Australian Bachelors: Masterful Magnates: Purchased: His Perfect Wife

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!