The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (208 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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‘I think we're about to go down,' Trenton declared, meeting Sloane's musing smile with one of his own.
‘If we win, we'll split up and change partners,' Georgia offered generously.
‘Now that could make things interesting,' Sloane drawled, and Suzanne spared him a wicked grin.
‘Must we, Mama? This might be the only advantage we'll ever gain over them.'
Sloane lifted a hand and brushed his knuckles across her cheek. ‘Oh, I don't know,' he intoned tolerantly. ‘I can think of other advantages.' His eyes were dark with lambent warmth, his meaning unmistakable, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about the soft tinge of colour that flared high across her cheekbones.
‘You'll embarrass my mother,' she chided, and Trenton laughed.
‘Doubtful, darling,' Georgia assured her.
Suzanne looked from one gleaming gaze to another, and conceded defeat. ‘I think we should play on.' Afterwards, when they were alone, she'd pay Sloane back. And relish every second. of it. She shot him a silently threatening glance from beneath her lashes, and glimpsed the teasing gleam in those dark depths.
It gave her a degree of satisfaction to win, and she chose to be paired with Trenton against Georgia and Sloane in a series of games that brought a finish so close, the margin was minuscule in Georgia and Sloane's favour.
Being seated opposite him provided the opportunity to watch every move, glimpse each facial expression, the faint narrowing of his eyes as he considered which card to play, which one to discard.
He was a superb tactician, a supreme strategist. And he learned really fast. Too fast. It made her wonder if he hadn't deliberately played to lose earlier.
‘Anyone for coffee?'
‘No, thank you, darling.' Georgia spared a glance at her watch, then rose to her feet. ‘We'll see you at breakfast. Around eight?'
Sloane walked at Suzanne's side to the door. ‘We'll be there.'
Georgia leaned forward and brushed her daughter's cheek with her own. ‘Sleep well.'
As soon as the door had closed behind them, Suzanne crossed to the table and gathered up the pile of matchsticks, then collected the cards.
‘Leave them.'
His smile was warm with implied intimacy, and she almost melted at its mesmerising quality. ‘It'll only take a minute. Then I'll pack.'
His expression didn't change. ‘There's plenty of time to do that in the morning.'
She looked at him helplessly. ‘Sloane—' How could she say she was a mass of nerves, relieved in one way the weekend was almost over, yet deep inside fighting off a feeling of inconsolable grief? Wanting him, but reluctant to add another night of loving that would only add to the heartache? She shook her head in silent remonstrance, then drew on inner strength ‘It won't take long.'
He was close, much too close. Her breathing seemed to hang suspended as her pulse raced into overdrive.
‘Look at me.'
Her stomach executed a painful flip. ‘Sloane—'
‘Look at me, Suzanne,' he commanded in a voice that was deceptively mild—too mild.
She turned from her task of clearing the table, and hugged her arms together in an involuntary defensive gesture.
‘You're as skittish as a newborn foal.' And consumed by a confusing mix of contrary emotions, he added silently, aware of almost every one of them. ‘Want to talk about
why?'
How did she begin, and
where?
Or should she even begin at all?
Words
seemed superfluous and contradictory, yet there were things that needed to be said.
She looked at his strongly etched features, and felt as if she was teetering on the edge of a bottomless pit.
‘I'd like to go to bed. It's late, and I'm tired.'
He reached out a hand and took hold of her chin, then tilted it. ‘You're avoiding the issue.'
Her eyes darkened, and she felt them begin to ache with suppressed emotion. ‘Tomorrow we go back to Sydney and lead separate lives.'
‘If you believe I'm going to let that happen, then you're sadly mistaken.'
He lowered his head and angled his mouth over hers in a gentle possession that soon hardened into something deep and incredibly erotic.
It was all she could do not to respond, and she fought against the dictates of her own traitorous body, almost hating herself for being so mindless, so incredibly vulnerable where he was concerned.
Want; need. The two were entwined, yet separate. With differing meanings, depending on the gender.
A man could want, and use seducing skills to achieve sexual satisfaction. Was that what Sloane was doing? Making the most of the weekend?
Yet it was two-sided. She hadn't exactly displayed too much reluctance.
When he lifted his head she could only stand in silence, her eyes wide and hiding her pain.
His arm slid down her back, and she tried to put some distance between them. Without success. ‘Please, don't.'
‘Don't
what,
Suzanne? Take you to bed? Is that what this is all about?' His eyes searched hers, and glimpsed the slight flaring evident in her own.
‘Sex isn't the answer to everything.'
He noted the faint wariness in the set of her beautiful mouth, the bruised softness in those crystalline blue eyes, and wanted to wipe away all the indecision the doubt, and replace it with the uninhibited emotion she'd gifted him in the beginning.
‘I don't call what we share
sex,'
Sloane opined gently.
No, it was never just sex. Shared intimacy, lovemaking, a sensual exploration and satiation of the senses with
love
the ultimate goal.
‘Last night—'
‘Last night was a mistake.'
His eyes hardened to dark obsidian shards, and his expression became a bleak, angry mask.
‘T
HE hell it was.'
‘Sloane—'
‘What excuse are you going to try for, Suzanne? Too much champagne, when you barely touched a second glass? It seemed like a good idea at the time?' His dark eyes bored into her with relentless and deadly anger. ‘What?'
Oh, God. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘It wasn't like that.'
‘Then explain how it was.'
Magical, euphoric. Devastating in more ways than one. She tried for an ineffectual shrug and almost got it right. ‘I let the pretence become reality.' The burning need to experience heaven one last time.
‘You expect me to believe that?' His voice was dangerously quiet.
‘Dammit, Sloane. What do you want? A blow-by-blow analysis of my emotions?'
‘The truth might help.'
‘What truth?'
‘There were two people in that bed. And you were with me every inch of the way.'
‘So what does that prove, other than you're a skilled lover?'
‘Are you saying you'd respond to any man the way you respond to me?'
No. Never. So deep was her certainty, it robbed the power from her voice.
‘Suzanne?'
His eyes sharpened, homing in on the thinly disguised bleakness. ‘You didn't answer the question.'
Her eyes blazed, and she lifted her chin to a defiant angle. ‘What would you do if I said
yes
?'
His expression frightened her. ‘Be tempted to beat you within an inch of your life.'
‘You're not a violent man,' she said with certainty, only to have that conviction waver at the brilliant flare of intense emotion evident in his eyes, the deep set of his features projecting a mask that made her feel suddenly afraid. Which was ridiculous.
‘Try me.' The silky softness of his voice sent a chill chasing the length of her spine.
Gone was the cool, implacable control of the courtroom barrister. Absent, too, was the veneer of sophistication. In its place was a man intent on fighting—if not physically then verbally—to the bitter end to effect a resolution. Here, now. No matter what the outcome.
Suzanne moved her shoulders in an infinitely weary gesture. ‘Can't this wait until morning?' It had been a long night, and an even longer day.
He folded both arms across his chest. ‘No.'
‘Sloane—'
‘No,' he reiterated with dangerous softness.
She was almost at the end of her tether, tired in spirit, physically, emotionally. All she wanted to do was undress, curl into bed and sleep.
Then, when she woke in the morning, the long weekend would be over. She'd board the launch, take the flight back to Sydney, and attempt to take up with her life again. Without Sloane.
‘What do you
want
from me?' It was a tortured cry straight from the heart.
A muscle bunched at the edge of his jaw. ‘You. Just you.'
Her throat ached with emotion, and she was willing to swear her heart stopped beating.
‘As my wife, my partner, the twin half of my soul. For the rest of my life.'
She could only look at him in silence as she tried to assemble a few words that made sense.
He didn't give her the chance. ‘I have a Notice of Intention to Marry in my possession.' He let his arms fall to his sides. ‘All you have to do is attach your signature prior to the service tomorrow morning.'
Her voice emerged from her throat with difficulty. ‘Tomorrow?' The single query was little more than a soundless gasp. ‘Are you mad?'
‘Remarkably sane.'
Suzanne felt as if she needed to sit down. ‘We can't possibly—'
‘We can,' Sloane insisted. ‘You're as aware of the legalities as I am.' He paused fractionally, then touched a gentle finger to the corner of her mouth, traced its outline, then let his hand fall. ‘Georgia and Trenton will act as witnesses.'
‘You expect me to agree to all this?' she questioned weakly.
He looked at her for long, timeless minutes, examining the fall of clean blonde hair, the fine-texture skin with minimum make-up coverage, the beautiful crystalline blue eyes. And played his last card.
‘We can go back to Sydney tomorrow and begin organising the
social event of the year
. Plan the date, the venue, the marquee, the guest list, your designer gown, the media. If that's what you want, I'll go along with it. Happily.' He paused, his voice softening. ‘As long as it means I get
you.'
He lifted a hand and brushed gentle fingers down her cheek, then cupped her jaw. ‘Or we can many quietly here, tomorrow.' His smile held incredible warmth. ‘The choice is yours.'
Life with Sloane. Life without Sloane. There really wasn't any choice at all. Never had been.
‘Tomorrow?'
she reiterated in stunned disbelief.
‘Tomorrow,' Sloane insisted.
Suzanne's brain whirled with numerous implications. ‘You planned it like this,' she said unsteadily. ‘Didn't you?'
He touched a forefinger to her lips. ‘I planned to marry you. The time, the place were irrelevant.'
She searched his features and glimpsed the strength of purpose evident. ‘Georgia and Trenton's wedding, this remote island resort—' She faltered, absently lifting a hand to push a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘Their plans made it easy for you to—'
‘Discover the truth,' he finished.
‘But what if—'
There was a faint edge of tension beneath the surface of his control that he fought hard to subdue. Losing her temporarily had nearly cost him his sanity.
‘You said you needed time and space,' Sloane declared quietly. ‘Something I vowed to give you... within reason.'
Suzanne digested his words, and perceived the meaning behind them. ‘You had that much faith in me?'
A slight tremor in her voice brought a faint smile, and he lifted a hand and tucked another loose tendril of hair behind her ear. ‘Yes.'
She saw the passion visible in those dark, arresting features, and her bones began to melt. ‘Thank you,' she said simply.
His mouth curved with sensual warmth, deepening the darkness of his eyes as he leaned forward and trailed his lips along her cheekbone, then traced her jaw and settled near the edge of her mouth.
Without hesitation she shifted slightly and parted her lips to meet his in a kiss that merged from warmth to flaring heat in the space of a heartbeat.
It seemed an age before he lifted his head. ‘We have a wedding to organise.'
Suzanne's eyes gleamed as she sought to tease him a little. ‘I don't have anything suitable to wear.'
‘Yes, you do.'
In her mind's eye she skimmed the clothes she'd brought with her. ‘I do?' The pale blue silk slip dress she'd worn the day before would suffice...providing the resort staff could work a cleaning miracle in time.
‘Trust me.'
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
He smiled, and it sent lines fanning out from the corners of each eye. ‘Do I take that to mean a
yes
?'
Suzanne tried for solemnity, and failed. ‘It depends what I'm saying
yes
to.'
He leaned forward and brushed his lips to the curve of her neck. His mouth moved lower, trailed a path up her throat and hovered above her lips. He angled his mouth down to hers and took his fill, plundering, possessing, until she could be in no doubt of his feelings,
hers.
‘Marrying me.'
His mouth was intent on wreaking such delicious havoc with her senses, savouring the delicate flavour of her skin, while his hands sought and found the acutely sensitised pleasure spots that drove her wild.
‘Tomorrow.'
Yes, she cried silently. There were words she wanted to say, assurances she felt the need to give.
‘Sloane.'
His hands stilled at the way her voice caught in saying his name, and his mouth paused in its downward path. He lifted his head and took in the soft fullness of her lips, the dilated depths of her eyes.
‘I love you.' Words, just three of them. Yet in saying them she gifted more than her body. Her heart, her soul. Everything.
His hands shook slightly as they slid up to cup her face, and his expression was devoid of any artifice.
Joy,
love,
slow-burning deep emotion. Passion. Just for her.
‘Thank you,' he said gently.
The anger, the frustration, the sheer helplessness that had coloured the past few weeks disappeared. He knew he never wanted to experience them again.
No one would ever be permitted to diminish what they shared, or seek to damage it in any way. There would be no more doubts, no room for any insecurity. He would personally see to it. Every day of his life.
Suzanne watched the changing emotions and successfully read every one of them. The resolution, the caring. And love.
His thumb moved across the fullness of her lower lip with a reverence that made her want to cry. ‘I'm yours,' he said softly. ‘Always.' His lips curved into a slow smile that melted her bones. ‘For ever.'
She had to blink rapidly to dispel the suspicious moistness behind her eyes. ‘Then I guess we get married tomorrow.' Her mouth moved to form a shaky smile. ‘What on earth will Georgia and Trenton think?'
Sloane kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Be delighted, I imagine.'
She leaned into him, overwhelmed by the sheer feel and power of him. ‘Let's—' She paused slightly as Sloane's hand slid beneath the hem of her top and worked an evocative path towards one hip.
‘Make love?' His husky chuckle was low and infinitely sensual.
‘Go for a walk along the beach afterwards?' In the moonlight, in the stillness of night, with the sound of water lapping softly against the sand. Enjoying the magic of an island that was removed from civilisation, where solitude and privacy were guaranteed.
‘Sure,' Sloane agreed easily.
‘Providing you have sufficient energy left, of course,' she said with demure amusement, and had her laugh cut short as his mouth closed over hers in a kiss that promised total ravishment.
‘Planning on wearing me out, huh?' he teased as he carried her upstairs, then laid her down on the bed.
As he undressed his eyes were so dark, magnificent. And alive with a passion that made her catch her breath. Slowly, and with a sensuality that wasn't contrived, she lifted the hem of her top, pulled it over her head and dropped it onto the floor.
He eased himself down onto the bed beside her and she lowered her head and kissed his shoulder, trailing her mouth down to one hard male nipple, savoured it, then followed the dark hair arrowing down to his navel.
Beneath the fine black silk briefs his arousal was a potent force, and she caressed its outline with the tip of her tongue. It created a slight friction that made him catch his breath, and with a boldness she didn't pause to question she took the waistband between her teeth and gradually eased them down, inch by inch until the briefs were reduced to a narrow fold across the top of his thighs.
There was a tremendous beauty in the aroused male form, the knowledge of what that harnessed power could achieve in the pleasure stakes. For each of them.
Suzanne felt as if she wanted to laugh and cry, both at the same time, with the intense joy of being with this man, for she couldn't remember feeling so
alive,
so complete. It was like coming home, the knowledge of everything being
right
. She wanted to tell him, show him.
And she did. With infinite care, and a passion unfettered by uncertainty or reservation.
She wasn't sure when Sloane took control. Only that together they experienced emotions at their zenith again and again during the ensuing night hours.
Suzanne stirred as fingers trailed a light path across the flat plane of her stomach, and nuzzled the warm flesh beneath her cheek.
She didn't want to move. Didn't think she
could
move.
‘I guess the moonlit walk along the beach will have to wait.'
Suzanne registered Sloane's amused drawl, felt his warm breath tease her temple, and slowly opened her eyes to discover an early dawn fingering soft light into the room.
‘Well,' she murmured, “there's always the early morning swim.'
His soft laughter reverberated beneath her ear, and she lifted her head to look at him, glimpsed the teasing warmth evident in the generous curve of his mouth, the liquid darkness of his eyes, and wrinkled her nose.

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