To Woo A Wife

by Carole Mortimer

  before once again pausing on the beauty of her face. 'As long as Abbie doesn't mind,' he murmured challengingly. 'After all, I am being rather forced on her for the evening,' he added smoothly.

  This was the very last thing she wanted, an evening spent in Jarrett's abrasive company not something she would deliberately wish on herself. And he knew it too, which was probably the reason why he had made the challenge in the first place.

  'You will be Alison and Stephen's guest, not mine,' she returned distantly.

  Dark brows rose over those golden eyes. 'In that case—I accept the invitation.'

  She had known that he would, known that somehow he couldn't resist the opportunity of finding out more about her. He no more found her a chocolate eclair with­out substance than he did a 'paper-bag job'!

  'You overheard him earlier, didn't you?' Alison spoke softly at Abbie's side as the two women preceded the men into the hotel restaurant, her arm draped loosely trough the crook of Abbie's. 'You came into the bar and heard what he was saying about—'

  'Who on earth is he?' Abbie hissed indignantly. 'I've never met such an arrogant, overbearing, pompous, self-opinionated—'

  'You did overhear him.' Alison giggled gleefully. 'Isn't he just unbelievable?' She glanced back briefly to where the two men strolled along behind them chatting idly together.

  "The man is a dinosaur!' Abbie returned disgustedly, shaking her head, aware of his golden eyes on her now, and the gentle sway of her hips, as she walked. Her years on the catwalk had given her the confidence not even to falter.

  'Who doesn't believe in marriage,' her friend ac­knowledged happily. "The two of you could be kindred spirits!'

  'Don't be ridiculous, Alison,' Abbie protested impa­tiently. 'You heard the man; he likes a little taste of every dessert there is going, whereas I—'

  'Don't have a sweet tooth,' Alison finished with an­other giggle. 'What a marvellous conversation that was,' she added admiringly.

  Abbie frowned at her friend. 'You didn't seem to find it so runny when he was being so disparaging about Stephen's preference for strawberry trifle!'

  Alison grinned. 'So, I've never met a misogynist be­fore—'

  'He isn't a woman-hater, Alison; he devours them!' Abbie corrected her disgustedly. 'And the ones he finds unpalatable he spits out again!'

  Alison gave the two men another glance. 'If I weren't so in love with Stephen I might have a go at proving him wrong!'

  'You and several hundred other women,' Abbie re­plied scathingly. 'It's his ploy, Alison. It's the way he gets a taste of every dessert; every woman thinks she'll be his favourite flavour—and not just of the month!'

  'We're doing it too now.' Her friend laughed softly. 'But you have to admit, he isn't a man any woman could just ignore.'

  Not even her, Abbie inwardly acknowledged. But out­wardly she would never admit such a thing. 'You do realise I'm going to choose the most expensive thing on the menu as retribution, don't you?' she said dryly, deeply annoyed with herself for even being aware of Jarrett Hunter.

  "That's okay,' her friend said easily. 'We wouldn't be here at all if you hadn't given us this wonderful hon­eymoon as our wedding present, so the least we can do is take you out to dinner as a way of saying thank you.'

  But it was a thank-you Abbie had tried hard to get out of earlier today. It was purely coincidence that she happened to be in Canada at the same time as them.

  'I don't need a thank-you, Alison—'

  'I believe we are at our table, ladies.' Jarrett Hunter smoothly cut in on their conversation, he and Stephen pulling back the two chairs at the round table to enable them to sit down, a fourth place having been laid for Jarrett.

  As she'd expected from the shape of the table, Abbie had Stephen seated on one side of her, and Jarrett on the other, and lucky Alison had exactly the same arrange­ment. What a wonderful evening this was going to be!

  Abbie had to admit that Alison and Stephen did ap­pear to be enjoying themselves, Stephen even sending Abbie a conspiratorial wink over the top of the menu he was supposed to be looking at.

  The menus they were all looking at. Except Abbie couldn't seem to concentrate on hers, because she was so very conscious of the hard, arrogant man seated to her left.

  Who was Jarrett Hunter? What was he doing here? He didn't seem the sort of man who would take a holi­day on his own, but who would probably be quite happy to put up with the tedium of a constant diet of a single dessert for a couple of weeks or so. It had to be better, from his point of view, than being without a dessert at all!

  Yet he appeared to be alone here, otherwise he would surely have been with his partner this evening. So what was he doing here alone in a Canadian skiing resort in the middle of January? Somehow, glancing surrepti­tiously at his hard, unyielding face, with those enigmatic golden eyes, Abbie didn't think he was about to en­lighten them on that particular subject.

  'What takes your fancy, Abbie?'

  She blinked at the sound of his husky voice, focusing with effort on the ruggedly handsome face dominated by those tiger-like eyes. She knew she hadn't imagined the slightly suggestive tone of his voice, could see the mock­ery in those unblinking eyes as he met her gaze.

  She closed the menu decisively. 'A green salad, fol­lowed by grilled salmon.'

  He quirked dark brows. 'I thought you said you were no longer a model?'

  'I'm not,' she responded. 'But old habits die hard,' she explained, giving him a considering look. 'Let me guess what you're going to order...' She made a mental inventory of the menu she had just perused. 'Oysters followed by a T-bone steak. Rare!' She quirked her own brows questioningly in return.

  'You're right about the steak,' he nodded. 'However, I prefer it to be cooked medium-rare. As for the oys­ters...!' He grimaced. 'I'm allergic to all shellfish.'

  'Really?' Alison interjected interestedly. 'What hap­pens if you eat it?'

  'Ignore my little ghoul, Jarrett,' Stephen advised with a rueful shake of his head at his wife. 'We really don't need to know what happens.'

  'You're so squeamish, Stephen,' Alison teased affec­tionately. 'He almost has to be hospitalised if he cuts himself shaving!' she confided to Abbie and Jarrett.

  'Not the ideal person to be your birthing-partner when the time comes,' Jarrett acknowledged.

  'Birthing-partner...?' Alison looked puzzled. 'But— I'm not pregnant, Jarrett!' Indignation deepened her voice. 'What on earth made you think that I am?' she demanded as she glared at him, quite put out by the suggestion.

  Abbie looked at Jarrett too, amazed to see that he actually looked uncomfortable at the erroneous assump­tion he had made. And so he should be; cynicism was one thing, this was something else!

  'I'm sorry.' Jarrett's apology encompassed Stephen too. 'I just assumed—wrongly, as it turns out,' he ac­knowledged self-derisively. 'I couldn't think of any other reason why the two of you had— I—'

  'Shut up, Jarrett, there's a good chap,' Stephen ad­vised good-naturedly, squeezing Alison's hand reassuringly. 'I merely asked Alison to marry me because I love her, and—'

  'She merely accepted because she loves you,' Abbie concluded lightly. 'The best possible reason for getting married!' She shot Jarrett Hunter a censorious frown. Really, the man wasn't safe to be let out on his own; it was a wonder to her he had any friends left to insult! Admittedly, she had been a little surprised herself by Alison and Stephen's decision to get married after all this time, but she certainly hadn't made the outrageous assumption about it that Jarrett Hunter obviously had!

  The best,' Jarrett agreed, shooting Abbie a grateful took for her timely intervention. 'And, to answer your earlier question, Alison, when I eat shellfish, my throat swells up and I can't breathe.'

  Abbie's mouth quirked into a smile she couldn't con-ma. 'Feel like ordering a dozen oysters for him, Atison?' she taunted mischievously.

  Two dozen!' Alison joined in the joke, visibly relaxing as she too began to smile.

  'Oh,
let's not be too cruel,' Stephen added. 'A dozen and a half should do it!'

  'Okay, okay!' Jarrett held up his hands in defeat, grin­ning ruefully. 'I've apologised for—well, I've apologi­sed,' he amended as Abbie frowned warningly. 'Let's order our meal—minus oysters for me—and I promise to try and keep my cynicism to myself for the rest of the evening!'

  Rather a rash promise for him to have made, Abbie thought as they gave the waiter their orders, considering almost every comment Jarrett made was grounded in that cynicism! Although it could be interesting watching him try to keep his promise!

  'Thanks for your help just then.' Jarrett leant slightly towards her to murmur quietly, the newly-weds talking softly to each other now.

  Abbie looked at him with cool violet-blue eyes. 'I didn't do it to help you,' she returned as softly. 'You obviously have no idea that Alison had a miscarriage six months ago, that the two of them were absolutely dev­astated by the loss. And that their wedding two weeks ago had absolutely nothing to do with that; why should it?'

  Jarrett looked pale, glancing at the other couple, ob­viously relieved to see them laughing together. 'You're right, I had no idea...'

  'Perhaps a curb on your cynicism for the evening wouldn't be such a bad idea...?' she prompted distantly, not feeling that she had betrayed any confidences by talking of the baby Alison and Stephen had lost; it had been no secret, and with this man's penchant for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time he could do more damage by not being aware of the miscarriage. 'A modi­fication of your misogynistic views?'

  He grimaced. 'I've said I'll try.'

  He would do a lot more than try, if he didn't want to receive a well-aimed kick under the table from the high heel of one of her shoes!

  'I suggest we all begin again, Mr Hunter,' she mur­mured pointedly.

  'Jarrett,' he put in smoothly.

  Too smoothly. When she suggested they start again, she didn't mean on a different footing; she still didn't have a sweet tooth!

  'Mr Hunter,' she repeated firmly.

  'Wake up, you two,' she teased the honeymooners as they gazed into each other's eyes. 'Jarrett is about to tell us all exactly what he's doing in Canada.'

  'I am?' he said.

  He hadn't moved in his chair, still appeared perfectly relaxed, and yet Abbie sensed there was a sudden tension m him. She wondered why...

  'You are,' Abbie confirmed lightly, though there was challenge in the cool blue of her eyes as she calmly met his.

  His steely gaze never left Abbie's face as he calmly responded, 'There's no mystery attached to my visit; I'm here to meet someone.'

  'Ah-hah.' Stephen pounced interestedly. 'Is she a creme caramel or an ice-cream sundae?'

  'You're really getting into this, aren't you, darling?' Alison said indulgently.

  "Definitely the latter,' Jarrett answered with a mean­ingful look. 'And it isn't what you're thinking at all, Stephen. This meeting is strictly business.'

  'But does the lady in question know that?' his friend

  'The "lady" isn't even aware we're going to meet,' Jarrett drawled.

  "This gets more and more intriguing.' Alison sat for­ward. 'Who is she?'

  'You're in trouble now, Jarrett,' Stephen warned. 'Al­ison won't give up until she knows the whole story!'

  'There is no story,' Jarrett assured them dryly. 'I told you, I've never met the woman. All I know is that my sources tell me she's as cold as that ice-cream sundae you mentioned, Stephen,' he added hardly.

  'Was that a deliberate pun, or purely coincidence?' Stephen grinned. 'Sauces. Ice cream,' he explained pointedly.

  Jarrett raised dark brows mockingly. 'I think married life is clearly affecting your brain, Stephen—or else it's all this snow,' he amended with an apologetic glance in Abbie's direction for his lapse into cynicism. 'You know damn well what I meant just now about sources!' he bit out impatiently. 'I've been hunting down a meeting with this woman for months—'

  'That has to be a first!' Stephen taunted, tongue-in-cheek.

  Jarrett shook his head, his expression pained. 'I'd for­gotten just how damned annoying you could be!' He shook his head.

  'Oh, he can be much more annoying than this,' Alison assured him guilelessly.

  Jarrett shot her an impatient look too, turning to Abbie. 'Do you suppose it's catching?' he muttered ir­ritably.

  'Probably,' she returned, enjoying his discomfort, but also intrigued by the conversation, in spite of herself. 'But don't get too worried; you haven't been around them long enough for the effect to be lasting!'

  He raised those golden eyes heavenwards. 'Let's hope you haven't either!'

  'You don't get out of this that easily, Jarrett,' Alison went on. 'We all want to know exactly who this elusive woman is, and why you want to meet her.'

  Alison was taking this joke a little too far, Abbie thought as she picked up her wine glass and took a sip, although she did have a problem herself imagining any woman piquing this man's interest enough for him to continue the pursuit for months; after all, desserts were perishable, they all had a sell-by date—even ice cream!

  Perhaps it was catching, after all...!

  Jarrett relaxed back in his chair. 'Her name is Sabina Sutherland,' he announced. 'She's Daniel Sutherland's widow. And I have it on good authority that she's here skiing with her daughter— What the hell...?' He gasped as Abbie choked on the wine she had been drinking, leaned forward to tap her gently on the back.

  'Come on Abbie' he chided as she mopped at the tears on her with a tissue hastily supplied by Alison. 'I wasn't doing anything indecent with either the mother or the daughter!'

  Even if he had been, he would be out of luck—because she-was Sabina Sutherland, and her daughter, Charlie was only four years old!

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jarrett watched with narrowed eyes as Alison and Abbie left the table, ostensibly so that Abbie could re­store her make-up after her choking fit. But as far as Jarrett was concerned you couldn't improve on perfec­tion, and Abbie was the most beautiful woman he had seen in a decade!

  He had felt as if someone had kicked him in the solar plexus when she'd walked into the bar earlier, had found himself openly staring at her as she moved gracefully across the room towards them and he had realised this was the friend of Alison's who was joining them for dinner. Her face was absolute perfection, her skin clear and delicate, her nose beautifully sculptured; her face was dominated by eyes of violet-blue and a deeply sensual mouth, the lips full and inviting. As for her hair—! It reached almost down to her waist in a glorious cascade of midnight and her body—

  He had better stop right there, could already feel the stirring of desire in his own body just at the thought of Abbie's!

  He turned to Stephen, his mouth twisting wryly at the way the other man was watching him. 'Stop looking so damned pleased with yourself,' he mumbled.

  Stephen openly smirked. 'I was merely wondering what you thought of the "paper-bag job" now.'

  'Very funny!' Jarrett didn't appreciate being reminded of his earlier disparaging remarks. 'Who the hell is she, Stephen?'

  The two men had been friends since their schooldays, and although they often didn't see each other for months at a time, for years on one occasion, the easy friendship continued between them.

  Stephen shrugged. 'We've already told you, she's a friend of Alison's from their modelling days together.'

  Jarrett shook his head. 'If that woman had ever graced the catwalk, then she would have taken the world by storm!' he said with certainty. Abbie carried herself with a natural grace, would look good in anything-—or noth­ing!

  God, he was off again; he wouldn't be able to stand up when the ladies returned to the table if this carried on! He couldn't remember reacting this strongly physi­cally to a woman, just on sight, since his teenage years, and mat was twenty years ago.

  'But she did, Jarrett,' his friend assured him mock­ingly. 'For two years she was the most sought-after model in Europe. You probably
weren't aware of it be­cause you were busy making your millions in Australia!'

  The last I heard, Australia was still part of the world,' he said dryly.

  'It's not the location that's relevant, Jarrett,' Stephen aid softly.

  No, making his fortune had been his driving force for the last twenty years, the people he had associated with picked out for their own influences, or otherwise, in the besiness world he mixed in. Models—even ones as beautiful as Abbie!—hadn't been of any interest to him whatsoever. Hadn't been... Because he was certainly in­terested in Abbie now.

  'What happened to her after those two years of ac­claim?' he probed softly, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

  'She gave up modelling,' Stephen supplied unhelp­fully.