Bella's Impossible Boss

‘Food, for a start. We have to eat.’

‘We can have groceries delivered.’

‘Uh-huh. And who’s going to cook them?’

He stared at her for a moment and then it hit him. She thought he was an unreconstructed, sexist Neanderthal who was going to lump her with all the housework!

Big bad wolf and sexist Neanderthal?

He forced down an angry denial and leaned back, the epitome of casual unconcern. ‘Well, now, Bella, since you’re the chef …’

Her chin shot up. ‘You are not lumping me with all the cooking. I’ll be doing enough of that throughout the day.’

‘But the restaurant doesn’t open for another two months.’

‘So? I’ll be training staff, checking out our suppliers, putting the chefs through their paces.’

He rubbed a hand across his jaw. ‘Couldn’t you get one of the minions to whip us up something we could reheat when we got home?’

‘I’ll do that just as soon as you ask the hotel’s housemaids to come around and take care of our ironing!’

Devilry sparked through him. ‘Now there’s an idea.’

Her jaw dropped. He laughed outright. Her eyes narrowed. He waited for her to realise her mistake—that he wasn’t the unreconstructed male that she made him out to be. Instead she folded her arms and said, ‘I will not be taken advantage of.’

He shook his head. Unbelievable. ‘How about we take it in turns to cook, then?’ She couldn’t find fault with that plan, could she?

‘Can you cook?’

She’d pay for that. ‘Guess you’ll find out.’

She scrutinised him with the intensity of a magnifying glass frying a bug in the sun. The big bad wolf and Red Riding Hood analogy sprang into his mind again and it took all his effort not to yell at her to stop looking at him like that.

‘I bet you’re used to women fussing around you, wanting to service your every need.’

She’d pay double for that crack.

She pointed a finger at him. ‘This is a work environment!’

Precisely.

‘What I mean is … It’s just …’ She blew a strand of hair out of her face. ‘Look, we share the household chores and the only other thing …’

She glanced away. He leaned forward, intrigued. ‘The only other thing?’

Her chin lifted but she didn’t meet his eye. ‘I don’t think you should bring your dates back here, that’s all,’ she finished in a rush.

Her opinion of him wasn’t just bad, it was appalling! For a moment he couldn’t even speak.

‘If you were sharing this apartment with my father, would you bring women back?’

No, he damn well wouldn’t. Just as he had no intention of doing so now. He couldn’t credit her with deliberately trying to offend him, but he had every intention of making her pay for her unjust assessment of him. Every intention. Someone should teach Bella the dangers of jumping to conclusions.

‘I think you’ll find, Bella—’ he all but purred her name and had the satisfaction of seeing her swallow ‘—that I will be the model flatmate. To prove my point, why don’t I take care of dinner tonight?’

She moistened her lips, staring up at him with big eyes, like those of a deer caught in the headlights. ‘That’s not necessary.’

‘Oh, I think it is.’

She clutched her cushion closer. ‘Okay, then. Lovely.’

The look on her face told him she suspected it wasn’t nourishment but seduction that he had planned. He sent her a cat-that-got-the-cream grin that was designed to keep her thinking exactly that. ‘Dinner will be served at seven-thirty.’

‘Lovely,’ she repeated.

But the expression on her face said the opposite and it was all he could do not to laugh.

‘Let the games begin.’

Dominic lit the single-tapered candle, stepped back to survey the arrangement and grinned. A white damask cloth draped the table and fell in soft folds to the floor. Crystal and silver gleamed in the candlelight sending an intimate glow throughout the apartment.

He’d spent an age consulting with Jean-Claude about the meal tonight. He’d wanted a menu that would knock Bella’s socks off.

And he had it.

He couldn’t wait to see her face when she saw it, tasted it.

At the idea of her mouth closing around the food he’d chosen, savouring it, his gut clenched. Images bombarded him. He pushed them away. He had every intention of seducing Bella’s senses through the food and wine, through the atmosphere he’d created, but it was a mock seduction only. Although she thought otherwise, Bella was as safe as houses.

He meant to enjoy watching her squirm.

Then succumb to his charm.

And then realise her mistake.

A glance at his watch told him it was time. He tapped on her door and had to bite back a grin when it flew open immediately, as if she’d been waiting on the other side. Then the grin slid right off his face. What the …?

She raked him up and down with her hot, brown gaze and then scowled right back at him. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she snapped. ‘You didn’t tell me this was formal, so it’s not my fault.’

He didn’t care that she’d elected to dress casually. It was the kind of casual she’d chosen that irked him. Perspiration prickled his scalp. She seemed to scream, big bad wolf.

‘What is that?’ He motioned to what she wore. He shouldn’t have asked, but he couldn’t help it.

‘A track suit,’ she returned with the kind of slow deliberation reserved for the bovine. Then she stifled a yawn. ‘Is dinner ready?’

He nodded.

A track suit? It was the baggiest track suit known to man. It was so baggy she could share it with three other people and still have room to house a small African nation.