To Woo A Wife

by Carole Mortimer

  Most unhelpfully, as far as Jarrett was concerned. He hadn't been this interested in a woman in years, and the fact that she seemed so damned elusive— A sudden thought struck him. 'She isn't married, is she, Stephen?' he grated harshly. It would be just his luck if she were; married women were definitely a no-no for him.

  His own mother's alley-cat behaviour, and the pain it had caused his father, had made him decide long ago that he would never interfere in another couple's rela­tionship. His parents' turbulent marriage was also the reason he had decided he would never fall in love, never marry. If any man tried to intrude on his marriage, he knew he wouldn't react as mildly as his father had done all those years, that he—

  What the hell was he doing even thinking about mar­riage? It was complete anathema to him, as evidenced by his earlier conversation about desserts, and the at­traction of each of them.

  He recalled with pleasure how Abbie had answered all of his derisive comments with a jibe of her own. Abbie...! Damn it, he was doing it again. If only she weren't so damned intriguing...!

  'Would it bother you if she were married?' Stephen answered his question, his expression deliberately bland.

  'Not at all,' Jarrett snapped, impatient with himself for dropping his guard enough to let Stephen know how interesting he found the enigmatic Abbie; he should have remembered earlier what a damned nuisance Stephen could be when he got an idea in his head. And the last thing Jarrett needed at the moment was a matchmaking Stephen! 'Just because you're in the throes of newly married bliss at the moment,' he scorned, 'doesn't mean the rest of us have to join you!'

  Stephen chuckled at Jarrett's aggression, not fooled for a moment, turning slightly in his chair to look across the restaurant. 'Ah, here come the ladies now,' he said admiringly. 'Don't they make a striking couple? And for fee record, Jarrett,' he leant forward to murmur softly then he received no response from the other man, 'Ab­bie isn't married!'

  'I told you, it doesn't—' Jarrett broke off his angry retort as the women reached their table, his frown turn­ing to a scowl as he stood up and noticed a man, seated alone a couple of tables away, who couldn't seem to take his eyes off Abbie.

  Damn it, the woman drew admiring male looks like a magnet! Any man stupid enough to become involved with her would need a chain attached to her ankle to make sure she didn't— God, he was doing it again; he had no intention of becoming involved with her, so why should he give a damn about any other idiot who did?

  "Excellent timing,' Stephen told the two ladies as they sat down and their first course was served to them.

  Jarrett took one look across the table at Abbie, and as quickly looked away again. God, no woman should have a mouth as sensuous as hers! And the peach lipgloss she had applied to those pouting lips only made him want id kiss her all the more.

  And he did want to kiss her!

  In fact, he wanted to do a lot more than kiss her...! Thank goodness he had been able to hold the white linen kin in front of him when he stood up while the two resumed their seats, otherwise the whole restaurant would have been aware of the complete betrayal of his body. He was behaving like a schoolboy with his first crush, damn it!

  The man seated two tables away, although giving the impression of eating his own meal, was still watching Abbie, surreptitiously. And Jarrett, again like a school­boy, he acknowledged angrily, wanted to punch him on the nose for just daring to look at her!

  'Are the ribs not to your liking, Jarrett?'

  He looked at Abbie with completely blank eyes; even the husky tone to her voice was faintly erotic. Damn it, no woman should be this sensually beautiful. 'What?' he rasped aggressively.

  The slight widening of violet-blue eyes was the only visible indication she gave of recognising his manner. 'I merely wondered if there was something wrong with your food; you don't appear to be eating it,' she pointed out lightly.

  He looked down at the untouched starter in front of him, across at the other three half-eaten plates of food on the table, forcing himself to relax, inwardly chastising himself for his lapse. The sooner he got this meal over with, the sooner he would be able to get away. From Abbie.

  'I'm sure the ribs are going to be excellent,' he an­swered. 'After all, this is a Sutherland Hotel, isn't it?' he added derisively. 'Although,' he continued, 'it isn't much of a recommendation for the place when the part-owner doesn't even stay in her own hotels!' He bit into his food, and, as he had already surmised, the ribs were mouth-wateringly delicious.

  Sutherland Hotels were known worldwide for their welcoming service and excellent restaurants; everything about this hotel spoke of its exclusivity, from the recep­tion to the beautifully furnished suites of rooms. But the woman who dominated the boardroom, Daniel Sutherland's widow, never stayed in them...

  According to Daniel Sutherland's daughter Cathy, the eldest of two children from his first marriage, Sabina had been the daughter of one of her father's employees. On marriage to Daniel Sutherland, she'd very quickly it the advantages of having such a wealthy husband, his death two years ago, she'd never demeaned herself enough to stay in one of the family hotels, always had private accommodation close by—on a grand scale—when she was on one of her regular visits as gaurdian of the major shareholder in the family business, Sabina's young daughter Charlotte was the real Sutherland heir; Sabina was merely a caretaker until her child achieved the age of twenty-one. But until that time the woman obviously intended to milk the situation for what it was worth!

  It was all too easy to see why Cathy, and her younger brother Danny, resented the hold their stepmother had in their inheritance through her own daughter's shares the company. Daniel Sutherland must have been too besotted with his second wife to have left his will the way that he had—

  ‘You're talking of Sabina Sutherland?' Abbie prompted coolly.

  "Who else?' he scorned. 'She's staying in a private ski-lodge somewhere up the mountain—'

  'And how do you know that?' She looked at him frowingly.

  He shrugged. 'I asked around.' Violet-blue eyes widened.

  'And someone here, at the hotel, told you where she was staying?'

  'Not here, Abbie.' He gave a smile. 'I'm sure giving out that sort of information about their employer is more than their job is worth! No, I asked around, discreetly, in London, before coming out here to Whistler.'

  He had suffered several boring evenings listening to Cathy Sutherland's bitterness about her stepmother, withstanding her more than obvious attempts to deepen their relationship to physical intimacy, attempts he had of course deftly outmanoeuvred—he never mixed busi­ness with his private life!—before he was able to find out that the Black Widow, as Cathy called her step­mother, would be in Canada the second week of January, skiing with her daughter, Charlotte.

  There was obviously little sisterly love between Cathy and Charlotte either, Cathy referring to her half-sibling as 'the brat'. There had to be an age gap between the two sisters, and at thirty Cathy was already starting to lose her bloom, her blonde beauty, after years of griev­ance, taking on a certain hardness that was far from at­tractive, so the existence of a young and probably pretty half-sister wouldn't go down too well with someone like her. Besides which, having grown up in the lap of lux­ury, with a mother who was patently money-grasping herself, Charlotte Sutherland was probably a brat!

  'You've done your research on this woman, then, Jarrett?' Alison prompted curiously.

  He shrugged. 'I'm only interested in her business life, not her personal one.' Although Cathy would have been only too happy to go on for hours about the woman her father had married after the death of her own mother twenty years ago, if he'd let her! But as far as Jarrett was concerned it was just another example of why mar­riage wasn't for him. He could imagine nothing worse than being married for his money. By all accounts, Daniel Sutherland had been an intelligent man, and he had still been fooled. For some years, it seemed.

  You still haven't told us what business you have with her? Abb
ie said casually.

  He shook his head, leaning back in his chair, his expression closed. 'I think I've said altogether too much on the subject already,' he said firmly. 'It must have n the champagne we drank earlier to toast your marriage.' He addressed the other couple. Talking of which..."

  Stephen signalled the waiter, requesting another bottle of champagne for the four of ten.

  Which gave Jarrett the few minutes' respite he needed gather his scattered wits together. He had said enough ready, revealed more than necessary of himself and his reasons for being here in Canada. For a man who was really private to the point of rudeness—even Cathy Sutherland, so free with the information about the step-mother she detested, hadn't known why he was so interested in her!—he felt uncomfortable with the knowl­edge mat he had been provoked into revealing that much id die three people present

  It was Abbie's fault, of course. While giving every penance of being open and beautiful, she had managed not to reveal a single fact about herself, but had goaded Jarrett, he now realised, into talking about himself in an effort to get her to open up about herself.

  He tried to think what he did know about her. She bad once been a model—years ago, if they coincided with the period he had spent in Australia. She travelled a lot, and not through choice, if her dislike of it was to be believed. If she didn't like it so much, then why do it at all? She-He was becoming obsessed with the woman, he realisd angrily. And for a man who, at best, viewed women with teasing affection, and at worst with cold disdain, it wasn't a feeling he was particularly comfortable with!

  'I think you have an admirer, Abbie.' He dryly changed the subject.

  She arched dark brows in cool dismissal. 'But we hardly know each other, Jarrett,' she returned just as dryly.

  Golden eyes narrowed on the ivory perfection of her face; was she mocking him? 'I wasn't referring to my­self,' he bit back, aware that he sounded rude and dis­dainful.

  She frowned as his meaning became clear to her, look­ing about them with apprehensive eyes.

  And, as she did so, it suddenly hit Jarrett that this woman was running away from something. Or some­one...

  At the same time as he realised this, Jarrett felt a pre­viously unknown protectiveness. Towards Abbie. A woman, as she had already said, that he hardly knew! But despite her previous cool assurance there was a vul­nerability about her at this moment, an air of uncertainty as she worriedly searched the faces of the other diners in the restaurant.

  Jarrett sat forward, his face on a level with Abbie's. 'He's seated two tables away, to the left,' he told her quietly. 'And he doesn't seem able to take his eyes off you. Not that I can altogether blame him,' he added. 'It can't be every day that you see Cleopatra and Delilah all wrapped up in one deliciously feminine bundle!'

  Abbie had located her admirer now, dismissing the young blond Adonis with one sweep of that violet-blue gaze.

  God, she was a cool one, Jarrett acknowledged ad­miringly. The man who was watching her so intently had the sort of film-star good looks most women would drool over, and yet Abbie showed no feminine interest in him whatsoever, totally controlled again as her attention re­turned to their table, their main course now being served to them.

  Stephen came into their conversation. 'Cleopatra and Delilah were both scheming women...'

  Jarrett grinned. 'But beautiful, if history is to be be­lieved—very beautiful.'

  'If you'll all excuse me for a few minutes.' Abbie spoke distractedly, seemingly unconcerned at the barb in Jarrett's remark.

  'I have to go and make a telephone call.' She stood up as she excused herself, picking up her small clutch-bag, to walk across the restaurant and out into the lobby beyond, where public telephones were situated.

  'Was it something I said...?' Jarrett asked his two remaining dinner companions.

  'I doubt it,' Stephen replied. 'Abbie probably does just have to make a telephone call.'

  Maybe she did, Jarrett inwardly acknowledged, but the man who had been seated two tables away, the man who had been watching her so avidly through the meal, had obviously seen her departure as an opportunity to actually speak to her, getting up himself and following her from the room!

  Jarrett's eyes became golden slits as he watched the other man, whose hurried departure, so soon after Abbie's, his meal half-eaten, couldn't just be a coinci­dence. Despite Abbie's air of cool assurance, there was also that vulnerability Jarrett had recognised in her ear­lier, and the delicacy of her tall, willowy body. The man who had followed her, so opportunely, was very tall and muscular, looked as if he worked out just for the hell of it!

  He put his own snowy white linen napkin down on the table beside Abbie's. 'I'll be back in a moment,' he muttered, eyes narrowed purposefully as he strode out of the restaurant, uncaring of what Stephen and Alison thought of his departure.

  It didn't take him long to locate Abbie. Or the blond Adonis.

  They were standing together across the lobby, no­where near the public telephone booths, which were on the other side of the wide marbled hall. And even as Jarrett went to march across it and put a stop to the blond man's intrusion Abbie reached up and put her hand on her companion's arm in a gesture of familiarity, her smile warm and relaxed as she looked up into that hand­some face.

  Jarrett came to an abrupt halt, a knot tightening in his stomach while he watched the continuing conversation between the couple. Although she had given no indica­tion of it earlier when he'd pointed the other man out to her, Abbie knew that blond giant! There was a familiar­ity between them that spoke of an intimacy of long standing; Abbie was looking quite animated now.

  Jarrett felt a wave of temper sweep through him at the way Abbie was behaving with the other man. The two had behaved like strangers in the restaurant, no sign of familiarity between them, despite the fact that the man hadn't seemed able to take his eyes off Abbie. What the hell was going on?

  Whatever it was, Jarrett didn't intend being caught standing here staring at the two of them like a gawking schoolboy!

  Yet as their conversation continued he found he couldn't move away. The two of them were very ani­mated now, the man talking softly, but obviously slightly aggressively, while Abbie slowly shook her head in dis­agreement with what he was saying. The man broke off abruptly, and Abbie spoke to him now, that hand reas­suringly on his arm once again. The man seemed to sigh his capitulation at what was being said, murmuring some tort of agreement, and Abbie nodded, a smile hovering about her sensuous lips.

  The woman wasn't just a mystery, she was an enigma, and Jarrett had too much else on his mind at the moment o try to get to the bottom of it. Maybe Abbie, for all she was such an old friend of Alison's, was actually a high-class call-girl; it would certainly fit in with her re­luctance to talk about herself, and the fact that she travelled so much without really enjoying it. It would also explain the single name of Abbie...

  It did fit too, only too well, he slowly realised. A woman of Abbie's undoubted beauty would be well sought after, could probably name her own price for the possession of that cool, elusive beauty, no matter how fleetingly.

  Hell, he had probably spent the best part of the eve­ning lusting after a woman who sold what he wanted from her! But he had never paid for a woman in his life—at least, not with cold, hard cash. Although expen­sive jewellery at the end of a brief relationship probably amounted to the same thing.

  Oh, to hell with this, he inwardly cursed; if that was what she was he might as well have her himself for the night, and once he had he could get on with concentrat­ing on the real reason he was here.

  That decision made, he turned on his heel and walked back in to the restaurant. Whatever arrangements Abbie was making to meet the blond Adonis later, she could damn well break. The only man she was going home with tonight was him. And it would be a night he in­tended them both to remember!

  He watched her intently as she negotiated around the tables to where her party was seated, half expecting his desire for he
r to have lessened with the knowledge of what he now thought she was. But it hadn't, the gently swaying hips, firm up-thrusting breasts, pert beneath the fitted sheath of her dress, only succeeded in evoking vivid images in his mind. Damn it, he had never wanted a woman as much as he now wanted Abbie—no matter what she was!

  'You shouldn't have waited for me,' she commented as she sat down, looking pointedly at Jarrett's untouched steak.

  His mouth twisted. 'I didn't. I've only just returned to the table myself,' he added after a deliberate pause, observing her under hooded lids. And he wasn't disap­pointed. She gave him a startled look, instantly wary, he realised with satisfaction.

  'Oh?'

  She had to be wondering where he had been, to have just returned himself, must also be wondering if he had seen her talking to the blond Adonis. Well she could sit and wonder!

  'Successful telephone call?' he said lightly before cut­ting into his perfectly cooked steak, seemingly uninter­ested in her answer. Because he knew she hadn't made any telephone call!