Sweet Thing

One night was supposed to ease her craving...

But after one taste she’s hooked!

Abby loves her new life working at Sydney’s finest patisserie. Working alongside brooding new man-in-charge Tanner is an unexpected but delicious challenge—especially as each night their attraction only grows hotter! But Tanner’s past is as dark as the ink on his skin... He’ll let her get closer than close in the bedroom, but does Abby dare go deeper?

“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”

—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author

NICOLA MARSH is a USA TODAY bestselling and multi-award-winning author who loves nothing better than losing herself in a story. A physiotherapist in a previous life, she now divides her time between raising two dashing heroes, whipping up delish meals, cheering on her footy team and writing—her dream job. And she chats on social media. A lot. Come say hi! Instagram, Twitter, Facebook—she’s there! Also find her at nicolamarsh.com.

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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Sweet Thing

Nicola Marsh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07112-3

SWEET THING

© 2018 Nicola Marsh

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, 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 publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Extract

CHAPTER ONE

Abby

D-DAY SHOULD’VE BEEN the happiest day of my life.

I’d envisaged a fabulous eight hours at Le Miel, creating the French pastries I’d grown to adore over the last year, followed by an intimate evening with a bottle of Shiraz and Channing Tatum.

What better way to celebrate a divorce than with a rich red to tantalise my palate and a hot guy strutting across my TV screen?

But my dreams of drooling into my wineglass over Channing turned to crap about an hour into the working day, when Remy King, the best boss in Australia, took a tumble off a ladder and ended up here, in Sydney Private Hospital.

‘You don’t need to stay,’ he said, his blue eyes filled with pain despite being dosed up on enough painkillers to fell an elephant. ‘Go back to the shop.’

‘Makayla has it covered.’ I perched delicately on the edge of his bed and reached for his hand. ‘Besides, I finished making the croissants, beignets, éclairs and macarons before you decided to do your lousy circus impression, so there’s not much left for her to do but serve.’

He managed a wan smile and winced. ‘It was the ladder’s fault.’

‘Yeah, it just happened to move sideways on that patch of flour on the floor all by itself.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘If you weren’t such a great boss and friend, I’d give you an ass-kicking for being so stupid.’

‘And if you weren’t the best apprentice I’ve ever had, I’d sack you on the spot for being so bold.’

I squeezed his hand, thanking God every day that this man had given me a chance when I needed it most.

Apparently leaving my cold, calculating husband after only nine months of marriage ‘wasn’t the done thing’ in the Prendigast family.

Not that my parents had cared why I’d done it. All they’d worried about was their precious reputation as one of the wealthiest families in Sydney, so they had cut me off financially and emotionally to teach me a lesson.

They’d expected me to come running back to their harbourside mansion in the first week.

I hadn’t been back in a year.

Yet for all their faults, I missed my folks. My friends too. But I’d left Abigail Prendigast, the perfect daughter in a perfect world who did exactly as she was told, behind that fateful day I’d walked out on my old life and into my new.

‘What’s wrong?’ Remy’s eyes narrowed, studying me. ‘If it’s the patisserie, don’t worry, you don’t have to handle the place on your own. I’ve already contacted Tanner, and he’ll be happy to help run the place while I’m recuperating.’

I stiffened. While I’d never met Remy’s younger brother, I’d heard enough to form an impression. And it wasn’t good.

The guy sounded like a flake. A rich flake, who ran nightclubs and bars along the eastern seaboard, made a squillion from them, but spent most of his time flitting overseas squandering his fortune on women.

Yet for some reason Remy seemed to adore him. I’d heard genuine emotion in his voice every time Tanner called from one of his far-flung destinations. Guess I had to give the guy credit for keeping in touch with his brother despite his playboy lifestyle.

I’d seen him once too, while Remy had been chatting to him on a teleconference call. It had been a fleeting glimpse of dark hair, dark eyes and stubble-covered jaw. Handsome if you liked that kind of thing. Me? I preferred uncomplicated, the opposite of Bardley, my ex, and the glower I’d seen on Tanner was enough to tell me he had complication all over him.

‘Isn’t Tanner overseas?’ I asked, sounding way calmer than I felt. I didn’t need some stranger who wouldn’t know a praline from a peach melba looking over my shoulder. I was confident in my work at Le Miel and didn’t need some rich-boy novice slowing me down. ‘Because I can handle the everyday running on my own.’

‘You can’t create and do everything else.’ Concern clouded his gaze before he blinked, and I wondered if I’d imagined it. ‘Tanner is a great businessman. He’s run restaurants. He’ll handle things at Le Miel for a month before I’m back on deck.’

‘A month?’ It came out a yell, and Remy chuckled.

‘That’s what the doc said. Apparently the more I keep off the fractured ankle and rest up the broken ribs, the faster it’ll all heal.’ He winked. ‘Who knew?’

Damn, I should’ve known he couldn’t use crutches to move around the shop when he had three broken ribs too. But when he’d said Tanner would be overseeing the daily operations, I’d envisaged a week, tops. Now I’d have to put up with the gypsy playboy for a month?

Feeling guilty for my selfishness when my friend was in pain, I squeezed his hand again. ‘You focus on healing fast. I’ll take care of the rest.’

‘Don’t you mean we?’

A deep voice came from behind me, the kind of voice that invoked images of dark bars, dark chocolate and dark souls. Deep. Rich. With an underlying hint of impudence that immediately put me on guard.

I turned and locked gazes with the devil himself.

Crap. Those eyes. A startling sienna, almost golden, the brown was so light. But it wasn’t the colour that unnerved me as much as the way they looked at me.

Like I was a tasty tarte tatin waiting to be devoured.

An involuntary shiver crept down my spine as that hungry stare zeroed in on my hand, where it lay covering Remy’s on the bed.

‘Isn’t this cosy?’ His insolent drawl made me bristle. ‘Hope I’m not interrupting anything?’

I snatched my hand away as Remy said, ‘Don’t be a dick. Tanner, this is Abby, my apprentice and the best damn French pastry chef outside of Paris.’

‘Next to you, of course, bro.’ Tanner’s assessing gaze focussed on me and damn if the parts of me that hadn’t experienced a guy’s touch in over a year didn’t zing. In a big way.

‘That goes without saying.’ Remy beamed, his affection obvious as he beckoned Tanner closer. ‘Thanks for doing this.’

‘My pleasure.’ As Tanner stepped forward, I stood and resisted the urge to scoot away.

As if those eyes weren’t enough, the closer he got I realised how big the guy was. Huge. At least six-three, with the kind of build honed from many hours in a gym. Or doing other forms of exercise.

Hell. Where had that come from? For the second time in less than a minute, I’d associated sex with him.

I really needed a bout between the sheets. If I could ever be bothered.

Being celibate since Bardley hadn’t been an issue. I’d been too busy assembling a life that didn’t involve society high teas, expensive dinners to woo clients and yachting on the weekends. All this squeezed around my business degree. Which I’d also walked away from. Bully for me.

‘Actually, your timing couldn’t be better.’ Tanner dwarfed everything in the room as he propped against the bed. ‘I’ve been looking for a new challenge.’

My skin prickled with awareness as Tanner’s daring stare alerted me to the fact he wasn’t just talking about Le Miel.

Either Remy was oblivious to the tension sizzling between Tanner and me, or the pain meds were really kicking in, because he waved us away.

‘Good. Then why don’t you two go get acquainted and leave me to wallow in agony?’

‘Your wish is my command, bro.’ Tanner leaned down to give Remy a gentle hug, an unexpected gesture that made me like him a little when I didn’t want to. ‘I’ll keep you posted. And don’t worry, the patisserie will be fine.’

‘Take care, Rem,’ I said, skirting the bed to the opposite side of Tanner, before bending down to place a kiss on his cheek. ‘Get well fast, okay?’

‘I will.’ Remy’s cheeky grin alerted me to the fact I wouldn’t like what he said next. ‘You’re in Tanner’s capable hands now.’

Heat surged to my cheeks as I imagined exactly what it would feel like to be in those hands, literally.

Then I made the mistake of glancing up to see Tanner hold up the hands in question, the corners of his mouth curved in a devastating smile. ‘Lucky you.’

Many words could be used to describe how I felt right at that very moment.

Lucky sure as hell wasn’t one of them.

CHAPTER TWO

Tanner

I HADN’T BEEN kidding when I told Remy I was up for a challenge. But the cool blonde with glacial blue eyes and an attitude to match wasn’t one of them.

A snowman could get frostbite next to that one.

From the first time she’d stared down her snooty nose at me, I had her pegged. Bored rich girl playing at baking goodies for a while. Probably like the ones she’d created in her state-of-the-art playroom kitchen as a kid, envisaging a prince charming with a mega bank account to come along and rescue her.

Yeah, women like her had the fairytale down pat.

Which begged the question: Why had she stuck around for a year?

Remy had given me the basics about his protégé during one of our phone calls about ten months ago. Said that one of his best customers had come into the patisserie one day, wild-eyed and dishevelled, begging for a job. It had been her dream to be a pastry chef apparently.

What a crock of shit.

I had no idea what game this Abby chick was playing, but the fact Remy had offered her the apartment over the patisserie while she got her life back together, and she was still there, meant I’d be keeping an eye on her and figuring out what her deal was.

Everybody had an angle. I’d learned that the hard way. So if the ice princess was taking advantage of my brother I’d kick her out on her sweet ass so fast she wouldn’t see it coming. And it was sweet. Very, from what I’d glimpsed when she’d bent over to kiss Remy.

It had been a touching gesture, indicating a depth of affection that could be construed as genuine, if I didn’t know better.

Women like her were masters at deception, and if her endgame was to fool my brother—maybe into giving her a piece of the action at Le Miel—she was in for a rude shock.

Remy had always been too kind-hearted; that was his problem. Probably one of the reasons Dad had tolerated him and despised me.

‘We should head back to the patisserie,’ Abby said as we exited the hospital. ‘Makayla, one of the staff, will be run off her feet.’

‘Not so fast, Sweet Thing.’ My hand shot out, touching the small of her back, and a shock akin to electricity sizzled up my arm. ‘We need to get acquainted first.’

She stared at me like I’d suggested we get naked to do it, and I grinned. The thought wasn’t totally unpalatable, considering how much fun it would be to rattle that impenetrable façade.

‘I meant let’s grab a coffee at that café down by the water, but if you had something else in mind I’m up for it.’ I threw in a wink, knowing it would rile her more than anything else I could say.

Predictably, she drew herself up to an impressive five-ten. Tall for a woman. I preferred them petite and pliable, not big and bristly.

‘Sweet thing isn’t my name,’ she said, chin tilted, haughty as hell.

‘Would you like it to be?’ I leaned in, expecting her to jump back like a startled cat.

When she held her ground and glared at me with those big blue eyes, an unusual azure similar to a glacier I’d seen in New Zealand once, I had to admire her a little.

‘Here’s the deal. I love my job and I respect your brother. He gave me a chance when no one else would, and I’m not going to screw this up over some big-mouthed Romeo who can’t keep it in his pants. Got it?’

She jabbed me in the chest with a finger. She actually jabbed me. And I admired her all the more for having the balls to stand up to my in-your-face innuendos to get a rise out of her.

‘So quit the bullshit flirting and let’s talk business.’

I couldn’t resist one more. ‘Dirty business?’

‘Jeez, you’re annoying,’ she muttered under her breath as she stomped away.

Okay, so maybe I’d pushed too far but getting her so wound up had its advantages. Namely giving me an unimpeded view of her ass.

My earlier assessment had been correct. It was sweet. Taut and rounded, highlighted to perfection in the tight black pants worn by staff at the patisserie.

The patisserie...

I’d promised Remy to ensure it ran smoothly in his absence, and I always kept my promises. I might be a prick who didn’t let anyone get too close but Remy was different. He was my blood. And I owed him.

Which meant I needed to play nice with little miss sweet cheeks.

‘Hey, wait up.’ I caught up to her in a few strides. ‘Look, you can blame my idiocy on jet lag, considering I only got in from LA late last night.’

She shot me an exasperated glance that indicated she hadn’t thawed in the slightest.

‘Let’s have that coffee, and I promise to behave.’ I held up my hands to show I had no tricks up my sleeves. ‘What do you say?’

She hesitated, gnawing her bottom lip, and damned if the innocuous action didn’t shoot straight to my cock. Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t screw everything that walked and it had been a few months since I’d been with a woman.

Time to rectify that if the ice princess got me horny with a simple lip-nibble.

‘Come on, Abby, I don’t bite.’ I refrained from adding, ‘only if you ask nicely’, because that wasn’t helping the hard-on situation.

After what seemed like an eternity, she managed a terse nod. ‘Fine.’

But it wasn’t. Because as we strolled the last fifty metres to the café I caught a whiff of her fragrance on the wind. An intoxicating blend of vanilla and coconut, and I wondered if she tasted as good as she smelt.

Shit. Remy would castrate me if I screwed around with his protégé. Not that I wanted to. Taunting was one thing, following through another.

But as another gust of wind blew blond strands of hair into her face and my fingers itched with the urge to brush them away, I knew working alongside Abby would be a long four weeks.

I’d craved a challenge.

Looked like I’d got one.

CHAPTER THREE

Abby

I DIDN’T HAVE time for this.

I should head back to Le Miel and make sure Makayla had everything under control.

Instead, I had to play nice with him.

‘This table suit?’ Tanner gestured to the only vacant table for two outside the café. A cosy table.

Swallowing my first retort of ‘hell no’, I nodded. ‘Let’s get this done so I can head back to the patisserie.’

‘Why the hurry to get rid of me?’ He pulled out my chair, a gentlemanly gesture at odds with the raw toughness that radiated off him. ‘I told you I’d behave.’

I managed a tight smile in thanks as I sat, well aware that Tanner’s version of ‘behaving’ and mine would be continents apart.

‘What’ll you have?’ He sat and pushed his shirtsleeves up, revealing heavily inked arms.

I didn’t like tattoos. Couldn’t fathom what drove a person to scar their skin like that. But as Tanner leaned his forearms on the table, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the sheer artistic beauty that started above his wrists and wound its way up.

Elaborate vines. Stunning roses. Intricate motifs. Symbols I couldn’t decipher from this distance but wanted to get closer to.

I found myself inadvertently leaning forward before realising what I was doing, and when I glanced up Tanner grinned like he knew exactly how fascinating I found him.

‘See anything you like?’

‘No,’ I snapped, sounding uptight and prudish, the situation made worse by the wash of heat flushing my cheeks.

‘They extend a lot further than my arms,’ he said, his voice low and gravelly, the underlying hint of naughtiness making my thighs clench. ‘In case you were wondering.’

‘I don’t like tattoos,’ I said, making a mockery of my supercilious declaration when my gaze strayed to those forearms again.

Strong. Sinuous. Sexy.

Damn.

‘Many people don’t.’ He shrugged, like my opinion meant little. ‘They see tats and think bikers and drug lords. They don’t get the artistic angle at all.’

‘You like art?’

It was the safe thing to say, a conversation starter that would get us off the topic of his tattoos and his body. I hoped.

‘I like ink.’ He leaned back in his chair and interlocked his hands behind his head, a guy comfortable in his own skin.

Which he revealed more of as the hem of his shirt rode up and I got a tantalising glimpse of more ink on his lower belly. I couldn’t make out the design, but it looked suspiciously like a cutlass and a hook.

‘A pirate, seriously?’ The words popped out before I could stop them and while I was horrified I’d articulated my thoughts, he laughed so loud nearby patrons turned to stare.

‘Don’t look so shocked,’ he drawled, filling our glasses from the water bottle between us. ‘I like a good pillage like the next pirate.’

I compressed my lips before I blurted anything else. Like how I’d rather walk the plank than be pillaged by him.

Though that wasn’t entirely true, and after my disastrous marriage, I’d made a promise to myself to never lie again—especially to myself.

In less than thirty minutes, Tanner King had made me feel more alive than I had in years. He riled me. He taunted me. His cocky, laid-back attitude annoyed the crap out of me.

But I liked the buzz making my skin prickle and the weird hollow feeling deep in my belly. Like I was missing something. Like I craved something.

Much to my horror, I had to admit that he turned me on a little. A lot. Whatever.

Bastard.

‘Let me guess. You’re going to make some crude remark about what constitutes the pirate’s peg leg.’

He laughed again, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes endearingly cute. ‘You’re funny. I like that in a woman.’

The natural retort, that he’d like all women, hovered on the tip of my tongue but a waitress appeared and after she’d taken our orders—double shot espresso for him, soy latte for me—I was back to being scrutinised by his intense golden gaze and liking it too much.