‘I’ll ensure the funds you require are transferred into your bank account within twenty-four hours.’

‘You’re being unbelievably generous.’ An instinctive wariness began to unfold, together with suspicion.

‘I’ll clear the restaurant mortgage debt, and cover all necessary refurbishment.’ There had to be a catch. A price she’d have to pay. How many possibilities were there? Too few, she acknowledged silently, and in reality…only one.

Yet she had to ask. ‘In return for what?’

One dark eyebrow slanted, and his voice held an edge of mockery. ‘Occupying my home, my bed.’

Her eyes blazed blue fire. ‘As your mistress?’

‘No.’

He sounded mildly amused, and at that moment she truly hated him.

‘My wife.’

Helen Bianchin was born in New Zealand and travelled to Australia before marrying her Italian-born husband. After three years they moved, returned to New Zealand with their daughter, had two sons, then resettled in Australia. Encouraged by friends to recount anecdotes of her years as a tobacco sharefarmer’s wife living in an Italian community, Helen began setting words on paper, and her first novel was published in 1975. An animal lover, she says her terrier and Persian cat regard her study as as much theirs as hers.

PURCHASED: HIS PERFECT WIFE

BY

HELEN BIANCHIN

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PURCHASED: HIS PERFECT WIFE

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

CHAPTER ONE

‘DAMN it.’

The despairing oath emerged as a barely audible condemnation as Lara checked her watch and cast the empty train-tracks a despairing glance.

The train was late. Not exactly a surprise, given the Sydney rail-system rarely kept to its timetable.

There was a general restlessness among the passengers lining the station platform, waiting to board.

An irritated feminine voice demanded querulously close by, ‘Does anyone have any idea how inconvenient this delay is?’

Like you wouldn’t believe, Lara answered silently.

‘I have an important appointment!’

Oh my. As if you’re the only one?

A bubble of hysterical laughter rose and died in her throat. Her own appointment was akin to life or death…figuratively, but almost equally as dire.

Help; the financial magnitude of it was hopeless.

Impossible, she perceived, unless a miracle occurred.

And she no longer believed in miracles. If she ever had. She spared the still-empty train tracks another anxious glance. Oh, come on, she silently begged, and barely refrained from uttering something incredibly unladylike.

Don’t do this to me. Especially not today.

Silent prayers and unexpressed angst made not the slightest difference as the minutes ticked on, and she took a steadying breath and resigned herself to being late.

Alerting anyone to her delay wasn’t going to happen, as she no longer possessed a mobile phone. She could access a phone booth, although the chances of finding one that actually worked in this particular station were minimal.

Several waiting passengers began to pace restlessly along the platform, their impatience matching her own, until collective sighs of relief heralded a train’s arrival.

Lara boarded an overloaded carriage and was forced to stand. Worse, as the train cleared the station, it met torrential rain slanting down in wind-driven sheets that didn’t show signs of ceasing any time soon.

Great. She hadn’t brought an umbrella.

A sign the day…and the power of the Deity…wasn’t done with her?

Somehow it seemed appropriate, given she was due—make that overdue—for an appointment with a prestigious firm of lawyers in order to be apprised of the contents of two wills, as a result of the tragic accidental death of her mother and stepfather in France.

Emotion welled up inside, and she willed herself not to cry. The shedding of tears in public wasn’t going to happen.

Caring, affectionate Darius Alexander had provided the happiness sorely missing in her mother’s first marriage, accepting and treating Lara as if she’d been his own.

Not so his son Wolfe, who ten years ago had viewed Suzanne and her seventeen-year-old daughter Lara predominantly as fortune-hunters planning to live the high life at his father’s expense.

Something so not true it was pathetic, given Suzanne had insisted on signing a pre-nup prior to her marriage to Darius. A fact Wolfe would be forced to accept when the contents of both Darius and Suzanne’s wills were revealed. Together with the addendum, citing Lara’s welfare was Suzanne’s financial responsibility.

Within a year of the marriage Wolfe had declined Darius’ offer to join his conglomerate’s directorial board and had taken up a lucrative offer in New York, choosing instead to forge his own path in the business arena.

Lara had completed her studies, qualified as a chef, and spent time in France and Italy for a few years, honing her skills before returning to Sydney.

Two years ago she’d formed a business partnership with Paul Evans, sunk all her savings into a restaurant in a trendy suburb, and had worked long hours to make it a success.

Something she’d achieved, providing fine food at reasonable prices for a steadily increasing clientele.

Life had been good…until Paul had fled the country after clearing out their business bank account, and her own, because she’d foolishly trusted him.

Not coincidentally, the theft had been timed to occur the day after Darius and Suzanne had embarked on a lengthy European tour, ensuring lack of hands-on parental support. The police were called in, lawyers consulted, charges laid, but the wheels of justice had moved slowly.

Pride had ensured the resultant mess was her problem, and in an effort to conserve funds she’d given up her leased apartment and downsized to lodgings, sold her car and resorted to public transport.

However, the financial damage had been acute, and minimizing staff by personally working long shifts had done little to ease the situation. Bank assistance was withdrawn, and she’d dealt with lack of funds as best she could with a short term high-interest loan from a less than desirable source.

A man who’d spelt out terms in cold hard facts.

Pay on time, and everything will be fine.

Followed by a succinct and frightening, don’t…and it won’t.

The implications had been vividly clear, and only a fool would have failed to recognize them.

Borrowing money in such circumstances had not been a wise move, she reflected grimly. The reality of missing a payment had provided a vivid reminder of just who she was dealing with.

Not a bank-loan officer trained to provide a psychologically couched response with seeming regret.

Instead, a ruthless man who dealt with desperate people who were denied access to normal lending-institutions and who accepted the terms, aware of the risks.

Something he’d revealed in chilling detail, elaborating precisely on what she could expect if she failed to pay on time.

Apprehension didn’t begin to cover it.

All-consuming fear barely came close.

She’d been barely able to function. She’d rarely eaten, and she hadn’t been able to sleep.

At which point she’d put aside pride and appealed for Darius’ help, verbally given without hesitation. He would, he’d assured, attend to it as soon as he accessed a fax machine.

Lara’s relief had been short-lived. Reduced to mere hours, before she’d been alerted that a road accident had claimed both her mother’s and stepfather’s lives.

It was Wolfe who’d relayed the shattering news, taken immediate control, flying from New York to France to attend to formalities before jetting in to Sydney, then conferring with her over arrangements and providing support at the funeral service.

Days during which she’d functioned on auto-pilot and lost track of time as she hid her grief in public and succumbed to it in private.

Tracking down her biological father had resulted in a curt dismissal at being involved in any way.

Lara recalled a host of kaleidoscopic memories…an alcoholic father whose rages had been volatile and many, the bitter arguments and physical abuse her mother had endeavoured to shield from her daughter; the day Marc Sommers had beaten Lara, Suzanne had gathered a few clothes into a suitcase, taken hold of Lara’s hand and fled to another city in another State.

There was no difficulty in picturing their rented two-room flat, the long hours Suzanne had worked, or the school Lara had attended in a less than salubrious inner-city suburb.

Tough beginnings, which Suzanne had toiled hard to change…and succeeded, gradually carving a better life for them both, enhanced by Suzanne’s chance meeting with Darius, his persistent courtship and their marriage.

The subtle change in train speed brought Lara back to the present, and she stifled a grateful sigh as she alighted at the inner-city station.

Several minutes later she took the escalator and reached street level, only to dash to the intersection to catch the lights at a nearby traffic-controlled pedestrian crossing.

Rain pelted down. She stepped into a huge rain puddle, which sent water splashing fountain-like over her black trousers. By the time she reached the opposite pavement she felt, and probably looked, like a drowned cat.

Could the day get any worse?

Don’t even think about it, a mischievous imp taunted silently, whereupon Lara promptly banished it elsewhere. The address housing Darius’ prestigious firm of lawyers was two blocks away, and she dodged the rain and fellow pedestrians at a fast pace, entered the marble-tiled foyer, then paused a few moments to extract a handkerchief to dry off her hair.

A wasted effort, which she discarded with a sense of hopeless fatalism as she crossed to the bank of lifts, pressed the arrowed ‘up’ button and stood waiting for any one of several electronic cubicles to descend to ground level.

The melodic ping announcing the arrival of a lift caught her attention, and she rode it with some trepidation to the designated floor.

Any minute soon she’d face her inimitable stepbrother.

In his late thirties, Wolfe Alexander’s interest was purported to focus as much on women as it did on business. With immense success in both areas, according to Darius, who’d begun to despair of his son marrying and providing an heir…or returning to Sydney to take up a rightful position on the board of directors.

Darius’ son…a man who was a force to be reckoned with on every level. As he’d proven with an incident during her eighteenth birthday party which Lara had chosen to obliterate from her memory…and thought she had, until she’d stood silently at Wolfe’s side two days ago at the formal burial of his father and her mother.

The lift slid to a smooth halt and Lara emerged into the open foyer, where Darius’ legal firm occupied the entire floor, hosting an imposing reception area with an equally soignée receptionist who could, Lara perceived with unaccustomed cynicism, moonlight as a model…and possibly did.

Exceedingly damp and bedraggled wasn’t a good look, Lara conceded as she identified herself, apologized for her lateness…and requested direction to the bathroom.

What did another few minutes matter?

‘Of course.’ The receptionist rose to her feet and extended a hand. ‘Would you like me to take care of your coat?’

‘Thanks.’

It didn’t take long to sweep the wet length of her blonde hair into a loose knot, secure it with a large hinged clip, touch colour to her lips and smooth her black top.

A deep calming breath, and she returned to Reception where an assistant led her to a spacious executive office, announced and ushered her in, then closed the door behind her.

Two men rose to their feet, and Lara acknowledged the lawyer, offered an apology, then turned slightly towards the tall, broad-shouldered, impeccably tailored figure silhouetted against floor-to-ceiling glass, met a pair of dark, enigmatic grey eyes, and inclined her head. ‘Wolfe.’

It was impossible to tell anything from his expression, and she didn’t even try.

‘Lara.’ His voice was a smooth, slightly accented drawl, and she endeavoured to control the nervous tension he managed to arouse without any seeming effort at all.

There was something vaguely primitive apparent, an electric, almost raw sexuality that was dangerous to any woman’s peace of mind…especially hers.

Dear God. How could she ever forget the first time she’d met him mere weeks before the advent of Suzanne’s marriage to Darius?

One look…and she’d melted into an ignominious puddle, aware of every breath, and unable to voice a sensible sentence in his presence.

The image of a high-school jock who held every grade-twelve female student in lascivious thrall had ceased to exist…replaced in a heartbeat by a twenty-seven-year-old tall, dark and ruggedly attractive male whom Lara had elevated to godlike status.

In response, Wolfe had been polite but distant and coolly tolerant whenever they happened to be in the same place at the same time…which hadn’t been too often.

Lara’s eighteenth birthday had been something special… a beautiful gown, friends, music…and Wolfe. She’d felt incredibly grown up. Mature. A flute of champagne on an empty stomach, followed later by another, had provided her with the courage to turn a fleeting, solitary kiss to her cheek from Wolfe into something else as she’d turned her head and met his lips with her own. Emboldened, she’d lifted her arms and linked her hands together at his nape, pressed in against him, opened her mouth and sought his tongue with her own.

She felt his initial hesitation, followed by the involuntary sweep of his tongue against her own…then he slowly lifted his head and gently put her at arm’s length.

His quietly voiced, ‘Meet me later,’ sent her heart soaring, and she was hardly able to wait until the evening came to an end.

He was going to take her in his arms and kiss her again…really kiss her. And it would be everything she’d imagined, and more.

Every nerve-end throbbed into awareness, and she became supremely conscious of every breath she took…its jagged quality as she failed to control the excitement flooding her veins.

Dimmed lights provided the grounds with a shadowed illumination as he led her beneath the spreading branches of a magnificent jacaranda tree.

It was there Wolfe drew her into his arms and brushed his mouth to her own, deepening the kiss as she sighed and sought the play of taut muscle and sinew beneath his cotton shirt.

Pleasure, sweet and evocative, took hold of her vulnerable emotions and captured them. She couldn’t think…and knew she didn’t want to…as his tongue met her own, traced its outline, then began a sensual exploration that promised heat and passion. Everything she’d dreamed a kiss could be.

Her lower body arched involuntarily against his own. Seconds later the breath hitched in her throat as he plundered at will.

Oh my God.

The earth moved…she was willing to swear on it, and she lost all sensation of time and place, for there was only the man and the intense sexual awareness he aroused.

She didn’t want it to end, and a faint protest escaped her lips as he lifted his head, and her eyes widened into huge, dark pools as he put her at arm’s length.

Dear heaven, please, she silently begged in a desperate need to feel the warmth of his mouth on her own. The heat, the intense emotion he managed to arouse without any seeming effort at all.

Had she said the words out loud?

She didn’t know as Wolfe grasped hold of her chin and lifted it high.

‘Very pleasant. But…just for the record…I have no intention of following Darius’example by becoming involved with his second wife’s daughter.’

Harsh, angry words that tore her vulnerable heart apart and left it raw and bleeding.

Didn’t he know he’d succeeded in branding her his own with that erotically evocative kiss?

She felt cold, so cold her body shook with it.

How could he?

It was pride and pride alone that wrought her response. It cost dearly to summon cynicism, but she managed it…just. ‘So, what was that we just shared? A lesson in futility?’

His eyes were dark, slumbrous in the moonlit night.

‘Yes, damn you.’

Humiliated beyond measure, she turned and walked away from him, uncaring whether he followed her or not. And indoors she met Darius, momentarily paused, saw his eyes sharpen at her obvious distress, then she gave a choked cry and ran quickly upstairs to her room, removed her clothes, took a leisurely shower…and wept until there were no tears left.

‘Please. Sit down.’

The words brought Lara slamming back to the present, and for a brief second her eyes widened as Wolfe indicated the leather-buttoned chair close to his own.

How long had she been locked in the past? Dear heaven, hopefully only a number of fleeting seconds. Years had passed since her eighteenth birthday…ten, to be precise…and she was no longer a sexually vulnerable teenager, prey to burgeoning emotions.

Lara chose the chair furthest away from Wolfe, unsure whether it was a minor act of defiance or the need to put some distance between them.

The lawyer crossed behind his desk, collected a file and opened it as he sank into his chair.

There was a discreet knock on the door, and an assistant entered with a tray containing a steaming pot of tea and coffee together with the requisite cups, saucers, milk and sugar.

The norm? Preferential treatment for important clientele, or an offering in preparation for unexpected news?

Whatever…she held the hope it wouldn’t involve too much time, for she was due to begin the afternoon shift a few hours from now.

Lara took her tea strong, and she endeavoured to still a slight shaky feeling as she sipped the brew and waited for the lawyer to begin.

Legalese tended to be long-winded as various clauses sought to cover every contingency. Darius’ will cited numerous issues, bequeathing Suzanne the use of their principal residence and a generous income from certain allocated personal assets…such assets to be held in trust for his only son, Wolfe Ignatius Alexander.

The remainder of his personal estate was to be held in trust and released to Wolfe upon the event of Wolfe’s marriage and the issue of children.

Darius’ business assets, comprising the Alexander Conglomerate and its various companies…bequeathed to Wolfe and Lara in equal shares.

Lara opened her mouth in disbelief, then closed it again as the lawyer continued.

Wolfe’s fifty-per-cent share conditional in the event he relocated to Sydney and took control as head of the directorial board. If this was not met within three months of Darius’ demise, Wolfe’s share of the Alexander Conglomerate and its various companies would be sold and the proceeds donated to several nominated charities.

Lara’s fifty-per-cent share to be held in trust for her children, with Lara receiving dividend income from those shares.

Suzanne’s insistence on a pre-nuptial agreement that allowed her the use of one residence together with an annuity should Darius predecease her was something Lara had known about for several years.

If Wolfe was surprised by the existence of a pre-nup at Suzanne’s instigation, he gave no evidence of it as the lawyer condensed the contents of Suzanne’s will.

Personal effects, items of jewellery and any cash held in Suzanne’s bank accounts went to her only daughter, Lara Anne Sommers, together with Suzanne’s annuity in perpetuity to Lara, the use of Suzanne’s principal residence to pass to Lara during her lifetime, with any remaining assets to be held in trust for Lara’s children.

Darius had been a generous benefactor, gifting Suzanne an enviable lifestyle, comprising frequent travel, a more-than-generous allowance and numerous gifts of jewellery, ensuring Suzanne had wanted for nothing.

The implications sank in with stark reality.

Darius had played his last card.

Attempting to achieve in death what he’d been unable to achieve during his lifetime…by organizing his affairs to have his only son return to Sydney and take control of his business interests.

‘I respectfully suggest your decision regarding the Alexander Conglomerate is paramount,’ the lawyer posed, and Wolfe inclined his head in agreement.

There followed a rundown of Darius’ personal and business assets, together with those of Suzanne…untouchable until both estates went to probate, which could, given the complexity of assets, take several months.

Lara rose to her feet as the consultation came to an end, and walked at Wolfe’s side to Reception, collected her coat and crossed to the bank of lifts.

There were numerous issues regarding Suzanne’s personal effects, but for the life of her she couldn’t think of them now.

The lift arrived and she entered it and stood in silence at Wolfe’s side as it descended swiftly to ground level.

In such small confines, his height and breadth of shoulder made her increasingly aware of her petite stature.

The contrast between them was marked. Wolfe’s dark hair, sculptured bone structure and dark, slate-grey eyes owed much to his late mother’s European ancestry. Whereas Lara possessed ash-blonde hair, fine-boned features and brilliant sapphire-blue eyes…the antithesis of his own.

The lift reached ground level, and they walked out onto the pavement to witness the rain replaced by weak sunshine.

Lara paused hesitantly as concern vied with the stark reality of what she could possibly arrange regarding her outstanding debt to the ominously threatening loan shark.

There was a palatial home she could live in upon probate…but not sell or rent out. A generous annuity in perpetuity paid into her bank account each month upon probate. Shares worth a small fortune…to be held in trust and not sold, from which she’d derive a very sizable income…again, upon probate. Suzanne’s jewellery and personal effects which she’d choose to treasure and never sell. A restaurant she’d have to walk away from any day soon if serious financial help wasn’t forthcoming.

Assets, none of which were liquid…ensuring she was asset rich, but cash poor. With no hope in hell of raising the large amount of cash needed by midnight to pay off the loan shark.

Even if she presented copies of Darius’ and Suzanne’s wills, no bank would come to her aid with such a large amount within hours.

Could she…dared she…approach Wolfe, explain her predicament and request his financial assistance?

Ice entered her veins and chilled her body.

There was no other way.

None.

So what did she have to lose…except her pride?

CHAPTER TWO

‘CAN we talk?’ Stark, minimum words that cost her dearly, and incurred a probing look.

‘There’s something you want to discuss?’

His voice was a faintly inflected drawl, and she suppressed an involuntary shiver.

Lara spared him a quick glance and gleaned little from his expression. Assertiveness was the key. ‘Yes.’

‘In that case, let’s do so over lunch.’

Share a meal with him? She really didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary… Time was something she didn’t have!

He sensed her hesitation, and his eyes narrowed slightly. She looked too slender, her features too pale, and she resembled a cat on hot bricks.

Grief, without doubt, had to be taken into account…but why did he have the feeling it was more than that? A broken romance? There had been no boyfriend evident to lend support during the funeral service, nor to attend the gathering afterwards.

He told himself he didn’t care…and knew it to be untrue. For, despite the intervening years, he still retained a vivid recall of her teenage crush, and the method with which he’d dealt with it. The surprising sweetness of her young mouth; her reaction to his touch; the way she’d felt in his arms, and her uninhibited response.

It had affected him more than he’d imagined possible, and left him with a lingering sense of frustration in the knowledge he could have taken her. What had held him back? Remorse? Guilt? At the time he’d refused to contemplate it might be anything else…and he’d grasped opportunity with both hands soon after by relocating to New York, where he’d focused on forging his own fortune.

During the following years he’d met up with Darius in various parts of the world, and during infrequent appearances in Sydney, where he preferred hotel accommodation to staying as a guest in his father’s home. Dinner invitations that had included Lara…who’d stoically refused to ignore him, yet had treated him with such incredible politeness it had made him want to shake her.

Not unlike the feeling he entertained now.

‘We both need to eat,’ Wolfe ventured silkily.

Did she have a choice?

‘A sandwich and coffee,’ she conceded, aware it was all she could afford.

‘When was the last time you ate a decent meal?’

The question came out of left field, and she stiffened at the underlying censure. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, I spend my time in a kitchen cooking professionally for a living.’

‘For clientele.’

‘The nature of the business,’ she responded, and incurred his dark gaze.

‘An hour or two enjoying a leisurely meal in my company is abhorrent to you?’

Difficult. Unnerving. But not abhorrent. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘Of course not.’

They were walking along a busy city-street, and she hesitated as Wolfe indicated a restaurant she knew to be ruinously expensive.

‘Relax.’

Sure. Like she could do that!

The maître d’ took one look at Wolfe, determined an aura of wealth, and ushered them to a well-positioned table.

Within minutes the drinks waiter elicited their order, and Lara opted to stay with chilled water, as did Wolfe.

The menu offered a superb variety, and she perused the selection with care.

‘Do you have a preference?’

Oh God, she didn’t want to do this!

‘I’m not very hungry.’

Wolfe cast her a brief glance over the top of the menu, then went ahead and ordered bruschetta, two entrées, two mains and intimated dessert could wait until later.

She opened her mouth to protest, only to close it again as she incurred his dark, unyielding look.

‘You really want to argue?’

Give it up, a silent voice warned.

The temptation to launch into her request was uppermost, if only to get it out there and be done with it—for the thought of playing polite and conducting a meaningless conversation almost brought her undone.

He looked every inch the man he’d become. Hardened, ruthless, powerful. Someone it would be wise not to toy with…unless you were prepared to face the consequences.

Successful beyond measure, Darius had been known to reveal with pride, with an apartment overlooking New York’s Central Park, residences in London and the south of France, to name a few.

While she was almost destitute and in debt up to her eyeballs.

Some comparison!

Did—could—Wolfe know of her financial circumstances?

Probably not. Unless he’d made it his business to find out. Despite privacy laws, information wasn’t too difficult to elicit if one knew how to circumvent conventional channels.

The mere thought sickened her, and she felt a slight degree of relief as a waiter appeared and placed a platter onto the table.

The bruschetta was tempting, although, given the state of her nerves, forking morsels of food into her mouth would require concentrated effort.

‘Eat, Lara.’

To refuse would be churlish, given a banana followed by coffee had comprised breakfast, and anything she managed to consume this evening would be eaten on the run. If nothing else, she needed food for sustenance and energy to maintain long working hours.

‘How long do you intend to stay in Sydney?’

He met her gaze and held it. ‘As long as it takes.’

An ambiguous answer that didn’t commit him to anything.

Would he comply with the conditions of Darius’ will?

It really was no concern of hers whether he did or not.

Lara moved the food around on her plate, and was so caught up with nerves she didn’t trust herself to lift her fork.

‘You wanted to run something by me?’ Wolfe prompted, and caught her sudden look of anguish.

This was hard, but she couldn’t prevaricate, wouldn’t pretend. Only explain…and ask.

Which she did, as briefly as possible, whilst outlining only the pertinent facts and her desperate urgency for funds.

The spectre of the loan shark hovered over her like the sword of Damocles, ever threatening, and poised to fall any time soon. Fear consumed her, stretching her nerves to breaking point.

There was nothing to be gleaned from his expression, making it impossible to discern whether he’d view her request favourably or not.

‘What amount do you have in mind?’

She mentioned a sum, and he didn’t even blink.

‘You perceive it as a gift?’

‘No.’ Genuine shock widened her eyes, and her hands shook slightly as she replaced her water goblet down onto the table. ‘A loan.’ She closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘Using the shares bequeathed me under the terms of Darius’ will as collateral.’

She’d done the maths, had agonized and lost sleep over the figures, minimizing them to bare essentials in order to clear accumulated debts and purchase a vehicle. ‘I’ll pay you back every cent, with interest.’

‘Over what time frame?’

Lara relayed an estimation. ‘Less,’ she assured him quickly. ‘I can utilize the annuity from Suzanne’s estate and transfer it directly to you.’

Wolfe surveyed her carefully, then offered a silky negative. ‘No.’

Her features paled, and her eyes became large stricken pools. She had nowhere to go…no one else she could ask.

Loan sharks lent money on a strictly short-term basis, and non-payment wrought dire consequences.

She could feel the germ of anger begin to seed and take hold, sparking into flames that owed much to the past.

Uppermost was the desire to pick up the salt-shaker and hurl it at him. She consciously placed her hands onto her lap in an effort at control.

Any hope Wolfe might honour Darius’ verbal assurance of financial help died a natural death, and she rose to her feet, unable to bear so much as another minute in his company. ‘Go back to New York and have a nice life.’

‘Sit down.’ Dark slate-grey eyes seared hers. ‘I’m not done.’

‘I am!’

Lara turned away from the table, and in the next instant a hand closed over her wrist, manacling her as securely as steel restraints.

‘Let me go.’ The words husked from her throat in a low growl, and her eyes flared with brilliant sapphire chips.

This close, she was supremely conscious of his height and breadth of shoulder, the clean, laundered smell of his clothes and the faint, teasing aroma of his cologne.

‘Sit down…please.’

The ‘please’ did little to appease her anger as she glared at him. ‘Give me one reason why I should.’

His gaze didn’t waver, and a muscle bunched at the edge of his jaw. ‘I have a suggestion.’ One he had no hesitation in making…having reached the decision with split-second decisiveness.

Lara stilled, and her glare became tinged with wariness. ‘I’m not sure I want to hear it.’

She was hardly aware of being manoeuvered down into her seat until Wolfe released her wrist and resumed his position opposite.

‘I’ll settle your debts.’

The wariness increased. ‘You just gave me a categorical no.’

‘To providing you with a loan,’ Wolfe corrected, adding, ‘Or accepting a transfer of Suzanne’s annuity.’

Why did she suddenly have this icy chill feathering the length of her spine?

‘As it stands, the future of the Alexander Conglomerate is at risk. Your bequeathed half-share is projected into the next generation via issue of your children. While mine, should I not relocate to Sydney and assume directorship, will disappear entirely.’ His gaze seared her own. ‘Not something, I think you’ll agree, Darius intended for his billion-dollar conglomerate?’

She knew Darius had accumulated immense wealth…but that much?

Only a fool would allow an investment of that size to slip through their fingers. And Wolfe was no fool.

‘So you’ll base yourself in Sydney.’ It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.

‘I’ll honour my father’s wishes,’ he informed her silkily, pausing as the waiter removed their plates and intimated their main course would soon be served. ‘A stable consolidation is essential for the future of the conglomerate, don’t you agree?’

There could be only one answer. ‘Yes.’

He was playing a delicate game, one that required verbal skill and the power of persuasion. Something he was particularly noted for in the business arena, together with his ruthless ability to win against incredible odds.

Darius’ will had set out a deliberate plan in an attempt to achieve in death what he hadn’t been able to bring to fruition during his lifetime.

Wolfe observed Lara’s expressive features, divining the wariness evident, the faint curiosity…and closed in for the kill.

‘I’ll ensure the funds you require are transferred into your bank account within twenty-four hours.’

Her relief was palpable as the horrendous weight of her liability to the loan shark was seen to disappear, and her voice shook a little.

‘Thank you.’

‘Together with an equal amount to ensure any outstanding bills are paid, any temporary reduction in your staff’s wages are reimbursed.’

The waiter delivered their main course, and she didn’t speak until he was out of earshot.

‘You’re being unbelievably generous.’ An instinctive wariness began to unfold, together with suspicion.

‘I’ll clear the restaurant mortgage-debt, and cover all necessary refurbishment.’

There had to be a catch. A price she’d have to pay.

How many possibilities were there? Too few, she acknowledged silently, and in reality, only one.

Yet she had to ask. ‘In return for what?’

One dark eyebrow slanted, and his voice held an edge of mockery. ‘Occupying my home, my bed.’

Her eyes blazed blue fire. ‘As your mistress?’

‘No.’

He sounded mildly amused, and at that moment she truly hated him.

‘Then…what?’ Lara demanded.

‘My wife.’

CHAPTER THREE

FOR a moment Lara lost the power of speech, and she felt the blood drain from her cheeks.

‘If this is a joke,’ she began shakily, ‘it’s in very bad taste.’

Wolfe observed her in silence, noting the way her eyes dilated and became dark, her slightly parted mouth as she unconsciously held her breath.

‘You can’t be serious?’ she managed at last. The concept was ludicrous. Beyond belief. Impossible.

‘Very serious,’ Wolfe assured her solemnly.

‘Why?’ It was a strangled, heart-wrenching cry from the depths of her soul.

‘Children.’

It took a few seconds for her to get it, and even then Wolfe chose to spell it out.

‘Our equal shares in the Alexander Conglomerate are consigned in trust to the issue of children from your marriage, and from my own. Something which will create complex difficulties, and ultimately cause the conglomerate to disintegrate in the next generation.’ He waited a beat as his gaze speared her own. ‘It won’t happen if you and I wed each other and the children stipulated in Darius’ will issue from our marriage.’

‘You’re offering me a business deal that will tie up a few loose ends and keep everything in the family?’ Lara deduced with deceptive quietness.

‘Does that bother you?’

The thought of being a ‘loose end’ didn’t sit well.

‘Yes, damn it!’ She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Aiming for cool, calm and collected was proving difficult when there was an internal battle going on. ‘You’re proposing a convenient marriage?’ She was on a roll. ‘Which will entail…?’

‘Sharing a home, a partnership in bed and out of it. A generous allowance.’ He lifted a shoulder in a negligible shrug. ‘An enviable lifestyle. Children, eventually, God willing.’ He paused fractionally. ‘Is that sufficiently specific?’

He was still. Too still, like a predator indolently waiting to pounce.

‘And, if I refuse, you’ll withdraw your offer to transfer funds.’ Her voice shook with the effort it cost her to speak.

‘Yes.’

She picked up her water goblet, and barely restrained the urge to throw the contents in his face.

For a few timeless seconds her eyes blazed with anger as they collided with his, and it took all her control to restore the goblet onto the table.

‘A wife, bought and paid for.’

His expression hardened a little at her succinct summation, and his grey eyes assumed the colour of dark slate.

A silent war rose to the fore, and she battled against the unbearable need to hit him.

It didn’t help that he knew.

‘Don’t discount the offer, Lara,’ Wolfe warned with dangerous silkiness. ‘You have no other option.’

Wasn’t that the truth! Yet the fact rankled unbearably.

‘You expect me to meekly comply?’

Meek and Lara didn’t feature on the same page, he mused idly. The smitten teenager of ten years ago had grown in spirit and attitude to become the fiercely independent young woman seated opposite him today. Who, despite being down and almost out, could still attempt to do battle with him.

Wolfe leaned back in his chair. ‘The choice is yours.’

Some choice.

A deal with the Devil…or the Devil to pay.

It was no contest.

‘If…if I agree,’ she continued in a voice stiff with latent anger, ‘When do you envisage the marriage to take place?’

‘As soon as it can be arranged, by special licence.’

That soon.

‘Provide me with all the relevant paperwork involving your debts, and I’ll take care of them.’

‘When?’ It sounded so mercenary, but she was past caring.

‘The funds you so urgently need will be available in your bank tomorrow. The balance authorized immediately after our signatures appear on the marriage certificate.’

This is business, she reminded herself bitterly, with no sentiment or trust where money was involved.

However, it rankled…badly. Her chin lifted a little and her eyes assumed a deep sapphire-blue.

‘I want to continue running my restaurant.’ It was her pride and joy…more. And she refused to give it up.

Wolfe’s expression hardened. ‘You can retain the restaurant as an investment,’ he allowed equably. ‘But your continued involvement will be minimal.’

She suddenly had trouble regulating her breathing. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard.’

No quarter given in those obdurate words, and she barely resisted the temptation to tell him exactly what he could do with his proposal.

Think, a tiny voice prompted in silent warning.

She had everything to lose if she walked away from him.

What price pride in the face of wisdom?

Besides, marriage didn’t have to mean for ever.

If she gave him an heir…

Yet how could she walk away from her own child?

The whole scenario was fraught.

‘You can’t expect me to give you an answer now?’

‘Tonight.’

‘I’m due at work.’ She spared a glance at her watch, and stood to her feet. ‘Oh hell, now.’ Staff were at a minimum, and she could ill afford to be late. ‘I finish somewhere between eleven and midnight.’

Wolfe signalled the waiter, extracted his wallet and paid the bill. ‘I’ll drive you.’

She was walking quickly. ‘I can take a train.’

‘But you won’t.’

What was the point in arguing? A car would reach her destination more quickly than public transport.

Minutes later he disabled the locking mechanism of a top-of-the-range black Lexus, saw her seated, then he slid in behind the wheel and eased the car into the stream of traffic.

The Rocks area held numerous cafés and restaurants, and Lara directed him to double-park outside her own.

Wolfe handed her a card with his mobile-phone number. ‘I’ll expect your call.’

She slipped it into her purse, inclined her head, then sped quickly down a side alley to the back entrance, and used her key in the lock.

In the small back-room space she discarded her outer clothes, donned her chef’s uniform, tied on an apron, wound the length of her hair beneath a protective cap…and went to work.

They were one staff member down, which made for chaos in the kitchen, with delays and short tempers as three pairs of hands attempted to do the work of four.

Shontelle acted as maître d’, taking reservations, welcoming patrons, ensuring they were seated.

Sally held the position of head waitress, and both girls had been with Lara’s from the day the restaurant had opened. Long-time friends who were equally as dedicated to the success of the restaurant as Lara herself.

Together they’d enjoyed the good times, and had stayed on to help Lara battle through the financial mess left by her business partner.

Around ten the rush began to ease as customers lingered over dessert and coffee, and by eleven the numbers had dwindled down to a few.

It was a relief when the last patrons left, the doors closed, the kitchen staff finished up, and all that remained was the nightly cleaning. Something which didn’t take long as Sally lifted chairs onto tables while Lara vacuumed the floors.

There hadn’t been time to give Wolfe’s suggestion much thought, except in fleeting moments which in no way encompassed the big picture of marriage, children…intimacy.

How was she going to deal with that?

Being so aware of the man, his sensual chemistry and the way it affected her. His sexual partner…and knowing, to him, it would just be sex.

That love didn’t enter the equation, and never would.

Could she live with him and pretend?

Lara moved the vacuum cleaner with increased speed in an attempt to expend some nervous energy.

For heaven’s sake!

Wolfe was offering a way out.

What other option did she have?

Disappear and assume another identity? Contact the police and report the loan shark for harassment?

Sure…like either of those scenarios would work!

Besides, it wasn’t part of her nature to run from anything.

Marry a billionaire, enjoy an enviable lifestyle, and bear him a child or two.

A hundred…oh, why not go for broke and make it a thousand…women would jump at the chance.

So what was the big deal?

Just a little matter of emotional engagement…hers.

Wolfe Alexander affected her like no other man she’d met. At seventeen, she had melted at the initial moment of introduction, almost frighteningly aware of the degree of raw sexuality he exuded. A teenage crush that had lingered long and almost brought her undone.

She’d moved on, matured, indulged in a brief relationship or two…but there was no one who’d come close to Wolfe, or the emotions he roused.

‘That’s it, we’re done.’

The sound of Sally’s voice brought Lara back to the present, and she switched off the vacuum cleaner, stowed it in the cupboard, then changed into her outdoor clothes.

‘I need to make a phone call.’

She had three choices: use the phone here, a phone booth, or the phone in the hallway at her boarding house.

‘I’ll plug in some music and wait,’ Sally directed, removing her earphones.

They had a steadfast rule—no female staff left alone this late at night.

‘I won’t be long.’ Lara extracted Wolfe’s card and crossed to the phone, all too aware the nerves in her stomach had twisted into a painful knot.

Seconds later she cursed beneath her breath as she keyed in a wrong digit and had to start over.

Wolfe answered on the third ring, intoning, ‘Alexander,’ in a voice that sounded deep and slightly more accented over the phone.

‘Lara.’ She identified herself at once.

‘You’ve reached a decision?’

It was hardly the time or the occasion for small talk, and she didn’t even try. ‘Yes.’

‘And?’

Heaven help her. She gripped the handset a little tighter. ‘Yes.’

Lara wasn’t sure how she expected him to respond.

‘I’ll be in touch tomorrow with relevant details.’ There was a click and the line went dead.

It took a second or three for her to realize he’d cut the connection, and her fingers tightened momentarily before she replaced the handset.

He at least could have acknowledged her acceptance!

Oh, get real, a silent voice chastised. What did you expect?

Forget sentiment…there was none.

So what did she care?

Even thinking about Wolfe in the role of husband accelerated her pulse and did strange things to her equilibrium.

Oh, for heaven’s sake…get over it! He’s just a man, like any other… And she knew she lied.

Ten years down the track she still retained a vivid recollection of his erotic kiss… Worse, the oral foreplay he’d metered out as a stark warning, and the way it had affected her.

What would he be like as a lover?

Don’t go there. At least not now, not yet.

For, if she allowed herself to go down that path, she’d never make it to the wedding.

Best not to think too deeply…and keep busy!

It was time to check the windows, external doors, set the alarm, lock up, then pull down the security grill and padlock it.

A nightly routine they executed in tandem before walking briskly to the nearest train station.

Lara took a deep breath, turned and collected her bag, then she signalled Sally she was ready to leave.

It wasn’t until they’d boarded the train that she remembered a vital phone call she should have made to the loan shark, begging a further twenty-four-hour extension, and the promise payment of the total funds would be made in cash.

Something twisted painfully in the region of her stomach as she checked the time, and her heart began to pound.

The week’s loan extension ran out at midnight.

She needed to make that call…fast. Explain, give Wolfe’s name as verification the money would be paid.

Please hurry, she bade silently as the train sped towards their station, and as they disembarked she had to restrain herself from running to the boarding house.

The inner-city suburb of Darlinghurst contained some less-than-salubrious streets where numerous bedsits and boarding houses existed in old converted homes. The dark of night and dim street-lighting hid their daytime grime and general state of disrepair.

Definitely not an area in which to linger long, and as far removed from Lara’s former apartment as chalk from cheese.

Lara’s relief was palpable as she entered the house via the front entrance, and she extracted the requisite coins from her purse to feed the pay-phone.

Seconds later the phone rang out, and she redialled, hoping, praying, for an answer. But there was none, and a second later a male figure appeared out of nowhere, a hard hand angled beneath her jaw, and she was lifted off her feet, then slammed against the wall.

Fear, stark and terrifying, almost made her pass out as the man’s face came within inches of her own.

‘Pay up by midnight tomorrow. Or else.’ His grip tightened. ‘Blink if you’ve got the message.’

Lara instantly obeyed, almost choking beneath his relentless grip, then he released her and disappeared out the front entrance as she subsided to the floor in a state of shock.

‘Hey. You OK?’

She looked up in dazed terror, recognized a male tenant, and tried to speak…except no sound came out.

‘You need help?’

Like you wouldn’t believe!

‘Want me to call someone?’

There was only one person who could handle this mess, and Lara reached into her purse, withdrew Wolfe’s card and indicated the mobile-phone number written on the back.

She was dimly aware of a brief one-sided conversation, then the tenant led her into her room, sat her down and applied a dampened towel to her throat.

Lara had little recollection of how long it took Wolfe to appear…only that suddenly he was there, looming large in the small room, his features grim as he took in her pale features, the darkness apparent in her eyes.

He didn’t say a word as he took the few steps necessary to reach her, and her gaze never left his as he hunkered down in front of her.

With care he removed the damp towel, and a muscle bunched in one cheek as he saw the reddened marks apparent, noted the pain it caused her to swallow, and trailed gentle fingers along the underside of her jaw. He was close, too close, she registered…and she hated that he appeared to swamp her.

She was aware of him thanking her rescuer, then closing and locking the door as the tenant left, and she watched as he returned to her side.

‘Give me the contact number.’

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand, and she retrieved a card from her pocket and gave it to him, watching as he made the call on his phone.

There were terse, hard words as Wolfe made arrangements to pay her debt in full at a mutually agreed time and place.

He slid the phone into his jacket pocket, and retrieved his wallet. ‘What do you owe on this place?’

The rent was paid in advance and up to date. It had to be, or personal belongings were held for a week, then both tenant and belongings were out on the street.

She attempted to speak, heard the croaking sound, and resorted to hand signals, watching as he anchored a large bill beneath her room-key on the scarred dresser.

The room was spartan, comprising a single bed, a dresser and chair, and a tiny wardrobe. There were shared bathrooms, a shared kitchen at the end of the hallway and a communal lounge. A laundry was situated in a separate building out back of the house.

‘You have a bag?’

Lara spared him a startled look.

‘For your belongings,’ Wolfe elaborated. ‘You’re not staying here.’

She was tired, jumpy with nerves, and she shook her head in a defenceless gesture. Where could she go at this time of night?

‘My hotel,’ he informed her as if she’d spoken, and her eyes blazed as she opened her mouth, then closed it again, aware that anything she said would emerge as an indistinguishable refusal.

He opened the small free-standing wardrobe, removed a capacious sports bag and placed it on the single bed.

Lara rose to her feet as he began opening drawers, refusing to have him go through her things.

Not that it had the slightest effect, as she battled with him in transferring contents from the wardrobe and dresser-drawers.

It didn’t take long, and when they were done he took hold of the bag, indicated the door, and followed her out to the Lexus.

Any words seemed superfluous, and they rode the arterial route into the inner city in silence, reaching the Darling Harbour hotel, where the concierge organized valet-parking while Wolfe collected her bag.

Lara accompanied him as he bypassed Reception and headed towards a bank of lifts, and when the doors of one slid open he indicated she precede him, then he hit the button for a high floor.

She prayed that he didn’t intend her to share his suite. Or, if he did, she hoped it contained two beds, or at least a sofa.

‘Relax.’ His voice held a drawling quality minutes later as he swiped a keycard into the slot.

Sure, and she could do that?

‘I’d prefer a room of my own.’ The words were hopelessly husky, even to her own ears.

‘Accept it’s not going to happen. Your security is paramount until the loan shark is paid off.’

‘But—’

‘It isn’t subject to negotiation,’ Wolfe said hardly.

‘I don’t want to share with you,’ she attempted to convey.

His gaze lanced her own, his eyes darkly obdurate. ‘Deal with it, Lara. At the moment seduction isn’t on the agenda.’

That was supposed to be reassurance?

It was a large suite, Lara registered as he flicked on the lights, with two queen-size beds…a minor concession in the scheme of things.

A fleeting glance revealed there were two comfortable chairs positioned close to a wall of glass, shaded by floor-to-ceiling drapes. A small table and two serviceable dining chairs, a desk containing a fax machine, internet connection, the requisite television console, mini-bar.

Wolfe deposited her bag, then he crossed to the bedside phone, dialled Reception and requested medical assistance.

Lara shook her head and croaked a definitive, ‘No,’ only to be subjected to a raking appraisal.

‘A doctor on call, or the accident-and-emergency ward of a private hospital. Choose.’

The thought of attending the latter—the form-filling, the inevitable questions—held little appeal, and she shrugged, too wound up to argue with him.

‘Sit down.’

She watched as he removed his jacket, collected a hand towel, extracted ice from the mini-fridge, assembled a cold-pack and placed it along her jaw line.

‘Keep it there.’

Wolfe crossed to the buffet and set the electric kettle to heat.

She was briefly aware of his impressive breadth of shoulder, the economical ease of movement as he completed the task.

A few minutes later he handed her a cup and saucer, then he took a nearby chair and regarded her steadily.

She sipped and cautiously swallowed the hot, sweet tea, and waited several seconds before repeating the action.

‘Is there anything else you haven’t told me?’ Wolfe queried silkily.

‘No.’ Lara closed her eyes, then slowly opened them again, all too aware how foolish she’d been in not calling the loan shark before leaving the restaurant.

‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. You were out of time, and loan sharks are notorious for their hardline tactics.’

Her eyes widened as they met his.

He read minds?

Or was hers transparent?

‘Drink your tea. A doctor should be here soon.’

‘Soon’seemed an age, although it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes before an imperious knock on the door heralded the doctor’s arrival.

Credentials were offered, introductions completed. The answering of a few pertinent questions and an examination resulted in the assurance her larynx wasn’t damaged, the bruising would duly emerge and subside, and her voice should return to normal by morning.

He handed over a sample pack of painkillers and a sedative, accepted his fee and left.

Lara unpacked a few essentials and headed into the en suite. A shower helped ease some of the tension, and she enjoyed the luxury of a seemingly endless supply of hot water…so different from the boarding house, where an inadequate hot-water system meant lukewarm ablutions.

Dry, she pulled on a large cotton tee-shirt, added briefs, caught her hair together in a single plait, completed her nightly routine, then emerged to find Wolfe waiting for her, pills and a glass of water in hand.

‘Take these, then go to bed. You’re beat.’

Oh great. As if she needed to be reminded of her mirrored image, the dark, dilated eyes in a waxen, pale face.

Without a word she took the pills and swallowed each one cautiously with water, then she slid beneath the covers on the bed closest to the external glass-wall.

‘Thanks.’ A huskily voiced word meant to encompass much.

Wolfe inclined his head as he switched off the lights with the exception of a lamp on the desk, then he opened his laptop and soon became engrossed with data on-screen.

Lara closed her eyes and willed the medication to take effect as she relived walking into the house, making the phone call in the hallway…her assailant appearing out of nowhere and the resultant fracas.

It was all too easy to feel a hand gripping the top of her throat, the resultant pain and pressure as he lifted and slammed her hard against the wall…and the fear.

A shiver shook her slim frame, and she unconsciously curled her body into a protective ball.

She was here with Wolfe, and safe.

But for how long?

Soon she’d become his wife, and face another hurdle…that of sharing his life without allowing herself the benefit of emotional attachment.

Difficult, when she had vivid recall of the frankly sensual touch of his mouth on her own, and the electrifying passion he’d effortlessly aroused. It had blown her away, and had become an unconscious benchmark which sadly no other man had matched.

So where did that leave her?

It suddenly became too difficult to think, and her breathing slowed as she was claimed by sedative-induced sleep… unaware of the man who worked a little longer, showered, then slid in between the covers of the other bed.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.