Seducing the Secret Heiress (4 page)

She needed to work out her place in the world without her family and their bottomless pit of cash. Make her own way.

And what about Gabe? It wasn't fair to get involved. He didn't even know her real name. Hell, she was nearly as bad as Paul. Building a relationship on deception.

Well, no. Paul was a pig. She'd simply told a little white lie, but still, a lie all the same. Still deceit. Still duplicity. She'd have to sort out her mess in Australia before getting involved with anyone new.

Perhaps she was more like her father than she cared to admit. But she pushed the thought away immediately. She was nothing like her shallow, distant, money-obsessed parents. Was she?

Gabe deserved the truth.

The sound of hissing brought her back to the task at hand. She rushed to the stove. Stirring quickly, she saved the dish from burning.

A horrible thought crept into her mind.

Her hand stopped. Maybe Gabe did this all the time? Casual kisses with strangers? She stirred the pan roughly, then dropped the spoon and leaned against the bench. Friends. That's where this relationship should begin and end.

She scooped up the chopped herbs and scattered them over the rice. She'd known Gabe less than forty-eight hours. He'd offered her a few days of touristy fun and that's what they'd have.

She ran a finger over her lips.

A drop of cream slid between her breasts. She shuddered.

She needed a shower.

A cold one.

As Gabe stripped off his cream-splattered clothes, he swore.

He'd asked Charlie to stay to provide her with some protection. She'd trusted him and what had he done? Indulged in a bit of seduction.

He cursed again.

She didn't strike him as a one-night-stand kind of girl and he didn't want anything serious. But his thoughts strayed back to that near kiss. Desire pumped straight to his groin. Did she have to have such a lean, athletic body?

He groaned.

Flicking on the shower, he turned it to cold and threw himself under it.

Ten minutes later he walked onto the terrace. Charlie sat ramrod-straight in front of the dinner she'd prepared. She'd changed her shirt. When she saw him, she dropped her eyes. She picked up her glass and took a long sip.

He needed to put her at ease.

‘Sorry about that,' he said taking his seat. ‘For some reason it took longer than usual to wash my hair.' He gave her a wink.

She smiled and leaned back in her chair. ‘Consider it a moisturising treatment.'

‘Ha, ha,' he said, picking up his fork. ‘This looks amazing. Paella?'

‘Yes. The supermarket guy owns a fishing trawler. Fresh prawns, mussels, clams and scallops. The seafood's so cheap here.'

He stabbed at a prawn and slid it into his mouth. The flavour was incredible.

‘Gabe, there's something—'

‘This is fantastic.'

‘Thanks. Fresh ingredients and Italian olive oil – makes all the difference.'

He took another and chewed slowly. ‘Sounds like you know what you're talking about.'

‘I work in a little catering company, but we really specialise in desserts.' Okay, so that was a slight understatement, considering she owned three high-end speciality cake shops.

He grinned. ‘Oh, so more to come?'

‘Just wait and see,' she teased.

‘So where'd you learn to cook like this?'

She hesitated. ‘I'm . . . I'm just an amateur with passion.'

He looked at her intently. Having Charlie here had been a godsend. The kids loved her. She cooked up a storm and the evenings were definitely more interesting.

‘And I don't think there's any excuse for poor food.' She took a sip of her wine. ‘Take airline food. Horrible.'

‘It always is.'

‘But it doesn't have to be,' she said vehemently.

He looked at her quizzically. ‘And you could do better?'

‘Without a doubt.'

‘Very confident for an amateur.'

‘Just give me a kitchen, a plane full of passengers, free rein and I'll show you.'

His hand stalled halfway to his mouth. ‘That's it,' he exclaimed. A wave of possibilities shot through him.

Her eyes widened. ‘What?'

‘Charlie, you are a genius,' he said dropping his fork onto the plate.

‘Why?'

‘First-class cook-off.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘A new show. First-class cook-off.' Saying it again, he knew he had a winner.

‘Show?'

‘I'm a TV producer. Reality TV.'

Her mouth dropped open. ‘Reality TV?'

He picked up his fork, but he couldn't eat. The excitement had killed his appetite.

‘There could be ten finalists . . . first-class cabin . . . VIP passenger judges. A contestant eliminated every week.'

He tapped his fork on the edge of his plate. ‘We could fly to exotic places to add glamour.'

‘
First-Class Chef
,' Charlie announced. ‘You should call it
First-Class Chef
. Sounds better.'

He tingled all the way to his toes. The woman had a gift.

‘
First-Class Chef
. Brilliant.'

Her gorgeous face. Her brilliant ideas. Charlie was just give, give, give. Damn, he could love this woman. He jumped up from the table, pulled her from her chair and hugged her.

‘Absolutely perfect.' But he wasn't sure if he was talking about the TV concept now.

For the second time that night, Charlotte found herself flush against Gabe's muscled body. It felt so right and so wrong at the same time.

More wrong.

She eased herself free. The cool night air rushed between them. She sat down.

‘Sorry,' Gabe said, backing away. ‘Sorry.'

‘No, it's me. I'm . . .'She didn't want to tell him. She didn't want to spoil the moment.

‘You're not married, are you?' Gabe laughed nervously as he took his seat.

Charlotte turned cold.
Now would be a good time to tell the truth.

‘No,' she said slowly. ‘But a few weeks ago I caught my fiancé between his secretary's legs.'

Gabe choked on his wine. ‘Bloody hell. That's why you're travelling alone.'

She nodded.

‘I'm really sorry. Did you think he was the one?'

‘My parents certainly did.'

‘Why?'

‘He's loaded.'

‘Ah, a rich bastard. They're the worst.'

The harshness of his voice startled her. She cocked her head and eyed him carefully.

‘The worst?'

‘I've had a bit of experience with the filthy rich,' he said, biting hard into a scallop and crushing it between his teeth. ‘Their sense of entitlement pisses me off.'

Charlie squirmed in her seat.

I guess now isn't the time to tell him I'm heiress to a diamond fortune.

The next morning, Charlie slipped out early to find a public phone. She'd left Australia so fast that she hadn't organised international roaming on her mobile.

Probably no bad thing. She could only imagine the bank of anxious messages from Paul and her parents.

The horrible vision flashed into her mind – Paul bent over his desk with his trousers bunched at his ankles. His secretary moaning beneath him.

She stopped walking and closed her eyes. How could she have been so blind? Giving herself a shake, she stepped up her pace as if she could somehow outrun the pain.

She'd met Paul at one of her father's tedious parties. He'd been a revelation. Instead of talking on and on about himself, as most of the rich men did, Paul couldn't seem to hear enough about her dessert business.

Later that night she'd prepared him a batch of mini citrus meringue pies and carefully piped Ps on each one. He'd taken the piping bag from her hand and on one pie had drawn a C over the P. They'd shared that one.

Every moment he could spare from his family's mining machinery business, he'd spent with her, doing things
she
loved. Trips to country restaurants. Dinner at home. He'd even accompanied her on her weekly trip to the children's hospital. As he'd helped her hand out cupcakes to sick kids, they talked about having children of their own. At the time, she wondered if it were possible to be any happier.

She kicked a stone across the road. It disappeared over the wall to the beach. It had all been a setup. She was just the cement for a billion-dollar merger deal.

She jammed her hands into the pockets of her shorts. Her father wanted to ‘vertically integrate' his business to secure the supply of mining equipment. Paul's business was the largest privately owned company that fitted the bill. Apparently, during negotiations, succession planning had been discussed. A merger of the families, it was agreed, would guarantee the merged company's stability. Both families faced the same problem: the Went worths and the Forsyths only had one child each, hardly a risk-free scenario for multimillion-dollar family businesses. So Charlie had been offered up as the breeding cow for the future of Wentworth-Forsyth Diamonds.

She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth.

Her father had even briefed Paul to show interest in her cooking. Her father had never understood her passion; her little hobby, as he'd called it. But he knew it'd be a sure-fire way to her heart.

She'd fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

She spied a phone outside the bakery. The buttery aroma did nothing to quell her nerves. Her hands shook as she dialled her home number. She hadn't seen Paul since she'd hurled a stapler at his naked arse. She smiled at the memory. Bullseye.

She'd never again set foot in the harbour side mansion she and Paul had purchased just a few weeks earlier. Paul was probably bonking his secretary in every room in the house.

She lifted the receiver and dialled.

‘Forsyth.' Paul answered as if he were doing the caller a favour.

‘It's me.'

‘Charlotte. Baby, where are you? We're all frantic.' His voice dripped with artificial sincerity.

‘Cut the crap, Paul. Dad told me everything. Now, why can't I access my money?'

‘Our money, sweetie.' The sincerity vanished. Menace coated his voice. She gripped the receiver a little more tightly. She'd never heard that tone before.

Her heart thumped off-beat. She swallowed hard.

When they'd become engaged, Paul had insisted – no pre-nup. So romantic. She'd believed he thought they'd really last the distance. He also suggested they establish joint accounts.

A merger of love and assets. She leaned her head against the glass wall of the phone box. She'd even made him a signatory on her business accounts.

A wave of dread coursed through her. Her hands trembled.

‘What've you done?' She tried to keep the fear from her voice, but even she could hear the tremor.

‘Just come home and all will be forgiven.'

She'd be forgiven. That was rich. ‘I seem to remember it was you with your pants down.'

‘Listen, Charlotte, and listen carefully, as I won't be repeating myself. The media are already onto the fact that you're out of the country.'

So he knew she'd left Australia. She leaned heavily against the phone box. Anxiety gnawed at her confidence. Was he trying to find her?

‘That's a story in itself considering our wedding is less than two weeks away. Believe me, Charlotte, you don't want to cross me. I won't have my family's name dragged through the gutter press.'

‘You should have thought of that before having sex on your desk.'

‘What I do in my private life is none of your business. Now get back here, get married and then you can do whatever the hell you want,' he ground out.

‘Wow, Paul, what an offer.' She dropped as much sarcasm into her voice as was humanly possible. ‘But as wonderful as that sounds, I think I'll stay here.'

A series of expletives rained down the line. ‘I'm not blowing a billion-dollar deal because of your stupid romantic bull.'

‘I don't care about your deal.'

‘But I do and believe me, Charlotte, you don't want to cross me.'

‘Forget it.'

‘And what do you plan to do for money?'

A chill swept down her spine. ‘Damn it, I'm not useless.' Her mind raced. ‘I'll get a job.'

Ugly laughter assailed her over the phone. ‘You, work?' He snorted. ‘It may have escaped your notice, but you're not actually qualified to do anything except whack a few cakes in the oven and host a cocktail party. And after this little stunt, you'll never get another contract in this town. I'll make sure of it.'

His words hit her like a knife through her heart. She knew he could do it.

‘And don't even think of going to Daddy. He won't give you a cent until the ink is dry on our marriage certificate. Get. Back. Here. Now.' Each of his final words was accompanied with what sounded like Paul slamming his fist against the wall.

‘Look, Paul—'

‘Do you think I'd have even looked at you if Harry Wentworth wasn't your father? You're nothing without the Wentworth name and fortune.'

Nothing!
She straightened and pulled her shoulders back.
Did he actually say she was nothing?

But Paul hadn't finished his tirade. ‘Now, you listen here—'

Suddenly she realised she didn't have to. She pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it. Her ex-fiancé's voice squawked from the receiver.

With one quick movement she dropped the phone into its cradle. She tensed for a moment, fearing somehow Paul's or her father's power and influence might suddenly make something terrible happen. But only the sounds of the sea, and the clatter of the small family shops opening for business, punctuated the air. An ancient woman, dressed in black, shuffled past with a loaf of bread in her basket.

Charlie stepped from the phone box. The sun hung low in the sky but still its rays sparkled on the calm Mediterranean. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sweet croissants scented the air. Cheery Italian emanated from various doorways.