Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives - Meagan

By Shona Husk

From the hottest writers in Australia comes a scintillating new series. Enter the world of Sydney's elite, and find out what goes on behind the doors of the most exclusive addresses in the country…

Meet the Housewives of Sydney. They are wealthy, elegant, poised, and constantly in the public eye. But what goes on behind closed doors, in the private homes and parties where the cameras and paparazzi aren't welcome? Delve into the most personal details of their relationships, their friendships and their lives. The only question is: can you handle the heat?

Meagan knows food. In the kitchen, she's confident, cool, and in charge. But when it comes to presenting next season's dishes and delicacies to the owner of the exclusive restaurant where she is head chef, all of her insecurities boil to the surface.

She knows that she's playing with fire with a special dessert that blows the restaurant's budget, but maybe, with the help of some unorthodox persuasion techniques, she might just get what she wants – everything that she wants. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jan 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9780857992062

Shona Husk

Shona Husk is the author of over forty books that range from sensual to scorching, and cover the contemporary, paranormal, fantasy and sci-fi romance genres. Her most recent series are Face the Music and Coven of the Raven. She lives in Western Australia and when she isn't writing or reading, she loves to cook, cross-stitch and research places she'd one day like to travel. You can find out more at www.shonahusk.com, or find Shona on Twitter and Facebook. Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/k5n4n9

Book preview

Episode 6—Meagan

Aside from the radio playing in the background, the restaurant was silent. Edesia was always closed on Mondays. Today, however, Meagan Bissett had spent the afternoon working, preparing the dishes that she planned to put on the autumn menu. While she was happy with the presentation, the costings and profit margins, she still had to run them past the owner, Fraser Oxley-Nichols.

The heat that raced through her body when she thought of their meetings had nothing to do with working in the kitchen. She might be the name behind the award-winning restaurant, but he was the money. He had the final say…although she had to admit he usually sampled the food, checked the budget and gave his approval without requesting any changes. He trusted her when it came to the food. As long as she met his financial guidelines.

Meagan glanced at the large cognac and dark chocolate truffle that would be served with praline and vanilla bean ice-cream and had to admit that she might be pushing that expensive treat up hill. It didn’t meet the requirements, but it was only out by a smidge and it had luxury and decadence written all over its recipe.

She wiped the sauce off the edge of the entrée seafood platter she’d prepared and carried it out to the table that she’d already set for two. It was the table they always sat at, out of view from the windows at the front. Private. From her black pants she pulled out a lighter so she could light the candle that lit up the table’s centrepiece. She didn’t need to do that, but it was part of the presentation. Plus Fraser wasn’t just any man. He was sin in a three-piece suit.

Her heart gave a flutter that had nothing to with nerves about serving up her new creations. No, it was pure desire. Every time he walked in here he made her feel like she was an apprentice who didn’t know which end of the whisk to hold.

She gave herself a shake. She was a married woman…not that she was wearing her rings. She never did when she worked. Would he take that as a hint? She should be sensible and put them on before he got here, but they were nice and safe in her handbag.

Meagan went back into the kitchen and plated up the two mains. It was a waste of food when neither would get fully eaten, but she couldn’t show the owner half a meal. He needed to see what people would be paying for.

Her head snapped up at the sound of the front door opening.

Damn it. Fraser was early. Her chef’s coat was with her handbag at the front of house, which meant he’d see her in a black tank top and cargo pants—hardly the image of a professional chef at the top of her game.

Service, he called out. His voice sent a