother before she moved to France that he would take care of his sister.

He had let her down.

Not going to happen. Not while there was still blood in his veins. He had a brilliant PA, and a team back in New York who could be on the next flight out if they had to.

The sound of a car horn snapped Jared out of his thoughts, and he ran the fingertips of both hands through his hair, before flicking open the buttons of his suit jacket.

Suddenly he felt hot, tired, and running on empty. He went to the door to get some air. Maybe he should have eaten some of the strudel? It wouldn’t have killed him. He might even have liked it. Lucy would have told him to be kinder to her friend who was offering him free food.

But there’s no such thing as a free lunch, Lucy Lou.

Even if Amy Edler was not the girl he had expected.

As he turned away from the London traffic whizzing by outside, Amy jogged past him out of the shop door; her arms full of Edlers cake boxes, and nudged him in the arm before speaking.

‘We’re going to need serious bribery to pull this one off—and I don’t mean a wad of twenties.’ She nodded down the busy street. ‘There’s a bus that stops across the road which will have us at the wedding planner’s office in fifteen minutes.’

‘The last time I was on a bus,’ Jared said, pulling out his cellphone, ‘I was still in school. That won’t be necessary.’

Amy looked up as a glossy silver-grey Rolls-Royce car glided to a smooth halt only three feet away from where they were standing. She leaned closer to him. ‘Drat. A customer. And we are totally out of Sachertorte. Wait a minute—I recognise that car from somewhere!’

Jared was holding one hand up and he gestured towards the car.

‘Relax. I was on my way home from the airport when I stopped by. Let me take those boxes for you, and let me introduce you to my driver, Frank…’

Jared watched in amazement as Amy literally threw the boxes at him and ran into the arms of his old friend to receive a warm bear hug. He could only stare, slack-jawed, as Amy stood on tiptoe and kissed Frank heartily on the cheek.

And damn if he didn’t feel a tug of jealousy.

Where had that come from? He didn’t do jealous. Especially not for a woman he had met only minutes earlier.

He faked calm indifference as he carefully balanced the cake boxes on one arm while he opened the boot, its shiny metal surface blocking his view of the intimate greeting.

‘Amy, love. So this is where you’ve been hiding. Well—Edlers?’ Frank shook his head and crossed his arms to scan the shopfront. ‘You actually did it! Lucy should have told me.’

‘You’re welcome here any time—you know that, Frankie. You can have anything you can dream of eating.’

Jared closed the boot, as Amy stepped back from Frank with a beaming grin on her face, transforming her from being pretty into the kind of woman worthy of more than a second look. Even a third.

Under the fluorescent kitchen lighting he had not missed the fact that Amy was the kind of girl who looked good without make-up, but in the fading sunlight her skin appeared pale and translucent in contrast to the bright sparkling green of those amazing eyes. But it was her smile, her bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked smile, that hit him hard in the bottom of his stomach.

This version of Amy Edler was a stunner.

Something twisted inside Jared’s gut and he swallowed hard. When was the last time any girl had looked at him like that with such warmth and affection? And meant it?

Come to think of it, when was the last time he had met a woman outside business? A woman like Amy Edler? Maybe if he had the time he could turn on the charm and persuade her to turn one of those smiles in his direction. Except he did not have the time. He had a week to plan his sister’s wedding before he turned his back on London for good, and nothing was going to get in his way.

‘I take it you two know each other, then?’ Jared managed to ask casually, as he strolled over to hold the rear passenger door open for Amy.

‘Who else would little Lucy call to collect her best friend from the airport? Rent-a-cab? Not likely, mate. Only the best for this lady.’ Then his expression changed, and Frank reached out and held Amy by both arms. ‘You look great, girl. Gorgeous as ever. How are you feeling?’

As Jared watched, the smile faltered on Amy’s lips, before she relaxed. ‘Fine—I’m fine. Never better.’ Her words were softer, lower, as though she was protecting Frank from some unpleasant truth.

Frank gave a sharp nod and turned back to Jared.

‘I know a great new Italian place, mate. How about we all catch up over dinner?’

Amy laughed out loud and spoke before Jared had a chance to answer.

‘Not a chance, Frankie. The wedding planner Lucy hired has done a runner. Eloped. Taken off with the fiancé of one of her clients.’ Amy lifted and then dropped both her arms. ‘I had the first call, but we need to get over there fast, before the other bridezillas find out.’

Frank hissed, and jumped back from the pavement towards the driver’s door. ‘Jump in. You too, boss. Fast as you like. I know the address, but we’re going to have to get a move on before the news breaks. I know a shortcut.’

Amy was halfway into the car when she suddenly jumped back onto the pavement, turning at the same time and colliding with Jared’s hard, muscular body.

Jared reacted instantly, grabbing her by the waist. His fingers expanded to take in her tiny waist and the curve of her ribcage. The woman hidden beneath the baggy navy working clothes was muscular and warm, and it made absolute sense for him to hold her tighter in his embrace, both of his arms encircling the slim body.

‘It’s okay. I’ve got you.’

Amy blinked and opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again as her eyes locked onto his.

The portion of Jared’s brain responsible for sensible thought and blood pressure forgot that he was standing on a public London street, with Friday night pedestrians only a few feet away, and his breathing changed to compensate for the thundering in his heart.

His body reacted to the warm tiny woman pressed against his chest, her hands flat against his business shirt. The smell of her body and her clothing—warm vanilla, sweet spices and bread—combined with the sound of her breathing loud in his ears, blocking out the thundering traffic and street noise.

Time expanded until his arms slowly slid away from her waist and he took one step back. He drew himself to his feet, holding her steady, and she released him and stepped to one side.

Amy lifted one leg, then the other, inspecting the fabric of her trousers.

‘Sorry about that. But I’ve got chocolate icing on my trousers. And this is a nice car…’

The two men stood and stared at her in silence for a second, before Frank dared to comment.

‘I’ve had a lot worse on that leather. Dig out the picnic blanket, mate, and then let’s get going.’



‘How well do you know this wedding planner?’ Jared asked as soon as they were moving and he had regained use of his lungs and his brain.

‘Clarissa?’ Amy answered. ‘I only met her the last time Lucy was in London. Her assistant Elspeth was in charge of making the actual arrangements. I know a few girls who have used Clarissa, and they all sing her praises. That’s why I’m not worried. It’s only seven days to the wedding, Jared. Everything will have been booked and confirmed weeks if not months ago.’

He conceded it was possible with a nod. ‘Maybe, but there is no harm in checking. Especially now. I don’t want to call Lucy until I know whether there is a problem.’

‘I agree with you on that.’ Amy swallowed and tried to appear casual by looking out of the window before going on. ‘So, what can I do to convince you that I don’t need your help and am perfectly capable of sorting out any last-minute problems on my own?’

Jared considered for a moment before replying. ‘I need to be sure that this Clarissa hasn’t missed anything in her rush to elope with some other girl’s boyfriend. For me, that means going through the master checklist for the project, right down to times and places.’

‘Ah. Is that all?’ Amy laughed, and stared into his face with her mouth half open. ‘I’m beginning to understand. You cannot stand the idea that any person besides yourself and your team is even remotely capable of running a project. Am I right?’

There was some suppressed sniggering from the front of the car, which at that moment turned sharply into a tight bend, sliding Jared along the slippery leather towards Amy, who was safe on her blanket.

His hand grabbed onto her leg to steady him, and was rewarded with a smudge of something sticky between its fingers.

And the sensation that his world had been rocked on its foundation.

He felt dizzy. Light headed. He should have eaten that strudel. That was it. Nothing to do with the slim muscular thigh he had just been touching. Must be jet lag.

‘Seatbelt?’ she murmured, shaking her head. ‘Seatbelt would be good.’

He clicked on the belt, pretending to look out of the window.

Unfortunately for him at that moment he saw the reflection of Amy in the glass.

She was digging inside the bag on her knee with one hand, while the other stripped back the bandanna covering her hair. In one smooth movement her head dropped back, her eyes closed, and her fingers combed through her head of boy-short glossy brown layers.

It was the most sensual thing he had seen in a long time, and the fact that it was natural and completely relaxed made it even more remarkable.

The dark brown hair contrasted with Amy’s smooth clear skin, shining in the June sunlight streaming through the car window. She had been at university at the same time as Lucy, he thought, so she had to be late twenties…

Her head flicked up as she laughed about something with Frank, as though they had been mates for years.

Why did he find that so annoying? Frank was free to act as a chauffeur as and when he liked when Jared wasn’t in town—which was the usual case. He couldn’t have spent any more than a week in London in the last six months. Why shouldn’t he drive Lucy and her friends? That was what he had asked him to do, wasn’t it? But why hadn’t Frank mentioned Amy before? And what was the great secret they’d been talking about when she’d hugged him like that?

A police siren sounded to their right, and Jared turned as Amy flicked out her tongue to tantalisingly lick off the smudge of icing at the corner of her mouth.

She noticed him looking her way. Or had she noticed the sudden increase in temperature in the gap between them? Frank should take a look at the air conditioning in this car…

Time for him to take charge.

‘So, how do I get to see this famous wedding plan?’

Amy sighed out loud. ‘That is not going to be easy!’ She turned in her seat before going on. ‘Each of Clarissa’s clients has their own personal file. Everything and anything linked to that particular wedding is inside that pink box. Rule one is that the box should never leave her office, on pain of death. I’m hoping sweet treats will persuade Elspeth to change her mind about that, while she copes with the fall-out from Clarissa’s sudden exit.’

Jared pushed his full lower lip forward and gently inclined his head.

‘Devious. I like it. And I thought the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach!’

‘Oh, it works for ladies too! I suspect we may not be the only ones burning a path to that office to salvage wedding plans. The brides will burn me at the stake for bringing carbs, but their mothers will love it.’

‘Clearly. I can see now where I’ve been going wrong all these years. I should have been buttering up my girlfriends with sugar and cakes.’

‘Definitely.’

Amy glanced out of the window as Frank slowed to a stop. Cars were double and triple-parked down the narrow street outside the wedding planner’s office. Some more abandoned than parked.

‘Here we are. And it looks like I’m going to need that cake. Best stay in the car, boys. This is a dangerous assignment, but someone has to do it. I’m going in.’



Jared stared across Amy to see what could be so dangerous.

They had pulled up outside a row of Victorian terraced houses, once the homes of the middle classes, now used as businesses and hotels all over the city.

This particular house was distinguished from its neighbours by a tasteless pink plaque with the word “Clarissa” in black and gold six-inch-high letters.

And by the cluster of women around the entrance.

Sleek, shiny women. Of all ages. Jostling to get into the house.

The kind of women who were accustomed to the January sales and came supplied with sharp elbows and stiletto heels. And his shin pads were back in New York. This was more than dangerous—this could be lethal!

Jared instinctively touched Amy on the arm as she removed her seatbelt.

‘No way are you giving those ladies extra sugar. You’d never make it back alive.’

Amy collapsed back into the luxurious seat and glared at the increasingly noisy crowd. Several more cars had pulled up behind them, ready to discharge extra troops.

‘You may have a point. Frank? Any ideas?’

‘Retreat to a safe point and come back Monday, when these girls have gone home to complain to their hairdressers?’

‘Not possible.’ Jared interrupted before Amy could reply. ‘Lucy is due to be married in seven days? Monday will not do. You two stay here. I’ll see how far I can get.’

This time it was Amy who grabbed Jared’s arm, as he tugged on the cuffs of his shirt.

‘Hold on, macho hero. Those girls would eat you alive. You do know that it’s always the bloke’s fault, don’t you? This bridegroom who stole Clarissa from them is clearly to blame for the whole thing. You’d have to be pregnant and barefoot to get to the front of that queue!’

Jared sat back and pursed his lips together for a few seconds as he looked at Amy, from her flat comfortable shoes to the top of her head, before nodding slowly.

‘Pregnant and barefoot. Hmm. That’s not a bad idea. It might just work…’

Amy caught the tone in Jared’s voice, and watched as he patted the picnic blanket she was sitting on before speaking.

‘I’m almost frightened to ask,’ she said, watching him closely.

‘Frank? Do you have any cushions in the back?’ Jared asked, totally ignoring her comment.

‘Of course, mate.’

‘Excellent. Miss Edler—I do realise that we have only just met, but we are about to become proud expectant parents. Won’t that be nice?’

She stared at him with wide-eyed horror as she realised what his idea was.

‘You wouldn’t?’

The man sitting next to her simply turned towards her and gave a wide smile, raising his eyebrows.

It was the first time he had smiled since they’d met—and, oh, yes, she could see why any girl in a fifty metre radius would instantly agree to anything he suggested.

Amy closed her eyes. She had promised Lucy she would do everything she could to help with the wedding while her mother recovered from the ’flu.

And of course there was that other reason it had to be a huge success…

This might be the first wedding cake Amy had ever made, but it was not going to be the last. Clarissa had already contacted her about other weddings later in the year, and she knew Lucy had been telling all her London friends. She already had orders for eight more chocolate special cakes—but only if this wedding was the success she desperately wanted for Lucy and Mike.

She needed that business.

She needed her friends to have a wonderful day.

She needed that wedding plan.

Which was why she suddenly heard herself asking, ‘How many cushions? One or two?’



Jared took his time climbing out of one side of the car and making his way around the rear to open the passenger door for Amy, so that she could start her award winning performance.

He made a show of making a slight bow, so she accepted his hand as if she was stepping out in evening dress onto the red carpet at a film premiere. Only on this occasion she was wearing navy check trousers splattered with icing, and a stained extra-large navy T-shirt stretched over two pillows and a picnic blanket. But she was still determined to give the role her all.

It wasn’t her fault that her performance required Jared to wrap one arm protectively around where her middle should be, which somehow distracted her so much that she was swept up the steps before she knew it. Thereby missing her own big entrance.

Jared helped Amy stagger through into a narrow corridor packed with anxious and crying women who had jumped to their feet as one, each female fighting to make her voice heard, competing in decibels and speed to get attention. Any attention.

The noise was deafening.

Amy squeezed Jared’s hand—a signal to reposition the pillow, which was starting to bulge over her trousers—before stretching up to whisper in his ear.

‘Let’s make a deal. If I can persuade Elspeth to give me the box, then I will allow you to help with the wedding. But only on one condition. You do the work yourself. Not your PA, not your events planner, not your brilliant admin team. You. Or is the great Jared Shaw scared of getting his hands dirty?’

She looked up at him with the sweetest, most adoring, open-mouthed smile, complete with fluttering eyelashes for the benefit of the onlookers.

‘Do we have a deal? Squeeze once for yes, and twice for no.’

Jared tightened his grip on Amy’s waist. The way back to the car was already blocked by a formidable-looking older woman and a younger weeping girl.

There was no backing out.

He squeezed. Once.

Still clutching Jared’s hand, Amy dragged him towards the flustered-looking receptionist’s desk. The pillows and picnic blanket had created a surprisingly effective eight-month baby bump.

‘Hi. I’ve heard about Clarissa’s unplanned holiday.’ Amy addressed the girl behind the desk, glancing around the room, taking in the tears and the emotional tension, until every other woman stopped talking.

‘My fiancé and I have our wedding next weekend.’ She looked at the stunned Jared and gave him her most adoring smile. ‘This is our last chance before little Jarella is born, so I hope you understand that I have an urgent appointment in—’ she glanced at her watch ‘—three minutes.’

Before the receptionist could answer, Amy leant backwards and shuffled up to the office door, drawing a red-faced Jared with her. She knocked once, did not wait for an answer, flung open the door, and then closed it behind them.

A slim, middle-aged woman in a tight pink bouclé suit was crouched down low, her elbows resting on a pink desk. Her head was in her hands, and the desk was covered with yellow sticky notes. A loose telephone lead trailed from her finger. Disconnected. There was a bottle of cream sherry and a small glass by her hand. And not much sherry left in the bottle.

‘Hello, Elspeth. Remember me?’



‘You can do this,’ Amy said, looking into the terrified eyes of Clarissa’s personal assistant, who was still nibbling on buttery flaky pastry courtesy of Edlers Bakery. ‘You can take over these weddings. You were doing most of the work yourself, weren’t you?’

Fragments of pastry scattered onto the paperwork as the older woman’s hand paused in midair. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Clarissa was so busy entertaining clients she relied on me to make the actual bookings and talk to the suppliers—like yourself. Boring things like that.’

‘Not boring,’ Amy insisted. ‘Important. Especially to the brides-to-be out there with their mothers.’

Amy sat down next to the terrified woman on a pale pink sofa, and tried to ignore the fact that the icing blobs on the back of her trousers would probably ruin the pink silk.

‘You want to be a wedding planner, don’t you? Was that a nod? Right!’ She reached across and took shaking but beautifully manicured hands in her still-sticky, grubby paw. ‘This is your chance. You have the power to give those girls the weddings they have always dreamed of. You created the files. You did that. Not Clarissa. You. Now all you have to do is to convince your clients that it’s business as usual. The plans are in place and on track. What do you say?’

‘Well, I don’t know. I’ve only been working here two years. Until then Clarissa organised everything herself. I’ll need to go through each box…’ The panic came back into her eyes as she gasped. ‘The Shaw-Gerard wedding! You’re making the cake! That’s next weekend, and I haven’t even looked at the file. The box is still here. What if…?’ There was terror in the unspoken words as she reached for the box, only to find that Amy had got there first.

‘Don’t you worry about that. I’m going to take Lucy’s file home with me. I’ll go through the plan myself, check the details, and meet you back here during the week. Okay?’

‘Well, I don’t know. I mean, Clarissa is pretty strict about the files not leaving the office without the client’s permission.’ She paused, gulped, and looked into Amy’s face.

‘That’s not a problem. Mr Shaw here is the person who signed the contract—so he is the client, after all.’

Elspeth looked up at Jared, who was guarding the door, and gave a faint smile. ‘Well, that’s true. We have met before. How about four p.m. Thursday?’

Amy smiled back. ‘Done. And you can do this. Seriously. You can. You’re the new wedding planner. Ready to face the music? Head up, shoulders back. Show them who is in charge here.’

She leapt to her feet, helped pull the woman up from the sofa, and watched as she tugged at her pink pencil skirt. With one single nod, Amy took a firm grip on Lucy’s pink-flowered box file, clutched it to her chest, flung open the door with her other hand, and beamed a smile to the cluster of women who leapt to their feet and started crowding in at the door.

Jared seized the opportunity to take back control of the situation, and he rested his arm lightly on Amy’s back before calling back casually to the terrified-looking PA.

‘Thank you so much! We have every confidence in you. See you on Thursday!’

Amy was so startled that she looked up at him in awe. And in that moment her heart skipped a beat. No wonder Lucy boasted that her brother could charm the birds from the trees.

He was grinning the kind of grin toothpaste manufacturers would kill for, his white teeth contrasting with his blue eyes against a light natural tan. His mouth creased up at the corners, creating what could almost pass as dimples. If hard-nosed CEOs were allowed to have dimples. She could almost hear the women around her swoon as his gaze fell on the lucky girls at the front of the pack.

She didn’t blame them.

Jared Shaw truly was gorgeous.

And then he did it.

He casually turned his spotlight smile on her, bent his head a few inches, and kissed her. On the brow. Just a light pressure of hot lips on her skin, before he dropped his arm a few inches lower and stepped forward.

Her knees turned to jelly.

She was caught in his embrace with nowhere for her spare arm to go except around his middle, against the fine linen cloth that covered an impressively taut muscular lower back.

There was nothing for it but to breathe in the aroma that only a man who had been on a hot pavement followed by her hot kitchen at the end of a long day travelling could generate. It was sweet, spicy, and intoxicating.

For a second—just for one, precious moment—Amy luxuriated in the illusion that they were trying to create and made herself believe that Jared was her fiancé, and she was carrying his baby—that his relaxed lover’s kiss had been real and for her.

Dangerous. Way too dangerous.

She forced herself to glance up at that handsome strong face, and the icy-cold realisation that this was a man who could have any woman he wanted sent her tumbling back to earth from dreamland.

That dream was for other women. That chance had been snatched away from her. She was an idiot for daring to think otherwise. And an even bigger idiot for thinking back to that moment when they’d been getting into the car. The feeling of his warm shirt under the palms of her hands. The beating chest that lay beneath.

What was she doing?

This was Lucy’s big brother. In town for a few days for his sister’s wedding. That was all.

And with that positive thought Amy squeezed into his waist a little closer, wrapped her fingers firmly onto his belt, and flashed a smile up into his face.

Luckily he took it as part of her star performance, gave a quick nod and, smiling at the closest cluster of ladies, the unlikely pair slowly shuffled as convincingly as they could down the corridor, with the pretend baby bump leading the way.

Jared gave one quick glance back at the building, before launching himself into the Rolls-Royce through the door Frank was holding open. He sighed out loud in relief to have escaped unscathed, as he collapsed back in his seat.

‘That was horrendous. Why would someone actually want to be a wedding planner? I mean, why? What chance has that poor girl got with those women at her throat? What did you call them?’

‘Bridezillas. Elspeth is quite capable of handling the work—but she has my telephone number if she needs it. And I have Lucy’s box.’ Amy waved it triumphantly towards Frank, before pulling the squashed cushions out from beneath her top. ‘Sorry, Jarella. What’s next?’

It was Jared who answered.

‘Apart from ten hours’ sleep? Coffee, telephones, a photocopier and a computer. It appears that I have a wedding to organise.’




CHAPTER THREE


‘THAT’S ten strawberry tarts, twelve apple strudel, and six fresh cream chocolate éclairs. Well, that should keep you going, girls! Just pop back if you need more.’

Amy passed the emergency order to the two waitresses from the French pavement café down the road, and held open the shop door. Their jovial teenage chatter echoed around the warm room and blended with the traffic noise from the busy London street on the other side of the glass this lovely Saturday morning.

Both girls were dressed in the kind of pretty printed cotton dresses with thin spaghetti straps that she used to wear every summer in her old life. Sunlight flooded through the pristine glass windows and reflected back from the cream walls onto the warm terracotta floor tiles. It would be heaven to simply strip off her chef’s jacket and spend the rest of the day in a tiny top. Except, of course, she had thrown or given away all her tankinis and strappy dresses.

Anything that would have revealed the scarring which stretched down the centre of her chest.

The palm of her hand pressed down on the raised ridge of skin below her T-shirt and jacket. The plastic surgeon in Chicago had suggested that she should think of it as a medal.

A souvenir for a survivor.

And she was a survivor. At least he had got that bit right.

A familiar lump thickened in Amy’s throat as she looked back into the shop area, bustling with customers and bright chatter.

This was her home now, and her sanctuary. Her dream of making Edlers the place she had known as a girl had become a reality. This was where she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Safe, secure, running her own business, with her friends in the community around her.

This was where she could offer a child a loving home—just as the Edler family had done for her when her own parents died.

And that was worth every scrap of energy in her body.

Trixi sidled up next to her and flung an arm around her shoulder.

‘Two more hot chefs at the back door, boss, panting for their orders. No sign of that blond bloke from yesterday yet. Is he likely to turn up today?’

‘Oh, yes. He’ll turn up. At least, I hope he will.’



The sound of trance dance music hit Jared like a wall as he stepped through the curtain into Amy’s kitchen. It was almost noon on a Saturday morning, the sun was shining, and the beat was making the walls and floor throb. Just like his head.

If only he hadn’t decided to lie down on the sofa after dinner he could have been working through the photocopy of the wedding plan back in his air-conditioned apartment at that very second.

In control and in his own space. Which was precisely how he liked it.

Instead of which he would have to go down on bended knee and beg this girl to take pity and let him off the hook. He knew his strengths. Coming up with a comprehensive schedule of works for a building project was one thing—planning a wedding was something else.

If you wanted a job done, you hired a professional.

Through his sunglasses he could make out that Amy was alone. She appeared to be jogging between two long tables covered with trays and boxes, furiously writing on printed sheets on a clipboard. Where were all the other chefs?

‘Morning,’ he offered with a smile. No response. ‘Good morning,’ he bellowed, standing only feet away from Amy. At that precise moment the teenage girl he remembered as Trixi appeared from a door at the other end of the room and turned the volume down on the stereo.

Amy’s head shot up, and she gave him the kind of smile that creased the corners of her mouth and made a direct hit in his solar plexus.

‘No need to shout. I’m right here. And good morning to you, Mr Shaw. I expected to see you at the crack of dawn.’

There was a certain gentle warmth in her voice, as though she might actually be pleased to see him again. Maybe the day was not completely lost after all.

‘Sorry about that. My body clock hasn’t re-set yet.’

‘You don’t need to apologise,’ she replied with a shrug. ‘Yesterday was quite a day.’

The muscles of his face relaxed a little. This woman was a saint! The hard fluorescent lighting in the room focused the shadows of her high cheekbones and pale skin. In another time, on another day, Jared thought, it might have been fun to show this woman some sunshine. Perhaps a picnic, or a boat trip down the Thames?

With a bit of luck she might even remove some of those layers of clothing. His linen shirt was already starting to cling to his back, despite the heavy-duty air-conditioning unit clattering away very noisily in the corner. She had to be roasting under that high-neck T-shirt.

Amy waved her clipboard in his direction. ‘Saturday happens to be my busiest day, so there’s not a lot of time for chatter while I get the orders prepped. I appreciate the apology, but I know you only came here to collect the pink box.’

He opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it closed again as Amy tapped her pen several times against her chin before grinning at him.

‘I have decided that there could be one or two small details on the wedding plan which you could check for me. If you think you can manage it?’ she said.

Jared pursed his lips and sighed loudly. ‘You do know that I have zero experience in anything wedding-related, don’t you? I could even be a liability!’

‘No, you won’t. Just think of it as another project to plan. You’ll be fine!’

His grimace must have been the answer Amy needed, and she gestured towards the small circular table furthest from the ovens and the work area.

‘You’ll find what you need on the table over there. I’ve already cross-referenced the details on the master checklist to a printout of names and addresses. Not all of the suppliers are open on Saturdays, so I focused on the names I recognised, and I’ve written notes on everyone I could speak to in person at this time of the morning.’

‘And…?’ Jared tried to remember that he was supposed to be taking charge. So much for his cunning plan. Amy Edler was already way ahead of him!

She decided to put him out of his misery.

‘Relax, Jared. So far all the items I’ve checked are still on schedule. You can breathe again.’ She nodded her head towards the table and curled her lips. ‘There are two names we need to talk to as soon as possible. I started with the hotel, but they have a celebrity wedding this morning, so their events planner had already left for the church, to make sure everything went smoothly.’

She spotted the expression on Jared’s face and immediately tried to calm him. ‘Don’t panic. According to the manager, the Shaw-Gerard wedding is booked and confirmed for next Saturday. But I don’t have any details, so that needs to be checked out—I suggest Monday morning. Everyone is going to be run ragged today.’

He snorted. ‘You’ve got that right. Okay. You’re busy. I have the rest of the day. Why don’t you leave me to start work on the rest? I have my laptop, two phones, and transport if needed. What do you say?’ Jared looked up, half expecting an instant rebuff, but it never came.

‘I say fine. There’s a fax machine and a photocopier upstairs in my flat if it becomes too noisy. This place is going to get rather hectic in the next couple of hours!’

Jared blinked at Amy several times. He simply could not keep up!

‘When do the other bakers start work? Or have they already left for the day?’

The crease between Amy’s brows tightened. ‘Other bakers?’ And then the penny dropped. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. Sorry to disappoint you, but there is only one baker at Edlers, and you’re looking at her. Trixi and her pal handle the shop counter, but I’m on my own in the kitchen.’

She tilted her head to look at him, paused, and then nodded with a wide grin. ‘You thought there was a whole brigade of professional bakers working here, didn’t you?’

‘You…are the only baker?’ Jared waved in the direction of the curtain leading to the shop area, the astonishment in his voice only too apparent. ‘You made all that food yourself?’

Amy held up both her hands and wiggled their fingers up and down. ‘With my very own, very wrinkly hands.’

‘That’s impressive. And all the more reason why I should take on this extra work and leave you to do what you clearly do best. My admin team is used to event planning; they’d be happy to help.’

‘Maybe. But not if you have questions about details this late in the day. And I thought we discussed that last night? That, sir, was not the deal.’

He bit his lower lip. Busted.

She took pity on him and pointed towards the small table.

‘Sit. I drink coffee. Espresso. But there is tea and water if you want it. The bathroom is through there, and Trixi is going to be too busy to bother you. And there is always cake if you get the nibbles.’

‘Thanks; I’ll stick with the coffee. Anything else, boss?’

She made a face and tried not to smile, tapping her clipboard instead as a distraction. ‘The second person I couldn’t get hold of is the photographer, who is not answering the number Clarissa has. He’s probably out working on another wedding, but his office is supposed to be open on Saturdays. He’s on page two of the list.’

‘No problem. Leave it to me.’

‘Oh, actually, there is one more thing.’ Amy pressed her lips together, fighting back laughter, and pretended to study her list. ‘You can take your sunglasses off now.’



For the next hour or so Jared juggled two mobile phones, a landline, and a dodgy wireless connection on his laptop—all set against the background clatter and chatter of a room which at times was more like a railway station than a working kitchen.

Just as he checked off an item on what seemed like a never-ending list, the back door would open and a stream of youngsters wearing chefs’ overalls carrying the logos of famous restaurants from all over the city would saunter in, to collect trays of food for their dinner service.

What amazed him was that not only did Amy know each of them by their first name, but she also looked happy to stop what she was doing and go over their order and discuss the food. And laugh. Nattering in French, German, Italian or Spanish, as needed. A couple of times she even dived into the shop area to select another of the round chocolate cakes, or wrap another loaf to increase the order.

It seemed relentless.

And then there was the baking. Every time he looked up Amy was pulling tray after tray of sweet smelling food from the ovens.

If there was ever a one-woman show, he was watching it. And he had thought his office was busy.

It was almost a surprise when he looked up to find her wandering over to his table with a tray of coffee and some tiny pastries. Jared leapt to his feet and took the tray from her hands as she collapsed down into a hard chair and dropped her head back, eyes closed.

‘Is it always like this?’ he asked.

She flicked open her green eyes and looked at him across the table. ‘I’ve had to work harder than I have ever done in my life to build this business. There are some excellent bakers in this city who have been training for years. I have to offer something special. And I’ve only been open two years. That’s not a long time in this world.’ She laughed. ‘I carry the battle scars to show for it.’ Amy stretched out her arms so that Jared could see the burn marks from wrist to elbow.

He gasped. ‘That’s horrendous. From the ovens?’

‘Hot baking sheets. My uncle Walter calls them campaign medals. All part of the job. I knew what I was getting myself into before I started.’ Then she laughed again, and picked up a fragment of flaky pastry filled with cinnamon-scented cream, before passing the plate to Jared. ‘Besides, do you think all the top chefs have time to make their own strudel?’

‘What about all those round chocolate cakes that have been going out? Surely they can make those?’

She put down her coffee cup and glared at him. ‘Are you referring to my Sachertorte, Mr Shaw? That is a secret recipe handed down through generations of the Edler family. Direct from Vienna, you know.’ Her hands wrapped around the coffee cup she was focused on. ‘I should warn you. There is a definite risk involved in allowing that cake past your lips.’

‘A risk?’ He smiled back, suddenly losing all interest in the contents of Lucy’s pink box.

‘Oh, yes. I have several customers who claim that they are addicted to it. No other chocolate cake will do! I would hate to get you hooked on the best. How would you cope when you go back to New York?’

‘You don’t deliver?’

‘Only within a ten-mile radius of where you are sitting.’

‘Well, I can see that could be a problem. Although…’

She tilted her head towards him and smiled as her eyebrows lifted.

Jared stared her right back. ‘I take risks for a living, Miss Edler. Part of my job is looking for the next challenge.’ He paused, his eyes still locked on hers, before speaking in a low voice. ‘Bring it on.’

The crinkles at the corners of her eyes smiled back. And the background noise in the room around them was blocked out by the sound of his heartbeat. He felt as though the rest of the planet did not exist. That they were floating in space. Just the two of them. Separated from the world. Together. How had that happened?

Then a very real and loud human voice broke the glass wall.

‘Amy! Time to head upstairs. The gals are here. See ya later!’

She turned her head away from Jared to reply to Trixi with an, ‘Okay.’

The spell was broken.

‘Sorry, but my flat will be out of bounds for the next hour or so. Trixi is using my shower.’ Amy gathered up the coffee cups and poured a glass of cold water for them both, her eyes focused on anything apart from Jared. ‘Back to work. Would you mind talking me through the list while I make a few extra loaves? That would be great!’

Jared nodded in reply and instinctively moved his chair across, next to the table where Amy was working, suddenly keen to be close to this woman. He stretched out his long denim clad legs, and was about to ask her what table decorations were when something heavy and loud fell onto the floor above their head. Jared the builder wondered if the floorboards were original, and if they were likely to have Trixi falling through to join them at any minute.

A voice called out from the ether. ‘I’m okay.’

Jared looked up at Amy, who was shaking her head.

‘Now I am intrigued. Why is the lovely Trixi using your bathroom?’

Amy sighed and carried on working the ball of dough.

‘Trixi lives at home, and the shower in their flat hasn’t been working for weeks. Their landlord always finds some sort of excuse as to why it can’t be repaired.’

Jared nodded. ‘I know the type only too well. He’s stalling. It’s never going to happen.’

‘Correct.’ Amy nodded too. ‘The problem is Trixi’s mum is a single parent in a wheelchair, and it’s one of the few disabled access flats to be found. He knows that. So they have to either lump it or move out. And he knows they can’t afford to do that.’

Amy sighed out loud and started thumping the life out of the dough on her board, punching and teasing it.

‘Do you know that girl has to wash her mother’s back each day with only a flannel and a bowl of hot water? She needs a shower. The poor woman only has a bath once a week at the Saturday clinic. Trixi is worried sick. She can’t even plan to go to college. Not with that responsibility.’




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