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The Helen Bianchin and the Regency Scoundrels and Scandals Collections
Married for Convenience
Latin Lovers
Mistress Arrangements
Greek’s Pride
The Marriage Bed
Seduction Assignment
Helen Bianchin
The Dangerous Mr Ryder
The Outrageous Lady Felsham
Louise Allen
A Scoundrel by Moonlight
Days of Rakes and Roses
Anna Campbell
The Scoundrel and the Debutante
Julia London
The Shocking Lord Standon
The Disgraceful Mr Ravenhurst
Louise Allen
www.millsandboon.co.uk
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Married for Convenience
About the Author
Forgotten Husband
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
The Marriage Arrangement
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EPILOGUE
The Husband Test
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
Latin Lovers
About the Author
A Convenient Bridegroom
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In the Spaniard’s Bed
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Martinez Marriage Revenge
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mistress Arrangements
About the Author
Passion’s Mistress
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Desert Mistress
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mistress by Arrangement
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Greek’s Pride
About the Author
The Stefanos Marriage
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A Passionate Surrender
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Greek Bridegroom
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EPILOGUE
The Marriage Bed
About the Author
An Ideal Marriage?
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Marriage Campaign
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Bridal Bed
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Seduction Assignment
About the Author
The Seduction Season
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
The Marriage Deal
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Husband Assignment
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Dangerous Mr Ryder
About the Author
Author Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Outrageous Lady Felsham
About the Author
Author Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
A Scoundrel by Moonlight
Praise
About the Author
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Days of Rakes and Roses
Praise
About the Author
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
The Scoundrel and the Debutante
Back Cover Text
Praise
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
The Shocking Lord Standon
Excerpt
About the Author
Author Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Disgraceful Mr Ravenhurst
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Afterword
Author Note
Copyright
Married for Convenience
Forgotten Husband
The Marriage Arrangement
The Husband Test
Helen Bianchin
HELEN BIANCHIN was born in New Zealand and travelled to Australia before marrying her Italian-born husband. After three years they moved, returned to New Zealand with their daughter, had two sons and then resettled in Australia.
Encouraged by friends to recount anecdotes of her years as a tobacco sharefarmer’s wife living in an Italian community, Helen began setting words on paper and her first novel was published in 1975.
Currently Helen resides in Queensland, the three children now married with children of their own. An animal lover, Helen says her two beautiful Birman cats regard her study as much theirs as hers, choosing to leap onto her desk every afternoon to sit upright between the computer monitor and keyboard as a reminder they need to be fed … like right now!
Forgotten Husband
Helen Bianchin
CHAPTER ONE
SHE didn’t want to open her eyes. Not yet. For when she did, he would be there.
The man they said was her husband, seated in a chair to one side of the bed where she’d been told he had maintained an almost constant vigil for days after her admission.
For the past week he had confined his visits to three each day—early morning, mid-afternoon, and evening.
The nurses had commented on it when they thought she was asleep…and relayed it in informative, faintly envious tones when she was awake. Together with the added news, her initial admission had caused a furore. It appeared that within an hour of being transported unconscious by ambulance from the accident scene to a nearby public hospital all hell had broken loose, and she had been transferred post-haste to this exclusive and very expensive private establishment with its coterie of consultant specialists.
‘Elise.’
The voice was a deep, faintly inflected drawl, and its timbre succeeded in tripping her pulse into an accelerated beat.
Damn. Now she would have no recourse but to acknowledge his presence. Her lashes trembled fractionally, then fluttered slowly upwards.
His physical impact was such that it took considerable effort not to close her eyes again in an attempt to shut out the sight of him.
A tall man, whose impressive breadth of shoulder and impressive frame, even in relaxed repose, was intimidating. Broad, sculptured facial features were harshly chiselled, all angles and planes as if etched from stone, and his eyes were so dark that they appeared black—almost as black as his wellgroomed hair.
Beneath the cool mantle of his sophisticated façade he bore the look of a hunter, as untamed as a savage jungle beast and just as dangerous.
Alejandro Santanas. Even his name was unusual, and the relayed information she had been given was merely statistical, rather than enlightening.
He was in his late thirties and he headed a financial empire whose very name was regarded with due reverence in the business sector.
A very wealthy man, one of the nurses had revealed, whose entrepreneurial skill ranked him high among the upper echelon of the country’s rich and famous.
Elise didn’t find it surprising, for there was an inherent degree of power, a ruthlessness lurking beneath the surface, which she found vaguely frightening.
The knowledge that she was his wife had initially shocked and dismayed her, for each individual nerve-end had screamed out in denial that she could be bound to him in any way.
Dammit, she didn’t feel married, she agonised silently.
Nor did she feel pregnant. Yet there was an ultrasound picture as proof that the seven-week foetus in her womb had suffered no harm.
His child.
Never in a million years could she imagine that she’d fallen in love with him…or he with her.
Yet there were wedding-photos taken six months previously to prove their legal alliance, and not once during the many times she’d examined them had she been able to detect anything other than pleasure in her captured smile.
Depicted on celluloid, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, lending her slender frame a visual fragility. Honey-blonde hair worn in a shoulder-length bob framed a finely boned face, and her eyes were wide-spaced, her mouth a generous curve.
Yet when she looked in the mirror she saw a stranger, with pale symmetrical features and topaz-flecked green eyes.
Losing one’s memory, even temporarily, was akin to standing in front of a door to which there was no key, she thought in silent anguish. The answers lay out of reach on the other side.
Amnesia after such an accident was not uncommon, and in her case the condition was temporary. With no indication of when her memory would return, she’d been advised that while some patients regained total recall within days, others experienced intermittent flashes over a period of several weeks before everything finally fell into place.
‘Good morning, querida. You slept well?’
His voice was deep and vaguely husky, and Elise watched with detached fascination as his wide mouth curved into a warm smile.
Why ask, she felt like querying, when you’ve undoubtedly elicited that information from the attendant sister before entering my suite?
‘Yes.’ The monosyllabic response held restraint, and she silently examined her need of it. ‘Thank you,’ she added politely, all too aware of the studied darkness evident in his eyes.
Shouldn’t there be some level of recognition deep within her psyche, anything that would allow her to know him? Even if her mind failed to acknowledge him in any intimate capacity, surely an instinctive sixth sense would force some kind of awareness?
Dammit, she cursed silently. It wasn’t enough to have to believe that Alejandro Santanas had swept her off her feet in a whirlwind courtship. The fact that they had married a month later in Sydney left too many details unexplained.
A natural curiosity about her background had been partially satisfied by examining a thick album containing family snapshots, although there was a sense of disappointment when not one of them managed to rouse a spark of recognition.
In the past week she had leafed countless times through the many pages filled with glossy prints depicting her from infancy through childhood, highlighting scholastic and sporting achievements, accenting her chosen career as a paediatric nurse. There were photos of her parents, the mother she had lost at an early age, and several of her father, whose affection for his only child was achingly apparent … all the more poignant, given that he had recently died. Holiday snaps taken with friends she was unable to identify. The suburban family home Alejandro informed her she had shared with her father until her marriage. Altogether they encapsulated the past twenty-five years of her life.
‘Your hand?’ Alejandro queried lightly. ‘It is less painful this morning?’
‘A little,’ she responded stiffly, refusing to relay that her ribs and her shoulder still ached, and that her heavily bandaged right hand, in which surgeons had inserted titanium pins to align several fractured bones, felt stiff in its supportive splint. It could have been worse, the medics had assured her, considering that the other vehicle had run through a ‘Stop’ sign and ploughed head-on into the passenger side of her car.
‘Is there anything you need?’
Elise closed her eyes, then slowly opened them again. ‘You send me flowers every day.’ Unbidden, her gaze skimmed to the huge bunched masses of exotic blooms—roses, varying in hue from pale cream to the deepest red, their long stems and velvet petals attesting expensive hothouse origin, exquisite arrangements assembled with delicate artistry and dispensed, according to one of the nurses, from one of Sydney’s most exclusive floral boutiques. ‘And fruit.’ A bowl containing a varied selection stood within easy reach. ‘I have so many magazines…’ She made a visible effort to inject a little warmth into her voice.’ What more could I possibly want?’
‘To come home, perhaps?’ Alejandro queried with teasing indolence, his dark eyes intently watchful as she attempted to veil her startled expression.
Dear God, no. It was a silent scream dredged up from some hidden recess deep within her soul. The hospital, this particular suite, represented a sanctuary she was reluctant to leave. Yet she couldn’t stay indefinitely.
She swallowed, aware of the slight lump that had risen in her throat, and her fingers began pleating the sheet’s hem in abstracted agitation. ‘I am to be released?’ She looked at him carefully, attempting to read something more from his expression, yet his features were relaxed and his mouth curved to form a warm smile.
‘The neurologist and obstetrician have each assured me there is no reason why it should not be this afternoon.’
So soon. Why couldn’t it be tomorrow, or the day after? At least then she would have time to get used to the idea.
Now, the thought of re-entering the home she purportedly shared with him filled her with inexplicable dread.
It was difficult to pinpoint her reluctance. Was it because there had been no one, other than Alejandro Santanas, to visit her?
She could accept that she had no immediate family, but what of her friends?
Was he such a possessive man that he wanted her entirely to himself, to the exclusion of all others?
She searched his features and saw the assurance evident, the strength of character, and perceived that he was a force to be reckoned with, a man no adversary would choose to have as an enemy.
And as a lover? A shiver of apprehension slithered down the length of her spine. One couldn’t live with such a man as he and be unaware of his sexuality…or remain unawakened to her own. Without doubt he would have introduced her to every intimacy, every sensual pleasure, and taught her precisely how to respond in kind.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Alejandro growled in husky chastisement.
Elise closed her eyes in silent chagrin, then opened them again, her gaze wide with a mixture of puzzlement and confusion. ‘You don’t understand.’
The air seemed charged with emotional intensity, and she seemed to be having trouble regulating her breathing.
‘You think not?’
She gained nothing from his tone of voice. ‘Alejandro——’
‘It is no more difficult for you to be faced with a husband you fail to recognise than it is for me to have a woman who is my wife look at me as if I were a stranger.’
In seeming slow motion she watched as he clasped her uninjured hand and lifted it to his lips, and a gasp emerged from her throat as he gently turned it palm upwards and buried his mouth in the soft hollow.
Acute sensation arrowed with unerring accuracy to the core of her femininity, flooding it with a heavy languorous warmth, and she was held mesmerised by the depth of emotion evident in his eyes.
‘Do you have any conception what it does to me to see your eyes dilate with apprehension every time I touch you? To be aware you would prefer my lips brush your cheek, rather than possess your mouth?’
The room, its contents, faded to the periphery of her vision, and she could only look at him, unable to utter so much as a word, the moment seemingly freeze-framed in time.
The knock at the door proved an anticlimax, and she hurriedly tugged her hand free as the kitchen orderly carried in a breakfast-tray.
‘Morning,’ the woman greeted cheerfully as she placed the tray on the bed-trolley, then slid it into position before turning towards the man seated close to the bed. ‘Can I bring you some coffee, Mr. Santanas?’
Alejandro’s smile curved the edges of his mouth, deepening the vertical creases that slashed each cheek. ‘Thank you, no.’
Elise watched as he unfolded his lengthy frame from the chair. Leaning forward, he covered her mouth lightly with his own, and her lips trembled beneath the brief contact.
‘Your discharge is scheduled for two o’clock. Hasta luego, querida.’
For one crazy second she felt strangely bereft, almost wanting more than that fleeting touch, and something flickered in the depths of his eyes before it was successfully hidden, then he straightened and moved towards the door.
Elise watched his departing figure with perplexity. The warmth of his lips against her own, the restrained degree of passion that lay just beneath the surface had stirred her senses, almost as if some inner being were intent on forcing recognition.
‘There you are, Mrs Santanas,’ the kind-faced kitchen orderly declared as she undid a mini packet of cereal and added it to the bowl of fresh fruit. ‘Which spread would you prefer on your toast?’
Hospital routine ensured that there was little time in which to brood, Elise accorded wryly, for within ten minutes of the breakfast tray being removed a nursc arrived to assist her in the shower, followed by the doctor’s round, physiotherapy, morning tea, the daily visit from the hairdresser—arranged, she had been informed, by her husband.
It was a thoughtful gesture, although she couldn’t help attempting to analyse his motivation. And that proved detrimental, for it only brought her relationship with Alejandro Santanas to the fore, and incurred a renewed bout of soul-searching.
It seemed ludicrous to doubt Alejandro’s depth of caring when there was every evidence of his devotion in this room: the cards carefully placed together in the drawer of her bedside pedestal, each bearing ‘Love’, written in black ink, and signed ‘Alejandro’ in a powerful slashing hand.
More importantly—did she love him? Certainly she’d married him, but was love her motivation?
Dear heaven, she wasn’t the sort of woman who had deliberately contrived to trap a wealthy man by using feminine wiles…was she?
Elise closed her eyes in silent anguish, then slowly opened them again.
‘Time, patience,’ the neurologist had stressed solemnly. Yet such an answer was as frustrating as it was ambiguous.
Lunch was a delectable bowl of beef consomme, followed by thin slices of roast beef with accompanying vegetables, and segments of fresh fruit for dessert.
Apprehension began to knot in the region of her stomach, only to intensify a short while later as a nurse entered the suite.
‘Your husband will be here to collect you in half an hour,’ she informed Elise with a bright smile. ‘I’ll help you dress, then pack your things.’
I don’t want to go, an inner voice screamed in silent rejection. Several jumbled thoughts raced through her head. Perhaps she could dream up a mild complication—the onset of a headache, her hand—anything that would delay her departure.
Yet even as she contemplated such an action she dismissed it as futile and, pushing the bedcovers aside, she slid to her feet, watching with detached fascination as the nurse moved to extract clothes from a nearby closet.
Sage-green trousers in uncrushable silk, a cream silk blouse, wispy briefs and bra in matching cream silk and lace, low-heeled shoes. Each item looked incredibly expensive, and undoubtedly was, given the evident reverence with which they were handled.
Elise stood still as her nightgown was removed, an exquisite garment in peach satin-finished silk and lace, which made up a set with its matching négligé.
Obediently she stepped into the briefs and helped draw them up, then the trousers.
‘I’ll use the outermost clip,’ the nurse declared as she carefully slipped the bra into place before adding the blouse. ‘If it’s not comfortable, we’ll take it off. Would you like some help with your make-up?’
There was a case holding everything imaginable, but all she’d chosen to use over the past week was moisturiser and a pale lipstick. Perfume? Her fingers hovered near the curved glass bottle of Dior, then retreated. She hadn’t bothered to use it in hospital, so why begin now?
Elise watched with idle fascination as the nurse extracted a valise and began filling it with all her belongings.
‘Please,’ Elise intervened as the girl caught up a variety of glossy magazines. ‘Keep them.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. And the flowers,’ she added. ‘Divide them among the day and night staff. And the fruit, the chocolates.’
The nurse’s features mirrored her gratitude. ‘Thanks. They’ll be appreciated.’
Elise’s mouth curved into a soft smile. ‘You’ve all looked after me with great care.’
They had, despite it being their job to do so. Yet there had been a marked degree of dedication to this particular patient.
Because of the man whose very presence demanded nothing less? Or was it the faint air of mystery, the haunting vulnerability of the attractive girl who had occupied this suite?
‘Sister will be here in a moment to formally sign you out of the hospital system.’
Elise murmured something suitable in response, and gazed sightlessly after the nurse’s departing form.
Why did she feel so uncertain and so damnably insecure? A natural reaction, an inner voice assured her, in tones remarkably like those of the consultant neurologist.
The door swung open and she turned towards the ward sister, accepted the relevant appointment cards, and listened to the professional advice which concluded with, ‘Don’t attempt anything too strenuous too soon.’
‘I will personally see that she doesn’t,’ a faintly accented masculine voice assured her from the doorway, and Elise turned slowly to face her husband.
The business suit he had worn that morning was absent, replaced by dark trousers and a polo shirt unbuttoned at the neck. The casual knit fabric emphasised his breadth of shoulder, the long sinewed sweep to his taut waist, and revealed powerfully muscled forearms liberally sprinkled with dark hair.
His smile was warm, and Elise idly watched the nurse’s reaction with detached fascination, aware of the faint appreciative gleam evident beneath the professional façade.
Did all women respond to Alejandro Santanas in this way? Elise wondered silently. Such thoughts were hardly conducive to her peace of mind, and she stood very still as he moved towards her and brushed his lips against her temple.
‘I have the car waiting outside.’
Her indecision must have been apparent, for his gaze narrowed slightly as it took in her pale features and the degree of uncertainty evident in her deep green eyes.
‘You have no need to feel apprehensive,’ he assured quietly.
Are you kidding? she wanted to scream. I’m being taken to a home I can’t remember with a man I feel I hardly know.
With a sense of desperation she sought to elicit some sort of recollection—anything that would provide her with a measure of reassurance.
Yet there was nothing, and she cursed herself afresh for attempting to force a situation over which she had no control.
‘If you’d care to follow me,’ the ward sister suggested, ‘I’ll accompany you to the main entrance.’
His frame seemed to overpower hers as they traversed the carpeted corridor, and her stomach executed a series of painful somersaults as she caught sight of a large, expensive-looking vehicle parked immediately adjacent to the main doors.
Indisputably his, it looked as powerful as the man who owned it, and she slid carefully into the passenger seat, unconsciously holding her breath as he leaned forward to attend to her seatbelt.
His hand brushed against her breast, and her pulse leapt, then set up an agitated beat as he carefully fastened the clip in place, leaving her feeling helplessly trapped.
Oh, God. She had to control her over-active imagination, she counselled silently as he closed the door and crossed round to slide in behind the wheel.
The car eased forward and she experienced the insane desire to tell him to stop and let her out, which was crazy, for where could she go?
Minutes later the large vehicle emerged into the steady stream of traffic, and with a sense of resignation she focused her attention on the scene beyond the windscreen.
Houses constructed of bricks and mortar; neat garden borders bearing a variety of brightly coloured flowers; carefully tended lawns; trees lining the streets, their wide spreading branches providing shade from the sun’s shimmering rays; numerous electronically controlled intersections; shops.
It all appeared so normal, so everyday. Yet none of it looked familiar.
Some of her tension must have made itself felt, for Alejandro turned slightly and cast her a discerning glance.
‘You are uncomfortable?’
Her eyes widened slightly as she met his dark gaze, and she uttered a polite negation before he returned his attention to the road.
The car’s air-conditioning reduced the force of the midsummer heat, and Elise breathed a silent sigh of relief as he activated the stereo system, glad of the music’s soothing qualities, for it precluded the necessity to converse.
With seeming fascination she observed the quality and style of the houses lining the wide arterial road begin to change, from small, dark, weathered brick structures sited on small blocks of land to those of larger and more stately design.
Old mingled with new, their elegant façades revealing a visual attestation of wealth.
The celluloid print Alejandro had shown her of their home in suburban Point Piper revealed a large double-storeyed mansion overlooking the harbour. How long before they reached it?
‘A few more minutes,’ Alejandro told her quietly, almost as if he knew the passage of her thoughts.
CHAPTER TWO
THE large vehicle slowed to a halt before a set of ornate steel gates which opened at the touch of an electronic modem, then closed just as quietly behind them as Alejandro eased the car along a wide sweeping driveway.
The double-storeyed house was an architectural masterpiece in cream cement-rendered brick and floor-to-ceiling tinted glass, its tiled roof a dazzling silver-white, and set well back from the road in beautiful sculptured grounds, whose neat garden borders and profusion of flowers and shrubs were visual proof of a gardener’s loving care.
The car drew to a halt at the main entrance where an impressive set of heavy panelled doors was offset by a pair of large ornamental urns, and once inside Elise was unable to prevent a faint gasp in awe of the spacious foyer.
The central focus was a tiered marble fountain, complete with gently cascading water, above which an ornate crystal chandelier hung suspended from the high glass-domed ceiling which lent spaciousness and light. A wide double staircase curved up to an oval balcony from which opposing hallways led to two separate wings.
Exotically designed panels of stained glass in the huge atrium shot brilliant prisms of multi-coloured light on to the pale walls, magnifying their pattern in an ever-changing sweep controlled by the direction of the sun’s rays.
‘It’s beautiful.’ The words slid unbidden from her lips, and she moved forward to pause at the marble fountain. ‘Were you responsible for the design?’
His eyes were dark, almost still, then he smiled. ‘To some degree—yes. I consulted with numerous experts in order to achieve this result.’
She put out a hand and trailed her fingers through the water, soothed by its soft flow against her skin, then she turned slightly towards him.
‘You must entertain a great deal.’
His slow smile held warmth. ‘There are occasions when it is more relaxing to invite business associates to one’s home,’ he responded indolently.
‘With their wives?’ Where did that come from? A natural assumption, she assured herself silently. Successful men had wives or mistresses. Some presumably had both.
Did Alejandro possess a mistress?
He took the few steps necessary to her side and placed a hand beneath her elbow. ‘Let us go into the lounge. Ana will have made tea, and prepared a few delicacies to tempt your appetite.’
At the silent question mirrored in her expression, he added quietly, ‘Ana takes care of the house and does the cooking. Her husband José looks after the grounds, the cars, and acts as general handyman.’
His nearness bothered her more than she was willing to admit, and she walked at his side as he ushered her into a beautifully furnished room which commanded a splendid panoramic view of the inner harbour.
Expensive works of art were spaced at intervals on the silk-covered walls, and provided an elegant backdrop for the magnificent Chinese rugs that covered the marble floor. Predominantly pale blue, employing a delicate mix of cream and the palest pink in their patterned design, the large rugs were a perfect foil for the cream-upholstered sofas and chairs, the rosewood cabinets and profusion of glass-topped occasional tables.
No sooner had Elise selected a single chair and settled comfortably into its cushioned depths than a pleasantly plump woman of middle years entered the room, wheeling a trolley on which reposed two steaming pots, milk, sugar, cream, and various plates containing a selection of small cakes, pastries, and delicate sandwiches.
‘It is so good to have you home again,’ Ana greeted as she poured tea, added milk and sugar, then placed the cup and saucer within easy reach on a glass-topped table beside Elise’s chair.
‘Thank you.’ It seemed strange to be faced with a woman she must have dealt with on a daily basis in the six months of her marriage.
‘I will make dinner for seven o’clock. Is there anything special you would like?’ The smile broadened with pleasure. ‘You have often complimented Ana on her chicken soup.’
Elise injected warmth into her voice. ‘Chicken soup will be fine.’
‘And afterwards? An omelette, with mushrooms, some cheese, a little tomato, ham?’
‘That sounds delicious,’ she qualified, watching idly as Ana poured coffee into a demitasse and handed it to Alejandro before leaving the room.
The tea tasted like liquid ambrosia, and Elise took a small sandwich, savouring the delicate smoked salmon and cream-cheese filling, accepted another, then declined anything further.
‘More tea?’
‘Please,’ she acceded gratefully, watching his lengthy frame unfold from the chair. His movements were measured and concise, his hands sure and steady as he refilled her cup and replaced it within easy reach.
‘Have you lived here for very long?’ The need to converse seemed paramount, and her fingers shook slightly as she lifted a hand and smoothed back an imaginary lock of hair behind one ear.
His eyes flared slightly at the nervous gesture, and she made a conscious effort to dampen the edge of panic threatening to assume unmanageable proportions.
‘A few years. I had the original house removed, then began from scratch.’
She felt as if she were on a conversational rollercoaster that she couldn’t stop. ‘During the past week I’ve looked at photograph albums which mean very little, and you’ve provided essential information. Tell me more about how we met, and why.’
His smile assumed musing indulgence. ‘The need to fill in some of the gaps?’
‘There are so many.’
‘And you are becoming impatient.’
‘Frustrated,’ Elise corrected. ‘I seem to have a hundred questions.’
‘All of which you want me to answer at once?’
Her eyes took on a haunted quality. ‘I need to know.’
‘You walked into my office demanding a minimum five minutes of my time.’
‘Why?’
‘Your father had borrowed extensively from my merchant bank, and you refused to accept my decision not to extend the loan or the term.’
She digested the information slowly. ‘You own a merchant bank?’
‘I have many investments,’ he revealed solemnly.
‘Was I successful in overturning your decision?’
He seemed to take his time in answering. ‘You could say we eventually reached an understanding.’
‘You asked me out.’ This much she knew, because he had told her.
‘You opposed me as no other woman had, questioning my business acumen and condemning me for my lack of compassion.’ Warmth gleamed in the depths of his dark eyes. ‘Your fierce loyalty impressed me, and I was sufficiently intrigued to insist we share dinner. Within twenty-four hours I had persuaded you to marry me.’
‘And arranged for the wedding to take place a month later.’ Dear God. Such omnipotence was devastating. She found it vaguely shocking that she had given her consent. ‘Am I supposed to believe you’re an honourable man, or go with reality?’
One eyebrow slanted in mocking cynicism. ‘Which reality would you prefer, querida?’
‘You have the advantage,’ she managed, with a degree of sadness. ‘While I possess none.’
‘Finish your tea,’ he commanded quietly. ‘Then I will take you upstairs to rest.’
She wanted to say that she wasn’t in the least tired, but the thought of being free from his disturbing presence for an hour or two was attractive, and she replaced her cup on its saucer.
‘I have a house overlooking the ocean at Palm Beach. It’s an ideal location for you to relax and recuperate.’
‘You mean for both of us to stay there?’ Not alone, surely? she agonised, aware that he had caught the fleeting emotions apparent on her expressive features.
He lifted a hand and brushed warm fingers across her cheek. ‘Of course. Your welfare is very important to me.’
For some inexplicable reason she felt the faint stirring of apprehension feather insidiously down her spine.
Why? she queried silently as they moved towards the magnificent staircase. Yet with every step she took, her sense of anxiety increased.
The entire floor was covered in thick-piled powder-blue carpet, providing a cool tranquillity that was pleasing.
Elise caught glimpses of rooms employing muted shades of pale green and peach, delicate pinks and greens, the softest shades of blue and cream, all so beautifully co-ordinated that she began to suspect he had enlisted the services of an interior decorator.
The master suite held a king-sized bed and two finely crafted rosewood chests of drawers, with matching cabinets and bedside pedestals. The drapes and bedcover were of a bold design in cream, pale lilac and blue.
She watched as he crossed to the bed to turn back the cover, then with deft movements he retrieved several pillows from a cabinet and assembled them into a comfortable nest against the bedhead.
‘There’s an intercom device on the pedestal,’ Alejandro informed her as she slid off her shoes, then sank back against the pillows.
The breath caught in her throat as he lowered his head and brushed his lips against her own in a provocative caress before straightening and moving back a pace.
‘I’ll be in the study for an hour or two. If you need anything, just activate the intercom. Rest well, querida,’ he bade gently, then he turned and left the room.
There was a collection of magazines conveniently placed within easy reach, and Elise idly browsed through two before discarding them, her eyes heavy with a weariness she could no longer fight.
Her sleep was dreamless, and when she woke it was to see Alejandro standing a short distance from the bed, his eyes dark and faintly brooding as they examined her pale features.
‘I’ll have Ana bring you a tray.’ He reached out a hand and tucked a stray tendril of hair back behind her ear. ‘Come,’ he commanded, sweeping the sheet aside. ‘I’ll help you undress.’
No, a silent voice screamed from deep within. ‘I should be able to manage,’ she voiced in strangled tones.
‘I doubt it,’ Alejandro returned, his eyes darkening measurably at her evident reluctance. ‘Think of me as a nurse,’ he drawled, taking in her cleareyed resolve with a narrowed gaze as she got to her feet.
No nurse of the male species could possibly look as he did, nor create such havoc with her senses.
Calm deliberation was evident in his actions as his fingers undid first one button, then another.
‘The thought of a man you can’t remember removing your clothes,’ Alejandro pursued in a silky voice, ‘a man who as your husband has lain with you every night in this bed, tasted every inch of you, and placed the seed of his child in your womb…frightens you?’
‘Unnerves me,’ Elise corrected shakily, almost hesitant to voice the words that had tortured her since she had been made aware of her pregnancy. ‘Had we planned to have this child?’
His eyes took on a gleaming warmth as he leant down and brushed his lips to the edge of her mouth. ‘The choice and timing of conception was your decision.’ His fingers freed the third button, then moved to the fourth. ‘Rest assured, I could not be more delighted.’
The last button slid undone, and she stood helplessly still as he slipped the silk blouse free from her left arm, removed the sling supporting her injured right hand, then carefully drew the blouse free.
When he reached for the clip fastening on her bra she was unable to prevent an intake of breath or govern the erratic beat of her heart, and she would have given anything not to be dependent on his help.
‘Close your eyes, if you must,’ he advised with amused indulgence. ‘Unfortunately I cannot do the same, for fear I might cause you unnecessary pain.’
He was amused, damn him! Resentment flared, lending her eyes a brilliant sparkle as she sprang into barely restrained speech.
‘You think I enjoy being dependent on you?’ Stupid tears welled up and threatened to spill.
‘Your reticence is somewhat misplaced,’ he chastised as he freed the clip, then eased the straps off each shoulder, and his eyes narrowed as she lifted an arm to cover her breasts.
A protesting gasp escaped from her lips as he caught hold of her left wrist and carefully pulled it away.
She closed her eyes, aware of her bruised shoulder. The colour had changed from dark red to purple. Now it was a deep bluish-green.
‘Por Dios.’ The soft curse slipped into the stillness of the room, and his eyes darkened in silent anger as he saw that the bruising extended the length of her ribs on the right side.
The silence stretched between them, and began to play havoc with her nerves.
‘It could have been worse,’ she offered, and saw his expression harden into a frightening mask.
‘Yes,’ Alejandro agreed with brutal cynicism. ‘That young fool behind the wheel could have been responsible for your death.’
His eyes travelled to the soft swell of her breasts, and she remained helplessly still as he trailed gentle fingers over their rounded contours, shaping first one, then the other, before brushing a thumb-pad across one tender peak.
Elise gasped out loud as pure sensation shot through her body, arrowing down to focus at the junction between her thighs, unleashing a multitude of feelings she wasn’t sure how to handle.
A distressed whimper escaped her lips. ‘Please,’ she begged, her eyes clouding with anguish as he traced a path to the soft hollows at the base of her throat, then lingered over the rapidly beating pulse for a few heart-stopping seconds before trailing up to rest at the edge of her mouth.
‘You look so incredibly fragile, it robs me of breath,’ he ventured slowly, his dark eyes so deeply piercing it seemed as if he possessed licence to see into the depths of her soul.
Elise swallowed convulsively, and let her lashes flutter down to form a protective veil, only to have them fly open as the tip of his finger slowly outlined the generous lower curve of her mouth, teasing the soft fullness until it parted involuntarily, allowing him to continue the sensual probe.
A slight tremor shook her slim frame, and she was powerless to move as he slowly lowered his head to close his mouth over hers in a provocative, sensual tasting that was so incredibly gentle it almost made her weep.
Some deep intrinsic need prevented her from moving away, and she bore the light sweep of his tongue as it explored the sweet recesses of her mouth, creating an acute sense of loss as he slowly withdrew. For several long, timeless seconds her eyes were held mesmerised by his, then his lips curved into a slow, warm smile as he reached for her nightgown and eased the straps over her injured hand, then her head, before pooling the silk at her waist while he removed her trousers and briefs.
‘Do you need help in the bathroom?’
‘No,’ she refused, infinitely relieved that this was an area there was no need for him to invade.
‘I’ll be back with a tray in ten minutes.’
Oh, dear God, she breathed silently as the door closed behind him. What was happening to her? How could she react so damnably with someone her conscious mind failed to recognise?
She had made no effort to move away from the touch of his mouth, merely stood mesmerised as he had initiated a sensual foray that had played havoc with her vulnerable emotions.
‘There are two dinner-plates,’ Elise declared with a slight frown as Alejandro re-entered the room and set the covered bed-tray into position across her lap.
One eyebrow lifted in quizzical query as he subjected her to a long, considering look from beneath dark-fringed lashes. ‘You imagined I would leave you to eat alone?’
She had hoped he might. He emitted a sensual vibrancy that was intense—dangerous. To envisage him as a lover was sufficient to set alarm bells jangling inside her brain, awakening feelings deep within that raised questions she had no desire to answer.
‘Eat, Elise,’ Alejandro commanded. ‘Before the food becomes cold.’
Obediently she picked up the spoon and started with the soup, then when it was finished she used a fork to dissect the omelette.
It was impossible not to be aware of him as he sat a few feet distant in a comfortable chair. His movements were economical, and her eyes were drawn to the strength of his jaw, his mouth.
Remembering how that mouth had felt against her own brought a flood of soft colour to her cheeks, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it would like to be kissed by him…really kissed, not the controlled brushing of his lips against hers that had been little more than an affectionate salutation.
He looked the sort of man who would consume a woman—with a deep, drugging passion that gave no quarter, demanding an abandonment so complete that there could be no room for reticence.
She did not know the measure of her own personality, or the strength of her emotions. Yet even in her wildest imagination she couldn’t imagine acting like a wanton in his arms.
He had said he had tasted every inch of her. He couldn’t mean…
‘You have finished?’
His query startled her, and she met his unfathomable gaze with widened eyes. ‘Yes. Thank you. I’ll be fine now,’ she added quickly in dismissal, and saw his eyes narrow slightly as he removed the tray.
He regarded her steadily, his expression revealing, and there was latent steel beneath the velvet tone of his voice. ‘The bed is sufficiently large to accommodate both of us.’
The thought of sharing the bed with him made her stomach knot with unenviable nerves. ‘I’d prefer a room of my own.’
‘No.’
It was a categorical refusal. One that made her uncommonly resentful. ‘I think——’
‘Don’t think,’ Alejandro advised with dangerous softness, and her eyes acquired an angry sparkle.
‘How can I not?’ she declared, with a degree of asperity. ‘I have no knowledge of you in any sexual sense. I know I’m not ready to resume intimacy. Dammit,’ she flung heatedly, ‘I can’t even remember if we’re——’
‘Sexually compatible?’ he drawled in silky query. ‘I assure you we are, mi mujer. Passionately, primitively so.’
The retort she wanted to fling at him died in her throat as he began unbuttoning his shirt. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t prevent her gaze from focusing on him, watching beneath lowered lashes as deft fingers competently dealt with remaining shirt-buttons before moving to free the belt at his waist. Seconds later the shirt was tossed over a nearby chair, closely followed by his trousers.
It was impossible not to be aware of his impressively muscled frame: broad shoulders, chest tapering down to a trim waist, slim hips and long, powerful thighs.
Something deep inside her stirred, then slowly unfurled at the sight of his chest, liberally covered with whorls of dark hair which arrowed down over a taut waist to disappear beneath black silk briefs.
‘Are you going to join me in the shower?’
He had to be joking!
Elise’s eyes widened measurably, then grew dark as her gaze shifted to a point somewhere beyond his right shoulder, and she was powerless to stop the faint flood of colour covering her cheeks as her imagination ran riot.
‘I can cope on my own,’ she managed in strangled tones, hating him as he calmly scooped her to her feet.
She wanted to hit him, or at the very least hurl abuse at his merciless head. Sparks of topaz accentuated the green of her eyes, and her chin tilted in open defiance. ‘I hate having you play nursemaid,’ she said with a degree of anguish as he carefully undressed her.
‘I refuse to stand by and have you inflict further damage on your shoulder out of a foolish need for modesty.’
The tone of his voice should have warned her, but she was too angry to take any notice. ‘And I dislike the thought of a husband who practises voyeurism.’
He stiffened, his large frame an awesome sight as he held himself severely in check. Anger emanated from every pore, and his eyes were so dark that they resembled polished onyx. ‘Perhaps you should give thanks to the good Dios,’ he intoned in a hard voice. ‘If it were not for your injuries, I would teach you a lesson you would not easily forget.’
As he had in the past? Dear God, was he an abusive man? she agonised in shocked silence. Her features paled at the thought, and she heard him utter a string of viciously soft incomprehensible words.
‘Go and have your shower, Elise,’ he commanded with dangerous silkiness.
She needed no second bidding, and her mouth set in mutinous lines as he followed her into the bathroom and switched on the water, tested its temperature, then stood aside as she stepped into the large stall.
Despite the rising cloud of steam she was aware of his presence a few feet distant on the other side of the glass screen, and she gritted her teeth against rising anger, feeling no remorse for taking longer than necessary before closing the taps.
He was waiting as she slid open the glass door, and her eyes waged a silent battle with his as he stepped forward and removed the waterproof covering from her bandaged hand, then collected a towel and began blotting the dampness from her body.
‘I’m quite capable of completing the task,’ Elise said tightly, and almost swayed beneath his long, intent gaze.
Did he have any idea of how vulnerable she felt? How damnable it was to have to stand naked before him and suffer his ministrations?
‘Of course,’ he drawled with hateful amusement as he discarded his briefs and stepped into the shower.
There was an enviable selection of toiletries to choose from atop the long marble vanity unit, and after making use of a few Elise collected a large towel and was about to secure it sarong-wise around her body when the water stopped.
Seconds later the door slid open and Alejandro emerged from the stall.
Elise hastily averted her eyes from the electrifying image of his superbly muscled frame, with its generous mat of curling chest-hair arrowing down in a fine line past his navel to join the hair couching his manhood.
There was something incredibly erotic about glistening water droplets caught in male body-hair, the fluid grace of strongly honed muscle-fibre moving beneath satiny, lightly bronzed skin.
The degree of restrained power in repose was an intensely disturbing entity, and her fingers shook as she caught up a brush and stroked it vigorously through the length of her hair, increasingly aware of his every action as he towelled himself dry.
As he reached for a black silk robe she stepped quickly into the bedroom, almost succeeding in donning her nightgown before firm fingers eased the straps over her injured hand, and she stood helplessly still as the silk hem whispered down past her hips.
Impotent resentment darkened her eyes, and Alejandro cast her a long, thoughtful look which she found increasingly difficult to hold as the seconds ticked slowly by.
He lifted a hand and slid firm fingers beneath the hair at her nape, then in seeming slow motion his mouth claimed hers with an element of possession she instinctively knew would harden should she attempt to pull free of him, and she swallowed convulsively as pleasure overtook warmth, touching each nerve-end as it coursed through her body.
She felt strangely afraid—not of him, but of herself, and the wild sweetness that swirled within, encouraging a response she was hesitant to give.
His tongue sought out every secret recess, every ridge, before lightly stroking her own tongue in an erotic dance that reached deep into her feminine core, unleashing emotions almost beyond her control.
She was slowly melting, awash in a sea of delicious sensation, totally unaware of voicing a faint murmur of regret as he slowly lifted his mouth from her own.
‘Into bed, querida,’ Alejandro bade firmly.
Within minutes of her head touching the pillow her eyes became heavy, and it was easier to give in to somnolence than fight it.
Alejandro stood for a long time in contemplative silence, his gaze dark and brooding as he surveyed her finely boned features, the sweep of blonde hair, the delicate texture of her skin, the long, thick eyelashes and the sweet curve of her generous mouth, softly swollen from his kiss.
A muscle tightened at the edge of his jaw, then he reached forward and switched off the lamp on the nearby pedestal before crossing to the other side of the bed to ease his long body carefully between the sheets.
Seconds later he snapped off his own lamp, and focused his attention on the shadowed ceiling.
CHAPTER THREE
THE heat of the summer sun was reduced to a comfortable level by the car’s air-conditioning, and Elise leaned back against the leather-cushioned seat as Alejandro slotted a disc into the stereo system.
‘This is a beautiful car,’ she commented with genuine appreciation as it swept noiselessly along the arterial road heading north.
‘A Bentley,’ he enlightened her, shooting her an amused glance.
‘It looks expensive.’ The words slipped out unbidden, and his eyes narrowed slightly.
‘A luxury that affords me pleasure,’ he responded in a soft drawl that sent a shivery sensation feathering down the length of her spine.
As I do? Is that all I am to you…a possession?
Permitting her thoughts to travel such a path was both fruitless and detrimental; it served no purpose.
‘You have been remarkably docile all morning,’ he relayed musingly. ‘I could almost believe you are treading eggshells.’
‘I woke early, and couldn’t get back to sleep,’ she proffered, for it was no less than the truth.
He slanted her a frowning glance. ‘You should have woken me.’
‘Why?’ She attempted a smile, and almost made it. ‘So we could both have lain awake?’ How could she tell him that she had experienced a gamut of emotions as she had watched him sleep? His strongly etched features had been barely visible in the darkness and then, as the dawn sky began to lighten the room, she had been held spellbound by the stark beauty of his countenance in repose. The harshness was gone, his jaw and mouth relaxed, and his lashes curled slightly, their length and shape dark and lustrous. Fascinated, she had wanted to reach out and place a finger against the edge of his mouth, to trace a slow pattern over the firm curve and watch him stir into wakefulness, to open his eyes and witness their warmth as he caught sight of her. Instead, she had feigned sleep the instant he looked like rousing, and only stilled the pretence when she had felt him rise from the bed.
Afterwards she had managed to dress herself, and on descending the stairs a startled Ana had immediately led her out on to the terrace to join Alejandro for breakfast.
‘The car I was driving…was it badly damaged?’
Alejandro slowed the Bentley to a halt at a set of traffic-lights, then turned to slant her a probing glance.
‘You are more important to me than any vehicle.’
Was she? ‘You didn’t answer the question.’
‘It will be several weeks before you gain medical clearance to get behind the wheel of a car. And, when you do, it won’t be a fashionable sports model. Meantime, José can drive you wherever you need to go.’
She looked at him in stunned silence for several seconds before venturing in protest, ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Unequivocally.’
Elise added another quality to his character. Inflexibility. ‘Are you usually this…overbearing?’
‘Protective,’ he corrected. ‘You could have lost the child. Worse, I could have lost you.’
The lights changed, and his attention returned to the road ahead. As the Bentley gathered speed Elise evinced an interest in the passing scenery.
There were many coves and inlets, picturesque beaches, crisp sand, softly waving tree-branches stirring beneath a gentle breeze, and an expanse of glorious blue sea that stretched out to the horizon to merge with the sky.
‘How long before we reach Palm Beach?’
‘About forty minutes, depending on traffic.’
It was just after midday when Alejandro swung the car into a driveway leading to an imposing double-storeyed house overlooking the ocean.
It was the antithesis of what she had imagined a beach-house to be, and once inside there was a sense of unreality as he led her through several rooms on the lower floor. Beautifully furnished, it was almost as magnificent as the Point Piper mansion. There was even a swimming-pool adjacent to the terracealmost a decadent addition, given the accessibility of the ocean a few short steps distant.
The upper floor held four bedrooms with en suite facilities, and as she followed Alejandro into the largest suite Elise couldn’t help but wonder how frequently he made use of the house.
‘Do you come here often?’ she queried, watching as he deposited their bags.
‘Whenever I can manage a few days away.’
Crossing to the large picture window, she moved the curtain fractionally to admire the view. Sundappled water, a few cruisers anchored offshore, young children, supervised by their mothers, playing happily in the sand. ‘It looks so peaceful.’
She sensed rather than heard him move to stand behind her, and sensation stirred deep within, lending an awareness that made her feel acutely vulnerable. His body warmth seemed to enfold her, and all the fine hairs on her skin rose up in instinctive self-defence.
‘The precise reason why I bought the place,’ he told her.
‘An escape from the wheeling and dealing of high-powered executive city living?’
Was that why she felt such an empathy with the house? Because it represented a refuge? From what…whom? The man who owned it?
She gave a sudden start as his hands rested lightly at her waist, and there was no way she could disguise the frisson that shook her slim frame as his lips settled against the curve of her neck.
‘Alejandro…’ Her voice faltered, then regained a measure of strength. ‘I’d like to go downstairs,’ she said, on a note of desperation. He was too close, much too close. It bothered her, and she couldn’t reason why. ‘Lunch,’ she elaborated, and felt immeasurably relieved when he disengaged his clasp and moved fractionally away.
‘Then we shall eat. The fridge and pantry are well-stocked.’
Elise turned slowly to face him. ‘You’re going to play cook?’
He lifted a hand and trailed gentle fingers across her cheek, letting them slide down the edge of her jaw to tilt her chin.
She gazed at him in mesmerised silence, taking in the hard planes and angles of his broad facial structure, the vertical crease that slashed each cheek, the powerful sweep of his jaw, the wide mouth.
‘You find the prospect of being alone with me so daunting?’
He was teasing her, and suddenly it seemed so unfair that he had the advantage while she had none.
Indecision and a fleeting sense of mild panic coursed through her veins, visible in the dilation of her eyes as she gazed at him.
His eyes darkened and became almost black. ‘Little fool,’ he growled gently. ‘You look at me as if you are struggling with fear. What manner of man do you imagine I am?’
‘I don’t know,’ she was forced to own, aware that it was nothing less than the truth. Of all the details she had been made aware of, few had given a hint of his character.
‘Come,’ Alejandro directed, releasing her chin. ‘We’ll go down to the kitchen and find something to eat.’ He bent down and brushed his lips against her own with the lightness of a butterfly’s wing. ‘In a few days you will become accustomed to having me around.’
Somehow she doubted it. Yet she accepted that she had no choice but to try.
In the kitchen he retrieved cooked chicken from the refrigerator, divided it into portions, and placed several on a platter to heat in the microwave. Then he prepared a wholesome salad with a deftness Elise found surprising. Within a matter of minutes there was food on the table.
‘Please,’ she protested as Alejandro began filling her plate. ‘That’s too much.’
‘Eat what you can,’ he bade easily, employing his cutlery to divide her food into bite-sized segments which she could manage with a fork.
There was a studied intimacy in his actions, a familiarity she tried desperately to recognise, yet she could recall nothing that gave a hint of the many meals they must have shared together.
‘Why the slight frown?’
‘Did we socialise much?’ she ventured, quickly qualifying the question. ‘Both your homes are large.’
‘It is all too easy to gather a coterie of acquaintances who are active on the social circuit,’ he answered. ‘Unless you become selective, it is possible to spend three nights out of every seven at one dinner party or another.’ His eyes assumed a teasing warmth. ‘Since our marriage, I have chosen to entertain only when necessary, and much prefer dining à deux with my beautiful wife.’
Yet a man of his calibre would be in demand, his friends many and varied. Her position as his social hostess seemed a foregone conclusion.
‘Why not eat?’ he suggested quietly. ‘The chicken will become cold.’
It looked appetising and, aware of her own hunger, she picked up her fork and speared some chicken, then salad, repeating the action until she felt replete.
‘Some fruit?’
She selected an apple, its white flesh crisp and tangy, and when she’d consumed it she sat back in her chair.
‘Iced water?’ Alejandro queried, and she shook her head in silent negation. ‘Why not go upstairs and rest?’ he prompted gently. ‘I’ll take care of the dishes, then join you.’
‘Your solicitude is overwhelming,’ Elise said quickly, alarmed at his intention. ‘But hardly necessary, when you must have calls to make, people you should contact.’
His gaze was remarkably steady, and a faint smile lifted the edge of his mouth. ‘And you prefer to be alone,’ he drawled.
‘Yes,’ Elise answered honestly, and glimpsed a degree of humour lurking in the depths of his eyes. Because you scare the hell out of me, she added silently. Every defence mechanism I possess screams out a warning of one kind or another, yet I’m unable to fathom why.
It was a relief to reach the sanctuary of the bedroom, and she selected a magazine, then sank back against the pillows.
She dozed, and when she woke there was a note, scripted in black ink, signed by her inimitable husband, informing her that he was in the study.
It took only minutes to freshen up and go downstairs, and Alejandro glanced up from a sheaf of papers he was examining as she entered the study, a slow, teasing smile curving the edges of his mouth.
‘You look rested,’ he commented musingly, and her heart tripped its beat, accelerated for a few seconds, then settled into a steady pattern.
His smile was lazy, extending to the depths of his eyes, and he rose to his feet with a lithe indolence, crossing round the desk in a few easy strides.
His head lowered to capture her lips with openmouthed gentleness, and she felt like crying Don’t out loud as she stood helpless against the trembling sensation slowly consuming her body. The desire to sway towards him shocked her, and she experienced a mixture of emotions as his lips left hers.
Relief, dismay—regret? She didn’t want to analyse her emotions, and she gave a shaky smile as he caught hold of her hand.
Alejandro exchanged long trousers and shoes for shorts and Reeboks, insistent that Elise discard sandals for Reeboks too—an action which set the butterflies inside her stomach fluttering into a nervous dance as he hunkered down to effect the change.
It was a glorious afternoon, the sun’s summer warmth caressing her skin as they wandered slowly along the hard-packed sand, which was still slightly damp from an outgoing tide. A gentle breeze teased the length of her hair, causing a few tendrils to drift across her cheek.
There was a sense of freedom apparent, a lightness resulting from confinement in hospital for the past ten days, and she allowed herself several shallow breaths in order to drink in the salty smell of the ocean, the cleanliness of unpolluted air.
A few children were at play in the distance, their chatter and laughter barely audible as they darted back and forth, heads bent in their quest for seashells.
It was good to be alive, Elise decided with a slight smile, only to have the smile slowly fade with the realisation that, had Fate been unkind, her loss would have included the right to life of her unborn child.
An arm curved lightly round her waist, and she turned towards him, her eyes wide as she searched his strong, firmly etched features.
Some degree of her inner anguish must have been apparent, for his hold tightened fractionally, and his lips brushed the top of her head.
She was supremely conscious of his close proximity, aware of his warmth, and the security his powerful frame afforded.
They continued walking until Alejandro drew to a halt. ‘This is far enough, I think.’
Elise viewed the short distance they had travelled and wrinkled her nose at him. ‘I feel fine,’ she protested, not wanting to return to the house just yet. ‘Look,’ she exclaimed, as a large golden retriever loped along the water’s edge. ‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ The dog’s movements were poetry in motion, measured lolloping strides that sent his long golden hair flowing back from his young body.
‘Beautiful,’ Alejandro agreed, and when she turned towards him she saw his focus was centred on her, not the dog.
The breath caught in her throat, and for several long seconds her eyes felt impossibly large, then she smiled, a tinge of humour lifting the edges of her generous mouth. ‘I don’t suppose I could persuade you to walk a bit further?’
‘No,’ he refused lazily, and his eyes held amusement as he looked down into her upturned features.
‘So, this is it for today?’
‘Don’t sound so disappointed.’ He lifted a hand and tucked a flyaway lock of hair behind her ear. ‘There’s always tomorrow.’
Without a word she turned slowly and walked back to the house at his side. Once indoors, he led the way through the kitchen. It was warm, and she felt in need of a long, refreshing drink. She watched as he extracted two glasses, filled each with fruit juice, and held one out to her.
‘You have enjoyed your taste of fresh air and sunshine?’
‘I don’t think anyone fully appreciates the choice of freedom to move anywhere at will until that choice is removed.’ She lifted the glass and took a long swallow of the icy liquid, watching as he followed her actions.
There were several chairs and two sun-loungers positioned on the wide, partly covered terrace, and Elise moved outdoors and sank gratefully into one of the loungers. The sun was beginning to lose some of its warmth, although the house provided sufficient protection from the breeze to make sitting outdoors a pleasure.
‘Your face has regained a little colour,’ Alejandro observed as he chose the other lounger close by, and she bore his scrutiny with equanimity.
‘Another two weeks of this, and I’ll resemble a sybarite,’ she said, with a tinge of humour.
‘Your welfare is very important to me.’
The quietly spoken words stirred her sensitised nerve-ends, and she examined his features carefully. ‘I hesitate to think at what cost,’ she ventured slowly.
Something flickered in the depths of his eyes, a fleeting emotion she was unable to define before it was successfully hidden. ‘I retain eminently qualified personnel.’
Whose positions within the Santanas corporation Alejandro would instantly terminate should any one of them fail him in any way. The knowledge was an instinctive judgement that needed no qualification, and she was silent for several long minutes.
‘It’s difficult to comprehend that there was a time when I knew everything about you,’ Elise confessed.
‘While now there are only gaps?’
‘A deep, yawning abyss,’ she corrected with a faint grimace.
‘Which you would like me to fill?’
‘You did that to some extent while I was in hospital.’ Details, facts. Not the personal things she desperately wanted to know.
‘So, querida,’ he mocked gently, searching her intent expression, ‘where would you like me to begin?’
‘I think…with you. Where you were born, when. Your family. Things you enjoy doing.’
‘An extended biography?’
‘The condensed version.’
His eyes held warm humour, and his soft laughter transformed the hard-chiselled bone-structure, so that for a brief moment he appeared almost human, she decided, as he lifted the glass to his lips and drained the contents in one easy swallow.
‘My father was born in Andalucia, the son of a wealthy landowner. My mother was a descendant of the French aristocracy. After their marriage they emigrated to Australia, where I was born. A year later my mother died in childbirth. Papa never fully recovered emotionally, and my paternal grandmother flew out for an extended visit, only to stay on and raise her only grandson. It was because of that good woman’s determined strength that I stayed at school and received the education my father insisted I endure.’
He paused to shoot her a faintly whimsical smile. ‘I was known to display rebellion on occasion.’
Elise had a vivid mental picture of a tall youth whose broad bone-structure had yet to acquire its measure of adult musculature.
‘At university I acquired several degrees associated with business management and became part of my father’s financial empire. At the lowest level,’ Alejandro qualified drily. ‘A Santanas son was accorded few advantages, and I spent several years proving my worth. A fatal accident ended my father’s life, and I was catapulted through the ranks to a position on the board of directors.’ He spared her a faintly cynical glance. ‘The next few years were—difficult, shall we say? Men with years of experience do not view kindly a young man taking control of a string of multinational companies, or making decisions that oppose their way of thinking.’
Elise looked at him thoughtfully, seeing the strength of purpose, the chilling degree of hardness apparent, and barely controlled the faint shiver that threatened to slither down her spine. ‘You succeeded.’ As if there could be any doubt.
His expression did not alter for several long seconds. ‘Yes,’ he acknowledged with wry cynicism.
Had she been his social equal? Somehow she didn’t think so.
‘I have little idea of what my childhood was like,’ she proffered with pensive introspection. ‘The photo albums you brought to the hospital reveal events of which I have no recollection. I can only piece together the visual impression of a happy childhood. A mother I can’t remember, whose passing must surely have caused my father great grief. I don’t even know the extent to which I missed her. Or whether boarding-school was a happy experience or a lonely one.’ She paused, her eyes dark with reflected intensity. ‘I chose paediatric nursing as a career, but I don’t know if I had a boyfriend, or several. Or what sort of life I led before I met you.’
‘I doubt the existence of many boyfriends in other than a platonic sense,’ Alejandro put in with indolent humour. ‘You were relatively inexperienced.’
Her eyes sparked with resentful resignation. ‘A fact you no doubt soon remedied.’
His husky laughter was almost her undoing. ‘With immense pleasure, mi mujer. You proved to be an apt and willing pupil.’ He leaned forward and brushed his mouth against her own, his eyes gleaming with humour as she reared back from his touch. ‘Time to prepare dinner, I think.’
An hour later they sat down to soup, and followed it with grilled steak and salad, electing to watch television until Alejandro deemed it time to retire to bed.
Elise had little option but to accept his assistance, and she stood, head bent, lower lip caught between her teeth, as he began freeing her clothes.
There was something incredibly sensual in having him tend to the buttons on her blouse, the fleeting touch of his warm fingers as they brushed her sensitised flesh. To have him unclip her bra and feel his light touch against each breast.
Last night should have prepared her for the protracted intimacy of standing part-naked in front of him. Yet, try as she might, she was unable to control the shallowness of her breathing, or prevent the faint colour heightening her cheekbones.
It was a relief to escape into the en suite bathroom and shower alone, and she took as long as she dared before emerging to find Alejandro waiting to towel her dry.
She wanted to say she could manage, and for a moment she almost did, but one look at his dark, brooding features was sufficient for her to realise that such an action would be the height of foolishness.
The instant her nightgown was safely in place she made to turn away, only to have her movement stalled as her chin was caught between a firm thumb and forefinger.
‘Don’t,’ Alejandro began in cautionary remonstrance, ‘erect obstacles where none exist.’
The soft drawl matched the faint mockery evident in those dark eyes, and a lump rose in her throat that made it difficult for her to swallow.
Her mouth trembled, and she felt the ache of unshed tears as she searched the strong masculine features, noting the grooves that slashed his cheeks, and the tiny lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes.
‘How can you say that?’ she queried in strangled tones, feeling at a loss to cope with the force of his compelling masculinity.
He lifted a hand and traced a finger down the slope of her nose, then traversed the tip to settle on the curve of her lip.
‘Easily,’ Alejandro assured her as he lightly stroked the soft fullness of the lower contour before exploring the generous line above.
His touch was provocative, light, and sent warning flares to each separate nerve-ending as a deliciously warm sensation slowly radiated through her whole body.
I could close my eyes and become lost, thought Elise, swayed by emotion and held in its invasive thrall. There was a part of her that hungered for the touch of his hands, his mouth, and she had the most insane desire to plead with him to turn the erotic images into reality.
A soft moan whispered from her throat as his mouth closed over hers, teasing, tasting, in a gentle exploration that brought her body close to his in an involuntary movement as he carefully deepened the kiss.
It was heaven, she decided hazily, filled with such agonising sweetness that she felt as if she were melting, boneless. His.
She wanted more than the mere fusing of their mouths. Much more. It was almost as if some secret part of her was privy to a knowledge that eluded her conscious mind, and she gave a tiny despairing moan as his tongue slowed its masterful stroking dance with her own as a prelude to retreat.
As he lifted his head her eyes clung to his, wide and almost trance-like, for several long seconds before his features swam into focus.
Elise glimpsed the passion held severely in check, the deep slumbering emotion that darkened his gaze, and something else she couldn’t quite define.
Her lips were swollen and the inside of her mouth so acutely sensitised that she wondered if she was capable of uttering so much as a word.
Never had she felt so hauntingly vulnerable, or so fragile. A pulse thudded visibly at the edge of her throat as the blood drummed through her veins, and she lifted her left hand, only to let it fall helplessly to her side.
‘Bed, I think,’ Alejandro decreed, his eyes narrowing as he glimpsed the effort it cost her to retain some measure of control.
His hand cupped her left shoulder, then slid to her breast, slipping beneath the silk to shape the tumescent mound with exquisite care.
She felt it swell beneath his touch, the peak tautening in sensitive arousal, then his mouth assumed a wry humorous twist as he lifted both hands to frame her face.
‘Television, or would you prefer to read?’
It took considerable effort to summon a faint smile as she allowed him to lead her towards the bed. ‘Television,’ she declared unevenly. ‘Providing I get to choose the programme.’
‘Brave words, querida,’ he teased lightly. ‘You will probably be asleep by the time I have shaved and showered.’
She was unable to still the faint fluttering of butterfly wings inside her stomach, and her gaze became pensive as he stripped down to his briefs, then crossed to the en suite bathroom.
He was an enigma, Elise decided thoughtfully as she endeavoured to concentrate on the images flickering across the screen.
Darkly intense, almost frightening. Yet he could be gentle and considerate. A difficult mixture to comprehend, she accepted silently, wondering if there had ever been a time when she had understood him.
Thinking about it made her tired, and her lashes drifted down as she lapsed into dreamless oblivion.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE days ran one into the other, each following a similar pattern to the one preceding it. They rose early, dressed, and went for a walk along the deserted beach, then returned to eat a simple breakfast out on the covered terrace, after which Alejandro would disappear into the study for an hour.
It was his only concession to maintaining a check on business interests, and although there was a phone in the car, and a mobile cellular unit tucked into the pocket of his shorts whenever they moved away from the house, only once did either ring. His instructions on each occasion had been chillingly brief.
Occasionally he would pack a picnic lunch and drive to one of the neighbouring beaches, or a designated park. Sometimes they stayed at home and watched videos. Late each afternoon they embarked on a leisurely walk along the beach.
With every passing day the pain in Elise’s hand lessened, the bruising faded, and she was soon able to don and shed her clothes without help, something she considered to be a milestone.
Alejandro appeared to be attuned to her every mood, watchful that she didn’t become tired, and able to coax her into laughter with very little effort at all, until gradually she began to relax and regard him with hesitant affection.
She became accustomed to the light brush of his fingers across her skin, the touch of his hand on her arm, cupping her shoulder, resting at the small of her back or curved round her waist. The light touch of his mouth against her own was something else, and more than once she was barely able to suppress a tide of sensation as he instigated a teasing kiss. At night she no longer felt uneasy when he joined her in bed, nor did she attempt to pull her hand away when he threaded his fingers through her own.
Yet all the time she was aware of his restraint, the latent passion just beneath the surface of his control. Occasionally she glimpsed evidence of it in the darkening of his eyes, felt it in the sudden quickening of his pulse.
The knowledge made her nervous, tugging at something hidden deep inside her. It generated a waiting expectancy that sent tiny flares of fire surging through her veins, set her fine body-hair on edge, and curled insidiously at the core of her femininity.
The weekend came and went, with a series of scattered showers which kept them indoors. Monday dawned fresh and clear, with not a cloud in sight.
‘I thought we’d pack some food in the car and head north,’ Alejandro declared as she cleared the last of their breakfast dishes and watched as he rinsed and slotted them into the dishwasher.
‘What time do you want to leave?’ Elise queried with an alacrity that curved his mouth into a slow teasing smile.
‘Allow me an hour in the study. Around ten.’
It was a glorious day, the sun high in an azure sky, with a soft breeze tempering the midsummer heat.
Alejandro brought the car to a halt and switched off the engine. The view out over the park was one of tranquillity, with several large trees lining the grassed verge. Bleached white sand bordered the eastern boundary, and the surface of the lazy outgoing ocean tide shimmered in the early afternoon heat.
‘Hungry?’
Elise turned towards him and offered an easy smile. ‘Ravenous.’
The park was almost empty, and Alejandro slid from behind the wheel and walked to the rear of the vehicle to retrieve a rug, cushions and a picnic hamper from the capacious boot, choosing a smooth patch of grass beneath a nearby tree.
Minutes later Elise sank to her knees and watched as he began apportioning food on to two plates.
Cold chicken and salad, with crusty bread rolls and fresh fruit, presented a veritable feast, and she picked up a chicken leg and bit into it with relish.
‘Your appetite is improving,’ Alejandro commented in approval, and she wrinkled her nose at him.
He sat stretched out beside her, his powerfully muscled legs tanned by the sun. His feet, like hers, were shod in Reeboks.
Looking the antithesis of a wheeling, dealing multinational corporate leader, he had ignored designer leisurewear in favour of cut-off jeans and a loose cotton shirt. The effect was devastating, she conceded as she allowed herself a circumspect appraisal, all too aware of the effect he had on her equilibrium as she admired his chiselled jaw, the firm sensual mouth, then slowly raised her eyes to meet the dark intentness of his gaze.
There was a latent indolence apparent, a studied watchfulness that was wholly sexual. She could sense his potent chemistry, like a magnetic force field, and something stirred deep within, pulsing through the tracery of veins, triggering nerve-ends until her whole body became caught up in the thrall of physical awareness.
‘A sip of wine?’
‘It will make me sleepy,’ she protested as he extended the patterned flute to her lips. There was something incredibly intimate about placing her mouth to the rim where his had been only seconds before, and she savoured a small quantity of the excellent Chardonnay, letting it slip slowly down her throat, then followed it with several long swallows of iced water.
‘Would that be such a bad thing?’
She sensed the faint humour in his voice and her eyes widened slightly. It would be so easy to reach out and touch him, to place fingers against that hard jaw and explore the vertical crease slashing each cheek. She wanted to, badly.
Almost as much as she wanted to feel his mouth against her own, his hand shaping her breast. A long, slow prelude to a passionate overture. Except that she wasn’t sure if she was ready for the finale.
Such wayward thoughts were infinitely dangerous to her peace of mind. In an effort to shut them out she turned her attention to the horizon, aware of his deft movements as he extracted a fresh peach and began peeling it.
What was he like as a lover? Passionate, primitive, shameless. Dear Lord in heaven, could there be any doubt?
‘Elise?’
She turned at the sound of his voice, and her fingers shook slightly as she took a segment of fruit from his outstretched hand. ‘Thanks.’
It was deliciously cool and juicy, and she followed it with a glass of chilled mineral water.
If she lay back and closed her eyes, maybe it would stem this inner restlessness. She hadn’t taken into account the soft sea breeze, the sun’s warmth, or their midday meal. Together they had a soporific effect, and it took only minutes for her to slip into a light doze.
Elise woke slowly, passing through the threshold of sleep to a state of nebulous consciousness, aware that the slight feeling of lethargy had dissipated. It was difficult to tell whether it could be attributed to the recuperation process or her pregnancy.
Perhaps it was a combination of both, she decided lazily as she let her eyelashes sweep slowly upwards.
Alejandro lay sprawled in a half sitting position within touching distance, his head propped in one hand as he faced her, and she blinked as he lifted a hand and trailed gentle fingers down the edge of her jaw.
‘Pleasant dreams?’
She couldn’t recollect even one. ‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘Almost an hour,’ he responded, and her eyes widened in disbelief.
‘You should have woken me.’
‘Why?’ he asked, watching the play of emotions across her expressive features. ‘There’s no need to hurry home.’
Elise stared at him, aware of the sheer physicality of his powerful body and his ability to make her feel infinitely fragile. There was a warmth evident in those dark eyes, a latent sensuality that was deeply disturbing.
It was as if she was being drawn to him by some invisible magnet, and she became increasingly confused as her emotions swung like a pendulum between cautious acceptance and denial.
Logic reasoned that a man of his considerable means could easily have hired a nurse-companion for her and continued to devote most of his energies to an extensive business empire. Yet he had not chosen to delegate. Surely such an action was sufficient evidence of his caring? Why this instinctive niggling doubt that persisted despite every effort to rationalise and dispel it?
‘Ready for some exercise?’
Her eyes cleared, and a smile curved her mouth. ‘Yes.’
With easy lithe movements he rose to his feet, extending a hand to help her, then he stowed the hamper in the boot and followed it with the rug and cushions.
They walked in companionable silence, and Elise lifted her face to the sunshine, loving the soft afternoon breeze as it came off the sea, the slight tangy smell of salt refreshingly evident.
There were young children playing close by, three beneath the age of five, and a lovely plump baby sitting on a rug beneath the shade of a wide beachumbrella.
Elise looked at the baby’s bright eyes, the wide smile and happily flailing arms as the young mother deftly exchanged one nappy for another.
Something tugged deep inside her, a wistful longing that came from nowhere, and she made no protest as Alejandro curved an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side.
Unbidden, her own fingers traced a light path across her waist, then paused in an unconsciously protective gesture.
Would their child be a dark-haired imp inheriting his father’s genes, or a flaxen-haired angel who would steal her father’s heart? Without doubt their child would be fortunate enough to lead a privileged existence.
It was late afternoon when they arrived back at Palm Beach, and Elise wandered through the house while Alejandro checked the fax machine and made a few calls.
She found her way into the informal lounge and picked up the remote control unit, flicking from one television channel to another in a bid to discover something worthy of her attention. At this time of the afternoon most of the programmes were designed to educate or amuse children, and she discarded the unit in favour of a magazine.
‘Would you like to eat out? There’s a variety of restaurants within a short driving distance.’
Alejandro’s entry into the room had been soundless, and she glanced up in surprise as he crossed to stand within touching distance.
In public? The idea held definite appeal. ‘Yes.’
His soft laughter held a degree of quizzical warmth, and she swallowed convulsively as he caught hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing each finger in turn before slipping inward to caress the softness of her palm. The sensation sent tiny shock-waves radiating from her feminine core, and she shivered at the lambent warmth evident in those dark eyes so close to her own.
Releasing her, he slid both hands beneath her blouse to free the fastening of her bra. His fingers were warm, his touch deft, unleashing a number of sensations she found difficult to ignore.
It would have been all too easy to lift a hand and pull his head down to hers to initiate a long, sweet kiss. Except that if she did, it wouldn’t stop there.
‘If you continue to look at me like that for much longer,’ Alejandro drawled, pressing a finger to the soft lower fullness of her lip, ‘I’ll take it as an invitation to join you in the shower. Afterwards,’ he promised huskily, ‘where and when we eat won’t be a consideration.’
Colour stained her cheekbones and she turned away from him, forcing herself to walk to their suite with unhurried steps. Once there, she gathered up fresh underwear and entered the bathroom.
The water’s warm spray soothed her fractured nerves, and she stayed longer than necessary, emerging to towel herself dry, then don lace-edged briefs.
Alejandro was in the process of tucking a shirt into his trousers when she entered the bedroom, and she consciously averted her gaze as she crossed to the capacious wardrobe to select something suitable to wear.
Black silk culottes, slim-heeled black sandals, and a long white sleeveless button-through silk top, she decided as she extracted the clothes from their hangers. It was a go-anywhere ensemble that was both comfortable and elegant.
Elise stepped into the culottes and pulled them into position at her waist, then reached for the top as Alejandro crossed to her side.
‘No bra to fasten?’
‘The top is fully lined,’ she explained, intent on closing the buttons. She lifted her head and her eyes clashed with his dark, disturbing gaze. A spiral of sensation began in the region of her stomach, radiating a wealth of sensual warmth which she found difficult to ignore. Dampening it down, she forced her voice to remain steady. ‘I won’t be long. I just need to brush my hair and apply basic make-up.’
‘You look about sixteen.’
She managed a shaky smile. ‘Much too young to be married and pregnant to a man like you.’
‘Por Dios,’ Alejandro drawled. ‘Why a man like me?’
Levity, surely, was an appropriate weapon, and she used it without hesitation. ‘If you’re going to swear, at least do so in English,’ she chastised with mock severity.
He laughed softly and brushed his lips against hers. ‘You are beginning to recover,’ he mocked drily. ‘Soon you’ll be challenging me at every turn.’
Dear heaven. She’d been that brave to cross verbal swords with him… that foolish?
‘If you’re ready,’ he suggested easily, ‘let’s go and eat.’
She moved into the bathroom, brushed her hair until it resembled a curtain of pale silk, stroked translucent gold shadow on to each eyelid, then applied lipliner and gloss.
When she emerged Alejandro was waiting for her, an impeccably tailored reefer jacket lending an air of sophistication she felt at a loss to match.
The restaurant he chose was Italian, small, delightfully intimate and filled with a variety of beguiling aromas that teased her taste-buds. There was also a tiny square of parquet floor and a man of middle years playing a soft romantic ballad on a small electronic keyboard.
Elise ordered tortellini with mushrooms served with garlic bread, while Alejandro opted for pasta with a marinara sauce, and afterwards she sat back feeling replete.
‘Dessert?’
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t fit in another mouthful.’
He seemed totally at ease, and she couldn’t help being aware that his presence caused a flutter of interest among several of the female patrons.
How could she blame them? He was a superb male animal, who possessed more than his share of sexual magnetism. Inherent good looks and an overwhelming aura of power made him a spellbinding challenge few women could ignore.
The lilting music and warm convivial atmosphere of the restaurant were persuasive, and she cast him a faintly wistful smile.
‘Would you like to try the dance-floor?’
She looked helplessly at the small square of parquetry that held one couple, then inclined her head in silent acquiescence.
Minutes later she wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. Her right hand lay supported between her breasts, while the fingers of her left hand rested against his shoulder. His hands were loosely linked behind her hips, forming a protective cage, and this close she could sense his body-warmth beneath the sophisticated mantle of his clothes.
His movements were sure, fluid, his strength a potent entity as he guided her with effortless ease. The keyboard player sang a hauntingly slow ballad, and to her surprise her steps didn’t falter once, although her breathing quickened in tempo with her fast-beating pulse.
Warm heat spread through her veins, suffusing her body until she was aware of every sensory pleasure-spot, and a deep aching need that cried out for his touch.
She felt his hands shift to curve over the slight swell of her bottom as the ballad finished and another began, even more poignant than the last. Seconds later, she felt the brush of his lips against her hair as they trailed down to settle at her temple, and her stomach executed a tiny somersault, then went into a series of crazy flips as his warm breath stirred a few stray tendrils close to her ear.
Slowly she lifted her head, her eyes skimming the broad column of his throat to take in the firm contours of his mouth, the straight patrician nose, the sculpted cheekbones, and lastly his intensely dark eyes.
What she glimpsed there deepened the colour already staining her cheeks, and her mouth trembled slightly as she sought to put some distance between them.
He immediately loosened his hold, allowing one arm to curve lightly round her back as he led her from the floor.
‘Another drink?’ Alejandro queried when they were seated.
Something cool, icy, she qualified silently. ‘Please,’ she accepted. ‘Lemonade with a dash of lime.’
He ordered coffee for himself, and she sipped the contents of her glass, contrarily wanting the evening to be over, yet strangely hesitant to leave the restaurant.
Why so apprehensive? she reiterated to herself as the Bentley cruised smoothly towards Palm Beach. There was no medical reason why they shouldn’t resume intimacy, and to be so racked with nerves was ridiculous.
‘Do you want to share?’
The sound of his voice startled her, and she turned towards him in silent query.
‘Your thoughts,’ Alejandro elaborated as he eased the large vehicle into the driveway, then activated the remote control to raise the garage doors.
Dear heaven, had he guessed? What would he say if she said she was scared stiff…of him in the role of lover? More than likely he would be mildly amused, she decided wretchedly.
As soon as the car came to a halt she released the seatbelt and slid to her feet, waiting as he sprang the locking system before crossing to her side as they entered the house.
Once indoors she made straight for the stairs, only to come to an abrupt halt as his hand closed over her elbow and he turned her round to face him.
His eyes were faintly hooded, his tone a deceptively soft drawl. ‘You’re reacting like a skittish kitten, unsure whether to leap and run, or stay.’
‘Perhaps because that’s how I feel.’
‘You find my touch abhorrent?’
Oh, my, nothing like aiming straight for the jugular. ‘No,’ she disclaimed quietly. ‘But I’m not ready to sleep with you.’
‘We already sleep together.’ His voice was so dangerously quiet that it sent an icy shiver scudding down her back.
Dull pink streaked her cheeks. He was fully aware of the havoc he was creating, and she hated him for the deliberate assault on her ambivalent emotions.
‘You know that isn’t what I meant.’
He caught hold of her chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting it so that she had to look at him.
She couldn’t articulate a single word, and it was difficult to swallow the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat. Her eyes felt large and impossibly wide as she watched his head descend, and she was incapable of movement as he angled his mouth to settle over hers in a kiss that claimed his possession, savouring it in a manner that alternated between gentleness and restrained savagery.
Elise told herself she should be shocked. Instead, she became caught up in a tide of deep primitive need.
One hand cradled her face, the other cupped her bottom as he pulled her hard against him. Evidence of his arousal was a hard, throbbing entity, and she gave a faint moan of protest as his mouth took on a light teasing quality, then slowly withdrew.
She could only look at him, totally ignorant of the deep slumberous quality evident in her eyes. Her lips felt swollen, and she could have sworn they trembled beneath the intentness of his dark gaze.
It was as if time stood still, for she wasn’t conscious of anything except the man: his eyes, the sensual curve of his mouth, the hard planes of his jaw, the strength of his chin, the texture of his skin.
He didn’t say a word for what seemed an age, then he leaned forward, swept an arm beneath her knees and lifted her against his chest.
Sensation curled deep inside her stomach and began radiating through her body as he mounted the stairs to the upper floor.
On entering their suite he closed the door, slid off her shoes, then carefully set her down on her feet. Lifting a hand, he slowly traced the contours of her mouth, probing the softness with a gentleness that made her catch her breath.
‘I want to make love with you.’
Her eyes dilated and her pulse began to kick in a quickened beat. She wanted to voice her nervousness, but the words never left her lips.
His eyes held hers as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair, then he loosened his tie and discarded it before unfastening the buttons on his shirt. Next came his shoes and socks.
Elise couldn’t look away as his fingers unbuckled his belt, slid free the slim metal clasp, then freed the zip on his trousers.
Black silk briefs rode low on his hips, barely containing the turgid rigidity of his manhood, and awareness arrowed from her feminine core, focused and so intense that she was unable to suppress a slight shiver that spiralled down her spine.
Slowly he closed the distance between them, took her left hand in his, and led her to the bed. His touch was warm and strong, and she uttered no protest as he sat on the mattress’s edge and drew her close.
Her eyes were almost on a level with his, and she felt mesmerised by the dark gleaming passion evident as he lifted a hand and lightly traced the contours of her face.
The touch of his fingers against her skin was electric, and she swallowed convulsively as they trailed down the column of her throat and traversed a path to the edge of her top.
He freed one button, then the next, until the edges hung loose, and she uttered a faint gasp as he brushed the full curve of her breast.
‘The thought of doing this has driven me to edge of sanity,’ Alejandro said huskily. ‘All evening, every movement you made emphasised their unfettered state.’ With extreme care he eased the blouse free and tossed it to join his discarded clothes.
‘Beautiful,’ he whispered, gently shaping the creamy fullness, testing its weight as he lightly circled each sensitised peak.
Acute sensation curled deeply inside her stomach, and her throat began to constrict as he leaned forward and took one peak into his mouth, rolling it with the roughened edge of his tongue until she felt it swell and harden beneath his touch.
A low groan locked in her throat as he bestowed a similar attention on its twin. Then she gasped out loud as he began to suckle deeply, drawing from each tender peak an erotic satisfaction she had no conscious urge to deny.
When at last he lifted his head, she met his gaze through half closed lids, and she stood quite still as he reached for the waistband of her culottes and began easing the silk down over her hips to pool at her feet. Satin and lace briefs followed, and she felt heat sear her body as he conducted a leisurely appraisal.
He lifted a hand and trailed gentle fingers up over her ribcage, then slowly traversed her hip, slipping to caress the slight roundness of her bottom before brushing a path to her thigh.
His eyes never left hers, and Elise felt her own dilate as he sought the soft, curling hair, then followed its upper line, caressing, moving back and forth, until her whole body began to sing like a finely tuned instrument.
Slowly his hand lowered until he reached the junction between her thighs, and she uttered an audible gasp as he initiated an intimate exploration she was hesitant to accept.
‘Am I frightening you, querida?’
Fear wasn’t quite the word she would have used to describe her feelings. Excitement, exultation, to name only two. ‘No.’ The single negation emerged as a whispered gasp.
His touch proved an erotic torture, and she shuddered as an initial spasm caught hold of her and spiralled out of control.
‘Alejandro.’ His name on her lips was a deep, husky groan.
Dear God, such sweet magic. It was like being taken straight to heaven and shown a hundred different delights.
‘Gently, querida,’ he cautioned as she reached blindly for him.
The soft sounds emerging from her throat were incomprehensible, and she was hardly aware of him easing her down on to the bed.
He carefully moved her injured hand into a comfortable position, then stretched out at her side.
His mouth sought hers in a long, slow, drugging kiss that alternately teased and tantalised, and she began to tremble as his lips began a path of erotic discovery so that it was all she could do not to cry out as he nuzzled the entry to her innermost core.
Brazen, she admitted silently as she climbed to dizzying heights. Shameless. Hopelessly, helplessly passionate and disruptively sensual. She never wanted it to end, yet the spiral of sensation was so incredibly acute she wasn’t sure how much longer she could maintain any restraint.
It was the most intimate kiss of all, a deep, drugging oral simulation of the sexual act. A sensual gift so exquisite, so incredibly generous that she wanted to weep from the joy of it.
Slowly his head moved, and he began raining a trail of open-mouthed kisses over the plane of her stomach, upwards to caress the soft underswell of each breast before fastening on one sensitised peak.
Then he raised his head to look down at her, taking in the slumberous darkness of her eyes, the soft pink that coloured her pale features, and her parted lips.
Elise lifted a tentative hand to the dark springy mat of hair on his chest, and she traced his shoulder, played delicately with the strong cage of his ribs before moving involuntarily down to the taut flat planes of his stomach.
She felt the muscles clench, and unconsciously her tongue edged out and ran a tentative path along her lower lip.
‘Dios,’ Alejandro cursed in husky remonstrance. ‘If you don’t stop now, I will pass the limit of my control.’
She looked at him carefully and glimpsed the latent passion, the heated desire barely masked.
A feeling of power raced through her veins, building until she felt like a goddess in charge of something so infinitely precious, so rare that only she could grant him the release he sought.
With deliberate slowness she trailed her fingers to trace the length of his distended shaft. Fascinated, she afforded it a gentle tactile exploration, feeling it engorge further beneath her featherlight touch.
‘I don’t want your control.’ Her voice was a husky enticement, and she heard his deep despairing groan followed by the sound of silk being torn from hair-roughened skin.
‘Dear God,’ he responded piously, ‘I doubt you would condone my lack of it.’
With extreme care he prepared her to accept him, and she arched instinctively, welcoming the intrusion as he gained entry. The feeling was intense as moist tissues stretched to accommodate his length, and she exulted in the total enclosure.
It was almost as if this were their first time together, and she experienced a sense of wonder in his possession.
As crazy as it seemed, she could feel the blood vessels engorge as she encased him, the spasmodic action of inner muscles as they sought to encourage and match his rhythm.
It was almost as if her body recognised what her conscious mind was reluctant to accept, urging a blatant display of passion that was vaguely shocking.
With the grace of an uninhibited Circe she traced the length of his spine, then gently kneaded his tightly muscled flank. Almost of their own volition her fingers trailed to his hip, then began a slow exploratory inner path to the highly sensitised base of his sex.
Gently, very gently she squeezed the sensitive glans, and exulted in his indrawn breath. Not content, she initiated a seeking path with her lips until they discovered a sensitive male nipple, and she suckled shamelessly, nipping occasionally with her teeth until she felt his powerful body shudder in the initial throes of sensual ecstasy.
She wanted… Dear heaven, what did she want? More, more than this carefully controlled pacing. All of him, plunging deep inside her in a torrent of wild strokes that would take them both to the heights.
Elise was hardly conscious of the soft sounds emerging from her throat as her body reacted with instinctive ease, lifting, angling with a will of its own as she intuitively matched each and every one of his movements.
His hands on either side of her shoulders braced his weight, and she met his mouth hungrily as it closed over hers, his kiss so deep, so consummate, it mirrored the sexual act itself in an erotic joining that culminated in a wild journey to the centre of her sensual universe.
Her mind might deny any conscious acknowledgement of her primeval soul, but every sensitive chord in her awakened body was attuned to this one man, honed by his expertise, tutored with a mesmeric passion that surpassed every restrictive boundary.
There could be no vestige of doubt that she was his. The traitorous proof was apparent in every sensitive nerve-ending, the acute vibrancy that thrummed through her veins, heating her blood to a fervent flame of desire that could only lead to a conflagration of all the senses. Passion—pagan, primitive, and wildly erotic.
When it was finally over, she was so emotionally enervated that she doubted her ability to move so much as a muscle.
She felt tinglingly alive, as if every nerve-ending had become acutely sensitised by his touch, yet drowsy and deliciously spent. Languid, she corrected, smiling as she felt his lips caress the curve of her neck, then slip down to bestow an openmouthed kiss on each breast in turn.
He was…magnificent, she acknowledged dreamily. A tender lover, caring, considerate of her needs. Had he enjoyed himself with her as much as she had with him? Was he satisfied, complete? Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to ask.
She felt him move, and she shifted her head to look at him as he retrieved the support for her arm and carefully fixed it in place.
His eyes were dark, slumberous, and her own skittered to a point somewhere beyond his left shoulder.
‘Don’t,’ Alejandro chided huskily as he cradled her head and forced her to look at him, ‘attempt to hide what was an intensely beautiful experience for both of us.’ His thumb probed the swollen softness of her mouth. ‘Exquisito.’
He slid down to lie beside her, gathering her close so that her head nestled beneath his shoulder. With minimum effort he caught hold of the sheet and drew it over them. ‘Go to sleep, querida,’ he bade her gently.
Yet she couldn’t, not for a long time. Instead she lay still, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
Had it always been like this, right from the beginning? Or had it taken time and practice to reach such a pinnacle of sexual satisfaction?
Sadly, she didn’t know. There was just the aching acceptance that her body remembered what her mind could not.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE beach was peaceful, with the merest breeze slipping in from the ocean to caress Elise’s skin and tease the length of her hair.
The water was a deep blue, its surface smooth in the distance, cresting as it neared the shore to swirl foam-laced over the hard-packed sand.
A strange feeling of ambivalence held her in its spell…and a degree of sadness. She felt safe here. Secure.
The past ten days had been idyllic: lazily spent sunshine-filled days and easy companionship, long moonlit nights and gentle loving.
Tomorrow they were to return to Point Piper. Next week she was to begin physiotherapy, and there were appointments with the obstetrician and neurologist. Within a very short time Alejandro would drive into the city each morning to spend most of each day in his office atop one of Sydney’s inner-city modern architectural masterpieces, and she would be alone…
An office. Atop a modern city architect-designed building…
She saw it clearly.
A large, sumptuously furnished room, clean lines, expensive prints on the walls, and a wide expanse of tinted plate glass with splendid views over the city and harbour.
An encapsulated vision of a room with a tall, broad-framed figure leaning against the edge of a large executive desk. Alejandro, his expression harsh and forbidding, his silent anger a vivid entity.
She was there, recapturing her anger…his. Hearing the words with frightening clarity.
‘My respect for your father,’ Alejandro declared in a dangerously soft, slightly accented voice that was chilling in its intensity, ‘allowed you to get past my secretary and buy five minutes of my valuable time.’ Dark eyes became icily dispassionate. ‘I suggest you make good use of it.’
‘My father doesn’t know I’ve initiated a personal appeal,’ Elise assured him in immediate defence.
‘It makes no difference. My decision is irrevocable.’
The words were clipped, hard, and horribly final. ‘How can you say that?’ she demanded, launching into passionate speech. ‘He deserves——’
‘Another chance?’
‘Why don’t you let me finish a sentence?’ she parried with mounting antipathy, and encountered his visible cynicism.
‘Four minutes and thirty seconds doesn’t allow for verbose explanation.’
She wanted to hit him. She almost did. Yet there was something electrifyingly primitive beneath his sophisticated façade that warned her that he would retaliate in kind without the slightest qualm.
‘Without your help, my father faces bankruptcy,’ she enlightened him starkly, and glimpsed no visible change in his expression.
‘I head a multinational corporation which has a complex variety of investments throughout the world. Although I retain a controlling percentage, as director I am responsible to a number of shareholders. Your father’s latest appeal for a further extension resulted in extensive feasibility studies. The findings negate any possibility of directorial board approval for either an increase in borrowings or an extension of time.’
Elise felt her misgivings increase at his inflexibility. ‘He’s ill,’ she stressed with a sense of desperation. ‘Conclusive tests reveal the necessity for heart surgery.’
‘I cannot gamble with my shareholders’ money.’
The hard unyielding words brought a rush of anger she barely managed to contain. Don’t blow it, an inner voice cautioned. ‘My father is a very proud man for whom honesty and integrity are sacrosanct. Hansen Holdings has been a family company for three generations,’ she informed him with commendable steadiness, given the short rein she held on her temper. ‘It will kill him if he loses everything in a bankruptcy action.’
His expression did not change. He was a superb tactician, watchful, waiting for her to plot the next move. There was no doubt he would win the game, but for the moment she was still a player, even if he held all the cards.
‘Commendable sentiment isn’t sufficient reason for me to grant the extension your father requires.’
He was an obdurate, unfeeling monster, she decided with bitter acrimony. Truly el diablo. Pride lifted her chin and lent her eyes a fiery sparkle. ‘What would you consider to be sufficient reason?’
His eyes darkened fractionally, and she was unable to look away. His intent gaze had a mesmeric effect, and a slow heat suffused her body, reaching deep to unleash an entire gamut of sensations she was loath to recognise.
A deep insistent burr was almost an anticlimax as it broke the fraught silence, and Elise watched as he reached for the in-house phone, privy to the brusqueness of his voice as he checked the time and intimated he was on his way.
Replacing the receiver, he moved away from the desk. ‘I am needed in the board room.’
She endeavoured to keep the desperation from her voice. ‘Please…’
His eyes seared hers, lancing right through to her soul. After what seemed an interminable silence, he drawled, ‘Have dinner with me tonight.’ He named a well-known restaurant. ‘Meet me there. Seven-thirty.’
Her lips formed a single negation, only to have it remain locked in her throat.
‘A test of filial loyalty, wouldn’t you agree?’ He moved with lithe ease towards the door. ‘My secretary will see you out.’
* * *
A shiver shook Elise’s slim frame as the image disappeared and, no matter how hard she concentrated, it was impossible to recall.
Alejandro paused beside her, his expression intent as his eyes raked her pale cheeks. ‘What is it?’
She lifted a hand and smoothed a stray tendril of hair back behind her ear. Slowly she turned towards him, her eyes shadowed and pensive.
‘I was in your office.’ She drew in a deep breath, then relayed a description. She looked at him, puzzlement creasing her forehead. ‘I was appealing to you to extend my father’s company loan,’ she explained shakily. ‘You were angry,’ she revealed slowly. ‘We both were.’
She’d felt it, breathed it in those few brief minutes, a palpable entity so vivid it made her feel terribly afraid.
His expression was impossible to fathom. ‘How much were you able to remember?’
Was that why she’d married Alejandro? To save her father?
Her head began to reel, and she drew a deep breath in a conscious effort to stave off a spell of dizziness.
‘You were called in to a board meeting,’ she revealed slowly, trying desperately to recall the elusive image without success. ‘I can remember walking to the lift, stepping into it,’ she said helplessly. ‘But that’s all.’
His hands lifted to cradle her face, then his mouth closed over hers in a light tasting that elicited little response. It was as if her mind were still caught up with the desire to recapture the past, and she didn’t offer a word as they made their way back to the house.
Elise found it difficult to shake off an inclination towards introspection for the rest of the day, and even during dinner she was unusually quiet.
‘Anxiety won’t help hasten the return of your memory,’ Alejandro advised as she pushed her plate aside.
She glimpsed the inherent strength apparent, and her eyes took on a shadowy quality. ‘I can’t help the feeling of defencelessness that has always lurked in the background,’ she revealed slowly, holding his gaze.
‘You have no reason to be uncertain. About anything,’ he added with deliberate emphasis.
She wasn’t quite so sure, but at the moment she had little option but to accept his word.
He rose to his feet and began collecting cutlery and stacking plates. ‘Sort through the video cassettes while I take care of the dishes.’
Elise wandered into the informal lounge, and after some deliberation she selected an action movie that threatened to swamp the viewer with lots of thrills and spills.
Alejandro walked into the room just as the previews concluded, and as she made for one of the single chairs he tugged her down on to the two-seater beside him.
With maximum ease he adjusted their positions so that she rested between his thighs and leaned back against his chest. His hands moved to link together over her lower abdomen.
The desire to stay there overcame any willingness to protest, and she forced herself to concentrate on the superbly fit male actor on screen as he launched into a daring choreographic karate routine with his opponent.
Elise must have fallen into a doze at some stage, for when she woke she was in bed and it was morning.
After a leisurely breakfast Alejandro tossed their bags into the boot, locked up the house, and drove back to the city.
‘You look so much better,’ Ana beamed with approval as she greeted them on arrival, and her pleasant features creased into a genuine smile. ‘It is good to see the colour in your face again.’
Elise’s mouth curved with a certain wry humour. ‘Alejandro has been feeding me up and taking me for walks along the beach.’
‘I will serve lunch early. Your appointment is at two, sí?’
It was all going to start: the daily physiotherapy sessions, the visits to specialists, and soon there would be no reason for her not to rejoin Alejandro on the social scene.
Elise was unable to still a feeling of instinctive apprehension, and although she did justice to a bowl of Ana’s chicken soup, she toyed with the salad, picked at the bread, and opted to conclude the meal with fresh fruit.
Perhaps José would drive her to the physiotherapist’s rooms, leaving Alejandro to retire into the study for the rest of the afternoon.
However, it was her inimitable husband who slid in behind the wheel.
‘There’s no need for you to come in with me,’ she essayed when the Bentley eased into a parking bay adjacent to the main entrance.
‘I’ll confine myself to the waiting-room,’ Alejandro conceded with amused tolerance, and she wrinkled her nose at him in silent admonition as he followed her in to reception.
The physiotherapist explained precisely what exercises he wanted her to do, and why—muscles lost their elasticity if they were not used, resulting in stiffness, gradual loss of mobility, and pain.
Elise completed the simple exercises with supervised care, and at the end of the session Alejandro drove her home.
Traffic was congested, some drivers more impatient than others as the lines of cars slowed to a snail’s pace. Tempers rose, horns blared and engines roared in protest. Then slowly they began to move again.
The Bentley had just begun to pick up speed when Alejandro hit the brakes. Elise was conscious of several things at once: Alejandro’s arm anchoring her against the seat an instant before the car lurched on impact, and the sickening sound of crunching metal. She registered dimly a string of viciously articulated Spanish words, then Alejandro was leaning over her, his features harsh as his hands cupped her face.
‘Are you all right?’
She was in another car, a white sports model, behind the wheel, passing through a computercontrolled intersection. There was an instantaneous reaction as she slammed on the brakes and wrenched the wheel in a desperate bid to avoid hitting the oncoming vehicle. But it was too late. There was a sickening crunch of metal. Her head hit something, and then there was darkness.
‘Por Dios.’
Elise felt as if her eyes were far too large for her face as she attempted to re-focus them and shut out that horrific vision.
‘Are you hurt?’
She registered Alejandro’s voice, deep, dark and throbbing, then she saw his face, anxiety etching every line, his eyes almost black as they attempted to see beyond the mask her features had become.
‘Elise.’ His fingers were gentle as they stroked each cheek, and she blinked once, twice, then she was back in the present.
‘I’m—fine,’ she attempted, through lips that trembled badly. She met his intent gaze, and swallowed the sudden lump that seemed lodged in her throat. ‘Really,’ she assured him shakily as she defended herself against eyes that seemed to pierce her soul.
‘You remembered the accident.’ It was a statement, not a query. ‘All of it?’
Her lips seemed strangely dry, and she edged out the tip of her tongue to moisten them. ‘Just—a blur of blue hurtling towards me, the moment of impact.’
His eyes never left her face, and her mouth trembled slightly as he reached for the car-phone, punched in a series of numbers, requested the police, and gave a brief description of the accident and location.
Elise could only stare straight ahead as Alejandro pushed open the door and slid to his feet, and his hard inflexible tones combining with those of the man who had tempted providence by making an erroneous move barely penetrated her conscious mind.
Was this how her memory would return? A series of brief isolated incidents every few days?
Seconds later Alejandro slid in behind the wheel, and Elise bore his intent scrutiny with equanimity.
‘I’m OK,’ she assured him. ‘Is there much damage to the car?’
‘You concern me. Not the car,’ he said bleakly.
At some stage she heard the distant wail of a police siren, then it came close, red and blue lights flashing. Doors slammed, voices.
It wasn’t until they arrived home that she saw the broken light and its surround, the deep gouges and scratches. The sight of them brought on a wave of nausea, and she only just made it upstairs in time.
No protest she made prevented Alejandro from calling in the doctor.
‘Dammit, this is normal,’ she uttered fiercely, and saw his expression measurably harden. She lifted her hands in mock surrender. ‘All right, I give in.’
An hour later she barely refrained from reiterating the doctor’s reassurance, and the only concession she made to resting was to recline on the sun-lounger beneath a shade umbrella at the pool’s edge.
The next few days assumed a regular routine as Elise attended the physiotherapy clinic and kept an appointment with the neurologist.
Alejandro rose early, spent an hour working out in the downstairs gym, followed it with several lengths in the pool, then after breakfast he closeted himself in the study until Ana served lunch.
An urgent telephone call on Friday morning necessitated his presence in the city, and Elise rejoiced at the thought of spending the day alone.
The physiotherapy session was scheduled for midmorning, and after lunch she settled down to leaf through a supply of the latest glossy magazines.
Tall, perfectly proportioned young women modelling beautiful clothes, she perceived as she flipped idly through the fashion pages.
One model in particular caught her eye, and she wondered at her instinctive fascination with a longhaired brunette with classical features and cool dark eyes.
Without any warning those same features seemed to come alive, and it was like watching a re-run of part of a film depicting an isolated incident in her life, Elise decided, momentarily freezing as images crowded her brain. So clear, so hauntingly vivid.
Alejandro, Elise and Savannah seated together at a table, aiding one of several charities Alejandro was known to support.
Savannah. The hauntingly beautiful model who had been Alejandro’s close companion for several years before Elise had been thrust into the limelight as his latest conquest.
Now Savannah seemed intent on proving she still held Alejandro’s interest by indulging in a little game of subtle flirting, a fact which was not lost on Elise.
It was extremely difficult to maintain the semblance of a smile as she spooned morsels of delectable fruit from the elaborately presented dessert.
Jealousy was a terrible emotion, she conceded, as she picked up her fork and speared a segment of orange with more force than necessary. With little provocation, she could have killed Savannah for her blatant attempt to capture Alejandro’s attention. As for Alejandro…She would have liked to do temporary harm to a vulnerable part of his anatomy.
Perhaps he sensed her antipathy, for he turned his head and his eyes gleamed with mild amusement as he met her calculated smile.
Without a word he reached for her hand and carried it to his lips, kissing each finger in turn as she seethed with silent anger.
How dared he? She wanted to walk out and take a taxi home. As it was, she barely managed to preserve a calm front for the remainder of the evening, and the instant Alejandro brought the Bentley to a halt inside the garage she burst into angry speech.
‘In future you can choose whether you partner Savannah or your wife,’ Elise railed in fury.
‘You expect me to display ill manners by ignoring a friend I have known for several years?’
‘Heaven forbid,’ Elise said sarcastically.
‘You have no reason to be jealous.’
She slid from the car as he moved out from behind the wheel, and it gave her the utmost satisfaction to slam the door.
‘I am not jealous. I simply refuse to be part of a ménage-à-trois.’
Alejandro began to chuckle, and the husky sounds of his amusement acted like flame placed too close to combustible octane.
Elise threw her evening bag at him, and followed it with one evening sandal, then the other, each of which he neatly fielded and slid into the pockets of his jacket.
‘So you want to play?’
He reached her far too easily, before she had gone more than a few steps, and she gasped in outrage as he lifted her effortlessly over one shoulder and carried her indoors.
‘Put me down!’
He walked through the foyer to the stairs, gaining the upper floor with galling ease, seemingly uncaring as she beat her hands against the broad expanse of his back.
In the bedroom he tumbled her down on to the bed, discarded his jacket, then captured her wildly scrambling form by the simple expedient of covering it with his own.
‘Damn you,’ Elise vented as she struggled impotently against his superior strength. ‘I hate you.’
‘I love the way you hate, mi mujer.’
‘Sex. Lust,’ she qualified. ‘Bought and paid for.’
He went curiously still. ‘I suggest you retract that vilifying statement.’
‘Why? Does the truth penetrate your conscience, Alejandro?’ she taunted, only to cry out in shocked surprise as his mouth closed over hers with punishing force.
What followed was a form of retribution he actively encouraged her to share, their mingling anger resulting in wild, untamed sex that gave no quarter…for either of them.
‘Elise?’
The sound of Ana’s voice seemed to come from far away, and Elise dragged her mind back to the present. Her heart pounded inside her chest, and her skin was damp with the fine sheen of sweat.
‘I have just made tea. Would you like some?’
Somehow she managed a suitable response.
Dear God. This was the most explicit span she’d experienced. The memory of it was so vivid, the act so primitively savage that it was all she could do to prevent herself from being physically ill.
I don’t want to remember any more. Not if total recall means a revival of anger and dissension.
The friendship, the special closeness which she and Alejandro had shared at Palm Beach seemed part of a distant fantasy.
Instinct warned her that she was teetering on the edge of reality, and a chill feathered over her skin, raising all her fine body-hairs in protective defence.
CHAPTER SIX
IT RAINED most of the weekend, squally wind-driven showers that beat against the windows, bringing much-needed water to the city’s depleted dams and providing relief against the seasonal threat of bushfires.
Alejandro taught Elise the basic skills of chess, checkmating her so many times that she declined to allow him further victory as she opted to trounce him at cards. That too was a disaster, for, although she won twice, she suspected that it was only because he deliberately set out to lose.
Monday dawned bright and clear. The Bentley went in for repair, and Alejandro took the Porsche into the city.
Elise attended physiotherapy after lunch, then José drove her across town for her appointment with the obstetrician. They arrived early, and she opted to check in rather than wait in the car.
The senior nurse greeted her warmly. ‘Doctor has a patient with him, Mrs Santanas. He won’t be long.’ Elise took a seat, selected a magazine, and began leafing through the pages. An article caught her eye, and she read it with interest.
Minutes later she glanced absently at another, and froze. Two frames featuring Savannah adorned facing pages, and with a tiny gasp of shock everything suddenly fell into place, almost as if someone had depressed a camera shutter, then released it to reveal a moving photograph to view.
With horrified fascination she watched it all unfold.
Dear heaven, no. No. The negation seemed to thunder inside her brain over and over as she desperately sought to stop the images appearing one after the other like a rolling reel of Technicolor film.
It wasn’t true. None of it. There was some terrible mistake. A shocking joke played by a devilish hand.
If she sat still, perfectly still, the images would disappear, and she could walk out of here without becoming an emotional wreck.
Her stomach churned as the impact of recurring memory took effect, and she only just made it to the powder-room in time.
Afterwards, she leaned her head against the cool tiles for several minutes as she stared sightlessly at the beautifully appointed bathroom.
She didn’t feel like facing anyone, much less a skilfully perceptive medical professional who would doubtless take one look at her pale features, note her elevated pulse-rate, and begin a line of questioning she had no wish to answer.
Elise wondered what sort of reaction she would generate if she simply walked out, slid into the waiting car, and bade José take her home.
Home. Hell’s teeth, how could she go there? How could she not? she decided dully. If she requested José to take her anywhere else, it would only be a matter of minutes before José alerted Alejandro, and then what? A confrontation?
She had so much anger to expel. Such a degree of inner rage.
With deplorable ease her mind slid back to the ill-fated dinner she had shared with Alejandro Santanas only hours after launching a personal appeal for him to stave off her father’s imminent fall into bankruptcy…
Elise arrived five minutes late and was escorted to Alejandro’s table where, within minutes of ordering iced water, she immediately launched a further attempt on Joseph Hansen’s behalf.
‘What inducement do you intend to offer me?’ He lifted one well-shaped eyebrow, his expression assuming world-weary cynicism. ‘Yourself, perhaps?’
It took mere seconds for his words to sink in, a few more for her to throw the contents of her glass at his face. She rose to her feet in white-faced fury, then stormed from the restaurant…only to have to return when she discovered that she had left her evening bag on the table.
When she reached for it, his hand closed over hers.
‘Sit down.’
‘I have nothing to say to you!’
‘Walk out on me a second time, and any chance you might have will be gone.’
Every instinct screamed for her to turn away from him, and it was only the image of her father that persuaded her to resume her seat.
‘You care for your father very much.’
‘If I didn’t,’ she responded flatly, ‘I wouldn’t be here.’
‘Enough to give your personal guarantee to investment from my private funds?’ His pause was deliberate. ‘Become part of the deal?’
She felt cold, and barely in control. ‘In what capacity?’ If he said as his mistress, she would tip the soup in his lap, then walk away. This time she would make sure she had her bag. And hell would freeze over before she would willingly exchange so much as a word with him should their paths meet again.
‘My wife.’
It was the last thing she had expected him to say. ‘You’re insane.’
He subjected her to a long, steady look before venturing in a hateful drawl, ‘Two million dollars as an unconditional gift in exchange for two years of your life.’
‘No.’
‘You sign a pre-nuptial agreement relinquishing any claim on my assets in lieu of the two million dollars I advance to your father on the day of our marriage,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
It was totally crazy. ‘No.’
‘Handsome recompense for an act of mercy.’
‘My father would never condone it.’
‘He need not know, if you act a part.’ His eyes never left hers. ‘You have twenty-four hours to reach a decision.’
She gave it, within mere minutes of his deadline.
The marriage of Elise Hansen and Alejandro Santanas took place a week later.
‘If it were not for my father,’ Elise vented with restrained vehemence as she attached her signature to the marriage register, ‘I would never have agreed to this diabolical arrangement.’
‘I have no doubt.’
‘What if I refuse you?’ she flung at him later that night when they retired to their hotel suite.
‘A no I should interpret as a maybe?’ Alejandro queried. ‘If my foreplay succeeds in arousing you to a state of sensual desire?’
‘You damned egotist,’ she spluttered.
Afterwards she hated herself, him, for proving that sex and love were two entirely different emotions.
It had taken only weeks to discover the existence of Savannah and learn that the glamorous model had been and, rumour had it, still was Alejandro’s mistress—a revelation deliberately designed to shatter her confidence. At the time, the vindictive gossip did not hurt at all. The pain came later.
Four months after her marriage her father suffered a heart attack, partly recovered, only to incur a second massive attack in a matter of weeks.
The night he lay so ill in hospital after the initial attack she forgot to take the Pill. By the time she realised the implications of her lapse it was too late, and her worst fears were confirmed when a home pregnancy test showed positive. A doctor’s appointment merely verified it.
For two weeks she suffered the tortures of the damned. Then, early one morning, soon after Alejandro left for the office, she simply threw a few clothes into a bag, slid in behind the wheel of the Porsche Carrera and headed north.
Ironically, she had only cleared the outer suburbs when another car ran through a ‘Stop’ sign.
She could vividly recall her reaction as she slammed on the brakes and made a desperate effort to avoid him; the sickening sound of colliding metal; a shuddering jolt that threw her against the door. Then nothing.
Elise’s head was throbbing so badly that at first she didn’t hear the repeated knock at the door.
‘Mrs Santanas? Are you all right?’
Oh, God. How long had she been in here? Five minutes…ten?
‘Yes. An attack of nausea,’ she reassured the nurse shakily. She’d have to pull herself together. She looked and felt like death. ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’
‘Doctor is ready to see you. Can I get you a cool drink? A cup of tea?’
There were disposable toothbrushes and toothpaste thoughtfully provided, and she made use of both before applying lipstick and running a comb through her hair. ‘Tea would be lovely. Thanks.’
Ten minutes later she sat in a deep cushioned chair facing a small middle-aged man, who viewed her over half-moon spectacles resting halfway down the bridge of his nose.
‘You’re pale, and your pulse-rate is elevated,’ he declared quietly. ‘Care to tell me what’s bothering you?’
‘The baby——’
‘Is fine. The mother, however, is giving me cause for concern.’ He subjected her to a lengthy appraisal, then ventured gently, ‘Your memory. Have you experienced any recurring flashes?’
She wanted to deny them, for, if she pretended they hadn’t occurred, she might somehow fool herself they were part of some horrid nightmare that had no place in reality.
‘A few,’ she admitted cautiously, unwilling to relay that her memory had returned in full.
‘You’ve found them distressing?’
Partial truth was infinitely preferable to truth in its entirety. ‘I guess it’s a natural reaction. My husband has been able to fill in some details, but not all.’
‘I think I should call him.’
‘No. No,’ she hastened quickly, aware of his sharp interest. ‘Please.’
He looked thoughtful. ‘He has been very concerned about you.’ He didn’t add that Alejandro Santanas had insisted on a full report after every one of his wife’s consultations. ‘I think it would be best if I see you again in a fortnight. Finish your tea.’
José was waiting in the car when she emerged, and as soon as he caught sight of her he moved quickly round to open the rear door, then, when she was safely seated, he slid in behind the wheel.
‘Is there anywhere you would like to go? A little shopping, perhaps?’
She had money, and sufficient credit-card buying power to walk into any store and purchase literally anything. For a moment she was tempted to indulge in a splurge that would raise her husband’s eyebrows when he received the bill. But she had an entire closet full of fashionable clothes, enough shoes to wear a different pair every day for a number of weeks. Perfume, toiletries, make-up. Even jewellery. Alejandro had been exceedingly generous, given the circumstances of their marriage. She related such generosity to the need to project the image of a successful man’s wife.
‘Double Bay, José,’ she instructed on a sudden whim. ‘Alejandro is entertaining a business associate tonight, and I have an inclination to buy a new outfit.’
‘Sí,’ José concurred with a friendly grin. ‘I shall take you there.’
The car slid forward, moving out into the flow of traffic, and Elise leaned back against the cushioned seat and closed her eyes against the onset of images crowding her brain.
‘Would you like me to accompany you?’
Elise blinked at the sound of José’s voice, and hastily caught hold of her scattered thoughts as she established that the Bentley was parked outside one of several exclusive boutiques known for their designer labels and expensive price-tags.
‘No, thank you, José.’ She cast him a warm smile. ‘Why don’t you have coffee somewhere? I’ll be at least half an hour.’
She was twice that time and more, requiring special authorisation when it became apparent that she was unable to sign the appropriate credit slips.
They arrived home only minutes ahead of Alejandro, and she moved quickly upstairs to their suite in the hope of avoiding him…at least momentarily. If she hurried, she might be able to seclude herself in the shower.
She managed it, but only just, and when she emerged into the bedroom he was in the process of discarding his clothes.
Her eyes encountered his, then skittered away as he pulled off his shirt and took the few necessary steps to reach her.
For a few more hours at least, she had to act a part. After their dinner guests departed, she could unleash her inner rage.
The need to say something—anything—seemed paramount, and she rushed into speech. ‘José took me to Double Bay. Shopping,’ she elaborated, indicating the assortment of brightly coloured carrier bags at the foot of the bed. ‘I felt like wearing something new tonight.’ He was within touching distance, and she injected warmth into her smile as he lifted both hands to cup her face.
His mouth closed over hers, warm, hungry, possessive. She could feel her own unbidden response, the unfurling deep within as he drew her close in against him.
When he lifted his head it was all she could do to meet the dark intentness of his gaze, and she felt her lips tremble as he gently rubbed his thumb back and forth across the kiss-swollen curves.
One hand traced a path down her neck to trail the edge of her silk robe, parting it to slip inside and caress the full curve of her breast. ‘What did the obstetrician have to say?’
How did she answer that? With extreme care, a tiny voice warned. ‘He reassured me that the baby is fine.’
Her breasts felt heavy, their peaks taut and aching. It wasn’t the only part of her that ached. Dammit, how could her body react in such a traitorous fashion?
His eyes seared hers, dark and analytical, almost as if he knew precisely what had happened and was waiting for her to tell him.
Could the obstetrician have called him? The possibility wouldn’t surprise her. ‘I—suffered a bout of morning sickness.’ She paused, then made a light attempt at humour. ‘In the middle of the afternoon.’ She was not such a good actress that Alejandro would be fooled for long. ‘I had another memory flash.’ It was an extension of the truth. ‘It shook me up a little.’
‘Poor niña,’ Alejandro soothed, brushing his lips against her temple. ‘If you don’t feel up to dinner tonight, I will contact André and have him meet me at a restaurant.’
‘No,’ Elise said quickly, adding, ‘Ana has gone to a lot of trouble.’ She didn’t want to wake in the depths of night when he slid into bed and reached for her.
She wanted a confrontation. Dammit, she wanted to launch a full-scale war against him. But not when they had a guest due to arrive for dinner in—how long? Less than an hour?
‘Shouldn’t we get ready?’
Alejandro drew back and gave her a rueful smile. ‘I need to shower and shave.’
The dress she had bought was a slim-fitting sheath in a brilliant red uncrushable viscose and linen mix, its hemline resting just above the knee. A clever panel of red beaded embroidery elevated the simple design to the glamorous, and matching beaded shoes completed an ensemble that shrieked a top Australian label.
Alejandro entered the bedroom as she put the finishing touches to her make-up, and with practised ease he attended to the hook on her bra, then assisted her into the dress. The long zip-fastener slid home, and she slowly turned to face him.
‘Stunning,’ he pronounced, his eyes gleaming with indolent appreciation as they roved over her slim curves. ‘Do you need help with your hair?’
‘I thought I’d wear it loose.’
She crossed to the dressing-table and caught up her brush, stroking the length of her hair until it shone. Ear-rings were too difficult to attach with one hand, so she discarded the idea.
André Valery was a tall, handsome man in his late thirties, charming, with Gallic appreciation for the opposite sex.
‘I have been looking forward to meeting the woman who managed to slip beneath Alejandro’s armour.’ He lifted his glass in salute. ‘I congratulate you.’
Dinner was a success, for not only had Ana excelled herself with superb culinary offerings, but the delicate baiting each man indulged in bore the stamp of a long friendship.
‘You realise our fathers were business associates? Oui. It is true. For some years we spent holidays together. Gstaad. St Moritz. One year Alejandro was packed off to join my family in Paris.’ His eyes twinkled with wicked humour. ‘We were young, gregarious, and, I think, a little too adventurous for our own good.’
‘Don’t indulge in tales, André,’ Alejandro drawled, ‘or I may feel compelled to relay a few of my own to Anne-Marie when next I see her.’
‘Anne-Marie,’ André returned, with a Gallic shrug, ‘is in no doubt as to what manner of man I am.’
‘Are you about to destroy my illusions?’ Elise queried lightly, and incurred his slight smile. His eyes, however, assumed inscrutability.
‘What illusions do you refer to, chérie?’
‘That you might be an exception to most successful men and have chosen not to have both wife and mistress?’
André’s gaze didn’t waver, and she met it fearlessly, aware of the sudden stillness in the room. ‘If a man values his family, and his wife meets his needs,’ he offered quite gently, ‘why would there be the necessity for him to take a mistress?’
She was stepping into dangerous territory, but she didn’t care. ‘The challenge it represents, perhaps? Excitement?’ She managed a careless shrug. ‘Would you consider it fair for a wife to expect her needs also to be met?’
Alejandro’s voice was pure silk. ‘You are lodging a subtle complaint, querida?’
It took all her acting ability, but she managed a light incredulous laugh. ‘How could I begin to fault you?’ She reached out a placating hand, and sat quite still as he took hold of it and raised her fingers to his lips.
It was a deliberate gesture, and she glimpsed the dark gleam in his eyes, a watchfulness that sent warning flares licking the taut edge of her nerves.
He knew. Perhaps not precisely when her memory had returned, but there was no doubt he was aware that she had experienced a total recall.
‘Shall we adjourn to the lounge for coffee?’ Alejandro suggested smoothly.
Somehow Elise managed to get through the rest of the evening. If André sensed that her conversation was a little too bright, he gave no indication.
‘You must excuse me,’ André said at last. ‘It is late, and I must return to my hotel.’ He crossed to her side. ‘Thank you for a most enjoyable evening.’ He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, then held it a fraction longer than was necessary. ‘Alejandro must bring you to Paris,’ he said gently. ‘It would give Anne-Marie much pleasure.’
‘Indeed,’ Alejandro concurred as they moved through to the front of the house.
Elise turned away from the door the instant the car’s tail-lights cleared the gates, acutely conscious of Alejandro’s actions as he re-set the alarm system.
Apprehension prickled at the back of her neck as she made for the stairs. The anger that had lain dormant since this afternoon rose to the fore, darkening her eyes and reining her mouth into a firm line.
Entering the bedroom, she slipped off her shoes, then reached for the zip-fastening at the back of her dress.
Alejandro came into the room as she began a third fruitless attempt to slide the fastener down, and she didn’t utter a word as he crossed to complete the task.
With extreme care she stepped out of the dress and placed it over a nearby chair, watching out of the corner of her eye as he discarded his jacket and removed his tie.
‘When did it happen?’
His voice was quiet, deadly, and she turned slowly to face him, unwilling to prevaricate.
Eyes as dark as onyx were filled with a chilling intensity, and her chin tilted fractionally as she prepared to oppose him.
‘This afternoon. In the obstetrician’s waiting-room.’ Her eyes sparked with green fire. ‘A photograph of Savannah in a magazine acted as the trigger, giving me total recollection in slow motion.’
His expression darkened fractionally, and he reached out a hand, catching hold of her chin between thumb and forefinger, tightening his grasp when she attempted to wrench it away.
Elise’s eyes flared a brilliant topaz-flecked emerald in unspoken challenge. ‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Why did you deceive me?’
He held her effortlessly, his expression an inscrutable mask. His silence angered her immeasurably.
‘Dammit, answer me!’
His eyes became bleak, and his voice sounded as dark as the depths of his black soul. ‘When would you have had me reveal facts?’
She suffered his raking scrutiny with angry defiance as she waited for him to continue.
‘While you lay in a hospital bed injured and afraid?’ he pursued relentlessly. ‘When you first came home?’ His eyes dared her to refute him. ‘Should I have destroyed your trust? Refused you reassurance and affection?’
‘You took advantage with a calculated play on my emotions,’ she cried, raw with pain.
‘We made love,’ Alejandro corrected harshly.
‘We had sex.’
‘A carnal coupling?’ His voice was lethal. ‘Based on greed and the gratification of a primitive urge?’
Dear God, it hadn’t been like that. Ever. No matter how hard she fought, she had been entrapped from the moment of confrontation in his office. One look, and she’d been shaken to the very roots of her being by the mesmeric quality of his masculinity. Aware, with the depth of selfknowledge, that Alejandro Santanas possessed the ability to render her helpless as no other man could. She had hated him for it, hated herself for her own vulnerability. But, most of all, she had hated the circumstances that bound her to him.
She wanted to cry out a rejection, but the words choked in her throat. ‘The night of the accident,’ she revealed bleakly, ‘I’d decided to leave you.’
His eyes speared her. ‘How long did you imagine it would take before I tracked you down?’
‘I intended to see a lawyer and file for separation.’
His features hardened measurably. ‘You hate me so much that you would attempt to deny me knowledge of your pregnancy, my child’s existence?’ His voice lowered to a dangerous silkiness that sent tiny shivers along her spine. ‘Or did you plan an abortion?’
‘No,’ she jerked out in shocked denial, reasserting in a hushed tone, ‘No.’ The thought had never entered her head.
He was silent for several interminable minutes, and when he spoke his voice was hard and held unaccountable bleakness. ‘The child you carry is as much mine as yours. Uniquely ours. Our son or daughter deserves to be more than someone we fight custody for in a law court.’
‘I married you because I couldn’t stand by and see my father emotionally and financially beaten. It would have killed him.’ She had to take some consolation from the knowledge that the last few months of his life had been happy. ‘You engineered a diabolical game,’ she accused him fiercely. ‘I should have damned you to the depths of hell and walked away.’
He regarded her steadily for what seemed an age. ‘Yet you didn’t,’ he reminded her, his gaze alert beneath partly lowered lids. ‘You accepted the arrangement as a challenge, and attempted to score against me.’
That had been her intention. At first, she had fooled herself that she was succeeding. Except that somewhere along the way she had fallen in love with him.
‘Displaying beautiful manners in public,’ he went on in musing reflection, ‘while behaving like a virago when we were alone.’
Her eyes were dark and accusing. ‘A fact you deliberately withheld from me.’
‘If you remember,’ Alejandro pursued, ‘I made no pretence that we shared an idyllic relationship.’
‘You said we argued occasionally!’ Elise flung, hating his skilful employment of words.
‘Frequently,’ he corrected. ‘The resolving of such arguments was always——’ he paused deliberately ‘—satisfactory, wouldn’t you say?’
That was an understatement. In bed, they had always been in perfect accord. In the beginning it had been a source of anguish, for she found it difficult to condone the degree of her emotional involvement with a man she professed to hate.
‘Our marriage breaks all the rules,’ she offered wretchedly, her eyes stormy with anger, and her hand shook as she lifted it to push hair back from her face.
‘The reason for its existence remains the same,’ he said in a hard voice.
She looked at him carefully, aware of his immense strength of will, the arresting elemental quality that made her feel suddenly afraid. ‘You can’t mean for the marriage to continue?’
‘Indeed,’ Alejandro declared inflexibly. He subjected her to a long, level appraisal. ‘What is more, I insist that you honour the two-year term listed in our pre-nuptial agreement.’
Anger emanated from every pore in her body. ‘That’s barbaric!’
‘Perhaps.’ His smile was a mere facsimile, his eyes dark and forbidding.
‘You expect me to act a part?’ She felt like screaming with indignant resentment. ‘Pretend?’
His expression was resolute, and his voice held infinite mockery. ‘You have managed admirably for the past seven months.’
‘Six,’ she flung back angrily, incensed by his imperturbability. ‘I cannot be held responsible for the past one and a half.’
He lifted a hand and brushed light fingers along the edge of her jaw. ‘Relieved of the barriers of your animosity for a few short weeks,’ he said, ’there was no reason to generate hatred for your Spanish esposo.’
She closed her eyes, then slowly opened them again. ‘There wasn’t meant to be a child!’ It was a cry from the heart.
His voice gentled as he caught hold of her chin and tilted it towards him. ‘Nevertheless, there is. Its unexpected existence is something I refuse to consider as anything other than a very special gift.’ His thumb lightly caressed the lower edge of her lip. ‘For several weeks we were able to dispense with any hostility.’ His eyes darkened measurably. ‘Friends, as well as lovers.’
Her eyes glittered with anger, sheer emerald flecked with gold. ‘We can never be friends!’
A smile tinged with wry mockery tugged the edges of his mouth. ‘Perhaps at this moment you do not believe so.’ Dark eyes gleamed with cynical humour. ‘Why don’t you get into bed?’
Her pulse tripped its beat and measurably quickened—as a result of anger, she assured herself, not passion. ‘I don’t want to go to bed, and I especially don’t want to share a bed with you/
‘We share, Elise,’ he insisted in a dangerously soft voice, ‘as we have done from the beginning.’
His threat wasn’t an idle one, and she looked at him in silent mutiny for several long seconds. ‘If you touch me, so help me, I’ll hit you,’ she vouched with low-pitched vehemence, and, turning away from him, she caught up her nightgown and crossed into the bathroom to remove her make-up.
Her fingers shook so badly that the cream got into her eyes, and she dabbed frantically at it before sluicing her face.
Alejandro was in bed when she emerged, stretched out, his arms crossed behind his head.
Elise eyed him warily as she slipped in beneath the covers and closed her eyes. Seconds later she heard the snap of the bedside lamp as the room was plunged into darkness.
Slowly her lashes swept upwards, and for a long time she stared sightlessly ahead, discerning shadows and a thin strip of moonlight threading between the curtains as her eyes adjusted to the grey light of night.
She was acutely aware of every sound, her own breathing, his, and she knew the moment when Alejandro’s steadied and assumed a deep rhythmic beat.
Tomorrow, she promised as her eyelids became heavy and began to flutter down. Tomorrow she would launch an attack about the depth of his involvement with the glamorous Savannah.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ELISE woke late to discover that Alejandro had already left for the city. His absence provided an anticlimax, for there was a fine edge to her inner rage that longed for the satisfaction of a full-scale confrontation.
‘Alejandro asked me to tell you that you are both to attend a formal dinner to aid charity this evening,’ Ana conveyed as Elise sat down to a solitary breakfast.
The Santanas Corporation was a well-known benefactor, and Alejandro lent his personal patronage to selected organisations. Elise had attended several such dinners in the past, and her heart sank at the thought of mingling with Alejandro’s sophisticated coterie of acquaintances.
Without doubt Savannah would be present, and Elise hated being an object of conjecture as certain guests speculated on the latest developments between the Santanas scion, his wife, and the glamorous model who had been his constant companion for years before his sudden marriage to a virtual unknown with no social background.
Elise entertained no doubt that Alejandro’s absence from the social scene for the past six weeks had been duly noted and commented upon, details regarding her accident embellished and explicated.
It seemed coincidental that she was to have the bandages removed from her hand today. After this afternoon, physiotherapy would be reduced to weekly instead of daily sessions. Soon the only evidence would be a thin scar on her hand.
The thought of regaining her independence was a heady one. After today, she would be able to drive again. There were a few friends she needed to contact. Siobhan. Realisation suddenly hit her that her dearest friend might be anxious not to have heard from her at all in the past six weeks.
As it was, she had no idea whether Siobhan was still working days at the Royal Children’s Hospital, or if she had crossed over to night duty. If it was nights, the answering machine would be on and she could leave a message.
Elise checked the time, then finished her breakfast and moved quickly upstairs to use the bedroom telephone.
Siobhan picked up on the third ring, her voice jubilant on discovering who was on the other end of the line, and they talked for the best part of an hour before Elise reluctantly had to conclude the call in order to keep her appointment with the orthopaedic surgeon.
‘Let’s meet for lunch—soon,’ she insisted.
‘I’m a working girl, remember?’ Siobhan teased. ‘However, I’m off the next two nights. Is tomorrow soon enough?’
Elise gave an exultant laugh. ‘Tomorrow it is. Just name the place, the time, and I’ll be there.’
An hour later José deposited her outside the consultant orthopaedist’s rooms, and thirty minutes later she walked out sans protective half-cast and bandages. The specialist sanctioned a return to driving, advised care with her hand, and suggested a further appointment in a month.
Now all she had to do was determine which car she could use as her own. There had been no mention of the white Porsche or its fate. Surely it couldn’t have been smashed beyond repair? With the Bentley out of action, Alejandro was taking the Porsche Targa into the city, which left the Pajero wagon for José. She would have to broach it with Alejandro tonight.
After lunch she went through the contents of her wardrobe in an effort to reach a decision over what to wear to dinner, and after much deliberation she narrowed the choice down to two, eventually selecting a stunning fitted gown in deep emerald. The colour matched her eyes, highlighted the creamy texture of her skin, and proved a vivid contrast to her blonde hair.
It was almost four when José delivered her home from physiotherapy, and at five she took a shower, washed her hair and had Ana curl fat rollers into its length before attending to her nails.
Alejandro entered the bedroom as she began applying make-up, and she met his studied appraisal with equanimity.
‘How is your hand?’ He moved towards her, and Elise felt an immediate awareness of his close proximity.
Without a word she displayed the pink scar. ‘I’m sure you’ve already received the specialist’s report.’ She hadn’t intended to sound quite so cynical.
His eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘Yes.’
‘You also know that I am able to drive again,’ she offered, watching as his head lowered down to hers.
She averted her head so that his kiss landed on her cheek, and almost at once he caught hold of her chin, anchoring it as he covered her mouth with his own in an invasion that brought forth a muffled entreaty he chose to ignore.
When he finally lifted his head she silently damned him to the depths of perdition.
The desire to rage against him was paramount, and, drawing in a deep breath, she launched into attack. ‘I’d like to become independent again, rather than have to drag José away every time I want to go out.’
Alejandro slipped the knot free on his tie and began unfastening the buttons on his shirt. ‘That is part of his job.’
Her eyes assumed a brilliant hue as anger began to unfurl, and it took considerable effort to control her temper. ‘Have you assigned him as my gaoler?’
‘You’re being fanciful.’
‘Am I?’
He looked every inch the power broker… indomitable, lethal, inflexible. ‘Are you intent on having an argument?’
She wanted to throw something at him and have it cause mild bodily harm. ‘I find it difficult to condone almost everything you do where I am concerned.’
He pulled his shirt free and tossed it down on to the bed. ‘Almost everything, querida?’ One eyebrow slanted in silent mockery. ‘Should I take that to indicate there is some hope for me?’
‘Don’t be so damned facetious,’ she condemned fiercely, seething with helpless indignation as she glimpsed his amusement.
‘We need to leave in half an hour. Can this discussion wait?’
‘Until when, Alejandro?’ she taunted, holding his gaze without any difficulty at all. ‘Next week, next month?’
‘Tomorrow.’
It was a better concession than she had hoped for, and she viewed him steadily for several long seconds as her anger began to dissipate.
‘Where is the dinner being held tonight?’
One eyebrow arched, and his mouth assumed a degree of cynicism. ‘The Sheraton.’
Some devilish imp prompted her to ask, ‘Will Savannah be there?’
‘I imagine so. She likes to attend most of the events.’
‘In order to see you.’ It was nothing less than the truth.
‘Savannah has many friends, most of whom are active on the social circuit,’ he drawled, and his faintly mocking tones brought a resurgence of anger.
‘I can’t think why you didn’t marry her.’ Elise endeavoured not to sound bitter. ‘She would have leapt at the chance!’
‘Perhaps,’ Alejandro conceded, watching the play of emotions across her expressive features. ‘I chose not to ask her.’
‘One can only wonder why.’ Her eyes deepened in colour and became faintly reflective. ‘She’s beautiful, poised, and she comes from the right social background.’ It was amazing that her voice sounded so calm.
His eyes gleamed with sardonic humour. ‘Many women of my acquaintance fit that description.’
‘Several of whom are wealthy in their own right,’ she pursued, uncaring that she was treading dangerous ground. ‘Poor Alejandro,’ she added lightly. ‘Were you afraid their prime motivation was an advantageous financial merger? Or, if their independent wealth was sufficient for that not to be a consideration, could there have been distaste that they were merely lusting after your body? Not to mention your——’ she hesitated deliberately, then finished with considered delicacy ‘—impressive skill in the bedroom.’
‘Only in the bedroom, mi mujer?’ he mocked cynically. ‘I retain a vivid recollection of several enjoyable…encounters, shall we say?’ he suggested, slanting one eyebrow. ‘When we shared the shower, the spa.’ His eyes gleamed as soft pink coloured her cheeks. ‘Shall I continue?’
‘You’ve had plenty of practice, damn you!’
‘You are jealous, querida, that any one of my former lovers might possibly have meant more to me than you do?’
Elise felt her eyes widen with shock. Was she so transparent? Could he be aware of how much she hated the thought of his splendidly muscular body engaged in the act of lovemaking with another woman…? Women, she corrected. Past and present.
‘How could I be jealous,’ she countered, with as much pride as she could muster, ‘when you clearly defined the reason for our marriage, allocated a price-tag and specified a time-limit?’
‘That bothers you?’
It bothered her like hell, but she was damned if she would admit to it. ‘About as much as the fact that you’ve chosen to retain Savannah as your mistress.’
‘The term mistress conveys a woman kept by a husband while still co-habiting with his wife.’ His eyes were dark, and held latent anger. ‘You imagine I would insult you in such a manner?’
I don’t know. ‘I’d appreciate it if you would at least keep the…liaison discreet.’
There was a perceptible pause, one in which it seemed that even a pin falling to the floor would result in cacophonous sound. ‘Am I to understand that you give your sanction to such a relationship?’
No. The silent negation screamed inside her head. It took tremendous effort to effect a slight shrug. ‘Would anything I say make a difference?’
He appeared to be marshalling his anger, confining it beneath a mantle of superb control. ‘We have a dinner engagement,’ he reminded her icily. ‘I suggest you get changed.’
The thought of sitting through a formal dinner in the company of some of the city’s social glitterati was more than she could bear. ‘Forgive me, Alejandro,’ she said with bitter cynicism, ‘but I can’t bring myself to play pretend tonight.’ Her eyes sparkled with emerald brilliance. ‘I’m sure you can come up with some valid excuse that will explain my absence.’ A devilish imp prompted her to add, ‘Savannah will be delighted.’
He looked at her for what seemed an age, his expression a compelling mask from which she inwardly shrank. ‘You tempt me to the brink of violence,’ he said in a voice that was so dangerously quiet it raised all her fine body-hairs in silent fear.
Without a further word he discarded his clothes and strode into the bathroom. He didn’t slam the door, and she found that infinitely more disquieting than if he had resorted to an outward display of anger.
Ten minutes later he emerged, a towel hitched low over his hips, and she moved hastily to her feet as he began to dress.
‘Ask Ana to prepare you something to eat.’
‘It’s her night off,’ Elise managed in a stilted voice. ‘I wouldn’t dream of disturbing her.’ She crossed to the door. ‘I’m quite capable of fixing something myself.’
She didn’t wait for Alejandro to respond, and on reaching ground level she made her way to the kitchen.
The refrigerator was well stocked, so too was the pantry. It was just a matter of making a decision. An omelette would suffice, with cheese, tomato, ham, mushrooms…Not that she felt in the least hungry. If anything, the thought of food made her ill.
She removed a skillet, assembled the ingredients on the bench-top, then chopped, sliced and diced with methodical stoicism.
Alejandro entered the kitchen as she turned the omelette on to a plate, and she willed her hands not to betray her as she turned down the gas.
His raking appraisal unsettled her more than any words he could have chosen to utter, and she turned away from him as she carried her plate to the wide servery bench, then returned to collect cutlery.
She sensed rather than heard him move, and seconds later she felt his hands close over her shoulders as he turned her towards him.
For one achingly long moment their eyes clashed, then his head lowered in seemingly slow motion, and a strangled cry of dissent lay imprisoned in her throat as his mouth closed over hers in a hard merciless kiss that tore at her defences and reached right down to the depths of her soul.
It became a ruthless invasion that bordered on violation, and when at last he lifted his head, she could only stand in shocked immobility. If he had wanted to punish her, he’d succeeded, she decided numbly.
She felt raw, her whole body consumed by an emotional pain so intense that it was almost a tangible entity. Her eyes began to ache, then glistened with tears she refused to allow to fall.
His features were harsh, and with a muttered imprecation he turned and strode from the kitchen.
Minutes later she heard the muted sound of a car engine start up, then its refined purr diminished as it reached the end of the driveway.
She hugged her arms together, and tried valiantly to maintain a measure of control.
How long she stood there she had no idea, for she had no sense of the passage of time as she attempted to rationalise the foolishness of pitching her strength against a man whose physical and emotional strength were infinitely superior to her own.
It was only the prosaic need for food that refocused her attention, and with determined resolve she collected cutlery and systematically divided the cold omelette into bite-sized portions, forking them automatically into her mouth.
When she had finished, she cleaned the skillet, rinsed the plate and cutlery, and placed them in the dishwasher.
The house seemed incredibly silent, the lounge much too large for her to sit in alone. Feeling thoroughly unsettled, she wandered into the informal sala, collected a magazine, and sank into one of the deep cushioned seats. The pages were not able to capture her interest, and she discarded the magazine, choosing instead to use the remote module to switch on the television. Surely there would be something she could become involved in, she thought with despair, as she clicked one channel after another.
Two half-hour comedy shows provided some light relief, but her appreciation of the humour portrayed was only superficial, and when they were over she roved between the channels in search of a movie that might prove interesting.
There was not much selection, and she crossed to the cabinet and browsed through the collection of videos, discarding all but one. It was a dark Gothic piece that had earned critical acclaim, but she found it too intense, and was quite pleased when the credits finally rolled.
Elise crossed back into the kitchen and filled a glass with ice from the freezer, then added orange juice and slowly sipped the contents.
What time would Alejandro come home? If he came home, a tiny voice taunted. Dammit, of course he would. He had never stayed out before, so why would he begin now?
Maybe because you virtually gave him carte blanche to spend time with Savannah, the same tiny voice reminded her with devilish glee.
A glance at her watch revealed it to be after ten, and with sudden decisiveness she finished the juice, then made for the stairs. She would have a shower, then go to bed.
Twenty minutes later she slid beneath the cool linen sheets, snapped off the light, and closed her eyes.
Sleep did not provide the release she craved, and half an hour later she gave a muttered groan and slid out of bed, choosing to curl up in a chair close to the curtain-draped window.
How did one reconcile the heaven of loving Alejandro Santanas, and the resultant hell of knowing he could never love her? Elise reflected as she gazed sightlessly round the darkened room.
Like a moth at a flame, she had been struck by the lightning of instant attraction, aware of the swift invasive pull of sheer physical desire, and engulfed by its powerful magnetism.
By day she had fought him, hating him for being able to hold her captive to her own desire, hating herself for being so easily entrapped by the dictates of her own flesh…By night she lost the fight and revelled in the magic of his touch.
Would it ever be any different between them? It had been, she reflected sadly. For six short weeks she had believed him to be a caring, loving husband. A man who had devoted all of his time to her, and shown her incredible tendresse.
Had it been real? Or merely an act? She would probably never know.
Oh, hell, she cursed, as her eyes filled and tears began to trickle down both cheeks. She hardly ever cried. Except when her father had died. Dammit, her hormones must be raging some sort of inner war with her emotional heart. To be this stricken with tears was crazy.
Futile, she amended, timeless minutes later when she appeared all cried out. The spent emotion made her sleepy, and she snuggled deeper into the chair and rested her head in the curve of one arm.
It was there Alejandro found her, and he stood for a long time looking down at the graceful arch of her slender neck illuminated by the bedside lamp, the softness of her hair as it clung to her neck, the slender curves beneath the simple white cotton nightgown. And the faint evidence of tears.
Slowly he discarded his clothes, then he crossed back to the chair and carefully lifted her into his arms.
Elise stirred, aware in the depths of her subconscious that something was different. Whereas the cushioned chair was softly padded, now there was the warmth of hard muscular flesh beneath her head. She was aware of a deep rhythmic heartbeat, and an arm curving her close against a long male body. Fingers traced a light transient pattern over her hair, and she felt the brush of lips against her temple.
A soft sigh emerged from her lips, and almost in reflex action her arm crept out to encircle his waist.
His mouth was beautifully chiselled, and she knew exactly how it felt against her own. Even thinking about it brought alive the flicker of desire, igniting from her central core and licking treacherously along every nerve in her body.
Of its own accord her head angled slightly, the soft curves of her mouth parting to accept a kiss that began with incredible gentleness. Teasing, provocative, and profoundly seductive.
There was no thought of denying him, or herself, and she exulted in each caress, the overwhelming bewitching rapture as he guided her towards fulfilment—seismic, earth-shattering, a surrender to the sensual delights of passion.
It was the one level on which they communicated. No discord, no sense of disappointment. Just beautiful intimacy. Sex, she corrected, all too aware of the difference.
‘Drop me anywhere along Oxford Street, José,’ Elise declared. ‘It’s a beautiful day, and I feel like walking.’
The Pajero eased through the traffic-lights and pulled into a parking bay. ‘What time, and where shall I collect you?’
‘I’ll get a taxi back,’ she said lightly, unwilling to put a curfew on the day. Who knew how long lunch with Siobhan would extend? And besides, she might want to explore the shops for a while.
‘Perhaps you will ring when you are ready?’ José suggested on an anxious note. ‘Alejandro would insist.’
Alejandro could insist all he liked! ‘I’ll let you know,’ she conceded, feeling only slightly guilty that she had no intention of calling José. She proffered a warm smile, then opened the door and stepped down on to the pavement, waiting only a few seconds after he pulled out into the traffic before making her way towards the next street.
Siobhan was waiting for her, and they hugged each other as if it was years instead of several weeks since they had last seen each other.
‘You look fantastic,’ Siobhan declared as they entered the restaurant. The maître d’ took them to a table with views of the harbour, handed them each a menu, then left them to make a selection. ‘How is your hand?’
They ordered mineral water, deliberated over what they would eat, ordered, then attempted to continue where they had left off the previous afternoon.
Three hours later they shared the bill and wandered out into the fresh afternoon sunshine.
‘The shops?’ Siobhan hazarded with an irrepressible grin, laughing as Elise concurred with alacrity.
It was after five when they parted, promising to phone to arrange another lunch together the following week.
Taxis were in high demand, and the queue at the nearest rank was a lengthy one. Securing a taxi within half an hour looked to be impossible.
Damn, Elise cursed, aware that she should have taken the peak hour into consideration. Maybe a rank in one of the neighbouring streets would offer her a better opportunity.
It didn’t. If anything, it was even longer. There wasn’t much choice except to ring José.
She reached into her bag, then made a wry grimace on discovering that she had left the compact mobile phone at home. Locating a telephone booth took several minutes, and she had to wait for two people in front of her to take their turn in making calls.
Finally she got through, and the signal only sounded twice before the receiver was lifted from the hook. However, it wasn’t José, or even Ana, who answered, and her heart took on an agitated beat.
‘Where are you?’
Alejandro sounded so coldly furious that it was all she could do not to snap back at him.
‘Downtown city. All the taxi ranks have horrendous queues.’
He appeared to be summoning control, and his anger emanated down the line. ‘Where, precisely, Elise?’
‘Tell José I’ll wait in Elizabeth Street, the Park Street end.’
However, it was the black Porsche which pulled into the kerb some thirty minutes later, not the Pajero.
One glance at Alejandro’s harsh features was enough to determine that a battle was about to commence.
Alejandro leaned across and opened the passenger door. ‘Get in.’ His voice sounded clipped, and Elise slid in beside him and fastened her seatbelt.
It took the next change of lights before he could ease the Porsche ahead of the traffic, and their progress was hampered by the sheer number of vehicles vacating the city.
‘I planned on being home before now.’ It was a statement, not an apology.
‘Obviously.’
Anger rose to the surface as she turned towards him. ‘Dammit, Alejandro, I won’t allow you to put me in a gilded cage!’
Something flickered in the depth of his eyes. ‘My position in the business arena is well-reported in the Press.’ A muscle tensed at the edge of his jaw. ‘In today’s society there are a few fanatics who take pleasure in targeting those who lead a high-profile existence. Consequently, I take extreme care to ensure any possible risks are kept to a minimum.’ He spared her a dark glance, then returned his attention to negotiating the traffic. ‘Hence the necessity for security measures. The reason I insist you always carry a mobile phone, and each vehicle has a car phone. A need for someone—myself, Ana, José—to be aware of your whereabouts. For protection. Not restriction.’
She lifted a hand in angry agitation. ‘If I’d had my own car, this wouldn’t have happened.’
He didn’t say anything. He had no need, Elise decided darkly as the car cleared the city confines and traversed Bayswater Road. The traffic thinned slightly as they reached Double Bay, and ten minutes later the Porsche swung through the wide double gates at the entrance to the Point Piper mansion.
The garage doors lifted at a touch from Alejandro’s remote module, then the car slid into place between the Pajero and a stunning red topof-the-range Mercedes sedan.
‘Yours,’ Alejandro told her as she cast it an admiring glance.
Her stomach executed a slow flip, and she turned slowly towards him. ‘You bought it for me?’
His expression was unfathomable. ‘José will take you for a test-drive tomorrow.’ He unclipped his belt and slid out from behind the wheel.
Elise did likewise, pausing long enough to run tentative fingers over the red satin-smooth paintwork. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said quietly and, taking a step towards him, she reached up and placed a fleeting kiss on the edge of his chin. ‘Thank you.’
His mouth curved to form a wry smile, and his eyes assumed a darkness she found impossible to fathom.
‘Your hand,’ Alejandro asked quietly. ‘How does it feel now the bandages and plaster have been removed?’
‘A little strange. Stiff,’ she elaborated with a slight shrug. ‘Physiotherapy helps.’
‘Shall we go indoors? Ana will be waiting to serve dinner.’
She needed to freshen up, and use the bathroom. ‘Give me ten minutes.’
Elise took time to change into silk trousers and a matching top, then ran a brush through her hair. A quick slash of pink restored colour to her lips.
Her expression was vaguely pensive as she joined Alejandro in the dining-room, and she spooned her soup with little real appetite and merely picked at the tender beef with its accompanying vegetables.
‘Not hungry?’
Elise looked at him carefully, examining the strong bone-structure, the assemblage of muscle and skin that moulded his features into compelling attractiveness.
Before the accident she would not have had the least compunction about beginning an argument with him. Not only that, she would have delighted in doing battle, exulting when she succeeded in rousing his temper. It was madness, because she could never win against him.
Now she seemed hell-bent on following a similar path. His brand of caring during their time together at Palm Beach, his tender affection, had wreaked havoc with her emotional heart. Worse, it had destroyed the very core of her resentment.
‘No,’ she answered at last, pushing her plate to one side.
‘Have some fruit.’
Elise looked at the selection Ana had placed in the bowl, then shook her head. She reached for her glass, miscalculated, and water pooled across the table.
‘Oh, hell,’ she said shakily as she collected a napkin and began mopping up the excess. What was wrong with her, for heaven’s sake?
‘Leave it.’
She rose to her feet. ‘I’ll get another napkin.’
‘Leave it, Elise,’ Alejandro commanded silkily. Stupid tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked furiously in an effort to prevent them from spilling over. Any second now she’d make a fool of herself, and that would never do.
She moved from the table and had taken three steps when a hand closed over her arm.
‘Let me go. Please,’ she begged in bleak despair, hating the degree of vulnerability evident as he tilted her chin.
‘When you tell me what is disturbing you.’
She closed her eyes against the sight of him, then slowly opened them again. ‘I didn’t deliberately stay in the city in order to cause you concern.’
‘I wasn’t aware I implied that you had.’ He cupped her face between both hands and brushed a thumb-pad across one cheek.
Dear heaven, why did she feel so acutely sensitive where he was concerned? A few days ago she wouldn’t have thought it possible that she would find it imperative to offer him any explanation or proffer an apology. Now she was doing both.
However, soul-searching wouldn’t achieve anything, for there was no easy resolution.
‘Thanks for the car,’ she managed unevenly, and glimpsed his faint smile as he watched the fleeting emotions chase across her expressive features.
‘What good manners you have, mi mujer,’ he drawled. ‘I shall look forward to a more—passionate shall we say?—expression of your gratitude.’
It took considerable effort to keep the pain from her voice. ‘Payment in sexual favours?’ she queried, and saw his eyes darken.
‘You little fool,’ Alejandro responded with deadly softness as his mouth fastened over hers in a kiss that was meant to punish.
A silent cry of impassioned entreaty remained locked in her throat, and it seemed an age before he lifted his head.
His eyes speared hers, and she became trapped beneath the degree of latent sensuality evident, a primeval recognition that had everything to do with the senses.
Her mouth quivered, its soft curves faintly swollen from the ruthless force of his own, and she cried out a single negation as he swept her effortlessly into his arms.
In the bedroom he let her slide down to her feet, and she wanted to vent her rage against his deliberate seduction as he gently cupped her face.
Eyes that were impossibly slumberous held her own captive, and helpless frustration welled up inside her as she became caught up in mesmerised fascination.
Did he know how difficult it was for her to accept the traitorous desire she experienced in his arms? The breath seemed to catch in her throat, and her eyes clung to his, bright with anger, yet intensely vulnerable.
A hand slid beneath her hair, urging her close as his lips trailed across her forehead, then moved slowly down one cheek to settle at the corner of her mouth, teasing, gentle, and incredibly erotic as he conducted a sensual tasting that made her ache for more.
Beneath his sensual mastery a deep flame flared into vibrant life, and she gave herself up totally to the delights of unbridled ardency.
Elise made no protest when he set about freeing her clothes and his own, and her body arched of its own accord as his mouth began a supplicating path over every inch of her body.
She was barely conscious of the tiny sounds emerging from her throat as she began to plead with him, wanting, needing his total possession.
When at last he gave it, she cried out, welcoming his mouth on hers with hungry passion as acute sensation spiralled towards a mutual climax that explored the heights of primitive satiation.
Sexual ecstasy at its zenith, she accepted drowsily a long time later as she drifted towards sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ELISE revelled in her independence, and chose to take the Mercedes out each day.
On one occasion she visited the ward where she had worked at the Royal Children’s Hospital, after which she drove by the old brick house she had shared for years with her father.
It looked different, she reflected with a tinge of sadness. The small front garden no longer existed, the curtains had been changed, and the door was now painted a brilliant green.
Was it only nine months since her world had been turned upside-down? In some ways it seemed much longer than that.
It was impossible not to ponder what her future might hold, and that of her unborn child. She wanted…What did she want? Alejandro’s love? Was it such an impossible dream?
The blast of a car horn interrupted her thoughts, and she set the Mercedes moving away from a street that no longer held a place in her life.
Lunch, she decided, feeling suddenly hungry, after which she would head towards Double Bay to browse among the many boutiques. She might even visit a beauty salon and indulge in a facial. Then she could look for a suitable gown to wear to an important end-of-year function to be held the following evening in an inner-city hotel.
After an extensive search she discovered exactly what she wanted, added matching evening shoes and bag, and tried not to blench as she signed the credit slip.
Alejandro’s appreciation of her choice was plainly evident as she bore his appraisal mere minutes before they were due to leave the house the next evening.
‘I won’t be able to let you out of my sight,’ he drawled, and she proffered a teasing smile.
‘Likewise.’
‘Indeed?’
His eyes held latent passion, and something she dared not define. A tiny flame flared deep within and flowed through her body. ‘Shall we leave?’
‘So many beautiful women,’ Elise murmured as they entered the hotel ballroom some thirty minutes later. ‘Wearing a fortune in clothes and jewellery in a personal quest to outshine one another.’
Alejandro cast her an amused glance as one of several hostesses hurried forward to check their tickets and indicate their table position.
‘Careful, querida,’ he drawled. ‘Your claws are showing.’
She offered him a winsome smile. ‘It’s one thing to show them, and quite another to use them.’ Unlike Savannah, who didn’t hesitate to do both, she added silently as she paused at Alejandro’s side while he exchanged pleasantries with an acquaintance.
The ballroom had the capacity to seat eight hundred patrons, with ten guests assigned to each circular table. An impressive annual event, it was a draw for the city’s social élite who came primarily to be seen. The promoted charity, the reason for such a gathering, was Incidental.
Perhaps that was being a little unkind, Elise decided as she took her seat a short while later. Committee members affiliated to any charity organisation worked tirelessly to put something like this evening’s soiree together, and deserved an accolade for their efforts.
Two seats at their table remained empty, and Elise’s fingers tightened on the stem of her glass as she overheard who was due to join them.
‘Savannah is always late, darling. She likes to make a grand entrance.’
Savannah’s presence tonight was a foregone conclusion, but only someone with a twisted sense of humour would have placed the glamorous model at the same table as Alejandro and Elise Santanas. It was too contrived to be coincidental, and Elise could only conclude that Savannah herself had engineered the seating arrangements.
The lights dimmed, a spotlight hit the podium, and the charity’s president extolled the amount raised and its purpose. Tonight’s guest speaker was a well-known dignitary who would begin his speech at the dinner’s conclusion, after which music would be provided for guests to dance.
The spotlight faded, the lights returned, and there was Savannah, looking absolutely stunning in jade silk that clung lovingly to every curve. The man at her side wasn’t someone Elise had previously met, and she pinned a smile firmly in place as Savannah performed an introduction.
Was it her imagination that their table was the cynosure of all eyes? Perhaps not, she conceded, although there could be no doubt Savannah’s presence would be viewed with interest.
‘Elise. How are you? Quite recovered from your accident, I hope?’ The slightly bored tone was offset by a seemingly sincere smile which did not reach her eyes as Elise made a polite rejoinder. ‘Alejandro missed you dreadfully at last week’s dinner.’ The smile deepened and became deliberately secretive as she switched attention. ‘Didn’t you, darling? Quite the devoted husband. If he hadn’t been a featured guest speaker, I doubt if he would have come.’
Elise was saved from having to respond by the arrival of a waiter bearing a basket of bread rolls, and when the first course was served she dutifully spooned the delectable potato and leek soup until it was finished.
Faced with a choice of fish or chicken, she opted for the former, and forked each mouthful with studied care. Every so often she paused to sip iced water from her glass, acutely conscious of Savannah’s presence directly opposite.
Incredibly beautiful: there was no visible flaw in any one of her perfect features. Nature had bestowed with a bountiful hand, while good fortune had ensured that she’d been born into wealth. A modelling opportunity had landed in her lap at a tender age, and the rest, as they said, was history.
Elise had viewed her with extreme caution the moment they had first met, and nothing had occurred in the interim to change her mind. The model was an ensnarer of men, making it very plain that Alejandro Santanas was her prime target. His marriage was dismissed as of little account, merely a mild irritation soon to be dispensed with.
‘Some wine, my dear?’
Elise turned towards the man seated on her left, and shook her head. ‘It’s kind of you to offer, but no.’
‘You’re getting by with water, darling?’ Savannah queried, effecting a faint moue. ‘Are you driving?’
Alejandro shifted slightly in his chair and caught hold of Elise’s hand, lifting it to his lips. His eyes gleamed with warmth as he gently kissed each fingertip in turn before enfolding her hand in his.
She wanted to wrench her hand free, but even as the thought occurred, his own hand tightened measurably in silent warning, and she had no recourse but to smile. Damn him, he was little more than an elegant savage behind that sophisticated façade. Ruthless, she added, suppressing a slight shiver as she caught sight of Savannah’s fixed stare.
‘You’re not pregnant, are you, darling?’
Only Savannah would ask such a question, and Elise held her breath as Alejandro met the model’s seemingly innocent gaze.
‘Yes, much to my delight.’ There was no doubt about the element of steel beneath the silksmoothness of his voice.
The arrival of dessert was an anticlimax, and Elise picked segments of fruit from their meringue nest, then pushed the plate to one side, choosing tea as the guest speaker took the podium.
Afterwards a DJ provided background music and encouraged guests to step on to the dance-floor. Savannah and her partner were among the first, moving through the steps with effortless ease.
She looked so—sophisticated, and so very sure of herself. Her features were faintly sultry, and Elise had no doubt that the model knew precisely the effect she was having on her partner.
The question was whether it was having the desired effect on Alejandro.
Elise cast him a surreptitious glance, and was disconcerted to meet his hooded gaze. She offered a tentative smile, afraid he might have deduced the pattern of her thoughts, and she blinked as he reached out and threaded his fingers through her own.
‘Would you like to dance?’
Part of her wanted to quite desperately, for she badly needed the sanctuary of his embrace. The other part recognised the danger of having her body pressed against the hard powerful impact of his own.
With a word of assent she rose to her feet, moved out on to the floor and into his arms.
The music was slow, and her steps matched his in perfect unison. Magic, she mused. Was it possible for one human being to be addicted to another? Held in thrall as if the essence of him were some powerful narcotic?
He diminished every other man in the room, possessing an inherent ruthlessness, honed by experience and enhanced by the degree of his success.
It held a fascination that men recognised and women viewed with the speculative interest of their sex. To some it was an invisible magnet, activated by the excitement of discovering if the man, freed from corporate restraint, was as skilled at lovemaking as he was at adding millions to his investment portfolio.
An immensely sophisticated man, yet there was the hint of an untamed quality, a primitive savagery held rigidly in control.
A faint shiver feathered down her spine with the knowledge that he would be devastatingly heartless as an enemy.
‘Cold?’
His voice was a soft caress against her hair, and she murmured a faint negative.
‘Someone just walked over my grave,’ she offered, with a droll attempt at humour.
‘Savannah?’
She missed a step, and gave an inaudible gasp as he enfolded her close against him. It was a far from conventional hold, and she tilted her head to meet the dark inscrutability apparent in his gaze.
‘You’re too astute for your own good,’ she offered in a strangled voice.
‘Is that a disadvantage?’
She chose not to answer, and when the music changed she moved back a pace and suggested they return to their table.
‘I need to use the powder-room,’ she murmured, aware of the effect of several glasses of water. She caught up her evening bag with the intention of doing a few running repairs to her make-up while there.
‘Do you want me to escort you?’
She directed at him a slow smile of amusement. ‘I’m not a child, Alejandro. What can happen to me?’
What, indeed? she could only query silently several minutes later, when she emerged from a stall to find Savannah examining her make-up in front of the long mirrored wall.
‘Playing to win, darling?’ Savannah queried softly.
‘Every time, Savannah,’ she managed evenly as she took out lipstick and ran colour smoothly over her lips.
‘You’re very…small,’ Savannah opined with a total lack of graciousness. ‘A petite size eight?’
There had to be a purpose to this conversation, and determining her dress size was totally irrelevant, Elise reflected as she recapped the lipstick and turned to face her aggressor.
‘Alejandro is so…’ Savannah trailed off delicately.
‘Well-endowed?’ Elise suggested, deliberately manufacturing a stunningly amused smile. ‘A distinct advantage, wouldn’t you agree?’
Dark brown eyes glittered with dangerous venom as the model released a tinkle of soft laughter. ‘He’s a lusty animal, darling.’ Her gaze focused on Elise’s trim waist. ‘Pregnancy is hardly flattering, especially in the latter stage. I can’t imagine he’ll practise celibacy, no matter how temporary.’
‘And you’ll be there for him to turn to?’
‘Of course, darling.’ She paused, then sharpened the verbal barb for maximum impact. ‘As I have been, and always will be.’
Elise felt sickened, and it took considerable effort to summon a light smile. ‘I really must go back to the table.’ She turned away, only to give an anguished gasp as Savannah caught hold of her injured hand.
‘Don’t underestimate me.’
‘I never have,’ Elise assured steadfastly. ‘Will you please let go of my hand? It’s still quite painful.’
Savannah’s grip momentarily tightened, and her eyes gleamed with a malevolence that changed her features into a hard mask.
For a few shocking seconds Elise thought she wouldn’t be able to cope with the pain, then Savannah flung her hand aside with a pitiless laugh.
‘I’d hate to hurt you unnecessarily.’ Collecting her evening bag, she swept out of the powder-room.
For several minutes Elise was locked into immobility as she tried to control her shaken emotions. Her hand throbbed, aching with an intensity that clouded her eyes and took the colour from her face.
‘Are you all right?’
The light feminine voice held concern, and Elise dredged up a faint smile.
‘You’re very pale. Perhaps you should sit down for a few minutes? Shall I fetch your husband?’
‘No. No,’ she reiterated quickly. ‘I’ll be all right in a few minutes.’
‘My table is next to yours. We’ll walk back together, shall we?’
Elise was supremely conscious of Alejandro’s intent gaze as she resumed her seat. To her relief there was no sign of Savannah or her partner.
‘Would you like more tea?’
She doubted if she would be able to drink it. ‘I’ve had enough, thanks.’ In more ways than one, she added silently.
‘Do you want to go home?’ His voice was quiet, and there was no escaping his penetrating appraisal.
‘Not yet,’ she managed with commendable calm. To leave now would amount to an admission of defeat, and she was damned if she would give Savannah the satisfaction.
Most of the guests were drifting from one table to another, and Elise gave an inward sigh of relief when another couple joined them. The man, a business associate of Alejandro’s, launched into an in-depth discussion with him, while the woman engaged Elise in innocuous conversation.
It was twenty minutes before they left, and Elise cast Alejandro a startled glance as he leaned an arm across the back of her chair.
‘It’s almost eleven. We’ve done our duty. Shall we leave?’
‘If you want to.’
Without a further word he made their excuses, then began leading the way from the ballroom. Several acquaintances sought his attention and, although he paused momentarily to offer a few words in polite response, he didn’t linger.
It was a relief to reach the car, and once inside Elise simply leaned back against the leather-cushioned seat as Alejandro eased the Bentley up to street level and into the steady stream of traffic vacating the city.
Her hand still throbbed, although with less intensity, and the pain had subsided to a deep nagging ache. Bearable, she conceded, but only just.
Music emitted from the stereo speakers, and she closed her eyes as the car sped smoothly towards Point Piper.
Once indoors she made straight for the stairs, discarding her clothes as she entered the bedroom. When Alejandro appeared, only a bra and briefs shielded her from total nudity.
‘Want to tell me what upset you?’
Her eyes held a hint of defiance. ‘Not really.’
‘Savannah followed you into the powder-room, and emerged minutes ahead of you.’
‘How observant of you to notice.’
He crossed to stand within touching distance. ‘I notice everything about you,’ he drawled, sliding a hand beneath her hair to cup her nape. ‘The way you respond when we make love. What makes you smile. How your eyes cloud with pain,’ he said quietly.
‘Savannah and I exchanged a few words.’ She attempted a shrug, and met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘Is there any reason why we shouldn’t?’
His eyes darkened fractionally. ‘None at all.’ His hand slid forward, and his thumb caressed the soft outline of her mouth.
His touch was an erotic force, and she fought an inner battle not to succumb to his subtle brand of foreplay as he reached to unclasp her bra, freeing her breasts from the scrap of silk and lace.
The burgeoning peaks ached for his touch, and a faint moan escaped her throat as he stroked the creamy fullness before paying attention to each dusky peak.
His hands slid down her ribcage, over her waist to slip beneath her briefs, carrying them down over her hips with effortless ease before transferring his attention as he removed his own clothes.
Then he reached for her, both hands framing her face as he lowered his head.
His mouth was an erotic instrument, and she welcomed his kiss without reserve, exulting in the liquid warmth coursing through her veins. Her whole body seemed alive with acute sensation, and she moved close against him, needing the physical contact. Most of all she wanted to be swept away by primitive desire, to become so lost in the rapture of his lovemaking that Savannah and her hateful words would be pushed beyond the periphery of rational thought.
It was almost as if he knew, and a low groan of delighted anticipation emerged from her throat as he drew her down on to the bed and began conducting a leisurely tasting of every sensual pleasure-spot.
She exulted in the degree of eroticism he skilfully bestowed, the depth of emotion she experienced beneath his touch, so that when he finally took her it was all she could do not to cry out with joy.
Afterwards she lay curled into the curve of his body, delightfully sated and on the verge of sleep.
Elise woke later to find that Alejandro had already left for the city, and she indulged in a leisurely stretch before sliding from the bed. So far she had been very fortunate, for, although she occasionally experienced a slight queasiness on waking, it had not developed into morning sickness.
After a refreshing shower she dressed in shorts and a top, then ran lightly downstairs to the kitchen.
‘Morning, Ana. Isn’t it a beautiful day?’
‘Sí,’ the older woman answered with a warm smile. ‘I will get your breakfast.’
‘I’ll do it.’ Cereal, fruit and toast, with orange juice and tea, were simple enough to assemble. Besides, she’d looked after herself for years, and valued a degree of independence.
Elise enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, browsing through the morning papers, then when she had finished she moved outside for a walk round the gardens.
The flowers were beautiful, grown in colour co-ordinated borders that were a visual delight: delicate pinks and whites, brilliant reds and yellows, then carefully clipped shrubs. There were a number of urns gracing the steps leading down from the terrace, and a splendid concrete tiered bird-bath was the central feature of a square expanse of manicured lawn.
Beyond that lay the swimming-pool with an adjacent cabana which housed a bar and changingrooms.
It was a magnificent property, the architecture and landscaping in perfect harmony. Its location and beautiful views out over the harbour indicated a value she was hesitant to calculate.
Was it any wonder that Savannah coveted the man who owned it? His position in the city’s social scene was unquestionable, and there were few women who were not fascinated by rich and powerful men. Some even sold themselves in a quest for fame and fortune.
As she had. Although not for fame or fortune. Her father…Dammit, such introspection was dangerous. It led nowhere, and achieved nothing except to highlight her own insecurities.
Love was a mixture of heaven and hell. Especially when you were not loved in return. The physicalities of lovemaking were there, but not the emotional commitment.
Would it ever be any different? Could it be? Sadly, she didn’t think so.
Elise wandered down to the swimming-pool and sat in one of the chairs positioned beneath a wide sun-umbrella. The sun felt warm against her bare skin, and she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
‘Elise? It is ten-fifteen.’
She came sharply awake at the sound of Ana’s voice, amazed that she could have lapsed into a light doze.
Her hand had swollen slightly and was beginning to show signs of bruising. There was also a degree of pain when the physiotherapist supervised her exercises, a fact which he noted, adding an admonition to be more careful. There didn’t seem much point in assuring him that it was not self-inflicted.
At home she ate the chicken salad Ana had prepared for lunch, then she changed into a bikini, selected a book, and wandered out to sit beneath a shade-umbrella by the pool.
It was almost six when Alejandro arrived home, and Elise cast him a warm smile as he entered the lounge.
‘How was your day?’ she asked lightly, and was unprepared for his brief hard kiss.
‘A series of meetings, appointments.’ His tone was dry, his eyes dark and inscrutable. ‘I’ll change. Then we’ll have a drink before dinner.’
‘I’ll go and check with Ana.’
The table was already set, and there was a delicious aroma emanating from the kitchen.
‘Vegetable soup,’ Ana informed her as she stirred the contents of a saucepan. ‘Paella, with fresh fruit to finish.’
‘Sounds wonderful. Can I help with anything?’
‘It is all under control,’ the older woman beamed companionably. ‘I will serve in fifteen minutes.’
Elise wandered towards the lounge, and was busy watching the televised news when Alejandro entered the room.
He looked vaguely satanic in casual dark trousers and a polo shirt which highlighted the olive tint of his skin and emphasised his length and breadth. ‘A cool drink?’
She glanced towards him and her breath caught in her throat as she glimpsed the hard demeanour just beneath the surface of his control. ‘Please,’ she managed evenly, returning her attention to the television.
She turned as he reached her side, and instead of handing her a glass he placed both down on a nearby pedestal.
‘Let me see your hand.’
He knew. How? The physiotherapist? There was no one else who could have told him, she reasoned silently.
‘It’s a bit stiff,’ she admitted with a helpless shrug, unwilling to extend it for his inspection.
‘Some bruising, pain and reduced mobility,’ Alejandro stated with dangerous softness, ‘consistent with the hand being compressed.’ He reached forward and carefully caught hold of her arm. His intent examination filled her with a peculiar sense of dread, and she almost died at the savagery apparent as he seared her features. ‘Savannah?’
She swallowed nervously. ‘What if I accidentally knocked my hand?’
His expression became inscrutable, and his voice contained dangerous indolence. ‘Did you?’
Evasion of the truth was hardly wise, for there was already visible evidence of bruising. ‘No.’
He said something vicious beneath his breath in Spanish, then lifted a hand to cup her jaw. His finger traced a gentle pattern over her lower lip, probing slightly before moving to caress her cheek. His eyes became dark, their depths unfathomable as he searched her features.
‘My relationship with Savannah was…’ He paused fractionally, then said deliberately, ‘Mutually convenient.’
Mutual need, Elise qualified, sickened at the picture that conjured up.
‘Marriage was not something I had considered until you stormed into my office in a state of fury and began hurling accusations and making allegations.’ His smile held wry cynicism. ‘Over dinner that same evening I decided I wanted your loyalty, your fierce pride, your honesty.’
He had deliberately tested her, and it rankled unbearably.
He brushed her mouth lightly with his own. ‘Eventually—your love,’ he added quietly.
He had placed the chess-pieces on a board, and played the game with infinite patience and skill. She hurt too much to let him know that he had won.
‘Along with good health, love is something that money can’t buy,’ Elise declared carefully, and glimpsed a flicker of pain in the depths of his eyes, so fleeting that she wondered if she had imagined it.
‘The time between being informed of your accident and discovering the extent of your injuries were the worst minutes I have ever spent,’ he assured her ruminatively as he took possession of her mouth in a kiss so incredibly gentle that she simply closed her eyes and gave herself up to the sensual eroticism of his touch.
It seemed an age before he broke contact and slowly lifted his head.
It took enormous will-power to step away from him, and her voice was not quite steady as she offered, ‘Ana will be ready to serve dinner.’
‘Then let us go in and eat.’
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS a week later that Elise entered the elegant Double Bay salon and checked with Reception.
‘Raphael will be five minutes, Elise,’ the stunning blonde told her with a bright smile. ‘He’s running a little late. Perhaps you’d care to take a seat? Would you like some tea or coffee? Orange juice, mineral water?’
Elise shook her head in silent negation, adding a polite, ‘Thanks,’ before selecting a chair.
A year ago—make that nine months ago, she corrected mentally—she wouldn’t have been able to afford to walk into this exclusive hairdressing salon. To have had Raphael himself apply his artistic cutting expertise to her hair would have been unthinkable.
The name Santanas opened doors, commanded respect, and produced a desire to pander to any whim with such obsequious effusiveness that it was almost obscene.
Elise reached for one of several thick glossy magazines and began flipping through the pages, noting the elegant models, the beautiful clothes, designer make-up, articles written in stylish prose, a feature profile on one of Australia’s social doyennes, another profile on a top designer, and the usual society pages with a run-down on recent events with accompanying photographs.
She skimmed over them without interest, only to be riveted by a frame depicting Alejandro with Savannah at his side.
Her stomach gave a painful lurch, and she took a deep breath as she willed herself to check the magazine’s date of issue. The event highlighted was a dinner organised specifically to raise money for a well-known charity.
Oh, hell. Why did she have to pick that particular magazine? She could have remained in ignorance. Besides, she silently attempted to reassure herself, the photograph was probably the result of coincidence, taken when Savannah just happened to be standing at his side.
And pigs might fly, she added mentally. There was nothing innocent in any one of Savannah’s actions. The way Savannah was gazing at him in open adoration was positively sickening.
‘Elise. How are you, darling? Sorry to keep you waiting.’
She closed the magazine and rose to her feet with a ready smile. ‘Raphael.’
An extrovert, he delighted in the portrayal of exaggerated mannerisms, creating an erroneous image that was in direct contrast to his true personality. White harem-style trousers and a fine white muslin artist’s shirt with numerous tiny pleats fanning out from a deep yoke gave the illusion of adding to his lean frame. A diamond stud adorned one ear, he wore a diamond signet ring on his left hand, and a religious medallion suspended from a thick chain hung low against his chest. Long black hair was sleekly plastered against his scalp and caught together at his nape to form a ponytail.
‘Your hand? It is still giving you pain?’ He drew her towards the far end of the salon and seated her at a basin.
‘It aches a little.’
Raphael’s personal attention was rare, and Elise, by virtue of being Alejandro’s wife, appeared to be one of the favoured few.
She wrinkled her nose as he sluiced water over her hair and applied shampoo, rinsed and repeated the process with conditioner, then towelled it dry before leading her to a mirrored cubicle.
‘You are able to drive again?’
‘The specialist says I can. Alejandro would prefer José to continue in the role of chauffeur. Although he has compromised and bought me another car.’
‘He is being protective, hmm?’
‘You could say that,’ she agreed with suitable dryness.
Raphael picked up his scissors and comb, and went to work. ‘Don’t knock it, darling,’ he cautioned wryly. ‘Men are not usually protective unless they care.’
Alejandro’s brand of caring was linked to their unborn child. She was merely a secondary consideration.
Or was she? From the beginning his lovemaking had generated a desire for her pleasure as much as his own, and there had never been an occasion when she had felt—used.
When had she fallen in love with him? Sadly, Elise couldn’t pinpoint a single moment when the revelation had hit. She was aware only of its stealthy possession, and the agonising knowledge that her life would never be the same without him.
‘Tonight is the exhibition of fine art held in one of the Woollahra Galleries,’ Raphael informed her. ‘You are attending, of course.’
Alejandro was a known patron of the arts, and he had a reputation for adding one or two paintings each year to his collection of works by Australian artists.
The evening’s event included cocktails and horsd’oeuvres, and attendance was strictly by invitation.
‘Yes.’
‘A notable occasion,’ Raphael proffered as his scissors moved with crafted expertise.
Without doubt, she agreed mentally. The social glitterati would be present, together with members of the Press, and several photographers, each attempting to outdo the other.
She had even bought a new black gown. Sleeveless, its simple slim-fitting style was enhanced with intricate silver embroidery on the bodice. A high scooped neckline precluded jewellery, and there were matching shoes and evening bag.
Raphael reached for several fat rollers and positioned them in place, collected a magazine for her to read, then moved towards Reception to greet the next client.
It was almost four when Elise emerged, another half-hour before she brought the Mercedes to a halt beside the main entrance of Alejandro’s Point Piper home.
She could hear the shower running as she entered their suite, and she stripped down to briefs and bra, collected a silk robe and slipped it on, then she crossed to the dressing-table to attend to her make-up.
Alejandro entered the bedroom, with a towel hitched low on his hips, as she applied the finishing touches, and she watched in mesmerised fascination as he moved to her side and bestowed a lingering kiss on the soft curve of her neck.
His touch sent warmth tingling through her veins, and her expression held a faint wistfulness as he stood behind her and viewed their mirrored reflections.
‘What time do you want to leave?’ she queried, unable to tear her gaze away.
‘Fifteen minutes. The traffic will be heavy.’ His hands rested on her shoulders, then slowly slid down the front edges of her robe to slip beneath the silk and gently tease the softness of her breasts. With tantalising care he began to brush the pad of his thumb over each sensitive peak.
Elise felt them swell and harden, and she gave a soundless gasp as his fingers slid to unfasten her bra.
‘Alejandro——’
‘Humour me,’ he said huskily. His eyes held hers captive, their depths alive with leashed passion. ‘I have thought of little else all day. The intoxicating texture of your skin, its delicate perfume, the way your beautiful eyes soften when I touch you.’
Sensation spiralled from her feminine core as intense sexual awareness swept through her body. All he had to do was pull her into his arms and she would be lost.
‘Shouldn’t we get ready?’ she asked in a strangled voice, and glimpsed the edge of his mouth twist in a gesture of wry self-mockery.
‘Indeed.’ His hands lingered, then slowly withdrew to settle briefly on her shoulders. ‘If I kiss you, we’ll never leave this room.’
‘In that case, perhaps you’d better get changed and let me finish my make-up,’ she suggested shakily, and he laughed, a deep, soft, husky sound that sent goose-bumps over the surface of her skin.
‘Eventually we will return home, mi mujer, and then we shall resume where we have left off.’
‘If I’m not too tired.’ It was a tame attempt at denial, and didn’t fool him in the least.
‘I promise to do all the work, querida.’ His lips brushed her temple, then slid down to nibble an earlobe.
Not all, she promised silently as he moved away and selected underwear, a dress-shirt and black trousers that formed parts of a sophisticated shield for the primitive strength of his body. Socks, shoes came next, and when he reached for the immaculate bow tie she hurriedly transferred her attention and picked up a shiny gold tube with which to stroke pastel colour on to her lips.
Her choice of perfume was her favourite, Evelyn, a subtle rose fragrance that imbued the skin with immense delicacy.
Five minutes later she slipped into the gown, and she stood perfectly still as Alejandro slid the zip-fastener into place.
‘You look beautiful,’ he complimented as she stepped into the elegant evening shoes.
Collecting her evening bag, she turned towards him and proffered a faint smile. ‘The women will vie with each other for your attention,’ she anticipated lightly.
‘I have no control over inherited genes,’ he responded in an amused drawl. ‘And the only woman I am interested in is you.’
For now, Elise added silently, wishing she could believe him. It would be incredible to feel truly secure in a man’s love, to know without any element of doubt that you were adored, and that even if he displayed visual appreciation for another no other woman had a chance of capturing his heart.
Such a hope belonged in the realms of fantasy, she decided ruefully, as the Bentley became part of the flow of traffic entering the inner-city perimeter.
Reality was a combination of harsh facts and formidable statistics which existed as irrefutable proof that love did not always last forever. The first heady bloom often flared brilliantly, only to diminish all too frequently to a state of prosaic affection.
The car slid to a halt, and Elise’s eyes widened with the realisation that they were stationary. The car park was brightly lit, and there were sounds and movement as guests vacated their cars.
Alejandro caught her elbow in a light clasp and led her towards the main entrance. Inside, several guests mingled in small groups, and there were several smartly uniformed waiters and waitresses proffering drinks and bite-sized food.
Almost at once Alejandro was greeted by the gallery owner and engaged in conversation, and Elise found herself drawn into a civilised debate on the advantages of free artistic expression over the confines of conformity.
‘Do you enjoy Alejandro’s artistic taste?’
Oh, hell, she wasn’t even sure which artists he favoured. The paintings hanging on the walls at Point Piper and Palm Beach were visually pleasing, although a few were a little too modern for her own enjoyment.
‘Mostly,’ she agreed. ‘Although he has a Pro Hart of which I’m not particularly fond.’
‘My wife is a traditionalist,’ Alejandro relayed smoothly. ‘Her taste runs to Max Boyd.’
‘Oh, my dear. Hart is quite brilliant.’
‘So are a number of other noted Australian artists,’ she offered firmly. ‘It’s very much a personal choice, don’t you think?’
‘There’s an excellent piece you really must see. Expensive, but worthy of investment.’ He riffled through the catalogue pages and brought the item to Alejandro’s notice, then made his excuses as someone else demanded his attention.
‘I happen to like Max Boyd,’ Elise protested as Alejandro’s amused gaze rested on her expressive features.
‘So do I,’ he assured her, and, placing an arm round her waist, he directed her towards a display. ‘Shall we begin viewing?’
Some paintings verged on the bizarre, others resembled caricatures of design over brilliant slashes of colour. One in particular looked as if a child at kindergarten level had indulged in a totally wild battle with numerous pots of multi-coloured paint.
‘What do you think?’
Elise turned towards Alejandro and endeavoured to present a considered viewpoint. After several seconds she voiced with restraint, ‘I’d prefer not to answer on the grounds that anything I say could be overheard, taken into account, and held against me.’
‘A remarkable nonconformist piece,’ Alejandro drawled knowledgeably, and her eyes danced as she nodded in silent agreement. ‘Shall we move on?’
‘Please.’
There were a number of guests present whom she had met before, and for the next hour she exchanged pleasantries, accepted an invitation for an upcoming fashion parade, deferred to Alejandro on no less than three dinner invitations, and she was just beginning to find the evening a relaxing venture when she glimpsed a familiar head several feet distant.
Savannah. As if by design the guests shifted position so that the model’s body profile was in clear view: a stunning figure, attired in a flamboyant gown that on anyone one else would have looked totally outrageous.
Elise forced herself to meet Savannah’s intent gaze, and for one brief second she witnessed unadulterated venom before it was masked. A slight smile appeared in acknowledgement before Savannah turned towards her partner, and Elise was unable to prevent a slight shiver.
Did Alejandro know Savannah was here? It was a distinct probability.
‘More mineral water?’
‘Thank you.’
‘We should be able to get away in less than an hour. We’ll go on to dinner afterwards,’ Alejandro said quietly.
‘Have you already booked?’
He named a well-known restaurant famed for its fine cuisine. ‘You would prefer somewhere else?’
‘Quiet, out of the way, with little chance of meeting anyone we know?’ she suggested hopefully.
‘I can recollect a few.’
Suitable for clandestine meetings? Damn, she had to stop resorting to destructive introspection! ‘Of course, we could buy a take-away meal on the way home.’
‘Anything in particular?’
‘Chinese?’
His eyes gleamed with humour. ‘I’ll cancel the restaurant from the car.’
‘Thank you.’
He lifted a hand and brushed his fingers lightly across her cheek. ‘Just where precisely do you intend we eat?’
She looked at him with undue solemnity. ‘Dressed like this?’ she enquired innocently. ‘At the dining-room table. Where else?’
‘We could always change first.’
‘And eat out on the terrace?’ She offered a singularly sweet smile. ‘What a wonderful idea.’
The depths of his eyes took on a dark brilliance. ‘Minx. Remind me to extract due penance.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
A slow, wicked smile tugged the edges of his mouth, and his voice held infinite indolence. ‘Just watch me.’
Every bone in her body began to feel liquefied at the thought of precisely how he would exact atonement. ‘I think,’ she said unsteadily, ‘we should attempt to continue our viewing, don’t you?’
‘An excellent suggestion.’
It was after eight when they left, and almost nine before Alejandro garaged the car. The plastic carrier bag with its various containers emitted a mouthwatering aroma, and Elise slid off her shoes the moment they entered the house.
‘You intend to change before we eat?’
She cast him a studied glance. ‘This gown cost a small fortune.’
‘So did my suit,’ drawled Alejandro.
‘Perhaps you should exchange it for something less formal.’
‘And save on the dry-cleaning bill?’
‘Naturally.’
‘I gather eating in bed would be considered the height of decadence?’
She failed miserably in suppressing an impish smile. ‘It would be such a shame to waste the food.’
‘The terrace?’
Her eyes twinkled with devilish humour. ‘Think of the moonlight.’
He shrugged out of his jacket and placed it over a nearby chair. ‘Plates, cutlery, glasses?’
She pretended due consideration. ‘I guess we could opt for informality,’ she decided as she picked up her shoes and made for the staircase. ‘Two forks, two glasses.’ She began mounting the stairs, then paused to look down at him. ‘Do you think you can manage that?’
He removed the bow tie and loosened the top buttons on his shirt. ‘Don’t be too long, querida,’ he warned gently, and her mouth curved into a guileless smile.
‘Patience, Alejandro.’ She turned and slowly traversed the remaining stairs. In the bedroom she slipped out of the gown, then dressed in silk culottes and a loose top.
Minutes later she walked out on to the terrace to find Alejandro seated at one of the outdoor tables, a portable lamp providing essential light, the food displayed in its various containers, and a slim flute of wine within easy reach. His shirt was undone almost to the waist, the cuffs rolled halfway up his forearms.
Elise sank into a chair opposite, dipped a fork into chop suey, and savoured a mouthful with suitable enthusiasm, then repeated the process. ‘Isn’t this better than eating in a restaurant?’
He forked a prawn into his mouth, then shot her a musing look. ‘This is quite good.’
‘Don’t sound so surprised.’ She met his gaze and wrinkled her nose at him in admonition. ‘The trouble is you’ve been thoroughly spoilt, with a personal cook and professional chefs to pander to your gourmand taste.’
‘Planning to re-educate me, Elise?’
‘In some areas it mightn’t be a bad idea.’
‘And what areas are those, my darling wife?’ He sounded distinctly amused, and dangerously indolent.
‘You could do with a lesson in humility,’ she said with mock severity.
‘Where you are concerned, I am remarkably humble,’ Alejandro claimed solemnly. His eyes held hers, and she couldn’t look away as he lifted his glass in a silent salute before placing the rim to his mouth.
He sounded sincere. Almost as if he cared very much. The breath caught in her throat, and she found it difficult to swallow.
Her fork was suspended in mid-air, and she slowly replaced it on the table, her appetite gone.
He leaned back in the chair, his large frame displaying an indolent grace that was deceptive, for there was a watchfulness apparent, a leashed air she found infinitely disturbing. ‘Lost for words, Elise?’
She looked at him for what seemed an age, wanting more than anything to move into his arms, to lift her mouth for his kiss. But she seemed locked into immobility, and there was a strange ache in the region of her heart.
There was so much she wanted to say, yet she felt hesitant, afraid that if she revealed too much it would render her vulnerable.
‘Shall I make coffee?’ Even her voice sounded breathy and uncertain, and she cursed her own insecurity.
‘No coffee,’ Alejandro said gently. ‘I’ll dispose of these containers, then we’ll go to bed.’
Bed. That was her downfall. It was where she sold her soul and lost control.
‘I’m not tired,’ she offered quietly, and glimpsed his faint smile.
‘Neither am I. Sleeping wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.’
She rose to her feet and gathered up the cutlery and glasses, then carried them through to the kitchen.
Alejandro followed, and she heard him locking the outer doors and setting the security alarm.
It was a simple task to load the dishwasher, and she had just finished when he entered the room.
He looked vaguely piratical: dark trousers, deep olive skin, dark hair, in stark contrast to the white shirt. And tall. He almost seemed overpowering, and, while she craved his touch, there was a part of her that cried out against any sexual subjugation.
She watched as he despatched food down the waste-disposal unit, then dropped empty containers into the pedal-bin before washing and drying his hands.
In silence he turned and caught hold of her hand, leading her through to the lounge, where he selected a compact disc and slid it into the disc player.
Soft music emanated from the speakers and Elise looked at him speechlessly as he drew her into his arms.
Crazy, she thought, as he pulled her close against him and began to drift slowly round the room. She felt his lips brush her hair, followed by the warmth of his breath against her temple. His heartbeat was strong beneath her cheek, and her hands crept to link together at the back of his waist.
The music was so slow and dreamy that after several minutes they hardly bothered to move at all, and simply stood still in the dim light reflected from the foyer.
His kiss was so incredibly gentle that it almost made her cry, and she offered him her mouth, exulting in an erotic tasting that excited without demand.
When the music finished he raised his head and subjected her to a long, searching gaze, then he placed an arm beneath her knees and carried her up the stairs.
Elise wanted to cry, and when he lowered her to her feet in the bedroom, tears shimmered like crystal droplets in each corner of her eyes.
Without a word he led her to the bed and sat down on its edge, then he drew her to stand between his thighs.
Her mouth began to tremble, and there was nothing she could do to prevent the slow downward path of a single tear as it overflowed.
Alejandro lifted a hand and halted its passage with the pad of his thumb before moving to trace the outline of her mouth.
‘I was almost hesitant to question the cause,’ he drawled gently. ‘Do you want to blame it on ambivalent emotions?’
‘I guess that’s as good a reason as any,’ she owned shakily, and almost died at the wealth of passion evident in those dark eyes so close to her own.
‘I need you,’ he said gently. ‘Every day in my life. All night long in my bed.’
Need. Need had to be better than want, didn’t it? And ‘every day in my life’ sounded permanent. As in forever?
She wanted to say, ‘I love you.’ But the words wouldn’t emerge.
He pulled her on to his lap and kissed her, then carefully eased her on to the bed.
Her arms lifted to curve round his neck as she gave herself up to the magic only he was able to create. Soon she was filled with an agonising sweetness as her body began to respond to the exquisite tendresse of his touch, and she throbbed with intense awareness when he entered her, glorying in the mutual joy of complete possession as they journeyed towards a mutual fulfilment of the senses.
It was a wild sweet pleasure tempered by raw desire. Erotic, primitive, yet so incredibly sensual she was held captive in its thrall…his without any equivocation.
On the edge of sleep she was conscious of his arms enfolding her close, and she gave a tiny sigh of contentment before drifting in a dreamless state that lasted until morning.
CHAPTER TEN
‘ELISE. There is a telephone call for you.’
Very few calls for her came through the house phone. Alejandro rang direct on the mobile net, likewise the few of her friends to whom she had given the number. Perhaps it was the obstetrician’s receptionist rescheduling her appointment.
‘Who is it, Ana?’
‘Siobhan Barry.’
If Siobhan was calling at this time, it meant she had the day off. Perhaps they could meet for lunch, Elise mused as she crossed to the nearest handset.
‘Siobhan. How are you?’
There was a brief silence. ‘Savannah, darling. Did Ana get it wrong?’
A chill feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Even allowing for misunderstanding, Savannah’s surname was vastly dissimilar to that of Siobhan. Which meant Savannah had deliberately set out to deceive. There could be little doubt as to why.
‘Is it essential we have this conversation?’ Elise managed steadily, and heard a faint intake of breath down the line.
‘I suppose you think you’re clever,’ Savannah opined viciously.
It was a game that had to be played out to its conclusion, Elise decided, saddened that it should have even begun. ‘Perhaps you’d care to elaborate.’
‘You poisonous little bitch. You had to tell him, didn’t you?’
Elise closed her eyes, then slowly opened them again. ‘If you’re referring to my hand…blame the physiotherapist,’ she managed carefully, ‘and Alejandro, for insisting on a first-hand report every time I visit any member of the medical profession.’
There was a long pause. ‘Watch your back, darling.’
‘I always do.’ Without hesitation she replaced the receiver, only to lift it again and dial a memorised number.
A sleepy voice repeated the digits, and Elise felt a surge of relief. ‘Siobhan? How about lunch?’
‘I didn’t get to bed until three, you impossible person. Must it be today?’
‘We could make it a late lunch,’ Elise persisted, and heard Siobhan’s laughing approval.
‘Name the time and place, and I’ll meet you there.’
‘One-thirty. Doyle’s at Watson’s Bay,’ she returned without hesitation.
They met within minutes of the appointed time, and managed by good fortune to be shown to a table overlooking the beach. After the serious business of ordering was completed, they settled down to exchanging news, something which lasted through the starter, and well into the main course.
‘You’re positively blooming,’ Siobhan complimented quietly. ‘Your hair, your skin. Everything about you. I couldn’t be more pleased everything is working out.’
Elise managed a bright smile that didn’t fool her friend in the slightest.
‘Not quite, huh? What’s the problem?’
‘I didn’t ask you to meet me to discuss any problems.’
‘Hell, no. You love my wit, my charm.’ She leaned forward, her expression pensive. ‘I refuse to believe it has anything to do with Alejandro. Savannah?’ she hazarded.
‘Why not Alejandro?’
Siobhan shot her an old-fashioned look. ‘My God, you really can’t see it, can you?’ she queried, shaking her head in silent disbelief. ‘Did you never wonder why I didn’t visit you in hospital?’ Her expression sobered. ‘Alejandro requested—requested,’ she insisted, ‘I stay away until you regained your memory.’ Her eyes took on an earnest fervour. ‘He rang me every day to let me know how you were.’
Elise could only look at her in shocked silence. Why would he do something like that if he didn’t want to make the most of an opportunity to repair her perception of him? It was crazy. Yet only last night…
‘Go figure, Elise,’ Siobhan advised gently. ‘And, if you’re still in any doubt, ask yourself why he insisted on marriage, when it would have been infinitely more simple to install you as his mistress.’
It was almost four when they left the restaurant, and a short while later Elise garaged the car, then moved lightly indoors.
Ana was busy peeling vegetables as she entered the kitchen, and she uttered an appreciative sound as the delicious aroma of roast chicken assailed her nostrils.
‘Anything I can do to help?’
Ana’s smile, like the woman herself, was warm and friendly. ‘Alejandro rang. He will be home early. If you must do something, you could set the table.’
Afterwards she took a long, leisurely shower, then dressed in a white silk blouse and tailored straight skirt. She was putting the finishing touches to her make-up when Alejandro entered the bedroom.
Elise offered him a tentative smile, then concentrated on colouring the lower curve of her mouth. Her eyes widened as she saw his reflected image in the mirror, and she stood perfectly still as he turned her round to face him.
‘I had a call from the physiotherapist. It appears you forgot your appointment this afternoon.’
Surprise flitted across her features. Damn, it had completely slipped her mind. ‘I’ll ring tomorrow and offer my apologies. I met Siobhan for lunch.’
His eyes pierced hers. ‘Ana said Siobhan phoned. Strange,’ he continued thoughtfully, ‘when the only number she has is linked to your personal mobile.’
Elise lifted her hands, then let them fall to her sides in a helpless gesture. ‘Savannah rang, and tricked Ana that she was Siobhan, then attempted to have me believe Ana had made a mistake over the name.’
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Elise——’
‘Don’t, Alejandro. Please.’ She felt so incredibly vulnerable that if he touched her she would shatter and fall in an ignominious heap at his feet.
Even now, the pain was still there, yet she managed to hold his gaze with dignity. Dared she risk all and reveal how she felt? Expunge the anguish, and pray that Siobhan was right?
Drawing a deep breath, she took courage in both hands and began.
‘I need to tell you that I viewed my father’s death as a ticket to escape a marriage I considered to have been arranged in hell. The night he lay so ill in hospital, I forgot to take the Pill. Ironic, wouldn’t you say, that he should die within hours of my discovering I might be pregnant?’ She bit the edge of her lip to prevent it from trembling, and the breath caught in her throat as he lifted both hands to frame her face.
‘So you ran.’ His thumb traced the edge of her lower lip. She swallowed involuntarily, and his eyes narrowed faintly as he witnessed her nervous reaction.
‘I considered I had no choice.’
‘Gracias, Elise.’ There was a bitterness apparent that tore her apart.
There was no doubt he desired her, but desire alone had little to do with need, love. ‘After the accident,’ she began shakily, ‘you were always there, the image of a devoted husband.’ Her eyes searched his, seeing the darkness apparent, the faint tenseness as he waited for her to continue. ‘When my memory returned, I felt betrayed. I had trusted you,’ she cried in an anguished whisper.
He was quiet for a long time. ‘There was no reason for you to distrust me.’
‘You perceived it as a game,’ Elise went on with incredible sadness. ‘With me as the pawn.’
‘From the beginning,’ he corrected quietly, ‘you were the prize.’
‘Prey,’ she countered. ‘Ruthlessly hunted, and relentlessly lured into a trap.’
His gaze was unwavering, intense, and impossible to read.
‘You acted a part,’ she accused, and saw his eyes darken.
‘Never,’ he assured her after a long silence, and her features paled.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘No? You perceived our lovemaking as a calculated coupling without any depth of emotional involvement?’
It had never been that, not even in the beginning. ‘Love isn’t a prerequisite for satisfactory sex.’ She felt as if she were breaking up inside, her body slowly shattering with each successive word he uttered.
He was silent for what seemed an age, and his voice when he spoke sounded like silk being sliced by the finest tempered steel. ‘You can describe what we share as merely clinical satisfaction?’
She looked at him carefully, seeing the strength apparent, the hint of passion in the depths of those dark eyes. ‘No,’ she owned at last.
His thumb trailed to her cheekbone, explored the faint hollow beneath, then slid to rest at the corner of her mouth. ‘Por Dios,’ he declared huskily. ‘An admission.’
Time stood still, and she was willing to swear that her heart stopped beating for several seconds before kicking in at a quickened pace as the pad of his thumb slid halfway along her lower lip to rest there momentarily before gently compressing its fullness.
‘And this,’ he drawled with emphasis, as his hand shaped one sensitised breast, deliberately tracing a provocative pattern back and forth across its aching peak, ‘is your body’s reaction to the caress of any man?’
Dear God, no. You, she vowed silently. Only you.
His eyes were dark, almost black, gleaming like polished onyx as he reached into her mind and so easily read what was there.
‘Impossible, of course, for you to comprehend you are the love of my life?’
The silence was so total that she forgot to breathe, then her chest lurched as she drew in the first of several deep ragged gasps of air.
‘They’re only words, Alejandro,’ she managed shakily, wanting desperately to believe them.
‘They are all I have left.’ His eyes were dark, unguarded, and filled with a depth of passion that made her senses reel.
‘Your amnesia provided me with a heaven-sent opportunity to begin afresh. Without the barrier of your animosity, it became possible for you to believe you were the very much loved wife of a man who clearly adored you.’ He paused, and his touch was so gentle that it made her want to cry. ‘I prayed your memory loss would last long enough for those weeks we had together to make a difference.’
‘The baby——’
His finger pressed closed her lips, and his eyes were incredibly dark. ‘Make no mistake, querida. The child you carry is a wonderful bonus. But it is you I care for. You.’
She shivered at the soft invasive pull on her emotions as his fingers slid to her nape and angled her head towards his.
‘Please—don’t,’ she whispered in anguish.
His head lowered to hers, and his breath was warm against her lips. ‘Why not, querida?’
Her stomach lurched, then curled into a painful knot as his mouth brushed hers. She couldn’t have moved, even if her limbs had been willing. ‘Because I can’t think when you do that.’
She sensed rather than glimpsed his smile. ‘Is it so important that you think?’
The tip of his tongue touched the corner of her mouth, savoured the indentation, then lightly traced the full curve to the centre. Liquid fire coursed through her veins, igniting each separate nerve-end until her body seemed one vibrant entity.
‘If I don’t,’ she managed in strangled tones, ‘you’ll simply sweep me into oblivion.’
She sensed his smile, and heard the faint husky growl emerge from his throat. ‘Would that be so bad?’
His mouth was creating the sweetest magic with her own, a slow, tantalising prelude to what must surely follow, and her body began to heat, every nerve-end flaring into vibrant life as her soul reached out to his.
‘Alejandro…’ His name escaped her lips in a shaken gasp as he drew her close in against the swollen evidence of his desire.
It was almost as if he needed to absorb her—flesh, bones, the very essence that made her unique—and she could feel herself slowly melting, slipping inevitably down into a glorious pool of swirling warmth where there was only an acute perception of the senses, the sweet promise of two souls perfectly in accord merging and becoming one.
With a sense of desperation she dragged her mouth away from his, aware in a moment of complete lucidity that it was because he allowed it.
Her lips felt soft and swollen, tender, and they trembled slightly beneath the moistness of her tongue as she unconsciously ran its tip along the lower edge.
His eyes flared, watching the movement with mesmerised fascination.
Almost as if he could not restrain himself, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against her temple, then pressed each eyelid closed before trailing down to the edge of her lips. His touch was as light as a butterfly’s wing, caressing, loving, and she wanted to cry out against his flagrant seduction.
‘I expressed my adoration with the touch of my hands, my mouth…my body,’ Alejandro declared. He lapsed into Spanish, then repeated the words softly in a language she understood. Erotic, explicit, undeniably earthy. Yet heartfelt and without any pretence.
Soft colour flooded her cheeks, and her lips trembled as a low husky chuckle emerged from his throat.
‘Have I shocked you?’ he mocked gently.
A wicked smile curved her generous mouth. ‘Did you intend to?’ she queried, offering deliberate temptation as she lifted her arms and linked them carefully at his nape, only to gasp as his mouth closed over hers with deep, drugging possession.
He gave no quarter, and she expected none as she met and matched his ardour, exulting in the feel and taste of him, the heavy thudding beat of his heart as it pounded against her own in unison, the sheer sensation of knowing he was hers. It was a heady power, one she knew she would never choose to abuse.
Minutes later she cried out as his mouth left hers to trail down her throat, and she arched her neck to allow him access to the sensitive hollows, gasping as he teasingly nipped delicate skin, then slid to begin an open-mouthed suckling at one silk-covered breast that caught her slender frame in a paroxysm of sensation.
‘You are wearing too many clothes, mi mujer,’ he chastised huskily minutes later as his fingers began to deal with the buttons on her blouse.
‘Hmm,’ she agreed with a delicious smile. ‘So are you.’ Her eyes danced with wicked amusement. ‘There’s a problem,’ she announced with seeming regret, and felt his fingers still as he looked at her in silent enquiry.
‘Ana is serving dinner at seven.’
His eyes darkened with ill-concealed humour. ‘Next,’ he murmured huskily, ‘you’ll tell me you’re hungry.’
She wrinkled her nose at him. ‘We could eat first, then retire early.’
‘Flattering, to be relegated second to food.’
‘I promise I’ll make it up to you,’ Elise declared, and he smiled, the creases deepening as they slashed each cheek.
‘Interesting.’
‘It will be,’ she teased. ‘It’s the reason I need to keep up my strength.’
His fingers moved to refasten slowly the buttons on her blouse, then he kissed her with such incredible gentleness that it was all she could do not to wind her arms up around his neck and tell him to make love to her now.
‘Then let us go downstairs and sample what Ana has chosen to serve us.’
They ate a leisurely meal, deliberately pacing themselves, each increasingly aware of the moment they would rise from the table and go upstairs to their suite.
There was a sense of anticipation that became more acute with every passing minute, a sensual teasing as they indulged in a playful game.
More than once Alejandro paused in the process of eating to lift his glass and utter a salute in a drawled collection of Spanish words that required no interpreter to define them.
‘After your son is born, you’ll have to censor your words,’ she chided with an attempt at severity, and failed miserably beneath the liquid warmth of his gaze.
‘I have no intention of withholding from him how much I adore his beloved mamá.’
She had a mental image of a small dark-haired boy with mischievous dark eyes, running, laughing, infinitely loved by his parents. And later, God willing, there would be a little girl for him to protect and adore.
Elise speared the last segment of fruit from her plate and lifted it to her mouth, biting the firm flesh of deliciously fresh melon with a delicacy that brought a brilliant flaring to the eyes of the man seated opposite.
‘I suppose you are going to insist I take coffee?’
Her eyes openly teased his, sparkling with unguarded humour. ‘Caffeine,’ she explained knowledgeably, ‘is supposed to stimulate the brain.’
His dark gaze became languid, a displayed deception that didn’t fool her in the slightest as he queried in a silky drawl, ‘And it is my brain you particularly want to stimulate?’
She swallowed the last of the melon, then ran the edge of her tongue lightly over the curve of her lips. ‘I would be disappointed,’ she declared with slight emphasis, ‘if you proved less than…capable,’ she finished delicately.
His eyes became faintly hooded, and the edge of his mouth assumed an upward curve. ‘Witch,’ he responded with deliberate lightness as he sat back in his chair and savoured his wine.
Aware of his propensity to conduct a leisurely lovemaking, extending her pleasure to a point where she became wholly, solely his, before tipping them both over the edge into a state of passionate oblivion, she wondered at the wisdom of baiting him.
At that moment Ana entered the room and began clearing the table, her movements sure, deft, and unobtrusive.
‘That was a lovely meal,’ Elise complimented gently, and was rewarded with a pleased smile.
‘Gracias. Will you have coffee here, or in the lounge?’
Elise glanced towards Alejandro, who merely raised one eyebrow in silent mockery as he transferred the responsibility for a decision.
‘Would you mind bringing it out on to the terrace? It’s such a beautiful evening.’
‘My wife is a romantic,’ Alejandro drawled, sparing Elise a long, thoughtful glance that curled her toes.
‘The evening sunset,’ Ana agreed with a slight nod. ‘Such lovely colours.’
‘Indeed,’ he acknowledged, and his beautifully chiselled mouth widened slightly as he got to his feet and crossed round to assist Elise from her chair.
Seconds later, as they moved out on to the terrace, his arm curved lightly round her waist, its warm strength a tangible entity that crept through her skin and seemed to liquefy her bones.
The swimming-pool looked intensely blue in the soft fading light, its surface reflecting a mirrored sheen that was duplicated on the waters in the inner harbour.
Elise’s gaze wandered out towards the horizon where ocean met sky, breathing in deeply the clean sea-air as she savoured the slight breeze that teased her hair and faintly stirred the leaves on various trees.
Alejandro shifted slightly to stand behind her, his hands linking protectively over her thickening waist as he drew her back against him.
She felt his lips brush her hair, then slip down to settle in the hollow at the edge of her neck as he teased the delicate flesh. Soft tremors shook her slim frame, and she leaned into him, loving the hard muscularity of his solid frame as he enclosed her within the cage of his arms.
To rest against him like this was heaven, and she was aware of the promise of passion, the strength of his control as he simply held her, content to allow her to savour the magic of nature as the sun slowly disappeared beyond the horizon in a brilliant flaring of orange and gold tinged with purple, before the silvery sky slowly darkened to an inky velvet.
The chink of crockery in the background was an intrusive sound they both acknowledged, and together they turned and slowly wandered towards a wide, cushioned two-seater as Ana poured Alejandro’s coffee, then filled a glass with water from an iced pitcher for Elise.
‘Goodnight, señor, señora.’
Alejandro sent Ana a warm smile. ‘Gracias. Buenas noches.’
When the housekeeper had returned indoors he leaned forward and spooned sugar into the dark aromatic brew, stirred, then cradled the cup in his hands.
Elise was strangely pensive. They had cleared up so many misconceptions but
‘There is something on your mind?’
It was a light, teasing query, and, suddenly brave, she took courage in both hands. ‘Savannah.’
‘What is it you want to know?’
His voice was a wry drawl, and in the semidarkness it was difficult to gauge his mood. ‘You were her lover?’
‘Yes.’
It hurt more than she cared to admit, even now.
‘A long time ago,’ he qualified.
‘She implied——’
‘Innuendo coupled with distorted fact is a dangerous combination,’ Alejandro interposed drily.
She had to ask. ‘Did you love her?’
He didn’t hesitate. ‘No. Nor did she love me.’ His eyes pierced hers, dark and faintly brooding.
Elise stared out into the darkness, hardly aware of the tracery of dimmed lamps that sprang to life around the grounds, highlighting the gardens.
‘She still wants you,’ she opined slowly.
‘Savannah dislikes conceding defeat.’
She recalled the cruelly spoken words, spiteful in their intention, deliberately chosen to destroy by a woman who was unlikely to find personal happiness with any one man.
Elise rose slowly to her feet. ‘If you’ve finished your coffee, I’ll return the tray to the kitchen.’
‘I’ll take it.’ He moved with lithe ease, and once indoors he activated security before following her through to the rear of the house.
The kitchen gleamed from Ana’s meticulous care, and it only took a few minutes for Elise to load their cups into the dishwasher and rinse out the coffee-pot.
She was conscious of Alejandro’s studied gaze, and she tilted her chin to meet it, her eyes clear pools of liquid emerald ringed with gold.
There were words she wanted to say, achingly poignant and straight from the heart, yet they seemed locked in her throat. For a moment she hesitated, then she slowly extended her hand and caught hold of his, threading her fingers through his own. ‘I want to make love with you.’
His fingers tightened, then he raised her hand to his lips, and Elise saw the blaze of emotion evident in the darkness of his gaze. Deep, heartfelt, and electrifyingly primitive.
Then he curved an arm beneath her knees and lifted her high against his chest.
A slow, burning excitement unfurled deep within and radiated through her body until she felt achingly alive. ‘I can walk,’ she protested with a soft laugh.
His smile was a thing of beauty, warm and passionate, his eyes almost black. ‘Indulge me.’
Her lips were so close to his throat that it was an irresistible temptation to rest them against the warm pulsing cord and savour the deep thudding beat. Gently she circled it with her tongue, then drew it carefully into her mouth.
‘Do you want to be ravished here?’ Alejandro threatened huskily as he gained the stairs.
Elise gave a soft exultant laugh and bestowed a rain of soft kisses along the edge of his jaw. ‘The bed might be more comfortable,’ she teased, loving his strength, the sheer force of his raw masculinity.
On reaching the main suite he let her slip gently to her feet and drew her close within the circle of his arms.
His mouth closed over hers with infinite gentleness, then hardened as she melted against him, taking possession of her mouth in a manner that left her in no doubt of his feelings.
At last he lifted his head, and she could only look at him in mesmerised wonder as his fingers worked the buttons on her blouse, then dealt with the clasp fastening the contoured strip of silk and lace supporting her breasts.
They felt heavy, each dusky peak swollen as it ached, hungering for his touch.
‘You’re beautiful.’ He traced the curve, shaping it with a reverence that brought the prick of tears, and she blinked rapidly to dispel the threatened spill.
Slowly she lifted a hand and trailed her fingers along the strong thrust of his jaw, tracing the firm chin, the faint indentation, then the chiselled shape of his mouth.
Nothing—no one—mattered. Not Savannah, nor any of the other women who had inevitably shared part of his life.
Who was it who had said you had to make each day count?
The quote and its source eluded her. The message, however, did not.
Her eyes searched his, seeing the watchful stillness in those dark eyes, the hint of pain. ‘I tried very hard not to love you,’ she declared in a voice that was unbearably husky. She swallowed the sudden lump that rose in her throat. ‘I don’t remember when it changed, only that it did,’ she continued, without any pretence at hiding her emotions. ‘Now I know I can’t live without you.’
Alejandro reached for her, his hands shaking slightly as they slid to frame her face. ‘I want to love you, be with you, for as long as it takes to reach forever. Dios mediante,’ he vowed huskily.
‘Yes,’ she agreed simply, her heart in her eyes as she brought his head down to meet hers, and there was the hint of an impish smile softening the curve of her mouth as it parted to receive his. ‘Are we through talking?’
‘Definitely,’ he murmured as his mouth closed over hers, his actions proving more than mere words could ever convey…
The Marriage Arrangement
Helen Bianchin
CHAPTER ONE
THE grey skies held a heavy electric potency that threatened to unleash cacophonous fury at any moment.
Hannah turned on the car’s lights, and flinched as a fork of lightning rent the skyline, followed seconds later by a roll of thunder.
She could almost smell the imminent onset of rain, and seconds later huge drops hit the windscreen in a rapidly increasing deluge that soon made driving hazardous.
A muttered curse escaped her lips. Great. A summer storm during peak-hour traffic was just what she needed. As if she weren’t already late, with available time minimising by the second.
Miguel would be pleased at the delay, she decided grimly.
Almost on cue, her cell-phone rang, and she activated the speaker button.
‘Where in hell are you?’ a slightly accented male voice demanded with chilling softness.
Speak of the devil! ‘Your concern is overwhelming,’ she returned with silk-edged mockery.
‘Answer the question.’
Rain sheeted down, reducing visibility to a point where she felt cocooned in isolation. ‘Caught in traffic.’
There were a few seconds’ silence, and she had a mental image of him checking his watch. ‘Where, precisely?’
‘Does it matter?’ A resort to wicked humour prompted her to add, ‘I doubt even you can organise some way to get me out of here.’
Miguel Santanas was a law unto himself, with sufficient wealth and power to command anyone at will.
Andalusian-born, he’d been educated in Paris, and spent several years based in New York managing the North American arm of his father’s business empire.
‘You could have closed the boutique early, missed the worst of traffic, and been home by now,’ Miguel said drily, and she felt anger begin to stir.
The boutique was hers. She’d studied art and design, worked in fashion houses in Paris and Rome, only to walk out on a disastrous love affair three years ago and return home. Within months she’d leased premises, stocked the boutique with exclusive designer wear, and at the age of twenty-seven she had built up an exclusive clientele.
‘I doubt one of my best clients would have appreciated being shoved out the door,’ she returned with marked cynicism.
‘Whatever made me think you would assume the mantle of a docile wife?’ Miguel offered in a musing drawl.
She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘I didn’t promise to obey.’
‘I vividly recall your insistence the word be deleted from our vows.’
‘We made a deal,’ she reminded, all too aware of the circumstances that had initiated their marriage.
Two equally prominent, independently wealthy families whose fortunes were interwoven in an international conglomerate. What better method of cementing it and taking it into the next generation than to have the son of one family marry the daughter of the other?
It had taken subtle manipulation to entice the son to relocate to Melbourne from New York, whereupon an intricate strategy had been put in place to ensure Miguel and Hannah were frequent guests at a variety of social functions.
The master parental plan had involved anonymous tips to the media, whose printed speculation had seeded the idea and waived the need for further familial interference.
Hannah, tiring of dealing with some of the city’s eligible and not-so-eligible bachelors bent on adding her wealth to their own, was not averse to the security marriage offered, with the proviso she continued to maintain her independence. Love wasn’t an issue, and it seemed sensible to choose a husband with her head, rather than her heart.
Despite the family business connection, ten years’ difference in age, his boarding-school education both in Australia and overseas ensured their paths had rarely met, and she had been only eleven when he’d transferred to New York.
‘So we did,’ Miguel drawled. ‘Have you reason to complain, amante?’
‘No,’ she responded evenly.
Miguel was an attractive man, whose strong masculine features and tall broad-shouldered frame portrayed a leashed strength emphasised by a dramatic mesh of latent sensuality and an animalistic sense of power.
At thirty-seven, he echoed his eminent success in the business arena in the bedroom. She hadn’t known his equal as a lover. And wouldn’t want to, she added mentally, for he satisfied needs she hadn’t been aware existed.
Even thinking about his lovemaking made her nerve-ends curl, and sent heat flaring through her veins.
A sudden horn-blast alerted her attention as the car in front inched forward, then came to a halt.
In the distance she heard the wail of a siren, soon joined by another, and her stomach twisted as she envisaged the probability of a car crash up ahead, the twisted metal, the resultant injuries.
‘I think there’s been an accident,’ Hannah revealed quietly. ‘It might take a while for me to get through.’
‘Where are you?’ Miguel demanded.
‘On Toorak Road, about a mile from home.’
‘Drive carefully. I’ll phone Graziella and tell her we’ll be late.’
‘Do that,’ she responded with dulcet charm. It wouldn’t create a drama if they arrived fifteen minutes after the specified time. Their hosts were known to allow up to an hour for their guests to mix and mingle before serving dinner.
The lights changed, and Hannah offered a silent prayer in thanks as the traffic began to move slowly forward.
The Deity, however, was not in a benevolent mood, and consequently it was almost six when she turned into the leafy avenue leading to the remote-controlled gates guarding entrance to Miguel’s spacious double-storeyed home.
Landscaped gardens and manicured lawns provided a perfect background for an imposing residence set back from the road. Spanish in design, with thick cream-plastered walls, high arched windows, and a terracotta-tiled roof.
Hannah urged the white Porsche up the curved driveway at speed, and brought the vehicle to a swift halt beneath the wide portico.
Heavy panelled double doors opened the instant she slid from behind the wheel, and she spared the housekeeper Miguel employed a warm smile as she entered the foyer.
‘Thanks, Sofia.’ It had saved her fumbling for her key and bypassing the security alarm system. ‘Would you mind asking Antonio to garage my car?’ Sofia’s husband took care of the grounds and the cars while Sofia tended to the meals and the house five days out of seven.
‘Miguel is already upstairs?’ At Sofia’s verbal affirmative, she moved quickly towards the wide curving stairs leading to the upper floor.
Seconds later she gained the semi-circular gallery bounded by ornately designed balustrades. Five bedrooms, each with en suite, plus a large informal sitting room comprised the upper level. Original paintings were strategically placed on the walls, and there were occasional tables, magnificent ceramic urns and arte-facts set in majestic splendour along the entire gallery.
The main bedroom was situated at the front of the house, and she moved quickly towards it, freeing the buttons on her jacket with one hand while slipping off one heeled shoe with the other.
Seconds later she entered the spacious bedroom with its elegant furniture and separate walk-in robes.
Miguel was in the process of fixing a cuff-link, and she took in the look of him, his stance, the superbly tailored trousers, white shirt, his broad, chiselled features, and the dark well-groomed hair.
Beneath his sophisticated façade there lay the heart of a warrior. Compelling, dangerous, she added silently.
At that moment he glanced towards her, caught her expression, and raised one eyebrow in silent query.
Eyes so dark, they were almost black, met hers, and she fought to control the way her blood coursed through her veins like quicksilver.
Was he aware how he affected her? Sexually, without a doubt, she acknowledged wryly. He had the touch, the skill, to turn her into a mindless wanton, for in his arms she lacked the power to be anything else.
Get a grip, she mentally chastised as she crossed towards her wardrobe.
‘Twenty minutes?’ Hannah intimated, extracting a black knee-length gown with a fine lace-patterned overlay. Stiletto-heeled black shoes, sheer black stockings. The effect would be understated style, and offset her honey-coloured skin and blonde hair.
‘Try for fifteen.’
She made it in just under twenty, emerging into the bedroom freshly showered, dressed, her make-up complete. It took only minutes to step into her gown and close the zip fastener, then add minimum jewellery.
‘Done.’ She caught up an evening purse, and offered Miguel a sparkling smile. ‘Shall we leave?’
Together they traversed the gallery and began descending the stairs. Even though she was in heels, her head barely topped his shoulders.
‘New perfume?’
Hannah met his faintly quizzical expression and matched it with one of her own. ‘A woman’s weapon,’ she asserted solemnly, and suppressed the feather-light shiver that slid across the surface of her skin as Miguel reached out and traced a slow finger along her collar-bone.
‘You have no need of one.’
Her smile tilted the edge of her mouth. ‘Are you seducing me?’
One eyebrow arched, and his teeth gleamed white as he slanted her a teasing look. ‘Am I succeeding?’
Oh yes. But she wasn’t about to tell him so. ‘We have a dinner party to attend, remember?’
His husky chuckle almost undid her. ‘Anticipation, querida,’ he drawled. ‘Is a game lovers play.’
‘Is that how you regard our marriage?’ Hannah queried lightly. ‘As a game?’
Together they crossed the splendid foyer and made their way along a hallway leading to the internal garage.
‘You know better than that.’
‘Do I?’ The words slipped out before she thought to stop them.
‘You want I should show you?’ Miguel countered with silky indolence as he paused to face her.
‘I imagine you will, later.’
There was something in her voice, some indefinable quality that caused his eyes to narrow slightly and search for something beyond her carefully composed features.
She possessed a vulnerability beneath the sophisticated façade, a genuine empathy that held no artifice. A rare trait among the women of his acquaintance. He doubted she was aware he could define each tone of her voice, every expression, no matter how fleeting.
Tonight, for whatever reason, she was on edge, and he sought to alleviate it a little.
He lifted a hand and cupped her nape, tilting her head, then he covered her mouth with his own in an evocative tasting that brought forth a faint sighing sound as she leaned into him and kissed him back.
How long did it last? Seconds, minutes? She had no sense of time, only the feeling of regret as he broke contact.
His eyes were dark, unfathomable, and she was conscious of every breath she took, each beat of her heart as it thudded in her breast.
‘There’s a difference between sex and lovemaking, mi mujer,’ Miguel said gently. ‘You might do well to remember it.’ He smoothed the pad of his thumb along the lower curve of her lip, and proffered a faint smile. ‘You have no lipstick.’
Hannah gathered her wits together quickly. ‘While you, hombre, have a mouth rimmed with hazelnut noisette.’ She considered him carefully. ‘It’s not a good look.’
He laughed, a soft, deep, husky sound that curled round her heart and tugged a little. ‘Minx. I don’t suppose you have a tissue in that minuscule bag you carry?’
‘Of course,’ she said solemnly, extracting a tissue and handing it to him. ‘I am always prepared for any eventuality.’
He used the tissue and discarded it, deactivated the car alarm, then unlocked the door and she slid into the passenger seat. Restoring colour to her lips took only seconds, and it was done by the time Miguel slipped behind the wheel.
Minutes later he eased the powerful Jaguar towards the remote-controlled gates, picking up speed as he gained the street.
Summer daylight saving time bathed their surroundings with a soft golden glow, and while the heat of the day still hovered it was offset by the car’s air-conditioning.
The rain-storm had passed, the wet bitumen the only evidence of its brief intensity.
‘Who are our fellow guests? Do you know?’ Hannah queried idly.
‘Forewarned is forearmed?’ Miguel posed as he paused at an intersection, and she offered him a faintly wry smile.
‘Something like that.’ There were a few socialites of her acquaintance who delighted in setting a cat among the pigeons, then observing the result. It was very cleverly orchestrated, and provided amusing entertainment to the perpetrators.
A few years ago she had been an object of their speculation. Gossip, she amended, was unavoidable, but she detested any deliberate attempt to hurt or offend.
‘Graziella mentioned Angelina and Roberto Moro, Suzanne and Peter Trenton,’ Miguel relayed, shooting her a quick glance as the lights changed and traffic began to move. ‘Esteban also has an invitation.’
Two partners in a prominent law firm and their wives, Hannah mused, together with Miguel’s widowed father.
The del Santos invariably invited between ten and fourteen guests to share their table, and rarely revealed the identity of everyone attending. Graziella always commented that it made the evening interesting.
Hannah wondered who Graziella had invited to partner her charming father-in-law. A widow? Perhaps a divorcee?
‘Is there any earth-shattering news I should be aware of?’ Hannah queried as the car cleared another intersection.
‘In the need to conduct scintillating conversation?’
Hannah bit back a wry retort. ‘It negates any nasty little surprises.’
‘Such as?’
‘The fall of a prominent businessman due to tax avoidance. His wife cranked up her credit card in several élite boutiques.’
Miguel spared her a sharp look. ‘Yours was one of them?’
‘You got it in one.’ It wasn’t a fortune, she could write off the loss, but it left a nasty taste in her mouth that someone she trusted had deliberately ripped her off.
‘Leave it with me.’
Resentment flared. ‘I can handle it.’
‘You don’t need to,’ he responded smoothly.
Hannah wanted to hit him. ‘My business,’ she said firmly. ‘My problem.’
It could wait, Miguel decided, aware that pursuing it now would only exacerbate the situation.
Kew was an old, well-established suburb with large stately mansions, and Miguel turned the car into a leafy avenue, then halted outside an impressive set of gates leading to Graziella and Enrico del Santo’s imposing residence.
‘We’ll discuss this later.’ The window slid down and he pressed the intercom, gave his name, then waited as the gates swung open.
‘The responsibility is mine, the action my decision,’ she insisted as he parked the car on a wide pebbled apron adjacent the main entrance.
‘Independence in a woman is an admirable quality,’ Miguel intoned silkily. ‘But there are times when you take it too far.’
He slid from behind the wheel, and she stepped out, then closed the door.
‘And a man’s indomitable will is a pain in the butt.’
‘Pax,’ Miguel slanted coolly, and she offered him a brilliant smile.
‘Of course, amante,’ Hannah offered in a deliberately facetious response. ‘I wouldn’t dream of tarnishing our image.’
‘Behave,’ he admonished as they mounted the few steps to the massive double entrance doors.
They swung open as they reached them, and a tall well-built man in his fifties offered an affectionate greeting.
‘Hannah.’ Enrico leant forward and pressed his lips lightly to one cheek, then the other, and pumped Miguel’s extended hand. ‘Come through to the lounge.’
As they drew close it was possible to hear the light hum of conversation, and Enrico led them into a large spacious room filled with heavy antique chairs and sofas grouped into comfortable facing sets.
Men stood, resplendent in formal dinner suits, and each of the women resembled a model out of Vogue, the epitome in elegance and cosmetic perfection.
Hannah let her gaze skim a few familiar faces, her smile genuinely warm as she moved forward. She was one of them, born into established old money, educated and groomed to become part of an élite social clique. Hell, she’d even married into it.
Graziella enveloped them warmly, then she placed an arm through one each of theirs and drew them towards the centre of the room.
‘You know most everyone. Except some dear people I very much want you to meet. They are visiting from Europe this summer.’
Graziella and Enrico had friends in almost every city in the world, and frequently entertained guests in their home.
‘Aimee Dalfour, and her niece, Camille,’ Graziella indicated in introduction. ‘Hannah and Miguel Santanas.’
Camille was tall, slender, and startlingly beautiful, with hair that cascaded way down past her shoulders in a fall of lustrous sable. Exquisitely applied make-up, flawless textured skin, and a body to die for. Add a designer gown and shoes, expensive jewellery, and the result was drop-dead gorgeous.
‘Miguel,’ Camille purred in a sultry accented drawl. ‘C’est opportune.’ She extended her hand and silently dared him to take it, her dark eyes simmering with blatant challenge.
This woman was trouble, Hannah decided with a sinking heart. Camille’s fascination with Miguel was glaringly obvious. Also apparent was her intention to charm.
Hannah unconsciously held her breath as instinct caused all her fine body hairs to rise in protective self-defence, watching as Miguel brushed his lips to the manicured fingers, then released them.
‘Hannah,’ Camille acknowledged with pseudo politeness, and returned her attention to Miguel.
‘Enrico will get you a drink,’ Graziella informed them, ever the benevolent hostess. ‘What would you like?’
Hannah was tempted to request something exotic, but she hadn’t eaten since midday and then only a yoghurt followed an hour later by an apple. Alcohol on an empty stomach was not conducive to a clear head.
‘Thank you. Orange juice,’ she requested, and glimpsed Camille’s faint moue at her choice.
‘You don’t drink?’ she queried in a tone that indicated not to imbibe was a social faux pax.
Hannah inclined her head. ‘In this instance I’d prefer to wait and have wine with dinner.’
‘You do not have the head for it?’
Hannah chose not to rise to the bait, and merely smiled.
Minutes later she sipped the cool liquid from a stemmed goblet, aware Camille excelled in her role as temptress.
Keep it up, Hannah warned silently, and I’ll scratch your eyes out!
At that moment Miguel placed an arm along the back of her waist. A gesture that didn’t seem to have any effect at all.
The brush of beautifully lacquered nails as the Frenchwoman touched Miguel’s sleeve. The deliberately seductive smile. The promise lurking beneath those impossibly long curled eyelashes.
Why, she was practically eating him alive!
Hannah decided enough was enough. She didn’t have to stand here and watch Camille’s blatant seduction.
‘If you’ll excuse me?’ She offered Camille a stunning smile, let it drift to settle on her inimitable husband for a few seconds before she moved away a few paces to join her father-in-law.
‘May I say you look beautiful tonight?’ Esteban complimented lightly as he leaned forward and brushed his lips to her cheek.
‘Thank you,’ Hannah responded gently. ‘It’s a few weeks since you’ve been to the house. You must have dinner with us soon. We don’t see enough of you.’
His smile was affectionately warm. ‘Gracias. But you know how it is?’ He gave a light shrug, and she couldn’t resist teasing him a little.
‘A full social calendar,’ she said gravely. ‘And several women vying for your attention?’
‘Ah, you flatter me.’
‘No,’ she assured him kindly. ‘You’re a very nice man, of whom I’m very fond.’ And one any woman in her right mind would snap up in a minute. Except his late wife Isabella held a special place in his heart, and he had no desire to find a substitute.
A mutual acquaintance joined them, and after a few minutes she moved away.
‘I think,’ a light feminine voice suggested, ‘you might need to sharpen your claws.’
Hannah turned towards Suzanne Trenton. ‘Really? And use them on whom? Miguel?’
‘Camille, darling. There are other methods a wife can use to tame her husband.’
It was meaningless repartee, spoken with jesting cynicism for the benefit of mutual amusement.
‘Such as?’ Hannah ventured, and Suzanne gave a soft laugh.
‘Expensive jewellery.’
‘Do enlighten me,’ Miguel drawled as he threaded his fingers through those of his wife.
Hannah stood perfectly still for a few seconds, then she allowed her gaze to meet his. ‘Pink and white diamonds,’ she fabricated. ‘A drop necklace and matching earrings.’ A bewitching smile tilted the edge of her lips. ‘They’re quite beautiful.’
‘Is this a wifely hint?’ His mouth slanted into a humorous curve, at variance with the still watchfulness evident as he raked her features, noting the over-bright smile, her tense stance.
At that moment Graziella announced dinner was about to be served, and began directing guests towards the dining room.
‘There was no need for you to desert me,’ Miguel intoned mildly as they moved across the room.
‘You appeared to be doing quite well on your own.’
‘Careful, querida,’ he drawled musingly. ‘Your claws are showing.’
She gave him a winsome smile. ‘Why, amante,’ she offered with quiet emphasis, ‘I haven’t even begun to unsheathe them.’
If Graziella seated them close to Camille, she’d scream. The gods couldn’t be that unkind, could they?
It appeared they could.
‘I thought I’d place you opposite Camille,’ Graziella remarked as she suggested prearranged seating arrangements. ‘Hannah studied French and lived in Paris for more than a year,’ she informed Camille graciously. ‘As you’re both in the fashion industry, you’ll have much in common.’
Oh, my, this was going to be a fun evening!
CHAPTER TWO
‘GRAZIELLA tells me you have a boutique on Toorak Road,’ Camille began soon after they were seated. ‘I must call in and check it out.’
‘Please do,’ Hannah said civilly, for what else could she say? Miguel was engaged in conversation with Peter Trenton, exploring the mores of legalese.
‘Do you carry a range of accessories?’
A hired waitress began serving the first course, a delicate clear broth.
‘A small selection of scarves, belts,’ Hannah elaborated. ‘Exclusive hosiery.’
Camille lifted an expressive eyebrow. ‘Miguel has no objection?’
‘To what, specifically?’ she countered, reluctant to play Camille’s game.
‘Your little hobby.’
Considering the hours she worked, the responsibility to her clients, the sheer expertise required in running a successful business, the Frenchwoman’s words were an insult…as they were meant to be.
Hannah summoned a sweet smile. ‘He’s relieved I have something constructive to do with my time.’
‘Surely he would prefer you to be available for him?’
Hannah looked at the Frenchwoman, caught the avaricious gleam apparent, and opted for blatant honesty. ‘On call to accommodate his slightest whim?’
Camille spread her hands expressively. ‘Why…naturally, darling. If you don’t, there are others who will oblige.’
‘Such as you?’ There was nothing like going direct for the jugular!
Camille appeared to choose her words with care. ‘He’s a very wealthy man, is he not?’
‘And wealth is everything?’
Camille’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘It wields a power of its own.’
‘A reciprocal power.’ There was no need for pretence. It was no secret the Santanas-Martinez marriage had been conveniently arranged to legally combine two family fortunes.
‘Power versus sexual attraction,’ Camille pondered. ‘Which would Miguel choose, do you think?’
Hannah held Camille’s gaze, and discarded subtlety. ‘I would say he already has.’
The other woman glanced at the wide baguette diamond wedding ring adorning Hannah’s left hand. ‘Most men will stray, given sufficient provocation.’
She wanted to dispute the words. Insist with total knowledge that Miguel was not most men, and his fidelity and loyalty to her were a given.
The soup plates were removed and a starter served. Hannah looked at the artistically displayed smoked salmon dribbled with a caper sauce nestling in a nest of finely cut salad, and felt her appetite diminish.
Tension curled inside her stomach, and she took a sip of wine, then picked up her fork and attempted to do justice to the starter.
Miguel was an attractive man, possessed of a primitive masculinity that drew women like a magnet. There had been occasions when she’d been mildly amused by other women’s attempts at coquetry, all too aware the flirtation was merely a harmless game.
Instinct warned her that Camille didn’t fit into the harmless category, and that bothered her more than she cared to admit, for it raised questions to which she had no answers.
Could Miguel be tempted? Would he be sufficiently cavalier to indulge in an extra-marital affair? Somehow she didn’t think so, but did she really know?
Theirs was a mutually convenient marriage that had business as its base. Love wasn’t an issue…at least, not on Miguel’s part. He cared for her, and she told herself it was enough.
One thing she was sure of—she wanted a relationship built on trust and loyalty. Not fabrication and empty excuses.
‘Not hungry?’
Hannah turned towards her husband, met his steady gaze and glimpsed an indefinable quality in the depth of those dark eyes.
She summoned a light smile. ‘Concern, Miguel?’ His close proximity had a disturbing effect, for it made her aware of his exclusive brand of cologne meshing with freshly laundered cotton. His olive-toned skin was smooth, yet there was the hint of shadow despite the fact he’d only shaved an hour before.
‘For you? Always.’
‘Protecting your investment,’ she ventured quietly, and caught the faintest glimmer of anger evident. So fleeting, she wondered if she’d imagined it.
‘Of course,’ he agreed silkily, and she tried to view the arrival of a superb paella with enthusiasm.
Camille seemed bent on engaging Miguel in conversation, and Hannah turned to the guest seated next to her and found herself caught up in an animated dissertation on the merits of boarding school education within Australia versus exclusive establishments overseas. Something which lasted until the paella was eaten, the plates removed, and a delicate seafood stew was served.
‘Graziella mentioned you have an interest in the fashion scene,’ Hannah ventured, in a bid to distract Camille’s attention from Miguel.
‘I model.’
Two words that supposedly said it all, Hannah reflected. ‘Any particular fashion house?’
Camille proffered a haughty smile. ‘Whoever offers the highest fee.’
‘I was in Paris for the latest season’s showing,’ she mentioned conversationally, aware she hadn’t seen Camille on the catwalks. Such striking looks wouldn’t have escaped her notice, she was sure.
‘I did Milan and Rome.’ Camille lifted a hand and smoothed back a fall of hair in a gesture designed to focus attention on beautifully lacquered nails and her superb facial bone structure.
It had undoubtedly taken her hours to dress and perfect her make-up. Far removed from the nineteen minutes Hannah had allowed herself!
The main course comprised pescado a la sal served with a delicious salad, and she ate a small portion of the delicate fish flesh with contrived enjoyment.
‘I believe we have a mutual friend,’ Camille commented as Hannah finished the last of her salad.
It seemed possible, given their combined knowledge of the European fashion industry. ‘I’m sure we have,’ Hannah agreed as she lifted her goblet and took a sip of excellent white wine.
‘Luc Dubois.’ The name silvered the air, no less dramatic for its calculated delivery.
Hannah was conscious of a stillness at the table, as if all conversation had suddenly stopped…or was that just her imagination?
Her fingers tightened fractionally as she slowly set the goblet down onto the table. Miguel didn’t move, but she could sense the flex of his body muscles beneath the expensive tailoring.
‘Luc is not one of my friends,’ she said quietly. ‘He lost any claim to that distinction three years ago.’
The Frenchwoman arched an eyebrow in obvious disbelief. ‘He particularly asked me to convey his regards.’
She could simply incline her head and retreat. Except such an action would play into Camille’s hand, and there was something happening here that warned of a need for confrontation.
‘I find that difficult to believe,’ Hannah relayed evenly, aware that none of the guests spoke a word. ‘We didn’t part on good terms.’
‘Really? He spoke of you in quite—’ she paused deliberately, allowed her eyes to widen, and then appeared to choose her words ‘—glowingly graphic terms.’
This was a calculated attack, and Hannah felt incredibly angry that Camille had chosen the verbal strike in public. To what purpose?
‘Luc was a European playboy who preyed on any woman who could fund his expensive lifestyle,’ Hannah relayed with a calm she didn’t feel. ‘I walked out on him as soon as I discovered he was a superficial leech.’ She lifted her shoulders in a light dismissive shrug. ‘End of story. The press made much of it at the time.’ She even summoned a faint smile, albeit that it held a degree of cynicism. ‘The Australian heiress and the French photographer.’
She held Camille’s gaze. ‘If you want all the details, I’m sure you could look it up in any of the media archives.’ So be damned, she concluded silently. It was old news, past news, and her only regret was that she’d been very cleverly fooled by a practised master of deceit.
‘Oh, dear,’ Camille declared with a stab at contrition. ‘I am so sorry. I didn’t realise…’ She trailed to a halt.
No, you’re not, Hannah thought, and yes, you already knew. You just wanted to create an awkward situation.
Miguel covered Hannah’s hand with his own, then he leaned towards her and brushed his lips to her temple. ‘Brava.’
His action deflated the air of tension, and within seconds everyone began talking at once.
Dessert was served, and Hannah forced herself to do justice to the tocino de cielo, a rich custard. She sipped excellent vintage wine, conversed with fellow guests, and gave every pretence of having a wonderful time.
She laughed at humorous anecdotes, commiserated with the Trentons at the difficulty of getting their two-month-old daughter enrolled into an élite private school, and attempted to ignore Camille’s frequent slip in resorting to evocatively delivered French. Did the Frenchwoman imagine no one else understood? Or perhaps she didn’t care if they did.
Miguel was fluent in French and Italian, as well as his native Spanish. Hannah had the advantage of the former two, but, even if she’d had no knowledge of the spoken word, the cadence of Camille’s voice and its provocative delivery left little doubt Miguel was her target.
To his credit, Miguel did nothing to encourage the attention. But after almost three hours of observing the coveted glances, the blatant verbal seduction, Hannah was tiring of the pretence.
Smiling, when all she wanted to do was render Camille some form of injury. Her jaw ached from it, and her palms itched with the need to slap the Frenchwoman’s face.
Coffee was served in the lounge, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry with frustrated irritation when Camille wandered over to join them.
Dear heaven, the woman was persistent!
‘It would be so—’ Camille paused fractionally ‘—pleasant,’ she stated, ‘if you were to include me as a guest, socially.’ She gave an expressive smile. ‘My aunt, her friends…’ She trailed off, and her slender shoulders lifted in a typical Gallic gesture. ‘We have different interests, comprendez-vous?’
Hardly surprising, considering Camille’s sole interest appeared to be Miguel!
‘How long will you be staying?’ Hannah asked, hoping the visit would be extremely short!
The Frenchwoman lifted an expressive hand, then let it fall. ‘I have no immediate plans. A few weeks, several. Who is to say?’
‘I am sure Graziella has made arrangements to entertain you,’ Miguel drawled, and received a sultry smile.
‘One must hope you are also included in such…’ she trailed deliberately ‘…arrangements.’
Not if I can help it, Hannah decided as she endeavoured to subdue her anger.
Miguel took Hannah’s empty cup and placed it with his own onto a nearby side-table. His expression was polite as he caught hold of his wife’s hand and inclined his head towards Camille.
‘If you’ll excuse us?’
‘You are leaving? It is so early,’ the Frenchwoman protested.
‘Goodnight,’ Miguel bade smoothly, only to discover Camille didn’t give up easily.
‘You must both be my guests at dinner. Together with Graziella and Enrico, my aunt.’ She paused, and offered a sweet smile. ‘Miguel, you must bring Esteban.’ She cast Miguel a deliberately seductive look. ‘We shall make a date, yes?’
‘We’ll check our social diary and get back to you,’ Hannah intimated smoothly, aware this was one engagement she had no intention of keeping.
Camille’s expression didn’t change, but Hannah glimpsed a brief malevolent gleam in those dark eyes, and felt the beginnings of unease.
Cynical bantering on occasion was part of the game a number of people played, for it formed amusing repartee. But instinct warned Hannah the Frenchwoman played by no one’s rules but her own.
‘Nothing to say, querida?’ Miguel drawled as he eased the Jaguar out from the driveway.
She turned towards him, saw the beam of oncoming headlights cast angles and planes to his strong-boned features, and endeavoured to inject amusement into her tone.
‘You expect me to condone Camille’s blatant behaviour?’
‘I could almost imagine you are jealous.’
He was amused, damn him!
‘Am I supposed to answer that?’ she demanded coolly.
He spared her a quick glance, caught the fiery blue glare aimed in his direction, then returned his attention to the road.
‘It might be interesting to hear you try,’ he declared indolently, and she burst into angry speech.
‘What would you have me say?’ Her fingers clenched over the clasp of her evening purse. ‘That I objected to the way Camille monopolised your attention? And flirted outrageously.’ She drew in a deep breath and expelled it slowly. ‘Dammit, she has designs on you! Anyone would have had to be blind not to notice it!’
‘Should I be flattered?’
‘Are you?’ She held her breath waiting for his reply.
‘No,’ Miguel declared with unruffled ease.
‘Hold that thought,’ Hannah said darkly.
‘Why, amante?’ he teased mercilessly as he gained the main street. ‘What would you do if I succumbed to her charms?’
‘Commit grievous bodily harm.’ And die a little, she added silently. ‘Then divorce you.’
He cast her a sombre glance. ‘Extreme measures.’
‘What would you do if I showed an interest in another man?’ Hannah retorted, unable to resist taunting, ‘Turn the cheek and look the other way?’
‘I’d kill you.’ His voice held a dangerous softness that sent shivers feathering a path down her spine.
‘Wonderful,’ she remarked facetiously. ‘A few hours in Camille’s company, and we’re not only arguing, we’re threatening divorce and murder.’
The Frenchwoman was a witch, Miguel acknowledged grimly, and, unless he was mistaken, a very dangerous one.
‘While we’re on this particular subject,’ Hannah continued, ‘what importance do you place on Camille’s deliberate mention of my bête noir?’
‘Luc Dubois?’
‘That’s the one,’ she conceded.
‘Do you still retain an interest in him?’
‘No,’ Hannah declared vehemently. Even now she found it difficult to accept the Frenchman had penetrated her guard. She, who could tag a man’s superficial charm in an instant, aware his main interest was her family’s wealth, not her. Except Luc had been incredibly patient, known which buttons to push, and when. She’d fallen into his arms like a peach ripe for the picking.
‘So sure, Hannah?’ Miguel pursued silkily.
How could he ask that, when Luc didn’t even begin to compare with the man who was now her husband?
‘Yes.’ She turned towards him. ‘You have my word.’
‘Gracias.’
‘Such is the recipe for a happy marriage.’
‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you, mi mujer,’ Miguel drawled.
‘Ah, but I love this honesty we share. It is très bonne, don’t you agree?’
‘I can think of a more apt description.’
It didn’t take long to reach their tree-lined street and traverse the driveway. Minutes later she followed Miguel indoors.
‘Get the credit slips from your briefcase,’ he instructed as they reached the foyer. At her puzzled look, he elaborated, ‘The client who ran up debt all over town. I’ll take care of it.’
‘No, you won’t,’ she said emphatically. ‘I can do it myself.’
‘Why?’ he queried steadily. ‘When I can do it so much more easily?’
She flung him a baleful glare. ‘Because I’m independent.’
‘And stubborn,’ Miguel added.
‘No,’ she disagreed. ‘Self-sufficient.’
‘Tenacious.’
‘That, too,’ she admitted, then allowed, ‘If I have a problem, I promise I’ll call on you.’
It would have to suffice, Miguel conceded. ‘Are we going to stand here bandying words, or do we go to bed?’
She felt inclined to deny him. To turn her back and ascend the stairs alone. Yet to deny him was to deny herself. And she needed the reassurance of his touch, the possession of her body. To feel, in the darkness of the night, that she meant more to him than just part of his life as a convenient wife. To pretend for a while that the marriage was real, and what they shared was special, not just very good sex.
‘Oh, bed,’ she agreed. ‘Definitely.’
‘Minx,’ he declared. ‘What if I’m tired?’
‘Are you?’ she asked seriously, then wrinkled her nose at him. ‘I wouldn’t think of overtaxing your strength.’
He laughed, and the sound curled round her nerve-ends as he caught hold of her hand and led her upstairs. ‘Let’s see who cries wolf first, shall we?’
This, Hannah breathed shakily minutes later as Miguel slid the zip fastening free from her gown, was like entering a sensual heaven. He had the touch, the knowledge, the skill, to divine a woman’s needs.
And fulfil them, she added with a silent gasp as the gown slid in a silken heap to the floor. The light brush of his fingertips trailed an evocative path over sensitised skin as he eased the silken briefs down over her thighs.
She stepped free of them and at the same time discarded the heeled shoes that added four inches to her height.
He was wearing too many clothes, and she pushed his jacket from his shoulders, tugged at his tie, then freed shirt buttons with restless speed.
His lips settled at the sensitive hollow at the edge of her neck, and sensation arrowed through her body as he used his tongue and his teeth to tease a tantalising kiss that had her arching towards him.
His shirt fell onto the carpet, and her fingers feverishly attacked the buckle on his belt, then tended to the zip on his trousers.
Miguel’s contribution to shucking his clothes was to step out of his shoes and pull off his socks.
She reached for his briefs, and slid them free, awed by the state of his arousal. It fascinated her that such a part of man’s anatomy could drive a woman wild, and provide such pleasure.
Unbidden, she drew the pads of her fingers lightly over its silken length, caressing with a sense of captive thrall.
‘Amada,’ Miguel growled softly. ‘If you don’t want to be tossed down onto the bed and possessed without delay, I suggest you stop that now.’
She lifted her head and offered him an infinitely sweet smile. ‘Why?’
He uttered a faint groan. ‘Madre de Dios.’ The words left his lips in a ragged supplication as he dragged her close.
His mouth covered hers in a kiss that drugged her senses and tore at the very fabric of her soul.
Control, she had none. There were only the man, the moment, and an intensity of emotions so overwhelming she simply held on and joined him as he took her to the heights and beyond before free-falling down to a state of exotic warmth and satiation.
Her body felt like a finely tuned instrument that had been played by a virtuoso. Exultant, still clinging to the sweet sorcery of a master’s exquisite touch.
She loved the feel of him, his sheer strength and passion, tempered by a control she sorely wanted to break. What would it be like to experience his unbridled lovemaking? To crash through the barriers of restraint and be taken with a raw primitive hunger that knew no bounds?
Dear Lord. Just thinking about it sent renewed heat racing through her veins and had her moving restlessly against him.
His lips brushed her temple, almost as if he were attuned to the depths of her innermost needs, and his arms tightened as she found his mouth with her own.
This time it was she who nurtured his desire and sent it spiralling towards hungry passion in a mesmeric coupling that left them both slick with sensual sweat and fighting to regain a steady breath.
‘Witch,’ Miguel teased huskily as he buried his lips against her breast.
‘Hmm,’ Hannah murmured with bemused contentment, only to give a tiny gasp as he began teasing the tender peak, alternately with his tongue and the edge of his teeth, taking her to the brink between pleasure and pain.
Then with one fluid movement he slid from the bed, scooped her into his arms, carried her into the en suite and stepped into the large shower stall.
Seconds later warm water cascaded from four strategically positioned shower-heads, and Hannah slid to her feet as Miguel reached for the soap.
Evocatively sensual, they lingered for a while, then Miguel closed the water dial, snagged two towels, and once dry, they returned to bed to sleep.
Except after the first few hours Hannah was plagued by dreams that had her tossing restlessly until dawn, followed by a deep fitful sleep as light began filtering through the curtains.
She was unaware of the soothing touch of the man who lay beside her, or that he curled her body close in to his more than once through the night.
Nor was she aware that he woke early, and propped himself comfortably on his side to watch her sleep.
She had delicate features, and the softest, silkiest skin of any woman he’d had the pleasure to touch, he mused gently. The tousled length of her hair lent an abandoned look, and her lashes were long, curling upwards at the ends. The mouth was lush, the lips softly curved in sleep. Capable hands, slender, displaying the band of diamonds and splendid pear-shaped solitaire that claimed her as his own.
She bore an air of fragility that was deceptive, for she possessed an inner strength, an innate honesty that decried artifice or deceit.
He would have liked to rouse her into wakefulness, to feather light kisses over every inch of her skin until she reached for him, then make long, slow love.
The generosity of her response never failed to move him, physically, mentally, emotionally.
Miguel felt his senses stir, and knew if he remained in bed she wouldn’t sleep much longer. With a husky groan he rolled over and slid to his feet, then he walked naked into the en suite and stood beneath the shower.
CHAPTER THREE
HANNAH woke late, took one look at the digital clock and raced to the shower, then she dressed and applied basic make-up in record time before running lightly downstairs.
Miguel was in the process of draining the last of his coffee when she entered the kitchen, and heat flared through her veins at the mere sight of him.
It was as if she could still feel his touch, the masculine heat of his possession, the passion…
Dear heaven, she cursed shakily. This was post-coital awareness at its most provocative!
He looked at her and glimpsed the faint tremor that shook her lush mouth. Did she have any conception of her beauty? Something that went far beyond the visual, to the depths of her soul. At this precise moment she was remarkably transparent, and it moved him almost beyond measure.
He watched as she collected a glass and poured herself some fresh orange juice, then she plucked a slice of toast from the rack and spread it with marmalade.
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ Hannah queried in the quest for normality. She took a bite of the toast and followed it down with black sweet coffee.
He looked every inch the corporate executive, his tailoring impeccable, a dark silk tie resting against a pristine white shirt.
‘I reset the alarm,’ Miguel relayed imperturbably, and checked his watch. ‘Timed to go off around now.’ He cast her a quizzical glance. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’
Hannah shook her head. ‘No time.’
Dammit, he looked good. She wanted to slide her fingers through his hair, lower her head down to his, and kiss him until they both had to pause for breath.
Dangerous thoughts, she perceived as she took a long swallow of coffee. If she gave in to them, she’d be even later for work, and that would never do!
Instead, she finished the toast, downed the last of her coffee, then she extracted a banana and an apple from a silver fruit bowl, caught up her car keys and followed him through to the garage.
Miguel unlocked the door, and regarded her steadily over the top of the Jaguar. ‘A restless night, no breakfast to speak of, and food on the run isn’t an ideal way to start the day.’
She effected a light shrug. ‘So I’ll grab coffee and something to eat later.’
He wanted to wring her slender neck. ‘See that you do.’ He pulled open the door and slid in behind the wheel.
‘Yes-sir.’
He shot her a dark speaking glance, freed the electronic garage mechanism, then he fired the engine and eased the car towards the gates.
Hannah’s soft curse feathered the air accompanied by an exasperated sigh. Work beckoned, and there was no time to dally if she was to open the boutique on time.
Seconds later she exited the driveway and headed towards Toorak Road, her mood reflective as she bore with morning peak traffic.
It would have been nice to have woken in Miguel’s arms, stirred by his touch, enticed into sex by his passion in an early-morning ritual. She missed the shimmering sensual heat, the electrifying hunger followed by a languid after-play, for it was then they talked awhile before sharing a leisurely shower.
Camille’s features sprang all too readily to mind, intrusive and vaguely taunting.
The power of pre-emptive thought? Hannah pondered as she dispelled the Frenchwoman from her mind and focused on the day ahead.
The courier service was scheduled to deliver some new stock this morning, and she mentally selected a stunning ensemble as window display, its accessories, and the rearrangement and placement of existing stock.
By the time she unlocked the boutique Camille temporarily ceased to exist.
Twice during the next hour her hand hovered over the phone. She badly needed to hear Miguel’s voice, if only to say ‘hi’. Discussing what lay ahead in their respective days had become an early-morning habit. Dammit, she’d ring and ask him to meet her for lunch. Cindy could manage the boutique for an hour, longer if necessary.
Without hesitation she keyed in the digits for his mobile phone, only to have the call go to voice-mail. She left her name and invitation, then busied herself with routine chores.
Cindy, a friend with a flair for fashion who welcomed part-time work while her daughter was in school, arrived at ten, closely followed by the courier.
Unpacking, checking invoices and preparing stock for display took time, and there were the serious clients who came to buy and not-so-serious passers-by who merely wanted to browse.
Then there were the phone calls, none of which was Miguel. Until eleven-thirty, when Hannah had all but given up on him.
‘It’s the man,’ Cindy indicated as she extended the cordless handset.
Hannah moved a few paces away. ‘I thought we might do lunch.’ She drew a slight breath, then released it. ‘I can get away any time between now and two.’
‘I’m tied up with meetings all afternoon,’ Miguel drawled. ‘Can it wait until tonight?’
He sounded mildly amused, almost as if he sensed the reason behind her call. ‘Of course.’
‘Hasta luego, querida,’ he bade indolently, and cut the line.
‘Will you finish doing the window, or shall I?’ Cindy queried seconds later, and Hannah gestured towards the clothed mannequin.
‘Be my guest.’ A cleverly draped scarf, an elegant brooch would add the final touches, together with heeled shoes and matching handbag. Something that would take only minutes to complete.
The end result was stunning, and Hannah was quick to add her compliment. ‘Why don’t you take a break for lunch?’ she suggested, checking her watch. ‘I can manage for a while.’
Most of the regular clientele chose to do their shopping mid-morning or mid-afternoon. For the most part, the time between midday and two was spent lunching at any one of several trendy cafés or restaurants in and around the city and its élite suburbs.
Cindy collected her bag and made for the door.
‘See you soon.’
Hannah crossed to the CD player, removed the morning selection and inserted sufficient discs to provide soothing unobtrusive background music until closing time.
The electronic buzzer heralded the arrival of a prospective client, and Hannah turned with a welcome smile in place, only to have it momentarily freeze as she caught sight of Camille.
Tall, proportionately slender, the Frenchwoman exuded confidence and a degree of arrogance as she stepped forward. Dressed in designer clothes and wearing expensive perfume, she was elegance personified.
‘Bonjour, Hannah.’ She inclined a perfectly coiffed head, and scanned the carefully arranged racks.
‘I thought I might visit.’
Somehow Hannah doubted clothes were Camille’s main purpose. ‘How nice of you to call in.’ At what point did politeness cross the line and become a white lie? She indicated a rack of imported designer labels. ‘Is there anything in particular I can help you with?’ She crossed the floor and extracted a gown that would look stunning on Camille’s tall frame.
‘Darling, I can get that in Paris.’ Her mouth pursed, and her eyes assumed a hardened gleam as she riffled through carefully spaced hangers with total disregard for their existing presentation.
Hannah watched as the Frenchwoman pulled out a hanger, examined the garment with disdainful criticism, then returned it carelessly back onto the rack before moving a pace or two and repeating the process.
There was little doubt as to the deliberateness of the action, and Hannah wondered just how long it would take for Camille to cut to the chase.
Exhausting garments displayed on one side of the boutique, the Frenchwoman crossed the floor and began a similar examination of various silk shirts.
‘How does it feel being manipulated into a loveless marriage?’
Four minutes, give or take a few seconds, Hannah calculated. If Camille wanted to conduct a verbal altercation, then so be it. She met the woman’s hard stare, and arched a delicate eyebrow. ‘Manipulated by whom?’
Camille’s gaze narrowed. ‘It doesn’t bother you Miguel’s motivation was born out of duty? To his father, and the Sanmar conglomerate?’
Hannah took time to ponder the Frenchwoman’s words. ‘For someone who has only been in Melbourne a short time, you seem to have acquired considerable information.’
‘Graziella is very discreet. However, my interest in Miguel was captured several weeks ago at a party in Rome,’ Camille enlightened with a secretive smile. ‘Miguel attended briefly with a business associate.’
Hannah had instant recall. She’d flown in to buy new season’s stock, tying the visit in with one of Miguel’s Italian business meetings. She even remembered the evening in question, and a wretched migraine that had seen her creep into bed while issuing instructions for Miguel to go on to the party without her.
‘I made it my business to discover everything about Miguel Santanas,’ Camille continued relentlessly. ‘His marriage, his wife, her background.’
This was far more complex than idle curiosity. Almost chilling, Hannah realised silently.
‘And your affair with Luc Dubois,’ the Frenchwoman revealed, intent on analysing Hannah’s expressive features. ‘Interesting man.’
Interesting didn’t come close. The man was a practised rogue, and it still irked that it had taken her a few months to lose the fantasy and face reality.
‘I imagine this is leading somewhere?’ Hannah queried coolly.
‘Of course, darling. You’re hardly naive.’
It didn’t take much imagination for it all to fall into place. ‘Let me guess,’ she began pensively. ‘You came here purposely with your aunt, who conveniently happens to be a good friend of the del Santos, aware of their social standing and the opportunity to use them to include you in numerous invitations around the city. Thus ensuring regular social contact with Miguel.’
A tinkling laugh escaped Camille’s lips. ‘How clever of you, chérie. Naturally, the Australian visit was my suggestion.’
Hannah’s eyes assumed a fiery sparkle. ‘Do we draw battle lines?’
‘As long as you understand Miguel is mine.’ Camille’s smile was entirely lacking in humour.
‘Really?’ Hannah posed with deliberate sarcasm. ‘Aren’t you forgetting I have an advantage or two?’
‘Miguel might view you as an obligation,’ the Frenchwoman relayed with pitiless asperity, ‘but, darling, I intend to be his titillation.’
The peal of the telephone came as a welcome interruption, and Hannah crossed to take the call, aware as she did so that the Frenchwoman had turned towards the door. Within seconds she had departed, and Hannah gathered her wits together, answering a client’s query, then, when she was done, she set to restoring order to the racks Camille had deliberately disorganised.
Tension knotted her stomach. It was worse, much worse than she’d envisaged. How would Miguel react if she told him? Be amused, probably. But what would lie beneath the humour? Male satisfaction? The thrill of the chase, the challenge? More pertinently, would he indulge in an extra-marital affair?
Dear God, she hoped not. Even the thought that he might almost destroyed her.
The peal of the telephone interrupted her reflection, and she took the call, attended to a client who bought a skirt, two blouses, a beautiful silk scarf, and on Cindy’s return she collected her bag and crossed the street to lunch in a trendy café.
Hannah ordered a latte and a salad bagel, sipped the first and picked at the second, only to discard it entirely and order another latte.
Usually she took only sufficient time to eat before returning to the boutique, but today she chose to browse a few shops and view exquisite antique jewellery. A pair of earrings caught her eye, and she entered the shop, tried them on, then bought them in a moment of impulse.
It was almost two when she re-entered the boutique, four when Cindy left for the day, and at five-fifteen she locked up and drove home.
As hard as she tried, it was impossible to dismiss Camille from her mind. What she’d first thought was a transitory game had now proven to hold premeditated intent. Dealing with it could be akin to walking through a minefield.
One thing for sure…Miguel was hers. And she intended to fight for him, her marriage, her life, she determined as she garaged the car and made her way into the house.
Sofia was in the kitchen preparing dinner, and Hannah greeted her fondly as she crossed to the refrigerator.
‘There are messages for you, and two for the señor,’ the housekeeper informed her as she wielded a chopping knife with considerable dexterity. ‘I put them in the señor’s study.’
Hannah extracted a bottle of chilled water and poured some into a glass. ‘Thanks. I’ll go check them in a minute.’ A piquant aroma teased her nostrils. ‘Mmm,’ she murmured appreciatively. ‘Something smells delicious.’
‘Seafood,’ Sofia enlightened. ‘Served with a mixed salad.’
She lifted the glass to her lips and took a long swallow, then moved to the cook-top and lifted the lid on the gently simmering saucepan. The temptation to retrieve a steaming mussel was too great, and she quickly passed the hot shell from one hand to the other as she tore it apart and extracted the succulent flesh.
‘You want? I pull some out and put on a plate,’ Sofia determined, and Hannah shook her head.
‘No, I’ll save it for dinner.’ Her stomach growled in protest of insufficient sustenance. ‘I’ll go shower and change. Is Miguel home?’
‘The señor ring an hour ago. Delayed. I serve dinner at seven. Okay?’
Hannah savoured the mussel flesh, and followed it with yet another glass of water. Maybe she’d go swim a few lengths in the pool first. She had time, and she felt strangely restless with a need to expend some nervous energy.
It took only minutes to reach her bedroom, and a few more to discard her clothes and don an aqua bikini. Then she caught up a beach towel from the linen closet, quickly retraced her steps and made her way through the wide set of French doors at the rear of the house to the tiled pool area.
Heaven, she breathed a short while later as she cleaved sure strokes through the cool salt-chlorinated water.
She didn’t allow herself to think, only focused on the silky feel of the water against her skin, the weightlessness of her body and the measured movement of her arms and legs.
It was so quiet, with no neighbourhood noise to disturb the air. High walls, with tall trees lining the boundaries, lent a secluded atmosphere, making it difficult to believe a large cosmopolitan city hummed with vibrant life mere kilometres away.
She could be anywhere, she mused, intent for a few seconds imagining a place far removed from here, where there were no phones, no social obligations, no distractions. Just her, with Miguel. Lazing in the sun, relaxing. Making love, eating when they felt the need for food, and sleeping when everything else palled.
Except that was a fantasy. Reality was a hurried break in between scheduled meetings…whether it was Paris, Rome, Madrid or Frankfurt. A snatched day here and there, always within reach of a mobile phone and an important call that inevitably broke the spell.
It was life in the fast lane. The need to make and close the next deal. To build and expand, to consolidate and venture into new fields. Always a step ahead of the competitors.
Like a merry-go-round that kept moving, once you were on it was hard to get off.
Maybe she could persuade Miguel to fit a holiday into his schedule. Hawaii. All that sun, surf and sand, where the pace was slower, and the outer islands offered a relaxed, carefree lifestyle.
Hannah didn’t hear the faint splash as Miguel dived cleanly into the pool, and it was only when his head broke the surface close by that she became aware she was no longer alone.
She turned towards him and trod water as he reached her side. ‘Hi. You’re home early.’
Miguel paused to sweep water from his face and smooth both hands over his head, leaving his hair a sleek ebony. ‘Impossible, of course, that I might want to be with my wife?’
Hannah tilted her head to one side and cast him a considering look. ‘Hmm, maybe.’
‘Gracias, amada,’ he teased lightly. ‘For the vote of confidence.’ He moved close and cradled her hips, then eased both hands beneath the thin fabric to cup her bottom.
A delicious shiver feathered the length of her spine, and her body arched into his of its own accord, exulting in the touch of hair-roughened thighs against her smooth skin.
Her hands instinctively linked together at his nape, and she angled her mouth as his slanted to capture hers in a sensual tasting that began slowly, sweetly, then began to build into something that became an evocative preliminary to the promise of passion.
She wanted more, much more than this as the slide of his hands wreaked havoc in seeking sensitised pleasure pulses, and a faint groan sighed in her throat at the prospect of what he intended to do.
But not here. She possessed few inhibitions, but making love in the pool in daylight when there was every possibility Sofia might happen into view did much to kill her spontaneity.
Had they been completely alone… Slowly Hannah broke the kiss, and regretfully unwound her hands from his neck. ‘Dinner will be ready soon, and we both need to shower and dress.’
Miguel let her go, his eyes dark with lambent emotion. ‘I guess we could indulge in a leisurely shower.’
It was her turn to tease. ‘Be late for dinner, and ruin Sofia’s paella?’
He pressed a quick hard kiss to her parted lips.
‘It will keep, querida.’ And the promise, the erotic wait would present a slow torture…for both of them. Afterwards, she would weep for the release, and cry from the mutual joy of it.
She completed a few side-strokes and reached the tiled ledge, then she pulled herself over it to stand in one lithe movement, aware Miguel mirrored her actions.
In unison they each caught up a towel, removed the excess moisture, then hitched it securely and made their way indoors.
Halfway up the stairs Miguel hoisted her slender frame over one shoulder and carried her the rest of the way.
‘Caveman tactics?’ Hannah queried to the broad expanse of his back, and felt rather than heard his faint rumble of laughter.
‘You object?’
She clung onto his shoulders, felt the shift and play of powerful muscles as he moved towards the bedroom.
‘Would it make any difference?’
Miguel entered their suite, closed the door, then lowered her down to stand in front of him. ‘You don’t want to play?’
Hannah looked at him carefully, saw the sensual curve of his mouth and glimpsed the darkness in his eyes.
‘Yes,’ she answered simply, and tried not to wish with all her heart that it was her he needed, not just the woman who bore his name.
He made lovemaking an art form, and she told herself she didn’t care. It was enough he could make her feel like this. Enough that together they created a sexual magic that transmuted sheer sensation and became exquisite ecstasy.
Desire flared…wild, mesmeric and primitive as instinct met with hunger, and ravaged them both.
Afterwards they showered, then dressed in casual clothes before making their way downstairs, choosing to collect the delectable paella and eat on the patio adjoining the pool.
Occasionally they paused to tempt each other with a forkful of food, and they sipped a fine white wine, ate crusty bread, and watched the summer sun slowly sink over the horizon.
They took time to discuss the day, and Hannah deliberately made no mention of Camille. Somehow it seemed almost a sacrilege to spoil the moment, and the night.
Outdoor lights provided a soft glow, illuminating the gardens, throwing long shadows from surrounding shrubbery. Moths fluttered around the electric lamps, fascinated by the brightness.
It was a while before they silently collected plates, glassware and cutlery and returned them to the kitchen.
‘Tired?’
‘A little,’ she answered honestly as he mobilised the alarm system.
He held out his hand and she curled her fingers within his as they ascended the stairs. In the bedroom he removed her clothes, then his own, drawing her down onto the bed before gathering her close into the curve of his body.
She succumbed to sleep within minutes, and Miguel lay staring with brooding reflectiveness into the darkness, all too aware of the rhythmic beat of her heart beneath the palm of his hand, the faint muskiness of her feminine scent, the clean, fresh fragrance of her hair as her head nestled close in against the curve of his shoulder.
She moved, snuggling closer, and the hand that rested at the edge of his waist slipped down to his hip. She slept, for her breathing pattern remained unchanged.
He shifted his head slightly to brush his lips to the edge of her forehead and a faint smile softened his mouth as a soft sound sighed from her lips.
Independent, strong, individualistic, he mused as he courted sleep. A generous and passionate lover who matched him with an equal hunger of her own.
His.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE day began badly with a phone call from Cindy’s mother to say Cindy had been rushed into hospital for an emergency appendectomy and wouldn’t be able to return to work for at least a week.
Hannah felt genuinely upset, for Cindy was a friend as well as someone who worked part-time in the boutique, and she organised flowers to be sent to the hospital, made plans to visit after work, then began ringing the first of two women who made themselves available to work when required.
The first was overseas, the second had a family emergency, and her only recourse was an employment agency. Failing any success there, she could call on her mother, if only to fill in for an hour around midday.
Breakfast was a non-event, with only time to swallow half a glass of orange juice and follow it with a few sips of coffee.
‘Por Dios,’ Miguel swore swiftly as she caught up her bag and slid the strap over one shoulder. ‘Sit.’
He reached out, closed his hand over her arm, and forced her into a nearby chair. ‘Eat.’ He pushed a plate towards her, split a croissant and spread conserve onto each half.
She threw him a wry look. ‘I can’t. I’ll be late.’
‘So be late,’ he suggested evenly. ‘Five minutes is all it will take. You could easily be caught up in traffic that long.’
‘I’m not a child, dammit.’
‘You’re wasting time,’ Miguel said imperturbably.
She was hungry, and failing finding someone to fill in, or if Renee wasn’t available, she’d have to temporarily close the boutique for the ten minutes it would take to go fetch a sandwich.
Stubborn single-mindedness forbade that she actually sat, but she did eat both pieces of the croissant and followed it down with the rest of the fine, hot, sweet coffee.
‘Satisfied?’
He cast her a brooding glance. ‘No.’
She gathered up her car keys. ‘You, of course, rarely suffer emergencies that toss your schedule out the window.’
‘Occasionally,’ Miguel conceded.
‘Don’t tell me—you always have a back-up plan,’ she responded drily.
‘A few minutes ago you couldn’t wait to leave,’ he drawled, arching an eyebrow. ‘Now you want to argue?’
‘Why, when I never win?’ Hannah flung with exasperation, and threw him a startled glance as he moved swiftly to cup her face.
He angled her mouth to meet his in an evocative kiss that tore at her emotions and made her wish she could take the time to deepen and savour it. Then she was free.
She could only look at him, her eyes wide and unblinking. Just when she thought she could predict how he’d react, he managed to surprise her.
She unconsciously moistened her lips, aware her mouth shook slightly, and saw his eyes flare briefly.
‘Go, querida. I’ll call you through the day.’ Hannah turned away from him and moved quickly through the foyer to the garage.
Could the day get any worse? she queried silently as she put a call through to her mother, only to discover Renee was en route to the airport to catch a scheduled flight to Sydney.
‘I’ll be back tonight, darling. Tomorrow is fine, if you need me. I’ll ring when I get in.’
Within minutes of opening the boutique she rang the first of two agencies on her list, and felt immeasurably relieved to discover half an hour later they had a suitable salesgirl available to report for work the next day.
Hannah was kept busy all morning as several clients came by to examine the latest delivery of new stock. Telephoned requests to put some items aside for a few hours meant the boutique wasn’t empty for long.
At midday she affixed a ‘back in ten minutes’ sign on the door, locked up and quickly crossed the street to a nearby café. A salad sandwich with coffee to take away would assuage her hunger, and with luck she might even get to eat it without any interruption.
‘Hannah.’
The sultry accent caused the hairs to rise on the back of her neck. Tell me I’m wrong, she pleaded silently, only to turn and discover Camille seated at a nearby table.
The Frenchwoman’s presence here seemed too coincidental. Another of Camille’s ploys to draw attention to her knowledge of Hannah’s daily routine?
‘Camille,’ Hannah acknowledged with forced civility as she stood waiting for her order to be filled.
‘Why don’t you join me?’
Not if I can help it. ‘I have to get back. Perhaps some other time?’ An empty suggestion she had no intention of fulfilling.
‘I’ll call in later.’
Hannah barely resisted the temptation to say please don’t as the girl behind the counter handed over a capped take-away cup and a plastic container with her sandwich.
‘Bye, Camille.’ The words were merely a courtesy as she turned towards the door. She didn’t want to play friend with the stunning Frenchwoman. If she had a choice, she’d prefer not to have anything to do with her at all! However, the chances of that were slim, given Camille’s determination.
The phone was ringing when she unlocked the boutique and she hurried forward to answer it. Within minutes of replacing the receiver, it pealed again.
‘I’ve been gifted tickets to a film premiere tonight,’ Miguel began without preamble. He named the title and the venue. ‘I’ll be home at six.’
‘Gracias,’ Hannah declared, and his husky laughter was almost her undoing.
‘Take care, querida. Don’t work too hard.’
Fat chance, Hannah thought as she juggled attending to clients and phone calls in between snatching a bite to eat.
There was satisfaction in selecting beautifully crafted garments to suit a certain occasion for a favoured client. Offering suggestions for footwear, accessories, even jewellery, was something she viewed as an art form. The client’s pleasure and continued loyalty was her reward. So much so that when she bought she did so with specific clients in mind.
It wasn’t just a job. It never had been. Hannah doubted it ever would be. The prospect of selling the boutique, or retiring and letting a vendeuse manage it, hadn’t occurred to her. Although there would probably come a time when she considered children. Having a child was an important issue in their marriage, given the main reason for the union was to legally ensure two united family fortunes continued into another generation.
However, when this should happen hadn’t consciously been decided. Miguel had agreed to her suggestion they wait a year or two, and she had considered maybe thirty might be a good age to discard contraception.
Why was she suddenly given to thinking like this? Because Camille posed a threat?
Dammit, you didn’t have a child to use as a bargaining tool, much less a weapon!
The electronic buzzer dispersed her train of thought, and she endeavoured to keep her smile in place as she recognised Camille.
Talk of the devil!
‘I enjoyed a long lunch, then spent an hour or two browsing the boutiques,’ Camille informed her as she crossed to where several silk shirts were displayed.
‘I caught sight of something here yesterday that I thought I should have.’ She slid hangers every which way and a slight frown creased her brow. ‘Perhaps you’ve put it aside?’ She described the shirt, named the label, the size, then looked askance at Hannah as if she might conjure it up out of thin air.
‘I sold it yesterday afternoon.’
‘Order one in for me.’
It was a command, not a request, and Hannah held her breath for a few seconds before slowly releasing it. ‘I can try,’ she said evenly. ‘However, everything here is limited edition stock.’
Camille gave her a long considering look. ‘Make the call. I want it.’
Hannah viewed her carefully, then threw politeness out the window. ‘You can’t always have what you want.’
There was no mistaking her meaning.
The Frenchwoman examined her perfectly manicured nails, then seared Hannah with a vindictive glare.
‘You’re wrong, chérie. I always get what I want.’
‘Really?’ Her cynicism was marked. ‘Maybe it’s time you didn’t.’
Camille resembled a hissing cat about to strike. ‘So you intend to fight?’
This could rapidly digress into something feral. ‘I won’t gift-wrap Miguel and hand him to you on a platter.’
‘Why, chérie. I don’t need for you to gift me anything. I reach out and take what I want.’
She could feel her fingers curling in against each palm, and it was all she could do to stay calm. ‘Even if it doesn’t belong to you?’
‘The fact it doesn’t belong to me merely adds to the attraction. Marriage? What is it?’ Camille emphasised the point with a Gallic shrug. ‘Merely a piece of paper.’
‘Try sacred vows citing fidelity, trust and honour,’ Hannah cited, and heard the Frenchwoman’s pitying laughter.
‘Poor enfant,’ Camille chided. ‘So naive and caught up with ideals.’
Ideals, huh? She was as well versed in reality as the next person. More so, because she’d grown up very aware there were those who would adopt any façade if they thought it would work to their advantage. Luc was the only one who’d managed to pull the wool over her eyes.
‘What if Miguel won’t play your game?’ Hannah queried deliberately.
Camille broke into disbelieving laughter and shot her a pitying look. ‘That is not an option.’
‘You’re so sure of yourself?’
‘Sure of my—’ she paused fractionally ‘—ability, darling.’
‘Singular?’ Hannah posed with wry cynicism, determined not to concede this verbal match in any way.
‘Perhaps we should agree to confer a week from now. You might not be so confident.’ With that parting shot, Camille swept out of the boutique and soon disappeared from sight.
Phew! She might not have won that round, but she hadn’t exactly lost.
It was after five when she left the boutique, and she drove to the hospital, visited a slightly wan Cindy, then headed home.
Miguel had showered and was in the process of dressing when Hannah entered the bedroom.
His taut, steel-muscled body projected an enviable aura of power. A strength that was also of the mind and spirit, and she would have given anything to be able to go to him, have him enfold her close, and make the world go away.
Well, maybe the world was asking too much. All she wanted was for Camille Dalfour to be gone.
‘Bad day?’
She lifted her head and threw him a wry look as she shrugged out of her jacket and began unbuttoning her blouse. ‘Tomorrow has to be better.’
He reached for his shirt and pulled it on. ‘Want to cancel out tonight?’
What she wanted was to relax in the spa-bath for as long as it took for her tense muscles to unknot, then indulge in a long, sweet loving.
‘No. The movie received good reviews overseas,’ she said evenly.
Miguel’s hands stilled at the faint catch in her voice, and he cast her a discerning look, saw the soft shadows beneath her eyes, cheeks that were devoid of colour, and he covered the distance between them in a few easy steps.
He cupped her chin, lifting it so she had no recourse but to meet his gaze. ‘Something bothers you?’
Yes, it bothers me like hell. ‘As I said,’ she prevaricated as both of his thumbs smoothed a soothing pattern along the edge of her jaw, ‘a bad day.’
‘Hannah.’ His voice was a silky drawl. ‘Don’t take me for a fool. Honesty, remember?’
Well, this was it. There wasn’t going to be a better time. ‘Camille wants you.’
His eyes darkened, although his expression didn’t change. ‘She has told you this?’ The query held an icy softness. ‘When?’
She held his gaze without difficulty. ‘Yesterday, and today.’ She attempted a smile, and failed miserably. ‘You’re a marked man.’
‘Indeed?’ His voice was a cynical drawl.
This time the smile was bright, too bright. ‘She’s convincing.’
‘I’m sure she is.’
‘I assured her I possess a few advantages.’ She lifted a hand and began counting off her fingers. ‘Minor things like a hefty inheritance, a convenient and compatible marriage. You.’ She cast him a measured look. ‘Did I get those in the right order?’
His eyes darkened and became obsidian shards. ‘I could shake you.’
‘Please don’t,’ she protested slowly. ‘I might shatter.’
Nevertheless he did, gently. ‘You sweet fool,’ he growled in husky chastisement. ‘I am not interested in extra-marital games.’ He traced her lower lip with the pad of his thumb, then released her. ‘Comprende?’
‘Words, Miguel?’ she queried with a hint of sadness. ‘Don’t insult me by uttering them meaninglessly.’
‘Why would I risk our marriage?’
‘Exactly.’ Something inside her died at the way he obviously regarded their alliance. ‘Why would you?’
‘Hannah.’ The silky warning was evident, but she chose to ignore it.
‘To Camille, you’re a challenge.’
‘Women of Camille’s ilk,’ Miguel evinced hardly, ‘are known to have their own agenda.’
Hannah’s eyes sparked with blue fire. ‘Well, she can take her agenda and go shove it.’
Amusement lifted the corners of his mouth, and his eyes assumed a humorous gleam. ‘At daggers drawn, querida?’
‘Yes.’
His gaze narrowed slightly. ‘You’re not in her league.’
‘I hope that’s a compliment?’
‘Without doubt.’ He leant down and brushed his lips to her temple. ‘Go have your shower.’
Hannah caught up fresh underwear, a wrap, and entered the en suite, emerging fifteen minutes later to discover Miguel had already gone downstairs.
She pulled on smart jeans and a rib-knit top, twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head, then she joined Miguel in the dining room.
Sofia had excelled herself with the meal, and an accompanying light white wine provided a relaxing effect.
It took only minutes to clear the table and stack the dishwasher before returning upstairs to change.
Hannah selected an evening trouser suit in brilliant sapphire, brushed her hair loose, and tended to her make-up before adding a knee-length sheer silk evening jacket patterned in green and blue peacock hues. A beaded evening purse completed the outfit.
‘Exquisita,’ Miguel complimented, and she gave him an impish smile.
‘Gracias, hombre.’ She cast his tall frame a considering look, deliberately noting the splendid dark evening suit, the snowy white cotton shirt, the neat black bow tie. ‘Not bad.’ A mischievous smile curved her generous mouth. ‘I guess you’ll do.’
‘Indeed?’ He took in her finely boned features, the petite stature that never failed to stir in him a host of emotions. ‘Shall we leave?’
They arrived fifteen minutes before the premiere was due to begin, and walked into the crowded foyer as invited patrons were entering the auditorium.
The film had an unusual premise, one that enchanted the mind, yet held an underlying thread which provided a startling conclusion. The acting was superb, and it was touted that the three main actors would receive Academy Award nominations.
Miguel reached for her hand as the credits rolled, and together they slipped from the darkened theatre ahead of the general exodus.
‘Feel like going somewhere for coffee?’
Hannah almost declined, then changed her mind. ‘Why not?’
They walked a block, then entered an arcade whose decor was late nineteenth century, and chose a small café specialising in imported coffee and delicate home-made savouries and cakes.
No one seemed to be in a hurry, and it was an ideal niche to relax, unwind, and just be.
They both ordered liqueur coffees, and selected a small delicacy to sample.
‘My cousin Alejandro and his wife Elise are flying in for the weekend,’ Miguel told her as he sweetened his coffee. ‘They’ll attend the Leukaemia Foundation charity ball as our guests on Saturday evening.’
Hannah offered him a warm smile. She’d only met Elise a few times since the wedding, but they shared a friendly empathy. ‘How long are they staying?’
‘Only a few days. Elise is leaving the two boys with a nanny and flying north to spend time with friends while Alejandro is in Perth.’
‘You’re going with him.’ It was a statement, not a query, and Miguel glimpsed the fleeting emotions evident in her expressive features.
‘You could join me.’
Hannah almost said yes. Then she remembered Cindy was unavailable, and leaving the boutique in a stranger’s hands wasn’t an option. ‘I’d love to,’ she said regretfully. ‘But I can’t.’ She gave a resigned shrug. ‘How long will you be away?’
‘Two, maybe three days.’
Two lonely nights. She could go visit her parents, connect with a few friends and organise a night at the theatre, take in a movie, maybe go out to dinner. Numerous possibilities to occupy her time. Except she’d miss him like crazy.
Did he possess an inkling how much he meant to her? Somehow she doubted it. Fondness and affection didn’t equate to love. And duty was an empty substitute.
‘The boutique—’
‘Is important to you.’
She looked at him carefully, silently imploring him to understand. ‘We agreed—’
‘I know.’
‘It’s the one thing I’ve done totally on my own,’ she said simply.
‘I’m not questioning your ability to achieve success in your own right.’
‘No. But you want me to choose.’
‘The social circuit in favour of the boutique?’ He arched a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Not your style, Hannah.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘Give Cindy a promotion. Elevate her to manageress, cultivate two relieving saleswomen who can work in your place.’
‘Thus leaving me available to travel with you at short notice?’
‘I would prefer to have you with me, than leave you at home.’
A concession? An admission of sorts? ‘I’ll give it serious thought,’ she conceded, and saw his gleaming smile.
‘Do that, amada.’ He drained what remained of his coffee. ‘Shall we leave?’
It was late when Miguel garaged the car, and on entering their bedroom Hannah removed her clothes, her make-up, and slid between the cool percale sheets.
She fell asleep within minutes, drifting effortlessly into oblivion where scattered dreams invaded her subconscious mind until the early hours, when the light brush of fingers trailing the indentations of her spine brought her slowly into a state of lazy wakefulness.
Hannah arched her body in a feline stretch, then turned towards the man who was bent on creating havoc with her senses.
With deliberate playfulness she traced a teasing pattern over the dark whorls of hair that smattered his chest, dipping the tips of her nails and gently dragging them across his pectoral muscles before trailing to his navel.
She heard his faint intake of breath, and explored lower, barely touching the engorged tumescent shaft as she sought the apex between his thighs.
In one fluid movement she rose into a sitting position and swept aside the bedcovers, aware of his hands as they caressed her breasts, bringing the dusky peaks into tingling arousal.
Her hair was loose, its length tousled from sleep, and she bent her head so that it brushed against the most sensitised part of his body in a movement that brought him to the brink.
With a soft growl he closed his hands over her waist as he deftly swung her round to sit astride him, and she gasped out loud as his fingers touched her intimately.
Sensation arrowed through her body as he gently rocked her back and forth, until it was she who cried out his name and begged for his possession.
He gave it, lifting her so that she slowly took him deep inside as her body lowered onto him, and then it was she who held the power, she who set the pace, until he removed it from her and took over.
Together they sought the pinnacle and soared the heights in perfect accord. A slow, beautiful sharing of the ultimate meshing of mind, body and soul.
Such attuned sensuality robbed her of the ability to speak, even to move for what seemed an age, then she gently subsided against his chest, nuzzling her lips into the curve of his neck.
His hands brushed the length of her back, caressed her buttocks, returned to slide through the length of her hair as he angled her head towards his, seeking her mouth in a kiss that made her want to weep with its gentle evocativeness.
He traced a path over every inch of her skin, lingering over pleasure pulses, teasing them into vibrant life until she pleaded for him to stop.
‘Are you sure you want me to?’ Miguel teased in a soft accented drawl, and he gave a low husky laugh at her denial.
What followed was a tantalisingly slow loving as he followed the trail of his hand with his mouth, using it as an erotic instrument that made her totally his. Passion flared as he surged into her, raw and primitive, an exotic hunger that was libidinous and almost beyond control.
Afterwards they slept a little, exhausted, until dawn filtered silvered fingers of light through the diminishing darkness, slowly painting soft muted colour over land and sea until the emerging sun feathered a faint golden glow, giving substance to shadows as it heralded a new day.
Hannah woke to an awareness of weightlessness and the knowledge she was being carried. There was also the faint hum of tumbling water, and the slight scent of aromatic oils.
Within seconds Miguel lowered her into the pulsing spa-bath, then stepped in to sit opposite.
He looked far too vibrant for her peace of mind, and she scooped up a handful of water and aimed it at him, watching his gleaming smile as he returned the favour.
With automatic movements she twisted the length of her hair atop her head and secured it with a pin from a nearby shell-shaped dish.
It was a perfect way to begin the day. All of it. The lovemaking, which she refused at this moment to call sex, the sheer bliss of curling into her lover’s arms, and now the shared luxury of gently pulsing jets to ease away the slight pull of overused muscles.
She wanted to lean her head back, close her eyes, and stay here for hours. Perhaps enjoy a champagne breakfast, with fresh strawberries followed by eggs Benedict, crispy bacon and two cups of strong black sweet coffee. Then crawl back to bed and sleep beneath the covers until the sun rose to its zenith.
Sadly, it was the wrong day. The weekend didn’t begin until tomorrow, and the boutique awaited, as did the replacement saleswoman. And then there was Camille.
Slowly she opened her eyes.
‘Where did you go?’ Miguel queried gently, and she smiled at him.
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘If you tell me, I can—’
‘Wave your magic wand?’
‘Make a few calls, pull a string or two.’
‘Ah, I believe you would. But it’s not that simple. Besides, this one’s mine, querido.’ She reached out a hand and snagged a towel, then stepped out from the spa-bath.
It wasn’t nearly as late as she’d thought, she discovered as she dressed in the exquisitely tailored gear she chose to wear to work.
There was time for a leisurely breakfast before catching hold of her briefcase and following Miguel through to the garage.
The automatic door lifted, and almost in unison they unlocked each vehicle, slid in behind the wheels, engaged the ignitions, and at Miguel’s signal Hannah reversed out ahead of him.
At the end of the street, she lifted a hand and waved, glancing in her rear-vision mirror as she turned in the opposite direction.
The replacement salesgirl arrived late, and, although her credentials appeared satisfactory, she was more suited to the teen section in a department store than catering to a very particular clientele demanding exclusive and expensive designer labels.
Hannah did her best to provide a crash course in haute couture, but after one disastrous clash with a client she relegated Chantal to menial tasks, and had her fetch lunch.
By mid-afternoon Hannah had a tension headache, Chantal had called it quits, which meant another call to the agency, impressing very specific needs, and a desperate call to Renee who willingly agreed to fill in for a few hours the next day.
There was a brief moment when Hannah seriously considered Miguel’s suggestion to promote Cindy. But first, she decided a trifle grimly, she had to get through the next week or two.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE gown Hannah chose to wear for the evening’s soirée was a full-length slim-fitting creation in ice-blue silk with a halter-neck and flaring into soft folds from the knee. A soft cowl effect provided an attractive décolletage. Matching blue stiletto-heeled shoes and a gem-encrusted evening purse completed the outfit.
Jewellery was confined to a diamond tear-drop necklace suspended on a slim gold chain, with earrings to match, and a diamond tennis bracelet at her wrist.
Make-up was kept to a minimum, with emphasis on her eyes, a light rose colouring her lips, and she swept her hair into a sleek chignon.
The prestigious charity event owed its success to an active and imaginative committee, a guest-list of the city’s social élite, a luxurious venue, fine food and wine, and top-line entertainment.
This particular end-of-year function numbered as the jewel in the crown of charity events, with the funds raised being donated to the Leukaemia Foundation.
Miguel looked resplendent in a formal black dinner suit, white shirt and black bow-tie. Superb tailoring accentuated his breadth of shoulder and tall muscular frame. He presented a forceful image that combined a dramatic mesh of latent sensuality and elemental ruthlessness. Add an enviable aura of power, and the effect was lethal.
‘Ready?’
Hannah offered him a sparkling smile. ‘To go do battle?’
His husky chuckle caused a shivery sensation to slither down her spine.
‘Is that how you see tonight’s social event?’
She wrinkled her nose, and resorted to humour.
‘It’ll be a dazzling occasion, with the usual players.’
Including Camille, she added silently, offering a fervent prayer the society princess wasn’t included in the guests seated at their particular table.
The Deity wasn’t listening, she determined an hour later as she slid into reserved seating and saw Camille’s name on a place-card next to Miguel.
Damn. Could she surreptitiously switch it? Suiting thought to deed, she quickly transposed the place-card with that of a guest seated opposite.
Alejandro and Elise were a welcome inclusion, and anyone seeing Miguel and Alejandro together could not fail to note they shared relatives in common. They were of a similar height and possessed the same breadth of shoulder, the same physically fit stature and ease of movement. Even their facial features bore a certain similarity, the sculpted angles and planes, piercing dark eyes, that beautifully moulded sensual mouth.
Their respective fathers were brothers who had each left the land of their birth to seek a fortune in another country, succeeded, married and produced one son.
Alejandro resided in Sydney, with his wife Elise and two young children. The Santanas name was well respected in the business arena, and both Alejandro and Miguel shared a mutual stake in a few financial ventures.
Hannah embraced Elise warmly. ‘It’s so good to see you. When did you arrive?’
‘Midday. Alejandro has only used the cell-phone once, and has yet to open the laptop.’ She gave an irrepressible smile. ‘And I’ve only checked with the nanny twice.’
Hannah’s eyes twinkled with humour. ‘This is the first time you’ve left them at home?’
‘Second,’ Elise owned. ‘It doesn’t get any easier.’
‘She has a compulsive need to check on the children’s welfare,’ Alejandro drawled as he leant forward to brush a kiss to Hannah’s cheek.
‘Of course,’ Elise acceded, sending her husband a long glance of the kind that made Hannah’s nerves shimmer with envy.
‘We’re seated together,’ Hannah indicated, and watched as Elise slid into a chair, then patted the one next to her.
‘Sit beside me. We have so much to catch up on.’
There was background music, and the majority of guests were already seated.
There were only two empty seats at their table, and Hannah had to concede Camille made a stunning entrance, clothed in a deep red creation that covered her perfect body like a second skin.
Hannah’s gaze slid to Camille’s partner, and froze in shocked disbelief for all of three seconds before she quickly masked her expression.
Luc Dubois.
Dear heaven. It was three years since she’d last seen him.
Then, he’d been a charming rake whose main occupation was insinuating himself into the lives of wealthy women. Young, not so young, it hadn’t seemed to bother him. A photographic professional who used his skill to gain entry into the realm of the rich and famous.
She should know. For three months in Paris he’d exercised his considerable charms on her. Wined, dined, and eventually swept her off her feet and into his arms.
Now, Hannah watched as Camille began weaving her way towards them with Luc in tow, and she forced herself to maintain a polite smile as they drew close.
Had Miguel noted their entrance? Recognised Luc?
Apprehension scudded down her spine at the thought of his reaction when he did.
Although it was possible, she wasn’t sure the two men had ever met. A hysterical bubble of laughter rose and died in her throat.
Dear heaven. Camille and Luc seated at their table? How cruel could fate be?
Hannah was aware the instant Miguel caught sight of them, and could only wonder if anyone else noticed the way his body uncoiled and then became frighteningly still. Like a jungle animal scenting an enemy and assessing when to strike.
‘Miguel, Hannah.’ Camille resembled an aristocratic cat who’d just snacked on caviare and cream.
All it took was one glance at Camille’s bland expression to guess that Luc’s invitation had been deliberately orchestrated.
‘Camille.’ She thought her face would crack with the strain of keeping a smile pinned on her face as she acknowledged the Frenchwoman.
What was Luc doing here? Not so much Australia, or even Melbourne, but this particular charity event, and partnering Camille?
It didn’t take a genius to arrive at the correct answer, Hannah decided wryly. Even the most kindly disposed person would suspect Camille of mischief-making. Luc’s appearance here simply reinforced Hannah’s belief that Camille was not only serious in her pursuit of Miguel, but she’d stop at nothing to gain her objective.
So it was war. Well, she was very good at self-protection. She had years of experience in dealing with it. If Camille thought snaring Miguel would be a walkover, she had another think coming!
‘You know each other, of course,’ Camille purred as she slid into her seat, and Hannah opted for confrontational strategy.
‘The media made much of it at the time.’ She looked at Luc, wanting to sear him to a burnt frizzle on the spot. ‘I hope they paid you well.’
‘Handsomely.’ His smile would have melted many a hardened female heart.
But not hers. ‘Let me introduce my husband, Miguel Santanas.’
Miguel was incredibly polite. Anyone who knew him would have blanched at the icy silkiness apparent in his voice.
Luc, however, seemed totally oblivious.
Wine stewards began serving drinks, and the event began with an introductory speech by the charity chairwoman, followed by the MC who outlined the evening’s entertainment.
The organisation was very smooth as models strutted the catwalk to funky music while waiters served the starter.
Hannah looked at the artistically arranged seafood in a bed of salad greens, and merely forked a few morsels, her appetite seriously impaired by the presence of not one enemy, but two, in her immediate vicinity.
She would have given anything to be able to walk out of the ballroom and take a taxi home. Except that would amount to running away, and her pride forbade such an option.
Pretend, a tiny voice urged, and act as if you don’t have a care in the world.
Miguel ordered champagne, and indicated that the steward should fill her flute. Hannah cast him an enquiring glance and caught the faint smile curving the edge of his mouth, the steady gleam apparent as he raised his glass in a silent salute.
He knew, of course, exactly who Luc Dubois was, and the part Luc had played in her life.
‘What is this in aid of?’ Hannah queried quietly, slanting one eyebrow in quizzical humour as she touched the rim of her flute to his. ‘Courage?’
‘Do you need it?’
She inclined her head slightly, and offered with soft-edged mockery, ‘This is going to be one hell of an evening.’
‘Do you want to leave?’
Her eyes widened. He’d do that for her? ‘No.’ Her voice was steady, but inside her heart missed a beat.
The models concluded showing the after-five segment, and the MC announced a well-known comedian who delivered a few amusing and occasionally risqué anecdotes while an army of waiters removed plates and the stewards tended to the guests’ drinking needs.
Two singers performed two numbers, after which the models returned to the catwalk with a comprehensive display of evening wear.
It was while the main course was being served that Camille chose to engage Miguel’s attention with a flirtatious coquetry that made Hannah barely refrain from grinding her teeth in angry vexation.
‘Am I missing something here?’ Elise ventured, sotto voce. ‘Or is the beautiful Camille on a flirting mission with Miguel?’
‘If he responds,’ Hannah murmured, ‘he’s dead meat.’
‘Luc is the smokescreen, or the ammunition?’
‘Both, I imagine.’
Elise’s features softened in empathy. ‘Tread carefully.’
Now would be a good time to utilise the powder room, and with a murmured excuse she slipped out from her chair.
Miguel could indulge in polite conversation with Camille if he chose, but she didn’t have to stay and watch Camille’s play-acting!
‘I’ll come with you.’ Elise rose to her feet and together they began making their way towards one of the exits.
Hannah paused to greet a few friends as she threaded her way through the ballroom, and she took unnecessary time freshening her make-up.
Elise joined her after using the facilities, and she pressed a hand to her waist, then groaned and vanished into a stall, only to emerge looking slightly pale and wan.
Comprehension was immediate. ‘You’re pregnant?’
Elise managed a faint smile. ‘After two sons, this one has to be a girl. Already she’s exerting her personality in a way neither of the two boys did.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Hannah conceded with an impish grin. ‘I gather Alejandro knows?’
‘He finds it incredibly amusing.’
‘Naturally, he’ll be captivated from the instant she’s born and be hers to command within minutes.’
Elise’s gaze misted. ‘He’s a wonderful father.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Oh, yes. I get to throw up on a regular basis halfway through breakfast and dinner.’ She opened her evening purse and produced a toothbrush and paste. ‘Before and after, I’m fine.’
Minutes later, their make-up restored, they moved towards the door, only to see Alejandro standing immediately outside in the vestibule.
Oh, my, Hannah breathed silently. Elise was his most precious possession. It was evident in the way he looked at her, the protective arm that immediately circled her waist. Body language that was intense and evocative.
It must be wonderful to share that kind of emotion, to be twin halves of a whole, and so complete. Together they returned to their table, and Miguel cast her a discerning look as she regained her seat. She was willing to swear she caught a glimmer of amusement evident as she reached for her wine.
‘Your meal has cooled.’ He beckoned a waiter and instructed another plate be served. Something that was done with alacrity.
‘I’m not really hungry.’
‘Nevertheless you will eat something,’ Miguel chastised silkily, and saw her eyes widen as he lifted a hand and brushed the edge of her cheek with his fingers.
‘What are you doing?’
His mouth formed a sensual curve. ‘It’s called reassurance.’
‘The attentive husband bit, huh?’ Hannah queried with a touch of mockery.
‘Something like that.’
‘For Camille’s benefit?’
‘Yours.’
Oh, he was good. Very, very good. She doubted anyone present observing their byplay could be in doubt as to his feelings. She could almost hear the unspoken comments…fifteen months into the marriage, and look at them.
She offered him a brilliant smile. ‘Careful, querido, you’re in danger of reaching overkill.’
He touched a thumb-pad to her lips. ‘Think so?’
The lights dimmed, a spotlight hit the MC, and the charity organiser announced the amount of money raised for the night’s function, alerted guests to the next gala evening, and indicated a return of the comedian.
Somehow Camille had managed to manoeuvre the seating so she occupied a chair next to Miguel, and Hannah had to commend her determination while silently condemning her to hell.
Hannah picked at the decorative fare on her plate, forked a few mouthfuls, then pushed the plate aside.
Camille took every opportunity to engage Miguel’s attention with a light trail of red-lacquered nails on his sleeve, a touch to his hand, and her smile was a work of art in the seduction stakes.
The models took the catwalk for the final round while dessert was being served, and afterwards the waiters brought coffee while the singing duo closed the entertainment for the evening.
A DJ switched on special lighting effects, set the first of several CDs playing, and background music and recorded vocals encouraged those inclined to dance to take to the floor.
Now was the time for guests to mingle, table-hop and socialise with friends who were also present.
Alejandro and Elise communicated their intention to leave. ‘Tomorrow,’ Elise promised quietly. ‘We’ll catch up. I have photos, and the men have organised a day cruise and a picnic lunch.’
As they left a colleague crossed to their table to talk to Miguel, Camille slipped through the crowd heading for the ballroom exit, Miguel excused himself briefly and moved a few steps away as a friend joined the colleague, and within seconds Hannah was aware of someone taking Miguel’s seat.
‘How are you, Hannah?’
The male voice was familiar, and she turned slowly to face the man to whom it belonged.
‘Luc,’ she acknowledged coolly. ‘Believe me, there is no need to observe the social niceties. I have nothing to say to you.’
‘So cool,’ Luc mocked. ‘Still the ice princess, I see.’
‘You expect me to believe your presence here is purely coincidental?’
He inclined his head in a gesture of musing cynicism. ‘We could enjoy a conversation. Three years, Hannah. We have some catching up to do.’
‘No,’ she denied. ‘We don’t.’
‘Why, chérie?’ His smile aimed to melt her heart. ‘It was good while it lasted.’
She could feel the anger begin to burn deep inside. ‘Strange,’ she remarked coolly. ‘Our memories don’t match.’
She fixed him with an icy glare. ‘So let’s cut the pretence, shall we?’
He spread his hands in an expressive gesture. ‘Who’s pretending? I was very fond of you.’
‘Words,’ Hannah dismissed. ‘Suppose you tell me exactly why you’re here?’
‘This event?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. Cut the game-playing. You know very well what I mean.’
‘Are you ready for the facts, chérie?’
As ready as I’ll ever be! She didn’t bother answering, just sent him a fulminating look that spoke volumes.
He gave a voluble sigh. ‘It will cost you.’
‘No, it won’t,’ Hannah denied heartlessly. ‘You owe me. For living the good life at the expense of my foolish generosity.’
He proffered a mocking smile. ‘When did you become so cynical?’
‘Three years ago.’
‘All right, chérie. This one is on me, for old times’ sake.’
‘Merci,’ she acknowledged in a voice as cold as an arctic ice floe.
‘Camille sought me out, paid my air fare, and is footing my accommodation,’ he revealed, and she arched one eyebrow.
‘And you’re bent on playing both ends against the middle?’
He gave a negligent shrug. ‘Your words, not mine.’
Hannah looked at him carefully, saw the handsome features, the rakish gleam evident in his expression, and wondered how on earth she could have been swayed by his charm. His megawatt smile had no effect whatsoever.
‘Go get a life, Luc.’
‘A word of warning, sweetheart,’ he offered quietly. ‘Camille is on a mission.’
‘As if I didn’t know?’
‘Dance with me, and I could be persuaded to tell you more.’
He was unbelievable! ‘Not even if my life depended on it!’
One eyebrow lifted in cynical amusement. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ He cast a glance in Miguel’s direction.
‘Miguel Santanas doesn’t look the type of man who would willingly share.’
No, Hannah agreed, suppressing a slight shiver. Miguel’s ownership was total.
‘Maybe we could share a coffee somewhere and talk about old times.’
‘You can’t be serious?’ He had such a thick skin, it was almost laughable. ‘Yes, you are,’ she acknowledged with a shake of her head.
‘No hard feelings?’
She faced him squarely, her eyes steady. ‘When you report to Camille, tell her she doesn’t stand a snowflake’s chance in hell.’ She stood to her feet, needing a change of scene, if only for a few minutes.
She turned from the table and saw Miguel’s tall frame a few feet distant. He looked totally relaxed, his strong masculine features portraying interest as he listened to whatever his colleague had to say.
One glance at the expression in his eyes was sufficient for Hannah to realise he hadn’t missed a thing. There was a darkness evident, a latent anger that was almost frightening.
She moved towards him, pausing as she reached his side while he performed an introduction, and she stood perfectly still as he reached for her hand and linked his fingers through her own.
Support? Protection? she wondered. Or was he merely staking a claim, making a statement?
The colleague excused himself and returned to a nearby table.
‘Shall we leave?’ Miguel queried with a faintly inflected drawl.
Hannah offered him a stunning smile, then lifted a hand and traced a light path along the edge of his jaw.
‘And spoil Camille’s fun?’
He caught her fingers and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her palm, observing the way her eyes darkened in dilation. Her lips trembled slightly, and for one infinitesimal second she looked acutely vulnerable.
‘You resemble a piece of fragile glass on the point of shattering,’ Miguel said gently. ‘Home, I think.’
Her chin tilted fractionally. ‘I’m really very resilient.’ She summoned a smile. ‘Besides, there’s music, and we should dance.’
They did, for a while, moving to the funky beat, then when it changed to something slower Miguel pulled her into his arms and held her close.
It was heaven. She could almost forget where they were, the time, the place, everything except the man and the emotions he was able to arouse.
She felt his lips brush the top of her head, then linger at her temple, and she made a sound in her throat as they settled just beneath one earlobe.
They fitted together so well, and this close she could feel his powerful thigh muscles, the strength of his arousal.
‘I think we should go home.’
His soft laughter feathered sensation over the surface of her skin, and heat unfurled within, warming her body to fever pitch.
‘Do you need to return to the table?’
She shook her head, and together they made their way towards the ballroom exit, pausing from time to time to speak to acquaintances. They were about to pass through the large double doors when they came face to face with Camille.
‘You’re not leaving?’
Hannah offered a polite smile. ‘We both have an early start tomorrow.’
‘Tired, darling?’ Her expression was deliberately bland. ‘Miguel must find your lack of stamina a little—’ she paused slightly ‘—tiresome.’
‘Perhaps tired is just a polite euphemism,’ Hannah ventured sweetly, and almost held her breath at the sheer venom evident in Camille’s gaze before it was quickly masked. ‘Goodnight, Camille.’
There was little the striking brunette could do other than make a graceful retreat. However there was the promise—no, threat, Hannah amended as she walked at Miguel’s side to the lift, that this was only the beginning of Camille’s campaign.
She sat in silence as Miguel eased the car through the city streets, lost in contemplative thought.
Media speculation had run rife at the time of her engagement to Miguel, and the caption above their wedding photos had given allusion to it being an arranged union. Something that aroused public conjecture, and added fuel to the social gossip columns.
However, more than a year down the track, the conjecture had lessened, they’d settled easily into the pattern of marriage, work and social commitments.
‘You’re quiet.’
Hannah glanced at Miguel and could determine little from his expression in the car’s dim interior.
‘How perceptive,’ she afforded wryly, and incurred his brief glance.
‘Camille bothers you?’
‘Clever, too.’
He waited a beat. ‘And Luc?’
She didn’t even have to think. ‘Is ancient history.’
‘Not from where I was standing.’
Hannah took a deep breath, then released it slowly. ‘You should have stood closer.’ She bit back a humourless laugh. ‘Then you would have heard me tell him to go get a life and stay out of mine.’
‘That was the extent of your conversation?’ They reached Toorak and turned into a select residential avenue.
‘Oh, there’s just one other detail,’ she revealed as he took another turn and slowed before the impressive set of gates guarding the entrance to their home. ‘He revealed Camille has you firmly in her sights, and she’ll go to any lengths to get you.’ She watched as Miguel activated the remote, opening the gates, and the car eased forward onto the wide sweeping drive. The garage doors slid up automatically at the touch of another remote, then closed seconds later when he cut the engine.
Hannah slid out and walked to the door leading into the house, waited while Miguel tended to the lock, then she moved through to the foyer.
‘Indeed?’ he drawled with ill-disguised mockery. He paused at the foot of the beautiful staircase and subjected her to a searching appraisal. ‘Is his role that of accomplice in Camille’s diabolical scheme?’
‘Yes.’
‘Be careful, querida,’ he warned silkily. ‘He hurt you once. I won’t tolerate him hurting you again.’
‘You won’t tolerate it?’ She strove to conquer a complex mix of emotions. ‘There’s no need to play the jealous husband!’
‘I prefer…protective.’
He didn’t move, but she had the impression his body tensed, and apprehension slithered over the surface of her skin.
‘Luc—’
‘Occupied a small part of your life before you committed to me,’ Miguel drawled in a dangerously quiet voice.
Just as several women undoubtedly occupied his. A hollow feeling settled low in her stomach and radiated towards her heart. Dear heaven, just thinking about who they were and how many there might have been made her feel ill.
Hannah held his gaze for several long seconds, then she brushed past him and moved quickly up the stairs.
A hollow feeling settled round her heart as she traversed the gallery to their room, and inside she began removing her ear-studs, then she reached for the catch on her necklace.
Miguel entered the room and shrugged off his dinner jacket, loosened his shoes, and discarded his socks. The bow-tie came next, then he undid and removed his shirt.
Dammit, what was the matter with the catch? She cursed it beneath her breath, and followed it with another as Miguel crossed to her side.
‘Stand still.’
She was incredibly aware of him, the raw primitive aura combined with the subtle scent of his skin and the sensual warmth of his body. There was a part of her that wanted to sink in against him and lift her face for his kiss, while another part wanted to pummel his chest with her fists.
Didn’t he know how vulnerable she felt? How much of a threat she knew Camille to be? As to Luc…she wouldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.
Miguel freed the catch in a second, and he dropped the chain into her hand before placing a thumb and forefinger on her chin, lifting it so she had no choice but to look at him.
‘Por Dios.’ His eyes darkened, and a muscle bunched at the edge of his jaw. ‘You think I cannot see what Camille is?’ He traced a thumb along her jaw, then slid a hand to capture her nape. ‘Credit me with some intelligence, mi mujer.’
‘It’s your libido she’s aiming at,’ Hannah returned succinctly. ‘Not your intelligence.’
‘You imagine I would slip easily into another woman’s bed?’ Miguel queried with chilling softness.
All she could do was look at him, her mind filled with haunting images that drove her almost to the brink of sanity.
‘We promised each other fidelity,’ she managed quietly.
‘You have no reason to doubt my word.’
‘Nor mine.’
His gaze seared hers, seeing beyond the surface, aware of her vulnerability, its cause, and he silently damned Camille for deliberately setting out to undermine it.
He moved his fingers to the zip fastening on her gown, releasing it slowly, then he slipped each shoulder strap free so the beaded silk slithered to a heap at her feet. All she wore beneath it was a pair of lacy satin briefs, and his hands skimmed to her waist, settled, then slid up to shape her breasts.
He slanted his head down to hers and took her mouth in a slow, drugging kiss that was wholly sensual, tasting, exploring, teasing, until she wound her arms round his neck and kissed him back.
She loved the feel of him, the glide of her fingers as she traced strong muscle and sinew. The silk-smooth skin, the powerful breadth of shoulder, the hard ribcage, his taut midriff.
He was wearing too many clothes, and she reached for his belt buckle, undid it, then set about freeing his trousers.
Hannah felt the need pulse through her body, heating her senses to fever pitch.
Now, dammit. Now. Hard and fast, and wild. She didn’t want his restraint, only his passion.
Had she said the words aloud? She was past knowing, beyond caring. There was only the moment, and she cried out, urging him on as he lifted her into his arms, then swept aside the bedcovers and tossed her onto the sheets, shielding her body from his weight as he followed her down.
With one hard, long thrust he entered her, felt the customary tightness as she closed like smooth silk around him, taking him in with a series of tiny gasps at his size.
Never before had he resorted to quite this degree of unbridled savagery. Her gaze clung to his, mesmerised by the primitive hunger that sculpted his features into something wild and untamed. His head was flung back, his neck muscles corded, his jaw clenched.
Then he began to move, slowly at first, almost withdrawing before plunging in, again and again, faster and faster, in a rhythm as old as time.
She became caught up in it, swept along on a roaring tide that crashed, then receded, only to gather force and crash again.
There was only the man, the electrifying primeval emotion, and need.
The control he inevitably maintained was gone, and in its place was something incredibly primitive. A hunger so intense it surpassed passion and became raw desire. Brazen, mesmeric, libidinous.
It was as if she was possessed, held captive by a driven overwhelming need, and she abandoned herself to it, to him, allowing him to take her wherever he chose to lead, exulting in the journey.
She had wondered what it would be like to have him lose all semblance of constraint, to be caught up in his total abandonment. A tiny smile curved the swollen fullness of her mouth. Wild, she reflected silently. Incredibly, inexplicably wild.
There was a sense of bewitching satisfaction at having the power to cause a man to lose control so completely in her arms.
Hannah sensed the moment he regained a measure of control, felt the heave of his chest as he dragged in air and steadied his breathing, heard it catch in his throat as his body shuddered in emotive reaction, and she simply held him as he uttered a stream of self-castigating words in whispered Spanish.
She wanted to reassure him, to somehow convey for the first time she truly felt a woman’s sensual power, and that she was completely swept away by it.
With a tentative touch, she stroked her fingers lightly over his back, felt the tautened muscles and tense sinew beneath her tactile caress, and attempted to soothe them. Gently she traversed his waist, and traced the rigid outline of his buttocks, squeezing them slightly before trailing slowly up over his ribcage to rest on his shoulders, then capturing his head and bringing his mouth down to hers.
It was she who kissed him, savouring his lips, his mouth, sweeping her tongue in an evocative dance with his, encouraging, beguiling in a brazen invitation.
Afterwards he held her close, his arms a protective cage as he cradled her, and she felt his lips on her hair, at the edge of her cheek, caressing her temple, then nuzzling the soft hollow at the curve of her neck.
‘Madre de Dios,’ Miguel breathed tautly. ‘Did I hurt you?’
Hannah pressed her mouth to his throat. ‘No.’
It had been passion at its most elemental, for both of them.
His lips found hers, in a kiss that was so incredibly gentle it almost brought her to tears.
‘Rest, amada,’ he bade gently.
She felt the beat of his heart beneath her cheek, and in the security of his arms she simply closed her eyes and drifted into a dreamless somnolence.
At some stage during the early pre-dawn hours she stirred, felt the lack of human warmth and reached for him, only to find the bed empty. Cautiously she lifted her head and searched the shadowy room. It was then she saw him, silhouetted against the partly drawn curtains, looking out over the shadowed garden.
Slowly she slid from the bed and crossed to stand behind him, aware from his slight movement that he had heard the rustle of the sheets, the almost silent pad of her feet.
Hannah linked her arms around his waist and leaned in against him, holding him close. Long minutes later he gathered her into his arms and carried her into the en suite. There, he filled the spa-bath, switched on the jets, then he stepped in and lowered her down in front of him.
She simply closed her eyes and let the pulsing warm water provide a soothing relaxation. It would be so easy just to drift to sleep, and she almost did, only to open her eyes wide when Miguel scooped her out and wrapped her in a huge bath-towel.
Dry, they returned to the bedroom, and she made no protest when he drew her down onto the bed. With exquisite care he began an erotic tasting that took her to the edge of sensual nirvana, then tipped her over.
Would it always be like this? Hannah wondered on the edge of sleep.
Beautiful, glorious, heart-wrenching sex. Affection, fondness, respect. But not love.
She, who had sworn never to become emotionally involved with another man, had no choice.
Her heart belonged to Miguel. It always had, always would, whether he wanted it or not.
CHAPTER SIX
‘WONDERFUL,’ Elise murmured as she relaxed beneath the canopied section of the comfortable cruiser Miguel had hired for the day.
Hannah adjusted her sunglasses and smiled as Elise pulled the brim of her hat down to shade her face from the sun’s strong rays.
Together they’d driven down to Williamstown at ten this morning, where Miguel had organised to hire a luxury cruiser and captain to cruise the sparkling waters, then return mid-afternoon.
‘It’s nice to get away somewhere quiet,’ Elise said appreciatively. ‘No phones, no visitors, no one-hundred-and-one things to do.’
And no way a certain very persistent Frenchwoman could intrude, Hannah added silently, unable to prevent herself from wondering what Camille’s next move might be.
Miguel and Alejandro were seated at the stern, both casually attired in pale chinos and a polo shirt. Both wore sunglasses and baseball caps, and resembled, Hannah decided, two businessmen relaxing on a rare day off.
All she had to do was look at Miguel to feel her insides begin to melt. Traitorous desire flared, and spread stealthily through her body, heating her blood and sensitising every nerve-end into pulsing life.
It was impossible not to relive the cataclysmic passion they’d shared less than twelve hours before, and, as crazy as it seemed, she was willing to swear she could still feel him inside her. Sensitive tissues throbbed a little from his possession, and there was a part of her that ached for his touch.
At that moment he turned and cast her a long measured glance, and for an instant she could almost imagine he’d read her mind. Then his mouth curved into a slow, infinitely sensual smile that tore her composure to shreds.
‘Lunch,’ Elise stated with evident relish, ‘might be a good idea.’
‘Junior is hungry?’ Hannah queried musingly, and found herself laughing at Elise’s expression.
‘Little missy has very definite ideas on when and what I should eat.’ She stood to her feet and smoothed her hands over her barely perceptible bulge. ‘Today, I have a craving for ham, mayonnaise, gherkins and pineapple.’
Fortunately Sofia had packed a wide selection into a picnic hamper, together with crunchy bread rolls, salmon, chicken, and a variety of salads.
Hannah went inside the cabin and retrieved the hamper, then with Elise’s help she set it out on the table, added bottled water, soft drinks and wine, and called the men to eat.
The fresh air, the faint breeze, made for a very pleasant few hours, and they disembarked and then took the coastal road down to the Port Phillip before returning to Toorak.
A seafood barbecue as the heat of the afternoon sun began to wane completed a relaxing day in good company, and Hannah stacked plates and dishes onto a tray and carried them indoors.
Elise followed her, and together they rinsed and stacked them into the dishwasher in record time.
Hannah wiped down the bench, then paused as Elise touched her arm.
‘May I say something?’
‘Of course.’ Hannah turned and gave Elise her full attention.
‘Alejandro had a woman chase him when I was pregnant with our first son. Savannah made a complete nuisance of herself and caused me immeasurable grief at the time.’ She smiled a little at the memory. ‘Unless I’m reading things wrong, you have a similar nemesis in Camille.’ She drew in a deep breath, then released it slowly. ‘One thing I learned that might help. The Santanas men are one-woman men.’
‘So don’t worry about Camille?’ Hannah queried wryly.
‘Don’t worry about Miguel,’ Elise corrected gently. Her features momentarily clouded. ‘Here we go again,’ she groaned, rolling her eyes an instant before she quickly exited the kitchen.
Miguel and Alejandro entered the house as Elise returned from her mercy dash, and Hannah set the coffee filtering as she extracted cups, sugar and milk.
‘Tea for me,’ Elise requested, and Hannah extracted a tray.
‘Why don’t you go sit by the pool and I’ll bring it out in a few minutes?’
It was pleasant to relax in the quiet evening air and watch the sun go down. The garden lights sprung to life by automatic control, and recessed lighting around the pool area added a luminous glow that was highlighted by underwater pool lighting.
A private fairyland, secluded, peaceful, and a relaxing way to end a lovely day.
Elise voiced the words, and Hannah had to agree.
‘Time to go, querida,’ Alejandro commanded quietly as he stood to his feet. ‘You’re tired.’
‘I am?’ Her eyes assumed a musing gleam. ‘If you say so.’
How many years had they been married? Hannah posed. Six, seven? Yet the intense passion was there, burning just beneath the surface. Somehow she could imagine it would always be so. Yet it hadn’t been in the beginning, she reflected as she stood with Miguel at the front door and watched the tail-lights of their hire car glow in the darkness. An arranged marriage that had gone wrong, with Elise escaping only to find herself involved in a car crash and suffering memory loss.
‘More coffee?’ Hannah queried as she turned away from the door.
‘No,’ Miguel refused as he locked up and set the security alarm. ‘I need to pack. Alejandro is picking me up at seven-thirty en route to the airport.’
Where the Sanmar company Lear jet would fly them across the vast Australian continent to Perth.
Without a word she crossed the foyer with him and ascended the stairs to their room where she watched in silence as Miguel extracted a leather holdall and rapidly tossed in a few shirts, a pair of trousers, together with other essentials.
The thought of him being absent for a few days didn’t thrill her at all, and she gathered up a silky nightshirt, then entered the en suite to shower.
Miguel joined her there minutes later, and she felt acutely vulnerable as he took the soap from her hand, using it gently over every inch of her body before extending it to her to return the favour.
For a second she hesitated, and the breath caught in her throat as he cupped her face and slanted his mouth down to cover her own in a kiss that was so tender it was all she could do not to cry.
It was a while before they both emerged, and towelled dry, re-entered the bedroom and slipped beneath the covers.
He reached for her, and she went to him willingly, curving her arms round his neck as she pulled his head down to hers.
Miguel indulged her, allowing her to take the initiative, until he stilled her hands and held them.
‘Amante, no. As much as I want you, last night—’
‘Was wonderful,’ Hannah assured. ‘Earth-shattering.’
‘I don’t think—’
‘Don’t,’ she pleaded. ‘Think, I mean,’ she added quickly. ‘Just feel. Please.’ She extricated her hands and ran light fingers down his chest, traced a pattern over his navel, then moved low. ‘I want to make love with you.’
And she did, with exquisite care, rising above him as she took in his length, feeling acute pleasure, enclosing him tightly she began to move.
Yet it was Miguel who took control and measured the pace, making it a slow erotic dance that shattered them both with its intensity. Then he brought her down to him and held her long after her breathing returned to normal and she slept.
Saying goodbye was harder than it had ever been before, and she wanted to say don’t go. Except the words never found voice, and she managed the semblance of a warm smile as he kissed her briefly before moving quickly out to the car and slipped into the front seat beside Alejandro.
Fortunately there wasn’t much time to reflect on Miguel’s departure as she returned to the dining room to finish the last of her breakfast and skim the daily newspaper before ascending the stairs to get ready for work.
The replacement salesgirl sent by the agency proved to be a dramatic improvement on Chantal, and Hannah began to relax as the morning progressed.
Renee rang to check how the new girl was shaping up, and Miguel called to say they’d landed in Perth.
When the phone rang again minutes later Hannah automatically lifted the receiver and intoned her usual greeting.
‘Bonjour, Hannah.’
The voice on the other end of the phone was familiar. Far too familiar, and not one she wanted to hear.
‘How did you get my number?’ A silly question, she silently castigated herself the instant the words slipped from her lips.
‘Dearest Hannah,’ Luc drawled with cynical humour. ‘Your boutique has a name, which is listed in the telephone directory.’
The connection to Camille was obvious. ‘What do you want?’
‘Ah, chérie,’ he chastised softly. ‘Straight to the point.’
‘I don’t have time to chat.’ Her voice was distant, formal.
‘Meet me for coffee.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You have to break for lunch, surely?’
‘Yes, but I don’t intend to have it with you.’
‘Afraid, chérie?’
Had he always been this insufferably arrogant? She almost cringed at the thought she’d once been attracted to him. ‘Of you? No.’ She replaced the receiver, and turned towards the sheaf of invoices waiting to claim her attention.
A client entered the boutique, and Hannah watched surreptitiously as Elaine moved forward with a practised greeting. In only a matter of hours the girl was showing her worth, and Hannah felt cautiously hopeful she’d work out.
Elaine took a lunch break at midday, and on her return an hour later Hannah crossed the street to the café she usually frequented. The food was good, the coffee superb.
Big mistake, she realised within seconds of entering the busy eatery. Being a creature of habit had its downfall, for anyone familiar with her regular routine would be aware this particular café was her favourite haunt for lunch…whether she chose food to take away, or took the time to eat in.
Seated at a table overlooking the street was Luc Dubois, looking the relaxed urbane sophisticate he aspired to be.
Now why wasn’t she surprised to see him there? Luc did nothing without motivation. It made her feel distinctly wary.
‘Bonjour, chérie,’ Luc greeted with deliberate warmth. ‘I knew if I sat here long enough it would be only a matter of time before you arrived.’
‘I must remember to change my eating venue.’ Without a further word she turned on her heel and walked out again.
The entire street held several equally trendy eating places. She’d go somewhere else.
Five minutes later she was seated at a table and had just given her order when someone slid into the seat opposite.
‘Whatever the lady ordered,’ Luc instructed the waiter, ‘make it two.’
Hannah cast him an arctic glare. ‘Just what in hell are you trying to pull?’
Luc extended one arm in a sweeping gesture. ‘We’re in public,’ he indicated with an eloquent shrug. ‘Why not combine lunch with a little reminiscing?’
Hannah arched one eyebrow. ‘To what purpose?’
He tried to look hurt. ‘Why, chérie. We shared some good times together.’
She spared him a bitter smile. ‘It took me three months to discover your charm was only an act.’
‘Not all the time.’
‘Oh…p-l-e-a-s-e,’ she discounted wearily.
‘The attraction was Daddy’s bank account and my healthy annuity. I was irrelevant.’ Every instinct told her to get up and walk out now.
The waiter delivered two lattes, and against her better judgement she tore open a sugar tube and tipped the contents into the milky froth. Luc did the same.
She cut straight to the chase. ‘What has Camille paid you to do?’
He spread both hands in a conciliatory gesture.
‘Why should Camille have anything to do with me wanting to share a coffee with you?’
She speared him with a look. ‘Don’t take me for a fool.’
The waiter arrived with two plates, each containing a salad sandwich. As he turned away a flash bulb exploded nearby, and she caught a brief glimpse of a photographer making a rapid exit.
‘Pay dirt,’ Luc informed with a cynical smile.
It all clicked into place in an instant, and Hannah rose to her feet in one angry movement, extracted a note from her purse, then flung it down onto the table and walked out into the street.
Dammit, she should have seen it coming! Luc played a tune to the highest bidder. In this instance, Camille. Another step down a diabolical path towards Camille’s main goal…Miguel. Now, there was photographic evidence Hannah had shared a meal with Luc. It didn’t take a genius to work out how Camille intended to use the photograph.
A car horn blared, and she halted mid-step. Dear God, she whispered shakily as realisation hit that she’d stepped off the footpath onto the road. Get a grip!
Minutes later she entered the boutique, caught Elaine’s surprised look, and offered a humourless smile. ‘That bad, huh?’
‘Are you okay?’
Hannah attempted to downplay the past thirty minutes. ‘Something disagreed with me.’
‘Or someone?’
‘You’re good,’ Hannah accorded wryly. ‘Any problems while I was gone?’
‘I sold two shirts, a scarf, and took two orders.’
‘Well done.’
‘You weren’t away long. Did you get to eat?’
‘I lost my appetite.’ Wasn’t that the truth!
It was after six when she arrived home, and she ate the meal Sofia had prepared for her, then she retreated to the study and keyed in the digits to connect with Miguel’s mobile, only to get his voice-mail.
Maybe he and Alejandro were out to dinner. She left a message, then took a shower and changed into jeans and a singlet top.
Her mother called, and Hannah accepted an invitation to dinner the following evening. They chatted for a while, catching up on each other’s news, and afterwards she watched a television movie before opting to indulge herself by reading in bed.
It was almost eleven when the sudden peal of the telephone startled her into dropping the book, and she caught up the receiver, uttered a brief curse as it slipped from her fingers.
Seconds later she managed an articulate greeting, and heard Miguel’s husky voice on the line.
‘Did I wake you?’
‘No,’ Hannah said at once. ‘I was reading.’
His soft chuckle set all her fine body hairs standing on end. ‘You left a message to call.’
‘I—’ She hesitated, then opted for the banal. ‘How are things going?’
‘What is it?’ Miguel demanded in a dangerously quiet tone.
‘What makes you think something’s wrong?’
‘Querida,’ he drawled with deceptive mildness. ‘Don’t stall.’
‘Luc came into the café opposite the boutique during my lunch break.’ She could almost see his features harden. ‘I refused to join him.’
‘There’s more to the story?’
‘Try having him follow me, sit down at the same table after I’d ordered, then, just as the waiter delivered the food, a photographer appears from nowhere and captured the two of us apparently sharing a meal.’
‘He set you up.’
‘I should have seen it coming,’ Hannah said wretchedly.
‘I’ll take care of him.’ His voice was tensile steel and just as dangerous.
‘What are you going to do?’
Miguel smiled grimly on the other end of the line. ‘Ensure he doesn’t come near you again.’ He waited a beat. ‘Or he will answer to me.’
Hannah shivered. ‘Miguel—’
‘Tomorrow there will be someone to shadow your every move.’
Comprehension dawned. ‘I don’t need a bodyguard!’
There was a brief silence, then he said hardly, ‘My decision, Hannah.’
‘Shouldn’t it also be mine?’
‘Accept it as a protective precaution.’
‘And if I choose not to?’ she pursued, angered by his high-handedness.
‘The bodyguard stays.’
She took a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘I don’t like tyrannical men.’
‘Tough,’ Miguel reiterated succinctly. ‘Alejandro can wrap up the deal. I’ll be on the late afternoon flight Wednesday.’
Now she was getting steamed. ‘Don’t cut an important business deal short on my account.’
‘You, amante, are more important than any business deal.’
‘Me, or my vested interest in the Martinez half of the Sanmar corporation?’
‘It’s as well the breadth of a continent separates us,’ Miguel declared with chilling softness, ‘or I would take you to task.’
‘For daring to speak the truth?’
She had the distinct impression he was actively controlling his temper. ‘It will keep.’
Hannah had had enough. ‘Goodnight, Miguel.’ She cut the connection, and replaced the receiver.
Overbearing, autocratic man! A bodyguard? Was he mad?
She picked up the book and tried to get back into the characters, the story, only to close the cover and toss it down onto the bed.
A protective precaution, indeed! Her teeth worried the soft part of her lower lip. Luc was unlikely to do her physical harm. She doubted he’d risk life or limb or arrest, no matter what price Camille offered him. Or could she be wrong?
It wasn’t a comfortable thought, and one that kept her awake long after she’d switched off the bedside lamp.
Dreams invaded her subconscious, a series of scary sequences where she was mysteriously pushed from behind into the path of an oncoming vehicle, and worse, driving a car with brakes that didn’t respond when she most needed them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HANNAH was in the middle of eating breakfast when the ’phone rang, and she answered it on the third ring.
‘Buenos días.’ Miguel’s faintly accented voice curled round her nerve-ends and tugged at something she was loath to analyse. ‘You slept well?’
No, and I missed you like hell. ‘Thank you.’
‘That’s not an answer,’ he reproved. Would it help her to know he’d lain awake until almost dawn?
‘It’s all I’m prepared to give.’
‘Be as angry as hell, querida,’ he warned silkily. ‘It won’t make any difference.’
‘That’s an ambiguous statement. I imagine there’s a purpose for your call?’
He didn’t know whether to laugh or repress the need to wring her neck. ‘Remind me to beat you.’
‘Lay one hand on me, and I’ll…’
‘Lost for words?’
‘Too many choices,’ Hannah reiterated with crushing cynicism.
At the risk of having her hang up on him, he relayed pertinent details of the man he’d hired to take care of her.
‘Rodney Spears is thirty-two, ex-police, average height, bulky frame, fair hair, blue eyes. He’s driving a late model dark blue Holden sedan.’ He gave the registration number. ‘He’ll be at the house in ten minutes to introduce himself.’
The bodyguard. Hannah clenched the receiver, and threw the cat stretched out on the tiles nearby such a dark look the poor animal leapt to its feet and ran from the room.
‘Next you’ll tell me he’s an expert in unarmed combat and a sharp marksman.’
Miguel didn’t answer, which in her mind was an admission by avoidance. ‘Apart from the initial introduction this morning, he’ll remain unobtrusively in the background. You won’t notice him. Nor will anyone else.’
‘This is beginning to sound like a scene from a cheap detective movie,’ she alluded cynically.
‘Indulge me.’
‘How long is this subterfuge to continue?’
‘For as long as it takes.’
‘Do I entertain him for breakfast and dinner?’
Miguel’s faint laughter sent goose bumps scudding down her spine. ‘He has the days, querida. I get to take care of you at night.’
‘My guardian angel,’ Hannah remarked in droll tones.
‘You could thank me.’
‘I’m more likely to hit you,’ she retaliated fiercely.
‘Do you have any plans for tonight?’
‘Dinner with my parents.’
‘Why don’t you stay with them overnight?’
This was too much. He was too much! ‘I’m way past the age of requiring a babysitter.’ She took in a deep breath in an effort to control her anger. ‘Aren’t you taking this protection thing just a bit too far?’
‘No,’ Miguel declared with hard inflexibility. ‘Do as I ask. Please.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
He wanted to reach down the line and shake her. Stubborn independence didn’t come close! Yet it was those very qualities he admired in her. But not when he was several thousand miles away.
‘I don’t want to see you upset or hurt.’ His voice deepened slightly. ‘Comprende?’
‘Okay, you’ve made your point,’ she conceded, and heard him expel a faint sigh.
‘Gracias.’
Sofia escorted a man fitting the bodyguard’s description into the breakfast room, and Hannah lowered her voice.
‘The cavalry has arrived.’
‘I’ll call you later.’
He did, and she was able to report Luc hadn’t telephoned or shown up at the café.
The day had gone well, with new stock snapped up by various clients. Renee called to say there would be a change of plan and they’d eat at a restaurant.
‘I’ll go home and change first, then meet you there. Six-thirty?’
Should she alert Rodney Spears? Just as she thought about dialling his mobile, he rang through to confirm her evening plans, and carefully noted the changes.
Hannah checked her rear-vision mirror as she pulled out from the car park, and glimpsed a dark blue sedan follow at a discreet distance.
Then she lost him in the flow of traffic, and she didn’t catch sight of the sedan until an hour later when she left the house en route to the restaurant.
It was, she reflected silently, totally unnecessary for him to shadow her every move. When did the man eat, for heaven’s sake? Hamburgers and fries at a drive-through? And he had to sleep some time, surely?
Miguel was probably paying him a small fortune, but that didn’t stop her from offering Rodney a one-hundred-dollar bill to eat in the restaurant.
‘Look on it as a bonus,’ she advised when he offered a protest. ‘I’ll go ahead and ensure you get a table.’
She did, and she’d only been seated a few minutes when Renee and Carlo entered the foyer.
‘Darling, have you been waiting long?’ Renee greeted anxiously. ‘We got held up in traffic.’
It was a pleasant evening. The food was superb, each course presented with flair and artistry. Hannah sipped a half-glass of wine throughout the meal, and together they caught up on each other’s news.
‘How is Cindy?’ Renee broached as she forked a few morsels of salad, then speared a sliver of chicken.
‘She was discharged this morning.’
Renee looked at her daughter carefully. ‘One imagines Luc’s appearance at the Leukaemia Charity Ball was deliberate, rather than a chance circumstance?’
‘I have no idea,’ Hannah indicated with a slight shrug. ‘Nor do I care.’
‘It doesn’t bother you that he’s in town?’
‘Why should it? He’s a bad memory I’d prefer to forget.’
‘He hasn’t attempted to contact you?’
‘What is this?’ she queried lightly. ‘The third degree?’
‘You would tell us if he proves to be a nuisance?’ her father countered insistently.
‘He won’t get the opportunity.’ Her omnipotent husband was taking care of it. She spared a glance towards the bodyguard’s table, and saw that he was just finishing up.
She could confide in her parents, but what was the point in worrying them unnecessarily? She opted not to suggest she follow them home and stay overnight. She hadn’t done so before on any of the other occasions Miguel had been away. If she suggested it now, their suspicions would be aroused. And what was the point? In her opinion, Miguel’s precautions were way over the top. Besides, the house and grounds were secure with a state-of-the-art security system.
When the waiter cleared their plates Hannah declined dessert, the cheeseboard, and settled for coffee. It had been a leisurely meal, and nice to catch up with her parents away from the social scene.
‘We should discuss Christmas, darling,’ Renee ventured. ‘I thought I’d do lunch this year, and invite Esteban.’
Christmas? Why, that was—
‘Nine weeks away, darling,’ her mother reminded. ‘The first of the pre-Christmas social festivities begins next week.’
Heavens, it was that close? ‘I’ll check with Miguel, but I’m sure lunch will be fine.’
‘Well, this is a nice surprise.’
Hannah heard her father’s words an instant before she felt a hand touch her shoulder.
‘What will you check with me, querida?’
She turned her head at the sound of that deep, faintly accented drawl, and felt the floor drop away.
Miguel?
‘I didn’t expect you back until tomorrow night,’ she managed an instant before his mouth closed over hers in a brief, tantalising kiss. The quick sweep of his tongue wreaked havoc with her senses, and it took a few seconds to regain her scattered thoughts.
Why was he here at this restaurant?
‘I caught a taxi from the airport.’
‘Have you eaten?’ Renee queried warmly as he took the chair next to Hannah.
‘On the plane,’ Miguel confirmed. ‘However, I’ll join you for coffee.’ He caught hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips, then he linked his fingers through her own and rested them on his thigh.
His smile left her breathless, the faint teasing quality stirring her emotions to fever pitch within seconds.
‘What will you check with me?’ he repeated, giving Hannah his total attention.
It wasn’t fair that one man should possess such devastating sensuality, or that she could be rendered so intensely vulnerable by his look, his touch.
From somewhere she restored order to her scattered thoughts. ‘Christmas. Renee mentioned lunch, if it suits your father to join us for dinner.’
How did Miguel know she’d be dining at this restaurant?
Rodney Spears, Hannah concluded. The bodyguard had obviously reported the change in venue to Miguel. But what had occurred to influence Miguel to drop everything and fly home at a moment’s notice?
Whatever it was, it had to wait until they were alone, and she toyed with her coffee, stirring it unnecessarily, then she sipped the contents without registering the excellent espresso blend.
The next hour seemed to be one of the longest in her life, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief when Miguel indicated they would leave.
Hannah burst into speech the instant they were inside the car, and Miguel effectively silenced her by placing a hand over her mouth.
‘It’ll keep until we get home.’ He put the car in gear and reversed out before heading towards the exit.
‘The hell it will,’ she said fiercely as he joined the flow of traffic and headed towards Toorak.
Miguel slanted her a long glance as he drew to a temporary halt at a set of lights. ‘The thought that I might have cut my trip short just to be here with you does not please you?’
‘I’m still mad at you over the bodyguard bit.’ She met his gaze and held it, then the lights changed and he gave the road his attention. ‘I take it I have Rodney to thank for reporting to you my every move?’
‘That’s what I pay him to do.’
‘A case of total overkill.’
‘You may change your mind when you see what I have to show you.’
Something in his tone stilled the retort she was about to utter. A cold hand closed round her heart, and she searched his features, noting the hard set of his jaw, the serious expression which didn’t bode well.
‘It’s Camille, isn’t it?’ Hannah queried quietly. ‘What has she done?’
Miguel turned the car into their driveway, paused while the electronically controlled gates swung open, then he headed towards the house. Within minutes he entered the garage and cut the engine.
He popped the boot and removed a bag and his briefcase. ‘Let’s go indoors, shall we?’
He led her into the study, dropped his bag to the floor, then he placed the briefcase on the desk, unlocked it, and extracted a large manila envelope.
‘A scanned copy of these was sent to me by e-mail today.’ He withdrew six colour prints and spread them out on the desk. ‘Look at them carefully.’
There was no mistaking the first three prints. They featured herself and Luc sharing lunch. The second three prints were something else entirely.
Miguel and Camille seated at a table together. Worse, they were looking into each other’s eyes with an expression only lovers shared.
Hannah felt sick, and it was all she could do to regulate her breathing. Dear heaven. Miguel and Camille?
‘Look at them very carefully, querida,’ Miguel prompted gently. He was almost afraid to touch her for fear she might shatter. A silent rage reasserted itself, and he consciously held it in check. ‘They are not quite what they seem.’
‘They look real enough to me.’
‘As they are meant to.’ He picked up one print and pointed to Camille. ‘If you look very carefully, you will see there is a slight difference in the reflection of light.’ He picked up a pen and pointed its tip to the print. ‘Here. Do you see?’
The texture wasn’t quite the same, the shade of light reflecting from one set of features compared to the other was fractionally different.
‘The original photograph has been digitally enhanced on a computer. In this particular print your image has been removed, and Camille’s image superimposed. I had it checked out.’ He picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to her. ‘This report confirms it.’
Hannah was silent as she examined the prints again, then she read the in-depth report noting the technical irregularities.
‘What do you think Camille’s next step will be?’ she queried slowly, trying to dispel the ache that had settled round her heart.
‘At a guess, Camille will ensure you receive the second set of prints some time tomorrow.’
‘Delivered personally, with verbal embellishment.’ Hannah predicted. ‘Will she take it further, do you think?’
Miguel arched one eyebrow. ‘The media? She may try. However, these prints will never be used.’ He had influence, and a copy of the technician’s report had already been faxed to various sources.
‘I owe you an apology.’
He took the prints and the report from her hand and locked them in his briefcase.
‘For what, precisely?’
‘Accusing you of overreacting,’ Hannah said simply. ‘And I want to thank you for ensuring I saw those—’ she indicated his briefcase ‘—before Camille dredged every ounce of shock value from them tomorrow.’
She died a thousand deaths just thinking about it.
Miguel lifted a hand and trailed his fingers down her cheek. ‘Camille is about to learn I will not tolerate any form of invasion.’
She looked at him, taking in his strength, the power he exuded, and felt infinitely relieved she wasn’t his enemy. ‘I see.’
His mouth curved slightly. ‘Do you?’
‘Yes.’ It was all about preserving the image, professionally and personally. She told herself she understood. Hadn’t she been reared to be aware of image? The private-school education, extra-curricular activities, the social niceties? Luc had been her only transgression…if believing the false words of a cad could be termed a transgression.
‘I doubt that you do,’ Miguel denied silkily. ‘Verbal abuse is difficult to prove without an independent witness. So is slander.’ His expression hardened. ‘However, these prints and the report prove Camille’s intent to defame.’
‘You intend to confront her?’
‘Not personally.’ His voice was clipped, he was watching her expressive features. ‘In the only way she will understand.’
‘Legal action?’
‘Yes.’
There was a ruthlessness apparent that boded ill for anyone daring to cross him, and Hannah shivered, caught up in a mix of complex emotions.
He wanted it done. Camille and her obsessive behaviour out of their lives. As to Luc… It would be as well if he never caught sight of him again. To do so would incite the possibility of physical assault, he decided grimly.
Hannah took in a deep breath, then released it. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing, do you understand? We must wait for her next move.’ His gaze speared hers, dark and incredibly formidable. ‘No heroics, Hannah. Rodney Spears will be close at all times.’
Miguel reached forward and caught hold of her shoulders, sliding his hands down her back as he pressed her body close in against his own. He angled his head and nuzzled her earlobe, then feathered a trail of kisses down the edge of her neck. ‘Miss me?’
Dear heaven, yes. She didn’t like sleeping alone in their bed. She’d turn over in her sleep, subconsciously searching for the warmth of his body, seeking the touch of his hands, the reassuring brush of his lips…only to discover a cool empty space.
‘Uh-huh.’ His mouth was playing havoc with her senses. The blood sang in her veins, heating all the pleasure pulses and creating a fast-pacing tempo that demanded more, much more than the touch of his lips.
Hannah gave a faint gasp as an arm skimmed beneath her knees and Miguel lifted her against his chest. Her eyes were almost on a level with his own as he carried her into the foyer and began ascending the stairs.
She saw the passion smouldering in those dark depths and felt the thrill of anticipated pleasure as he gained the gallery and strode towards their bedroom.
When he lowered her down to her feet she simply wound her arms round his neck and brought his mouth down to her own.
She was hardly aware of him divesting her of her clothes, or that her fingers dispensed with shirt buttons, took care of his belt and the zip on his trousers.
There was only the need to feel skin on skin, the ecstasy of their joined bodies moving in perfect harmony as they created the ultimate pleasure.
Something they sought and achieved again in the early dawn hours before sleep claimed them for a brief hour.
The need to rise and face the new day saw them shower, dress, share breakfast and depart the house in separate cars en route to their respective places of business.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HOW long would it take Camille to stage her confrontation?
It had to be today, Hannah estimated, for if the Frenchwoman had gone to such pains to discover Miguel’s plans, she’d be aware he was due to return home tonight.
Anticipating the time and place made her edgy, and by midday she was fast becoming a nervous wreck. It made sense that Camille would choose a time when Hannah was alone, which meant the hour Elaine went on lunch break, or immediately afterwards when Hannah visited the café.
Knowing Rodney Spears remained unobtrusively on duty provided reassurance.
Hannah checked her watch, and indicated Elaine should go to lunch, during which the phone rang three times, three clients called in to collect orders, two people opted to browse, and Camille was a no-show.
The nervous tension mounted with every passing minute as she ordered a Caesar salad and carrot juice at the café counter, paid, then selected one of three empty tables and took a seat.
The salad was delectable, she knew, because she frequently ordered the dish. However, today she could have been eating chalk, and her appetite was nonexistent.
Hannah sat there for more than half an hour, then she ordered bottled water and slowly sipped it over the next fifteen minutes. Camille was nowhere to be seen.
At ten to two, Hannah walked out onto the street, visited a nearby newsagent and selected a card to send to Cindy, then she retraced her steps to the boutique.
Elaine left at four, and an hour later Hannah checked the locks, set the alarm, closed up and walked to the car park.
She slid into the Porsche and closed the door, inserted the key into the ignition, then gasped in shocked surprise as the door opened from the outside.
Camille leant forward and dropped a large envelope onto her lap. ‘I thought you should have these.’ She stood back and prepared to close the door. ‘By the way, Perth was fun, darling.’
Where had she come from? Hannah questioned silently. Then she heard the sound of an engine, and she turned to see Camille behind the wheel of a car as it moved quickly towards the exit.
Seconds later Rodney Spears appeared out of nowhere. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’
He didn’t appear convinced. ‘I’ll report in to Mr Santanas.’
Hannah tried for a smile, and almost made it.
Rodney Spears had already hit the rapid dial key and was talking into the phone. ‘The perpetrator dropped off a package. One minute contact. Yes, your wife is fine. I’ll follow her home.’ He cut the connection. ‘Are you okay to go now, ma’am?’
She was about as okay as she would ever be. ‘Sure.’ Seconds later she cleared the exit and joined the line of cars crawling along Toorak Road.
Perth? Why had Camille mentioned Perth?
It took several minutes to reach the turn-off, and she moved freely through various residential streets before entering her own.
Miguel’s Jaguar was parked outside the front door, and she drew the Porsche to a halt behind it.
No sooner had she entered the foyer than he was there, tall and brooding, his eyes compellingly dark as he raked her petite frame.
His gaze shifted to the large envelope in her hand, and he took it from her, then he cupped her chin and kissed her, hard.
‘Let’s take this into the study.’ Miguel caught hold of her hand and led the way. ‘I think we could both do with a drink.’
And then some, Hannah echoed silently as she entered the large book-lined room, watching as he opened a bottle of chilled white wine and filled two goblets with the golden liquid.
She accepted one and took a long sip of the contents as he leaned one hip against the desk.
Hannah indicated the envelope. ‘Aren’t you going to open that?’
‘In a minute. First, there’s something you need to know.’
She held his gaze, then said slowly, ‘I don’t think I want to hear this.’
‘Camille apparently discovered I would be in Perth, and she not only caught an earlier flight, she also booked into the same hotel.’
He caught the fleeting stricken look before she successfully controlled it, and he felt moved to violence at the lengths Camille was prepared to go to wreak destruction.
‘Don’t tell me,’ Hannah said bitterly. ‘Not only does that envelope contain doctored photographs we’ve already seen, but shots taken of the hotel with the date function exposed.’ Her gaze lanced his. ‘What else? You leaving your hotel room? Camille posing in the hallway with the room number showing, should I want to check it out?’
‘Worse. Camille lying almost naked in an unmade bed. The fact it isn’t my bed is immaterial, as most of the rooms are identical.’
She stood up and carefully placed the goblet down onto the desk. Calm, a tiny voice soothed. Stay calm. Just go look at the prints. Examine them carefully. And don’t say a word until you’re done.
With slow deliberation she slit the edge of the envelope and extracted the prints. One by one she discarded them onto the desk until she came to the final six.
As she anticipated, there was a photo taken of the hotel exterior, another of the reception area with a clear view of Camille checking in. The hallway, displaying a room number on the door. Miguel emerging from the same room. And the final two showing Camille sprawled in differing poses among rumpled sheets looking dreamily sated and incredibly seductive.
Hannah’s first inclination was to rip them in half and throw them in the waste bin. It sickened her to look at them, and she felt positively ill at the mental image of Miguel pleasuring another woman. Even if it hadn’t happened, just the thought was enough to kill her.
‘Look at the date.’
Miguel’s voice penetrated the dark void into which she’d mentally retreated, and she shook her head.
‘Por Dios.’ The husky imprecation sounded like silk being razed by razor-sharp steel. ‘Look.’
It was today’s date. Today? But—
‘I was here last night,’ Miguel relayed inexorably. ‘With you.’
Irrefutable proof. ‘Just as well,’ Hannah ventured with a shaky smile. ‘Otherwise I’d have killed you, or worse.’
He appeared vaguely amused. ‘Then it’s fortunate I have an alibi for Monday evening.’
‘I hope it’s watertight.’
‘It is. Alejandro will confirm.’ His voice became hard, his expression inflexible. ‘Camille will be served with an interim injunction. If she chooses to disregard it, she’ll be charged, independently of existing harassment charges.’ He paused fractionally. ‘Then there’s scientific proof regarding tampering of photographic prints.’ His gaze speared hers. ‘If she’s wise, she’ll take the first flight out of here.’
And their lives would revert to normal. Until the next time, Hannah added cynically. Although many women coveted Miguel, none had gone to such extraordinary lengths as Camille. Because the woman was obsessive? A practised man-stealer who derived her satisfaction from setting the scene and playing a devious game?
It made Hannah feel fiercely territorial. And possessive. About Miguel, her marriage, her home…everything she held sacred.
There were a few what if’s tumbling around in her mind, and she felt sickened at the thought that Camille’s plan had almost worked.
Don’t go there, she silently cautioned. A partnership, a marriage, had to be built on trust. If there wasn’t trust, there was nothing.
She reached for her goblet and took a generous sip of wine. It curled round her stomach and seeped into her veins, gradually lessening the tension.
A few weeks ago she hadn’t known of Camille Dalfour’s existence. Yet in the past week the Frenchwoman had managed to create chaos.
Miguel could take whatever action he chose. But she intended to instigate a strategy of her own.
In an impulsive move she drained the remaining wine in a long swallow, then replaced the empty goblet down onto the desk.
‘I feel like a swim before dinner.’
Miguel let her go, and when the door closed behind her he slid the prints back into the envelope and locked them in the wall safe. Then he picked up the phone and dialled his lawyer’s number.
Hannah slipped out of her clothes and stepped into a stunning deep aqua one-piece, then she pinned up her hair, snagged a towel and ran lightly down the stairs.
The pool looked inviting, the water clear and sparkling in the early evening sunlight. The heat of the day had diminished slightly, but it was still hot, and she dived cleanly in at the deep end and when she surfaced she struck out with leisurely strokes, one lap after another, until she’d counted to fifty, then she turned onto her back and lay there, held buoyant by the crystal water.
She could feel the sun on her face, her limbs, and she closed her eyes, becoming lost in reflective thought.
Soon she would need to emerge, go upstairs, shower and change ready for dinner. But, for now, she was bent on enjoying the quietness and the solitude.
Five minutes later she rolled onto her stomach in one fluid movement and made her way to the tiled ledge.
The strategy took shape as she showered, then she dried her hair and slipped into a casual pencil-slim skirt and top. Minimum make-up, a touch of lipstick and she was ready.
Dinner was timed for six-thirty, and a quick glance at her watch revealed she had just five minutes to set the plan in motion.
Rather than use the house line, she extracted her cell-phone and punched in a series of numbers.
‘Graziella?’ She exchanged pleasantries, then voiced her request. ‘Could I speak to Camille, if she’s there?’
If Camille was surprised at the identity of her caller, she didn’t show it.
‘Hannah, how charming, chérie.’ Her tone was pure feline.
‘Let’s do lunch tomorrow.’ Hannah named an up-market restaurant a block from the boutique. ‘One o’clock. Be there.’ She cut the connection before Camille had a chance to utter a further word.
Dinner was a simple meal of chicken served with piquant rice and a delectable salad with fresh fruit to follow. Hannah declined wine in favour of a lemon spritzer, and admired Miguel’s appetite while she merely picked at the food on her plate.
‘Not hungry?’
She met Miguel’s steady gaze and effected a light shrug. ‘A client brought in a platter of fresh grapes, crackers and cheese. Elaine and I nibbled all afternoon.’
‘You haven’t forgotten we have tickets for the opening of David Williamson’s new play tomorrow night?’
She’d been so preoccupied with Camille, she hadn’t checked her social diary for days. ‘No, of course not.’
‘I have some work to do on the laptop for an hour or so,’ Miguel declared as Hannah pushed her plate to one side.
‘Likewise.’ End-of-month invoices, stock receipts, and she also needed to check catalogues from several different fashion houses. ‘I should make a start on it.’
‘You load the dishwasher,’ he instructed, rising to his feet. ‘I’ll make coffee.’
There was a part of her that wanted the comfort of his touch, the warmth of his arms and the feel of his mouth on hers. In reassurance? It didn’t help to feel this needy. Yet they shared a marriage, had created a bond, and what more natural than to go to him, wind her arms round his neck and pull his head down to hers?
She couldn’t do it. Not here, not now. Camille stood like a spectre between them, a living, breathing entity that seemed to sap her natural warmth and spontaneity.
When the coffee was made, she poured it into two cups and carried hers through to the comfortable room next to Miguel’s study. It wasn’t as large as his, but it held an antique desk, bookshelves, filing cabinet, and a laptop.
For the next two hours she worked diligently, and when the paperwork was up to date she fired off a few e-mails to friends, which mostly took care of personal correspondence.
‘Not finished yet?’
Hannah looked up and saw Miguel’s tall frame leaning against the door-jamb. He’d removed cufflinks and rolled back his shirt-sleeves. The top few buttons on his shirt were loosened, and he looked as if he’d raked fingers through his hair more than once.
‘Five minutes.’
‘Want to watch a video?’
Why not? ‘Okay.’
‘Comedy? Action? Drama?’
She wrinkled her nose and gave him an impish grin. ‘Surprise me.’
When she entered the entertainment room he sat sprawled on the leather couch, a half-magnum of chilled champagne rested in an ice-bucket, there was a packet of crisps waiting to be opened, the lights were dimmed, and the television screen was running previews prior to the main movie.
Miguel patted the space beside him and extended a hand. His eyes were dark and his mouth curved into a sensual smile. ‘Come here.’
‘That sounds like an invitation,’ she murmured as she crossed the room, and his smile broadened.
‘Do you need one?’
Hannah indicated the ice-bucket. ‘Are we celebrating?’
He caught hold of her hand and pulled her down to him. He leaned forward, eased the cork from the bottle, then poured the contents into two flutes and handed her one. ‘Salut.’
Miguel took a sip of excellent vintage champagne and watched as she mirrored his action, then he took the flute from her hand and gave her his.
It was a deliberately sensual gesture, and she held his gaze for a few seconds, all too aware of the exigent sexual chemistry between them.
Liquid fire coursed through her veins, awakening each separate sensory nerve-end until her body became one pulsing ache in anticipation of his touch.
With considerable effort she dragged her gaze away and looked blindly at the television screen, focusing on the Technicolor images as the movie began to unfold.
The champagne was superb and she sipped the contents slowly, aware of the shift in Miguel’s frame as he draped an arm along the back of the couch bare inches above her shoulders.
It was a relationship film, the acting excellent, and if she remembered correctly both male and female leads had earned Oscar nominations for the parts they played.
Hannah gradually became absorbed in the plot, and relaxed a little. She finished her champagne and Miguel took the empty flute from her fingers, placed it on a nearby low table, then settled back.
Minutes later she was aware of his fingers playing idly with her hair, gradually loosening the pins that held the smooth twist neatly together.
Her concentration was shot to hell as he leaned close and nuzzled her earlobe, then began pressing light kisses along the edge of her neck. When he savoured the sensitive hollow at its base, it was all she could do not to groan out loud.
‘You want to see this movie?’ she questioned huskily, and heard his soft chuckle.
‘You watch it, querida.’ His fingers slipped open one shirt button and slid beneath her lacy bra to tease one burgeoning peak. ‘I have something else in mind.’
‘Here?’
A hand covered her thigh and began a slow upward slide. ‘We’ll eventually make the bedroom.’ He released another shirt button. ‘But for now, enjoy.’
Five minutes was all it took for her to twist her fingers into the folds of his shirt and pull him hard against her. It was her mouth that sought his with hungry passion, eliciting a husky chuckle as his arms bound her close.
With urgent hands she sought his waist, wrenching the buckle open in her quest to touch him as he had caressed her.
She felt shameless, utterly wanton, in the need for his possession, and she gasped as he reared to his feet in one easy movement and strode towards the stairs.
On reaching the bedroom they helped remove each other’s clothes, then Miguel took her down onto the bed with him and subjected her to such exquisite lovemaking she wept from the joy of it.
Later, much later, it was she who initiated a slow, sensual journey that had him breathing deeply as he fought for control, only to lose it as she rode him to a tumultuous climax that left their bodies slick with sensual sweat and sated emotions.
CHAPTER NINE
THE day began with rain, which diminished to light showers and by midday the city was bathed in steamy heat and high humidity.
Hannah had dressed to kill in a tailored lightweight black suit that shrieked class. The deep V of the buttoned jacket showed a tantalising glimpse of cleavage. Black stiletto-heeled shoes added extra height to her petite frame and sheer black stockings showcased slender calves. Her hair was smoothed into a sleek chignon, and she wore minimum jewellery.
The overall look was one of a woman who was self-confident with high self-esteem. It hardly mattered that inside she felt like jelly as she entered the chosen restaurant a deliberate few minutes late.
It appeared Camille intended to play the same game, for she was nowhere in sight, and Hannah allowed the maître d’ to escort her to a reserved table where she ordered a light spritzer and sipped it slowly as the minutes ticked on.
The waiting increased her nervous tension, and after ten minutes she summoned the waiter and placed her order. If Camille intended to be a no-show—
‘Hannah. My apologies.’ The voice was as fake as the smile Camille offered as she slid into the seat opposite. ‘I was held up on the phone.’ She lifted a hand in an expressive Gallic gesture. ‘Parking, you know how it is.’
Begin as you mean to go on, a tiny voice prompted.
‘I’ve already ordered. I can only spare an hour.’
The wine steward appeared and Camille ordered Dom Perignon. ‘I thought we’d celebrate, darling.’
‘And the occasion is?’ Hannah queried with a lift of one eyebrow.
‘Why—life.’ Camille’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Isn’t that enough reason?’
‘Not,’ she countered firmly, ‘when you’re determined to interfere in mine.’
The waiter presented the menu and Camille spared it the briefest of glances, ordered a salad, then flipped Hannah a hard, calculated look. ‘Haven’t you learnt I am a formidable adversary?’
‘A very foolish one.’
Camille’s gaze narrowed. ‘What did you think of the prints, darling?’
‘The digitally altered ones?’ Hannah posed silkily. ‘Or the few of you sprawled among the sheets in a state of déshabillé?’
The calculation evident intensified into something that was almost dangerous. ‘How else would I be, when Miguel had just left my bed?’
‘Wrong, Camille,’ she corrected with deceptive quietness. ‘Miguel was never in your bed.’
Camille’s expression didn’t change. ‘Failing to face up to reality, darling?’
Hannah speared a succulent asparagus, dipped the tip in the river of hollandaise sauce on her plate, and took time to savour it. ‘It is you who needs a reality check,’ she offered seconds later.
‘The prints were explicit.’
She looked at the Frenchwoman, and almost felt sorry for her. ‘A fantasy, Camille.’
Camille’s lips tightened. ‘Irrefutable proof. The date function does not lie.’
‘No,’ Hannah agreed. ‘You made just one small mistake.’
‘And what was that?’
She took her time in answering. ‘Miguel flew home Tuesday evening.’
‘Impossible. The suite was still occupied.’
‘By Alejandro,’ she confirmed. ‘You were just too clever in activating the camera date function. It made a mockery of Miguel being in your bed, when he was already in mine.’
‘What of Monday night, Hannah?’ Camille queried hatefully, and Hannah fought back the desire to slap the Frenchwoman’s cheek.
‘Camille, give it up. You played what you thought was your trump card, and it proved to be the joker.’
Red lacquered nails on one hand curled round the table napkin. ‘You invited me to lunch to tell me this?’
‘No,’ she denied. ‘I wanted the opportunity to warn you in person that I won’t tolerate your attempts to interfere in my life, or my marriage.’
Camille pressed a hand against the region of her heart. ‘I am so afraid.’
The degree of dramatic mockery was almost laughable, if Hannah was inclined to see humour in the situation. ‘Be afraid,’ she warned inflexibly. ‘I can have you charged with harassment and stalking.’ Her gaze was direct, her tone icy with intent. She waited a beat, then added, ‘I doubt your aunt will be impressed. Nor, I imagine, will Graziella and Enrico del Santo.’
Camille’s eyes glittered with dark malevolence.
‘I am not finished with you yet. Miguel—’
‘Finds you as much of a nuisance as I do,’ Hannah intercepted smoothly. ‘Go get a life, Camille. And get out of mine.’
A venomous stream of French issued from Camille’s perfectly outlined mouth in a pithy, street-gutter diatribe that left those who comprehended the language in little doubt of an attack on Hannah’s parentage, status and character.
Two things happened simultaneously, and Hannah had the briefest warning of both.
Camille’s hand snaked out and caught her cheek a stinging slap. Champagne spilled across the damask tablecloth. Then Rodney Spears appeared from nowhere and held the Frenchwoman’s flailing arms in a restraining grip.
What happened next was almost comedic, as the waiter almost flew to the table, followed close on his heels by the maître d’. Fellow patrons looked alarmed, others merely curious, and throughout it all Camille continued to demean every one of Hannah’s relatives, both living and those who had passed on.
It almost contained a surreal quality, like something out of a movie.
‘You wish me to call the police, madame?’ the maître d’ queried with concern. He was all too aware of Hannah’s identity and her connection to two of the city’s wealthiest families.
Hannah ignored Rodney Spears’ nod of assent. ‘No.’
‘You are sure, madame?’ he repeated anxiously. ‘You are not hurt?’
The left side of her face stung, emotionally she was a little shaken up, but that was all. ‘I’m fine.’
‘There will, of course, be no charge for the meal. Can I get you something to drink?’
‘I will take care of Mrs Santanas,’ Rodney asserted in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘Just as soon as I have escorted this woman from the premises.’
He shot Hannah a direct look. ‘You are quite sure you don’t want her detained?’
She turned towards Camille, who resembled a spitting cat waiting for another opportunity to lash out. ‘Come within ten metres of me again, and I’ll slap you with every charge in the book,’ she warned with quiet dignity. Difficult, when inside she felt like a nervous wreck.
Rodney strong-armed the Frenchwoman from the restaurant, and Hannah viewed the table, the spilled champagne, the scattered food.
‘I apologise,’ she offered simply, and had her words immediately waved aside. She gathered up her purse and withdrew her credit card.
‘No, no, madame.’ He waved aside the card. ‘There is no need to leave. Let me arrange another meal.’
‘Thank you, but I must get back to work.’ She had to get out of here and breathe in some fresh air.
‘You should wait for the detective to return.’
The bodyguard. Oh, hell, that meant Rodney would report to Miguel, and then, she grimaced, there would be hell to pay.
It didn’t take long. Ten minutes, Hannah counted, checking her watch as her cell-phone rang.
‘What in hell are you playing at?’ Miguel demanded the instant she acknowledged the call.
‘Protecting my own turf,’ she relayed imperturbably, and heard his soft curse.
‘Don’t be facetious.’
‘The cavalry arrived just in time.’
‘Hannah,’ he growled. ‘I am far from being amused.’
‘I wasn’t exactly laughing, myself.’
‘Close the boutique and go home.’
‘Why? I’m fine.’
‘Hannah—’
‘If you must conduct a post-mortem, it can wait until tonight.’
The answering silence was palpable, and she could almost hear him summoning control. ‘Tonight,’ he conceded hardly. ‘Meantime, Rodney stays close. Comprende?’
Rodney’s instructions were explicit, for he took close to mean his presence inside the boutique in full view of any clientele who happened to wander in and peruse the stock.
Elaine was fascinated by the drama, concerned at the reddened patch on Hannah’s cheek, applied an ice-pack, and insisted on staying until closing time.
Of Camille there was neither sign nor word, and Hannah suffered Rodney escorting her to the car park, then following so close behind his bumper was almost touching her car.
Miguel greeted her at the door, and she cast him an exasperated look as he took her face between both hands and conducted a tactile examination of the affected cheek.
There was a slight bruise just beginning to appear over the cheekbone, and his gentle probing made it difficult not to wince.
‘Talk to me,’ Miguel commanded. ‘Does it hurt when you move your jaw?’
She effected a light shrug, and saw his gaze narrow. ‘Not too much.’
He took hold of her arm and led her into the study, closed the door, then he turned to face her.
‘Now, suppose you tell me how you happened to lunch with Camille?’
Oh, my, the third degree. The simple truth was the only way to go. ‘I rang and invited her.’
His features assumed a brooding study. Without a word he crossed to the desk and leaned a hip against its edge.
‘What in heaven’s name possessed you to do that?’
The query was silk-smooth and dangerous, and she viewed him with open defiance.
‘I tired of being a victim. Camille was running all the action. I figured it was about time she was told enough was enough.’
‘Even knowing I had already instigated legal action and the matter was in hand?’ His gaze was direct and analytical. ‘Aware,’ he continued with an infinite degree of cynicism, ‘that the woman was unpredictable, and therefore dangerous?’
‘I wasn’t alone with her,’ Hannah defended. ‘And, thanks to you, the inestimable Rodney was on hand.’
His gaze speared hers. ‘Did it occur to you what might have happened if he hadn’t been there?’
She drew herself up to her full height and glared at him. ‘If you’re done with the inquisition, I’m going to have a shower and change.’
Miguel uncoiled his length and reached her before she had taken more than a step. His hands closed over her shoulders, then he cupped her chin and tilted her head. ‘Give me your word there’ll be no more attempts at independent heroics.’
He was close, much too close. A pulse thudded at the base of her throat, and she just stood still, looking at him as he examined her features with daunting scrutiny.
The breath seemed to catch in her throat, and her eyes clung to his, bright, angry, yet intensely vulnerable. ‘I’ll give it some thought.’
His husky imprecation acted like a catalyst.
‘Are you done?’ She tried to wrench away from him and failed. ‘Let me go, damn you!’
His eyes assumed an inexorable bleakness. ‘Dinner will be ready in half an hour.’ He brushed the pad of his thumb along her lower lip, felt it quiver, and wanted to shake her. ‘We’re due at the theatre at seven-thirty.’
Oh, Lord. She almost groaned out loud. The play. The producer was a personal friend. Not to appear would be the height of impoliteness.
‘I’m not hungry.’
Emotional upheaval and nerves were hell and damnation. Heaven knew she’d experienced enough of both in the past week to last her for ages.
‘If you’re not in the dining room in half an hour, I’ll come get you.’
Her eyes widened, deepening to a brilliant sapphire. ‘Don’t play the heavy husband,’ she warned, and saw his eyes harden.
‘Hannah.’ His voice held a silky warning she chose not to heed.
‘Don’t,’ she retaliated angrily. ‘Just—don’t.’
Miguel released her without a further word, and she walked from the room.
A leisurely shower did much to restore her equilibrium, and, donning fresh underwear, she pulled on smart jeans and a top, blow-dried her hair, then she went downstairs.
Sofia had prepared a succulent beef stew with crunchy bread rolls and a salad. The pervasive aroma tempted Hannah’s appetite, and she ate with enjoyment.
She thought of a few topics of conversation, then abandoned each of them.
‘Nothing to say?’
She glanced at him, met his gaze and held it, then she forked some rice and speared a plump prawn. ‘What would you suggest? My contretemps with Camille has been done to death.’
‘Renee rang. She assured me it was of no importance, and indicated she’ll have the opportunity to speak with you tonight.’
Hannah looked at him sharply. ‘You didn’t tell her about today?’
‘No. Why would I worry her unnecessarily?’
Her mother would freak if she discovered the extent of Camille’s campaign and the repercussions it had caused.
Opening night at the theatre meant dressing up, and Hannah chose an ensemble that comprised a high-waisted skirt with alternating bands of cyclamen-pink and burnt orange and a strapless fitted top in burnt orange. A long wrap in cyclamen-pink completed the outfit, and she selected minimum jewellery, choosing to twist her hair into a fashionable knot atop her head.
Members of the city’s social élite were in attendance, and it came as no surprise to discover Graziella and Enrico del Santo mingling among the guests in the auditorium. Also present were their friends, Aimee Dalfour, and, Hannah noted, Camille and Luc.
Somehow, the ‘cat among the pigeons’ allegory didn’t even begin to cover it. Admittedly, the harassment injunction Miguel had applied for wouldn’t be served until the following day, but, given Camille was no fool, her appearance here tonight was nothing short of blatant arrogance.
Dressed to kill, the Frenchwoman looked positively sinful in a designer gown that was strapless, backless, and moulded her curves like a second skin.
A last-ditch attempt to show Miguel what he was missing?
Impossible, of course, that they could slip through the foyer unnoticed. Nor could they ignore the del Santos’ presence.
Act, Hannah prompted silently as Miguel enfolded her hand within his own.
‘Hannah, Miguel. How nice to see you,’ Graziella greeted with enthusiasm. ‘You remember Aimee, of course. Camille, Luc.’
How could they forget? They exchanged polite meaningless pleasantries and Hannah endeavoured to ignore Camille’s sultry appraisal of Miguel. It was a wonder he didn’t burn at the sensual pouting of her lips and the wicked promise portrayed in the provocative depths of her gaze.
If they were seated close together, she’d scream, Hannah decided, and was immeasurably relieved to see her parents moving towards them.
‘Oh, my,’ Renee murmured minutes later as the del Santo party moved away. ‘Is there an apt word for such exhibitionism?’
‘Not one utterable in polite company,’ Hannah acknowledged with a touch of cynical amusement.
Within minutes the auditorium doors were opened, and the guests began making their way forward to take up reserved seating. Hannah attempted to extricate her hand from Miguel’s firm clasp, and failed. Was he making a statement, or seeking to provide her with reassurance? Maybe both?
Hell, now she was being paranoid!
As they took their seats she was thankful there was no sign of the del Santo party within the immediate vicinity, and she began to relax.
The play was superbly acted, the sets, the characters magnificent, and Hannah took pleasure in losing herself in the excellence of the script, the cast, the production.
The interval provided the opportunity for patrons to mix and mingle in the foyer, have a drink or coffee at the bar, or choose to remain in their seats.
‘Let’s go out for coffee, shall we?’ Renee suggested. ‘Miguel and Carlo can opt for something stronger—’ she flashed Hannah a conspiratorial smile ‘—while we check out the fashions other women are wearing.’
Why not? Hannah rose to her feet and felt the light touch of Miguel’s hand at the back of her waist as they moved into the aisle.
His close proximity stirred her senses, and she felt the return of nervous tension as they entered the foyer.
There were people she knew, a few clients and their partners, friends, and she paused briefly to exchange a greeting as they crossed to the bar.
‘Renee, Carlo. Please join us.’
Hannah momentarily closed her eyes, then opened them again. Enrico del Santo indicated four chairs empty at their table. This was not her evening! How long did the interval last? Ten to fifteen minutes? She could survive that long in Camille and Luc’s company, surely?
Miguel deliberately placed Hannah next to Renee and took the adjoining seat. He was charming to Graziella, conversed with Carlo and Enrico, and chose a polite façade whenever Camille commanded his attention.
A frequent occurrence, Hannah noticed, as she was meant to. It all became a bit much, and in a bid to escape she excused herself and headed towards the powder room.
Big mistake, she realised minutes later as Camille quickly joined her. A queue was inevitable, given the number of stalls, and Hannah stood stiffly as she waited for Camille to strike.
She wasn’t disappointed. ‘Don’t imagine you can hide behind a bodyguard. I suppose you think you’re very clever.’
Hannah turned slightly to look at the Frenchwoman. ‘Not at all,’ she responded lightly. ‘And the bodyguard is there at Miguel’s instigation.’
Camille’s expression became an icy mask. ‘Protecting his business investment.’
‘Of course.’ It was the truth, so why deny it?
‘But there is a bonus,’ Hannah continued quietly. ‘I get to share his bed, his life, and bear his children.’
She took a shallow breath and released it. ‘Admit you failed, Camille, and go look for another rich man who’s not averse to your game-playing.’ She paused fractionally. ‘And take Luc with you.’
‘He’s a practised lover,’ the Frenchwoman intimated with deliberate maliciousness.
‘Do you think so?’ Hannah contrived a slight frown. ‘I found his foreplay technique reasonable, but his application needed work.’ She managed a careless shrug. ‘Maybe he’s improved.’
Camille swung her hand in a vicious arc, except this time Hannah was prepared, and she took a quick sidestep so the slap didn’t connect.
Hannah was aware of a few surprised gasps, then Renee was there, her normally composed features fierce with anger.
‘You’ve said quite enough, Camille! Now get out of here at once. There is another set of facilities if you must use them.’ She turned towards her daughter. ‘Darling, are you all right?’
‘Yes. Thanks,’ she added, and couldn’t help wondering if Miguel had sent Renee to her rescue.
‘Come, let’s go back to—’
‘The table?’ She shook her head. ‘I really do need to freshen up. Tell Miguel I’ll go straight to our seats.’
‘I’ll stay,’ Renee said firmly.
‘Then we’ll have both our men sending out a search party.’ She could almost see the humour in the situation. ‘Really, I’m fine.’
‘Well,’ her mother said doubtfully. ‘If you’re sure?’
A stall became vacant, and Hannah moved into it. Minutes later she paused in front of the long mirror to freshen her lipstick, then she emerged into the foyer.
She hadn’t taken two steps when Miguel fell in beside her, and she shot him a steady look as he caught hold of her arm. ‘First Renee, now you?’
‘Another minute, and I’d have fetched you personally.’
‘Entered a known women’s domain? How brave.’
‘Don’t push it, querida,’ he warned in sibilant anger.
They weren’t moving in the direction of the auditorium. ‘We’re going the wrong way.’
‘I’m taking you home.’
‘The hell you are!’ She resolutely refused to move. Her eyes sparked blue fire as she confronted him. ‘I’m not missing the rest of the play.’ She balled one hand into a fist and connected with his ribs. ‘The only way you’ll get me away from here is to toss me over your shoulder and carry me out!’
He was caught between laughter and voluble anger. ‘Don’t tempt me,’ he bit back with a husky growl.
Hannah wrenched her arm from his grasp and marched, as well as four-inch stiletto heels would allow, towards the auditorium.
By the time she reached a set of double doors he was beside her, and together they entered the dimmed theatre, located their seats, and slid into them.
Almost immediately the curtain rose and the next act commenced.
Hannah focused on the actors and their lines in a determined effort to forget Camille, Luc, and her inimitable husband. She succeeded, almost, rising from her seat with the audience to applaud the playwright, the cast, and the producer.
The exodus of patrons took a little while, and it was almost eleven when Miguel eased the Jaguar through the city streets. A shower of rain wet the bitumen, and she watched the automated swish of the windscreen wipers as the car turned into Toorak Road.
The headache that had niggled away at her temple for the past hour seemed to intensify, and as soon as he brought the car to a halt inside the garage she slid from her seat and preceded him into the house.
They reached the foyer, and his gaze sharpened as he took in her pale features. ‘Take something for that headache, and go to bed.’
‘Don’t tell me what to do.’
‘Querida,’ Miguel drawled. ‘You want to fight?’
‘Yes, damn you!’
‘There’s a punch bag in the downstairs gym. Why don’t you go try it out?’
He was amused, damn him. She threw him a dark glare. ‘I might do that!’
‘Just one thing,’ he ventured indolently. ‘Go and change first.’
She didn’t even pause to think, she just bent one knee, pulled off a heeled shoe and threw it at him.
Miguel palmed it neatly, placed it carefully down onto a nearby side-table, and turned back towards her.
‘Want to try again?’
This time it was her evening purse that flew through the air, and she cried out with rage as he scooped her into his arms and carried her upstairs.
Hannah hit out at his shoulders, his arms, anywhere she could connect, and groaned with angry frustration when she didn’t seem to make any impression at all.
He reached the bedroom and entered it, kicking the door shut behind him, then he released her down onto the floor.
‘Okay,’ he growled huskily. ‘That’s enough.’
‘Do you know how I feel?’ she demanded vengefully.
‘I’d say it’s mutual.’ He caught hold of her shoulders and held her still. ‘Stop it.’
‘Right at this moment, I think I hate you.’
‘For being a target for some woman’s warped mind?’
‘I want to go to bed. Alone.’ Fool, a tiny voice derided. You’re taking your anger out on the wrong person. Except she wasn’t being rational.
Miguel released her slowly. ‘Then go to bed.’ He turned and walked from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
She looked at the door, and almost wished he’d slammed it. It would have made more sense.
Slowly she crossed to the window and looked out over the darkened gardens. The moon was high, a large round white orb that cast a milky light onto the earth below, making long shadows of small shrubs, the trees, and duplicating the shape of the house. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, and another joined it in a howling canine melody.
Hannah closed the curtains, then slowly undressed, removed her make-up, then she pulled on the silky slip she wore to bed and slid between the sheets, snapped off the bedside lamp, and lay staring into the darkness. Images filled her mind, prominent and intrusive, and her eyes swam until tears spilled and trickled slowly towards her ears, then dripped onto the pillow.
She brushed them away, twice, then determinedly closed her eyes in a bid to summon sleep.
Except she was still awake when Miguel entered the room a long time later. She heard him discard his clothes, and felt the faint depression of the mattress as he slid into bed.
Hold me, she silently begged him. Except the words wouldn’t find voice, and she lay still, listening to his breathing steady and become slow and even in sleep. It would have been so easy to touch him. All she had to do was slide her hand until it encountered the warmth of his body.
Except she couldn’t do it. Be honest, she silently castigated. You’re afraid. Afraid that he might ignore the gesture or, worse, refuse it. And how would she feel if he did?
Shattered.
CHAPTER TEN
HANNAH woke to the sound of the shower running in the adjoining en suite, and she rolled over to check the digital clock. Seven.
She slid out of bed, gathered up fresh underwear, her robe, and adjourned to the next bedroom where she showered and changed.
It would have been easy to join Miguel, just pull open the glass door and step in beside him as she did every morning. Except today she couldn’t, not after last night.
And whose fault was that? a silent voice taunted.
She drew a deep breath, then returned to their room to see Miguel in the process of dressing.
He cast her a long measured look, which she returned, then she discarded her nightwear onto the bed and crossed to her walk-in wardrobe to select something to wear.
‘Do you intend sulking for long?’ His voice was a slightly inflected drawl, which she ignored as she stepped into sheer black stockings, then selected one of three black suits she chose to wear to the boutique.
When she emerged, he was standing in her path, and she just looked at him.
‘Hannah,’ he warned silkily.
‘I am not sulking!’ She never sulked; it wasn’t in her nature.
And I don’t hate you, she added silently, unable to say the words aloud. Dear heaven, what had possessed her to say such a thing? Reaction, angry tension. But words, once said, were difficult to retract. Except the longer she left the anger to simmer, the harder it would be to explain.
‘What do you want me to say?’ Her eyes darkened and became stormy. ‘I’m sorry I acted like a bitch last night? Okay, I apologise.’
‘Apology accepted.’
Hannah looked at him sharply. ‘Don’t patronise me.’
‘Stop it right there,’ Miguel warned.
‘I’m not a child, dammit!’ What was she doing, for heaven’s sake? She was like a runaway train that couldn’t stop.
‘Then don’t behave like one.’
‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t join you for breakfast,’ Hannah said stiffly. ‘I’ll stop off at a café for coffee and a croissant.’
She moved past him and entered the en suite. She picked up the hairbrush and attacked her hair, stroking the brush through its length until her scalp tingled, then she applied minimum make-up.
Her eyes widened as she caught sight of Miguel via mirrored reflection as he moved in to stand behind her, and her fingers faltered and tightened around the tube of lipstick.
She felt like a finely tuned string that was about to snap as he turned her round to face him, and she was powerless to move as his head descended.
‘This, this,’ Miguel breathed close to her mouth, ‘is important. Nothing else.’ And he kissed her, thoroughly, until her head spun. Then he released her, and walked from the room.
Hannah gripped hold of the marbled vanity unit and tried to regain her breath. Dear heaven, what was the matter with her?
She had no idea how long she stood there, only that it seemed an age before she gathered up her bag, slid her feet into heeled shoes, and made her way downstairs to the garage.
Ten minutes later she parked the Porsche, then crossed the road, bought a daily newspaper, entered a coffee bar and joined the patrons enjoying breakfast.
At nine she unlocked the boutique and spent the next half-hour on the phone chasing a courier who had been supposed to deliver late the previous afternoon, and hadn’t.
The morning dragged, and trying to continually pin a smile on her face began to take its toll. How could she pretend to be happy when inside she was breaking into a thousand pieces?
‘Are you ill?’ Elaine enquired with concern at midday.
‘No.’
An inquisitive smile curved her attractive mouth. ‘Pregnant?’
‘No.’
‘You sound hesitant,’ Elaine teased. ‘Could that be a maybe, but it’s too soon to tell?’
Hannah simply shook her head. ‘Go take your lunch break.’ She extracted her purse and took out a note. ‘Can you bring me back a chicken and salad sandwich and bottled water?’ Today she’d eat in the small back room instead of spending her usual half-hour break at a nearby café.
Elaine finished at four, and the afternoon seemed to drag as Hannah checked her stock list, then made a few phone calls. A fax came through alerting that a special order would be despatched by overnight courier, and she made a note to phone the client.
Miguel’s forceful image haunted her, as it had all morning, only now it was worse, for there was no one to talk to, no client entering the boutique to attract her attention, and the phone didn’t ring.
Thinking about last night made her stomach twist into a painful knot. Somehow Miguel’s controlled anger had been worse than if he’d let fly a string of pithy oaths, or thrown something, yelled at her. Instead he’d reduced her angry outburst to a childish tantrum, and that irked and angered her more than she wanted to admit.
The electronic buzzer sounded, alerting her to someone entering the boutique, and she summoned a warm smile as she moved out from behind the desk.
‘Hannah, darling.’
‘Mother.’ Renee always rang before calling in. Always. The fact she hadn’t this time caused Hannah’s forehead to crease into a slight frown.
‘I know, I should have phoned first. But I was close by…’ She trailed off, before launching into an explanation, ‘Lunch with an old friend, darling. And I thought I’d just pop in and say hello.’
‘It’s great to see you.’ She injected enthusiasm into her voice and crossed the floor to bestow the customary air-kiss to each cheek. ‘The scarves arrived this morning. I put a few aside that I thought you might like. Would you like to see them?’
Business. If she could keep everything on a business footing, maybe Renee wouldn’t notice the fine cracks in her daughter’s façade.
‘Oh, please, darling.’
Hannah retrieved the box, extracted three scarves and spread them across the counter. They were pure silk, exquisitely patterned, and an attractive fashion accessory.
Renee selected two, then crossed to the blouse rack, chose one, then moved to the desk. ‘I’ll take these, darling.’ She gave a soft exclamation, and followed it with a ladylike curse. ‘I don’t believe it. I’ve left my bag in the car.’
‘Locked, I hope,’ Hannah said at once, concern marring her features.
‘Of course, locked, darling. I have my keys.’ She held them up in plain sight. ‘I remember activating the alarm.’
‘Where are you parked?’
‘This side of the street, just a few cars down.’ She held out the keys. ‘Would you mind fetching it for me?’ She cast the empty boutique a cursory glance. ‘It’ll only take a minute.’
Maybe a breath of fresh air might lift her mood, Hannah determined as she accepted the keys and made for the door.
It was hot outside, the sun’s brightness intense after the air-conditioned coolness indoors. A few cars down meant she met the worst of the glare as she walked towards her mother’s car, and she lifted a hand to shade her eyes. Only to come to a dead halt at the sight of a familiar tall frame standing beside Renee’s Lexus.
Miguel. Looking totally relaxed and at ease, his expression shaded behind dark sunglasses. A deceptive pose, for she had no doubt beneath that calm exterior lay the coiled strength of a predator.
There was a part of her that wanted to turn back and return to the boutique, where her mother’s presence would ensure civility was maintained. Yet she refused to take the easy way out. Whatever they needed to say to each other had to be said.
Miguel saw the moment she mentally squared her shoulders, witnessed the slight lift of her chin, and accurately defined the expression in her clear blue eyes.
It was her nature to confront, resolve, and move forward. He was bargaining on her doing just that.
‘It’s four thirty,’ Hannah said evenly as she took the necessary steps to reach the Lexus. ‘What are you doing here?’
He pulled back the cuff of his jacket, checked his watch, then trapped her gaze. ‘A few minutes past that, if you want total accuracy.’
Miguel didn’t shift position, and she was forced to move in close as she deactivated the alarm, unlocked the passenger door, retrieved her mother’s bag, then reversed the security process.
‘Shall we return Renee’s bag?’ he queried mildly, and she threw him a measured look.
‘We?’
He caught hold of her elbow, firming his grasp as she made to wrench away. ‘We,’ he reiterated firmly.
‘Miguel—’
‘There’s the easy way where we walk back to the boutique. Or I can hoist you over one shoulder and carry you. Which would you prefer?’
Her eyes sparked angry fire. ‘You’re giving me a choice?’
He brushed his thumb over the generous curve of her mouth. ‘No.’
Her palms itched with the urge to slap him.
‘Don’t.’ The warning was silky soft and curled round her nerve-ends.
Without a word she turned and made her way back to the boutique, aware of an explosive electric force field that surrounded them.
Hannah was startlingly aware of him, his proximity, the faint aroma of his aftershave, the clean smell of his clothes. His grasp on her elbow would tighten in a heartbeat if she attempted to pull free.
Four shop fronts, a matter of mere metres, and they reached the boutique. She didn’t even question his intention to enter, for it was clearly evident he meant to.
She paused, her features strained, her eyes too dark. ‘Is there a purpose to this?’
‘Yes.’
Hannah extended her hand to open the door, only to have it swing inward.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Renee declared, her features carefully schooled. ‘There was one phone call, which I dealt with.’
Hannah looked from one to the other, and settled on Miguel, suspicion uppermost. ‘You set this up.’ She turned towards her mother. ‘Didn’t you?’
‘Guilty.’
‘Why?’ Hannah demanded, sorely tried.
‘Go get your bag,’ Miguel instructed. ‘We’re leaving.’
‘I’ll stay and close the boutique,’ Renee informed before her daughter had a chance to protest.
‘No.’ Hannah threw Miguel a vengeful glare. ‘And if you try any macho tactics, I’ll call the police.’
‘Call them.’ It took two seconds to sweep an arm beneath her knees and lift her against his chest.
Renee crossed quickly to the desk, opened a cupboard, retrieved Hannah’s bag, and handed it to Miguel.
‘I’ll never forgive you for this,’ Hannah vented as she closed her fingers into a fist and set a bruising punch to his shoulder.
He turned and walked out the door, traversed the pavement to where his car was parked, unlocked the door, then he thrust her into the passenger seat.
The next instant he crossed round to the driver’s side, then slid in behind the wheel.
The engine fired and settled into a soft purr as he eased the car out of its parking space and into the flow of traffic along Toorak Road.
Hannah didn’t trust herself to speak. There was too much anger to bother with meaningless words.
Instead, she looked beyond the windscreen, noting the traffic, people walking, children, mothers laughing, scolding. Movement, life. Outside, the world continued to evolve, along with people’s lives.
From inside, somehow it didn’t seem real. She might as well have been viewing the scene on television.
Familiar streets, familiar locale. She passed by here five days out of seven.
But not quite this far, she suddenly realised.
‘You’ve missed the turn.’
‘We’re not going home.’ Miguel’s voice was a faintly inflected drawl, and she looked at him carefully, seeing the strength and sense of purpose evident.
‘Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me exactly where we are going?’
He slanted her a quick glance. ‘Wait and see.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Hannah dismissed angrily, and refrained from offering so much as another word.
The flow of traffic intensified as they neared the city, and she contained her surprise as Miguel swung the car into the entrance of one of the inner city’s most exclusive hotels.
The porter opened her door, leaving her little recourse but to slip out from the passenger seat.
What on earth were they doing here? In a hotel, for God’s sake, when they had a beautiful luxurious home less than fifteen minutes distant? It was crazy. Even more puzzling was the fact Miguel had apparently checked in, for he led the way to the bank of lifts adjacent the foyer.
Hannah spared him a level glance as they rode the lift to a high floor, and within minutes Miguel ushered her into a spacious, elegantly appointed suite.
She crossed to the wide plate-glass window and parted the filmy day curtains to look at the view, then she slowly turned back to face him.
He had removed his jacket, and was in the process of loosening his tie.
‘You owe me an explanation.’
Miguel discarded the tie, undid the top few buttons of his shirt, removed cuff-links from each sleeve, then he crossed to the bar-fridge.
‘What would you like to drink?’
She was angry and on edge. ‘Stop playing the gentleman.’
He paused, and she had the impression of harnessed strength and immeasurable control. For some reason it made her feel apprehensive.
His eyes held an expression she didn’t care to define. ‘What would you have me play, amante?’
She was reminded of silk being razed by steel, and she crossed her arms, hugging them against her midriff in a unconscious protective gesture.
‘The savage?’ he posed. ‘A husband who is moved to such anger, it is all he can do not to strangle his beautiful wife’s neck?’ He extracted bottled water, unscrewed the cap, filled a glass and handed it to her, then he took out a can of cola, pulled the tab, and drained some of the contents.
‘Or perhaps I should beat you.’ He lifted the can and took a long swallow. ‘Believe I am sorely tempted to do both.’
‘Try it,’ Hannah said tightly.
He cast her a long dark look that sent shivers scudding down the length of her spine. ‘Don’t push me.’
Without thinking she threw the contents of her glass in his face, watching with a sense of mesmerised disbelief as the cold water splashed from his broad features down onto his shirt, leaving a huge wet patch that was impossible to ignore.
She didn’t move, despite a terrible sense of panic that urged her to run as far and as fast as she could.
Instead, she stood glaring at him in silent defiance.
His eyes didn’t leave hers as he set the can aside, then in seeming slow motion he pulled the shirt free from his trousers, undid the buttons, then he shrugged it off and draped it over a nearby chair before turning to face her.
With deliberate movements he reached for a neatly folded towel displayed in plain sight and removed the excess moisture from his face, then he tossed the towel onto the bed.
He was an impressive sight. Olive skin stretched over hard musculature, the liberal sprinkle of dark hair at his chest, a tight stomach, firm waist, with not a spare ounce of flesh in evidence.
‘Are you done?’
‘It depends.’
He took a step towards her, and she stood her ground.
‘So brave,’ Miguel mocked silkily, watching her pupils dilate as he drew close.
She was damned if she’d beg, and the single word emerged as a warning. ‘Don’t.’
He didn’t touch her. ‘Don’t—what, specifically?’
‘I’ll fight you,’ she said fiercely, unaware that her hands had tightened into fists, or that her stance had altered slightly preparatory for attack.
‘You can’t win.’
‘I can try.’ She would, too. Self defence was an art form she’d studied to a degree, and she had the element of surprise on her side.
He saw the slight lift of her chin, the muscle flex at the edge of her jaw, the anger, the fire so close to the surface.
‘Do you want to so badly?’
‘Yes,’ Hannah vented, and saw him slide a hand into each trouser pocket.
‘Then go ahead.’
Hit him? For all the times she’d wanted to, for the few occasions she actually had…now that he was placing himself at her mercy, she found she couldn’t do it.
Miguel caught each fleeting expression on her mobile features, and accurately defined every one of them.
‘I guess we need to talk,’ she offered slowly.
‘We did that. It didn’t resolve anything.’
Her face paled as she recalled the explosive scene they’d shared early this morning.
‘Miguel—’
Whatever else she might have said remained locked in her throat as his mouth slanted down to cover hers in a kiss that tore at the very roots of her emotional foundation.
There was nothing punishing about it, just intense evocative passion that seemed to plunder the depths of her soul, dragging something from her she was reluctant to give.
She didn’t want to respond. Dear heaven, how could she, when there was so much hurt and anguish?
It was almost as if he was trying to tap into her fragile heart, to instil something so infinitely precious that meant more, so much more than mere words could convey.
His mouth was the only part of his body touching her. He could easily have drawn her into his arms, used his hands to mould her slender frame to his, his heavy arousal in evidence. Employed sensual body heat to tantalise her senses, to touch and tease with such skilful expertise she would soon shatter into a thousand pieces. His.
Yet he did none of those things. There was just his mouth, and the mesmeric intoxication of heat and passion.
She hated the distance between them, and it took tremendous strength of will not to sink into him. This, after all, was the one level of communication at which they excelled.
Sex. Really great sex.
She’d thought it was enough. She’d even managed to convince herself that love didn’t matter. But it did, and a little part of her had slowly died with each passing day.
Sensation flared, spiralling through her body, filling it with a sweet sorcery only Miguel had the power to wield.
A faint sob rose and died in her throat, a slight compulsive movement he felt rather than heard, and he sensed the way her hands rose, then fell again as she sought control.
The long slow sweep of his tongue against her own almost caused her to lose it, and she began to shake beneath the emotional weight of resisting him.
He sensed the moment she ignored her mind and went with her heart, felt the first tentative touch of her hands as they crept to his shoulders and twined together round his neck.
Something within him convulsed, and a deep shudder raked his powerful frame as he drew her close in against him.
His kiss deepened, possessing with shameless hunger as he led her down a path towards sensual conflagration.
Hannah lost track of time and a sense of place in the need to be part of him. The rest of his clothes, hers, were an unwanted intrusion, and her fingers sought the buckle fastening the belt on his trousers, only to have him shift slightly and cover her hand with his own before gently placing her at arm’s length.
Her eyes widened and seemed too large in her face. Uncertain, she edged the tip of her tongue along the swollen curve of her lip. The gesture was unbidden, and she saw his eyes flare, then become incredibly dark.
He placed a finger over her lips, felt the faint tremble, and cupped her jaw.
‘You are my life,’ Miguel said gently. ‘Amada, the very air that I breathe. Everything.’ A finger traced the pulsing cord to the base of her throat and settled in the sensitive hollow above the rapid beat of her pulse. ‘You have my heart, all that I am.’ His smile held a warmth that made her breath hitch. ‘Always.’
Hannah wasn’t capable of uttering a word.
‘From the beginning,’ he added. ‘I took one look, and there could be no one else. Only you.’
She found her voice with difficulty. ‘But we—’
‘Married to please our respective parents, ensure the business stayed in the family?’ He brushed a thumb along the curve of her lower lip. ‘Do you really believe that?’
Her mouth quivered. ‘You said—’
‘I asked you to marry me.’
‘I thought—’
‘You think too much,’ Miguel chastised gently. ‘I love you. You,’ he emphasised. ‘For everything you are.’
‘You loved me?’ she queried as hope began to unfurl. ‘From the beginning?’
‘Do you really believe I’m the kind of man who would tie himself legally to a woman, contemplate making her the mother of my children—’ He broke off, and shook his head. ‘Querida, haven’t you come to know me better than that?’
Yes, she had. Or, at least, she’d thought she had before Camille had begun playing her games.
‘Camille—’
‘I barely refrained from strangling her. As to Luc—’ A muscle tensed at the edge of his jaw, and his eyes took on a dangerous gleam. ‘The temptation to break his jaw was never far from my mind.’
Something that had been evident on occasion, Hannah reflected. Although at the time she’d thought Miguel was simply playing the part expected of him.
And Camille?
‘Notice that an interim apprehended violence order would be filed against Camille was issued yesterday. I understand she chose to take the option of dropped charges if she remove herself from the state and the country within twenty-four hours,’ Miguel informed her, reading her mind.
His words were so clipped and hard, Hannah didn’t doubt he had delivered the ultimatum in a manner Camille couldn’t fail to understand.
‘I see,’ she said slowly.
One eyebrow slanted with musing humour. ‘What do you see, amante?’
She lifted a hand, then let it fall to her side.
‘Where do we go from here?’
‘Now?’ Miguel pulled her gently back into his arms, and nuzzled the delicate curve at the base of her neck. ‘I’m going to make love with my wife.’ He drew the soft skin into his mouth and grazed it with his teeth.
A tremor shook her slender frame as liquid fire flooded her veins, heating her body to fever pitch.
‘Show her how infinitely precious she is to me.’ Slowly and with infinite care, he freed the buttons on her blouse, then slid it from her arms and discarded it. Next came the zip fastening on her skirt, and he skimmed slip and briefs over her hips in one easy movement. Hannah stepped out of her heeled shoes as he unfastened the clip of her bra.
‘And ensure she never has reason to doubt my love for her.’ He traced the curve of one breast, then brushed his fingers back and forth across a rosy peak, watching as the bud protruded before lowering his head to capture it in his mouth.
Her body arched as he suckled, and a gasp emerged from her throat when he rolled the tender bud with the edge of his teeth, leaving her teetering on the brink between pleasure and pain.
‘This isn’t fair,’ she inclined, reaching for the buckle on his trousers, then the zip, and seconds later he kicked aside his trousers and briefs.
‘Better?’
‘Much.’
‘I intended to take you to dinner,’ Miguel informed her as she began a subtle exploration that soon promised to have dangerous consequences.
‘Maybe later.’
‘With champagne,’ he added for good measure, then drew in a deep breath and held it as she enclosed him.
‘Room service,’ Hannah offered an instant before he carried her down onto the bed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THEY did eat, well after the witching hour of midnight.
The lovemaking had been hard and fast, then afterwards they’d indulged themselves with a sensual feast that surpassed anything they’d previously shared. Vibrant, erotic, it was sensual magic at its most primitive.
Following a leisurely shower they donned courtesy robes, and sipped fine French champagne while they waited for room service.
When they finished the food, she leaned back in her chair. There were questions she wanted to ask. Words she needed to say. Now, a tiny voice prompted. Say them now.
There were tiny lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, and his features showed evidence of emerging dark stubble.
She looked at him carefully, seeing the strength, the aura of power he projected, and knew that it would always be there. For her.
‘I love you,’ she revealed with quiet sincerity, and saw his features soften.
His eyes were dark, so very dark, their expression unguarded so as to almost make her catch her breath at the wealth of emotion evident. ‘Gracias, mi mujer,’ he acknowledged gently.
‘I always have. If I hadn’t,’ Hannah assured him, ‘I would never have agreed to marry you.’ She swallowed a small lump that suddenly rose in her throat. ‘You’re everything I need. All I could ever want.’ Her eyes became luminous with shimmering tears. ‘My life.’
Was it possible for a heart to stop beating? That emotion could be so intense it could cut off the ability to speak?
Miguel stood and pulled her into his arms. His mouth was an erotic instrument as he kissed her, gently at first, then with increasing passion.
Hannah became lost, adrift in a sea of emotion and she simply held onto his shoulders as she met and matched his fervour.
How long did they stand there, locked in each other’s arms? She had no recollection of time.
Slowly he eased his mouth from hers, pressing soft kisses to her swollen lips as she sighed in protest, and she groaned a little when he disengaged her arms and crossed the room.
She watched idly as he extracted something from his jacket pocket, and returned to press a slim jeweller’s case into her hand.
‘I have something for you.’
‘Miguel—’
‘Open it.’
She did so, carefully, and felt the sudden prick of tears. Nestled in a bed of velvet was an exquisite drop necklace and matching earrings. Beautifully delicate, it linked Argyle pink and white diamonds alternately with a pear-shaped pink diamond at the base of the drop.
‘They’re beautiful,’ Hannah whispered, feeling the moisture well, then spill to run down each cheek in a slow rivulet that paused momentarily at the edge of her jaw. ‘Thank you.’
‘Tears, Hannah?’
At his teasing query she blinked them away, and brushed shaky fingers across each cheek. ‘I can’t seem to stop.’
Miguel removed the necklace, placed it in position and fastened the safety clip. Then he leant down and brushed his lips to her temple.
The intricate centre star-burst lay just beneath the hollow of her throat, with its single line of pink sapphires and diamonds dropping several inches towards the soft swell of her breasts.
The fact he had remembered was one thing. Since the description had been her own and didn’t refer to anything she’d seen, it meant he’d consigned a jeweller to craft it to this specific design.
‘Don’t you want to see how it looks?’
Hannah shook her head. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned,’ she said softly. ‘Special,’ she added, aware he knew just how much the gift meant to her.
She reached for the clasp, only to have him still her hands.
‘Leave it on.’
Without a further word she drew his head down to hers and initiated a kiss that proved so evocative it could have only one ending.
Later, much later, Miguel curved her in against him and pressed a light kiss to her temple. ‘Sleep, amante. Tomorrow is another day.’
Hannah woke to the peal of the doorbell, and Miguel ushered in the waiter delivering room-service breakfast.
What time was it? She cast a hurried glance at the digital clock on the bedside pedestal, and gave a groan.
Eight-fifteen! Dear heaven, she was due to open the boutique at nine, and she needed to shower, dress, get home and collect a fresh change of clothes…
With rapid movements she thrust aside the covers and slid to her feet. The shower…
‘Amada, slow down,’ Miguel growled in husky chastisement, and she cast him a harried glance.
‘The boutique— You should have woken me…’
‘Come and have breakfast.’ He sounded indolently amused. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’
‘What do you mean I’m not going anywhere? It’s late—’
His dark musing expression held warm appreciation of her nudity, and she quickly caught up a robe, thrust her arms through the sleeves and hurriedly caught the silk edges together.
He extended a hand, caught hold of hers, and pulled her close.
‘Miguel,’ she protested in exasperation. ‘We don’t have time—’
‘Yes, we do.’
‘No, we don’t.’ She dragged fingers through the tousled length of her hair, and made an effort to free her hand.
Except she didn’t stand a chance as his mouth covered hers in a lingering kiss that almost destroyed the will to move. Almost. It was she who pulled away first, and only, she suspected, because he allowed it.
He could, he knew, slide the silk from her shoulders and pull her down onto the bed. Early morning lovemaking was a mutual indulgence that made for a great start to the day. Today, however, it would have to wait.
‘Renee will open the boutique this morning.’
She stilled, and gave him a searching look. ‘Why?’
Miguel led her towards the table where the waiter had laid out their breakfast. ‘Sit down and we’ll eat.’
‘I’m not doing a thing until you tell me what’s going on.’
‘Okay,’ Miguel said easily. ‘We’re due to board an international flight in a few hours.’
She stilled, and her eyes were wide as she looked at him. ‘What did you say?’
He reached out an arm and drew her forward and into a chair, then he took the seat opposite. ‘You heard.’
‘How?’
He cast her a musing glance. ‘The usual way, I imagine.’
‘I mean, how can we get away at such short notice?’
‘Delegate.’
‘I can’t—’
‘Yes, you can.’ He drank half of his orange juice in one long swallow. ‘Cindy returns to work on Monday, she will manage the boutique with Elaine’s help, and Renee will go in at four each afternoon to close.’
‘But—’
‘The world as we know it won’t end if we take time out,’ Miguel relayed quietly.
He was right, it wouldn’t. It was just so…sudden. So unexpected.
Hannah took a sip of orange juice, then another. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Hawaii.’
Oh, my, did he possess some kind of mind-reading gift? She mentally pictured white sand, blue sea, and white-crested surf, sunshine, and tranquillity. Lazy days, long, languid nights. Heaven.
She almost dared not ask. ‘How long?’
‘A week in Honolulu, and a week on Maui.’
‘Honolulu?’ she queried, a slow, sweet smile curving her lips. Maui. She didn’t know which held the most appeal. ‘Really?’ Her eyes acquired a gleam. ‘Today?’
His mouth twitched with wry amusement. ‘Don’t look at me like that. Or we won’t get out of this suite, let alone catch a scheduled flight.’
Hannah laughed, a light-hearted sound that stole round his heart and tugged a little. ‘You think so?’
He reached out a hand and placed a finger over her lips. ‘Breakfast, querida.’
‘Okay,’ she acquiesced. She held up one hand and began counting off her fingers. ‘Hmm. A nine-hour flight.’ Her eyes acquired a devilish sparkle. ‘That gives me plenty of time to plan exactly how I intend to reward you.’
‘Minx,’ he said, tempted to discard breakfast altogether.
‘Pity we need to go home to pack.’
‘No,’ Miguel discounted. ‘We don’t. I have our bags in the boot of the car.’
She couldn’t restrain an incredulous smile. ‘You packed for me?’
‘I have as much as you need,’ he said with musing solemnity. ‘Anything else you can buy there. Besides,’ he added indolently, ‘I don’t plan on having you wear much at all most of the time.’
Hannah leaned across the table and pressed a finger to his lips. ‘Well, I have news for you, amante. I plan to swim, lie in the sun, go for long walks, and read. And a pleasant meal among fellow diners is also a prerequisite.’ Her eyes sparkled and acquired the hue of brilliant blue topaz. ‘If you’ve only tossed briefs and a robe into my bag, you’re in serious trouble.’
‘Try…an evening suit, a dress or two, shorts, a few tops, bikini, shoes…’ Miguel trailed off, then opened his mouth and playfully nipped her finger with the edge of his teeth before releasing it.
‘Food,’ she mocked gently, and began doing justice to cereal and fruit, following it with toast and strong black coffee.
They made the flight with only minutes to spare, and Hannah divided her attention between the pages of a spellbinding murder mystery and the movies offered on-screen.
It was late when they landed in Honolulu, and almost midnight by the time they checked into their hotel.
The luxury suite on a high floor overlooking Waikiki beach was superb, and Hannah crossed to the wide expanse of plate glass and slid open doors onto the lanai.
A gentle breeze wafted in from the ocean, and the air held the fresh smell of the sea. Twinkling lights outlined the mainland arching towards Diamond Head.
Miguel moved in close behind her and linked his arms around her waist. His chin rested on top of her head as she leaned back against him.
‘It’s magical,’ she murmured softly. Melbourne, home, Camille, seemed so far away. Like a bad dream from which she’d just awoken. ‘Thank you.’
‘For what, precisely?’
‘Bringing me here,’ she said simply. Taking affirmative action, believing in me…us, she added silently.
Miguel’s hands tightened fractionally, and he lowered his head to savour the vulnerable hollow at the base of her neck. ‘My pleasure.’
‘I’ve reached a decision,’ Hannah said slowly, feeling the heat slipping through her body at his touch. It was like an aphrodisiac, powerful, potent, and electric. She felt malleable, his. ‘If you approve.’
‘Are you asking, or telling me?’ he teased, aware of her quickening heartbeat, the way her body was poised between want and surrender.
‘I thought—’ She paused, and dragged in a quick breath as his hand cupped her breast and began caressing its vulnerable peak.
‘Hmm?’ he queried musingly. ‘What did you think, querida?’
‘After Christmas might be a good time to promote Cindy.’
‘A sensible decision.’
‘I think I’ll keep Elaine on part-time, just to help out.’
‘I assume this is leading somewhere?’ Miguel prompted leisurely.
‘Babies,’ Hannah ventured with a soft smile. ‘How do you feel about starting our own family?’
He felt as if someone had punched him in the solar plexus. A child? His mind leapt ahead to a blonde angel the mirror image of her mother. Maybe a dark-haired son who would drive his mother mad with boyish pranks… Por Dios, Hannah heavy with child, the birth… He went pale at the thought of her in pain.
‘Are you sure about this?’
She twisted in his arms as she turned to face him.
‘You’re not?’ She searched his features in the half-light, and glimpsed something evident she couldn’t define.
‘I can’t think of anything more special, other than you, that you could gift me,’ Miguel declared fervently.
Hannah felt the slight tremor that ran through his large body, and she wound her arms round his waist and pulled him close.
‘Maybe we should go inside,’ she teased lightly, ‘and practise a little.’ A warm chuckle emerged from her throat. ‘Besides, I have a particular reward to bestow.’
Together they re-entered the suite, closed the door to the lanai, then drew the curtains.
Their own private world, Hannah mused as she removed her outer clothes and entered the shower. Miguel joined her, and they took their time, enjoying the promise, the anticipation of the loving they would always share.
During the following few days they delighted in playing tourist. They rode the tramcar, hired a limousine for the day and toured the island.
Midweek they took a flight out to Maui, and spent a wonderfully relaxing six days in a hotel right on the beach overlooking the ocean. Lovely sunny days walking on the beach, lazing beneath the spread of palm trees reading, listening to music on the Walkman. They swam in the ocean, frequented the hotel pool, played tennis, then dined in one of several restaurants, before retiring to their suite to make long, sweet love through the night.
Miguel rose early in the morning to use the laptop for an hour, and checked his cell-phone before they went to dinner each evening as a brief concession to the outside business world.
Hannah didn’t mind. It was enough they were together in a wonderfully idyllic part of the world.
On their return to Honolulu they shopped in several exclusive boutiques. ‘Retail therapy,’ Hannah teased as she added yet another brightly coloured designer bag to the few Miguel indulgently carried in each hand.
There were gifts to select for Renee, Carlo and Esteban, as well as something for Cindy and Elaine.
In one shop she caught sight of the most exquisite little dress for a baby girl, and bought it with Elise in mind.
‘Are you done?’ Miguel queried musingly as she emerged from yet another boutique.
‘Not quite.’ She had something very special in mind. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll take those packages back to the hotel and give me an hour to shop alone?’
‘Not a chance.’
‘Okay,’ Hannah said with resignation. ‘But there are conditions.’
His eyes gleamed and his mouth moved to form a generous smile. ‘And what would those be, querida?’
She sent him a sparkling glance as she lifted a hand and began ticking off each finger in turn. ‘You won’t question which shop I enter. You’ll remain outside and won’t look through the window. And under no circumstances will you come inside.’
He tilted his head slightly and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Bar there being a robbery, or some strange man attempts to chat you up.’
‘Hmm,’ she conceded, sending him an impish grin. ‘That sounds fair.’
She looked no more than sixteen, Miguel ruminated musingly. Her hair was caught together at her nape, sunglasses rested atop her head, her make-up was minimal, her skin glowed a soft honey gold, and, attired in casual linen shorts and a singlet top, she didn’t resemble anyone’s wife.
Except she was his. The light of his life, his reason for living. It was something he gave grateful thanks to the good Dios for every day. He hadn’t thought it possible to give up your life for another human being. But he’d give up his, for her, in a nanosecond.
Hannah paused outside an exclusive jewellery store, and turned towards him, her expression serious.
‘Remember, you promised?’
‘Go, amante.’
She did, earning circumspect interest from two male staff until she explained what she wanted, indicated a price range, and had their interest immediately switch to respect.
It took a while to make her selection. It took even longer to persuade them to have one of their crafts-man engrave an inscription. A huge tip helped.
She had it placed in a beautiful velvet-lined box, gift-wrapped, charged to her own personal credit card, and she emerged through the glass doors with a satisfied smile.
It was their last evening in this beautiful paradise, and they’d dined at an exclusive restaurant in Honolulu’s ‘Pink Palace’. The food was delicious, the champagne superb, and the view out over the darkened ocean provided a peaceful backdrop.
Together they lingered, each reluctant to bring the evening to a close. For soon they’d have to return to their suite, call the porter to take their bags down to Reception, from where a cab would deliver them to the airport in order to catch the midnight flight home.
The waiter served coffee, and while Miguel signed the credit slip Hannah retrieved the gift-wrapped case from her bag and placed it on the table.
‘For you,’ she said gently as the waiter disappeared, and Miguel regarded her carefully for several seconds before reaching for the package.
He undid the gold ribbon, broke the seal, removed the wrapping, and opened the case.
Inside nestled in a bed of velvet lay a beautiful gold fob-watch with an attached chain.
‘Hannah—’
‘There’s an inscription. Read it,’ she encouraged, watching as he removed the watch and turned it over to read what had been engraved on the back.
Miguel, my heart, my soul. Hannah.
‘Dios,’ he breathed, momentarily speechless.
‘There’s a place inside for a photo,’ she relayed softly. One that would change from year to year as they added to their family.
‘Gracias, amada.’ He rose to his feet and crossed round to kiss her.
Very thoroughly, Hannah mused long seconds later.
Together they left the table and made their way back to their suite.
A long flight lay ahead, and there was little time to spare.
‘One lifetime won’t be enough,’ Miguel said gently as he drew her into his arms.
‘Not nearly enough,’ Hannah whispered an instant before she pulled his head down to hers.
The insistent peal of the telephone caused them to reluctantly draw apart, and Miguel picked up the handset, listened, then added a brief few words.
‘The porter is on his way up, and the cab is waiting downstairs,’ he relayed with something akin to regret, and her mouth curved into a warm smile.
‘We’ll be home tomorrow.’
His answering smile held a certain musing wryness.
‘That’s no help at all.’
A soft laugh emerged from her lips. ‘Patience, querido, is good for the soul.’
He bent his head and kissed her with such gentle evocativeness, she wanted to cry. ‘I’ll remind you of that, later.’
They had the rest of their lives, and together they would make each day count. For ever.
EPILOGUE
ALEXINA KATHLYN SANTANAS was born eleven months, three weeks and four days later. A joy to her mother, and cherished with idolatry awe by her father.
Family and close friends attended the christening and returned to Miguel and Hannah’s Toorak home to offer congratulations and toast the blonde-haired angel’s health and future happiness.
The sun shone brightly that day, and there was much laughter as everyone celebrated the event.
The guests departed early evening, and it was almost nine when Hannah retreated to the nursery to feed her daughter.
It had been a magical day, Hannah reflected as she changed Alexina and prepared to put her to the breast. She was a placid child, except at moments when she required sustenance or needed changing. Now, she was hungry, and her tiny fists beat an agitated dance before she latched on to suckle strongly.
Hannah looked at the perfect tiny features, the fine textured skin, and felt her heart swell with maternal pride. She really was the sweetest little thing. A precious gift.
What a difference a year made, she decided dreamily. Together she and Miguel had travelled to Rome, toured Italy and spent time in Andalusia. Cindy now ran the Toorak boutique with Elaine’s help.
Life, she decided, was very sweet.
‘How is she?’
Hannah had been so rapt in her own thoughts she hadn’t noticed Miguel had quietly entered the room. She lifted her head and gave him the sort of smile that took hold of his heart and made it beat a whole lot faster.
Did she know how much he loved her? Couldn’t fail to, he mused silently as he crossed to her side and stood watching while she disengaged their daughter and handed her to him to burp.
Minutes later he laid Alexina down carefully in her cot, drew the covers, then enfolded Hannah close to his side as they stood watching their daughter sleep.
‘She’s beautiful,’ Miguel said softly. ‘Just like her mother.’ He turned as Hannah leant her head against his chest, and brushed his lips to her forehead. ‘Time for us, querida.’
‘Mmm,’ she responded witchingly. ‘Sounds interesting.’ She lifted her head to look at him. ‘What do you have in mind?’
He adjusted the baby monitor, then led her into their bedroom. ‘Pleasuring you.’
‘Isn’t that a bit one-sided?’
He slowly undid the buttons on her top, and freed the rest of her clothes. His mouth slanted down to capture hers, and she kissed him back, swept away by the tide of passion as he gently pressed her down onto the bed.
‘Later,’ Miguel murmured. ‘You get to have your turn.’
She did, although not for long. A thin reedy cry came through the baby monitor, and she stilled, waiting for another to follow it. When it did, she pressed a light kiss to her husband’s thigh, then slid from the bed.
‘Our daughter has no sense of timing,’ Miguel groaned huskily as Hannah pulled on a robe.
‘I’ll be back,’ she promised, and she was, several minutes later after soothing Alexina to sleep.
‘Wind,’ she enlightened succinctly as she slipped into bed and reached for him. ‘Now, where were we?’
‘I would say,’ Miguel evinced huskily, ‘just about there.’ His breath caught, then hissed between his teeth as she caressed an acutely sensitive part of his male appendage.
It didn’t take long for him to break, and Hannah exulted in the way he took control, entering her in one long thrust that soon settled into a rhythm as old as time.
A shimmering sensual feast shared by two people who loved to the depths of their souls. Without reason, other than they were twin halves of a whole. Beyond mortal life, for all eternity.
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