‘Don’t forget the memo,’ he threw at her grumpily.
She opened the door before looking back to resoundingly declare, ‘I never forget.’
Jake broodingly watched her step out of his office and close the door behind her, punctuating her exit-line.
Somehow she’d turned the tables on him.
Mel Rossi was, without a doubt, the most provoking woman he’d ever met!
He’d had her simmering, even boiling, on the edge of blowing her top, then Kaput!—all sweetness and light, ready to play ‘Happy Days Are Here Again.’
He’d have to come up with another idea because he refused to be defeated by her. He was going to break into the woman she was inside. It was just a matter of time.
CHAPTER THREE
JAKE had to hand it to his grandfather. He certainly knew how to throw a party. The old Vaucluse mansion and its magnificently landscaped grounds had been designed for hospitality on a grand scale and even at eighty—probably because he was eighty—Byron Devila was not about to give up his reputation of being the host with the most! He was still going strong and demonstrably proving it this afternoon.
The old man had not lost his pulling power, either. Not only was the crème of Sydney society here, but all the establishment from Melbourne, as well, along with a full complement of A-list celebrities. Jake noted that the Devila family had also come in force—four generations of them. He was running into relatives everywhere amongst the guests. Not that he was close to any of them—too many divorces fragmenting ties.
‘Your grandfather is a real romantic, isn’t he?’ his partner for the party—Vanessa Hall of catwalk modelling fame—remarked, lifting her hand to smell the red rose attached to the white lace wrist-band she’d been presented with on arrival, along with all the other female guests.
Jake couldn’t help smiling cynically as he answered, ‘He knows the way to a woman’s heart.’
Mel had been right about playing the St Valentine’s Day card with the cake. His grandfather was using it big-time at this party. The florist who’d supplied the masses of roses arranged on pedestals everywhere had surely made a fortune from this one order. A silver dish of heart-shaped Belgium chocolates sat on the drinks trays being carried around by the waiters. French champagne bubbled in every glass. And a string orchestra was playing old love songs.
Vintage stuff on the romance front!
‘Fantastic idea—having an English tea-party,’ Vanessa burbled on. ‘I just love dressing up like this. So feminine!’
With filmy hats and frills and flounces, and men in morning suits and top hats, it could have been a day at Royal Ascot, or Ladies’ Day at Melbourne Cup week—definitely playtime for the rich and famous.
‘You look radiantly beautiful in pink, Vanessa,’ Jake rolled out, responding to the coquettish glance she fluttered at him.
Her blue eyes twinkled delight. Jake privately thought that if she’d wanted to go all girly, she should have had her long blond hair curled into ringlets instead of leaving it straight. Attention to detail was the keynote of a successful image. Mel was an expert at that.
‘And you look absolutely divine in your pin-striped morning suit,’ Vanessa tossed back at him.
Ah, the fun of flirting, Jake thought, but not nearly as much fun as the verbal duelling battles with Mel Rossi. He was going to miss them while she was away on vacation. The temporary assistant she had organised would not provide anything like the same stimulating challenges. All next month without Mel would be dead flat.
Vanessa did not give his mind any exercise. On the other hand, she certainly provided considerable physical exercise in bed, enjoying sex every bit as much as he did. Strait-laced Mel would probably only approve of the missionary position. Though sometimes when those golden-amber eyes of hers cast him a particularly sultry look, hot and heavy with suppressed passion, he wondered…
She’d given him that look just before he’d left work yesterday.
‘Everything set for tomorrow?’ he’d asked.
‘If the plan you supplied of your grandfather’s place is correct and the cake can be easily wheeled out to the rear terrace, the presentation should go without a hitch,’’ she’d stated with confidence.
‘That was a stiff fee for the woman you’ve hired,’ he’d remarked—not criticising, just commenting, but it had raised Mel’s hackles.
‘She had to have fittings for the floral bikini, rehearsals to ensure the lift mechanism in the cake is worked properly and I didn’t think your grandfather would appreciate anyone who came cheaply. I decided on quality.’ Her eyebrows had arched in challenge. ‘Do you have a problem with that, Jake?’
‘Not if she’s worth her hire.’
‘Well, you can be the judge tomorrow.’
This final declaration had been accompanied by the sultry look—positively burning with passion. Maybe she had resented being given a task reeking of male chauvinism, and was making him pay for it in her own way. Not that he cared about the cost. Only the result mattered. And no doubt Mel’s professionalism would produce the goods. Nevertheless, he now had a hot interest in the quality of the woman who emerged from the cake.
Red and white candy-striped umbrellas shaded the tables set out on the back lawn for afternoon tea. It was a glorious day, the heat of the summer sun alleviated by a light cooling breeze from the harbour—perfect for sitting outside and enjoying the ambience.
White lace cloths adorned the round tables. Chairs upholstered in red surrounded them. Each place was set with a plate, cup and saucer in delicate bone china, accompanied by brilliantly polished silver cutlery and a starched white linen napkin in a silver holder.
When everyone was seated, the waiters served tea from elegant silver teapots and placed ornate five-tiered cake-stands on the tables. From top to bottom, the tiers provided cucumber sandwiches, shortbread kisses, date scones, savoury puff pastries and a selection of rich cakes.
‘This reminds me of High Tea at the Empress Hotel on Vancouver Island,’ one of Jake’s fellow guests at his table commented appreciatively, setting off comparisons with other grand hotels around the world.
From the happy buzz around the tables, it was obvious the party was a huge success. Speeches were merrily called for and merrily given. Jake waited until the final pièce de résistance—dishes of chocolate coated strawberries with clotted cream—had been served before excusing himself from the table and using his cell-phone to give the ‘Go’ command to the stage-hands whose job was to wheel in the birthday cake.