Читать книгу Cattle Baron: Nanny Needed - Margaret Way - Страница 7

CHAPTER THREE

AMBER had only been inside her apartment six or seven minutes when Jono knocked on the door, his mobile face bright with anticipation.

“Well, how did it go?”

Amber stood back, waving him in. “It was very, very sad.”

“Really?” Jono spun. “What happened? Remember you can’t keep it private, sweetie.”

Amber led him into the stylishly decorated living room. “Like a coffee or something?”

“Let me make it. You just sit down and talk to me. You don’t look sad.”

“Oh, how do I look?” She was quite unaware that she looked radiant from head to toe.

“Like you’ve just met some new guy, hot on the heels of the old?”

“What makes you think I want a new guy?”

“You mightn’t think so now, dear, but you will,” Jono told her with certainty. “When that dirty rotten scoundrel Sean committed to being a love rat he made up his mind to be the best one around. But there are good men out there, Amby. Never doubt it. Sometimes I wish I weren’t gay.”

“Don’t tell Jett that.” She had to smile. She did a lot of smiling when Jono and his partner, Jett, a fellow computer whiz, were around. “But there was a new guy. The bride’s cousin, of all things. He was the one who dealt with me.”

“Lord sakes! He didn’t chuck you out?” Jono paused in what he was doing.

“No. He whisked me off to the organ loft and stayed with me throughout. He’s a Cattle Baron by name of Cal MacFarlane.”

“A Cattle Baron!” Jono shrieked, throwing up his hands. “Not a redneck, I hope?” He set the coffee to perk. “Rich?”

“Without a doubt. And he’s no redneck. He’s very cultured. His grandpop is Sir Clive Erskine.”

Jono’s face fell. “Then he can’t be good-looking. There’s always a downside.”

“Oh, I don’t know. How does Clive Owen-ish sound?”

Jono’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”

“You can meet him if you like,” Amber promised. “He’s picking me up at nine. We’re going out to dinner.”

Jono whistled in admiration. “And I thought I was a fast worker! As I’m very fond of saying, love, life’s an adventure. One chapter finishes, another begins.”

The Cattle Baron had a limousine waiting. “You look ravishing.”

Hugely gratified, she could see that he meant it. She had picked out a short, glittery gold dress that showed off her long limbs and, if she said it herself, a tantalizing décolletage.

“Thank you. Hard to get away?” He was still wearing his formal wedding suit. It was absurd how well it suited him.

“It wasn’t that easy. But I’m here.”

“So, what you promise you deliver?”

“I really do like it that way.”

The uniformed chauffeur held the door while Amber slipped gracefully into the back seat. A moment more and the Cattle Baron joined her. She was almost shivery with the intimacy. He was just so physical , the quintessential man of action.

“So Jono and Jett are your friends?” he asked when they were underway.

“Jono for years now. He’s a very clever, very gentle man. He likes to keep an eye out for me.”

“You must feel good about that. He couldn’t have approved of you know who.”

“I don’t have a clue who you’re talking about,” she said airily, gazing out of the window at the glittering cityscape, above it a starry sky.

“Right. I admire the way you’ve disposed of that problem.”

“Where are we going, by the way?”

“The best establishment in town. Where else?”

Where else, indeed? It dawned on her that she was looking forward to spending a few hours with the Cattle Baron. In fact, she was excited. Didn’t that underscore her poor judgement about Sean?

The restaurant was seriously good. Wonderful ambience, excellent, discreet service. She had dined there a number of times. Always as a guest, not the one footing the bill. No one in their right mind could say the price was right. But the food—inspirational stuff—was superb, the wine list a long selection of the very best the world’s top vintners could offer, the upper end pricey enough to give even the well-off a heart attack.

“Tell me what wine you like?” the Cattle Baron asked, looking across a table set for two. One of the best positions in the room. How had he managed it on a Saturday night?

“And put you at my mercy?” she joked. “You’ve seen the prices.”

“We can forget the prices for tonight,” he told her calmly. “What if we start with a nice glass of champagne? Can’t go past Krug. You have to celebrate your lucky escape.” His cool green eyes glittered.

“Let me make it perfectly clear that I’m still upset.”

“Of course you are. But the Krug will help.” It was all too tempting.

She had thought she never would again, but she laughed. Really laughed. She hadn’t expected him to be so entertaining, but he was a born raconteur. He kept telling her wonderful stories about Outback life—hilarious incidents, interposed with the tragic and poignant realities of life in a harsh, unforgiving land. It was what gave him the heroic image, she suddenly realised. It was emblazoned all over him. Hero figure .

From the arrival of the amuse bouches , tempting little morsels to tease the palate, the starters, a carpaccio of tuna and swordfish garnished with a delicious little mix of green herbs, the main course of fillet of barramundi with a sweet-and-sour pepper sauce over risotto, the rim of the plate decorated with baby vegetables, he kept her enthralled. So much so she was eating with abandon. It struck her that they liked the same food, because independently they came up with the same choices. Even to the bitter chocolate mousse with coffee granita and gingered cream.

“That was superb,” he said, laying down his dessert spoon.

“I know it. Good thing you’re paying. There’s a poor soul over there choking over the bill.”

He laughed. “I daresay it takes a lot to run a three star restaurant and make a nice profit. Coffee?”

“Absolutely. I need to sober up.”

“You won’t be wanting a liqueur, then?” There was a twinkle in those mesmerizing green eyes.

“I didn’t say that.”

“So, feel ready to tell me a little about you,” he said, settling back to enjoy his coffee.

“I knew there was a catch.”

He leaned forward slightly, aware that they had been under scrutiny since they had walked into the restaurant. She was obviously well known. He wasn’t. But he was wearing wedding gear. A big clue. “I didn’t ask if I could sleep at your place.”

“Where are you staying?’ She circled the rim of her coffee cup with a forefinger, not daring to look up and perhaps give her living dangerously self away.

“Why, with Grandpop, of course.”

“He does have a mausoleum.”

“And he insisted I stay over. I know it’s not a nice thing to say, but I do my level best to avoid Rosemary.”

“Look, I don’t blame you. As soon as I got home I had to lie down to recover from her evil eye. So, your uncle and aunt and dear little Georgie—up until her dicey marriage—live with Grandpop?”

“You’ve got it.”

Those distracting little sexy brackets at his mouth again. “So it’s more than likely Georgie and Sean will move into the mausoleum when they return from Europe?” She was able to raise a blasé brow.

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. It’s a ‘till death us do part’ situation with Georgie and her mother.”

“Poor thing! Even I can feel sorry for her. But not for Sean. How did he pass muster with your people anyway? Your grandfather is rumoured to have the hardest nut in town. Rosemary could have been a pushover. Sean can be very good at buttering up the women.” Even a Brunhilde.

“Forget them,” he said. “It’s you I want to hear about. From the beginning. You must have been an extraordinarily pretty baby.”

“My dad thought so.” She couldn’t stop a tender smile breaking out when tears still ran down the walls of her heart. “It was he who named me Amber. My mother wanted to call me Samantha.”

“Then you’d have got Sam for short.”

“So you think he made a better choice?”

“Amber suits you.” His eyes were very bright. “You’re an only child?”

“Yes.”

“And your parents?”

She sighed deeply. “I lost my dad when I was fourteen. A teenage driver ran the red light and collected him in a crossing. He could have saved himself but he chose to save a child instead. A little boy and his mother were on the crossing at the same time. There could have been more people hurt.’

“I’m so sorry, Amber.” He reached over to grip her hand, divining her sense of loss. “It’s brutal losing a much loved parent.”

“It is that.” Her topaz eyes misted with tears. “My mother remarried the year I finished school. Needless to say, I didn’t take to my new stepfather, though he’s not a bad guy. Not my dad, though. I lived on campus through my university days. Not much to tell about the rest. I became a cadet journalist. Got a break on television. I guess the way I look has kept me there.”

“You’re being hard on yourself. Didn’t you win a prestigious award for your article about street kids? It couldn’t have been easy going into tough places. Exploring the drug scene, the Dead On Arrivals presenting at hospital, the hopelessness and deep depression.”

“What do you think?” Unshed tears continued to shimmer in her eyes. “Some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night.”

He nodded. ‘You’re still in touch with your mother?”

“Of course. I love my mother. But I don’t see her as much as I’d like. They live in Cairns. They love the tropics, close to the Reef. My stepdad has money and a big motor cruiser. They take lots of trips because he’s retired. Tell me about you.”

“Me?” His mouth faintly twisted.

“Yes, you. You sound like you know all about missing a parent.”

“It happens I do. Like you, I lost my dad, a little over four years ago. He ignored a gash in his arm until it was too late. Lots of barbed wire around the station. Died of septicaemia in a very short time.”

“How terrible!” Amber felt moved to exclaim. “Couldn’t your mother have made him see a doctor? Men can be so careless with their injuries.”

“He’d had his shots. We all have them but the effects must have worn off. My mother left us for a guy I called Uncle Jeff for years of my childhood. So, no mother, no guardian angel. I was away at a trade conference when it happened.”

“So you know all about having a hard time?”

“I learned. I grew tough.”

“Well, you may appear tough—”

“Do I?” His look was very direct.

“In a striking sort of way. But you have a heart of gold. You’ve been very kind to me.”

“What’s kind about taking a beautiful woman out to dinner?” he asked, then issued a quiet warning. “Don’t look up. The people at the table over there haven’t taken their eyes off us since we walked in.”

“Isn’t that our cue to walk out?” she whispered back. They were finished anyway. The hours had rippled by like silk.

“Sure. What I really want to do is get a better look at your apartment.”

“You sound hopeful.”

His green eyes were amused. “I am.”

“And then seduce me?”

He gave her that dizzying smile. “Ms Wyatt, if you knew how I want to! But I won’t. Scout’s honour. I really liked your apartment. You’ve got great taste. Besides, the night is young.” He turned his handsome raven head. “I wonder if they have a back door. I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if there were photographers waiting for us out there. Someone is bound to have tipped them off.”

Anyone would have thought she was a rock star. Even a TV star, albeit not in the ascendant wasn’t safe anywhere. The paparazzi, as he’d predicted, were waiting.

“What do we do? Make a run for it?” She pushed herself into the sheltering crook of his arm. It was so-o good to have a man around. Especially one so big and strong. The limo wasn’t too far off. He had instructed the chauffeur to meet them in the alleyway at the rear of the restaurant, where the more enterprising had gathered.

“Might as well let them get a few shots. But don’t say a word,” he advised.

“You got it, boss!” He was perfect in the role.

Afterwards, she thought she would be forever astonished by the speed and efficiency with which he shielded her from the mob, successfully steered her past all their shouted questions, then smoothly bundled her into the waiting limo. Even so, they got their shots. No matter! Wasn’t that the reason she and the Cattle Baron had decided on a night on the town? She had proven beyond any doubt that she wasn’t the girl to run and hide.