Australian Bachelors: Masterful Magnates

‘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.

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