The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (144 page)

Ten guests were assembled in the magnificent lounge, and Ana wasn't conscious of holding her breath until she released it in a tiny rush on discovering Celine was nowhere in sight.

She requested orange juice, and sipped it as she was drawn into conversation by a mutual acquaintance who seemed intent on lauding the expertise of the cosmetic surgeon currently in vogue.

Scintillating conversation, she accorded mentally, wondering at the priorities in some women's lives. Yet looking good was important if they wanted to keep a wealthy husband who provided the lifestyle they enjoyed, for there was always a younger version waiting in the wings, willing and eager to please.

Working out, enhancing the muscle-toned body, the regular manicures, pedicures, hair-styling, facials, body massage, the designer clothes, jewellery…all to gild what they perceived as a required image. As the years passed, the more desperate they became, and ‘going abroad' was a well-touted excuse to have the latest ‘nip and tuck' in America, Switzerland or France.

‘What do you think, darling?'

‘You'd never know,' Ana responded, dutifully endorsing the cosmetic surgeon's success.

‘He's incredible. Frightfully expensive, of course. But then…'

‘One must do what one has to do.'

‘Absolutely.'

The guest moved on, and seconds later Luc curved an arm across the back of her waist.

‘Don't you think you're taking togetherness a little too far?'

‘No.'

‘Forgive me. I forgot we're playing a game.'

‘And that is?'

‘Happily married,' she said without missing a beat.

His gaze narrowed. ‘Careful,
kyria
. There's a limit to my patience.'

‘As there is to mine.'

It was at that precise moment the hired help ushered in the last guest, and all heads turned as one at the sound of that husky feminine laugh.

Celine.
The dark hair was beautifully coiffed, her
make-up spectacular; the woman could rival any international model. Add stunning looks, symmetrically perfect features, and she was a knock-out.

Partnering her was her handbag for the evening…a handsome man whose polished good looks and manner were almost too much for any mortal male.

A model? A gentleman escort who hired out his services?

Not nice, Ana alluded cynically, and mentally chastised herself for being uncharitable.

The air-kiss routine was a little too contrived to be genuine, Celine's gaze brittle, and there was a lack of warmth in her smile.

Like a pre-set guided missile she turned towards Luc and shot him a stunning glance that conveyed to everyone present just
who
she intended to target her attention.

Ana could almost
hear
the unspoken threat…and felt her stomach muscles clench in silent antipathy.

‘The evening's entertainment has arrived,' she said quietly, and felt Luc's fingers tighten at the edge of her waist.

‘Behave.'

‘I wouldn't dream of doing anything else.' She hardly had time to take a breath, and Celine was before them, exuding an exotic blend of expensive perfume, and a gown that looked as if it had been sprayed on, so lovingly did it hug her slender curves.

‘
Luc
, darling.'

The brush of her lips to his cheek was more than
a mere salutary greeting, and Ana gritted her teeth in vexation.

‘Celine.' An acknowledgment that was polite to the extreme, and her smile a mere facsimile.

The seating at dinner was either badly mismanaged or created by adroit manipulation on Celine's part.

One could almost be amused by it, Ana decided with resignation as she sank into a chair opposite Celine's partner.

There were numerous ways she'd choose to spend an evening, but observing her husband's ex-mistress eating him alive across the table wasn't one of them.

It was a great shame she couldn't indulge in a glass of wine to dull the edges, and food didn't quite do it for her. In fact, given the way her stomach was behaving, she had to wonder whether food of any kind was advisable.

‘Dieting, darling?'

Implication was the mother of invention. ‘Coping with a migraine.' Not entirely untrue, for a few hours in Celine's company was guaranteed to provide Ana with a headache.

Celine effected a faint moue, and directed at Luc a warm seductive smile.

Ana speared a prawn with unnecessary vigour, and attempted to do justice to the delectable starter.

The main dish followed, and she took minuscule servings, which she subsequently picked at, only to discard her cutlery after a few morsels.

Conversation flowed, as did the wine, and she had to wonder if she was the only person who noticed Celine's increasingly seductive behaviour.

There was a moment where Celine cast Luc a particularly blatant smile and deliberately moistened her lips, causing Ana to gnash her teeth.

She was sorely tempted to pick up her glass and throw iced water in Celine's face. If nothing else, it might cool her down.

Except such an action would only cause an unforgivable scene.

It was during dessert that she felt something touch her leg.

Accidental, or contrived to draw Ana's attention to the fact Celine was grazing a sheer Lycra-clad toe against Luc's leg beneath the table…or worse?

Enough, Ana decided, was
enough
.

‘Lost your shoe, Celine?'

Ana had to give her credit…the woman was a superb actress.

‘No. What makes you think that?'

Give it up, Ana decided. Here,
now
, was not the time or the place for a showdown. Instead, she curled the fingers of her left hand into a fist beneath her napkin, and barely restrained herself when she felt Luc's hand close over her own.

To what purpose? Silent commiseration, or an attempt to soothe her suspicions?

With a surreptitious movement she shifted her fist
to his thigh, and dug her nails into solid muscle…hard.

To give him credit, he gave no indication there was a silent battle of wills being played out of sight. Instead he merely uncurled her fingers and lifted them to his lips in a gesture that brought a slight stain of pink colour to her cheeks.

Only Ana glimpsed steel beneath the projected warmth evident in that dark gaze…and something else she didn't care to define. Anger, annoyance?

She told herself she didn't care.

‘One trusts you enjoyed your sojourn on the Coast?'

Why did she have the impression no conversation with Celine was safe? The words were politely couched, the tone innocuous. Except she knew all too well how Celine operated, and
innocence
wasn't on her agenda.

‘It proved to be a pleasant break.'

A perfectly shaped eyebrow rose fractionally. ‘Alone?'

Oh, my, it was like tiptoeing through a minefield!

‘You find that surprising?'

‘Luc appeared a little distracted by your absence.'

Ana swept his strong features with amusing warmth, lingered over-long on his generously curved mouth and endeavoured to control the shivery sensation feathering down her spine. ‘How nice to be missed.'

He still retained hold of her hand, and she attempted to pull it free without success.

This close she was aware of the subtle and expensive brand of his cologne mingling with the fabric of his clothes, the warmth of his skin. Apparent was a sexual energy, giving hint to a raw primitiveness that was exciting and vaguely frightening.

It brought forth vivid memories of their lovemaking…the wildness, the hunger, and the tenderness.

She missed the closeness, his touch, the times she lay in his arms living the moment when it was almost possible to believe he cared.

Except there was always a degree of control, something he never quite lost, and she wondered what it would take to have him become totally mindless.

Did he know how she felt? Dear heaven, how could he not?

‘Shall we adjourn to the lounge for coffee?'

Ana opted for tea, and sipped the mild brew slowly as she stood at Luc's side.

Celine seemed intent on bewitching her companion for the evening…an action surely designed to make Luc aware what he was missing.

Were fellow guests observing Celine's charade? Or was she being overly sensitive?

‘Finished?'

She glanced at Luc as he removed the cup and saucer from her hand. ‘Thank you.'

‘Shall we leave?'

A faint smile curved the edges of her mouth. ‘I thought you'd never ask.'

Playing
polite
for the past few hours had taxed her acting skills.
Get used to it,
a tiny voice taunted.

His gaze narrowed. ‘Tired?'

‘If I say
yes
, will it invite a lecture?'

‘Without doubt.'

‘Then
no
, I'm not tired.'

‘You're pale,' he observed.

‘And your beard-shadow is beginning to show.'

A humorous gleam showed momentarily in those dark eyes, then it was gone, and she tried not to stiffen as he placed an arm across the back of her waist.

It took a while to reach the car, for there were the shared reminders of upcoming events, two extended invitations to consider, and the inevitable delay before the last ‘goodnight' was exchanged.

The vehicle purred through the quiet street, and Ana leant her head back against the cushioned rest and closed her eyes.

She didn't feel like rehashing the evening, or querying any one of Celine's actions.

Soft music floated out from the speakers, and she felt the breath sigh from her body as tense muscles began to relax.

There was a part of her that wanted to weep for what she couldn't have; another part needing to scream at Celine for deliberately setting out to take what little she did have.

Instead, she did neither, and when the car drew to a halt in the garage she released the seat belt, slid to her feet, and as soon as Luc deactivated the security system, she entered the house and made her way upstairs without uttering so much as a word.

He didn't follow, and she undressed, removed her make-up, then unpinned her hair and slid into bed.

It was a while before Luc entered the bedroom, and he unhooked his jacket, released his tie, toed off his shoes, then stripped down to silk briefs before crossing to stand looking down at the woman who was his wife.

Vulnerable in sleep, she appeared almost fragile. Her skin had a translucent quality, and he wanted to brush the pads of his fingers over its softness, and push back the swathe of hair that rested against her cheek.

Slender shoulders, feminine, muscle-toned arms, and delicate hands. Capable hands, which were quick and deft, slim fingers with nicely shaped polished nails.

He winced at the memory of how they'd dug into his flesh only hours before, and the edge of his mouth quirked in humour at the reason why.

There was the knowledge he could slide in beneath the covers and reach for her, aware that in sleep she wouldn't resist. The touch of his lips to the sensitive hollow at the edge of her throat, the fleeting trail of his fingers to the swell of her breast…the unerring path to the moist crevice at the apex of her thighs.

He could cajole with expertise, utilise unfair persuasion, and she would be his.

Except he wanted her awake and aware, to come to him with warmth and need in her heart. More, much more than that, he wanted all that she could gift him…with her generous willingness of spirit, from the depths of her soul.

And that, he accepted, wasn't going to happen any time soon.

A
NA
had nominated a restaurant not far from Blooms and Bouquets for lunch with her father.

Although the occasion proved something of an anticlimax, for he arrived late, greeted her affectionately, then he apologetically declared he couldn't stay long.

Of average height, he'd always had a presence. It was in the way he held himself, the easy way he moved. Yet today he seemed… Diminished, she perceived a trifle sadly.

They ordered from the menu, and sipped chilled water as they waited for their food.

‘Are you OK?'

Was it something in her tone that caused the pain reflected in his eyes?

‘Luc told you.'

To pretend ignorance was a useless exercise, and she hated the guilt that momentarily haunted his features.

‘Did you think he wouldn't?'

He had the grace to look embarrassed.

What would his reaction be if she confided Luc had used the knowledge as leverage to effect a reconciliation?

A waiter served their order, and they both ate, mindful of the need not to linger.

‘I only have one question,' Ana began without preamble.
‘Why?'

‘There was a woman…' Her father paused, then continued with obvious reluctance. ‘By the time I discovered she was playing at least three men against each other, I'd run up a fortune on credit.'

The most immediate question came to mind. ‘What will you do now?'

‘Sell the apartment, and try to rebuild my reputation. Overseas,' he elaborated. ‘I have connections in New York.'

Maybe it would be a good move, and she told him so.

‘Did you enjoy the Coast?'

‘It's good to be back.' A fabrication, yet the stark truth wasn't something she was prepared to confide. Although there was something she could share, and did. ‘How do you feel about becoming a grandfather?'

His smile reflected pleasing warmth, and he covered her hand with his own. ‘Are we talking a
fait accompli
?'

It was after two when Ana returned to the shop, and the remainder of the afternoon passed quickly as she brought computer records up to date, dealt with accounting entries, and handled the phone.

Traffic was heavy, and it took a while to reach Vaucluse. The thought of a shower, changing into
casual clothes, and a long, cool drink…in that order, was uppermost in her mind as she garaged the car.

A light meal, maybe she'd view a video, then she'd catch an early night.

Petros emerged into the foyer as she entered it, and she offered him a stunning smile. ‘Hi, how was your day?'

‘The usual, Ms Dimitriades. And yours?'

‘The same.' Her response held a musing solemnity that wasn't lost on the manservant.

‘Luc asked that I inform you he'll be late. A business dinner, I understand.'

‘So it's just me, and the kitchen cat. A salad will be fine.'

His lips thinned in visible disapproval. ‘I have prepared something more substantial than a salad. If you'll kindly tell me where and at what time you'd like to eat, I will be on hand to serve the meal.'

‘And the kitchen cat?' It was a query she couldn't resist, and brought forth the glimmer of a smile.

‘Sulked the entire time you were absent.' As did the master of the house, although one didn't use
sulk
and
Luc Dimitriades
in the same sentence. A heightened temperament was more appropriate.

‘Then I should make amends.'

One would imagine if Luc owned a four-legged feline, it would be an exotic breed. Except Oliver had turned up at their back door a month ago, hungry, wet, and looking pitifully pathetic. Towelled dry, given a saucer of milk, he declared the house his new
abode. And stayed. Supposedly consigned to the kitchen and laundry, he enjoyed the run of the house from morning until night.

‘An excellent suggestion.'

Ana found Oliver curled in his laundry basket, and he eyed her carefully as if weighing up whether to greet her or not. She had, after all, not been around for a while. Except there was something in the tone of her voice, a caring gentleness to her touch that won him over, and he allowed instinct to rule by rolling onto his back.

Unconditional affection, Ana reflected as she stroked Oliver's arched throat, then his exposed belly.

If only it were as uncomplicated with the human species, she mused as she ascended the stairs to the upper floor.

After a leisurely shower she donned jeans, a blouse with its edges tied in a careless knot at her midriff, gathered the length of her hair into a careless knot, then she retraced her steps to the kitchen, where Petros was in the process of arranging a succulent stir-fry on a bed of steaming rice.

Ana caught up a fork and dipped it into the rice, directed Petros a cheeky grin at his mock-severity, and collected a plate. ‘I'll go eat on the terrace.'

The air held the balmy warmth of early summer, and she had a yen to feel the slight breeze against her face, breathe in the faint scents of growing blooms, and gain some tranquillity.

‘It's my job to serve you.'

She spared him a level glance and began spooning rice and stir-fry onto her plate. ‘We've had this argument before.'

‘I'm sure we'll have it again.' Petros released a long-suffering sigh. ‘Luc would—'

‘Luc isn't here,' she reminded solemnly. ‘So do me a favour and lighten up.'

He appeared to tussle with his conscience. ‘Very well.'

It was a beautiful evening, and the view from the terrace out over the inner harbour spectacular. Everything appeared so still, the water glassy-smooth with small craft moored close in to the rock-faced cliffs.

Above, the sky was pale with an opalescent glow that appeared as the sun sank lower towards the horizon. Soon streaks of colour in varied shades of rose-pink would appear, brightening to orange in a final flare before the dusk preceded night.

It was easy to let her mind wander back to the first time she came into this house. The pleasure in loving the man who'd brought her here, and the promise of what could and would be, in spite of the knowledge a part of his heart would always belong to Emma, the young girl he'd married and lost much too soon.

In the eleven years between his first and second marriage there had been women. A man of Luc's wealth and calibre was an inevitable magnet for female attention. She could accept that.

She could even handle the relatively harmless flirtatious games played out by the social set.

A mistress, however, was something she refused to condone.

Celine would have Ana believe the affair was alive and well. But was it? Luc swore
no
. So who did she believe?

‘If you've finished, I'll take your plate.'

She turned at the sound of Petros's voice and offered him a winsome smile. ‘Thanks. It was delicious.'

‘Would you like some dessert? Fresh fruit?'

She shook her head.

‘Some tea, perhaps?'

‘I'll come in and get it.'

‘Stay there.' He looked out over the gardens. ‘It really is very pleasant at this time of evening.'

The edges of her mouth tilted. ‘Conversation, Petros?' Her eyes assumed a slightly wicked gleam. ‘You so rarely indulge.'

‘I'll fetch your tea.'

Ana moved from the table and curled onto a nearby chaise longue. Seconds later there was a soft plop as a furry bundle landed beside her on the cushion and Oliver began systematically digging in his front paws, circled twice, then settled into a ball close to her thigh.

She lifted a hand and stroked the cat's head, then fondled his ears, and was rewarded with a quiet throaty purr.

‘Well,' Petros exclaimed softly as he carefully placed a cup and saucer on the side-table. ‘It appears he's decided to attach himself to you.'

Oliver lifted his head, offered Petros an unblinking feline stare, then rested his chin on his paws.

‘I'll go fetch you a sweater.'

Ana sipped the tea, and when darkness fell she donned the sweater Petros brought, taking care not to disturb Oliver.

Electric street-lights were visible in the distance, and seemed to merge with stars in an inky sky. ‘Would you like more tea?'

She turned towards Petros, whose silent tread she'd failed to detect. ‘No, thanks.'

It was there Luc found her, asleep, her head resting against the cushioned rest.

She wasn't to know Petros had remained indoors keeping her in plain sight until Luc returned home. Or that both men exchanged brief words before the manservant crossed to the foyer and took the internal stairs to his flat.

Luc stood in front of the chaise longue, looking at her features in repose, then he hunkered down and gently tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear.

She stirred, and he cupped a palm over her shoulder and ran it lightly down to rest at her elbow, watching as her eyelashes fluttered, then swept slowly upward.

‘What are you doing out here,
pedhi mou
? Stargazing?'

Ana reached out a hand and found an empty space where the cat had slept. ‘Oliver?'

‘Petros has settled him into his basket for the night.' He rose to his full height in one fluid movement, then he leant forward and lifted her into his arms.

She didn't feel inclined to struggle. ‘I can walk.'

His mouth brushed her temple. ‘Indulge me.' He carried her easily, dousing lights, setting the security alarm as he moved through the house, then he ascended the stairs and traversed the gallery to their bedroom.

‘I don't think—'

His lips touched hers, savouring with a slow provocative sweep of his tongue. And left her wanting more.

He shouldered the door shut and advanced towards the bed. ‘Is it so important that you think?'

She thought sadly of hopes and dreams, of what was, and what could be. Mostly, she thought of
now
.

‘Yes.'

He slowly lowered her to her feet, and let his hands slip down to cup her bottom. Then his head descended, and his lips caressed hers with a gentleness that made her want to weep.

‘I don't want to do this.'

It was an ache-filled whisper that curled around his heart and tugged a little.

‘Then tell me to stop.'

Dear God…she hungered for his touch.

The slow, tantalising sweep of his tongue caused heat to lick through her veins, and her body swayed into his, as if driven there by a force stronger than she.

His mouth parted, moving hers to open to accept his probing exploration, and she whimpered in part need, part protest as he deepened the kiss.

He spread one hand over her buttocks and slid the other up her spine to hold fast her nape, and wrought havoc with her senses.

It wasn't enough, not nearly enough.

She needed to feel her skin against his, without the barrier of clothes, and her fingers tore at the buttons on his shirt, loosening them, then she dragged the cotton free from his trousers.

A low, guttural sound emerged from her throat as he pulled off her sweater, and followed it with her blouse, then her bra.

A hand shaped her breast, his thumb on one roseate peak, caressing until heat pooled at the juncture of her thighs, flaring in a radiating spiral that almost drove her mad.

Buttons, fasteners, each were undone in haste and fell to the carpet, quickly followed by silk, until there was nothing between them.

Ana cried out, and the sound became lost against the invasion of his mouth as he tumbled her carefully down onto the bed.

Then his body rose over hers, large, powerful, and fully aroused. His eyes were dark with passion, hard
muscle and sinew corded as he supported his weight above hers.

There was leashed control apparent as he brought his mouth down to her breast, and suckled there, taking her almost to the edge of pain before trailing a path to her navel, pressing a tracery of light kisses over her stomach as he moved low.

She should cry out for him to halt this madness before it went any further. But she was powerless to utter so much as a word.

She needed his possession, craved it. To deny him was to deny herself, and she damned her sybaritic soul as he tipped her over the edge, then held her as she fell.

He entered her slowly, inch by exquisite inch until she thought she'd go mad. He was in control, his hands cupping each hip, holding her there as he set an unhurried rhythm that made her want to weep.

When she would have quickened and deepened the pace he brought his mouth down over hers in a kiss that alternately cajoled, caressed,
soothed
.

His release when it came completed her, and his shuddering body brought feminine satisfaction for as long as it took for her emotions to settle.

He lay on his side, facing her, with one arm tucking her body in close to his.

He pressed a kiss to the edge of her shoulder. ‘
Pedhi mou
, I adored your reluctance.'

‘I hate you.'

‘Uh-huh.' His lips reached her elbow, then trailed to the inside of her wrist.

‘Celine—'

‘Has no part in what we share together,' he assured, and felt the rapid acceleration of her pulse.

‘That isn't how she sees it.'

His lips were as light as the brush from a butterfly's wing as he retraced a path and settled in the sensitive curve of her neck.

‘You want to talk of another woman, when the only woman who interests me is
you?'

Oh, God. He had the touch to drive her wild. ‘They're only words.'

‘What would you have me say?'

I love you.
The silent, beseeching cry came from her heart. And it broke a little with the knowledge they were words he would never declare.

He reached down and drew the bedcovers over them both, then caught hold of her chin and tilted it so she had no choice but to look at him.

‘You are mine,
kyria
. You carry my child. It is enough.'