Читать книгу Australian Bachelors: Masterful Magnates - Miranda Lee - Страница 11

TONY worked with skill, co-ordinating with everyone so well there was barely a hitch as the evening progressed. Lara felt some of the tension ease in the knowledge the restaurant would continue to operate quite well without her … although the thought of walking away from what represented years of hard work to reach eventual ownership would be a terrible wrench.

Lara’s was her pride and joy, especially so in recent months, when she’d been forced to struggle against crippling odds to hold on to it, and then only by the skin of her teeth.

‘Hey, get with the real world.’

Sally’s light teasing broke the reflection, and Lara offered a self-deprecating smile.

‘Wolfe’s 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.

‘Do you want to talk about whatever pitched you into that particular hell?’

Heartfelt confidences in the depth of night, only to be regretted in the light of day?

‘No.’ Any rehashing would only keep the scene alive in her mind, and possibly plunge her back into it within minutes of Wolfe dousing the bedside lamp. ‘I’m fine.’

Sure, she was. But she desperately needed the solace of a darkened room, not to mention a physical distance between her and the dangerous man whose power to affect her was positively lethal.

For several long seconds his eyes seared hers, seconds when she felt the pulse thud at the base of her throat, and she unconsciously lifted her hand to hide it from view.

She felt raw, and incredibly vulnerable. Wanting, needing comfort, but hesitant to seek it in case the action might be misconstrued.

A faint smile curved his lips as he leant forward and brushed his mouth to her forehead. ‘Try to sleep, hmm?’ Without a further word he released her, then he stood to his feet and slid between the covers of his own bed. Seconds later the room plunged into darkness as he switched off the lamp.

Lara inched low, closed her eyes and endeavoured to covet sleep, forcing herself to lie still and regiment her breathing.

It didn’t work, nothing worked, and she felt inordinately restless, unable to settle in any one position.

She was unaware of exchanging the darkness of night for dark dreams that appeared in seamless, kaleidoscopic confusion … her father’s violent temper and Suzanne’s fear; vicious slaps from her father’s hand because she wasn’t quick enough to obey him; her childish sobbing as she huddled into a foetal ball in a darkened room behind a locked door.

Then strong arms cradled her close, and she instinctively clung to a warm body, holding on tight as a sense of peace seeped into her soul, providing a dreamless somnolence.

Next morning Lara woke to the muted sound of the shower in the en suite, and it was almost eight when she checked her watch.

That was when she noticed the bedcovers were turned back on the opposite side of her bed, the imprint of a head on the pillow beside her own.

Someone had occupied her bed.

Wolfe? Of course, Wolfe!

Had they …? No, of course not. She’d have remembered … and have known!

Which meant … Oh, dear heaven. Snatches of remembered dreams surfaced, and her features paled as she pinned being held through what remained of the night as reality, not part of a dream.

The sound of the en-suite door opening held her transfixed as Wolfe emerged into the room, a white towel hitched at his hips, his dark hair wet.

A curling sensation spiralled up inside as she took in his powerful shoulders, the broad muscular chest with its light sprinkling of dark hair arrowing down past his navel. The narrow waist, lean hips and the length of his legs.

His presence dominated the room, and she lifted her head a little and met his dark gaze.

‘Good morning.’ His drawled greeting curled round her nerve-ends and tugged a little.

Wolfe caught the soft tinge of pink colouring her cheeks, divined the cause, and watched the fleeting emotions chase across her expressive features.

‘You slept in my bed.’ A statement which verged close to an accusation, and she saw one eyebrow slant in silent query.

‘It bothered you?’

Her eyes darkened. ‘Yes, damn it.’

‘“Slept” being the operative word,’ he reminded her as he closed the distance between them.

He stood close … too close … for she could sense the soap and shampoo he’d used, the expanse of toned muscle and sinew, and the damning knowledge she’d spent a few hours curled against his naked frame.

‘You’d have preferred me to employ a more intimate distraction?’

‘No. No,’ she reiterated, and caught the amusement apparent in those dark eyes, the slight curve of his mouth as he moved in close.

‘So this will have to suffice.’

He lowered his head and ‘this’ became a wickedly evocative kiss that took hold of her resistance and tossed it high.

It lasted long and lingered, and it was she who groaned with frustration as he lifted his head and left her aching and needy.

‘Any time you change your mind …’ His soft taunt brought her down to earth with a thud, and her eyes sparked dark-blue fire.

‘In your dreams!’

A husky chuckle almost undid her, and he pressed a finger against her lips.

Lara barely resisted the temptation to close her teeth and bite his finger hard. Except there was a silent warning apparent that such an action would invite retribution.

‘Go get dressed. Breakfast will be delivered any time soon.’

The day lay ahead, with barely enough hours in which to achieve everything Wolfe had on his agenda.

First up was the need to confer with the interior decorator at the Point Piper mansion as they fine-tuned colour schemes, light fittings and a complete refit of the kitchen to Lara’s specifications. Copious notes were made and double-checked, while the interior decorator’s warmth increased to an almost obsequious level.

From there Wolfe drove to Watson’s Bay where they had lunch at a charming restaurant overlooking the sea, after which they headed back to the city.

Shopping was next on the agenda, and despite Lara’s protest several packages and glossy carrier bags were added to a steadily increasing collection.

‘No,’ Wolfe declared as she prepared to change prior to leaving for Lara’s. ‘Tonight you’re set to experience dining in the restaurant, not working the kitchen.’

Lara paused in gathering her working clothes together and sent him a steady look. ‘Says who?’

‘I do,’ he drawled. ‘With Tony, Shontelle and Sally’s approval.’

‘But not mine,’ she managed reasonably, and drew forward her trainers.

‘You get to check the kitchen, then join me at six-thirty.’

She kept her voice even. ‘Our busiest time.’

‘You’re not indispensable. The staff will cope admirably.’

They would, but that wasn’t the point. ‘Doesn’t it matter I might want to work tonight?’

His eyes hardened measurably. ‘Accept it’s not going to happen.’

‘And you intend to prevent it … how?’ ‘In an undignified manner, if you choose to resist.’ A few conflicting scenarios presented themselves … none of which she could possibly countenance. ‘You’re unbelievable!’ ‘So, bite me.’

‘Maybe I will,’ Lara threatened. ‘When you least expect it.’

As an exit line, it gave some satisfaction … although it diminished somewhat in the wake of his soft laughter.

Half an hour later Lara stepped into the Lexus wearing an elegant trouser-suit, stiletto heels, make-up and with her hair caught in a smooth French roll held fast with a large clip.

In her hand she carried a bag holding trainers.

It was her kitchen, she assured herself silently. Her employees, her decision. Damn it, her final night as chef.

Tomorrow her life would change … but tonight was hers, and she resolved to play it her way.

‘Hi, I didn’t think you were supposed to be on kitchen duty tonight.’

Lara collected her apron, wound and fixed the ties at her waist, and offered Sally a sweet smile. ‘You thought wrong.’

‘Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?’

‘What makes you think 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.