The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (147 page)

With care he gathered her close and rolled over so their positions were reversed, then he eased into her,
taking it slow as he controlled each plunge until she was driven almost mad with need.

In desperation she grazed her teeth over the hard muscle and sinew at his shoulder, then trailed low to one male nipple…and rendered a love-bite that brought the breath hissing between his teeth.

‘So you want to play, hmm?'

It was she who groaned out loud as he took revenge in tantalising every pulse-beat, each sensory pleasure spot until she began to beg, and she cried out as he took her high, held her there, then caught her as she fell.

For a while she didn't want to move, didn't feel she could, and she rested in his arms, luxuriating in the slow drift of his fingers along the edge of her spine, soothing as his lips brushed her temple, then slipped to taste the delicate hollows at the base of her neck.

Minutes later he shifted her to one side, then slid to his feet and walked naked to the valet frame, collected his wallet, removed a credit slip from a leather sleeve, and handed it to her.

‘The restaurant at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. I picked up the tab for four.' He moved to the phone. ‘You want I should ring Henri, the
maître d'
, and have him confirm what time we left?'

The date, the amount, both tallied. Irrefutable proof.

‘I owe you an apology.' It wasn't easy to say the
words. It was even harder to look at him. But she did, and didn't let her gaze waver.

For someone as delusional and determined as Celine, it wouldn't have proven too difficult to discover Luc's plans and slip a waiter money to phone her when Luc left the restaurant.

‘Accepted.'

A
NA
knew as soon as she hit the traffic snarl that she should have taken Rebekah's advice and left the shop earlier. Now she'd be impossibly late.

Dammit. Why
me
? she silently demanded of the Deity. Except no one was listening. The traffic remained stalled, and the only certainty was the knowledge she wouldn't be going anywhere in a hurry.

Luc
would not
be pleased. The evening's event was a prestigious fund-raiser, and the guest speaker a prominent American ex-president.

Everyone who was
anyone
would be there. Including Celine. But not, she prayed God, seated at the same table.

She checked the time, and hesitated between two options. Ring Luc from her cellphone, or wait for him to contact her.

Better make the call. He answered on the second peal, and the sound of his voice did strange things to her equilibrium.

It was damnable the effect he had on her, even from a distance. Elevated heartbeat, a faint breathlessness, and heat…the acute sexual awareness of shared intimacy. Past, present, future. She only had
to think of him to have numerous erotic images flood her mind.

Get over it, she remonstrated silently.

‘I won't say you should have left the shop before now.'

‘Please don't. I'll be there whenever this line of traffic begins to move.'

It did, eventually, and she reached home with the sure knowledge it would take more than a miracle to shower, change, dress and
shine
in less than ten minutes.

She managed it in thirty, the scarlet bias-cut silk organza gown with its knee-high ruffled split a masterpiece of fabric and style. The simply cut bodice and shoestring straps completed a stunning design, complemented by her upswept hair, expertly applied make-up, and minimum jewellery.

Luc had been dressed when she first entered the bedroom, and now she bore his analytical scrutiny with a degree of uncertainty.

Was the gown too over-the-top? She'd fallen in love with it when she'd seen it displayed on a model. On impulse she'd extracted her credit card, added matching stiletto-heeled evening sandals and evening bag. Only to have reservations as to her sanity in expending so much on a single outfit.

‘If you're aiming for the
wow
factor, you've achieved it.'

Success! She sent him a dazzling smile. ‘Ah, a compliment.'

He looked stunning in anything he wore, for he exuded a certain intrinsic
something
that isolated him from other men. Difficult to pin down to any one thing, it was a combination of height and stature, the way he held himself and the way he moved. It was also the compelling quality that hinted at a raw primitiveness beneath the surface. The self-assurance of dynamic power, latent and devoid of arrogance…but there, none the less.

He would command attention in jeans and a sweatshirt. Attired in evening clothes, snowy-white shirt and black bow-tie, he was something else.

Her eyes held a wicked gleam. ‘If I return it, you might get a swelled head.' She collected her evening bag, and gathered up a matching wrap. ‘Shall we leave?'

‘Yes.' He crossed to her side. ‘But first—' He lowered his head, wanting, needing the taste of her, and his mouth captured hers in a kiss that tore the foundations of her composure…as he meant it to.

Reassurance…his, or hers? He told himself it was for her. And knew he lied.

The city hotel venue was crowded, the entrance brightly lit, a cavalcade of cars lined up waiting for valet parking, and there was security everywhere.

It took a while to get through the cordoned area, and by the time they reached the grand ballroom most everyone had passed through the doors and was seated.

Photographers were busy capturing the
crème de
la crème
of the rich and famous for the society pages of leading newspapers and national magazines.

It was, Ana perceived,
smile
time. Glitz and glamour, expensive jewellery, the drift of exotic perfumes meshed with the buzz of conversation as Luc caught hold of her hand and led the way to their reserved table.

They slipped into their seats just as centre lights dimmed and the MC began his opening speech outlining the charity's achievements, their projections for the coming year, and the specific purpose for this evening's gala event.

Waiters moved unobtrusively, weaving with precision through the many tables as they delivered starters, and wine stewards hovered attentively.

From where they were seated it was possible to see the VIP table, and she caught a glimpse of the ex-president, the silver, almost white, well-groomed hair, the lightly tanned complexion, the easy smile.

Conversation at their own table was interesting and varied, and she was supremely conscious of Luc seated at her side.

Last night…
Don't go there
, an inner voice cautioned. It was difficult not to recall her anger, the rage, and her reaction. She'd never physically hit anyone in her life. The thought she'd attempted to strike him appalled her.

All day she'd managed to put it to one side as she became caught up with a rush of orders and customers.

Now, she found her attention being drawn back to the accusations she'd flung at him…and the result.

How was it possible to
hate
someone one moment, be filled with contrition the next, then participate in lovemaking as if nothing mattered except the moment?

It was like riding a crazy emotional roller coaster.

‘Amazing man, isn't he? No one would imagine from looking at him that he once held the fate of a nation in his hands.' The guest leaned in close. ‘Apart from our state premier, everyone else at his table is security.'

‘I imagine security men and women are evenly spread throughout the room,' Ana inclined politely.

She was spared from further comment as the state premier was introduced and the waiter began removing plates.

At the conclusion of the main course, Ana quietly slipped from her seat and went in search of the powder room. She was one of several women in need of the facilities, and afterwards she took a minute in front of the mirror to freshen her lipstick.

‘Don't go crying to Luc again, darling.'

Celine, and on a mission. With no doubt as to the target.

‘What makes you think I did?'

‘Oh,
please
. Luc and I have no secrets from each other.'

Did her hand shake? She hoped not. ‘Don't you have anything better to do?'

‘Than
what
, precisely?'

‘Meddle in other people's lives. Mine, in particular.'

‘I can't believe I'm not getting through to you.'

‘Oh, you are, Celine,' she assured. ‘Loud and clear.' She paused a beat. ‘Pity it's such a waste of your time and energy.'

‘Luc is—'

‘Free to choose, Celine.' The emphasis was deliberate. ‘It would appear he's chosen me.'

The other woman's expression was scathing. ‘Simply because you wear his ring and carry his child? Darling, how naïve are you?'

She slid the capped lipstick tube into her evening bag and turned away from the mirrored wall. ‘I have nothing further to say to you.' She moved back a step, only to pause as the other woman caught hold of her wrist. ‘Take your hand off me.'

‘I could point out a number of successful businessmen whose wives turn a blind eye to their husbands' indiscretions.'

‘I'm not one of them.' Calm, she had to remain calm. If she lost her temper, this debacle would digress into a physical cat fight.

Celine's lacquered nails bit into Ana's arm. ‘Luc rang today and warned he wouldn't be able to see me for a while because you were making things difficult.' Her smile held a vindictiveness that was vaguely frightening. ‘Not a wise move, darling.'

She'd had enough. ‘Keep this up, Celine, and you'll have charges laid against you.'

Celine rendered a vicious pinch, then flung Ana's arm wide. ‘Luc would never allow it.'

Ana moved towards the door, then paused. ‘Perhaps now would be a good time to tell you I was in the room when Luc rang you last night.' She walked into the carpeted foyer and re-entered the ballroom.

The ex-president had already begun his speech, and Luc shot her a studied glance as she slipped into her seat, then returned his attention to the man at the podium.

The speech concluded amid enthusiastic applause, then the lights brightened and the waiters busied themselves serving the dessert and coffee.

‘Are you OK?'

Now, there was a question. ‘Solicitous attention, Luc?'

‘Let me guess,' he drawled. ‘Celine bailed you up in the powder room?'

‘Got it in one.'

‘Whereupon you told her to get lost, and she retaliated?'

‘Ah, you possess psychic powers.'

‘Damage control is—'

‘Something at which you excel.' She hadn't meant to sound bitter, and she saw his gaze sharpen.

He caught hold of her hand and linked her fingers through his own, holding them firmly when she endeavoured to pull free.

‘We dealt with this last night.'

‘Did we? I thought we just had sex.'

‘That, too.'

The waiter placed cups and saucers onto the table, and she indicated tea in preference to coffee.

‘I'll take you home.'

‘I don't want to leave yet.' Her gaze was remarkably clear. ‘And escape isn't the answer.'

‘Nor is a heated argument in public,' he accorded drily, and she arched one delicate brow.

‘Is that what we're about to have?'

‘Count on it.'

Ana picked up an extra tube of sugar, broke it and stirred the contents into her tea. ‘Energy for the fight.'

‘Don't push me too far.'

She proffered a deliberately sweet smile. ‘I'm shaking.'

‘So brave.'

His faint mockery brought a surge of anger. ‘What can you do to me that you haven't done already?'

Something shifted in his eyes, and she felt a trickle of apprehension slither down her spine. ‘Careful,
pedhi mou
.'

It seemed pointless to further the civility fac¸ade, and she sipped her tea, indulged in animated conversation with a fellow guest, then became the epitome of politeness when Luc indicated they should leave.

Her face ached from the smile she kept in place
as they paused at one table and another to talk with friends and acquaintances, and she stood silently at the hotel entrance as the valet called up their car.

Ana didn't offer a word during the drive to Vaucluse, and once inside the house she made straight for the stairs.

Luc re-set the security alarm and entered their suite as she tried unsuccessfully to release the clasp fastening the slender gold chain circling her throat.

He shrugged out of his jacket, undid his tie, loosened his shirt buttons, then crossed to her side.

‘Let me try.'

His fingers were warm against her nape, and she wanted to sweep away from him. Except what good would it do except exacerbate an already volatile situation?

He freed the clasp in seconds, then turned her round to face him.

‘You want to fight, or do we call a truce?'

Vengeance tinged her voice. ‘Fight.'

‘Then throw the first punch.'

She made a fist and aimed for his chest, felt it connect against hard muscle and sinew…and bruised her knuckles.

‘Your knees are supposed to buckle as you sink to the floor.'

‘Want to try again?'

He was amused, damn him. She gave him a baleful glare as she nursed her hand. ‘Not particularly.'

He smoothed his palms over her shoulders, slip
ping the straps free, then he tended to the zip fastening her gown.

The red silk organza slid to the carpet in a heap. All she wore were thong briefs and stiletto heels, and his breath caught in his throat at the beautiful symmetry of her slender curves.

Pale, satin-smooth skin, firm breasts, a slim waist, toned thighs.

He had an unrelenting urge to touch her, shape those curves with his hands, taste her. And when he was done, bury himself inside her, absorb her shuddering climax, then climb the heights with her and share a mutual shattering of the senses.

Luc reached out and cupped her face, then he lowered his mouth down over hers…and gave a grunt as her fist executed a stunning hook just beneath his ribcage.

‘I think that's known as the element of surprise?'

His retribution was swift, and she gasped as he lifted her up against him and hooked her legs around his waist.

She felt him toe off one shoe, then the other, and he shifted her higher as he dealt with his belt, his trousers. His shirt was wrenched off and tossed to the floor, then he stood looking at her, his features raw with something intensely primitive.

The heat and hardness of his arousal pushed against the scrap of silk covering the apex of her thighs, and in one smooth movement he slid his fingers beneath the thin strap and disposed of it.

Dear heaven. There was nothing measured or controlled about him. Only electrifying passion and a fierce need for consummation.

Ana waited for the moment he would plunge deep inside, and felt her eyes begin to glaze over as he rocked her slowly against him, exposing her clitoris to the satin-smooth hardness of his shaft.

‘Luc—' She could barely speak as sensation exploded in an upward spiral that had her moaning out loud.

Just as she thought she could bear it no longer he walked to the bed and tumbled them both down onto the mattress.

Now.
Did she cry it out? She couldn't be sure, and she groaned when he covered her mouth with his own in a kiss that duplicated the sexual act itself.

She reached for him, and he evaded her touch, choosing instead to trail a path to her breast where he savoured one tender peak before rendering attention to its twin, suckling there until she cried out with a mixture of pleasure and pain.