Australian Bachelors: Masterful Magnates: Purchased: His Perfect Wife. HELEN BIANCHIN
Читать онлайн книгу.
the door, and followed her out to the Lexus.
Any words seemed superfluous, and they rode the arterial route into the inner city in silence, reaching the Darling Harbour hotel, where the concierge organized valet-parking while Wolfe collected her bag.
Lara accompanied him as he bypassed Reception and headed towards a bank of lifts, and when the doors of one slid open he indicated she precede him, then he hit the button for a high floor.
She prayed that he didn’t intend her to share his suite. Or, if he did, she hoped it contained two beds, or at least a sofa.
‘Relax.’ His voice held a drawling quality minutes later as he swiped a keycard into the slot.
Sure, and she could do that?
‘I’d prefer a room of my own.’ The words were hopelessly husky, even to her own ears.
‘Accept it’s not going to happen. Your security is paramount until the loan shark is paid off.’
‘But—’
‘It isn’t subject to negotiation,’ Wolfe said hardly.
‘I don’t want to share with you,’ she attempted to convey.
His gaze lanced her own, his eyes darkly obdurate. ‘Deal with it, Lara. At the moment seduction isn’t on the agenda.’
That was supposed to be reassurance?
It was a large suite, Lara registered as he flicked on the lights, with two queen-size beds … a minor concession in the scheme of things.
A fleeting glance revealed there were two comfortable chairs positioned close to a wall of glass, shaded by floor-to-ceiling drapes. A small table and two serviceable dining chairs, a desk containing a fax machine, internet connection, the requisite television console, mini-bar.
Wolfe deposited her bag, then he crossed to the bedside phone, dialled Reception and requested medical assistance.
Lara shook her head and croaked a definitive, ‘No,’ only to be subjected to a raking appraisal.
‘A doctor on call, or the accident-and-emergency ward of a private hospital. Choose.’
The thought of attending the latter—the form-filling, the inevitable questions—held little appeal, and she shrugged, too wound up to argue with him.
‘Sit down.’
She watched as he removed his jacket, collected a hand towel, extracted ice from the mini-fridge, assembled a cold-pack and placed it along her jaw line.
‘Keep it there.’
Wolfe crossed to the buffet and set the electric kettle to heat.
She was briefly aware of his impressive breadth of shoulder, the economical ease of movement as he completed the task.
A few minutes later he handed her a cup and saucer, then he took a nearby chair and regarded her steadily.
She sipped and cautiously swallowed the hot, sweet tea, and waited several seconds before repeating the action.
‘Is there anything else you haven’t told me?’ Wolfe queried silkily.
‘No.’ Lara closed her eyes, then slowly opened them again, all too aware how foolish she’d been in not calling the loan shark before leaving the restaurant.
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. You were out of time, and loan sharks are notorious for their hardline tactics.’
Her eyes widened as they met his.
He read minds?
Or was hers transparent?
‘Drink your tea. A doctor should be here soon.’
‘Soon’ seemed an age, although it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes before an imperious knock on the door heralded the doctor’s arrival.
Credentials were offered, introductions completed. The answering of a few pertinent questions and an examination resulted in the assurance her larynx wasn’t damaged, the bruising would duly emerge and subside, and her voice should return to normal by morning.
He handed over a sample pack of painkillers and a sedative, accepted his fee and left.
Lara unpacked a few essentials and headed into the en suite. A shower helped ease some of the tension, and she enjoyed the luxury of a seemingly endless supply of hot water … so different from the boarding house, where an inadequate hot-water system meant lukewarm ablutions.
Dry, she pulled on a large cotton tee-shirt, added briefs, caught her hair together in a single plait, completed her nightly routine, then emerged to find Wolfe waiting for her, pills and a glass of water in hand.
‘Take these, then go to bed. You’re beat.’
Oh great. As if she needed to be reminded of her mirrored image, the dark, dilated eyes in a waxen, pale face.
Without a word she took the pills and swallowed each one cautiously with water, then she slid beneath the covers on the bed closest to the external glass-wall.
‘Thanks.’ A huskily voiced word meant to encompass much.
Wolfe inclined his head as he switched off the lights with the exception of a lamp on the desk, then he opened his laptop and soon became engrossed with data on-screen.
Lara closed her eyes and willed the medication to take effect as she relived walking into the house, making the phone call in the hallway … her assailant appearing out of nowhere and the resultant fracas.
It was all too easy to feel a hand gripping the top of her throat, the resultant pain and pressure as he lifted and slammed her hard against the wall … and the fear.
A shiver shook her slim frame, and she unconsciously curled her body into a protective ball.
She was here with Wolfe, and safe.
But for how long?
Soon she’d become his wife, and face another hurdle … that of sharing his life without allowing herself the benefit of emotional attachment.
Difficult, when she had vivid recall of the frankly sensual touch of his mouth on her own, and the electrifying passion he’d effortlessly aroused. It had blown her away, and had become an unconscious benchmark which sadly no other man had matched.
So where did that leave her?
It suddenly became too difficult to think, and her breathing slowed as she was claimed by sedative-induced sleep … unaware of the man who worked a little longer, showered, then slid in between the covers of the other bed.
CHAPTER FOUR
LARA became aware of light, when her subconscious expected darkness, and there was the tantalizing drift of fresh coffee teasing the air as she shifted in bed and slowly opened her eyes.
The hotel suite, Wolfe … Each descended in a heartbeat.
The small banker’s-lamp glowed on the desk where Wolfe was seated, keying data into his laptop.
What was the time? Her watch … where was it?
She checked the bedside pedestal, saw the offending timepiece and snatched it up.
Six.
The markets. She was in danger of missing the early-morning fish market.
In one swift movement she threw back the bedcovers and rose to her feet, then she quickly pulled on jeans and dragged on a sweatshirt.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
Wolfe’s silky drawl drew a fraught glance in his direction as she slid her feet into trainers.
‘Going to the fish market,’ she said without thought to her voice, or its return. ‘I should have been there an hour ago.’
The