The Boss's Convenient Bride. Jennie Adams

of the business lunch aside for examination later, and turned the subject to a matter that meant more to him at the moment. ‘Before we go back to the office, I want to collect something from my house.’

      ‘Oh, okay.’

      Claire didn’t have a lot else to say, but he didn’t mind the quiet. It allowed him to reflect on the success of his plans so far. Four months from now—four months and two days, to be exact—they would be married. Despite that incident with the jealousy, which had been a simple glitch, he liked the idea of marrying Claire more and more.

      When they arrived at the house, Claire gazed about with apparent interest. ‘How long have you had a home here? I’d have pictured you in an apartment, to tell the truth.’

      ‘I bought this place six years ago.’ He swung the car into the driveway of a large two-storey home. Roman columns supported a porch that stretched the full width of the house on the lower storey. Above, a balcony circled around to the back.

      The deep gold brick came from an Outback town that had the only kiln of its kind in Australia. Although the house wasn’t modern in design, it was original, and it pleased him. He had an urge to try to convince Claire that she’d love it here, and squashed it. He didn’t have to impress her.

      ‘I thought you should see where you’ll be living.’

      ‘It’s very nice.’ She seemed sincere, but reluctant to say more, and quickly turned her attention to the flowerbeds.

      Nicholas refused to acknowledge any sense of relief at her approving assessment.

      ‘Those borders are pretty.’ Claire gestured towards the blooming plants and bushes. ‘I’m a closet gardener, you know. A frustrated one, at my apartment complex, but I’d have a great big garden if I had the opportunity.’

      Was this what she’d meant by getting to know each other better? That they should share small, intimate details about each other?

      He decided he could live with her revelations, and maybe come up with a few simple ones of his own. It wouldn’t kill him to try, particularly if all they had to talk about were innocuous things like gardening. ‘You can take over the care of the garden when we’re married, if you like. Come and see the interior.’

      Nicholas led the way to the front door, disarmed the security system, and stood back to allow her to precede him. ‘We’ll start upstairs and work our way down.’

      He showed her the bedrooms, exchanging casual conversation with her as they made the tour. After the first few minutes she relaxed, and so, he found, did he. Claire did like his home, and there was nothing wrong with him feeling a bit of pride about that.

      His feeling of ease left him abruptly when they stepped into the master bedroom. Her eyes turned to deep velvet brown, and a pink flush suffused her cheeks before she quickly looked anywhere but at him.

      His pulse leaped, but he only said, ‘The view is rather spectacular from here at night.’ He threw the drapes open. ‘That’s one of the reasons the living room and kitchen are above stairs, rather than below. Would you like to see?’

      ‘That would be nice.’ She moved past him, the flags of colour in her cheeks still very much in evidence. ‘It’s a treat to see the harbour from a different perspective—although I appreciate the view of it from your office, too.’

      Who cared about sights like the Opera House and Sydney Harbour Bridge? He wanted to ravish her, here and now. The temptation made him clench his hands as she passed him.

      I’ll have her in my bed when the time is right. Not because of some impulsive, and thoroughly controllable urge.

      Anything else would smack of being driven, and nothing drove Nicholas Monroe to act in any way that he didn’t first plan, then initiate in his own time.

      ‘I could live out here.’ Her words floated back to him, and he moved to join her on the balcony. ‘You can see every bit of movement on the harbour so clearly.’

      Their shoulders brushed, and he allowed himself to enjoy the scent of her, the warmth of her skin. ‘The Forresters’ yacht must be out there somewhere.’