The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (16 page)

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 consol
idate 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.

T
HE
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.'