Australian Bachelors: Masterful Magnates: Purchased: His Perfect Wife. HELEN BIANCHIN
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me.’
Go for broke? She could do that, easily.
Wolfe deposited her outside the restaurant a few minutes before four.
‘I’ll take a cab to the hotel when I finish for the night,’ Lara indicated as she reached for the door clasp.
‘And deny me the opportunity to—’
‘Play the part?’
‘Of caring fiancé?’ His eyes gleamed with musing humour. ‘Indulge me.’
She threw him a cynical look. ‘I’d prefer to think you enjoy the food.’
In one fluid movement she stepped from the car and closed the door with a refined click. Then she offered a mock salute and crossed the pavement.
Sassy, Wolfe accorded as he watched her walk away from him.
Petite, with a smart mouth, no artifice, and no longer an innocent.
Yet he made her nervous, apparent in the accelerated pulse-beat at the base of her throat. The soft tinge of pink that crept into her cheeks.
The knowledge intrigued him.
He moved the transmission into drive and checked the rear-vision mirror before moving out into the flow of traffic.
There were a number of calls he needed to make, a late-afternoon appointment, and he planned to fit in a workout in the hotel gym. Then he’d shower, dress and spend time on his laptop.
It was after nine when Wolfe eased the Lexus into a parking slot and entered Lara’s. Shontelle greeted him warmly and showed him to a table.
‘Wolfe just walked in.’
Lara cast Sally a harried glance, and immediately returned to the task at hand. ‘Fine.’ She glimpsed Sally’s faintly lifted eyebrow and tempered it with, ‘OK, thanks.’
It wasn’t a good evening. The first of the two prospective chefs on trial wasn’t working out too well. Twice the woman had stuffed up; although the errors were minor and could be attributed to nerves, it didn’t make for an auspicious beginning.
Lara had painstakingly built up a reputation, and she refused to see it diminished in any way. Her existing staff were good workers, quick and incredibly loyal. Any newcomer had to meet with their approval as well as her own.
At ten, Lara bade the woman goodnight and promised to relay her decision within a few days.
The last patron left at eleven, the kitchen was restored to neatness, the tables cleared, and Sally retrieved the vacuum cleaner while Lara began locking up.
Wolfe lent a hand stacking chairs and they emerged into the cool night air to a light shower of rain, bade goodnight to Sally, who’d gained a lift from a fellow worker, then Wolfe eased the Lexus towards the inner city.
The almost silent swish of car tyres against wet bitumen was vaguely soothing, and she resisted the temptation to sink back against the head-rest and close her eyes.
‘How did you rate tonight’s trial with the first of the two replacement chefs?’
‘It’s better you don’t ask.’
‘That bad?’
She wanted to be fair, in spite of her reservations. ‘I don’t think she’ll fit in with the team.’
Wolfe eased the Lexus into the hotel forecourt. ‘Based on valid reason, or gut instinct?’
‘Both.’
It was almost the witching hour when Wolfe inserted the keycard and unlocked their suite.
Lara toed off her trainers, gathered nightwear and moved into the en suite. A hot shower eased some of the evening’s tension and, towelled dry, she pulled on a nightshirt, caught her hair together and emerged into the room.
Wolfe was in bed, his lengthy frame stretched out beneath the covers with both hands folded beneath his head. Dimly lit bedside lamps lent an intimacy she endeavoured to ignore … and failed miserably.
Just knowing he was there. Aware, if she moved a few paces, she could reach out and touch him. The nerves in her stomach curled into a tight ball at the thought of his possible reaction.
Oh, give it up, she silently derided as she slid into bed. Tonight … Sunday … next week. What was the difference?
She must have fallen asleep, for she woke to the sound of her watch alarm and the insistent peal of the phone heralding a wake-up call.
It became a day like any other, and Lara relaxed somewhat as the male chef on trial proved himself to be deft and skilled as he handled lunch with dedicated ease. The evening went equally well, and the kitchen team’s approval cemented Lara’s decision to hire him.
Anton—otherwise known as Anthony ‘Tony’ Smith from a small town out west—had trained in Sydney and worked in Europe. What was more, due to his recent return from a sojourn in France, he was available for an immediate start.
Like … tomorrow?
His, ‘Why not? What time?’ was easy.
There was nothing like having him dive in at the deep end. ‘At the fish markets, before dawn.’
‘I’ll be there.’
He was, and together they bartered for the best supplies, secured and arranged for delivery, then settled on a time for him to report in to the restaurant.
‘Free up a few hours this afternoon.’ Wolfe inclined his head as they shared breakfast, and she spared him a wary look.
‘Why?’
‘Shopping.’ He refilled his cup with coffee and leant back in his chair.
‘I don’t need anything.’
‘Yes, you do,’ he refuted easily. ‘Unless you have a collection of clothes in storage?’
Her features paled beneath his steady gaze. ‘I sold every designer label I owned in a bid to improve my cash flow.’ Her chin lifted in silent defence. ‘Not to mention paring down my belongings to a bare minimum.’ She managed a cynical smile. ‘Boarding houses aren’t known for providing generous space for tenants’ belongings.’ Besides, given the long hours she worked, there was no time to socialize.
Pride, she possessed it in spades, together with a measure of integrity, he mused. ‘Double Bay is close. We’ll go there.’
‘The hell we will.’
‘Consider it an advance.’
‘No,’ Lara reiterated, hating the invidious position she was in.
‘You dislike shopping?’
‘I hate the thought of sinking even further into your debt.’ ‘Should I state the obvious?’
She tilted her head to one side. ‘Where you relay the “most women” thing?’ Her eyes sparked blue fire as she lifted a hand and began ticking off each finger. ‘For the record, I’m not most women.’ She took time to sweep his powerful frame from head to toe, and back again. ‘Endorse your wealth? For your information, I don’t give a fig.’ Her expression tightened and a soft bloom of colour stained each cheekbone. ‘Remind me I’ll repay you with sex?’
One look into those dark eyes was enough to raise the hairs on the back of her neck, and she stood quickly to her feet … only to see him copy her action.
Oh, what was she doing?
Just as the thought ‘play with fire and you get burnt’ occurred, he reached for her and locked her body against his hard, muscular contours, making her startlingly aware of the strength and size of his arousal.
A startled gasp escaped from her lips as he held fast her head, then his mouth captured hers in a plundering