Australian Bachelors: Masterful Magnates: Purchased: His Perfect Wife. HELEN BIANCHIN
that?’
Sally rolled her eyes. ‘You’ve got the look.’
‘And that’s a bad thing?’
‘If it involves Wolfe, you need to ask?’
Lara began her customary check, spoke to the staff and determined everything was as it should be as the first orders began to appear.
‘It’s almost six-thirty,’ Tony reminded her. ‘Time to go hang up your apron.’
‘Soon.’
However, ‘soon’ wasn’t soon enough.
Although, to give Wolfe credit, he allowed her ten minutes’ grace before he entered the kitchen, crossed to her side, placed a hand either side of her waist and lifted her over one shoulder.
‘Put me down!’ The words escaped in a scandalized hiss as he turned and began walking towards the swing door. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
She directed a well-aimed kick, which failed to connect, and she stifled an angry groan as Wolfe kept walking.
The indignity hit home seconds later when she heard the sound of hands clapping, and she mentally cursed him all the names she could think of … and then some.
Macho fiend. Retribution was a given, the moment she got him alone.
Which wouldn’t be any time soon. Perhaps that was just as well, for right now her temper was running at an all-time high.
He came to a halt, and his hands shifted as he released her down onto her feet where she stood for a few seconds, tension apparent in every muscle of her body.
For a moment the air between them was charged with electrifying tension, and her eyes glittered with veiled vengeance as they met the dark, gleaming depths above her own.
Shock tactics were called for, and without pausing to reflect on her actions she linked her hands at his nape, leant in close and took his mouth with her own, using the tip of her tongue to explore in a manner that was entirely sensual.
Then she pulled free, stepped to one side and executed a deep curtsy … to the delight of most everyone present.
Take that, she flung in silent satisfaction, unaware of the soft pink colouring her cheeks as she straightened her apron.
She felt as if she’d been tossed through a whirlwind, and she needed a few seconds to regain her equilibrium.
It was crazy … maddening.
‘Perhaps you should sit down,’ Wolfe suggested with a degree of indolent amusement, and she offered him a brilliant smile.
‘Thank you.’
Seated, Lara made a pretense of consulting a menu she knew by heart, ordered, and accepted a flute of champagne.
‘To us,’ Wolfe drawled, his eyes watchful as he touched the rim of his flute to her own.
On the surface, it was a beautiful celebratory evening. The food was superb, the ambience warm and friendly as regular patrons approached at intervals to offer their congratulations, and at closing time Lara instructed a few bottles of champagne be opened for the staff.
Anecdotes were aired and shared—the occasional disaster, and the hilarious moments …
‘Remember Francois?’ Sally reminded her. ‘The second chef Lara hired, who prepared food fit for the gods, vowed he was of French origin, yet when Lara engaged him in conversation all he could manage was basic schoolroom French with a contrived accent that bordered on the hysterical. And we discovered he was Frank from Liverpool!
‘And Duschenka, the Russian girl who answered to Du … with a tendency to throw the first thing that came to her hand whenever she lost her temper. Which was often.’
‘Then there was Paul, Lara’s inestimable business partner,’ Shontelle revealed with an expressive shudder. ‘He of the Porsche and designer suits. Great credentials and recommendations. Very skilled at cooking the books.’
‘Don’t forget Gregory, who dined here every Wednesday night at eight without fail,’ Sally reminisced. ‘Reserved the same table, ordered precisely the same entrée and main every time, and requested a cappuccino specifically containing frothed milk with coffee on the side, sans chocolate. Then suddenly he was gone, and we never did discover a reason for his absence.’
Walking away at the end of the evening was difficult. The staff, each and every one of them, had remained loyal during the tough times, especially Sally and Shontelle, who’d been with Lara since Lara’s was a new untried venture.
A soft rain-shower sprinkled the windscreen as Wolfe covered the relatively short distance to their hotel, and Lara leant back against the head-rest and closed her eyes until the Lexus slid to a halt in the hotel forecourt.
‘Don’t ever do that again.’ The words spilled out the instant Wolfe closed the door of their suite.
‘What, specifically, are you referring to?’
‘Oh, please. Let’s not play verbal games.’
He dispensed with his wallet and keys, then he shrugged out of his jacket, toed off his Italian loafers and began loosening the buttons on his shirt.
Lara turned away when he undid his belt and reached for the zip fastening.
‘You want to vent, go ahead.’
She resolutely refused to offer a word, and she heard the faint rustle of clothing, followed seconds later by the soft click of the door leading into the en suite, only to hear it reopen minutes later.
Then he was there, and his hands closed over her shoulders as he turned her round to face him.
Dark sapphire-blue eyes glittered with banked-down anger as she met his steady gaze, and her lips parted as she prepared to rail against him.
Except he didn’t give her the chance, as he captured her head between his hands and closed his mouth over her own in an erotic, evocative kiss that took all of her fine anger and tamed it.
Tamed her, she admitted, and left her hovering on the brink of wanting more. So much more.
For a moment she almost succumbed as his lips trailed to the sensitive hollow at the base of her throat, lingered there as he teased the throbbing pulse.
A tortured whisper emerged as she sought a vestige of control, caught in a swirling vortex where emotion ruled.
Just as she thought she could stand no more, he lifted his head and gently eased her to arm’s length.
‘Go to bed.’ He trailed the pads of his fingers down her cheek and pressed a forefinger to her lips. ‘To sleep, hmm?’
She closed her eyes, then opened them again.
He could switch off so easily?
Oh, get real. The only emotion involved here was her own. She represented a convenience. Her circumstances merely a puzzle-piece that fitted life’s pattern. His, but also hers.
So accept it and move forward.
Without a word she stepped past him, collected the oversize tee-shirt she wore as a sleep-shirt, and made for the en suite.
When she emerged the lamp adjacent to her bed provided the room’s only illumination, and she switched it off as she slid beneath the covers to lie staring into the darkness.
Tomorrow … today, she corrected on the edge of sleep … was her wedding day.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MARRIAGE, whenever Lara had given thought to the possibility of her own, would have involved the usual lead up to the event itself, with the choosing of a gown, the inevitable hen party, and Suzanne sharing in the celebrations.
Tradition,