The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (209 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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‘Don't you think I'm capable?'
The corners of his eyes creased, and the darkness intensified. ‘I should come along in case you drown.'
‘You, of course, are a bundle of energy this fine morning?' She trailed her fingers across his midriff, felt the muscles tighten and created a playful pattern with the dark hair there.
‘Go any lower, and I won't answer to the consequences,' Sloane warned huskily.
‘Just checking,' she told him with impish mischievousness, then gasped as he lifted her across his chest, rolled her onto her back, and fastened his mouth on hers with devastating accuracy.
She clung to him, meeting his ardour with her own, loving the fierceness before it altered and softened into something that was incredibly gentle.
‘A swim,' she said with a shaky smile. ‘Definitely a swim. Otherwise we'll never get out of here.'
They rose, donned minimum swimwear, and Suzanne caught up a cotton wrap as Sloane collected a towel.
Outside it was still, and there wasn't a sound. No birdlife, not so much as a breeze to riffle the foliage as they made their way onto the sand.
A new day, she mused, watching as the colours around her gradually intensified. Crisp white sand, the sea changing hue from blue to aqua, clearly defined from an azure sky. The air was warm and devoid of the sun's heat.
As she watched, the golden orb's outer rim crept above the horizon, bringing with it the clarity of light, and she heard the first twitter as birds awoke.
Sloane watched her expressive features, the way her mouth curved slightly open, the softness in those vivid blue eyes as she stood there.
‘Want to walk along the shoreline?'
She turned slowly towards him, and her eyes teased his. ‘Dip our toes in the water, skim a few shells out over the surface?'
‘Commune with Nature, and maybe sacrifice a swim for a long warm shower?'
Suzanne gave a throaty laugh as she caught hold of his hand. ‘Chicken,' she teased. ‘A bracing cold swim, a hearty breakfast...' She trailed off with a grin. ‘Just what we need to kick-start the day.' Her eyes sparkled with humour. ‘Last one in—' She didn't get to finish as she was swept off her feet and carried into the water. ‘Sloane. Don't you
dare
.'
Cool, not cold, and definitely bracing. The hearty breakfast came way after the long warm shower.
Then things seemed to move very swiftly into action.
The celebrant didn't turn a hair when asked to perform another ceremony. Georgia and Trenton were thrilled with the news. The restaurant management appeared completely unfazed at the request to prepare a small but sumptuous midday wedding feast.
Suzanne gasped out loud when Georgia removed a pale ivory creation of silk and lace from its protective covering, added shoes, and a fingertip veil.
Sloane's contingency plan.
She reached out a hand and touched the exquisite lace overlay. ‘It's beautiful.' The correct size, the right length, perfect.
‘Did you—?'
‘Help?' Georgia queried. ‘No, I swear.'
‘You're not going to ask if I have doubts?'
‘I don't need to,' her mother said gently. ‘You wouldn't be about to do this if you had them.'
No, Suzanne agreed in contemplative silence as she crossed to the mirror and began tending to her make-up.
It was almost eleven-thirty when she made the final adjustment to her veil and stood back from the mirror.
‘You take my breath away,' Georgia said with a tremulous smile.
‘Don't you dare cry,' Suzanne admonished her with a shaky grin. ‘Or I will too, then we'll have to redo our make-up, which will make us late, and Sloane will send Trenton on a rescue mission, only to follow closely on his heels with the celebrant in tow.' Her eyes danced with expressive mischief. ‘Not exactly a scene I would choose. Besides, we can't have this hastily arranged service misconstrued as a kidnap attempt of the bride by the groom, can we? Think what a field day the gossip columns would have with that!'
Georgia's mouth quivered as she caught hold of her daughter's outstretched hand. ‘Unthinkable,' she agreed solemnly.
Tables had been cleared at one end of the restaurant to make room for an elegant archway threaded with hibiscus and frangipani in brilliant shades of pink. Soft music filtered from a stereo system, and red carpet formed a temporary aisle.
Suzanne took a deep breath, accepted the reassuring squeeze from her mother's fingers, then began walking slowly towards the archway where Sloane and Trenton waited with the celebrant.
Father and son were similar in height and stature, their breadth of shoulder outlined by superb tailoring, and almost in unison both men turned to watch the two women in their lives walk towards them.
Suzanne felt as if time stood still. Her eyes met Sloane's, and clung. Everything else faded to the periphery of her vision as she drew close, and there was him, only him.
The expression in those liquid brown eyes held a warmth that threatened to melt her bones. There was a wealth of emotion apparent as he smiled, and her step almost faltered as she reached his side.
Sloane caught hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips, then he kissed each finger in turn, slowly, as her heart went into overdrive.
She was barely aware that Georgia moved to one side, and she endeavoured to focus on the celebrant's voice as he intoned the words, elicited their individual responses, then solemnly accorded them man and wife after the exchanging of rings.
‘You may now kiss the bride.'
Sloane lifted the fine veil with infinite care, then his hands slid to cup her face, and his head descended as he took possession of her mouth in a kiss that claimed and pleasured with such thoroughness, her skin tinged a delicate pink at the blatant promise apparent.
Afterwards they sipped Cristal champagne from slim crystal flutes, posed for the essential few photographs, then took their seats at an elegantly decorated table where they were served the finest seafood in delicate sauces, fresh salads, an incredible pavlova decorated with fresh cream and fruit for dessert, followed by the pièce de resistance, an iced wedding cake. Which necessitated more champagne, a toast, followed by coffee.
As weddings went, it had to be one of the smallest, most intimate affairs on record, Suzanne mused as they stood and thanked Georgia and Trenton, the staff, the celebrant, then led the way from the restaurant.
Sadly, the romantic idyll was almost over, for in half an hour the launch would leave for Dunk Island, where the family jet was on standby to fly them to Sydney.
Inside the villa Sloane caught hold of her hands and drew her close.
‘I don't think we have time for this,' Suzanne said a trifle breathlessly as his head descended to hers.
‘Depends on your definition of
this
,' Sloane teased, touching his lips to the corner of her mouth as he trailed a tantalising path along the contours of her lower lip.
A groan escaped her throat, and she angled her mouth so that it fitted his, encouraging a possession he didn't hesitate to give.
It seemed an age before he lifted his head, and she could only look at him in total bemusement. ‘I think,' she managed huskily, ‘we should change and pack.'
His lips brushed across her forehead. ‘Change, but not pack.' He lingered at her temple, then traced the edge of her jaw. ‘We're staying here.'
‘How can we stay? I'm due back at work tomorrow.' Her eyes widened. ‘You must have court appearances.' Her voice husked down to a mere whisper. ‘It's not possible.'
He lifted his head and surveyed her features with musing indulgence. ‘Yes, it is.' He placed a forefinger beneath her chin and lifted it. ‘All it took was a few phone calls.'
‘But you can't—'
‘I just have.'
‘My job—'
‘Secure,' Sloane assured her. ‘For as long as you want it.'
She drew in a shaky breath, then released it. ‘What did you tell them?'
His thumb traced the column of her throat, felt the convulsive movement as she swallowed, and soothed it with the gentle brush of his fingers. ‘The truth.' He explored the hollow at the edge of her neck, and felt her quivering response. ‘You have a week's leave with their blessing.'
It was feasible her work could be shared around. Sloane, however, was in a vastly different position. ‘But what about you?'
‘Forward planning,' he declared, and effected a slight shrug. ‘I did a bit of shuffling, called in a few favours.'
‘How long?' It couldn't possibly be more than a day or two.
‘I'm not due in court until Friday.'
She wanted to kiss and hug him, both at the same time. ‘I love you,' she said reverently. ‘Later, I intend to show you just how much.'
‘Promises?'
She offered him a brilliant smile. ‘Oh, yes. Definitely. But now,' she declared, ‘we change, then we'll go see Georgia and Trenton onto the launch.'
His mouth quirked with humour, playing her game. ‘And after?'
‘A girl's wedding day is special.' Her smile was infinitely wicked. ‘Something of which memories are made and reminisced over down the years.' She lifted both hands and ticked off her fingers, one by one. ‘There's the champagne, the bridal waltz, and the throwing of the bridal bouquet.' Irrepressible humour intensified the blue of her eyes. ‘You planned the first half of the day. Are you willing to leave the second half to me?'
Sloane caught hold of her hands, and kissed the inside of each wrist before releasing them. ‘I guess I can do that.'
T
HEY reached the jetty a few minutes before Georgia and Trenton, together with the celebrant, were due to board the launch. Goodbyes were affectionate, but brief.
‘I want postcards from Paris,' Suzanne insisted gently as she kissed Georgia.
‘Done.'
Suzanne stood within the circle of Sloane's arms as the launch moved out of sight, then she turned and curved an arm around his waist.
‘Let's walk along the beach.'
He looked down at her expressive features, caught the faint shadows beneath her eyes and experienced a faint pang of regret that he was the cause. She needed to catch up on sleep. Dammit, they both did.
‘No rock-climbing,' he warned, and she laughed, a light, infectious sound that curled round his heart.
‘Intent on preserving the energy levels?'
The smile he slanted her held warm humour. ‘Yours, as well as my own.'
They trod the soft sand to the first promontory, then turned and slowly retraced their steps. The pool looked inviting, and they stroked a few lengths in lazy rhythm before emerging to lie supine side by side on two loungers, allowing the soft warm breeze to dry the brief, thin pieces of silk they each wore.
Suzanne must have slept, for she dreamt of isolated incidents that had no common linkage, and woke to the drift of fingers tracing a soft pattern down her forearm.
The sun was low in the sky, and there were long shadows deepening the colour of the sand.
‘It's late.'
‘Does it matter?' Sloane queried, propping himself up on one arm.
She rose to her feet in one fluid movement. ‘We have a dinner reservation in half an hour.' She stretched a hand towards him. ‘Time to rise and shine and shower and dress.'
They made it with barely a minute to spare, and were seated out on the terrace overlooking the bay.
Suzanne requested champagne, conferred with Sloane over the menu choices, and they opted for a light meal, preferring entrée servings with salads and fresh fruit.
The scallops mornay were superb, the oysters kilpatrick divine, and the prawns delectable.
They delighted in feeding each other morsels of food in a feast that equally fed their palates and their senses.
Anticipation was a powerful aphrodisiac, and they deliberately lingered, delaying the return to their villa by tacit consent.
There was background music, and Suzanne smiled as Sloane stood and held out his hand.
‘You mentioned something about dancing.'
Heaven didn't get any better than this, she decided dreamily as she slipped into his arms. His hold was hardly conventional, and his lips grazed her temple, creating an evocative pattern that heated her blood to fever pitch.
It would be all too easy to whisper, Let's get out of here.
He sensed the moment she almost wavered, and brushed a kiss down the slope of her nose. There were other nights, a whole lifetime of them. He closed his eyes, then opened them again.
Thank God,
he thought in silent reverence.
Did she realise how much she meant to him? How the prospect of a life without her was akin to slowly dying?
He had known from the first moment they met that she was special. Courting her should have been easy. Never once had he even had to
try
with a woman. They were there for the taking, the selection entirely his. Suzanne had been different. There was no facade, no games, no emotional baggage. Just honesty, and a beautiful soul.
In retrospect, he acknowledged he'd moved too fast. The
image
of Wilson-Willoughby had proved to be a deterrent, for instead of enticing it had earned unaccustomed caution.
The night he'd walked into an empty penthouse and discovered she'd gone had been the worst night of his life. In the space of mere minutes he'd experienced very real fear, devastating loss, and a slow-mounting rage, the like of which he'd never known before. The note had left no phone number, no address, and no way of contacting her until eight-thirty the next morning when she arrived at the office.
‘It's time to throw the bridal bouquet.'
He relaxed his hold and let her slip out from his arms, watching as she scooped up a display of frangipani and hibiscus from a nearby table centrepiece.
‘To whom do you intend to throw it?'
‘Ah, now there's a thing,' she said solemnly. ‘The waiter? The waitress at the bar?'
All he had to do was raise his hand, murmur his request, and within minutes there were five staff members forming a line.
‘It's not really a bouquet.'
‘I don't think they'll care.'
They didn't, not at all, and she gave an infectious laugh as the flowers sailed a few metres and then separated easily between two pairs of hands.
Suzanne turned towards Sloane, and her eyes shone with mischief. ‘Now we get to leave.'
There was a moon, bathing everything with a dim light, and halfway along the path she reached up and kissed him, only to gasp when he pulled her close and turned the impulsive gesture into something infinitely sensual.
They had almost an entire week of lazily spent days and long nights of lovemaking ahead of them, Suzanne reflected dreamily as they reached their villa. Time out for romance, before the return to reality in a cosmopolitan southern city and a faster pace of life. Somehow their inevitable social obligations no longer seemed daunting.
Sloane unlocked the door, then switched on the light. Suzanne stepped inside, then came to an abrupt halt.
Inside, both downstairs and visible in the bedroom, grouped in vases, were masses of deep red roses, filling the villa with their delicate perfume.
She felt her eyes widen with sheer pleasure, then mist with the threat of tears. Slowly she turned to face him, her mouth shaky with emotion as she looked at him in silent query.
‘While you were planning,' Sloane declared gently, ‘I did a little planning of my own.'
‘So many,' she said breathlessly, as she moved forward and touched a gentle finger to one velvet bud.
He crossed to stand behind her, curving her close into his body. His warm breath teased the hair at her temple as she sank back against him.
‘A dozen to represent every year for the rest of our lives.'
Her heart seemed to turn over in her chest. She turned in his arms and reached up to link her hands together at his nape. His eyes were dark, so darkly gleaming she could almost see herself in their reflection.
‘I love you. So much,' Suzanne whispered. ‘I always have.'
His lips grazed hers, then lifted fractionally. ‘I know,' he said gently. Her lips parted, and he pressed them closed. ‘It was the only thing that kept me sane.'
His mouth closed over hers, seeking, finding everything she had to give and more, as he gave in return.
It wasn't enough, not nearly enough. Suzanne groaned as her fingers sought the hard flesh beneath his clothes, and she gasped as he swung an arm beneath her knees and lifted her high against his chest
Her lips were slightly swollen, and her eyes deep and slumberous, as he strode towards the steps leading up to the bedroom.
‘I am capable of walking,' she teased, and nearly died at the depth of passion evident in his gaze.
‘Isn't the groom supposed to carry the bride over the threshold?'
‘Something like that,' she said with mock seriousness. She lifted a hand and trailed her fingers down the edge of his cheek ‘What other traditions do you have in mind?'
He reached the upper level, crossed to the large bed, and lowered her down to stand within the circle of his arms. ‘One or two.'
His fingers freed the loops attaching two tiny buttons at her nape, then he slid the zip fastening down the length of her back. The pale silk whispered to the fioor to pool at her feet.
Soft opaque lining had negated the need to wear a bra, and she quivered beneath the intensity of his gaze, all too aware of her body's reaction. Only lace bikini briefs remained, and her eyes widened as he reached out a hand and extracted a single rose from a nearby vase.
With exquisite care he touched the velvet-petalled bud to her cheek, then trailed it gently to the edge of her mouth.
The delicate scent teased her nostrils, and she felt all her fine body hairs rise in acute sensual expectation as he traced an evocative pattern to the valley between each breast.
Slowly, with infinite care, he gently outlined one breast, then the other, before trailing down to rest at her navel.
Suzanne's breath caught as desire arrowed through her body, igniting each erogenous zone in a conflagrant path and sending fire coursing through her veins.
With one deliberate movement he reached forward and pulled the covers from the bed, and she watched in mesmerised fascination as he lifted the rosebud to his lips.
Her eyes widened, dilating into huge pools of dark blue sapphire as he carefully peeled one petal free and let it flutter down on the bedsheets. Then another, and another, slowly, until only the rose stem and its stamen remained.
Suzanne thought her bones would melt, and a slow, sweet smile curved her generous mouth as she stepped out of her shoes.
She reached for the buttons on his shirt and undid them one by one, then discarded it. Her fingers moved to the buckle at his waist, dispensed with it, then she freed the zip fastening his trousers. Shoes and socks slid off easily.
Without a word she collected a rose, then, giving his chest a gentle push, she tumbled him down onto the bed.
His husky laughter brought forth a wickedly teasing gleam and her eyes danced at the thought of what she had in store for him.
Mirroring his actions, she slowly peeled one petal and let it drift down onto his torso. Then another, and another, with infinite care, until there was none.
With a witching smile she reached forward and plucked another rose from a nearby vase, and gently placed it against his mouth.
Sloane doubted he would ever be able to look at a rose again without experiencing a damning and very intimate reaction. Petals softer than a woman's touch, their brush against sensitive skin incredibly evocative, the eroticism so intense it took all his will-power to lie supine while she conducted the sensual stroking. Much more of this...
Suzanne saw the instant his eyes darkened, and she gave a soft, throaty laugh as he pulled her down on top of him.
The rose slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor as he surged into her, and she reached for his forearms as he caught hold of her hips, commanding a ride that had no equal in her experience.
Moisture filmed her skin, his, as he took her to a place where control had no meaning and the senses exploded in a starburst of heat so intense she thought she might
burn
with it.
Afterwards she collapsed against his chest in a state of emotional exhaustion. She could feel the drift of his fingers against her skin as he caressed the indentations of her spine.
Gradually her breathing steadied, and her heart slowed to an even beat.
She wanted to stay close to him like this for ever. To feel, to know that their loving would always be so intense, so emotive. A true meshing of the emotions, physical, mental and spiritual.
Suzanne lifted her head and looked down into those dark, passion-filled eyes, and felt her body turn to jelly.
‘I love you,' Sloane said with heartfelt simplicity.
‘I know I couldn't survive a life without you in it. You're everything there is, and more. So much more.'
Tears filmed her eyes, and she lifted a hand to brush gentle fingers across his mouth. ‘Same goes.'
He parted his teeth and nipped one finger, then drew it into his mouth and laved it with his tongue.
Awareness swirled into active life, spiralling through her body with damning ease, and she shifted slightly, exulting in the quickening power of his arousal as it swelled inside her.
In one smooth movement he rolled over and pinned her against the mattress.
The scent of crushed rose petals was strong, and she curved her legs around his hips, drawing him in close as she linked her hands together and pulled his head down to hers.
‘Thank you.' She brushed his mouth with her own. ‘For today. The roses. Everything.
You,
especially you.'
‘My pleasure,' Sloane murmured against her lips, aware the pleasure was mutual. As it always would be.

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