The Playboy Boss's Chosen Bride. Emma Darcy
for sitting outside and enjoying the ambience.
White lace cloths adorned the round tables. Chairs upholstered in red surrounded them. Each place was set with a plate, cup and saucer in delicate bone china, accompanied by brilliantly polished silver cutlery and a starched white linen napkin in a silver holder.
When everyone was seated, the waiters served tea from elegant silver teapots and placed ornate five-tiered cake-stands on the tables. From top to bottom, the tiers provided cucumber sandwiches, shortbread kisses, date scones, savoury puff pastries and a selection of rich cakes.
‘This reminds me of High Tea at the Empress Hotel on Vancouver Island,’ one of Jake’s fellow guests at his table commented appreciatively, setting off comparisons with other grand hotels around the world.
From the happy buzz around the tables, it was obvious the party was a huge success. Speeches were merrily called for and merrily given. Jake waited until the final pièce de résistance—dishes of chocolate coated strawberries with clotted cream—had been served before excusing himself from the table and using his cell-phone to give the ‘Go’ command to the stage-hands whose job was to wheel in the birthday cake.
He quickly alerted the orchestra to start playing ‘Happy Birthday’ when the cake came to a halt, then moved to his grandfather’s table where Byron Devila was playing host to his four daughters—by different wives—and their current spouses.
Jake’s mother had long ago discarded his father, a musician who’d been a mistake of her youth. Not that she didn’t still look youthful in her fifties. Her artfully blond hair took years off her age and her relatively unlined face was as pretty as ever. Amazing what cosmetic surgery and almost unlimited funds could achieve.
‘I’ve got a special surprise coming up for you, Pop,’ Jake announced.
‘Splendid! I do love surprises!’
His grandfather was in fine form. No doubt he’d stirred the jealousy pot amongst the four half sisters, mischievously pitting them against each other. He’d also done a lot of table-hopping, spreading his charm around all the female guests. Jake wondered if he’d already targeted his next wife now that his seventh divorce had been finalised.
He was still a fine figure of a man. And handsome. His flashing brown eyes had not lost their sparkle. The lines on his well-tanned face—no age spots in evidence—were mostly laughter lines and whatever sag he had around his jaw was hidden by the neatly trimmed grey and black beard. His nose retained its perky tilt and the moustache beneath it accentuated the captivating sensuality of his strongly carved mouth. Highly mobile black and grey eyebrows made up for the fact he was almost bald.
Too much testosterone, Jake thought, and wondered if his own hair would suffer the same fate as he grew older. Not that it mattered, he decided. He liked to think he’d still be sexually active when he was his grandfather’s age.
‘If you’ll just turn your chair around to face the terrace,’ he instructed, ‘your surprise is about to take centre stage.’
‘Centre stage?’ his grandfather mused as he rose to his feet, eyes flashing with excited speculation. ‘It’s got to be a troupe of dancing girls.’
‘Oh, Dad!’ his youngest daughter chided.
‘He’s never going to act his age,’ an older one advised her.
‘Why should he when he doesn’t have to?’ Jake’s mother slid in, giving her father a sweetly indulgent smile, bolstering her favourite daughter status.
‘Hey! Take a look at that!’ one of the party guests called out in amazement.
All attention was immediately swung towards the terrace, zeroing in on the monster cake which was making its appearance stage right. It was being wheeled in from the wide garden path by four guys dressed in white with Happy Birthday, surrounded by the outline of a heart, printed in red on their T-shirts.
Nice touch, Mel, Jake thought, and took a mental note to compliment her on it when she came back to work.
His grandfather laughed and clapped Jake on the shoulder. ‘You didn’t!’ he cried, his eyes dancing with the memory of his favourite movie.
‘I did!’ Jake answered with happy satisfaction in his grandfather’s delight.
‘Is she a match for Virna Lisi?’
‘We’ll see.’
‘I’m bursting with anticipation.’
So am I, Jake thought. The cake was a masterpiece of decorative art—scrolls and flowers, probably made of plaster of Paris, edging the tiers, red satin ribbon tied in bows beneath them. The candles actually held electric globes and were alight, which meant power had to be supplied by a small generator inside the cake. Another brilliant idea by Mel! So far this production had definitely upstaged the movie.
‘Eight tiers,’ Jake pointed out. ‘One for each decade of your life, Pop.’
‘And the best is yet to come,’ was the resounding reply.
Certainly a tribute to positive thinking! Jake hoped he’d feel the same way when he was eighty.
Grandfather and grandson stood side by side, watching the cake come to a halt. Once it was in position at the centre of the terrace, two of the stage-hands brought a roll of carpet from the back of the bottom tier.
‘Lay it out, boys!’ Byron called, happily stepping forward to meet the end of it.
Red carpet, of course! Another plus score for Mel’s initiative. She deserved a bonus for this.
Fortunately the orchestra had the sense to hold off starting to play until the scene was completely set. Jake couldn’t resist trailing his grandfather, standing just behind his shoulder to get a full frontal view of the quality woman Mel had hired. There was an excited buzz of anticipation from the party crowd behind them. Without a doubt, this act was going to be talked about for a long, long time. People actually gasped as the lid of the top tier slowly lifted back.
The orchestra swung into action, producing a rousing rendition of ‘Happy Birthday.’ Everyone sang enthusiastically. A blonde head started to emerge from the top of the cake—lustrous shiny hair in a soft, wavy Marilyn Monroe style, a flyaway fringe swept across the forehead. Her eyes were lowered, lids shaded in a smoke-grey, crescents of long dark lashes brushing her cheeks. A very sexy mouth was emphasised by glossy red lipstick.
It wasn’t until her face and neck had completely emerged from the cake that recognition hit Jake and it came like a massive explosion inside his head.
Forget the deceptive blonde hair.
What he was looking at was Mel Rossi’s face.
Unmistakable!
The shock of it totally rattled Jake’s sense of reality. Never in a million years would he have imagined his prim and proper personal assistant taking on the role of blond bimbo in a birthday cake! It was completely beyond belief. Yet here she was, undeniably emerging, the lush curves of her body on stunning display.
The bikini she wore was fashioned out of red roses. They had to be artificial flowers but looked very real, and Jake’s mind instantly conjured up a vision of this Mel artfully posed nude on a red satin sheet being showered by American Beauty rose petals. With himself doing the showering. It was a stimulating vision. A very arousing vision.
She even had a red satin heart-shaped cushion dangling from a red ribbon around her wrist. Jake’s heart was not in such good shape. It was thumping wildly as his gaze followed Mel’s slow elevation from the cake, right down to sexy, red, high heeled sandals on her feet.
‘Wow!’ his grandfather breathed on a sigh of sheer awe. ‘You’ve outdone yourself, my boy!’
Jake was speechless.
He hadn’t heard the birthday song end but it obviously had because people were applauding, men whistling, cries of ‘Bravo!’ rang in