Turning Up the Heat

Turning up the Heat

(Book Two of the Sweet Temptation series)

Ashley Lister

Copyright

Mischief

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

77–85 Fulham Palace Road,

Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.mischiefbooks.com

Copyright © Ashley Lister 2014

Ashley Lister asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © 2014 ISBN: 9780007579563

Version: 2014-10-09

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

A few months earlier

Today

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

More from Mischief

About Mischief

About the Publisher

A few months earlier

In the darkness of the deserted restaurant a hand touched hers. Trudy stiffened. Her heart beat faster. She was alone in the dark with a stranger.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened to her.

A part of her had been desperate for it to happen again.

Concentrating on smells, sounds and the shape of his silhouette against the darkness, Trudy tried to get some idea of who he was. She caught the citrus notes of his cologne, a lemony fragrance that was clean, zesty and exciting. Her senses were made more acute by the absence of proper light, and she could hear the rasp of his breathing. It was a gentle sound like the half-grumbling growl of a lion at rest. Noting the forbidding height, broad chest and manly jaw, she dared to let herself smile.

It wasn’t a stranger: it was Bill.

‘Mr Hart,’ she began.

A finger touched her lips briefly, silencing her. She trembled at the contact.

It had been a long month since they had last communicated, since she had last felt the bliss of his skin touching her lips or touching her anywhere. A long, long month.

‘Don’t speak yet, Ms McLaughlin,’ he warned.

She was obedient and said nothing.

She basked in the gruff growl of his Northern brogue.

‘We’ve both been in the wrong here.’ His broad Yorkshire accent made the words come out as wev barth bin in t’wrong ’ere. Trudy had missed hearing his impenetrable voice over the past month. She closed her eyes to hold back the tears of relief that now threatened to flood from her.

‘I can see now that I was wrong for being so resolute about your involvement with Sweet Temptation,’ he admitted.

The situation had been messy. He had issued an ultimatum. She could either work with him at his restaurant, Boui-Boui, or she could try to pursue a career in online catering with her friends in their start-up business, Sweet Temptation. Bill had vowed they would have no relationship if she attempted to do both.

‘I was in the wrong,’ she insisted. ‘I should have told you that Donny was no longer involved with Sweet Temptation. I should have made that clear.’

‘We’ve both been in the wrong,’ he repeated. Wev barth bin in t’wrong.

She sniffed back a tear when she realised how much she had missed hearing his voice. It took an effort of will not to reach out for him, hug him and hold him and promise that they would never be parted again.

‘I think there’s a way for us to make amends,’ Bill confided.

He flicked a switch. Trudy was momentarily blinded by the excess of light. Blinking, her eyes became used to the brightness and she saw he looked as handsome as she remembered. There was a familiar steel-grey shadow bristling his lantern jaw. He looked comfortable yet smart in the sports jacket he wore over his T-shirt. His diamond-blue eyes sparkled as he smiled down at her.

In his hands he held a large wooden spoon.

‘There’s a way for us to make amends,’ he repeated. ‘I think one of us needs to be punished.’

She beamed.

The familiar thrill of arousal and excitement was already fluttering slickly through her sex. Her heartbeat quickened as she understood what he was suggesting. She stood up, turned around and bent over the table. Her backside was pushed out, ready for him. She glanced over her shoulder and stared meaningfully at the wooden spoon in his hand.

‘Punishment?’ she murmured coyly. ‘Yes, please, Mr Hart.’

Today

Chapter 1

She could see another woman in Bill’s arms. No. Not just one other woman. There were six of them. She clenched her teeth and pretended to smile.

Trudy had not been happy to see six near-naked women in Boui-Boui. They all had slender waists, long long legs and far too much bare flesh for Sunday afternoon in a Michelin-starred restaurant. It was a display of thongs, bellybuttons and nipples that should never have been visible in public. Trudy wrinkled her nose as she watched Bill trying to accommodate all six of them in his embrace. With three on either side, blonde-brunette-blonde to his left, blonde-redhead-blonde to his right, his grin was broad, tooth-filled and transparently false.

Her muted mobile buzzed. The display screen said she’d received a text message.

She ignored it. She was in no mood to communicate with anyone while she endured this torment. She couldn’t even concentrate on the half-consumed coffee and pumpkin-pie-spice muffin in front of her. And the muffin was a quandary that had been puzzling her for the best part of a month.

Something wasn’t quite right with the flavour and she was determined to work out what was missing. It didn’t taste unpleasant. The sharp tang of the coffee and the blend of bittersweet spices seemed to be working effectively. Some of those who had tested the muffins – friends, kitchen staff and colleagues – said it was the best thing she had yet produced in the kitchen.

But it wasn’t quite the flavour Trudy wanted. The taste lacked the indefinable quality that would change it from enjoyable to an eating experience beyond incredible.

Her brow creased as she brooded on the problem.

She’d used her own pumpkin-pie spice: an even blend of ginger, allspice, nutmeg and cloves, combined with a subtle dash of fresh crushed cinnamon. She’d spent time blending the ingredients to an ultra-fine powder, ages grinding the cloves with a pestle and mortar. She’d worked on the cloves until her bicep throbbed from the effort. But she hadn’t begrudged a single moment of the hard work involved. Making her own pumpkin-pie spice was one of her favourite chores in the kitchen.

The results were like alchemy.

Aside from the task being so arduous that it made her feel like she’d enjoyed a good workout, the medicinal tang of the cloves provided a rich and intense scent that always filled the room. That fragrance alone would have been harsh but it was softened and sweetened by the rest of the aromatic ingredients. It was a labour of love, made easy by the fact that the bouquet of the pumpkin-pie spice was so easy to love.

But the muffins still weren’t quite right. Something was missing. Something extra was needed. Or something additional needed taking away. She didn’t know which. She just knew the flavour wasn’t quite right.

She stopped herself glaring at the muffin. Glaring at pastries seldom helped. It would be more productive, she knew, if she paid attention to the people around her in Boui-Boui, but that could be dangerous.

She glanced up from the muffin in time to see Bill squeeze three of the near-naked women more tightly into his embrace.

Trudy’s glare turned into a glower.

She supposed models were meant to be constantly smiling for the camera, but she thought these six women looked like they were enjoying their work a little too much. Their smiles were eager. The brunette kept grinning at Bill as though she shared a secret with him. One of the blondes, the one with a yin-yang tattoo on her shoulder blade, kept touching him on the backside.

‘For God’s sake, stop grinning, Billy.’

The call came from Harvey, Bill’s agent. He was sharing table thirteen with Trudy and her friends Charlotte and Daryl. Harvey was a handsome man of a similar age to his client, with a loud voice, a brash sense of humour and a shrewd eye for opportunity. He had become a regular visitor at Boui-Boui over the past few months and Trudy was beginning to understand why he was one of Bill’s oldest and closest friends.

He had a cheeky sense of humour.

‘Stop grinning, Billy,’ Harvey repeated. ‘If you keep grinning, your fanbase won’t recognise you. They’re not used to seeing you happy, you grumpy old bastard.’

Bill rolled his eyes. His lips thinned in exasperation. His front teeth settled on his lower lip, as though he was about to spit out a long stream of his familiar trademark swearwords.

‘If I don’t chuffing grin,’ he argued, ‘I’m going to look like a perverted old serial killer clutching grimly at his victims.’

Trudy tightened her mouth to conceal a reluctant smile.

Charlotte, sitting next to her, muffled a splutter of laughter in her wine.

Daryl, however, made no response. She seemed captivated by the bare breasts of one of the models. Tall and leggy, dressed in a waist-hugging scarlet Prada dress, Daryl would not have looked out of place standing alongside the models. Admittedly, her chest wasn’t as well developed as any of theirs but Trudy knew Daryl’s naked figure was superbly athletic.

Daryl wore a dreamy half-smile that suggested her thoughts were in the lewd and lovely dimension where she always seemed happiest. Daryl was bisexual, and shamelessly promiscuous. Her relationships were many and usually short-lived. Trudy didn’t dare imagine what she was thinking as she studied the models, but at that moment she almost envied Daryl the simplicity of her libido-dominated ambitions.

Trudy glanced at the models.

She caught herself staring at a pair of naked breasts. Hurriedly, she dragged her gaze away before anyone realised she’d been looking at erect nipples. Her cheeks were warm with the threat of a blush. She felt queasy with nervous apprehension.

‘I can imagine the ideal caption for this one,’ Harvey grumbled. ‘Thirteen tits on display at Boui-Boui.’

Charlotte giggled.

Trudy shot Harvey a reproachful glance.

‘I chuffing heard that,’ Bill growled. ‘And it’s not too late for me to find a new agent.’

Despite his display of grumpiness, Trudy knew Bill was enjoying some aspects of his recent success. He had been a Michelin-starred chef when they first met and now he had achieved celebrity status as an authority on kitchens and cuisine. He had a TV show and wrote cookery articles for two national magazines. He was regarded as an expert on all matters relating to restaurants and recipes and she knew he was savouring the deserved recognition.

Yet she was aware that he wasn’t enjoying every aspect of his success.

The muted mobile buzzed again. She ignored it.

She knew the artificiality of photo shoots and promotional publicity had begun to irritate Bill. The previous evening, on his return from the city, he had confided that all the fake poses and airbrushed pictures made him uneasy.

Trudy sympathised. She understood that such artifices flew in the face of his gruff northern honesty. But she also knew they were a necessity of his newfound celebrity.

She glanced at him, admiring the way he looked so commanding in a single-breasted white dinner jacket over an open-throated black shirt. He had a way of dressing that she always thought of as understated panache.

As he stood proudly between half a dozen stunning topless models, she could tell the smile on his face was false but she figured it was convincing enough to fool the photographer. It would probably be convincing enough to fool anyone who didn’t know him. But she did know him and she could see the small and telling details that would never be caught by a camera.

His fingers flexed and unflexed. She sensed that he wasn’t sure whether he should be touching the bare flesh of the shoulder beneath his hand; whether such contact would look intrusive and unsolicited or masterful and controlling. She didn’t envy him having to make such decisions.

Of course, if she’d been beneath his hand, Trudy knew that Bill would have shown no hesitation in being masterful and controlling. That was one of the many things she loved about him.

He caught her looking in his direction and smiled.

It looked like the first genuine grin he’d worn all day. It was certainly the first smile she’d seen him give this afternoon where the expression touched his eyes.

Instead of worrying about him, knowing that that would be of little use, Trudy quietly vowed to make sure his smile properly returned when they were alone in the evening.

It was Sunday and, under the new arrangement they had agreed, this was the one day of the week when they should have been spending time alone together. More importantly, it was one of the few nights of the week when they should both be sufficiently rested to make the most of their time together at the end of the evening.

There were a couple of boned and rolled sirloins waiting in the fridge. There was a bottle of matured Chivas Regal sitting in Bill’s office. And, once the whisky had been sampled and the steaks had been devoured, Trudy had grand plans for the evening.

Her pulse quickened as she thought of handing Bill a wooden spoon and then bending over a counter. She would call him ‘Mr Hart’ and beg him to –

The photographer clapped his hands. His voice was not particularly strong or commanding and he had to shout to make himself heard above the babble of conversations. He asked everyone in the background to remember their roles and pretend that they were dining.

Trudy shook her head. The photographer’s interruption had not derailed her train of thought. Her smile broadened as the image of her planned evening settled more comfortably before her mind’s eye. If she concentrated she would be able to imagine the weight of Bill’s skilful hands caressing her bare buttocks to warm her, ready for an evening’s delightful discipline. Twin spots of colour rouged her cheeks as she glanced at her table companions and feared that Daryl, Charlotte or Harvey might guess the lurid path of her thoughts from the crooked tilt of her smile.

‘What’s this photo shoot for?’ asked Daryl.

‘Glossy lads’ mags,’ Harvey said. ‘The second series of Billy’s new TV show goes out in a couple of months. I want to get him maximum exposure ready for that. In two months he’ll be in more magazines than staples.’

‘Will Bill’s show be as big as Master Baker?’

Harvey pulled a face. ‘Master-bloody-Baker,’ he grumbled. ‘Is that all anyone can talk about these days?’

Charlotte sat forward in her seat, clearly intrigued by the mention of Master Baker. She brushed long locks of dark hair from the side of her face and tucked them over her ear before slyly smiling at Harvey.

Master Baker was one of the main sources of conversation in the Sweet Temptation offices. Some days, when Trudy walked past Charlotte and Daryl, it was all she heard them discussing. Daryl was a huge fan of Kelly White. Charlotte favoured Tom Yates. The show aired on a Saturday night and the pair of them spent most of their Monday morning discussing what had been said, what decisions had been made and how they could have been played differently.

‘I love Master Baker,’ Charlotte told Harvey. ‘Tom Yates is such a bitch to some of those contestants.’

‘Only when they deserve it,’ Daryl reminded her. ‘If you want to see really scathing comments you have to go to Kelly.’

Trudy didn’t bother following the conversation. She had heard Daryl and Charlotte have this argument before. Although Trudy liked the show she couldn’t claim to be as big a fan as either of them.

‘Master Baker is a good show,’ Harvey conceded. ‘But it’s unlikely Billy’s show will get as many viewers. They’re in different time slots. They’re aimed at different audiences.’

Daryl nodded as though she’d been listening to what Harvey said. She pointed at one of the models and asked, ‘Have you got a phone number for that blonde?’

He frowned and glanced at the models. ‘Which blonde? There’s four of them.’

‘Any of them will do,’ Daryl admitted. ‘But I’d prefer it if you’ve got the number for the one with the pierced bellybutton.’

Like the rest of those at her table, Trudy found herself scanning the models to see which blonde had a pierced bellybutton. It was a glimpse of more female flesh than she needed. She turned away as soon as she’d worked out it was the blonde with the sculpted muscle tone and a thong so tight the crotch was moulding the shape of her labia. This was the blonde with the yin-yang tattoo on her shoulder. The one whose hand kept repeatedly touching Bill’s backside.

‘Beatrice?’ Harvey laughed. ‘Of course I’ve got her number.’

‘Could I have it?’ Daryl asked. She produced a business card, one that said she was Sweet Temptation’s head of administration. The card contained her mobile number and her email address. ‘Or could you get her to give me a call?’

‘Why don’t you go over and ask her yourself?’ Charlotte asked.

Daryl shook her head. ‘She’s busy working. Credit me with some professional integrity.’

Charlotte shook her head. ‘You have the professional integrity to perv off at a topless model and then try to get her mobile number from the model’s agent?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Table thirteen,’ the photographer exclaimed.

Trudy flinched, expecting that they were about to be reprimanded for talking too loudly, or discussing things that were inappropriate. Her cheeks reddened and she turned, ready to offer an apology.

‘There are four of you,’ the photographer told Trudy.

Charlotte and Daryl exchanged a glance.

‘Is that wrong?’ Trudy asked.

‘I need two people on each table,’ the photographer explained.

Trudy glanced around Boui-Boui’s front of house. The familiar chintzy country-house décor was the same as always. The waiters and waitresses were dressed in their uniform of black pants and black shirts. With the exception of a couple of empty booths in the rear corners of the restaurant, every table aside from the one she was sharing with Harvey, Charlotte and Daryl was occupied by only two diners.

‘A couple on each table balances my backgrounds,’ the photographer told her. ‘It conveys a subliminal suggestion of romantic dining.’ He glanced at Harvey and said, ‘Wasn’t that part of the brief for this photo shoot, Mr Walker?’

Harvey nodded. ‘That’s right. It was.’

Trudy came to a quick decision.

Glancing at Harvey and Daryl she said, ‘I could do with some alone time with Charlotte. I believe she’s got a new man in her life and I can use a one-to-one session to find out all about him.’

Charlotte’s cheeks darkened and she glanced downwards. She was shaking her head as though already refusing to discuss the matter. Her resolve only made Trudy feel more determined to find out who the man was and why he was such a mystery.

Harvey placed a hand on Trudy’s forearm.

His touch was warm but not unpleasant.

‘If it doesn’t interrupt your vitally important interrogation,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t mind staying on this table with you so that we can have a private word.’

Trudy glanced at Charlotte who shrugged and nodded.

Charlotte looked vaguely pleased as she stood up with Daryl and moved to an empty table. Her obvious relief made Trudy more determined to find out about the mystery man she was hiding. She turned doubtfully to Harvey, wondering why Bill’s agent might need to have a word with her.

Chapter 2

Her mobile buzzed again, reminding her she had an unread text message.

At the photographer’s request, she’d muted the phone before the photo shoot began. Under other circumstances she might have glanced at the screen to see who was trying to get in touch. But Harvey’s solemnity suggested he needed to discuss something serious and Trudy figured the text message had already waited for five minutes, so another five wouldn’t hurt.

‘Is something wrong?’

‘No. Not wrong. But I want to ask you a favour.’

She remained silent, encouraging him to continue.

‘Billy’s my biggest client at the moment,’ Harvey explained. He gave a nod towards Bill and his smile briefly broadened.

Trudy made the mistake of following the direction of his gaze and glancing at Bill. The photographer now had the six women surrounding Bill as though he was posing for an old-fashioned James Bond promo. Two of the women knelt by his hips, their jaws tilted so they were facing up to him with adoring smiles. Their breasts were still embarrassingly visible. Their thongs were revealingly tight. Their heads were disconcertingly close to his groin.

Trudy quietly seethed.

She remembered the last time her own face had been so close to Bill’s groin. It had only been the previous evening, when Bill returned home from his three-day stint in the city. But it had been good. Under the new arrangement it seemed the sex between them was always good.

The memory of what they had done the previous evening made her stomach muscles tighten with a pang of delicious excitement. She felt momentarily resentful of the models being allowed to be so close to him. They had no right to be kneeling with their heads close to any part of him. They certainly had no business putting their faces so close to that particular part of him.

That, she decided, was her position.

She tried to drag her gaze away before her glare could become withering. There were two more models at Bill’s side. The women draped their hands possessively over his shoulders. The final pair, including the blonde with the pierced belly button and the yin-yang tattoo, embraced Bill intimately from behind. Their bare chests were pushed firmly against his back.