After Christmas was done and dusted, we took three days off before opening shop again. I expected to see Zachary Malone again, but a small part of me was disappointed I didn't see his handsome face.

Now I was working the late afternoon shifts at the bakery. As school had restarted, it was a bit of a handful keeping up with dual problems: coursework deadlines and snappish teachers breathing down my neck.

The bakery was my solace — my time to forget about the stresses of the day before my dad and I went back home in his car together.

'Oi, Candy, get your arse down here and help me with icing these cakes!' Dorothy was a twenty-something woman who may have looked pretty and petite, but she had a huge temper.

Despite a negative attitude, she managed to be my dad's favourite apprentice due to her inventiveness with her cake-making.

It helped that she was also the daughter of my dad's mate Oliver Kane, who was head chef of Clarrington's hotel, so she'd inherited his skills in the kitchen.

Wrapped my apron around my waist and rushing to her side, she gave me a nozzle and I noted she'd been icing the cakes in red cream cheese frosting.

'You're late.' She grinned to herself, as she watched as I continued where she left off.

With a sinking heart, I knew what was going to come next. She was building up to take her daily rant out on me.

'Sorry, but I had to come from H—, so there's not much I could do with traffic and all.' I focused on the cupcakes in front of me, satisfied my attempts at icing were neater than Dorothy's.

She sighed, tapping her fingers against the counter. 'You're lucky your dad's the boss.'

Dorothy shot me a discontented look. I think she would have preferred if I didn't even work in my father's bakery.

My dad was delighted I was eager to follow in his footsteps when it came to being a chef, so he'd done everything in his power to help me out.

In turn, I knew that he was very close to winning a Michelin star any day now, so I worked my socks off. For his bakery to be awarded such an honour would have been the crowning achievement in his career so far.

I laughed in disbelief at her snide remark. 'Speak for yourself, Dorothy.'

She grunted something which didn't sound too flattering and soon got distracted by her phone. I'd caught her sexting her boyfriend a couple of times, much to her annoyance, but nowadays she didn't even care that she wasn't supposed to be on technology during her shift. As long as she managed to do the work quickly and to a high standard, Dad was none the wiser. To her defence, she was going to be a skilled pastry chef if any of her tantalising, unique creations were anything to go by.

'There was that hot dude asking for you, by the way. His dad's a regular at Clarrington's. Did not expect to see the son in person. Quite a wild child,' Dorothy said, eyes still glued to her phone.

'Huh?' I mumbled, drizzling some chocolate sauce on top of the cake. 'What hot dude?'

Dorothy looked up from her phone and snorted at my ignorance. 'No one, love! Don't worry your cute little head about it,' she said in a sing-song voice and laughed.

I shrugged and focused my attention on making some chocolate shapes on the grease proof paper. It was fairly obvious that Dorothy was having one of her weird moments, so it was better for us both if I didn't even attempt to wrangle an answer out of her.

Although, I could help wondering that perhaps the 'hot dude' in question was a certain moody, sweet bastard called Zachary.

As I stepped back into the shop floor with my cakes sitting pretty on the tray like blossoming roses, I began to arrange the cakes on the display window, humming the title song to Cats under my breath, helping a few customers with their enquiries.

Apparently a Brazilian woman by the name of Juanita was curious as to whether we made vegan cakes as well and I assured her we most certainly did (my dad had taken the initiative to make vegan substitutes at the request of his sister-in-law many years ago).

As I wrote the flavour name on little piece of card in purple ink, I suddenly felt a hand press down on my back. I could smell the earthy scent of wool and the crisp tones of his lemony soap. When I glanced up at the guy, the pen rolled onto the floor as I look at him in surprise.

'Howdy! How you doin', sugar,' Zachary drawled in a pitch perfect southern accent.

'Hi...' I managed to say, my skin was burning up, as I enjoyed his lingering touch. He was smiling down at me, amusement dancing in his blue eyes as he studied my face.

'Haven't seen you in a while. Still passionate about your 'save the cupcakes' campaign?'

'I do try my best...' I muttered sweetly. 'Especially when there are corrupt customers lurking about...'

'Yee-haw!' He grinned, withdrawing his hand, much to my regret.

Bending down to pick up my pen, he allowed his gaze to slowly run up my body, taking in one of my slouchy jumper dresses which I'd paired with sheer tights and boots. It wasn't really supposed to be worn as a dress, but I figured that the tights would make the short length less of an issue.

Zachary was staring at my legs as though he approved of my fleshy display and I tugged my hemline down, making a mental note to wear something a little longer next time to save from his unexpected appearances.

'Legs for days,' he remarked. I smiled down at him, holding my hand out for the pen.

'Yes, ma'am.' Zachary straightened up, gave me the pen, and I watched, from the corner of my eye, as his eyes scanned the the cakes and pastries on display.

Confused, he gazed at a cake which was in the shape of a gingerbread house with little cheerful figures appearing at the doorway, waving at us. I'd helped in making the figures - they were made of sugar and I might have eaten a few of them - RIP.

'What do you recommend, Candice?' Zachary murmured, picking up a box.

He was still speaking in a convincing southern drawl. All he needed was a cowboy hat and and some spurs and he'd be right at home on a ranch.

'Wow, that's a really good accent, you have going there.' I rolled my eyes, drawing a few hearts on my labels, wishing that he'd just go to the counter instead, so I wouldn't have to deal with him — yet again.

I regretted having to see him again, just when I'd got used to not seeing him.

'Thanks, my mum's a Texan,' he said, reverting back to his usual English accent with American undertones. Eventually, he picked up the prongs and placing a lemon meringue tart in his box to take away.

The way he pronounced some words sounded odd. Just as I was wondering if he'd been raised in America, but moved to England during his adolescence, he shoved the box at me. Puzzled, I glanced down at it, while he stared at me with a blank expression.

'What do you want me to do with this?' I said slowly.

'Give me the full Candy treatment,' he said, nodding down at the ribbons by the side. His tone was matter-of-fact as though he was used to having his own way.

Usually, I would have wrapped a ribbon around the box if I was serving a nice customer, along with write a quick little message on the box, but this was Zachary we were talking about. He didn't deserve any special treatment.

'No way.' I handed it back to him. He shook his head with a disappointed look and set the box down, releasing an exaggerated sigh.

'Why? Does this tart taste bad?' he probed.

'Nothing of the sort. It's yummy,' I grinned, sniggering as he frowned at me, his mouth curling down once he saw that I wasn't going to continue to play his games.

There was a young woman who came along and asked for an apple danish, which I gladly placed in the box and wrapped up, even drawing a quick sketch of their cute baby asleep in a pram, which made her beam with pleasure.

Zachary was slyly observing my interaction with her. My patience thinning, I asked him if he wanted the tart or not.

He shook his head saying that he'd changed his mind, with the prong I placed it back on the stand, so as I was distracted in doing this, I suddenly felt a warm body behind me and I gasped as I felt his chin rest on my shoulder.

'What are you doing, Zachary?'

His hands skim across my hips, allowing one of them to wrap around my waist while the other encircled my wrist.

'Taking matters into my own hands, Candice,' he said, his breath tickling my ear. There was a dangerous edge in his voice, as though he was warning me to go along with his way of doing things.

'Pick up a box.' I did so, already feeling dizzy as I inhaled his scent. It was nice and comforting, but very earthy which contrasted with the sugary, delicate smells coming out of the bakery. His chest was pressed against my back and I liked the hardness against me, the way his whole figure seemed to engulf mine protectively.

'You smell of sugar and fruit...' There was a gleam in his eye and it was lucky that he was directing my hand to pick up the prongs, because I doubt I would have been able to make my brain carry out such a simple movement just then.

'Have you got a problem with that?' I moved my head a bit, trying to keep my breath steady, while he glanced around at the display case, choosing which item of baked food he wanted to purchase. There was a cherry Bakewell tart, which our hands hovered around.

'I like my tarts juicy and fresh, so I really couldn't care less...' He was smiling, and I shook my head, biting my lip to hold back the laughter.

'Bakewell tart for you?' I asked him.

'Go for it.' His tone was satisfied and I obediently placed a tart in the box, wrapping a ribbon around it and drawing a sad face next to his name.

Once Zachary collected his box from me and studied what I'd drawn, there was a hint of a smile on his face. 'Is that supposed to be me or you? Because it's not a good likeness either way...'

'Enjoy your tart.' I waved my hand at him, giving him the message that I was done with him for today.

'Oh, I already did,' he said, giving me a last look which suggested that he was ravenous for more than a Bakewell tart...

My heart was at a thousand beats a minute as I watched him go to the till to pay, and when I felt a hand at my elbow, I almost jumped.

'Eye candy he may be, but I doubt you're going to get anywhere with someone of his status.'

Dorothy had an irritating smirk on her face as she followed my gaze to Zachary.

'What do you mean?' I breathed.

She headed in the direction of the kitchen and I dropped my pen back in my pocket, matching her stride.

'His dad is a billionaire, honey.' She laughed at my ignorance. 'And his mum was a supermodel. Never going to happen.'

At her words, my mouth gaped open as I processed this. 'Are you serious?'

'Son of Peter Malone. Beer baron,' she grunted, looking at a clipboard. 'Google it."'

Curious, I pulled out my phone and began to type his dad's name in the search box, disbelieving that Zachary, curt, sexy and spoilt, had decided to become a regular customer over the last few weeks.