Читать книгу The Seduction Season - HELEN BIANCHIN, Helen Bianchin - Страница 6

CHAPTER THREE

BREAKFAST comprised cereal, toast and fruit, followed by ruinously strong black coffee.

Anneke tidied the few dishes, then she caught up her car keys, slid the strap of her bag over one shoulder, and made her way out to the carport.

Byron Bay was a pleasant seaside town, a popular holiday area, and the community centre for outlying banana, avocado and sugar cane farmers.

Parking the car wasn’t a problem, and she took her time browsing through the supermarket as she selected her purchases and stacked them in the trolley.

It was almost midday when she returned to the cottage, and after unloading her various purchases she took time to have lunch before beginning preparations for Sebastian’s evening meal.

At five she showered and changed into jeans and a singlet top, bound her hair into a single plait, then returned to the kitchen.

Artichokes stuffed and served with a rich cream sauce, marinated baby octopus, risi e bisi, two baby pigeons confits aux raisins, and, for dessert, her speciality—bombe au chocolat.

Anneke hoped he had a supply of antacid on hand, otherwise he was certain to be a victim of indigestion.

At precisely two minutes before six she trod the short path linking both cottages and knocked on Sebastian’s back door.

She heard a deep bark, followed by a curt command, then the door swung open.

Anneke saw the dog first. A huge Alsatian with liquid brown eyes, a dark velvet pelt, and possessing all the qualities of a trained guard dog.

‘Shaef,’ Sebastian qualified. ‘Let him become acquainted, then you’ll never need worry about him again.’

Her eyes travelled over snug black jeans, a black open-necked shirt, to features that bore a faintly mocking expression.

He was an arresting man, compelling, and possessed of a leashed quality that some would find vaguely frightening.

Anneke didn’t question his authority with Shaef. She had a healthy respect for canines, and the Alsatian was an awesome breed.

‘Will you come in?’

‘No,’ she responded quickly. Too quickly, for she saw the sudden gleam apparent in his eyes, and caught the slight quirk at the edge of his mouth. ‘Enjoy your meal.’

’Merci.’

No man had the right to look so darned sexy, or possess a voice that sounded like melted chocolate being dribbled over ice cream. Smooth, very smooth, she perceived. Yet there was tensile steel beneath the smoothness. The hardness of a man well-versed in the frailties of his fellow men.

Without a further word she turned and retraced her steps. In her aunt’s kitchen she set about cleaning up, then when it was done she made herself a light, fluffy omelette, added a salad, and took the plate into the dining room.