Millionaire's Woman: The Millionaire's Prospective Wife / The Millionaire's Runaway Bride / The Millionaire's Reward. CATHERINE GEORGE

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      ‘That’ll be a surprise.’ He stood up again, holding out his hand which she took a little reluctantly, still unsure of what she was doing.

      Once she was standing on the pavement she eyed him warily. He was certainly full of surprises, and she didn’t mean the dessert! Who on earth would have guessed he could cook? He was too…male. And then she couldn’t believe she’d been so sexist.

      ‘Come on.’ He led her over to the large terraced house in front of them. As soon as he opened the front door Cory knew his flat was going to be sumptuous by the splendour of the marbled lobby complete with lift.

      Nick’s flat was at the top of the house and, when he stood aside for her to enter after opening the front door, Cory looked about her interestedly. She saw immediately that she had been right. It was sumptuous, but not over-poweringly so. It was also severely male, no frills or fancies littering the contemporary feel of the flat.

      The lounge area which opened from the front door had pale cream walls and an oatmeal carpet, the huge sensation of space enhanced by the absence of doors between it and the dining room. The designer had left the chimney breast only as a natural division, and Cory could see by the charred logs in the grate that this was a real fire.

      Three black leather two-seater sofas and several black lacquer oval occasional tables dotted the lounge, and in the dining room the monochrome effect continued with a black dining table and chairs.

      Several striking pieces of sculpture and bark wall hangings and a row of steel-framed mirrors added to the air of uncompromising stark beauty. There were no plants, no ornaments, no vases of flowers or photographs on view, nothing to give any idea of the personality of the man who owned the place.

      Cory turned to look at Nick, who was watching her intently. ‘Is your house in Barnstaple like this?’

      The hard face relaxed into a smile. ‘No,’ he admitted softly, ‘but that’s home. This is part of my work. It’s where I bring colleagues, clients, people I want to impress.’

      Cory nodded. She knew his international electronics firm was huge and still growing. He was a very successful and intelligent man and she supposed this flat reflected this. She wouldn’t want to live in it though.

      ‘Come through to the kitchen,’ Nick said, the twist to his lips suggesting he had read her mind again. ‘It’s where I spend most of my time when I’m here, that and the bedroom. I tend to get in late and leave early unless I’m entertaining.’

      The kitchen was a smart combination of brushed stainless steel and solid wedge wood, and the impression of space and light was continued here by the ceiling having been removed, revealing the timbers of the original structure which were painted white. A large corner breakfast bar which was really a small table had two high stainless steel chairs with coffee-coloured upholstered seats tucked beneath it and, after pulling one out, Nick said, ‘Sit down while I see about dinner. I’ll open a bottle of wine. A nice Chardonnay, I think, to go with the salad and then the stirfry.’

      She had half been expecting that he would give her a tour of all of the flat, including his bedroom, and now as she sat on the chair she had to confess to a slight feeling of disappointment. She would have liked to see where he slept, to be able to picture him there at night. Dangerous. The word reverberated in her head as loudly as if someone had screamed it in her ear. She didn’t need to picture him anywhere; he had no part in her life. This was one weekend out of the norm and it would remain like that. A pleasant but acutely disturbing episode that would soon fade from her memory if she put her mind to it.

      Oh, yeah? challenged a little voice in her head. And pigs might fly.

      The Chardonnay was as delicious in its own way as the Brunello at lunch. Cory didn’t know much about different wines but it was obvious Nick did. All part of the image, she told herself, before feeling a little ashamed of the cattiness which had prompted the thought.

      ‘Can I help?’ she asked as she sat watching him deftly cut the pork loin into thin strips before covering it and putting it with the other ingredients he’d pulled out of the fridge, already prepared for cooking—a man who thought of everything.

      He took a swallow of his wine before saying, ‘You could set two places in the dining room if you like.’

      ‘We’re not eating in here?’ The dining room table was enormous for two, besides which the informality of the kitchen was less conducive to a romantic teête-à-teête, surrounded as they were by gleaming pans and kitchen utensils.

      ‘Is that what you’d prefer?’ And, as she nodded, he said, ‘So be it. Cutlery and everything else you’ll need is in the cupboard to your left.’

      They ate the first course almost immediately and it was truly delicious. Nick seemed determined to be the perfect host, making her laugh with one amusing story after another and displaying none of the intuitive and disconcerting probing which had so bothered her during the afternoon.

      He wouldn’t let her help with the main course, so Cory sat sipping her wine as she watched him cook the pork strips until they were brown all over, at which point he added the garlic, ginger, spring onions, pineapple chunks and other ingredients.

      He was perfectly relaxed and at ease in the kitchen, adding the oyster sauce to the stir-fry with one hand and dealing with the noodles and prawn crackers with the other, whilst talking of inconsequential things. Cory could only marvel at him. She wasn’t too bad a cook when she put her mind to it, but she didn’t particularly like an audience and certainly couldn’t have coped with Nick watching her.

      Cory ate the ginger and pork stir-fry in a delicious haze of well-being, only protesting very slightly when Nick refilled her empty glass. ‘This food is so good,’ she said, wrapping a noodle round her fork and transferring it to her mouth. ‘I can’t make my meals taste like this.’

      He smiled lazily. ‘The secret is in using fresh ingredients, like the root ginger and garlic. I never buy my herbs and spices in packets.’

      Cory gave a hiccup of a laugh and then put down her glass of wine which she had just picked up. She suddenly realised she’d had quite enough. It was deceptively potent stuff.

      ‘What’s funny?’ he asked softly.

      She tried very hard to pull herself together. ‘Just that I never imagined we’d be discussing the pros and cons of herbs and spices,’ she said in a voice which was shaky with the amusement she was trying to quell. ‘You didn’t strike me as that sort of man when I met you, that’s all.’

      ‘What sort of man did you think I was then?’ he asked lightly.

      Cory considered her answer, forgetting she wasn’t going to drink any more wine and taking several sips as she surveyed him through dreamy eyes. ‘A he-man type,’ she stated.

      ‘And they don’t cook?’

      ‘I don’t know.’ Wrapped in contentment and lulled into a false sense of security she forgot to be careful. ‘They might do. You do, so other men might, I suppose.’

      ‘What about William?’ Nick asked softly. ‘Didn’t he spoil you by at least cooking breakfast now and again?’

      ‘I never had breakfast with William. I’ve never had breakfast with anyone.’ She finished the last of the wine, holding out her glass for a refill СКАЧАТЬ