Melting Ms Frost (2 page)

Wow. There was no denying the killer impact of it – shame he’d mistaken her for a willing victim. Lifting her brows and tilting her nose just enough to be able to look down it, she went straight for the knock-down.

‘Is there a problem over here?’ she demanded. ‘Only you seem to be spending an awful lot of time standing around staring into space instead of working.’

Rather than jumping to attention and spewing excuses or false apologies as she expected, the target of her disapproval simply let the smile slide, sending her a sideways look instead – a stunning flash of silver through a tangle of black locks – and took his time rinsing the dregs from a cocktail shaker down the sink. She caught the soft, southern Irish brogue she remembered from earlier as he turned to send a suddenly stricken-looking Jon off to the kitchens in search of fresh mint.

The show of unhurried confidence and the relaxed stance of his rangy frame only served to nettle her further, as did the too-casual turn-up of his sleeves – which exposed a most distracting display of muscle flexing along lean forearms as he reached for a towel and wiped his hands.

‘Annabel, isn’t it?’

The sound of her name snapped her attention back up to his face as he turned from the sink at last. ‘It’s Ms Frost, actually,’ she informed him in her coldest tone. ‘And I asked you a question.’

His gaze met hers head on for the first time, leaving her to feel the shock of impact of the most arresting pair of pale eyes she’d ever seen.

‘I think you know very well that I’ve been working,’ he said, sweeping that gaze over what she had to admit appeared to be a spotless and organised area. Slinging the towel over one shoulder, he began sauntering her way, offering a crooked smile that belied the intense focus of his scrutiny. ‘Just like you know that “space” isn’t what I’ve been staring at.’

Unused to being answered back by a subordinate, Annabel felt her own eyes widen at his audacity, but she didn’t miss a beat. ‘I have to say I don’t like your attitude.’

His brows flickered upwards, but otherwise unfazed, he kept walking towards her, moving with an effortless grace that only reinforced his air of confidence. He didn’t stop until he got right up close. Too close for her down-the-nose glare to compete with his height. So close her gaze was forced up to meet his unwavering one.

And for the second time in under a minute, Annabel found herself distracted. This near, the guy was not just handsome – he was breathtaking, with strong-angled features and the bold slash of black brows accentuating the almost iridescent quality of those irises that she now saw were ringed by a dark border of charcoal.

With bare inches to spare between them, he lowered his face to hers a fraction more, the pull of that near-transparent gaze strong enough to hold her captive. He pitched his voice so that only they could hear. ‘Well, now. So far that makes us equal. Because I don’t think much of yours, either.’

She almost spluttered then. None of her staff had ever had the nerve to speak to her in such a way. ‘I beg your pardon?’ She drew back a step, thrown but determined to maintain her appearance of aloof superiority. ‘You can’t talk to me like that, I’m your manager.’

‘Oh, I know who you are,
a mhuirnín
,’ he said, and before she had a chance to question the unfamiliar sounding word, he followed her retreat, re-closing the space between them. ‘You’re all I’ve been thinking about for the past few hours.’ He visually traced the contours of her face. ‘I confess, I can’t help wondering what you look like with that glorious hair let loose.’

‘What?’ Annabel floundered, caught off guard by his forward manner. Not only was he more handsome than she’d thought, he had the arrogance to match. ‘Are you always so rude?’

He looked bemused. ‘Was I being rude? That wasn’t my intention. I was simply following your lead and being direct. Are
you
always so hard on new members of staff?’

He was questioning
her
? ‘That depends entirely on the impression they make. Most know how to behave better.’

The jibe was met with nothing more than an easy laugh. ‘I’m sure they do, once they’ve come face to face with you. Do you insist on the same criteria for friends and lovers – does everyone have to be on their best behaviour to meet with your approval?’

Annabel couldn’t believe her ears. Was the guy for real? ‘That is absolutely none of your business.’

‘True.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘But it doesn’t stop me from wondering, Annabel.’

‘Stop calling me that. With the exception of the head chef and owner, I expect every employee to refer to me as Ms Frost.’

‘That’s very traditional,’ he said with a teasing glint in his eye. ‘And surprisingly strict. How about when you’re out for drinks after a long shift? Surely you relax the formality then – let that hair down a little bit?’

And encourage precisely this sort of over-familiarity? No. ‘I don’t fraternise with my staff.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said with a very good show of sincerity. ‘Why not?’

‘Again, that has nothing to do with you. I don’t think you’ve quite grasped the meaning of “none of your business”.’

Her rebuff only made him smile. ‘Oh, I’ve grasped it. But let’s just say that I’m curious by nature.’

He was
unbelievable
. ‘Well, you know what curiosity did to the cat?’

As though searching for the answer, he looked off into the distance for a moment. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ he said, turning that unsettlingly direct gaze back on her with a slow spread of a smile – one that looked very different from the open, friendly expression he’d used a minute ago, ‘but wasn’t it the cat that got the cream in the end?’

She might have imagined it, but that last seemed to be delivered with some sort of subtle suggestion that packed a surprisingly potent punch, causing her breath to hitch.

‘You’re getting your metaphors mixed,’ she snapped to cover her reaction. ‘Let’s hope you find it as easy to mix drinks because I’ll be keeping a close eye on you.’

‘I’ll have to make sure I give my best performance then,’ he said, accepting the challenge with a slight bow of his head as they both noticed Tim coming up to the bar with an order. ‘I’m sorry to have to cut short our informative introduction, Ms Frost, but as you can see I’ve work to do.’ He flashed her a dazzling smile. ‘And I’ve just discovered I have a very tough boss to please.’

She glared in response. ‘Just so long as you remember that. You really don’t want to test me.’

Yet as she spun away, she got the distinct sense from his expression that testing her was exactly what he wanted to do.

Finishing up for the night, Aidan switched off the gleaming chrome coffee machine as Tim came through from the kitchens, whistling a jolly yet totally unidentifiable tune into the stillness of the now empty restaurant.

Swinging close by the bar, the waiter flung Aidan’s overcoat across the polished surface. ‘C’mon, time to get out of here,’ he announced. ‘Fancy a quick beer? I’m parched.’

‘Sure,’ Aidan agreed, rolling down his shirt sleeves as he made for the open end of the bar. After his earlier one-to-one with Annabel Frost it had to be said he was feeling more than a little dry-mouthed himself.

With Cluny’s sitting smack bang in the middle of Soho, they wouldn’t have far to look to find refreshment. Ringed by the world-famous shopping precincts of Oxford and Regent Streets – which at this time of year teemed with locust-style swarms of Christmas shoppers – and the theatres of Shaftesbury Avenue, the square mile parcel of the bustling West End was steeped in a colourful history of hedonistic iniquity and represented the beating social heart of London.

Having shrugged off the seedier side of its gangland and sex industry past, the multicultural urban village of modern Soho continued to celebrate its identity as a free-spirited party playground. With its labyrinthine streets and laneways crowded with a multitude of cafés, bars, restaurants and clubs, it was the perfect location for establishments such as Cluny’s to thrive on a clientele ranging from colourful local residents and creatives, to tourists, shoppers and theatre-goers.

As Aidan and Tim made their way through the late-night streets – still lively under the twinkle and glow of the city’s Christmas light displays now that the festive party season was well underway – they passed several such pubs, bars and clubs without stopping. Noticing that Tim was striding out like a man with a predetermined destination in mind, Aidan was happy to be led along, enjoying the constant stream of the ex-Sydneysider’s amusing and irreverent banter.

Coming to Old Compton Street – the loud and proud main GLBT artery of Soho – Tim’s chatter abruptly cut off to be replaced by a sudden obsession with tweaking strategic strands of his short blond hair. When he slowed to turn into the doorway of a bar called the Louche Lounge, Aidan saw he even gave his collar a snappy tug before stepping inside.

A moment later he had to wonder why his colleague had bothered with the primping. The interior of the bar was so dark that it was doubtful anyone would be able to appreciate his efforts. With only a dim pink glow providing the bare minimum of illumination, Aidan had to squint to avoid falling over anyone as he made for the nearest free space at the bar.

‘What are you having?’ he asked Tim, thankful that the music was set to a mellow midweek sound level that allowed for communication via a semi-raised voice rather than a full-blown performance of unintelligible shouts and charades.

Without answering, Tim pulled at his sleeve and kept moving, not stopping until they’d reached a section of the bar already two-deep with customers.

‘I’m buying,’ he informed Aidan with all his attention focused on the bar. Or more specifically on the hard-bodied twenty-something guy in the black vest top serving behind it. With his cropped hair, smudged black eyeliner and leather dog collar buckled around his neck studded with crystals depicting the word ‘BITCH’, he seemed to be very popular with the punters.

Feeling a sharp jostle against his shoulder, Aidan turned and looked up into the garishly made-up face of … well, of what he could only describe as something resembling a pantomime dame straight off the stage. Swaying next to him, the vision of sequin-bound brawn topped his own six-one height by roughly half a foot, with most of that elevation coming courtesy of a voluminous platinum blonde wig. As there seemed to be little correlation between the dame’s swaying and the rhythm of slow, soulful funk being pumped through the place, Aidan guessed the movement was alcohol induced.

When roughly two hundred and fifty pounds of hairy Amazonian teetered into him again, he stopped guessing and decided it definitely was alcohol.

‘Sorry, guv,’ a gravelly voice escaped from between the crooked slash of bright orange lips. ‘It’s these bleedin’ ’eels.’

‘Eels?’ Aidan asked, somewhat alarmed.

‘Yeah. ’Eels.’ A big hand gestured downwards. ‘Don’t know how the birds manage to walk in ’em.’

Looking down to see the vision’s meat-slab feet crammed into an oversized pair of court shoes, Aidan grinned in understanding. ‘Ah, heels. No problem.’

‘Don’t usually go round dressed like this, see? I’m a cabbie for chrissakes,’ his new companion declared with a disgruntled belch. ‘S’those bastards over there made me do it.’ He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘Friends they call ’emselves. S’me birthday. Forty today so they dressed me up and lugged me out like this. The missus’ll have a bleedin’ fit when she sees me. ’Ere.’ He nudged Aidan with a beefy arm as a space opened up at the bar in front of them. ‘You gettin’ in there for a drink or what?’

‘Ladies first.’ Aidan gestured, careful to keep his toes out of the way as the huge cabbie lurched forward in search of more drink he really didn’t need.

On Aidan’s other side, Tim had also managed to edge to the front of the crowd.

‘Tim, my lovely!’ the ‘bitch’ behind the bar cried when he spotted the blond. ‘You back
again
?’

‘Stu.’ Aidan heard Tim answer with a reserved coyness he wouldn’t have expected from the garrulous Aussie. After the order had been placed and Stu had turned away to the fridge, Aidan leant in a little and raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘I’m working on it,’ Tim said, correctly interpreting his expression as Stu turned back, planted two bottles of lager on the bar and popped the tops. With a wink he took the proffered money from Tim’s hand before moving off to serve the next calf-eyed customer.

‘Good luck with it,’ Aidan said, taking the bottle Tim passed him as they began to push their way back out of the waiting bar crowd.

‘Thanks.’ Tim sighed wistfully when they’d found a less cramped area, clinking the neck of his bottle against Aidan’s. ‘And congratulations,’ he added after they’d both taken a few thirst-quenching swallows of the cold Spanish beer.

‘We’re celebrating?’ Aidan asked.

‘Too right. You survived your first shift with Little Ms Frosty. How was it?’ Tim peered at him intently through the dark. ‘I don’t see any blood.’

Aidan laughed. ‘No blood,’ he confirmed, and held up his fingers. ‘Not even any frostbite.’

‘Lucky. I saw her come gunning for you at one point. What was that all about?’

Aidan shrugged. ‘Not much. Just establishing a few ground rules, getting better acquainted.’

‘Crikey, Aid. Might as well get chummy with a shark, mate.’

‘Yes, I got a good flash of her teeth.’ Aidan smothered a smile at the memory of his snappy manager and took another swig from his bottle. ‘Apart from work, what do you know about her?’

‘Hardly anything.’ Tim shrugged, his gaze slipping over Aidan’s shoulder towards the bar. ‘I don’t reckon there is anything except work where she’s concerned. I’ve been at Cluny’s for over a year and haven’t ever heard her talk about her personal life, haven’t seen any evidence of family or friends even existing. She doesn’t seem interested in taking much time off for holidays either. I think she only disappeared last week because of some sort of crisis.’

‘So you don’t know whether she’s in a relationship?’

That got Tim’s full attention back. He nearly choked on a mouthful of beer. Despite the dark, the horrified look he gave Aidan was obvious. ‘Mate, you’re shitting me. Don’t tell me you’re interested?’