Australian Bachelors: Masterful Magnates: Purchased: His Perfect Wife. HELEN BIANCHIN
a gorgeous hunk any woman would kill to share body fluids with,’ Sally declared with a mock-salacious grin. ‘But right now I need a chocolate mousse, a bombe alaska, and a crème brûlée.’
A sudden flame flared deep inside at the image Sally’s words evoked, and she resolutely dampened it down. ‘Coming right up.’
‘Why don’t you call it a night?’ Tony suggested a short while later. ‘Sally and I’ll close and lock up.’
An automatic refusal hovered on her lips, only to have him remind her, ‘As from tomorrow, it’ll be my responsibility.’
As difficult as it was to let go, she recognized it as something she had to do. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Go. I’ll take care of your baby as if it’s my own.’ He crossed his heart in a humorous gesture and offered a smile in reassurance. ‘Promise.’ A faintly wicked gleam lit his eyes. ‘Take a rain check and sleep in. If you front up here tomorrow before late afternoon, you’ll be in serious trouble.’
‘My sentiments exactly.’
The drawl was familiar—too familiar—and Lara turned to see Shontelle had ushered Wolfe into the kitchen.
Tony glanced in Wolfe’s direction. ‘Your timing is perfect. I’ve just given Lara the rest of the night off.’
Wolfe’s eyebrow slanted. ‘And she accepted?’
‘What is it with men, that they tend to stick together?’ Lara posed to no one in particular.
‘They need to, because women usually win,’ Sally declared with a cheeky grin as she set up two glass plungers with coffee.
‘Indeed?’
An icy chill slithered the length of Lara’s spine at the faint mockery evident. No one could best a man of Wolfe’s calibre … unless he chose to let them.
Controlled manipulation, honed by years of wheeling, dealing and building his own empire.
However, if he imagined he could employ similar tactics with her, he’d better forget it!
Almost as if he could discern her thoughts, he closed the distance between them and brushed his lips to her temple.
‘Are you done?’
She managed a singularly sweet smile that didn’t fool him in the slightest. ‘For the evening, yes.’ ‘Then say goodnight and we’ll leave.’
‘Be still, my beating heart,’ Sally offered with a grin, and Lara removed her apron, smoothed a hand over her hair, collected her shoulderbag, bade the staff goodnight and preceded Wolfe out onto the pavement.
‘You were to call me when you finished for the evening,’ Wolfe reminded her silkily as he put the Lexus in motion.
Lara spared him a careful look beneath the reflected street lighting. His broad-boned facial structure was arresting, and sculpted to chiselled perfection.
In such close proximity she couldn’t help but be aware of him … the faint tones of his exclusive cologne, the expensive leather jacket. Not to mention the powerful male body beneath the freshly laundered clothing.
‘Why, when I said I’d catch a cab?’ she queried reasonably, and stifled the faint chill feathering the surface of her skin at the threat he posed to her emotional heart.
Verbal retaliation seemed her only defence, and there was a part of her that recognized the danger of going too far.
Hadn’t he shown her the folly of doing so this morning?
The memory of how her mouth had felt following his invasion was too fresh for her to easily forget.
She owed him much. Too much.
Why rail against it … against him?
Yet she’d fought too hard for too long to slip into polite acquiescence.
Wolfe covered the distance between the Rocks and their hotel in silence, and as soon as they entered their suite Lara collected nightwear and headed for the shower.
When she emerged Wolfe had discarded his jacket and was seated at the small desk, intent on viewing data on his laptop.
Lara slid into bed … to sleep, hopefully within minutes, and not wake until morning.
She closed her eyes against the images swirling through her mind. For there had been so many changes in such a short time.
Too many, she reflected, aware of an aching sadness at the loss of her dearly loved mother, Suzanne, who’d been friend, confidante and there, kind and supportive as they’d shared the bad times. Never quite taking the good years for granted when Darius had taken them both beneath his wing.
Lara felt the faint burn of unshed tears in the knowledge Suzanne wouldn’t witness her only daughter’s wedding.
A painful lump rose in her throat and constricted there.
If Suzanne and Darius were alive, there wouldn’t be a wedding.
She must have slept, for she was caught up in a terrible dream where she was travelling through France in an unfamiliar car, talking and laughing with Suzanne as they admired the passing scenery, and contemplating where they’d stop for the night. Darius favoured a hotel, while Suzanne inclined towards a family-owned bed and breakfast. Out of the blue a car careened at speed towards them, and Darius swung the wheel … then Lara became a disembodied spectator as the crash occurred, followed by an explosion … and she screamed. Crying out against the inevitability that no one could possibly survive the fiercely burning wreck … and again, begging a miracle against the cruel hand of fate as she ran towards the fiasco, felt the heat sear her body, and pushed at the hands that sought to pull her away.
‘Lara.’
She barely registered someone calling her name, or the indistinct oath as she was hauled against a hard, warm body.
‘Let me go!’ She fought in earnest, desperate to be free.
The voice she dimly registered … it was familiar. And the hauntingly real scene gripping her mind began to fade, lingering on the fringes as it was superimposed by a lit room, recognition of the hotel suite, and the man who held her.
Wolfe.
His warm hard-muscled body … dear heaven, naked, she starkly registered as he trailed a soothing hand down her spine.
Tears welled up in her eyes and hovered there, threatening to spill, then they overflowed to run in a slow rivulet down each cheek.
A husky oath escaped from his lips, and he lifted a hand to her cheek, gently brushing a thumb pad over one cheek, then the other.
‘Easy, now.’ His voice was quiet, almost soothing as he regarded her carefully, and there was a degree of concern apparent.
His breath teased the hair at her temple, tendrils that had escaped in her fierce struggle to be free of her nightmare captor, and her eyes dilated as he feathered the stray hair behind her ear.
Lara didn’t think she was capable of uttering so much as a word.
The scene was surreal. Time stood still, encapsulated in a moment which seemed to stretch long as she processed the waiting, watchful quality apparent in his dark eyes.
A word, a slight indication on her part …
She had to move, put some distance between them, and the breath hitched in her throat as she pushed her hands against his chest, using leverage to widen the space.
Wolfe caught the indecision, the momentary fear … and something else. Innocent curiosity?
Curiosity, perhaps … but innocence?
He allowed her to shift to arm’s length, shaping her slender frame as he skimmed his hands to cup her shoulders, aware if he released her she’d scuttle beneath the bedcovers.