The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (146 page)

‘No.'

‘Jace is—'

Ana offered a cynical smile. ‘Another Luc?'

‘Quite capable of issuing an invitation himself,' Rebekah completed.

‘Which you'll have the greatest pleasure in refusing?'

‘Yes.'

It was as well the phone rang, and Rebekah took the call while Ana crossed to the computer.

‘Dad,' Rebekah informed as she replaced the handset. ‘He wants us to join him for dinner…
tonight
. Says it's very important.' She cast Ana a pensive glance. ‘Do you have any idea what it's about?'

Oh, lord. The whole truth wouldn't sit well. Perhaps she could get by with imparting only some of it?

‘He mentioned having contacts in New York when we had lunch yesterday.'

Rebekah's gaze sharpened. ‘You think he might consider taking a position there?'

‘I guess it's possible.' Why did she feel as if she was digging a proverbial hole with every word she spoke?

‘Presumably he'll tell us about it tonight.'

Which meant she should ring Luc and tell him she wouldn't be home for dinner.

He was in a meeting, and she sent him a text message, then didn't bother checking her cellphone until she arrived home.

‘Luc will be delayed until six-thirty,' Petros informed when she walked through the door.

By which time she'd be on her way into the city to meet her father and Rebekah…if she was lucky. ‘Thanks.'

She headed for the stairs, and on reaching the bedroom she stripped, took the quickest shower on record, then dressed with care in an elegantly tailored ultra-violet trousersuit.

Ana was putting the finishing touches to her make-up when Luc entered the room. He'd loosened his
tie, undone the top few buttons on his shirt, and he held his jacket hooked over one shoulder.

He looked the powerful magnate, a sophisticate whose forceful image projected an dramatic mesh of elemental ruthlessness and latent sensuality.

His eyes were dark, almost still, and her heart jolted a little in reaction. There was a part of her that wanted to close the space between them, touch light fingers to his cheek, then pull his head down to hers in a kiss that invited as much as it promised.

She wanted to smile, and offer ‘Tough day?', then share her own in musing commiseration.

Except she did none of those things. Instead, she dropped a lipstick into her evening bag and caught up her keys.

‘You got my text message?'

Luc tossed his jacket down onto the bed, and pulled his tie free. ‘Yes.' He began releasing the buttons on his shirt, then pulled it free from his trousers. ‘Petros will drive you. Ring me when you're through, and I'll come collect you.'

‘Don't be ridiculous. I'll drive myself.'

‘No,' he said evenly. ‘You won't.'

Anger rose with simmering heat. ‘The hell—'

His eyes seared hers, dark and infinitely dangerous. ‘We can do this the hard way,' he relayed silkily. ‘The result will be the same.'

‘Aren't you overreacting just a touch?'

‘It's not open to negotiation.' He toed off his shoes, then released the zip on his trousers. ‘You
want
to circle the city streets trying to find a parking space? Walk alone in the dark to the restaurant venue?' His voice held a chilling softness. ‘Then repeat the process at the end of the evening?' He waited a beat. ‘You really believe I'd let that happen?'

He stripped off his briefs, then walked naked into the
en suite
.

Ana felt no satisfaction in the argument, and a wicked little imp urged her to march in there after him for the last word. Except there would be only one end, and she didn't have the time.

Instead she took a deep, steadying breath, and made her way downstairs, aware that Petros was waiting in the foyer.

‘You get to play chauffeur.' She even managed a faint smile as she preceded him out to Luc's Mercedes.

‘Luc has your best interests at heart.'

She slid into the front passenger seat, and waited until Petros slipped in behind the wheel. ‘He's a dictatorial tyrant.'

The car eased forward and covered the distance to the gates. ‘You're the wife of a wealthy man who prefers to implement precautions, rather than dismiss them and take unnecessary risks.'

‘So shut up, and dance to the puppeteer's tune?'

‘Some would be grateful.'

‘This particular
someone
doesn't like being given orders.'

He entered New South Head Road. ‘Where to, in the city, Ms Dimitriades?'

The irony was they weren't meeting in the city, but at Double Bay, and she named the restaurant, thanked him when he drew to a halt immediately outside it, then stepped into the plush entrance.

Her father and Rebekah were already seated at a table, and she greeted them with affection, then she requested mineral water and perused the menu.

‘I've put the sale of my apartment in the hands of an agent, and I fly out to New York tomorrow,' William Stanford revealed when the waiter had taken their orders.

Rebekah threw questions thick and fast, and it was evident their father's answers failed to satisfy.

When William settled the bill, indicating the need to leave in order to pack, Rebekah summoned the waiter for tea and coffee, querying as soon as it arrived, ‘You already knew, didn't you?'

‘The possibility of New York, yes,' Ana stressed carefully.

‘Why this sudden move? And I don't buy the necessity to sell the apartment.' Her eyes narrowed. ‘He's in some kind of trouble. At a guess, Luc's involved, which means it's something to do with the bank.' Her lips pursed, then thinned to a grim line. ‘Suppose you tell me the truth. All of it. Not just what you think I should hear.'

The telling was virtually a verbatim explanation of what William Stanford had confided over lunch.

‘Just assure me you played no part in Luc's decision not to prosecute,' Rebekah pleaded. ‘I'd kill him if I thought he'd dragged you back into a marriage you'd decided you no longer wanted.'

She was too clever by half. ‘I wanted a break from Celine's tiresome behaviour.'

‘And that's it? All of it?'

It was all she could bring herself to admit, and she resisted the childish urge to cross her fingers behind her back to minimise the lie. ‘Yes.'

Something jogged her memory. ‘I almost forgot. Luc suggested you join us for dinner Monday night.'

‘Kind of him. Persuade Petros to serve moussaka and I'll bring him flowers.'

‘I've no idea whether Luc plans eating out or at home. I'll ask and let you know. There's just one more thing…Jace will be there.'

‘No.' Rebekah's response was immediate and adamant.

‘
No
, because it's Jace? Or no, end-of-story?' Ana queried, and saw Rebekah's mouth thin.

‘I can't stand the man.'

‘Because he rubs you up the wrong way?' There was more to this than she thought. Rebekah had met him during one of his previous visits to Sydney, but they hadn't dated…at least, not that she was aware.

‘That's the understatement of the year,' her sister growled, and Ana felt bound to ask,

‘Don't you wonder
why
?'

‘Oh, yes, sister dear.' Her voice held bitterness. ‘I know precisely why. I just don't care to explore it.'

Ana was silent for a few seconds as she carefully weighed her words. ‘Maybe you should.'

Rebekah speared her with a killing glare. ‘Don't play amateur psychologist.'

‘That wasn't my intention.'

‘Oh, dammit.' Rebekah appeared contrite, for she hadn't meant to overreact. ‘I'll come to dinner. It'll give me the utmost satisfaction to put Jace Dimitriades in his place.'

Tiredness crept over her, which, combined with the events of the day, resulted in the need to bring the evening to an end. ‘I'll call a cab.' She extracted her cellphone and keyed in the necessary digits.

‘You didn't drive in?' At her sister's faint grimace she indicated, ‘I'll drop you home.'

She did, and Luc was waiting at the door as Rebekah brought her car to a halt.

‘Your guardian angel.' She leaned forward and brushed a light kiss to Ana's cheek. ‘I'll see you in the morning. And thanks.'

‘For what?'

‘Being you.'

Ana slid out from the car, waved as Rebekah eased the car forward, then she entered the foyer and met Luc's dark scrutiny.

‘I was waiting for your call.' There was silk threading his voice.

‘Why, when Rebekah offered to drop me home?' she asked reasonably.

‘It's late.'

‘We stayed on to talk a while.'

He took in her pale features, the faint smudges beneath her eyes. ‘You should have ended the evening before this.'

‘Don't,' she warned. ‘Tell me something I already know.' The events of the day, Celine, a vivid reminder of William Stanford's folly, being less than totally honest with Rebekah…all seemed to manifest itself into a blazing headache. Add tiredness, and it wasn't an enviable combination.

‘Go on up to bed. Can I bring you anything?'

She wanted to say ‘Just
you
'. As it used to be, before Celine reappeared on the scene. But the words never left her lips, and she shook her head, feeling almost undone by the underlying care apparent.

She would have given anything to believe it was for her alone, and not because of the child she nurtured in her womb.

He set the security system, and doused the lights, then he followed her upstairs to their room, slipping out of the jeans and polo shirt he'd donned after his shower.

They both slid into bed at the same time, and he snapped off the bedside light, then gathered her close.

He dealt with her faint protest by closing his mouth over her own, sweeping his tongue in an evoc
ative tasting that made him want more, much more, and he shaped her lissom body with his hands, aware of the slight tenderness of her breasts, the quivering response as he trailed an exploratory path over her stomach to the sensitive apex at the top of her thighs.

He pleasured her with such acute sensitivity it was all she could do not to cry out as sensuality reached fever pitch, and she clung to him, urging his possession until he joined his body to her own.

His mouth covered her own as they scaled the heights of passion in a rhythm only lovers shared.

Afterwards she fell asleep in his arms, and she had no knowledge that the man who held her lay awake in the darkness, lost in reflective thought.

A
NA
followed the delivery van into the bowels of Celine's apartment building, and secured the lift while Harry, the delivery guy, transported the buckets of cut flowers.

‘That's everything, Harry?'

‘The lot.'

‘OK, let's go.'

Harry did the heavy work, then left, and Ana utilised the laundry as her work-station.

‘I trust you won't make a mess.'

Ana glanced up from separating various stands of natives, and aimed for a pleasant smile. ‘It'll be minimal, Celine, and contained here.'

A half-hour should have been sufficient, but it took twice that as Celine changed her mind on previously agreed displays.

If Ana had been mean-spirited, she would have said it was a deliberate attempt to minimise her ability and expertise.

She silently repeated ‘the customer is always right' mantra, and maintained a professionally polite demeanour. But it was difficult, very difficult!

At last all three displays finally earned Celine's
grudging approval, and Ana began restoring the laundry to its former tidiness.

It didn't take long, and she emerged into the hallway, empty buckets in hand, her equipment neatly stacked in a holdall.

‘Watch your back, darling,' Celine advised coolly as she led the way to the door. ‘I play to win.'

‘And you don't care who you hurt in the process?'

The woman plucked an imaginary speck from the sleeve of her blouse. ‘Not at all.'

‘Naturally, Luc is the prize.'

‘Of course.'

‘You've neglected one aspect in your campaign,' Ana said carefully.

‘And what's that?'

‘Luc's willingness to play.'

‘You don't get it, do you?' Celine queried. ‘Men of Luc's calibre think nothing of maintaining a mistress.'

‘While the wife turns a blind eye, accepting the lifestyle, social prestige, and unlimited spending money in lieu of fidelity?'

‘You could do much worse.'

‘Sorry, Celine. That's not what I want for myself or my child.'

A concerted smile tilted Celine's carefully painted mouth. ‘Can I take that as a given?'

‘Absolutely.'

It wasn't the best exit line she'd ever offered, but she derived a sense of dignity as she walked from
the apartment and took the lift down to the basement carpark.

It was late when she arrived home. Luc's Mercedes wasn't in the garage, and when she checked her cellphone there was a text message relaying a business meeting had run over time and they intended winding it up over dinner.

A message Petros confirmed as she made her way through the foyer to the kitchen.

‘I've made vegetable soup, with a steak salad.'

Oliver appeared through the doorway and stalked across the tiles to brush himself against her leg. She bent down and scratched behind his ear, then stroked his tummy when he rolled over onto his back.

‘I'll go shower and change, then be down in about fifteen minutes.'

Tonight she chose to eat indoors, and afterwards she settled down in front of the television set, channel-hopped, then riffled through the collection of DVDs, found one that appealed, and slotted it into the player.

At nine Petros brought her freshly made tea, then he retired to his flat.

The movie ran its course, and she wavered between slotting in another or going to bed.

Bed won, and she settled Oliver in the laundry, then made her way upstairs.

She reflected on the day's events as she discarded her clothes, lingering on Celine's pernickety fussing
with the floral displays. A dinner party. She wondered how it was going, and who were the guests.

Then her hands froze.

No. Surely not. Luc's
business meeting
was a legitimate meeting…wasn't it? He wouldn't, couldn't be one of Celine's dinner guests.
Could he?

However, the seed of doubt was planted, and steadily over the next hour it took root.

Imagination was a terrible thing, Ana accepted as she plumped her pillow for the umpteenth time and checked the bedside clock.

Eleven-o-five. So it was a leisurely meal, with Luc and his associates lingering over coffee.

She was still awake at eleven-thirty, convinced the business meeting was long over…if in fact there had been any meeting at all!

Damn Luc. If he'd dined as a guest at Celine's apartment, she'd kill him. In her mind, she conducted the argument they would have, the accusations she'd fling, and the physical fight that would follow. Then, she reasoned, she'd throw a few clothes into a suitcase and walk out of this house, his life, and never return.

Luc Dimitriades would never see his child, never again see
her
, and…

The peal of the telephone was a stark, intrusive sound that jolted her into action, and she fumbled for the bedside lamp, then picked up the receiver.

‘Luc?'

‘He'll be home soon, darling.' Celine's voice was
recognisable and held a distinct purr. ‘Just thought I'd let you know.'

Ana heard a click as the call ended, and she slowly lowered the receiver down onto its cradle.

A few choice oaths slipped from her tongue as she stared blankly at the opposite wall.
Bastard.
How could he?

All too easily, she concluded silently.

She switched off the lamp and settled down in bed to stare emptily into the room's darkness for what seemed an age.

Images ran through her mind. Luc sharing Celine's table, conversing with fellow guests. A cynical laugh rose in her throat. Or maybe there were no guests at all, and it was strictly dinner
à deux
.

And afterwards… Dear heaven, she didn't want to think about
afterwards
.

He'd promised fidelity. Would he,
had
he broken that promise?

Get real, a tiny voice taunted. As if he's going to admit to it.

A slight sound made the breath catch in her throat, and she tensed as the bedroom door opened, then closed with an almost silent click.

He didn't turn on a light, and seconds later she heard the faint rustle of clothes being discarded. He'd probably shrugged out of his jacket and loosened his tie as he ascended the stairs, and it wasn't difficult to picture him unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it free
from his trousers and tossing it onto the bedroom chair.

Shoes and socks would follow, and she detected the slide of a zip fastener as he prepared to remove his trousers.

All that remained were his briefs, and they too would be discarded to suit his preference to sleep naked.

For a moment she had a mental image of his tall, tightly muscled frame. The breadth of shoulder, the tapered waist, lean hips, powerful thighs. The fluid way he moved.

The mere thought he might have been at Celine's apartment incensed her, and her body tensed as she felt the faint depression of the mattress.

If he came close… Her mind seethed with a number of possible scenarios, each featuring various forms of retribution.

For the space of a few seemingly long seconds it seemed as if he was settling to sleep, and she slowly released the breath she'd unconsciously held from the moment he'd slid into bed.

The brush of his thigh and the touch of his arm as he curled his large body into the curve of her own brought an instant reaction.

Ana jabbed her elbow into his ribcage in a stark movement that took him completely by surprise, and the breath hissed from his throat as she kicked both heels into his shins.

‘Don't you
dare
touch me!' The words scarcely
left her mouth when she followed them with a scandalised yelp as he used both arms to hold her close. ‘Let me go, damn you!'

He was too big, too strong, for her to escape, and any attempt she made to kick his shins was prevented as he scissored both her legs between his own.

In one easy movement he rolled onto his back, carrying her with him, holding her there with galling ease as he reached out a hand and switched on the bedside light.

She looked magnificent in her fury, Luc perceived through narrowed eyes. Her hair was loose and tumbled, her cheeks flushed, her eyes brilliant sapphire shards meant to tear him to shreds.

The nightshirt she wore didn't begin to cover her and rode high over her hips.

‘Now,' Luc growled huskily. ‘Suppose you explain what this is all about.'

Ana struggled afresh, and managed to free one of her hands. She acted without thought, barely conscious of swinging her arm in a swift arc until her palm connected with his cheek. The sharp sound seemed loud in the silence of the room, and there was a part of her that registered horror at having lashed out at him.

Dear God. Such anger culminating in one retaliatory slap.

Her eyes widened in shock as she saw his features harden, facial muscles tightening into a visual mask of anger.

‘Let me go!'

‘Not in this lifetime,
pedhaki mou
.'

‘You're hurting me.'

‘No. I'm being extremely careful not to.' He had no trouble restraining her hands, and he was quick to take evasive action as she brought her head down and attempted to bite his arm. ‘Stop it. You'll only hurt yourself.'

‘Go to hell.'

‘You consign me there with increasing regularity.' His voice was a hateful drawl that irked her unbearably. ‘This isn't the first time I've had to attend a business dinner and arrived home late. Why such a reaction
tonight
?'

She wanted to hit him, and tried, only to find the effort futile. ‘As if you don't know!'

His features bore a sculpted hardness, and his eyes were dark. Temper held in tight control, but there, none the less. ‘If I knew, I wouldn't need to ask.'

Ana made a further attempt to pull free, and failed. ‘I hate you.'

‘For what, specifically?'

Her anger moved up a notch. ‘This afternoon I spent an hour in Celine's apartment arranging flowers for a dinner party she was having tonight.' She threw him a fulminating glare. ‘Twenty minutes ago she rang to tell me you were on your way home.'

Luc went still. ‘You believe I was with Celine?' His voice was quiet. Way too quiet.

‘You do the maths.'

‘You think I'd lie to you?'

She didn't answer, couldn't. Her voice seemed to have temporarily disappeared.

‘Worse,' he continued silkily. ‘Come from her bed to yours?'

Icily bleak eyes riveted hers, trapping her in his gaze, and she caught the grim resolve apparent as he captured her head and held it fast.

‘You expect me to accept your word unconditionally?'

‘Is that so difficult?'

‘Based on blind faith?' Ana lashed out with scepticism. ‘My naïvety?' She was on a roll. ‘Please. Don't insult my intelligence.'

He held on to his temper with difficulty. ‘Why would I go out for hamburger when I have fillet steak at home?'

Oh, my. ‘That's some analogy.'

‘Cristos.'
The oath held a dangerous softness that sent apprehension scudding down the length of her spine. ‘This has gone far enough!'

In one fluid movement he slid from the bed and picked up the phone, then swore and crossed to the small antique desk, flicked on the lamp, then he opened a drawer and pulled out a phone book.

It took him only seconds to riffle through the pages, find the appropriate one, scan the relevant names and punch in the required digits.

Ana told herself she wasn't going to listen, but
she'd have had to put both hands over her ears to close out the sound of his voice.

Hard, inflexible words, with no hint of observing any social niceties, they carried an unmistakable warning to cease and desist from verbal stalking, or he'd take legal action.

His controlled anger held a menacing quality as he replaced the receiver and turned to face her.

‘Give me all of it. From the beginning.'

‘Celine?'

‘
All
, Ana. Every hint, each accusation…don't leave anything out.'

It took a while, but at last she was done, and her face paled at his expression.

‘That's it?'

Most of it…unless you counted the tone of voice, the malicious intent.

He wanted to pull on some clothes, collect his keys, drive to Celine's apartment and issue her with a writ. And while he had the power to get his lawyer out of bed, there was the due process of the law to observe, and no judge was going to comply at this hour of the night.

‘You should have told me all this before.'

‘I thought I had. Some of it,' she amended, and incurred his dark look.

‘She won't bother you again.'

Want to bet? Somehow she doubted Celine would fade gracefully into the woodwork. Ana had blown
her out of the water, and revenge would surely follow.

Luc slid into bed and gathered her close. ‘Don't ever keep anything from me again.'

His mouth sought hers, and a hollow protest rose and died in her throat as he forced her jaw wide and plundered at will.

It became a ravaging assault on her senses, flagrant, primitive, and demanding, until he conquered each and every one of her defences.

Then, and only then, his mouth gentled fractionally and took on an eroticism she fought hard to resist.

Hungry, sensual, he caressed with devastating expertise, coaxing her capitulation until he sensed the moment she stopped fighting him.

One hand moved, catching the hem of her nightshirt before tugging it over her head, then he reached forward and began tracing the outline of her breast, watching her eyes dilate as sensation arched through her body.

Not content, he teased and tantalised the delicate peak before shifting to its twin, and she gasped as he spread his fingers and trailed a path to her waist.

Sensation spiralled through her body, and she made no protest as he brought his head down to hers in a kiss that drove her mindless.