The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (173 page)

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Authors: Helen Bianchin

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Erotica, #Collections & Anthologies, #Contemporary Women, #General

BOOK: The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections)
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The plea went unheeded as his mouth closed over hers, and she strained against the strength of his arm as it curved down her back and held her to him.
Slowly, insidiously, warmth coursed through her veins until her whole body was one aching mass, craving his touch, and she opened her mouth to accept the possession of his own.
Passion replaced anger, and a tiny part of her brain registered the transition and wondered at the traitorous dictates of her own heart.
It wasn't fair that he should have quite this effect on her, or that she should have so little control. Sex motivated by lust wasn't undesired, but
love
was the ultimate prize.
She wanted to protest when he swept an arm beneath her knees and lifted her against his chest. She knew she should as he climbed the stairs to the upper floor. And when he entered their bedroom and let her slip down to her feet she stood, quiescent, as he gently removed her beaded jacket and tossed it over a nearby chair.
The soft light from twin lamps reflected against the mirror and she caught a momentary glimpse of two figures—one tall and dark, the other slender in red, then she became lost in the heat of Benedict's impassioned gaze, her fingers as dexterous as his in their quest to remove each layer of clothing.
Yet there was care apparent, almost a teasing quality as they each dealt with buttons and zip-fastenings, the slide of his hands on her exposed flesh increasing the steady spiral of excitement.
He wasn't unmoved by her ministrations either, and she exulted in the feel of tightening sinews as she caressed his muscled chest, the taut waist and the thrust of his powerful thighs.
His heartbeat quickened in tempo with her own as he pulled her down onto the bed and she rose up above him, every nerve, every
cell
alive with anticipation. She sought to give as much pleasure as she knew she'd receive, taking the path to climactic nirvana with deliberate slowness, enjoying and enhancing each step of the emotional journey until there was no sense of the individual, only the merging of two souls so in tune with each other that they became one.
And afterwards they lay, arms and legs entwined, exchanging the soft caress of fingers against warm flesh, the light, lingering brush of lips, in an after-play that held great tenderness and care, until sleep claimed them both.
T
HE sun's rays were hot after the controlled coolness of the building's air-conditioning, and Gabbi felt the heat come up from the pavement combined with the jostle of midday city staff anxious to make the most of their lunch hour, elderly matrons
en route
from one shopping mall to another and mothers with young children in tow.
Sydney was a vibrant city alive with people from different cultures, and Gabbi witnessed a vivid kaleidoscope of couture and grunge as she walked the block and a half to meet Francesca.
The restaurant was filled with patrons, but she'd rung ahead for a reservation, and the maître d' offered an effusive greeting and ushered her to a table.
There was barely time to order iced water before Francesca slid into the opposite seat in a soft cloud of Hermes Calèche perfume.
‘The traffic was every bit as bad as I expected,' Francesca commented as she ordered the same drink as Gabbi. ‘And securing a parking space was worse.'
Gabbi smiled in commiseration. ‘City commuting is the pits.' She picked up the menu. ‘Shall we order?'
‘Good idea. I'm starving,' Francesca admitted with relish, selecting the
soupe du jour
followed by a Greek salad and fresh fruit.
Gabbi also selected her friend's choice, but opted for linguini instead of soup as a starter.
‘How long will you be Sydney-based?' Her smile was warm, her interest genuine.
Ice-cubes chinked as Francesca picked up her glass. ‘Not long. A few weeks, then I'll head back to Europe.'
True friendship was rare, and with it came the benefit of dispensing with the niceties of idle conversation. ‘So, tell me about Rome.'
Francesca's expression became pensive. ‘Mario's mother was diagnosed with inoperable cancer.'
Gabbi's heart constricted with pain, and she reached out and covered her friend's hand with her own. ‘Francesca, I'm so sorry.'
‘We had a few short weeks together before she was hospitalised, and after that it was only a matter of days.' Francesca's eyes darkened with repressed emotion. ‘She bequeathed me everything.'
‘Mario was her only child,' Gabbi reminded her gently.
‘Nevertheless, it was—' she paused fractionally ‘—unexpected.'
The waiter's appearance with their starters provided an interruption.
‘What's new with the family?' Francesca asked as soon as he was out of earshot.
‘Not a thing.'
‘Benedict is to die for, Monique superficially gracious, Annaliese a bitch and James remains oblivious?'
The assessment was so accurate, Gabbi didn't know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Selectively oblivious,' she qualified.
‘A clever man, your father.'
‘And yours, Francesca?'
‘Consumed with business in order to keep my dear stepmama in the incredible style she insists is important.' She managed a tight smile. ‘While Mother continues to flit from one man to the next with time out in between for the requisite nip and tuck.'
They finished the starters and began on the salads.
‘Dominic Andrea,' Francesca ventured speculatively. ‘Greek?'
‘Second generation. His mother is Australian.'
‘Irritating man.'
Dominic was many things, but irritating wasn't one of them. ‘Do you think so?'
‘And arrogant.'
Perhaps. Although Gabbi would have substituted self-assured. ‘You want to opt out of dinner tonight?'
Francesca forked the last mouthful of salad, took her time with it, then replaced the utensil onto her plate. ‘No,' she said thoughtfully, her gaze startlingly direct. ‘Why deny myself an interesting evening?'
Gabbi's mouth curved with humour. ‘A clash between two Titans?'
Francesca's eyes assumed a speculative gleam. ‘It will be an intriguing challenge to beat the man at his own game.'
Indeed, Gabbi accorded silently. Although she wasn't sure that Francesca would win.
The waiter brought a fruit platter and they ordered coffee.
‘Shall I give you Dominic's address?' Gabbi queried as she picked up the bill, quelling Francesca's protest. ‘Or will we collect you?'
‘I'll meet you there.' She extracted a pen and paper from her handbag and took down the address. ‘Six-thirty?'
‘Yes,' Gabbi confirmed as they emerged out onto the pavement. She accepted Francesca's light kiss on each cheek, and touched her hand as they parted. ‘It's been great to catch up. Take care.'
‘Always,' Francesca promised. ‘See you tonight.'
There were several messages on Gabbi's desk when she returned, and she dealt with each, dictated several letters and worked on streamlining overheads in a subsidiary company. Systematic checking was required to discover alternative suppliers who, she was convinced, could provide an equal service for a more competitive price. She made a list of relevant numbers to call.
The intercom buzzed, and Gabbi depressed the button. ‘Yes, Halle?'
‘There's a parcel in Reception for you. Shall I bring it down?'
She eased her shoulders and pushed a stray tendril of hair behind one ear. ‘Please.'
A minute later her secretary appeared carrying a flat rectangular parcel wrapped in brown paper. ‘There's an envelope. Want me to open it?'
It couldn't be...could it? Gabbi rose to her feet and crossed round to the front of her desk. ‘No, I'll take care of it. Thanks, Halle.'
She placed the attached envelope on her desk, then undid the wrapping, pleasure lighting up her features as she revealed the painting she'd admired at Leon's gallery.
It was perfect for the southern wall of her office.
The card held a simple message: ‘For you.' It was signed ‘Benedict.'
Gabbi reached for the private phone and punched in Benedict's coded number.
He answered on the second ring. ‘Nicols.'
‘You noticed my interest in the painting,' she said with evident warmth. ‘I love it. Thanks.'
‘Why don't you take a walk to my office and thank me in person?' The lazy drawl held mild amusement, and a soft laugh emerged from her throat.
‘A momentary diversion?'
‘Very momentary,' Benedict agreed with light humour. ‘An associate is waiting in my private lounge.'
‘In that case, you shouldn't delay seeing him,' she chastised him sweetly, and heard his husky chuckle in response.
‘Tonight, Gabbi.'
She heard the faint click as he replaced the receiver.
The rest of the afternoon went quickly, and at five she shut down the computer, signed the completed letters then collected her briefcase and took the lift down to the car park.
Benedict's four-wheel drive was in the garage when she arrived home, and as they were to dine out she bypassed the kitchen and made for the stairs.
It would be nice to strip off and relax in the Jacuzzi, she thought longingly as she entered the master suite, but there wasn't time. Twenty-five minutes in which to shower, dress, apply make-up and style her hair didn't allow for a leisurely approach.
The sound of an electric razor in action could be heard from the bathroom and she quickly shed her clothes, pulled on a silk robe and pushed open the door.
Benedict was standing in front of the wide mirror dispensing with a day's growth of beard, a towel hitched at his waist. It was evident from his damp hair that he hadn't long emerged from the shower.
‘Hi.' It irked her that her voice sounded vaguely breathless. Maybe in another twenty years she would be able to view his partly naked form and not feel so completely
consumed
by the sight of him.
If, that far down the track, she was still part of his life. The thought that she might not be brought a stab of unbearable pain.
He looked up from his task and met her eyes in the mirror. ‘Hi, yourself.'
His appraisal was warm and lingered a little too long on the soft curve of her mouth. With determined effort she reached into the shower-stall, turned on the water, slipped off her robe and stepped beneath the warm jet-spray. When she emerged it was to find she had sole occupancy of the bathroom.
Ten minutes later her hair was swept into a sleek pleat, her make-up complete. In the bedroom she crossed to the walk-in closet and selected silk evening trousers in delicate ivory, added a beaded camisole and slid her arms into a matching silk jacket. Gold jewellery and elegant evening sandals completed the outfit, and she took time to dab her favourite perfume to a few exposed pulse-points before catching up an evening purse.
‘Ready?'
With a few minutes to spare. She directed a cool glance at him. ‘Yes. Shall we leave?'
 
Dominic's home was a brilliant example of architectural design in suburban Beauty Point overlooking the middle harbour.
Dominic greeted them at the door and drew them into the lounge.
High ceilings and floor-to-ceiling glass lent the room spaciousness and light, with folding white-painted wooden shutters and deep-cushioned furniture providing a hint of the Caribbean.
There was no sign of Francesca, and Gabbi wondered if she was deliberately planning her arrival to be a fashionable, but excusable, five minutes late.
Ten, Gabbi noted, as the bell-chimes pealed when she was partway through a delicious fruit cocktail. Dominic allowed his housekeeper to answer the door.
It would seem that if Francesca had a strategy Dominic had elected to choose one of his own.
Stunning was an apt description of Francesca's appearance, Gabbi silently applauded as she greeted her friend. Francesca's expression was carefully bland, but there was a wicked twinkle apparent in those dark eyes for one infinitesimal second before she turned towards her host.
‘Please accept my apologies.'
‘Accepted,' drawled Dominic. ‘You'll join us in a drink?'
‘Chilled water,' Francesca requested with a singularly sweet smile. ‘With ice.'
‘Bottled? Sparkling or still?'
‘Still, if you have it.'
Gabbi hid a faint smile and took another sip of her cocktail.
Francesca had dressed to kill in black, designed perhaps to emphasise her widowed state? She looked every inch the successful international model. The length of her auburn hair was swept into a careless knot, with a few wispy tendrils allowed to escape to frame her face. The make-up was perfection, although Gabbi doubted it had taken Fran more than ten minutes to apply. The perfume was her preferred Hermes Calèche, and there was little doubt that the gown was an Italian designer original bought or bargained for at an outrageously discounted price.
Gabbi wondered how long it would take Dominic to dig beneath Francesca's protective shell and reveal her true nature. Or if Francesca would permit him to try.
Dinner was a convivial meal, the courses varied and many, and while exquisitely presented on the finest bone china they were the antithesis of designer food.
There was, however, an artistically displayed platter of salads adorned with avocado, mango and sprinkled with pine nuts. A subtle concession to what Dominic suspected was a model's necessity to diet? Gabbi wondered.
Francesca, Gabbi knew, ate wisely and well, with little need to watch her intake of food. Tonight, however, she forked dainty portions from each course, declined dessert and opted for herbal tea instead of the ruinously strong black coffee she preferred.
‘Northern suburbs, overlooking water and trees in the garden,' Francesca mocked lightly as she met Dominic's level gaze over the rim of her delicate teacup.
‘Three out of five,' he conceded in a voice that was tinged with humour. ‘Are you sufficiently curious to discover if you're right about the remaining two?'
Her eyes were cool. ‘The detached studio and a BMW in the garage?'
‘Yes.'
One eyebrow lifted. ‘A subtle invitation to admire your etchings?'
‘I paint in the studio and confine lovemaking to the bedroom.'
Gabbi had to admire Francesca's panache, for there was no artifice in the long, considering look she cast him.
‘How—prosaic.'
Give it up, Francesca, Gabbi beseeched silently. You're playing with dynamite. Besides, the ‘BMW' is a Lexus and although the studio is detached it's above the treble garage and linked to the house via a glass-enclosed walkway.

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