The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (190 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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With every semblance of calm, she started the engine, reversed the necessary metre to allow her clear passage into the flow of traffic, then moved the car out onto the road.
It wasn't until she was several kilometres distant that she began to breathe normally, and later that night, as she lay sleepless in bed, she could still feel the possession of his mouth on her own, the imprint of his body against hers, and the intoxication of her senses.
 
Francesca woke early, and after a leisurely breakfast she showered and dressed, then drove to a Double Bay clinic for her scheduled massage, facial and manicure.
Lunch was followed by a leisurely browse through several boutiques. One outfit really impressed her, together with shoes and matching bag. Her experienced eye put them all together and transposed them onto her stepsister's slender frame, and she smiled with pleasure as she anticipated Katherine's reaction when she received the gift.
There was time for a coffee with Margo, and it was after four when she slid into the car and headed home. The sun was strong, and she automatically reached for her sunglasses, only to discover they weren't atop her head. They weren't in her bag, either, and she cursed beneath her breath at the thought of having misplaced them.
Sensitivity to strong sunlight occasionally triggered a migraine, particularly if she was under stress, and it was a situation she took precautions to avoid.
By the time she reached her apartment block the familiar ache had begun behind her right eye. If she was lucky, ordinary painkillers would arrest it, otherwise prescription pills and several hours' rest were the only source of relief.
Francesca gave it half an hour, then she rummaged in her bag for Dominic's card and reached for the phone.
He answered his mobile on the third ring. ‘Andrea.'
The sound of his voice increased the splintering pain in her head. It hurt to talk, and she kept it as brief as possible.
‘I'm in the vicinity of Double Bay. I'll be there within minutes.'
‘No, don't—' It was too late, he'd already cut the call.
She didn't want him here. She didn't want anyone here. Even thinking hurt, so she didn't even try to qualify anything, she simply retrieved the packet of prescription pills and took the required dosage.
When the in-house phone buzzed she answered it, then pressed the release button as Dominic identified himself.
Francesca was waiting at the door when he came out of the lift, and he took one look at her pale face, the dark bruised eyes, then gently pushed her inside the lounge and closed the door.
‘That bad, hmm?' He brushed his lips to her temple. ‘You've taken medication? OK, let's get you into bed.'
She struggled between comfort and propriety. ‘The couch.' Her protest was less than a whisper, for it would be heaven to rest her head against his chest and close her eyes.
Ignoring her, he put an arm beneath her knees, lifted her into his arms, and took a calculated guess as to which room was hers.
The bedroom was much as he had imagined it would be. Feminine, but not overly so. There were no frills, no clutter on flat surfaces, and the colour scheme was pale peach and green.
Without a word he closed the drapes, folded back the bedcovers, then, ignoring her protest, he carefully removed her outer clothes and gently deposited her onto the bed.
‘Comfortable?'
The medication was allowing her to sink into numbing, almost pain-free oblivion. ‘Yes.'
Dominic drew the sheet up to her shoulders then sank into a nearby
chaise
, his expression enigmatic as he watched her breathing deepen.
Unless he was mistaken, she'd sleep through until the early-morning hours. He'd stay for a while, then he'd leave.
She looked peaceful. Her features in repose bore a classic beauty, the facial bone structure in perfect symmetry, alabaster skin as soft and smooth as silk. And a generous mouth that could tilt with laughter and curve with sensual promise.
Yet there was a vulnerability evident he knew she would just hate anyone—him especially—to witness. An inner fragility that tugged at something deep inside him and made him feel immensely protective.
Dammit, he wanted the right to be part of her life. To earn her respect, her trust. And her love. The
forever
kind. Commitment.
Marriage
.
After one union that had ended tragically, it wasn't going to be an easy task to persuade her to marry again. Nor would she readily believe it was
love
he felt for her, not merely physical lust.
The temptation to cancel out of tonight and be here when she woke was strong. However, she'd resent such vigilance rather than thank him for it.
He left quietly, secured the door, then took the lift down to the lobby and drove home.
 
It was dark when Francesca stirred, and she opened her eyes long enough to determine she was in bed, then she closed them again, drifting easily back to sleep.
The sun was filtering through the drapes, lightening the room when she woke again, and she groaned as she glanced at the bedside clock.
Food. And something to drink. She tossed the sheet aside, slid to her feet, then padded into the kitchen.
A glass of fresh orange juice did much to begin the revitalising process, and she switched on the coffeemaker, slid bread into the toaster, and nibbled a banana while she waited. Cereal, a hardboiled egg, toast and an apple ought to do it, she mused as the coffee began to filter. Toast popped up, and when the coffee was ready she sank onto a high stool and took the first appreciative sip of caffeine. Bliss. Absolute bliss.
When she'd finished eating she'd take a leisurely shower, then dress and decide what to do with the day.
Meanwhile, she reflected on Dominic's ministrations, and his presence in her bedroom before the medication had taken its full effect. How long had he stayed? And
why
? She wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer.
The phone rang twice while she was in the shower, and when she checked the answering machine the first call was from Dominic, the second from Gabbi.
She dialled Gabbi's number first, and apologised for her absence the previous night.
Gabbi's voice was full of concern. ‘Are you sure you're OK?'
‘Fully recovered and ready to face the day,' she reassured her. ‘How were things last night?'
There was a momentary pause. ‘It was a sell-out. Dinner was fine, and everyone declared the fashion parade to be a huge success.'
‘You're hedging, Gabbi. I take it Annaliese played up?'
‘You could say that.'
‘Much as it goes against the grain, I think you're going to have to get down and dirty with that young lady.'
‘Ah, now there's a thought. Any suggestions?'
‘Yell? Throw something?'
‘All out war, Francesca?' There was amusement evident. ‘Think of the repercussions.'
Francesca wrinkled her nose. ‘Benedict wouldn't give a damn.'
‘Annaliese and her mother are a formidable pair,' Gabbi responded soberly.
Indeed. Francesca considered herself fortunate her own step-siblings were of the loving kind. And Madeline, although fiercely territorial, wasn't sufficiently vindictive to deliberately drive a wedge between Rick and his daughter.
‘I suggest you sharpen your claws,' Francesca indicated with a touch of wry humour, and heard Gabbi's laugh echo down the line.
‘Filed and ready.'
They ended the call on a light note, and Francesca was about to punch in the digits to connect with Dominic's mobile when the phone rang.
‘Francesca.' Her pulse quickened and went into overdrive at the sound of Dominic's voice. ‘You slept well?'
‘Yes. Thank you,' she added politely.
‘For what, precisely?'
His indolent query raised goosebumps where goosebumps had no right to be. Why was she thanking him? For caring enough to be there for her? Ensuring she was comfortably settled and waiting until the medication took effect? ‘Just—thank you.'
She could almost see his features relaxing with a degree of humour, and that sensuously moulded mouth curve into a smile.
‘Want to join me on a picnic?'
The question startled her, and she hesitated, torn by an image of finger food eaten alfresco.
‘If I refuse, will you seclude yourself in the studio and paint?'
He gave a husky laugh. ‘Something like that.'
There was a pull of the senses she found difficult to ignore, and she aimed for a light response. ‘How about a compromise?'
‘Shoot.'
‘I'll come watch you paint,
then
we go on a picnic.'
‘You just want to see my etchings.'
She couldn't help the smile that curved the edges of her mouth. ‘You've seen
me
at work.'
‘Much more glamorous than a pile of blank canvas, numerous quantities of oil paint and mineral turps, I can assure you.'
‘We have a deal?'
‘Deal,' he responded easily.
‘Give me five minutes and I'll be on my way.'
She retrieved a spare pair of sunglasses from the bedroom and slipped them into her bag. Should she contribute some food? Her refrigerator wasn't exactly a receptacle of gourmet treats. Fruit and frozen bread did not a feast make. OK, so she'd stop off somewhere
en route
and collect a few things.
Which was precisely what she did, arriving at Dominic's front door with no less than two carrybags held in each hand.
‘I invited you to join me on a picnic, not provide one,' he remonstrated as he divested her of her purchases.
‘I got carried away. Besides, I owe you a meal.'
‘You don't owe me anything.'
She followed him through to the kitchen. ‘Humour me. I have an independent streak.'
A friendly room with modern appliances, she decided as he unpacked the bags and stored a cold-pack in the refrigerator.
She cast him an all-encompassing look, appraising the sleeveless shirt, the cut-off jeans, the trainers on his feet.
One eyebrow slanted. ‘What did you expect? An enveloping artist's cape?' His eyes gleamed as he reached out a hand and touched one cheek, glimpsed the faint uncertainty evident and sought to alleviate it. ‘Shall we go?'
She didn't resist as he led her to the glassed walkway, connecting the large studio above a multicar garage to the house.
It was, she conceded, an artist's dream, with sections of floor-to-ceiling glass and sliding floor-to-ceiling cupboard doors closing storage areas. Even the roof held panels of glass to capture every angle of sunlight.
There were the tools of trade in evidence—pots and tubes of oil paint, three easels, canvas, frames—all tidily stored on racks.
Yet she saw splotches of paint on the bare wooden floor, denoting it as a functional room where work was achieved.
‘Do you need to paint in silence? Or doesn't noise bother you?'
‘Depends on the mood, and the creative muse,' Dominic answered, watching her closely. This was his sanctum, a room which revealed more of himself than he liked. Consequently he allowed very few people access.
‘Tell me where you'd prefer me to sit or stand while you paint.'
‘You don't want to explore?'
‘I imagine if there's something you want to show me, you will,' Francesca said evenly.
‘Take a seat, while I create a colourful abstract to be auctioned off for charity next week.'
She watched him turn a blank canvas into a visual work of art. First the block of colour, covered by bold strokes and strong slashes. It looked so easy, his movements sure as one hour passed, then another, and she sat there enthralled by his artistic ability to transfer image to canvas. It didn't seem to matter that she possessed little comprehension of the portrayed abstract or its symmetry. The creative process itself was inspiring.
His involvement was total, and interest, rather than curiosity, impelled a strong desire to see some of his completed works. She would have given much to examine the tiered rack where several canvases were stored. Maybe next time.
At last he stood back satisfied. ‘That's enough for today.' He deftly deposited brushes, cleaned paint from his hands, then crossed to a nearby sink and washed.
‘Let's get out of here.'
He left her in the kitchen. ‘I'll go shower and change while you pack food into the cooler.'

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