The Bridal Bargain (2 page)

The old lady nodded, seemingly pleased with Hannah’s portrayal of her family background. “Are you keen to have many children yourself when you do marry?” she asked.

Why was this important? Hannah sensed it was. “At least four,” she answered truthfully, then shaved the answer with practical issues.
“If
Ican get my husband to agree,
and
I’m not too old when I find him.”

“Twenty-six, twenty-seven,” the old lady said assessingly, as though she was totting up how many babies Hannah could fit in. “Perhaps you need to stay in one place for a while, Miss O’Neill. How long do you plan on staying in Port Douglas?”

“Oh, definitely for as long as the job lasts, Mrs King.”

A warm approval was now coming from the older woman, which boosted Hannah’s confidence. Family was obviously a key factor here. Hannah didn’t care why as long as it was working for her. Her instincts were shouting—
Play it to the hilt!

“I notice you spent the last tourist season working at King’s Eden Wilderness Resort in the Kimberley,” came the next tack in the interview.

King’s Eden...King’s Castle...oh wow! Was this another branch of the same family? More legendary stuff—the Kings of the Outback and the Kings of the Tropics?

“What did you think of it?” Isabella Valeri King ran on.

Hannah’s enthusiasm did not have to be feigned one bit. “The resort was a fantastic slice of the Outback. A great experience. And so was working with the head chef there, Roberto,” she popped in judiciously. “I swear no one can cook barramundi like Roberto. Absolutely superb. It has to be the best-tasting fish in the world. Whenever the guests at the homestead brought in a catch...”

“And you learnt to cook it as he did?”

“Mrs King, give me a fresh barramundi, and I’ll give you a meal to remember.”

“I may take you up on that, Miss O’Neill.”

Enough about cooking! That hook was in. Better to get back to family. She projected eager, bright-eyed interest. “Is there a connection between the King family here and the Kings of the Kimberley?’’

“We are related,” came the proud acknowledgment. “The older brother of my husband, Edward, carried the family line on at King’s Eden.”

Remembering the wonderful homestead on the great cattle station, sited like a crown on the top of a hill overlooking the river, she had to ask, “Did your husband build this castle?”

“No. My father did. It used to be known as the Valeri Villa in the old days. After my father died, and my son took over the plantations, the local people started calling it King’s Castle, and so it is today.”

“Plantations?” Hannah prompted.

“It was all sugarcane then.” She waved to the view. “Look across the inlet!”

Cane fields stretching from the sea to the mountains.

“My mother used to watch the burning of the cane from the tower here. But they do not burn the fields now. The cane is harvested green with special machinery. My grandson, Alessandro, looks after that business. His brother, Antonio, manages the tea...”

“Tea?” Hannah remembered seeing a tea plantation at Cape Tribulation.

Isabella nodded. “Though I suspect Antonio is more interested in his Kingtripper Company. The new boat,
Duchess,
is his pride and joy.”

So Antonio would be her boss if she clinched the job. Antonio, Alessandro... a very strong Italian influence here. Maybe that encompassed the thing about family.

“Your resume says you worked on a boat at Fremantle in Western Australia,” Isabella went on, getting back to tricky business for Hannah.

She nodded. “Catering for Sunset Cruises around the harbour.” If you could call drinks and nibbles
catering!

“So you’re used to working in a galley.”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

“And you don’t get seasick?”

“Never have been.”

True, but she hadn’t been tested much on that score. Better buy herself some travel-sickness pills to be on the safe side.

“Matteo supplies a selection of exotic fruit for exclusive use on
Duchess,”
Mrs King informed her. “You will have to learn about their qualities. Matteo is my youngest grandson. He looks after the tropical fruit plantations.”

Three Kings, Hannah thought, and wondered if they had wives. “Do you have any great-grandchildren, Mrs King?”

She smiled, delight twinkling in her dark eyes. “A little boy, Marco. He is the son of Alessandro and Gina, who is now expecting another child.”

“Well, congratulations!” Hannah said heartily.

“Thank you. Unfortunately, my other two grandsons have not yet found...” Her mouth quirked. “...Miss Right.”

“It’s not easy,” Hannah said with much sympathetic feeling.

“Love is a gift,” Mrs King murmured, with a look of satisfaction that stirred Hannah’s curiosity again.

Before she could inquire what was meant they were both distracted by the noise of a helicopter zooming very close above them.

Mrs King looked even more satisfied as she explained, “That will be Antonio, coming in to land on the helipad. He said he would join us here if he could.”

Uh-oh! Hannah’s stomach did a little flip. She’d been doing so well with Mrs King, establishing a really warm rapport that would surely have led to her being given the job. Now she had to face the boss-man and win him over, too.

Double jeopardy!

At least she had his grandmother onside, which was some consolation, but undoubtedly the boss-man would have the last say.

Antonio...

Not married.

Did this mean he was hard to please? Or just too busy with his plantations and boats to care too much for any woman? Obviously a high-flyer in his helicopter, Hannah fervently hoped Antonio King would still have his head in clouds of tea business, at least until she could get a handle on him.

Hannah’s
heart did a hop, step, and jump as one of the great entrance doors to the castle swung open and
the man
came striding out towards the table by the fountain. Her wits went flying off to limbo in scattered little fragments. Her stomach contracted as though all her female muscles were twanging red alert. It was lucky she was still sitting down or her knees might have melted.

If this was Antonio King he was a king-size ten on the male Richter scale! Tall, dark and handsome did not sum it up. Dynamic energy came from him in waves. It had a magnetic effect that glued Hannah’s gaze to him. She did manage to keep her mouth closed which stopped any danger of drooling.

He was dressed in light grey tailored shorts and a grey and white striped business shirt, collar open, sleeves rolled up. Both arms and legs seemed to bristle with athletic muscle power. He wasn’t Mr Universe, but he was very, very masculine, the kind of masculine that made any woman want a bite of him. As many bites as he’d allow. Major sex appeal here! Major!!

“Nonna...” Arms out ready to embrace his grandmother, a smile full of straight white teeth, a squarish jawline, strong nose. “Thank you so much for filling in for me.”

“My pleasure, Antonio,” she said, rising from her chair to receive him with affection that was amply returned.

He enveloped her in a hug and planted a kiss on her forehead while Hannah was occupied admiring the taut cheekiness of his very cute backside, as well as the glossy thickness of his black hair and the neatness of his ears. Flynn’s ears, she remembered, had stuck out, and she’d actually planned on giving her children plastic surgery to pin theirs back if they inherited Flynn’s ears. Not that she had to worry about that anymore, but she couldn’t help thinking Antonio’s ears were quite perfect.

He swung aside from his grandmother, gesturing towards Hannah, a dazzling smile accompanying the question, “And this is...?”

“Miss Hannah O’Neill,” his grandmother supplied. “Your third applicant for the job of chef onboard
Duchess.”

“Hannah...” He stepped forward, offering his hand, grey eyes with intriguing bits of hazel in them meeting hers with the impact of an atom bomb, blowing apart the long-held shield around Hannah’s heart. “...I’m Tony King.”

Tony, Tony, Tony...
some wild voice in her head sang as she stood up to greet him properly.

Hannah O’Neill sure had a body, Tony thought, noting her eye-catching curves as she rose from her chair. Didn’t mind showing it off, either, the clingy midriff top outlining breasts that would very sweetly cushion a man’s head, hipster slacks laying bare a highly feminine waist and a peek-a-boo navel with...was that a butterfly tattoo around it?

No time for a closer examination, though Tony found himself fancying precisely that. Satin-smooth skin, honey-tan, a nice soft roundness to her flesh, no bones sticking out, definitely the kind of feminine physique that appealed to him.

Her choice of clothes had probably turned his grandmother off, but they were a turn-on for guys. No question. A clever piece of calculation for this interview? Misfiring in these circumstances. A black mark against her would have been instantly notched in his grandmother’s mind.

She lifted her hand to meet his and he automatically grasped it, actually feeling a little jolt of pleasure at the touch of her—a slender hand, long fingers, warm and soft. She smiled and he was momentarily fascinated by the dimples that appeared in her cheeks. Very cute effect.

Her eyes were green, like the green of forest pools. Thick fair hair waved from a centre parting and was pulled back in a plait, although she hadn’t been able to trap it all. Fuzzy little tendrils gave her face a rather endearing frame that went with the little girl dimples.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr King.”

Nice voice, sort of musical.

“Tony,” he corrected, without pausing to think if giving her his first name was appropriate.

“Tony,” she repeated in a soft sensual lilt that put a tingle in his groin.

And those green eyes were dynamite, projecting a pleasure in him that could scramble his brains if he wasn’t careful. Already he was thinking he’d like to taste the mouth that had spoken his name like that. He was still holding her hand. He clamped down on the urge to hold more of her—not the right time or place—though he had a strong desire to pursue this woman once the job issue was out of the way.

Good thing he could blame his grandmother for selecting someone else for the position of chef. Which he had no doubt she would do. It neatly separated business from pleasure. And he could probably wangle some other job in town for Hannah O’Neill if she wanted to stick around.

“Miss O’Neill is your new chef for
Duchess.”

“What?” The word spilled out before Tony could catch it back. He instantly released Hannah’s hand and spun around to face his grandmother, frowning over her shock announcement. “You’ve chosen already?”

She smiled serenely at him. “You did leave the decision in my hands, Antonio. Miss O’Neill and I had been chatting for some time before your arrival. There is no question in my mind she will suit you very well.”

“Oh, thank you, Mrs King!” Hannah flew past him and grabbed his grandmother’s hands, pressing them effusively. “I promise I won’t let you down. And any time you’d like me to cook a barramundi for you, just say the word and...”

Cook? Tony stared at the thick plait falling down to the delectable curve of her spine, which led to her even more delectable bottom, and couldn’t see Hannah O’Neill in a galley at all. He could only see her in a bed...with him!

Yet, here she was, dressed in positively provocative clothes, somehow getting on like a house on fire with his grandmother who was smiling at her as though she was the apple of her eye, not minding at all being pounced upon and gabbled at by a woman showing her naked navel with a butterfly tattooed around it!

Tony was still trying to get his scrambled mind around this incredible state of affairs when Hannah turned back to him and grabbed his hand again, squeezing it in both of hers.

“I’ll be the best chef you’ve ever had on
Duchess.”
she gushed, her eyes lit up like Christmas trees, lots of electricity sparking at him and pumping up his heartbeat. “I’ll learn everything that needs to be done double-quick. I promise you won’t be disappointed in me, Tony.”

Tony...
She was doing it again, making his name sound like something she savoured on her tongue. It was almost a French kiss. And he sure as hell
was
going to be disappointed if she was working for him. Mixing it with an employee would only lead to trouble. Right now, with her hands clasping his, he had a mental image of her body clasping another part of his anatomy which was already giving him trouble.

“I think we should sit down and talk about this,” he said quickly, deciding that putting a table between them was fast becoming mandatory. Not only would it hide his physical discomfort but it would give him enough distance to view Hannah O’Neill in a business-like light. If that was possible.

“Oh, yes!” She released his hand to clap her own. “I need to know when you want me to start and...”

“All in good time,” he instructed, waving her to the other side of the table.

She virtually skipped around to the chair he’d indicated, her exuberant spirits totally irrepressible and almost mesmerising. Tony had to wrench his gaze away from her to get himself settled on a chair and his mind properly organised to deal with this problem.

He shot a glance at his grandmother who had resumed her seat. Her complacent air niggled him. She should have taken more time over this, should have consulted with him first before handing the job to Hannah. That bemused little smile on her lips...had she been mesmerised into an impulsive decision? His steely-willed grandmother?

“Ah! Here is Rosita with afternoon tea!” she announced with warm satisfaction, obviously happy now to turn this into a
social
situation.

Tony gave up. Hannah O’Neill had somehow wormed her way into his grandmother’s good books and she was now being given the ultimate seal of approval—afternoon tea with Isabella Valeri King in the loggia. He was going to have to run with this ball, whether he liked it or not.

His grandmother proceeded to play grand hostess, aided and abetted by Rosita who fussed around, making sure everything was to their liking. She even produced the carrot cake with the cream cheese and walnut topping—a sure sign the company rated five stars. He was definitely down the mine here without a tin hat to protect him.

Having accepted the inevitable, Tony pulled over the manila folder that contained Hannah O’Neill’s particulars, and focused his mind on getting down to business. Pleasure was now out. Regardless of how strong the temptation, it was utter madness to get sexually involved with an employee. He had to keep Hannah O’Neil at arm’s length. Though even the width of the table didn’t feel far enough.

“I see we addressed our reply to your application, care of Mason’s Shop at Cape Tribulation,” he started off, needing to establish a properly serious vein to this meeting.

“Mmm...”

He looked up to find her licking cream from her lips, and his stomach instantly contracted, hit by a bolt of desire so hard his mind was out for the count.

“I was picking up my mail there,” she explained, once she had her sexy mouth composed for speech. “I spent a couple of weeks exploring the Daintree. Such an amazing rainforest. Being in the midst of it was like being plunged back in time to when...”

“Yes,” he snapped, cutting off her disturbingly lyrical voice. He picked up a pen and jabbed it at the form she’d filled out. “So where are you staying at Port Douglas?”

She took a deep breath.

Her breasts rose distractingly.

“I haven’t found a place yet. I only came down from Cape Tribulation this morning. For the interview. But I’ll find somewhere before tonight. I’ve noticed there are loads of accommodation places here.”

Tony was gaining the fast impression Hannah O’Neill operated on a wing and a prayer. She wasn’t
prepared
for taking on this job.

“Tourist
accommodation,” he pointed out. “If you intend to stay the whole season...”

“Absolutely,” she assured him. “I’ll look for something appropriate.”

“Where have you left your luggage?”

“I put it in a locker at the marina.” She leaned forward, smiling an eager appeal for understanding. “You see, it did rather depend on whether or not I got this job what I did next, so...”

Definitely a wing and a prayer, Tony thought sternly, battling not to drown in her eyes.

“You will need an apartment with a well-equipped kitchen,” his grandmother inserted authoritatively. “Antonio, until Miss O’Neill gets her bearings here, I think it best you put her in one of the guest apartments Alessandro keeps in the Coral King block.”

“A guest apartment?’’ Tony eyed his grandmother, wondering if she’d gone stark raving mad. Hannah O’Neill was not family or friend. She was an employee, and hardly a highly valued one at this juncture! She hadn’t even been on trial yet.

“I’m sure there’ll be one that’s not being currently used,” came the unshaken reply. “It will give Hannah the chance to settle into her new job and time to look around for suitable accommodation.”

So, it was
Hannah
now!

“This is very kind of you, Mrs King,” the fair-haired witch chimed in, her dangerous green eyes obviously casting spells in all directions.

“A simple resolution to immediate problems,” his grandmother declared.

“Right!” Tony agreed, knowing he was outgunned before he’d fired a bullet. Feeling constrained to fire other bullets before they could be diverted, he fixed a steady gaze on Hannah O’Neill and stated, “Please understand you start this job on a trial basis. The people who pay for a trip out to the reef on
Duchess
are promised the best of everything. Any failure to deliver it in any area of service on that boat, cannot be tolerated.”

“You mean...no second chances?” A touch of anxiety.

“That depends on how large the blunder is. The odd mistake can be glossed over. Anything that spoils a day out...”

“Would be terrible!” she exclaimed, looking appalled at the thought. Like quicksilver her expression changed, her eyes filling with eloquent earnestness. “Any little problem I might cause, I swear I’ll make up for it a hundredfold. I’ve never had any complaints lodged against me, Tony.”

He could believe it. She could probably get anyone to forgive her anything. In fact, before they knew it, they’d probably be helping her out of whatever fix she got herself in. Here was his grandmother,
giving
her prime accommodation, and every time she called him by his name, his heart did this weird curl which took his mind off what he should be concentrating on.

Was she going to be a hazard for the male members of his crew? What if the dive team lost concentration? She’d better stay in the galley where she belonged. No straying out on deck. At least his current chef on
Duchess
was gay, so she shouldn’t disturb him while he familiarised her with the job she’d be taking over.

“Chris, the chef you’ll be replacing, wants to leave at the end of the week, so it would be good if you could start tomorrow, learning everything you can from him before he takes off. He’s been a top chef for us and I’m sorry to be losing him.”