The Australian Tycoon's Proposal. Margaret Way

complaints and we’ll push him out the door,” Gilly joked, obviously in high spirits. She placed a lovely pottery bowl full of avocados on the sideboard then made for the door, the dozen or more silver bracelets on her arm setting up a jingle. “When you do get really serious about someone, Bronte, you’ll make a wonderful wife.”

      “That’s not my idea, Gilly,” Bronte called after her.

      Not my idea at all!

      Steven Randolph arrived bearing gifts. Wine, Belgian chocolates, and something in a cardboard box tied with a brown-gold striped ribbon.

      “Thought it might come in handy,” he said, kissing Gilly on both cheeks and slanting Bronte a smile. Not a serious smile. A quirky one, that uptilted the corners of his shapely mouth. “I’ll take these into the kitchen, shall I?”

      “You know you didn’t have to do that.” Gilly beamed on him.

      “A pleasure, Gilly. You look great!”

      Next he’ll be saying the two of us look like sisters, Bronte thought waspishly, leading the way to the kitchen. He certainly had Gilly hooked. Was he the second man in Gilly’s life trying to take her for every penny she had? Over my dead body, Bronte privately fumed.

      “Don’t you want to see what it is,” Steven Randolph asked her, as Bronte set the cardboard box down on the long narrow pine sideboard. He was busy putting the wine away in the fridge. Gilly, excited and happy, had drifted out onto the candlelit verandah, no doubt pushing them together.

      Bronte smarted. “Give me a minute, can’t you?”

      “I’m sorry. How are you?” He allowed his eyes to move over her. She was so beautiful with those enormous black fringed blue-violet eyes but as spiky as a cactus. A cactus in an outfit like liquefied silver. It looked almost like lingerie. It took a huge effort not to reach out and caress it…her. But he’d never met a girl who so clearly signalled keep your distance!

      “I’m fine, thank you.” Bronte fought her way through the ribbon which securely tied the box. “Gosh, this looks good!” The comment flew out of its own accord.

      “Gilly loves chocolate.”

      “I know that!” She flashed him an irritated glance which he met with a quirky one of his own. He looked really cool. She had to admit that. He was wearing a very smart black shirt with a cream stripe teamed with beige trousers. He really did have a great body. That aggravated her.

      You better be darned careful, Bronte, she told herself. This man is dynamite!

      “Why are you so desperate to put me in my place?” he was asking in an entirely reasonable voice.

      “Put you in your place?” Bronte raised supercilious brows. “I thought I was only talking to you. Where did you get this scrumptious looking confection?”

      “It’s a fruit and chocolate brandy cake, by the way.” He turned away to find a plate.

      “Thank you,” she said pointedly, accepting it. He knew where everything was kept.

      “Be careful getting it out.”

      She knew he was trying to get a rise out of her. For a moment she considered dropping his offering. Instead she calmly and efficiently removed the large cake from the box. It was covered with a glistening chocolate icing and decorated with silver balls.

      “I made it myself, actually,” he said, getting a finger to a tiny dollop of chocolate icing left inside the box and putting it slowly into his mouth.

      She looked away from him, determined to keep her reactions on ice. “You did not!”

      He laughed. “I had to say something to get you down off your high horse. The truth is, Bronte, I know a very nice lady I can turn to when I want something special.”

      It wasn’t the question to ask, but she did. “Do you sleep with her?”

      “What?” He rolled his clear green eyes upwards. “Bronte, you shock me. This lady makes cakes for heaps of people.”

      “That’s all right then. The thing is we don’t know very much about you, do we, Steven Randolph.”