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Falling for His Proper Mistress Page 3
Author: Tessa Radley

I should hate him…he deserves it.

To hide the humiliating effect his body had on her, she wrinkled her brow, hoping she looked convincingly puzzled. “What did you want to talk about?”

Guy clearly wasn’t fooled. His lips firmed into an impatient line as he stopped in the back corner of the marquee beside a table laden with trays of oysters. He turned to face her. “You taking Art’s place.”

“Is it a problem?”

Of course it was. His reaction earlier had shown that. What she couldn’t work out was why he didn’t want her speaking at the Food and Wine Gala. Well, she was no doubt about to learn.

Avery forced herself to smile faintly—and very politely—at him before helping herself to a glass from a passing waiter to give her hands something to do. She took a delicate sip of the pale liquid and pretended to savor the crisp dryness on her tongue.

Guy’s gaze dipped to her mouth. The eyes that met hers a moment later had gone dark. In the past he’d sometimes poured a glass of champagne for them to share after—

No! She wasn’t thinking of the countless abandoned glasses of untouched champagne or the passionate encounters that had followed.

Her lashes fell, and Avery fixed her attention on the square black snaps of his dress shirt. She recognized those snaps…one evening she’d yanked them all loose—

Oh, heavens!

She jerked her head back and focused on his jaw instead. It was a hard jaw, a determined j—

“You’re not listening.”

“Of course I’m listening.” Please don’t let him ask her to repeat whatever he’d just said.

“You’re not even interested.”

“Not in you,” she muttered rebelliously.

Only a few inches separated his mouth from the area of jaw line she’d been examining, and she watched his beautiful lips flatten into a hard line. To her exasperation, her heartbeat kicked up. This close he smelled so familiar. Of sandalwood soap, a green hint of moss…and man. But this recklessly rash awareness of the man didn’t alter the fact that he was a first-class bastard.

One she would be wise to avoid at all costs.

“How typical of a woman not to be able to separate her emotions from her work.”

What? “That’s not true—” Avery broke off. Or maybe it was. She’d made it personal by disavowing any interest in him. “Okay, I shouldn’t have made that crack.” Especially when her reaction suggested it was patently, horrifyingly untrue.

She was pathetic.

Hadn’t she learned what kind of scum Guy Jarrod was, despite the fancy French restaurant he owned in New York and his high-society family?

God help her….

He rocked back on his heels and the extra inches of space allowed her respite to breathe again without drowning in his scent. For an awful moment she thought he was going to pursue exactly how much of a lie her denial had been.

To her relief, he let it slide.

“No, you shouldn’t have. And I’ll accept that as an apology.”

She wouldn’t have gone so far as to call it an apology. Annoyance made her bristle like a cat stroked the wrong way. “That’s big of you.”

He expelled an impatient sigh. “You know, this isn’t going to work. Go back to California—I’ll find someone else to stand in for Art.”

Avery stared at him, aghast. This was what she’d wanted…but now that he was telling her to go, she knew there was no way she could ever tell Art she’d let him down. “I promised Art—”

Guy was shaking his head. “Art and I were scheduled to do two talks together,” he said, “and it’s clear that you’re not going to be able to cooperate.”

Oh, dear God, what had Art gotten her into? He’d muttered something about a panel on wine selection and a presentation about the importance of superior service in a world-class establishment but that had been all. There’d been no mention of a joint presentation with anyone, let alone Guy Jarrod.

She should never have come….

Uncle Art’s pleading voice played through her head. She hadn’t had a choice. To think she’d considered speaking at such a prestigious event, the opportunity of a lifetime. But this wasn’t about her…it was about what she owed Uncle Art and Aunt Tilly.

She’d never lived up to Aunt Tilly’s hopes. But Uncle Art was proud of her. He’d taken her in after his sister and brother-in-law had died in a sailing accident. He’d loved her, cherished her, supported her. For her uncle she would walk across burning embers—barefoot. Except he’d never asked that of her.

He’d run interference on her behalf with Aunt Tilly when she’d refused to attend another beauty pageant or talent show. He’d supported her when she’d bailed out of drama school. He’d never asked anything of her. Until now.

Her shoulders sagged. “Of course I’ll cooperate with you.” Within reason. No sex with his friends and colleagues. More to the point, no sex with Guy Jarrod. Period. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

“Have an oyster.”

They’d decadently shared oysters in bed one memorable Monday when Baratin had been closed. They’d risen late. He’d fed them to her…interspersed with kisses…it had ended up in one of the most erotic encounters of her life. Surely he wasn’t referring to that?

It took a moment for the shocked daze to clear and for Avery to realize he was holding out a platter where oysters on the half shell nestled between fat wedges of lemon and translucent ice cubes.

“They’re perfectly shucked. I oversaw the preparation myself. No sand or broken shells. Just succulent flesh with a hint of juice.”

For a brief second she caught a glimpse of the Guy she’d thought she’d known so well. Wicked mirth sparkled in his gray-black eyes and warmed her.

Irresistible, damn him.

She resisted the charm with a toss of her head. “No, thanks. I’m quite sated.”

The laughter evaporated. “I’m sure you are.”

The platter disappeared into the hands of a hovering waiter. Avery searched Guy’s face but could find no trace of the bitterness the words suggested. She must’ve imagined it.

“My schedule for the next couple of weeks of the festival is ferocious.” Guy continued as if they’d never shared that crazy moment. “Art offered to do most of the work to put the first presentation together.”

That got her back on track. That’s why he didn’t want her speaking? He considered her too inept, did he? Believed she couldn’t do what Art had undertaken to do? Avery suspected she was going to regret not leaping at the opportunity of escape Guy offered. Instead, her innate love for a challenge surged, and she found herself saying, “I can do that.”

He didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked downright dubious. “Not only was Art doing two talks with me, he had a solo presentation planned.”

“On the importance of superior service—I know.”

“And he was contracted to look over the resort’s wine lists and compile a report of his findings about service levels,” Guy continued as though she hadn’t interrupted. “It will have to wait until he’s fit to come out here himself.”

“No, it won’t. Art and I discussed this, I’ll do it in his place. That won’t be any problem at all.”

A waiter offered Guy a glass of champagne. Unconsciously Avery noted that the waiter’s white jacket was pristine and carefully pressed, his handling of the tray deft. The resort staff were evidently well-trained.

Guy glanced at her still-full glass before helping himself from the proffered tray. “It’s a pity I don’t share your confidence,” he said in a clipped voice, and Avery’s approving smile to the waiter froze.

She turned her full attention back to the man whose reappearance in her life had caused such inner turmoil, caused so many memories and emotions, which she’d thought she’d suppressed, to waken. “Oh?”

Avery cringed and dropped her gaze to stare at the bubbles rising merrily in the pale golden liquid in her own glass. Oh? Was that the best she could do? What had happened to her intelligence? Her wit? Her sass? Was she going to let this arrogant jerk walk all over her?

She was the one with a problem, not him!

She hated him.

Blindly she set her glass down.

She would be professional. Reasonable. And blow him away with her expertise. “Look, I’ve overhauled plenty of wine lists, I’ve trained junior sommeliers and other staff, I’ve done lots of public speaking.” She jabbed her right index finger against the fingers of her left hand as she counted off the list. “I’ve taught, and I’ve even had my own TV show. That should boost your confidence a little.”

“The TV show lasted all of four episodes.”

Avery colored. The show had been axed. Because the ratings hadn’t been good enough, she’d been told. She suspected there could have been more episodes—if she’d been prepared to sleep with the producer, when he’d made that suggestion. But that price had been too high. Avery had quit—despite Aunt Tilly’s disappointment. And the producer had found another—more accommodating—sommelier. It hadn’t surprised Avery when that show had ended in scandal and tears. Losing the program hadn’t been the first time her sex-kitten looks had mucked up her life.

Even Guy was giving her the kind of once-over that left her enraged…and uncharacteristically flustered. But by the time his gaze came back to meet her own furious gaze, his was filled with contempt. And something else. Something that caused her heart to leap.

Avery resisted it.

There was no room for this…this…unwanted feeling. She was over Guy Jarrod. He was a bastard. And she had no intention of ever returning to the misery he’d caused her.

She could do this. She knew it. But first she had to convince him.

Lifting her chin a notch, she readied herself for a fight. “Cuisine stated that the new wine list at your New York restaurant had been put together ‘with artistry and sophisticated style’. I wouldn’t deliver anything less here.”

“This isn’t Baratin, Avery. Jarrod Ridge has four restaurants and six bars. The selection of wines, beers and alcoholic beverages served in each of those needs to be overhauled, as you put it. Don’t forget I’ve read your résumé. You’ve never handled a project of this scope.”

He didn’t blink as he delivered his verdict in a calm, controlled voice. Avery knew he didn’t believe she was up for the task. She forced herself not to look away from that alarming scrutiny. “I’m sure I can discuss whether I’m capable of completing the task with whoever is in charge of overseeing the menus and service requirements.”

“That would be me.” His crooked smile held no amusement, even if it did cause two nearby women to give him admiring glances. “I’m looking at introducing new dishes, and the beverages need to be matched to give a perfect selection.”

“I’d be working with you?”

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