The Secret Ingredient Read Online Free PDF Page A

would be something like that.’
    His trademark collar-length hair swung loosely in front of his face as he moved, then he flicked his head back out of habit rather than design and a low rough chuckle rumbled deep in his throat before he laughed it away.
    ‘Thank you. I needed that. And does Charlie come with a surname?’
    Patience. There was no way that she was going to allow this arrogant man to win his little game. Her surname would instantly give the game away.
    ‘You are so impatient. That is a completely new question. It’s my turn now.’
    Lottie tilted her head towards the canvas and pushed her lips together. She had met enough art critics through her mum to give a decent enough performance for a few minutes.
    ‘This is such an interesting piece. But it seems so different from the other paintings in the exhibition. Most of the landscapes are luxuriant, and the portraits jump off the page—they are terrific. But this one is more...’
    Lottie waved her hand in the air as she tried to come up with the perfect description and failed.
    ‘Introspective?’ Rob whispered. ‘Was that the word you were looking for? The colours capture Adele’s mood. Every artist has shades to their work and their character. The dark makes the light seem brighter. Don’t you find?’ And with that he turned and gave her a smile that had nothing to do with teeth and everything to do with the warmth of genuine feeling that illuminated his face, from the gentle turn of those full lips to the slight crease in the corner of each eye.
    After years working in the hard world of banking where a wrong call could cost millions, Lottie prided herself on being a good judge of character.
    And this version of Rob Beresford threw her.
    He meant it. He was so...calm and centred...and normal. At that moment he was simply a man in an art gallery having a conversation about an artist that he sincerely admired.
    Where had that come from?
    Was it possible that he had changed so much in the past few years?
    ‘Would you call yourself an artist, Rob? The media certainly seem to think so.’
    His eyes widened and just like that the tiny thread of connection that had been linking them together on this slim bench snapped with a loud twang and went spinning off into the room.
    ‘Charlie! Every chef would like to think that they create art on a plate. Colours, tastes and textures. But an artist? No.’
    With a quick toss of his head he raised his eyebrows. ‘You surprise me, Charlie. Surely you don’t believe everything you read in the press? I would hate to be a disappointment.’
    ‘Ah. I knew there was a reason why I never wanted to go down the celebrity route. The price of fame. It must be so exhausting. Having to act out the part every time you show yourself in public when all you want to do is stay home and watch reality TV shows in your pyjamas with a cup of hot chocolate.’
    ‘Drat. You have found one of my private fantasies.’
    And then Rob paused and leant a little closer. Too close. Blocking her view of the rest of the room but forcing her to focus on just how full his lips were and how the dark hair on his throat curled into the open neck of his crisp white shirt.
    He lifted his right hand and stroked the line of her jaw from ear to throat with the pad of a soft forefinger, his touch so light that Lottie might almost have imagined it.
    But that would have been a lie because the second his skin met her face Lottie sucked in a sharp quick breath and her lips parted, revealing in the most humiliating way possible that she was not immune to his touch.
    Just the opposite. She knew that her neck was already flaming red in a blush that engrossed her.
    Which was more than humiliating; it was a bad joke. Rob Beresford’s reputation with women was common knowledge in the catering world and the Beresford hotel kitchens had been alive with gossip about who he had seduced and then dumped in quick succession. She had seen it herself.
    One single quiver of