MELTING MR. FROSTY'S HEART       ebook companion





Life is like ice cream: you have to take it one lick at a time...

Those of you who've been with me for a while will know I have a bit of a thing for ice cream. Three books - Tempted By Trouble, Anything But Vanilla and Vettori's Damsel in Distress - have charted the romances of the three Amery sisters who founded the ice cream events business "Scoop!".

Often one book will lead to a spin-off - great characters cannot be left dangling while the main event sweeps on to its inevitable conclusion.

Two such characters were that magician with ice cream, Ria (Knickerbocker Gloria, herself) and uptight millionaire with a passion for opera, Graeme Laing.

Sorrel Amery's parting gift to him was to tell him that Ria loved the opera. Great Uncle Basil's response was that she would "shake the creases out of his pants".

Melting Mr Frosty's Heart is a short story that catches up with the moment when Graeme, much against his better judgement, decides to ask Ria to join him in his box at Covent Garden.


Will she say yes? Do opposites ever attract? And what does happen to his pants?                        


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taste test...


GRAEME Laing had spent the last half an hour doing everything but enter Knickerbocker Gloria. The Neapolitan bright ice cream parlour was the last place he wanted to be.

His dismissal of Sorrel’s decision to go into partnership with the ice cream queen had nothing to do with balance sheets. It had been driven by a gut-level instinct for self-preservation, but her parting words — “Ria loves opera…” — had become an irritating earworm that he couldn’t get out of his head.
He needed to see Gloria Mason, remind himself why this was the worst idea in the world so that he could walk away, dismiss her from his mind.

‘Well if it isn’t Mr Frosty…’

As if his thoughts had conjured her up he turned to face Knickerbocker Gloria herself. Provocative in an ankle-length dress in some ethnic print, her mess of dirty blonde hair braided with beads, she was glowing in the afternoon light as if the sun was her personal spotlight.

‘Miss Mason,’ he responded, stiffly.

‘If you were looking for my partner you’re out of luck.’ Her smile had a touch of winner’s satisfaction. ‘She’s drumming up business at a wedding event in Brighton.’

 ‘Sorrel,’ he said, ‘as I’m sure you’re aware, has decided that it’s time to move on.’

‘Not before time. She was becoming positively middle-aged under your influence.’

Ria’s dress was cut low enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of the tattoo on her breast — a posy of flowers entwined with a quotation that he’d made a point of never getting close enough to read. He was close enough now and found himself staring at the word “thoughts”…

Thoughts of whom?

She glanced down at her dress, then back at him and smiled, knowingly. ‘Middle-age is a state of mind, Graeme.’

 Caught out, he retaliated. ‘Not one that’s troubling you.’

‘Not while there’s breath in my body,’ she agreed. ‘So? If it’s not my partner that you’re after why are you slumming it in the unfashionable end of town?’

‘Slumming? According to the latest edition of the County Chronicle this area has become something of a foodie shopping destination.’ He lifted the carrier he was holding to demonstrate his excuse for being in the area. ‘Your ice cream received a particularly glowing review.’

‘And you thought you’d try some? Perfect timing. I’ve just created something rather special and you can be the first to taste it,’ she said, as if that was an inducement he’d find it impossible to resist.

‘What flavour?’ he asked, suspiciously.

Her wry smile underlined the fact that she had no illusions about what he thought of her or her ice cream. He already knew what she thought of him. Inflexible, lacking imagination, cold; she always looked at him as if wondering how to shock a reaction out of him. Or maybe she knew and, like him, recognised that it would be a mistake.

‘There’s no need to look so concerned.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘After the disaster with the kale—’


Her throaty “gotcha” chuckle as she stepped around him and reached for the door warned him that he’d stepped into her trap.

‘Oh, I see. You were pulling my leg.’

‘They are such very long legs.’ Her gaze travelled slowly up from his feet and paused for a moment at his groin, just as his had lingered on the tattoo at her breast. The result was as if she’d feathered him with her fingers… ‘And you have such sharp creases in your trousers.’

This was definitely a mistake. ‘I should go—’ 

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From the book MELTING MR FROSTY'S HEART by Liz Fielding

Copyright © 2016 by Liz Fielding