The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (143 page)

‘Tell Rebekah to employ your replacement.' Those who knew him well would have blanched at the silkiness in his tone, recognised the predatory stillness apparent…and quailed. ‘Or I will.' He waited a beat. ‘Meanwhile, ensure your time at the shop is kept to a minimum.'

‘Go to hell.'

His gaze chilled. ‘Don't push me too far.'

She ignored the urge to respond as he released her arm. Instead she chose dignified silence, and walked out onto the terrace and descended the few steps to the garden.

There, she extracted her cellphone and called her father, confirmed her return and suggested lunch, only to have it postponed due to a business meeting until the following day.

He sounded distracted, anxious. Regretful?

Dammit, she wanted answers, or at least a reason
why
a man known for his loyalty and integrity had done something so out of character. And she needed to hear it from
him
.

But not today, she conceded as she retraced her steps.

P
ETROS
was clearing the table when she entered the dining-room.

‘Luc has left for the city.'

‘I'll need the keys to my car.'

The manservant continued loading the trolley with breakfast dishes. ‘I don't think that's a good idea.'

Ana spared Petros a level glance. ‘Luc is aware of my plans for the day.'

‘Didn't agree with them, though, did he?'

‘I have things to do, places to go.'

‘The shop,' Petros concluded. ‘Where you'll work all day.'

‘I help run a business,' she reminded firmly.

‘Luc will disapprove.'

She picked up her satchel, slung the strap over one shoulder and collected her car keys. ‘I'll make sure he knows you told me so.'

‘I'll drive you.'

‘Thanks.' She was aware just how deep the man's loyalty went to his employer. ‘But, no thanks.'

The shop was situated among a group of boutique shops in trendy Double Bay, and possessed a regular clientele.

Rebekah had a talent assembling flowers into an
art form, and went the extra mile to match blooms to both the recipient and the occasion. Ana took care of business…ordering, supplies, overseeing deliveries, liaising with the customers.

Wire, scissors, ribbon…and more than a little magic had earned Blooms and Bouquets a well-deserved reputation.

Ana entered the shop just after nine, and breathed in the scent filling the air, sharp and sweet, heady.

The slim blonde arranging blooms in a decorative basket glanced up at the sound of the electronic bell.

‘Ana! It's so good to see you! When did you get back?'

‘Last night.'

Ana found herself caught in an affectionate hug, from which she disentangled herself to meet Rebekah's keen appraisal.

‘OK, what gives?'

‘As in?'

‘Your cryptic phone messages didn't come close to explaining the reason you flew the coop. And I don't buy Celine was the only reason,' Rebekah warned. ‘So
tell
me.'

She could prevaricate, but what was the point? ‘I'm pregnant.'

There was initial surprise, then her sister's mouth curved into a warm smile and her eyes lit up with pleasure, only to narrow slightly seconds later. ‘So how come you're not dancing with joy?'

‘It wasn't planned.'

Rebekah appeared sceptical. ‘And that's a problem?'

‘Not exactly.'

‘But something's bothering you. Want to share?'

She was silent a few seconds too long, and Rebekah's voice gentled a little.

‘Have you told Luc the extent of Celine's interference? Or just how vicious she's been?'

What difference would it make? ‘No.'

‘Don't you think you should?'

‘I can handle Celine.'

‘Darling,' Rebekah cautioned in rebuke. ‘Given half a chance she'll eat you up and spit you out.'

Ana offered her sister a wry smile. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.'

‘I care about you.' She waited a beat. ‘That's it? There's nothing else?'

Ana was torn between confiding their father's problems, and keeping silent. ‘Blame it on raging hormones,' she dismissed with a negligible shrug, and even managed a rueful laugh.

‘At a guess, my gorgeous brother-in-law would prefer his wife to remain at home?'

It was nothing less than the truth. ‘Got it in one.'

‘So that's why you came into work?'

A faint smile curved the edges of her mouth. ‘You know me well.'

‘As I have no wish to have Luc flay me alive,' Rebekah declared judiciously, ‘from this day forward I take care of any heavy stuff. OK?'

‘Maybe.'

‘And you take an hour for lunch.'

‘A concession I don't need.'

‘You do the computer stuff.'

Ana assumed a pained look. ‘Who said you get to be
boss
?'

Rebekah gave her a cheeky grin. ‘I do.'

‘Like I'll listen?'

‘You could try.'

She deposited her bag, snagged a uniform coverall and donned it, then crossed to examine the order book. ‘OK, let's get to it.'

They worked together with the ease of long practice, and the deliveries went out on time, the Interflora orders were dealt with, and there was genuine pleasure in consulting with a prospective bride wanting something different for her bridal bouquet.

Ana was unpacking roses, glorious, long-stemmed, tight-budded blooms, when Rebekah handed her the cordless phone.

‘The father of your child.'

Checking up on her. ‘Luc,' she acknowledged, and heard his silky drawl in response.

‘I thought we agreed you'd limit your hours at the shop.'

‘I don't recall accepting your suggestion to do so.'

‘Don't split hairs.'

‘Is that what you think I'm doing?'

‘Ana.' His voice held a warning threat she chose to ignore.

‘Your concern is touching.'

‘We'll continue this discussion later.'

‘I can't wait.' She ended the call before he had a chance to utter a further word.

Not a good move, she reflected, given they were dining out that evening with friends. Correction…a few of Luc's colleagues and their partners. Wives, girlfriends, and mistress.

Ana had no doubt Celine Moore would make sure of the inclusion in a continuing effort to put the cat among the pigeons. The glamorous Celine was the queen of all felines…dangerous and deadly. While women recognised her power and were disturbed by it, men looked no further than stunning looks and her incredible sexuality.

Reneging on the evening was out of the question, and Ana felt the onset of nervous tension as the afternoon drew to a close.

‘Go home,' Rebekah advised. ‘I can manage things here until we close.'

‘That bad, huh?'

‘Nothing a leisurely shower and skilfully applied make-up won't fix.'

Ana rolled her eyes. ‘Thanks.'

‘You're welcome.' Rebekah offered a cheerful grin. ‘Wear something gorgeous, and go knock Celine off her perch.'

‘As if. She has claws of steel.'

‘You have a few advantages. As well as Luc's ring on your finger, you're carrying his child.'

‘The ring hasn't had any effect. What makes you think pregnancy will?'

Rebekah shot her a level look. ‘We're talking
Luc
,' she reminded. ‘Not someone like the rat I married and divorced in record time.'

Ana was all too aware of the impact an unsuccessful marriage had on her sister's life, the bitterness and rejection, the heartache. Three years had helped heal the wounds, but the emotional scars ran deep, leaving a wariness and distrust of men.

Support was a given, but she'd learnt to hold back on expressing verbal sympathy. Only a caring few knew Rebekah's hard exterior was merely a shell she wore to protect an inner vulnerability.

How would Rebekah react on hearing her brother-in-law had utilised emotional blackmail to bring Ana home?

‘Go,' Rebekah bade. ‘I'll do the markets.'

‘That's unfair.' Sharing the pre-dawn run to buy fresh flowers at the markets each day was a given. ‘I'm pregnant, not sick. Besides, you've had to do it while I was away.'

‘I doubt Luc will hear of it.'

‘Luc,' she assured, ‘doesn't dictate my life.'

It wasn't something she wanted to give much thought to as she fought the late-afternoon traffic
en route
to his palatial home.

Petros greeted her as she entered the foyer. ‘Luc will be delayed a half-hour, Ms Dimitriades.'

‘Ana,' she corrected for the umpteenth time, aware
having Petros use her Christian name was a battle she'd probably never win.

The man's role was multi-faceted, at times his manner bore resemblance to military training. His age was indeterminable, but she pinned it between early-to-mid-fifties, and there was a sharpness about him that belied his household position.

General factotum, without doubt, but she was unable to shake the suspicion he also acted as bodyguard on occasion.

When she'd queried Luc, he merely relayed Petros had moved from his late father's employ to his own.

‘It would be disrespectful for me to be so familiar with the boss's wife.'

Exasperation tinged her voice. ‘Oh, put a sock in it.'

‘Where precisely should I put the sock?'

She was strongly tempted to tell him. Instead, she chose silence, squared her shoulders and mounted the stairs with as much dignity as she could muster.

Selecting what to wear should have been simple, except there were too many choices. Classic black, or scarlet? Maybe the emerald sheath? One of the pastels with its floating chiffon panels?

Fifteen minutes later she threw her hands up in the air, tossed a black sheath with a lace overlay onto the bed, retrieved black stiletto-heeled pumps and caught up filmy black underwear
en route
to the
en suite
bathroom.

When she emerged Luc was in the process of dis
carding his clothes, and her heart faltered, then missed a beat as he shrugged out of his shirt.

Broad shoulders were accentuated by superb musculature and smooth-textured skin. A smattering of chest hair tapered down over his midriff and disappeared beneath his waistline.

She retained a vivid memory of what it was like to touch his warm flesh, to feel the flexing of muscle beneath her tactile exploration…with the pads of her fingers, her lips. The slide of her body on his, the faint hiss of his breath as he sought control. Her own barely audible groan as heat spiralled and encompassed every nerve-end until she became lost in shimmering sensation…sizzling, unprincipled,
raw
.

Slim-fitting black silk hipster briefs barely covered tight buttocks, and as he shifted she caught sight of the powerful bulge of his arousal.

Dear God, what was the matter with her that she stood here transfixed by the mere sight of him?

How
could
she be turned on, when she believed she had every reason to hate him?

With deliberate movements she sank down onto the edge of the bed and pulled on tights, smoothing them over each calf, then her thighs.

Unbidden, her gaze flicked towards him, and became trapped in his own.

For one heart-stopping minute everything remained still. There was only him, and the electric tension that fizzed between them like a broken live wire curling at random. Dangerous, deadly.

Then in seeming slow motion he stripped the silk briefs from his body, and walked with blatant unconcern into his
en suite
.

Seconds later the hiss of the shower acted as the catalyst that released her limbs from their trance-like state.

With shaky movements she caught up her dress, stepped into it, then slid home the zip.

Hair and make-up took longer than she anticipated.

Her fingers shook as she pinned up her hair into a fashionable knot, and she winced more than once when she jabbed her scalp. The application of eye-shadow and eyeliner required a skill that had suddenly gone haywire, and she had to start over twice before she achieved a desired result.

She was aware the moment Luc re-entered the bedroom, and she sensed his swift appraisal, felt the lick of heat sweep through her veins in damning recognition of his presence…and deliberately turned away to select minimum jewellery.

It didn't help that her senses were alert to the brush of silk against his body, the faint rustle of fine cotton as he added a shirt, or that her imagination ran riot at the thought of trousers by Armani being pulled up over powerful, hair-roughened thighs, followed by the almost silent snap of a waist fastener, the soft, sliding close of a zip.

Sensual warmth pooled deep within, radiating to a heavy ache that heightened her senses to quivering
need
.

Was he similarly affected? Somehow she doubted it.

And she was caught in a web of pride, anger and resentment that forbade her making the first move.

Was he game-playing? For a man with a high sex drive…

Her mind came to a screeching halt, and her body stilled. Had he seen Celine in her absence? The mere thought that he might have tore the breath from her body.

Dear heaven…
No
. The rebuttal was a silent scream. Fidelity. He'd given his assurance on that score, even put it in writing. Except they were only words. And Celine was a seductive temptress most men would find difficult to resist.

Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.
Wasn't that the catch-phrase of the new millennium? Concisely translated…women wanted love; men wanted sex.

‘Problems?'

Her fingers fumbled with the clasp at her nape. ‘I can manage.' Except attaching the fastener remained elusive, and she was supremely conscious of him as he crossed to her side, removed the gold chain from her nerveless fingers and smoothly tending to its closing.

Did he stand there a few seconds longer than necessary? Was the slight brush of his fingers against her nape deliberate, or merely accidental?

Get a grip! The silent chastisement held self-
derision as she slid her feet into stiletto pumps and caught up an evening bag.

‘Ready?'

Ana turned to face him and met the bland expression in those dark eyes. ‘As ready as I'll ever be.'

Their hosts resided in a restored mansion right in the heart of Double Bay, where street parking was the only option and therefore made recognition of fellow guests' cars almost an impossibility.

Trendy cafés, narrow terrace houses converted into boutiques lent a cosmopolitan air where the wealthy lingered over lattes and watched the social élite mix and mingle.

The mesh shrieked both old and new money that reflected an eclectic style not generally seen anywhere else in the city.