Читать книгу Australian Bachelors: Masterful Magnates - Miranda Lee - Страница 13

THEY arrived at JFK airport in New York and were met by a chauffeur whom Wolfe introduced as Mike, who greeted them as they entered the arrivals lounge, took care of their luggage and led the way to a black top-of-the-range Mercedes parked outside the terminal.

With skilled ease they were transferred from the airport into the city.

A wise move, Lara acknowledged, given New York traffic remained the nightmare she remembered from during a visit with Suzanne and Darius.

One-way streets, traffic lights on almost every corner, reduced speed limits, traffic snarls and delays.

Cosmopolitan, loud and brash vied with refined old-money and very real wealth. A city of contrasts, where business deals were made in boardrooms and deals of a dubious kind happened on the streets. Light and dark, legitimate and subversive … a city which never slept.

She didn’t know where Wolfe resided, and hadn’t thought to ask. Once it had been a loft in Tribeca, but that was years ago, and he’d undoubtedly moved on and up since then.

Upper East Side, Manhattan was definitely up, and his roomy apartment on a high floor overlooking Central Park had to be worth a small fortune, she observed as she crossed the lounge to admire the view from floor-to-ceiling glass doors.

‘A guest wing is situated beyond the dining room and kitchen on the right, and the main bedroom suite is to the left.’

There was also a home office, a media room, a guest powder-room and a small utility room, Lara noted as she followed Wolfe through to a spacious main suite with panoramic views and an adjoining en suite comprising marble and glass with luxurious fittings, folded fluffy towels and a double vanity along one wall.

‘We’ll shower and change, unpack then send out for food.’

It sounded like a plan. She hadn’t slept on the flight from Hawaii, and her body still needed to adjust to New York time.

‘You go first. I’ll begin unpacking.’

‘We could share.’

She spared him a quick look, caught the faintly teasing humour curving his generous mouth, and shook her head.

‘No?’ He began discarding his outer clothes, and she deliberately kept her attention averted as he moved into the en suite.

She retained a vivid memory of the shower they’d shared … had it only been yesterday, or had it been the night before? She attempted to do the time conversion, then gave it away; ‘whenever’ seemed close enough.

Her body still felt sensitive from his touch, and the mere thought of what they’d shared caused sensation to spiral deep inside, heating her blood and sending her pulse-rate racing to a faster beat.

Unpack, she bade silently, then when Wolfe re-enters the bedroom collect a change of clothes and go shower.

Hadn’t she spent the past week sharing a hotel suite with him? Why the sudden onset of nerves? It hardly made sense.

She was almost done when he emerged from the bathroom, and she gathered up what she needed and entered the room he’d just vacated.

Extraction fans had removed the steam, but the soap he’d used and his cologne teased the warm air, bringing vividly alive the effect he had on her senses.

Oh, for heaven’s sake! Go with the prosaic—think food, and whether the pantry and freezer were stocked sufficiently to prepare a meal. Besides, cooking would give her something to do …

Lara dressed in jeans and a sweater, caught her hair into a loose knot atop her head, added moisturizer, took a deep breath and retraced her steps to the lounge.

Wolfe stood looking out at the city skyline, seemingly intent in conversation on his mobile phone, and she took a moment to admire his tall frame, the snug fit of his jeans and the black knit sweater which hugged and emphasized his broad shoulders.

He was something else … all harnessed power, and a degree of ruthlessness apparent beneath a sophisticated façade.

Passion, he possessed it in spades, and an intimate knowledge of precisely how to please a woman. A faint shiver slithered deliciously down her spine at the mere thought. Followed almost immediately by just how many women he’d undoubtedly slept with, where sleep hadn’t featured on the agenda.

Did he have a mistress? A variety of obliging girlfriends who had yet to discover he’d entered into marriage?

Don’t go there, a tiny voice warned.

Instead, go check out the kitchen, and if nothing else compile a list of staples and whatever else is needed.

That was where Wolfe found her, engrossed in inspecting the pantry shelves.

‘I’ve ordered in.’ He crossed to where she stood, and saw the sheet of paper and pen in her hand. ‘This can wait until tomorrow.’

Sure it could, but she needed to do something.

‘Do you entertain guests here in the apartment, or do you prefer to dine out?’

‘And this is important now?’

He sounded mildly amused, and she added something to her list. ‘Yes.’

Hands closed over her shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘You’re as nervous as a cat on hot bricks. Why?’

Oh hell. He saw more than she wanted him to know, and she resorted to faint cynicism. ‘Because I’m shy?’

‘It makes a refreshing change.’

‘From the women who beat a path to your door?’

His eyes gleamed with humour. ‘Those too.’

‘Maybe we should notify the media—Wolfe Alexander has moved out of the singles market.’

‘I doubt it’ll be necessary.’

‘Because?’

‘An outstanding invitation to attend a charity fundraiser tomorrow night.’

Oh my. She was being flung in at the deep end. ‘How … nice. I get to do the dress-up thing and play pretend.’

‘You’ll manage.’

‘Of course.’ The facetiousness was intended, and he responded with a soft, husky laugh that was interrupted by the buzz of the in-house intercom.

Wolfe crossed the room and checked the visual screen, the delivery person’s ID, then released the entry security-door. ‘Our food.’

He’d ordered in Chinese. It was delicious, and she said so as they used chopsticks to taste the contents of various containers. When they were done, they gathered the empty containers together and put them in the trash.

‘Coffee?’

‘Hot, black and strong. I need to put in a few hours at the laptop.’

‘No problem. I’ll channel-surf the cable network.’

It was pleasant to relax away from his disturbing presence, and she settled in a comfortable leather recliner chair, found a movie on-screen that captured her attention and soon became engrossed in the storyline and the actors who played their parts.

It was around midnight that Wolfe found her there, and he stood for a moment, regarding her sleeping form in repose. She looked peaceful, and for a moment he contemplated leaving her there. Except there was every chance she’d wake disoriented by her surroundings.

Not a good option.

With care, he lifted her into his arms and carried her through to the main suite.

She didn’t stir as he placed her on the bed. The slip-ons came easily off her feet, but removing her jeans required some finesse … so too did her sweatshirt.

He managed without waking her, just, and he crossed round to the opposite side of the bed, discarded his own clothes and slid in beneath the covers.

Lara woke to discover she was alone in the large bed, and within seconds the flight, the apartment … all came flooding back. So too did the recollection she’d fallen asleep while viewing television.

Dressed, she recalled.

Unless she’d sleepwalked … something she’d never done in the past … there was only one person who could have transferred her from the media room to the bedroom and removed every item of clothing except her briefs.

Wolfe.

‘You’re awake.’

Her eyes widened as Wolfe crossed the room to her side and extended a cup of hot, aromatic coffee.

Fully dressed in dark tailored trousers, a silk tie knotted over a pale-blue cotton shirt, and an unbuttoned waistcoat, he resembled the omnipotent city businessman she knew him to be.

Impressive, vaguely forbidding, compelling.

She was at a distinct disadvantage by comparison as she took hold of the sheet and shifted into a sitting position … only to have the sheet slip from her grasp.

A frantic tug with one hand accompanied by a swift attempt at modesty with the other more or less saved the day, although she was powerless to prevent the faint tide of pink colouring her cheeks as she accepted the coffee.

‘Thanks.’

Wolfe reached forward and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, then he trailed his fingers along her jawline and touched a thumb to the soft centre of her lower lip.

‘Tempting,’ he afforded with musing indolence, and his eyes held a teasing gleam as her colour deepened a tone. ‘My driver is waiting downstairs to take me into the city office. Mike will be back in an hour and available to drive you wherever you want to go. I’ve left a credit card, cash and Mike has instructions to get you back here by five.’

She should thank him, and she did.

‘Enjoy your day.’

Mike, it appeared, had instructions of his own, and heading the list was midtown, Madison and Fifth Avenues and a host of designer boutiques.

‘Something to wear tonight, I understand,’ Mike elaborated with a respectful smile.

‘And you intend accompanying me?’

‘You object to having a companion and guide?’

Lara sent him a telling look. ‘Would it make any difference if I did?’

‘Awkward,’ he conceded, and she wrinkled her nose at him.

‘I’m unlikely to get lost, and I have a cell phone.’

‘You’re a young woman alone, it’s several years since you last visited New York, and it would be more than my job is worth to let you out of my sight.’

She obviously wasn’t going to win independence any day soon. ‘OK, so we’ll do the gown thing.’ After all, she had packed light. ‘I take it we’re looking for the wow factor?’

‘Seriously wow.’

Designer megabucks. ‘Well, then, let’s get started.’

The name Wolfe Alexander meant something, it appeared, for polite enquiry soon changed to obsequious attention the moment Mike presented Wolfe’s card.

It took a few hours, but the result was a stunning strapless full-length gown in coral silk, and a semi-fitted elbow-length sleeved bodice with crystal beaded detail. Exquisite stilettoheeled evening sandals were added, and Lara relinquished the glossy designer-label carrier bags into Mike’s care.

‘Lunch,’ she insisted as they emerged onto the pavement. ‘I’m famished.’

Mike steered her towards Le Cirque on Madison, where the food and presentation were faultless, and afterwards she refused any further shopping other than groceries at a food mart.

‘Smile,’ Lara encouraged as Mike trod the aisles at her side while she added items from her list into the trolley. ‘This is fun.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

She sent him a slightly wicked grin. ‘You don’t do groceries?’

‘Other than breakfast, Wolfe rarely eats at home.’ Surely he didn’t dine out every night? Which inevitably raised the question … where, and with whom, and whether ‘your place or mine?’ featured in the equation.

So what if it had?

And why did it seem to matter so much?

Because you care … really care, she added. And he doesn’t. At least, not in the way you want him to care.

Moving on, taking each day … and night, as it happened … was all she could do.

Lara consulted her list. ‘OK, that’s it. We’re done.’

Together they loaded the boot, and Mike negotiated traffic, then he helped transfer everything into the apartment.

‘Thanks,’ Lara said with genuine gratitude as he left to collect Wolfe. ‘I appreciated your company.’

‘My pleasure.’

She had two hours in which to shower, dry and style her hair, dress and apply make-up. Something she could achieve in half the time.

Wolfe entered the bedroom as she was in the process of styling her hair, and she lifted her head as he shrugged off his jacket, loosened his tie, then crossed to her side.

‘Hi,’ Lara offered, and her eyes widened as he captured her face and took her mouth with his own in a brief, evocative kiss.

Oh my.

‘I need to shower and shave.’ He began unbuttoning his shirt and pulled it free from his trousers as he moved across the room, and she lifted the brush and continued styling her hair … at least, that was what she attempted to do.

Not exactly a focused task, she had to admit when she caught a glimpse of his mirrored image as he shed his clothes.

His broad-shouldered, lean-hipped frame held a masculine beauty all its own, and she banked down the deep, curling sensation threatening to overtake her body.

The vivid memory of the shower they’d shared rose up to taunt her … the feel of his hands as he’d shaped her slender curves, the touch of his mouth, the sensations he’d aroused …

Oh, for heaven’s sake … get over it!

It’s just sex, and to your advantage he’s so good at it. So why not go with the pleasure and forget the emotional analysis?

Tonight is your debut into New York society as Wolfe’s wife, a tiny voice prompted. You have to shine. So tend to make-up and hair, and slip into the gown. And, when you’re done, remember to adopt the expected persona for show time.

‘Beautiful,’ Wolfe complimented as he shrugged into his dinner jacket, and she executed a slight mock-curtsy.

‘Thank Mike, who steered me into a number of very expensive designer boutiques downtown.’

Wolfe pocketed a billfold and checked his watch. ‘We need to leave.’

They took the lift down to ground level in silence. Mike was waiting in the Mercedes as they stepped out onto the pavement, and within minutes he eased the car into the stream of traffic heading downtown.

Lara’s nervous tension increased as the Mercedes pulled into the entrance of a prestigious hotel, and it accelerated as she trod the red carpet leading into the foyer.

Wolfe curved an arm along the back of her waist, and she didn’t need prompting to smile. This was pretend time, and it was a given that the woman on Wolfe’s arm would receive attention … some of it overt, mostly discreet.

She could do this … Hadn’t she schmoozed and talked the talk at numerous stellar events in Sydney with Suzanne and Darius?

Except there, she knew people. In New York, there was only Wolfe.

‘If you leave me on my own,’ she warned quietly, ‘I’ll kill you.’

His hand slid up her spine in a soothing gesture as he leant close. ‘I’m almost intrigued to let you try.’

Camera flashbulbs were in abundance, capturing the society guests as they arrived, and Lara felt a sense of relief as they reached the immense area adjoining the grand ballroom.

Uniformed waiters and waitresses circled, offering champagne, orange juice and mineral water, and she declined alcohol in favour of orange juice.

Captains of industry, society doyennes, together with some of New York’s finest were in attendance, together with a cast of seemingly thousands—well, at least one thousand, she estimated as she sipped orange juice and watched fellow guests work the room.

‘Darling Wolfe.’ The faintly husky, slightly accented voice oozed sensuality and belonged to a stunning brunette, who was perfection personified from the top of her head to the tips of her designer pumps … and who made no secret of wanting to eat Wolfe alive, if she could.

Maybe she had.

Not an image on which Lara particularly wanted to dwell, for it conjured up other erotically graphic visions that were best ignored.

‘Stefania.’ He leaned forward and brushed his lips to her flawless cheek.

‘My wife, Lara,’ Wolfe introduced smoothly, and Lara saw the beautiful green eyes narrow fractionally.

‘I’d heard the rumour you had married, but I did not believe it.’ She touched light fingers to his mouth. ‘Why, cara, when what we had was so good?’

Lara watched as he captured her hand and gently removed it. ‘We share a friendship.’

‘Friendship, darling?’

‘You were aware it could be nothing more.’

The words were kind, his tone quiet, but the sudden, fleeting glitter in those beautiful green eyes evidenced the woman’s reluctance to accept them, and her mouth formed the perfect moue before she offered Lara a brilliant smile.

‘You have my congratulations.’

If looks could kill, Lara would be dead on the floor.

‘Why, thank you.’ She could do polite charm. Anything else was unacceptable.

‘Wolfe, amigo.’

The hearty male voice provided a welcome intrusion, and Wolfe returned the greeting with a warm acknowledgment.

‘Raf.’

‘I left a message with your PA.’ He turned towards Lara. ‘Raf del Avica. You have my congratulations. My wife had given up hope Wolfe would ever tie the knot.’ His expression became polite as he acknowledged Stefania, then he offered Lara a conciliatory smile. ‘Do you mind if I borrow him for a few minutes?’

What could she say? ‘Not at all.’

‘You wear Wolfe’s ring,’ Stefania uttered with quiet vehemence as soon as both men moved out of earshot. ‘But you’ll never have his heart.’

This conversation had all the portents of digressing into a slang-fest. Verbal dignity was the only way to go. ‘You know what they say,’ Lara intimated with a faint smile. ‘A reformed rake makes the best husband.’

‘And why is that?’

Timing was everything. ‘He’s had the rest and selected the best.’

A soft derisory laugh issued from Stefania’s lips. ‘Don’t fool yourself. A man in Wolfe’s position only marries in order to breed an heir and a spare.’

Lara watched as the exotic young woman turned away and drifted through the crowd.

Well, that was fun!

She let her gaze linger on Wolfe as he conversed with Raf del Avica, noting the superb cut of his dinner jacket as it moulded his shoulders.

It was crazy, for all it took was a look and the blood fizzed in her veins. Instant recognition of a magnetic force over which she had little control … cataclysmic from the first moment she’d met him, and unrelenting in the intervening years, much to her dismay, for it had coloured her perception and become the measure by which she’d regarded the few men in her life.

Men who had been equally attractive, but lacking in the special something that set Wolfe apart.

Sexual chemistry … pheromones. Intense sensuality.

At that moment he turned, almost as if he sensed her appraisal, and she summoned a brilliant smile as he moved to her side.

‘Tell me,’ she began quietly, ‘how many more women can lay claim to you?’

One eyebrow slanted a little. ‘Stefania?’

‘We exchanged an illuminating conversation,’ she enlightened in a dry voice, and saw the edge of his mouth curve with humour.

‘Who won?’

‘Let’s just say it was a draw.’

Minutes later the ballroom doors opened and the guests began seeking their reserved seating.

Everything ran like clockwork, Lara observed, the introductory speeches smoothly professional while uniformed waiters served drinks.

It was a sell-out, despite the expensive ticket price, and there was kudos for the entertaining artists who’d waived their usual fee in order to support a very worthy cause.

Wolfe played the part of loving husband a little too well … with a light drift of his fingers over her shoulders, the press of his hand to her thigh, lifting her hand to touch his lips fleetingly to her palm.

The most outrageous was an attempt to offer her a tempting morsel of food from his fork.

If this was a game, then two could play … and she did, resting her hand on his thigh a little too long. Only to repeat the action, dangerously high, in a seemingly innocent gesture as she engaged the guest seated opposite in scintillating conversation about the endangered species in east Africa.

‘I had no idea you were so knowledgeable,’ Wolfe accorded, and she offered him a teasing smile.

‘Why … I’m just full of surprises.’

He leant in close. ‘If you move your hand any higher …’ he warned in a silky undertone, and caught the mischievous gleam in her eyes.

‘Promises, darling?’ she murmured.

‘Count on it.’

‘Mmm.’ She traced her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. ‘Delicious.’ With blithe unconcern she transferred her attention to the plate holding her main course, and cut a gourmet potato into delicate portions.

What was it about a vibrantly attractive, sensual man that caused women to test their flirting skills? she posed a while later as she used her flatware with delicate ease to sample the dessert course.

The challenge? An innate need to prove they still ‘had it’, for whatever reason?

Maybe to some it was just a harmless game … or possibly the several flutes of champagne were to blame.

One woman at their table became quite blatant in her attempt to gain Wolfe’s attention, which irked Lara more than it should have.

It didn’t help when he covered her hand with his own and caressed a light pattern over the sensitive bones.

Overkill? Or was he intent on making a statement?

She told herself she didn’t care, but that wasn’t entirely true.

The MC introduced the entertainment, a group of musicians who came on stage, and the ballroom lights dimmed as the group went through their number.

Wolfe leant back in his chair as he watched the fleeting expressions on Lara’s features, her faint smile as she applauded a popular number, and the soft laughter at the deliberate antics of one band member as the group parodied a well-known hit.

She intrigued him on several different levels. Circumspect with his credit card, according to Mike, when he’d fully expected her to spend a small fortune.

What was more, she didn’t ask for a thing … and he was willing to swear she hadn’t been sexually active for some time. Unless she was a superb actress, which he seriously doubted, her previous lovers had cared more for their own pleasure than hers.

The music faded, the overhead lights flared to full strength, and the waiters began serving coffee.

The evening was almost at a close, and Lara felt a sense of relief when Wolfe used his phone to alert Mike to bring the car to the hotel entrance.

Her first social occasion as Wolfe’s wife was about to conclude, and she didn’t protest as he caught hold of her hand and threaded his fingers through her own, then he offered their excuses to the remaining guests at their table and rose to his feet.

The Mercedes with Mike at the wheel was waiting for them, and within minutes the powerful car eased into traffic and headed towards their Upper East Side apartment.

It was good to be able to drop the façade as they emerged from the car at the entrance to their apartment building.

‘We managed that well,’ Wolfe opined as they entered the lounge, and she turned towards him.

‘You mean the touchy-feely thing? Stefania? The fact you’re a babe magnet?’ She waited a beat or two. ‘Or is Stefania off-limits?’

‘This is the part where we conduct a post mortem?’

She summoned a superficial smile. ‘Of all your women? How long will it take?’ She deliberately arched both eyebrows. ‘I would like to go to bed before dawn.’

His husky laughter undid her, and without a further word she crossed the lounge and made for the bedroom.

For a brief moment she considered occupying one of the guest rooms, only to change her mind.

Instead, she’d undress, remove her make-up, don her nightshirt, slip beneath the covers on her side of the large bed … and turn her back on him.

Not exactly subtle, but he’d get the message.

Except it didn’t quite work out that way—for she pretended sleep when she heard him enter the main suite, followed by the soft rustle of clothes being removed, and several minutes later she sensed him occupy the other side of the bed.

There was a faint click as the bedside lamp plunged the room into darkness … then nothing.

Silence. No movement. And soon she detected the sound of his even breathing.

He was asleep?

How could he do that, when she so needed to vent …?

Conducting a silent mental fight wasn’t anywhere near as satisfactory as the real thing, and she plotted his downfall in several different ways before drifting to sleep.