Lips that were full and covered with a slick of something shimmery and red. Pinned-up hair, yes. But secured with a pair of chopsticks on the top of her head, with wisps of vibrant auburn corkscrewing at angles round her face.
Something glittered on her cheek, a smudge that sparkled—he thought for a moment about pointing it out. But it kind of went with the whole chaotic look.
And curves, yes. Very interesting, framed by a bright loose-fitting top in dazzling browns and blues and oranges, the kind of thing an old-fashioned gypsy might wear, secured by a thick dark brown belt. Below that, a layered frilly white skirt ended just above her knees. On her feet she wore flat leather laced tan sandals. All Greek goddess meets hippy. A crazy artsy type with her head in the stars. So not his type. A pretty head, though, porcelain skin. And that hair...
As wild and crazy as she was.
This whole escapade was already shifting him way too far out of his comfort zone; he didn’t need a too-hot boho airhead added to the mix. Regardless of the curves and the hair...and the curves...
He shook his head. ‘Well, I’m sorry. You’ve had your chance; I’m leaving.’
‘Oh. But we haven’t even—’ Her mouth turned downwards, her hand on his arm. ‘Please don’t. I did try to call...’
‘I don’t have time to be wasted. Nate said you were reliable. And keen.’ Frazzled more like, as if she was juggling a zillion things in the air and they were all dropping around her. But she was still smiling and he was drawn to that, in some kind of weird masochistic way.
So she was pretty. Didn’t mean a thing. Certainly didn’t mean the woman could cook.
Nate had also mentioned she’d been babied during a difficult upbringing, that she’d had little direction in her life apart from partying and that she was trying to prove herself with this catering venture. She’d already dabbled at other things like...nannying, was it? Dog-walking? And lost not only cash but interest far too quickly.
Nate hadn’t mentioned anything about an ex-business partner, though, or the need for a paring knife. So Jack guessed Cassie kept her family in the dark about some things.
Which suddenly made her a whole lot more interesting. In a purely professional way. Teasing dark secrets from people had made him a stack of money and cemented his reputation as the best gritty documentary maker in the UK.
‘So Nate told you about me?’ Two pink patches on her cheeks darkened to red. ‘Nate Munro? I wondered...usually people use a search engine or a business card rather than a world famous rock star to find a caterer.’
‘Yes, he recommended you. Although why I bothered I don’t know—’ But his new mate had done him a huge honour by allowing him to film his more intimate home life for a documentary which could well be award-winning—if only for the usually very private subject. Which meant Jack owed him precisely five more minutes to hear Cassie out before he took his leave and found a more organised, punctual and less disturbingly off-the-scale attractive caterer.
The flush turned from embarrassment to irritation. She wore her emotions very obviously on her face—as if there was no caution button. No keeping things in check. How could people live like that? Spilling their feelings out at any given moment? Did they have no control? It was his endless fascination and what made his films so damned compelling to watch.
‘Nate’s almost as bad at interfering in my life as his wife. That’s my sister, Sasha. I keep telling them to butt out and I know they mean well, but...’ She inhaled deeply and breathed out slowly. ‘But, well, you’ve already said you don’t want my life story.’
‘I already know Nate’s, and a little of your sister’s...and therefore some of yours.’
‘Not the best bits.’ She winked, but he refused to laugh. He did not want to know about the best bits of her life. Or the worst. Or anything more about her. Five minutes. Her hands moved as she talked. Was there not a serene molecule in that far too interesting body? ‘So you’re the rock-umentary producer man—my sister did mention you. And Nate’s right; I am reliable. I’ve just been having a trying time recently.’
‘Yes.’ He tried to keep up. ‘Something about a paring knife?’
‘I left it at home. Which is probably a good thing, seeing as you look like you might want to use it.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘Okay. Can we begin again? I’m Cassie Sweet. Caterer extraordinaire. And just a little bit out of control right now. But normal service is being resumed. And my cooking is brilliant.’ She smiled.
‘Jack Brennan.’ Always in control. He shook her hand. It was warm and soft. And why the hell he’d even noticed he didn’t know.
She took a step back and looked around at the crowd, then raised her voice above the chattering. ‘I’ve booked a room. Hang on a sec.’ She turned to speak to a passing waitress, who shook her head and shrugged.
‘Shoot.’ Cassie sighed loudly and her fist curled tight around the satchel strap. Was that a curse under her breath? ‘They gave the room to someone else because I was late.’
Typical. This escapade was turning into a disorganised farce. He needed to leave and take his chances on someone more professional. ‘Look. Forget it. I’ll find someone else. Some time else.’
‘No. Please. Please. Tell me this isn’t happening.’
‘It is. In full glorious Technicolor.’ Your problem, my nightmare.
‘I’ll have a word with Frankie, the manager. He’s just over there.’ Shoving her bag at Jack, she disappeared into the crowd. ‘Frankie! Hey, Frankie!’
Did she have another speed? Like just plain old fast instead of whirlwind? And now he couldn’t leave unless he took the bag with him or left it here. Unattended, in a crowded bar. It could end up in anyone’s hands. And not that she didn’t deserve it, but he didn’t need that on his conscience. It was full enough already.
In a few moments she was back, breathless but grinning. ‘Good old Frankie. There are a couple of free tables outside. Saves those for his best clients. Talking about food always makes me hungry so I’ve ordered some nibbles. They do the best soft shell tacos here with pork belly crackling. You must not leave without trying those. And he gave us a bottle of red on the house for the mix-up. Result!’
She brushed past him and Jack caught a scent of vanilla sugar and something distinctly soft and pretty, which he dutifully followed, trying not to watch the sway of her hips as she walked. Her backside looked just about the perfect size for his hands—jeez, he swallowed. Hard. What the hell was wrong with him?
With her? No caution or stop button. She was at warp speed. And now he was caught up in her chaos too.
So much for the five-minute plan. He blinked as he entered a small courtyard. Ivy, intertwined with scarlet flowers, curled over the walls, white gravel covered the ground. Small iron tables dressed with lit tea light candles dotted the space. It was like a secret garden from a movie he’d seen as a kid. Back when he’d believed in fairy tales like family and happy ever after. ‘This is impressive.’
‘Glad you like it. I wasn’t sure if you’d think it was too...out there.’ She raised her fingers and did quotation marks with them to emphasise her words, and he caught a teasing twinkle in her smile.
Then
