Purchased: His Perfect Wife. Helen Bianchin
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paid into her bank account each month upon probate. Shares worth a small fortune…to be held in trust and not sold, from which she’d derive a very sizable income…again, upon probate. Suzanne’s jewellery and personal effects which she’d choose to treasure and never sell. A restaurant she’d have to walk away from any day soon if serious financial help wasn’t forthcoming.
Assets, none of which were liquid…ensuring she was asset rich, but cash poor. With no hope in hell of raising the large amount of cash needed by midnight to pay off the loan shark.
Even if she presented copies of Darius’ and Suzanne’s wills, no bank would come to her aid with such a large amount within hours.
Could she…dared she…approach Wolfe, explain her predicament and request his financial assistance?
Ice entered her veins and chilled her body.
There was no other way.
None.
So what did she have to lose…except her pride?
CHAPTER TWO
‘CAN we talk?’ Stark, minimum words that cost her dearly, and incurred a probing look.
‘There’s something you want to discuss?’
His voice was a faintly inflected drawl, and she suppressed an involuntary shiver.
Lara spared him a quick glance and gleaned little from his expression. Assertiveness was the key. ‘Yes.’
‘In that case, let’s do so over lunch.’
Share a meal with him? She really didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary… Time was something she didn’t have!
He sensed her hesitation, and his eyes narrowed slightly. She looked too slender, her features too pale, and she resembled a cat on hot bricks.
Grief, without doubt, had to be taken into account…but why did he have the feeling it was more than that? A broken romance? There had been no boyfriend evident to lend support during the funeral service, nor to attend the gathering afterwards.
He told himself he didn’t care…and knew it to be untrue. For, despite the intervening years, he still retained a vivid recall of her teenage crush, and the method with which he’d dealt with it. The surprising sweetness of her young mouth; her reaction to his touch; the way she’d felt in his arms, and her uninhibited response.
It had affected him more than he’d imagined possible, and left him with a lingering sense of frustration in the knowledge he could have taken her. What had held him back? Remorse? Guilt? At the time he’d refused to contemplate it might be anything else…and he’d grasped opportunity with both hands soon after by relocating to New York, where he’d focused on forging his own fortune.
During the following years he’d met up with Darius in various parts of the world, and during infrequent appearances in Sydney, where he preferred hotel accommodation to staying as a guest in his father’s home. Dinner invitations that had included Lara…who’d stoically refused to ignore him, yet had treated him with such incredible politeness it had made him want to shake her.
Not unlike the feeling he entertained now.
‘We both need to eat,’ Wolfe ventured silkily.
Did she have a choice?
‘A sandwich and coffee,’ she conceded, aware it was all she could afford.
‘When was the last time you ate a decent meal?’
The question came out of left field, and she stiffened at the underlying censure. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, I spend my time in a kitchen cooking professionally for a living.’
‘For clientele.’
‘The nature of the business,’ she responded, and incurred his dark gaze.
‘An hour or two enjoying a leisurely meal in my company is abhorrent to you?’
Difficult. Unnerving. But not abhorrent. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘Of course not.’
They were walking along a busy city-street, and she hesitated as Wolfe indicated a restaurant she knew to be ruinously expensive.
‘Relax.’
Sure. Like she could do that!
The maître d’ took one look at Wolfe, determined an aura of wealth, and ushered them to a well-positioned table.
Within minutes the drinks waiter elicited their order, and Lara opted to stay with chilled water, as did Wolfe.
The menu offered a superb variety, and she perused the selection with care.
‘Do you have a preference?’
Oh God, she didn’t want to do this!
‘I’m not very hungry.’
Wolfe cast her a brief glance over the top of the menu, then went ahead and ordered bruschetta, two entrées, two mains and intimated dessert could wait until later.
She opened her mouth to protest, only to close it again as she incurred his dark, unyielding look.
‘You really want to argue?’
Give it up, a silent voice warned.
The temptation to launch into her request was uppermost, if only to get it out there and be done with it—for the thought of playing polite and conducting a meaningless conversation almost brought her undone.
He looked every inch the man he’d become. Hardened, ruthless, powerful. Someone it would be wise not to toy with…unless you were prepared to face the consequences.
Successful beyond measure, Darius had been known to reveal with pride, with an apartment overlooking New York’s Central Park, residences in London and the south of France, to name a few.
While she was almost destitute and in debt up to her eyeballs.
Some comparison!
Did—could—Wolfe know of her financial circumstances?
Probably not. Unless he’d made it his business to find out. Despite privacy laws, information wasn’t too difficult to elicit if one knew how to circumvent conventional channels.
The mere thought sickened her, and she felt a slight degree of relief as a waiter appeared and placed a platter onto the table.
The bruschetta was tempting, although, given the state of her nerves, forking morsels of food into her mouth would require concentrated effort.
‘Eat, Lara.’
To refuse would be churlish, given a banana followed by coffee had comprised breakfast, and anything she managed to consume this evening would be eaten on the run. If nothing else, she needed food for sustenance and energy to maintain long working hours.
‘How long do you intend to stay in Sydney?’
He met her gaze and held it. ‘As long as it takes.’
An ambiguous answer that didn’t commit him to anything.
Would he comply with the conditions of Darius’ will?
It really was no concern of hers whether he did or not.
Lara moved the food around on her plate, and was so caught up with nerves she didn’t trust herself to lift her fork.
‘You wanted to run something by me?’ Wolfe prompted, and caught her sudden look of anguish.
This was hard, but she couldn’t prevaricate, wouldn’t pretend. Only explain…and ask.
Which she did, as briefly as possible, whilst outlining only the pertinent facts and her desperate urgency for funds.
The spectre of the loan shark hovered over her like the sword of Damocles, ever threatening, and poised to fall any time soon. Fear