Miranda Lee - Australian Bachelors - Masterful Magnates

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.