‘You smell of cinnamon and honey, and everything good that was ever created,’ he told her huskily as he breathed in the scent of her with heart-rocking sensuality, ‘and I could eat you—every tiny last bit of you.’
He didn’t do that, but he certainly kissed her again, deeply, lingeringly, like someone relishing every mouthful of a delicious meal, parting her lips and tasting her mouth as though he were enjoying some sweet, juicy-fleshed fruit.
There wasn’t anything else. He didn’t make any attempt to touch her more intimately, and, despite the way he had aroused her, irrationally she was glad… glad of the fact that already he liked her enough, cared enough not to want to rush things, to gobble down the pleasure she knew instinctively the two of them could share.
‘I have to go away tomorrow,’ he whispered to her as he held her face and kissed her gently on the mouth a final time. ‘Business in Europe. But once I get back I’ll be in touch…’
But of course he hadn’t been, she mused now. She hadn’t been there for him to get in touch with. The storm had broken two days later, and she had gone to ground, with Louisa accusing her of having an affair with her husband and him having admitted it. Refusing to listen to Heaven’s denials, Louisa had left her husband, taking their two children with her.
Although he had strenuously denied it Heaven had had a pretty shrewd suspicion that it had been Harold himself who had leaked the story to the press. The initial story had quickly turned into a nationally covered media debate on Heaven’s supposed treachery in having an affair with Harold—a debate which had left her reputation in tatters and her self-esteem so low that she had been more than grateful to accept her parents’ suggestion that she leave London and stay with them until the fuss had died down.
She had no idea just when Jon had returned from abroad but she had not been surprised when he had not got in touch with her, and, even though on a chance meeting in the street Louisa had apologised for not listening to her when she had originally tried to explain that Harold had been lying about the supposed relationship between them, no mention had been made of her brother and Heaven had not felt able to ask about him.
Over the last few months she had had the scales so well and truly ripped from her eyes where the male sex was concerned that she had few illusions left, and besides, right now she had far more important and immediate concerns to deal with.
Things like making sure that Harold Lewis paid for what he had done to her. Oh, not in money. No, something far more satisfactory… Something that would damage his reputation, his self-esteem, his standing in the eyes of the world, just as he had damaged hers.
‘The proof of the pudding,’ she reminded herself, muttering the words under her breath so that Janet shook her head slightly.
‘I’m sorry.’ She apologised again to her friend. ‘It just makes me so mad, that’s all. He gets away scot-free with what he’s done and I’m left not just without a job but also without a reputation. What sane woman is going to employ me now when the whole world knows the risk she’d be taking? When everyone thinks I’m a cook from hell, the kind of employee who is more interested in making the man of the house than in making the dinner? Well, it’s my turn now and fate has given me an opportunity to well and truly butter his bread for him. It’s almost too good to be true…’
‘Mmm…’ Janet agreed doubtfully. ‘Tell me in more detail what you plan to do.’
‘Just let me get these puddings on,’ Heaven said. ‘I’ve got an order for fifty to fill and get sent off by tomorrow.’
‘Fifty…’ Janet groaned, watching as Heaven moved deftly around the kitchen.
‘Right,’ Heaven announced when she had finished. ‘As you know I’ve been advertising in the classified ads as Mrs Tiggywinkle, selling figgy puddings, but saying that I can cater for private functions as well. Well, I got a phone call three days ago from someone who introduced herself to me as Tiffany Simons. She said that she was desperate to find someone to cook a special celebration pre-Christmas dinner for her fiancé who was returning from the States with a couple of important business clients who he wanted her to entertain along with some close friends and business associates. None of the agencies could supply her with a cook so close to Christmas and at such short notice—so she was literally ringing round every number she could find in the hope of getting a cook from somewhere.
‘To add to her problems, as well as dropping this dinner on her it transpired that her fiancé had also left her with full responsibility for getting the work completed on a house he was having renovated for them both.
‘We arranged to meet to have lunch and discuss every thing. And that was when I knew…’
‘When you knew what?’ Janet questioned her.
‘When I knew that she—Tiffany—must be engaged to Harold… She was wearing Louisa’s old engagement ring,’ Heaven told her simply. ‘I recognised it straight away. Louisa threw it back at him the day she walked out. Later she told me that she’d never liked it and had always considered it too vulgar. It was a huge brilliant-cut solitaire. Very flashy.’
‘Louisa’s engagement ring and now this Tiffany’s wearing it?’ Janet gasped.
‘Yes, but I doubt that she knows it was Louisa’s. She’s very young—I feel quite sorry for her. She’s obviously terrified of doing anything to annoy or upset Harold and it’s typical of him that he should have sprung this dinner thing on her—and typical as well that the fee he’s willing to pay the cook he’s told her to hire is nowhere near enough—not for the type of meal he’s ordered her to organise.
‘She’s panicking like mad that the guest bedrooms aren’t going to be finished on time. She confided to me that Harold’s refusing to pay the interim payments he promised the designers and suppliers unless they get everything ready ahead of schedule. I don’t know who these people are he’s so keen to impress but they must be pretty important to him…’
‘More important than his new fiancée,’ Janet suggested shrewdly.
‘Oh, much more important,’ Heaven agreed. ‘I could tell from the way she was talking about him that she hardly knows him at all. There’s some kind of distant business connection between Harold and her father, apparently, and that’s how they met.
‘Anyway, once she told me what was happening, I realised that if I took on the job of cooking this dinner for her it would give me the ideal opportunity to get my own back on Harold. He always did have a sweet tooth,’ she added inconsequentially, a wide, cat-like smile curling her mouth as her eyes danced.
‘Heaven…’ Janet said uncertainly. ‘You’re not thinking of doing anything too over the top, are you?’
She was suddenly remembering the scrapes her friend’s irrepressible sense of humour had got them into as schoolgirls and remembering too just how much reason Heaven had to want to punish Harold for the damage he had done to her.
‘That depends,’ Heaven answered soberly, but Janet could see that her eyes were still gleaming with amusement.
‘On what?’ she asked warily.
‘On what one considers to be too over the top,’ Heaven replied promptly, but unsatisfactorily—at least so far as Janet was concerned.
Janet tried again.
‘What I meant was, you’re not planning
