скачать книгу бесплатно
‘There are always the exception to the rule,’ Mike said, his mind momentarily going to Reece’s lovely and very loving wife. ‘Alanna is that exception. Wives Wanted will have what I’m looking for. What I need from you, Rich, is their contact number. Do you still have it? If you don’t, I could ask Reece.’
‘I have it here somewhere,’ Richard admitted.
No use protesting further, he realised as he opened the top drawer in his desk and went through the pile of business cards he kept in the corner, looking for the one from Wives Wanted. Mike was clearly determined to do this. And who could blame him? A partnership with Chuck Helsinger was the chance of a lifetime.
Still…
Holly wasn’t going to believe him when he told her about this tonight. Mike was the most anti-marriage guy they knew. Anti-marriage. Anti-love. And anti-women.
No, that was going too far. He wasn’t anti-women. There was always some beautiful dolly-bird on his arm. Women buzzed around Mike like bees to the honeypot. Richard wasn’t too sure why, since Mike wasn’t conventionally handsome. Holly said it was because he was tall, dark and dangerous-looking.
Richard conceded that Mike’s macho appearance might be the main contributing factor to his attractiveness. He had wall-to-wall muscles. And then some.
He also rarely dressed in suits, favouring jeans and leather jackets. Black, like the one he had on today.
Whatever it was, Mike was never lacking in female company. Fortunately, Holly didn’t go for that type. She preferred his own more conservative, well-groomed style. Thank God.
‘Here it is,’ he said as he picked up the card and handed it across to Mike. ‘The woman who runs the place is called Natalie Fairlane. Her name and number are on the back. She’ll want you to come in for an interview before she matches you up with anyone. She never takes on a client over the internet. I suggest you don’t tell her up front what your agenda is. Ms Fairlane takes her matchmaking services very seriously. One other little word of warning, too. The women on the Wives Wanted database whom I dated were all drop dead gorgeous. It might be wise if you didn’t pick one who’s too beautiful. Otherwise, it could be hard for a man like you to keep your hands off.’
Mike bristled. ‘What do you mean, a man like me?’
‘You like your sex, Mike. Don’t pretend you don’t. You’ve had more girlfriends in the few years I’ve known you than the stock market has ups and down. I think you’re very wise not consummating this marriage. But will you be able to resist temptation? The reality is that during the time that you’re going to be…“married”—’ Richard made quotation-like signs with his fingers ‘—you and your new bride will be together quite a bit. You’ll have to share a cabin on Helsinger’s yacht, for starters. If she’s too pretty, you might find it hard to keep your hands off the merchandise.’
‘You underestimate me, Rich. I can do celibate. No problem.’ He’d been doing it for a few weeks now. ‘For the amount of money at stake here, I’d become a monk for life.’
Richard didn’t look too convinced. ‘If you say so. Now don’t forget what I said about Natalie Fairlane,’ he added when Mike stood up. ‘Watch what you say to her.’
‘I think you’re being a bit naïve about the owner of Wives Wanted,’ Mike replied. ‘Ms Fairlane is in the marriage business strictly for the money, just like ninety-nine per cent of her female clients. Wave the right amount under her nose and the old bag’ll find me the right girl before you can say Jack Robinson.’
A wry smile pulled at Richard’s mouth as he watched Mike leave. He’d love to be a fly on the wall when his friend met the formidable Ms Fairlane.
Mike might be right about her being as mercenary as some of the women on the Wives Wanted database. He didn’t know her well enough to judge. But an old bag, she was not.
CHAPTER TWO
‘MUM, this is terrible,’ Natalie said. ‘How on earth did you and Dad let your finances get into such a mess?’
Even as she asked the question Natalie already knew the answer. Her father had always been attracted to get-rich-quick schemes. He wasn’t a gambler in the ordinary sense of the word. He didn’t waste money at casinos or on the racetrack, but he was a sucker for the kind of investment or business idea that sounded too good to be true, and usually was.
Natalie hadn’t realised what a poor businessman he’d been when she’d been growing up. She’d never lacked for anything. As an only child, she’d actually been rather spoilt.
It wasn’t till Natalie had grown up that she’d realised her parents lived mainly on credit.
She’d been helping her mother out with her housekeeping budget for quite some time—slipping her a hundred dollars or so every time they saw each other. But now, it seemed that things had really hit rock-bottom. Her father could no longer continue with his latest venture—a lawn-mowing franchise he’d foolishly borrowed money on top of his already hefty mortgage to buy, and which required a fit young man to run.
Natalie’s dad was reasonably fit. But he was fifty-seven.
Last month, he’d fallen and broken his ankle.
Naturally, he hadn’t taken out any income-protection insurance. What sane insurance company would have given it to him, anyway?
The bank was threatening to repossess their house if they didn’t meet their mortgage, which was already running months in arrears. Natalie could cover a couple of months’ payments, but not the many thousands of dollars they were behind.
Which meant her parents would shortly have no money and no place to live.
Natalie shuddered at the thought of having them live with her. She was thirty-four years of age, long past the time when you enjoyed living with your parents.
On top of that, she ran her business from home, using one of the two bedrooms in her terraced house as an office-cum-computer room, and her downstairs living room as her reception and interviewing area.
Things would get very difficult with two more adults in the place. Especially two miserable ones.
‘Don’t you worry, dear,’ her mother said. ‘I’m going to get a job.’
Natalie rolled her eyes. Her mother was as big a dreamer as her father. She hadn’t been properly employed for over twenty years. She’d been busy helping her silly husband with all his crazy schemes. On top of that, she was even older than Natalie’s dad.
No one was going to employ a fifty-nine-year-old woman with no certifiable qualifications.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mum,’ Natalie said more sharply than she intended. ‘It’s not that easy to get a job at your age.’
‘I’m going to do cleaning. Your father ran off some fliers on that old computer and printer you gave him and I put them in every postbox in the neighbourhood.’
Natalie wanted to cry. It wasn’t right that her mother had to become a cleaner at her age.
‘Mum, I could get a second mortgage on this place,’ Natalie offered. ‘It’s gone up quite a bit in value since I bought it.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ her mother said firmly. ‘We’ll be fine. I don’t want you to worry.’
Then why did you tell me? Natalie groaned silently.
The sound of her doorbell ringing brought Natalie back to her own life. ‘Mum, can I ring you back later? I have a client at the door.’ Her first in a fortnight. Business at Wives Wanted had dropped off a bit this past month. She hadn’t had any new female clients, either. Maybe it was time for another series of magazine ads. It was a rare business that could survive on word of mouth alone.
‘You go, dear. But do ring me back later.’
‘I will. I promise.’
Natalie hung up quickly, buttoning up her suit jacket as she rose and headed for the front door.
A quick glance in the hallway mirror as she passed by assured her she looked every inch the professional businesswoman. Her thick auburn hair was pulled back tightly into a French pleat. Her make-up was minimal and her jewellery discreet. Just a slimline gold wrist-watch and simple gold studs in her ears.
It wasn’t till her hand reached for the knob that Natalie wondered what Mr Mike Stone looked like.
He’d been referred to her by Richard Crawford, a merchant banker who’d been a client of Wives Wanted earlier this year. Natalie suspected, however, that Mr Stone wasn’t in the banking business. He hadn’t sounded like executive material over the phone. He’d sounded less polished than Richard Crawford. Hopefully, that didn’t mean less rich. Most of her male clients were well-off, professional men.
But beggars couldn’t be choosers, especially not right now. If Mr Stone was willing to pay a few thousand for her to find him a wife, then he could be a truck driver for all she cared.
Better, however, if he were a rich truck driver.
Most of her girls weren’t in the market for working-class husbands.
Natalie turned the knob and opened the front door, her eyes widening when she saw the man standing on her doorstep.
Never, during the three years she’d been running Wives Wanted, had she had a client quite like this.
He wouldn’t have looked totally out of place behind the wheel of a truck, she supposed. Not if it was an army truck and he was wearing a military uniform instead of the jeans and black leather jacket he was currently wearing.
Mike Stone was soldier material through and through.
Not an ordinary soldier, Natalie decided as her assessing gaze travelled all the way up his impressive body to his hard, dark eyes and close-cropped brown hair. A commando, one of those highly trained soldiers who went on covert missions and killed people without making a sound or turning a hair’s breadth.
He wasn’t classically good-looking. His features lacked symmetry. His nose had obviously been broken at one stage and his mouth was way too cruel.
But, for all that, Natalie found him extremely attractive.
Natalie smothered an inner sigh of frustration, at the same time making sure that not a single hint of interest showed on her face.
Ever since she could remember, Natalie had been attracted to men like this. Men who didn’t fit the conventional mould. Men who exuded an air of danger. Men who both intrigued and aroused her.
Ten years ago, she would have gone openly gaga over this guy. Today, the inner twanging of her female antennae irritated the life out of her.
‘Ms Fairlane?’ he enquired, his rough, gravelly voice matching his appearance.
‘Yes,’ she returned, annoyed with the way her heart was racing. And with the way he was looking her up and down, his expression somewhat surprised. What on earth had Richard Crawford told him about her?
‘Mike Stone,’ he said at last, and held out his hand.
She hesitated before she placed her own hand in his, steeling herself not to react to his touch in any way.
But when his large male fingers closed firmly around her much smaller, softer hand, there it was.
That spark. That automatic zap of sexual chemistry, running up her arm, leaving goose-bumps in the wake of its highly charged current.
Thank God her jacket had long sleeves, and that she had anticipated something like this.
‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Stone,’ she said, her outer coolness belying her inner heat. If she’d met Mike Stone anywhere else, she would have walked away. No, she would have run. But she could hardly do so at this moment. He was a potential paying client. A potential five grand in her pocket. Money she was in desperate need of today.
‘Mike,’ he said. ‘Call me Mike.’
‘Mike,’ she repeated, her mouth pulling back into a plastic smile. ‘Well, come on in, Mike,’ she said, waving him past her into the hallway. ‘The first room on the left. Go right in and find a place to sit.’
Natalie pressed herself hard against the wall as he stepped inside. No way did she want his broad-shouldered body accidentally brushing against her chest as he walked along the narrow hallway. But once he did move safely past her, she watched his back view far too avidly and for far too long before she pulled herself together and flung the front door shut, rolling her eyes at herself as she followed him into the living room.
By this time he was settling himself in the middle of her sofa, his long legs stretching out in front of him whilst he leant back and glanced around.
Natalie knew it was an oddly furnished room, filled with pieces that didn’t match but that she personally liked. There were three large squashy armchairs covered in an assortment of prints, plus a seductively long brown velvet sofa, which stretched across under the front window and on which her client had just made himself very comfortable.
On the wall opposite the sofa was a state-of-the-art home theatre system, which she was still paying for. The wall to the right of her visitor had built-in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, in front of which sat an ancient mahogany desk, with the latest laptop sitting on one end and an old-fashioned green desk lamp on the other. The floor was polished boxwood, a colourful circular rug providing warmth and a touch of the orient.
There was no coffee-table to bump into, just an assortment of side tables in all shapes and sizes on which sat ornaments and curios bought from flea markets and garage sales. Two standing lamps with gold-fringed lampshades flanked the sofa, providing subtle light at night when she was watching TV.
A friend had once commented to Natalie that the décor of her living room was very much as she was. Hard to pin down.
‘You’re very punctual,’ she said brusquely, glancing at her watch as she headed for the upright chair behind her desk. It was right on five, the time they’d agreed upon for his interview.
‘I’m always punctual when I’m not working,’ he replied.
Natalie ground to an instant halt. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said sharply. ‘But I don’t take on male clients who are unemployed.’
Again, he looked her up and down, his expression this time annoyingly unreadable.
‘I didn’t say I was unemployed. I said I wasn’t working at the moment. I am self-employed. I own a computer software company.’
Natalie could not have been more surprised. He didn’t look at all like a man who spent most of his life sitting at a computer. He was far too fit-looking. Far too tanned.
As Brandon had been.
His reminding her of Brandon sent her irritation meter up even higher.
‘I see,’ she bit out. ‘Sorry,’ she added before proceeding over to her desk, where she sat down and turned on the laptop.
Natalie took her time pulling up the page into which she would enter his personal details and requirements, not looking up till she was good and ready.
‘So what happens where you are working?’ she finally asked.
‘I sometimes don’t show up at all,’ he returned.
Charming, she thought.
It seemed men who looked like this were true to type.
Brandon had never been on time for anything. There again, Brandon had had lots of reasons for running late for his dates with her. Or for not showing up at all.
His job as an anti-terrorist agent for one. Plus the wife and two children that she’d never known he had, came the added caustic thought.
She wondered what Mike Stone’s excuse was.
‘Sounds like you’re a workaholic.’
‘It’s not the first time I’ve been called that,’ he replied with an indifferent shrug.
Natalie liked him less with each passing second. ‘Is that why you haven’t had much luck finding a wife so far?’ she asked rather waspishly.
‘No. I could have married any number of women.’
‘Really.’ Natalie added outrageously arrogant to his rapidly increasing list of flaws.
Finding Mike Stone a wife was going to prove difficult, despite his impressively masculine physique. Her girls all wanted amenable husbands, not up-themselves egotists. Most of them had had unhappy relationships in the past, with difficult and selfish men who hadn’t delivered. By the time they came to her, they usually knew exactly what they wanted, and had no intention of settling for anything less.
Natalie suspected that the likes of Mike Stone would not find favour with any of them.
