Chapter 23

Twenty-Three

“ L et me guess. You have business to take care of.” Tamara rolled her eyes, but she smiled.

Ethan kissed her. “You know me too well.”

“I do now.”

She placed a possessive hand on his arm and scraped her fingernails lightly across the skin, enjoying his slight shudder before he clamped his hand over hers, blatant desire in his eyes.

“I promise I’ll make it the fastest investors meeting on record.” He glanced at his watch, and grimaced. “I have to run. How about I meet you at Ambrosia afterwards?”

“Only if you make me one of your world famous hot chocolates.”

“Over your chai addiction already?”

“No, but I remember your fabulous hot chocolate and have a real hankering for it.”

He paused, his expression inscrutable, and for a second a finger of unease strummed her spine. “So much has changed since those days.”

“For the better.”

He nodded, his tight lipped expression not inspiring her with confidence. “I’ve been doing a bit of thinking.”

“About?”

“About making up for lost time. About how much time I wasted not seducing you earlier.”

That surprised her. She’d been anticipating many responses but not that one. “Maybe I wasn’t ready to be seduced?”

“Lucky for me, you are now.”

“You think you’ve got me wrapped around your perfect little finger, huh?”

“Hey, I’m not perfect. Pretty tarnished, in fact.”

“Not to me.”

She wound her arms around his neck and snuggled close, breathing in his fresh, just-showered scent, wishing he didn’t have to dash off.

They’d barely been back in the country six hours and it was business as usual for him. Not that it surprised her. His dynamic attitude was one of the things she loved about him.

While Richard had been good at his job—the best according to experts—Ethan had a quiet confidence underlined by success.

She’d once been good at her job too, before she’d given it all up for Richard and she couldn’t wait to get back to it.

The restaurateur and the food critic. People would talk, would say she’d moved on from the chef to the owner. Let them. She’d faced the media barrage after Richard died and while she’d hated every minute at the time she’d weathered the storm. She didn’t want to do it again, but knew the man holding her close would protect her; she’d learned to trust him that much.

She eased him away, patting down his collar and smoothing the lapels of his suit jacket.

“Off you go. Go do what you tycoons do.”

He smiled and ran a fingertip down her cheek before tapping her lightly on the nose. “See you in two hours.”

“If you talk real fast, maybe one?”

“I’ll try.”

As she watched him walk out the door, utterly gorgeous in a charcoal pinstripe suit, she had to pinch herself to make sure this wasn’t a dream.

They’d landed back in Melbourne and the dream hadn’t evaporated. Instead, he’d dropped her at the hotel suite she was staying in until she found a suitable apartment to buy, had raced home to get ready for his meeting, and had paid a surprise visit back here on the way.

He must’ve thought she was a grub because he’d found her the way he’d left her; dishevelled and tired and wearing the same clothes from the flight home. All his fault; after he’d dropped her off, she’d mooned about, flicking through travel brochures on India, lolling on the couch, lost in memories, remembering every magical moment of their journey.

The trip had exceeded all expectations. She’d discovered a part of her heritage that enthralled her, had finally released the last of her residual anger, and had put the past—and Richard—behind her.

And she’d discovered a guy on her periphery until now was the love of her life.

Exceeded? Heck, her expectations had been blasted clean into orbit.

But for now, she had a date with a shower. She wanted to clean up before heading over to her new favourite place in the world: Ambrosia , and right by Ethan’s side.

Tamara pocketed her keys, grabbed her bag, and was half way out the door when the phone rang.

She paused, glanced at her watch, and decided to let the call go through to messages in case Ethan had finished early and was waiting for her.

When an icon signalling a voicemail had been left on her phone pinged, she listened to the message, wondering if water from the shower had clogged her ears.

She could’ve sworn the guy imploring her to call him ASAP was the reporter from a prominent Melbourne newspaper who had hounded her relentlessly after Richard’s death.

But what could he want with her now?

Not wanting to hear anything he had to say, especially on the day she’d landed back in the country, she slammed the door, took the lift to the ground floor, strode through the swank foyer, and out into a perfect autumn day.

There was nothing like Melbourne in autumn: the frosty weather, the crisp brown leaves contrasting with the beautiful green in the city parks, the fashionable women striding down Collins Street in high boots and long coats.

She loved it all, and as she took a left and headed for Ambrosia , she’d never felt so alive. With a spring in her step, she picked up the pace, eager for her hot chocolate fix; more precisely, her Ethan fix.

Smiling to herself, she passed the newsstand she bought glossy food magazines from. She may not have worked for a while but she’d kept up with the trends, critically analysing her competitors’ work, knowing she could do better if she ever got back to it. That time had come and she couldn’t be happier.

However, as she slowed to scan the latest cover of her favourite magazine, her blood froze as her gaze fixed on the headlines advertising today’s newspapers.

CELEbrITY CHEF’S MISTRESS HAS LOVE CHILD .

She inhaled a sharp breath, let it out, closed her eyes, and opened them. This was silly. That headline could be referring to any number of celebrity chefs around the world.

She walked two feet away from the newsstand when the truth detonated.

The reporter’s phone call.

The headline.

No, it couldn’t be…

With her lungs screaming for oxygen, she turned back and reached for the nearest newspaper with trembling hands.

“Haven’t seen you around here for a while, love?”

She arranged her mouth into a smile for the old guy who’d been working here forever, when all she wanted to do was flap open the paper and see if the horrible sense of impending doom hanging over her was true.

“I’ve been away.” She thrust a ten dollar bill at him. “Here, keep the change.”

“But that’s way too much—”

She waved over her shoulder and half ran, half wobbled to the nearest wrought-iron bench where she collapsed, the newspaper rolled tight in her fist.

It’s not about him…it’s not about him…

No matter how many times she repeated the words, the second she opened the paper and saw Richard’s smug grin next to Sonja’s, adjacent to an adorable baby with her husband’s dimples, the life she’d worked so hard to re-assemble crumbled before her eyes.