The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (21 page)

‘I doubt that you do,' Miguel denied silkily. ‘Verbal abuse is difficult to prove without an independent witness. So is slander.' His expression hardened. ‘However, these prints and the report prove Camille's intent to defame.'

‘You intend to confront her?'

‘Not personally.' His voice was clipped, he was watching her expressive features. ‘In the only way she will understand.'

‘Legal action?'

‘Yes.'

There was a ruthlessness apparent that boded ill for anyone daring to cross him, and Hannah shivered, caught up in a mix of complex emotions.

He wanted it done. Camille and her obsessive behaviour out of their lives. As to Luc… It would be as well if he never caught sight of him again. To do so would incite the possibility of physical assault, he decided grimly.

Hannah took in a deep breath, then released it. ‘What do you want me to do?'

‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing, do you understand? We must wait for her next move.' His gaze speared hers, dark and incredibly formidable. ‘No heroics, Hannah. Rodney Spears will be close at all times.'

Miguel reached forward and caught hold of her shoulders, sliding his hands down her back as he pressed her body close in against his own. He angled
his head and nuzzled her earlobe, then feathered a trail of kisses down the edge of her neck. ‘Miss me?'

Dear heaven,
yes
. She didn't like sleeping alone in their bed. She'd turn over in her sleep, subconsciously searching for the warmth of his body, seeking the touch of his hands, the reassuring brush of his lips…only to discover a cool empty space.

‘Uh-huh.' His mouth was playing havoc with her senses. The blood sang in her veins, heating all the pleasure pulses and creating a fast-pacing tempo that demanded more, much more than the touch of his lips.

Hannah gave a faint gasp as an arm skimmed beneath her knees and Miguel lifted her against his chest. Her eyes were almost on a level with his own as he carried her into the foyer and began ascending the stairs.

She saw the passion smouldering in those dark depths and felt the thrill of anticipated pleasure as he gained the gallery and strode towards their bedroom.

When he lowered her down to her feet she simply wound her arms round his neck and brought his mouth down to her own.

She was hardly aware of him divesting her of her clothes, or that her fingers dispensed with shirt buttons, took care of his belt and the zip on his trousers.

There was only the need to feel skin on skin, the ecstasy of their joined bodies moving in perfect harmony as they created the ultimate pleasure.

Something they sought and achieved again in the
early dawn hours before sleep claimed them for a brief hour.

The need to rise and face the new day saw them shower, dress, share breakfast and depart the house in separate cars
en route
to their respective places of business.

H
OW
long would it take Camille to stage her confrontation?

It had to be today, Hannah estimated, for if the Frenchwoman had gone to such pains to discover Miguel's plans, she'd be aware he was due to return home tonight.

Anticipating the time and place made her edgy, and by midday she was fast becoming a nervous wreck. It made sense that Camille would choose a time when Hannah was alone, which meant the hour Elaine went on lunch break, or immediately afterwards when Hannah visited the café.

Knowing Rodney Spears remained unobtrusively on duty provided reassurance.

Hannah checked her watch, and indicated Elaine should go to lunch, during which the phone rang three times, three clients called in to collect orders, two people opted to browse, and Camille was a no-show.

The nervous tension mounted with every passing minute as she ordered a Caesar salad and carrot juice at the café counter, paid, then selected one of three empty tables and took a seat.

The salad was delectable, she knew, because she frequently ordered the dish. However, today she could
have been eating chalk, and her appetite was nonexistent.

Hannah sat there for more than half an hour, then she ordered bottled water and slowly sipped it over the next fifteen minutes. Camille was nowhere to be seen.

At ten to two, Hannah walked out onto the street, visited a nearby newsagent and selected a card to send to Cindy, then she retraced her steps to the boutique.

Elaine left at four, and an hour later Hannah checked the locks, set the alarm, closed up and walked to the car park.

She slid into the Porsche and closed the door, inserted the key into the ignition, then gasped in shocked surprise as the door opened from the outside.

Camille leant forward and dropped a large envelope onto her lap. ‘I thought you should have these.' She stood back and prepared to close the door. ‘By the way, Perth was fun, darling.'

Where had she come from? Hannah questioned silently. Then she heard the sound of an engine, and she turned to see Camille behind the wheel of a car as it moved quickly towards the exit.

Seconds later Rodney Spears appeared out of nowhere. ‘Are you okay?'

‘I'm fine.'

He didn't appear convinced. ‘I'll report in to Mr Santanas.'

Hannah tried for a smile, and almost made it.

Rodney Spears had already hit the rapid dial key and was talking into the phone. ‘The perpetrator
dropped off a package. One minute contact. Yes, your wife is fine. I'll follow her home.' He cut the connection. ‘Are you okay to go now, ma'am?'

She was about as okay as she would ever be. ‘Sure.' Seconds later she cleared the exit and joined the line of cars crawling along Toorak Road.

Perth?
Why had Camille mentioned Perth?

It took several minutes to reach the turn-off, and she moved freely through various residential streets before entering her own.

Miguel's Jaguar was parked outside the front door, and she drew the Porsche to a halt behind it.

No sooner had she entered the foyer than he was there, tall and brooding, his eyes compellingly dark as he raked her petite frame.

His gaze shifted to the large envelope in her hand, and he took it from her, then he cupped her chin and kissed her, hard.

‘Let's take this into the study.' Miguel caught hold of her hand and led the way. ‘I think we could both do with a drink.'

And then some, Hannah echoed silently as she entered the large book-lined room, watching as he opened a bottle of chilled white wine and filled two goblets with the golden liquid.

She accepted one and took a long sip of the contents as he leaned one hip against the desk.

Hannah indicated the envelope. ‘Aren't you going to open that?'

‘In a minute. First, there's something you need to know.'

She held his gaze, then said slowly, ‘I don't think I want to hear this.'

‘Camille apparently discovered I would be in Perth, and she not only caught an earlier flight, she also booked into the same hotel.'

He caught the fleeting stricken look before she successfully controlled it, and he felt moved to violence at the lengths Camille was prepared to go to wreak destruction.

‘Don't tell me,' Hannah said bitterly. ‘Not only does that envelope contain doctored photographs we've already seen, but shots taken of the hotel with the date function exposed.' Her gaze lanced his. ‘What else? You leaving your hotel room? Camille posing in the hallway with the room number showing, should I want to check it out?'

‘Worse. Camille lying almost naked in an unmade bed. The fact it isn't
my
bed is immaterial, as most of the rooms are identical.'

She stood up and carefully placed the goblet down onto the desk.
Calm
, a tiny voice soothed. Stay calm. Just go look at the prints. Examine them carefully. And don't say a word until you're done.

With slow deliberation she slit the edge of the envelope and extracted the prints. One by one she discarded them onto the desk until she came to the final six.

As she anticipated, there was a photo taken of the hotel exterior, another of the reception area with a clear view of Camille checking in. The hallway, displaying a room number on the door. Miguel emerging
from the same room. And the final two showing Camille sprawled in differing poses among rumpled sheets looking dreamily sated and incredibly seductive.

Hannah's first inclination was to rip them in half and throw them in the waste bin. It sickened her to look at them, and she felt positively ill at the mental image of Miguel pleasuring another woman. Even if it hadn't happened, just the thought was enough to kill her.

‘Look at the date.'

Miguel's voice penetrated the dark void into which she'd mentally retreated, and she shook her head.

‘Por Dios.'
The husky imprecation sounded like silk being razed by razor-sharp steel.
‘Look.'

It was today's date.
Today?
But—

‘I was here last night,' Miguel relayed inexorably. ‘With you.'

Irrefutable proof. ‘Just as well,' Hannah ventured with a shaky smile. ‘Otherwise I'd have killed you, or worse.'

He appeared vaguely amused. ‘Then it's fortunate I have an alibi for Monday evening.'

‘I hope it's watertight.'

‘It is. Alejandro will confirm.' His voice became hard, his expression inflexible. ‘Camille will be served with an interim injunction. If she chooses to disregard it, she'll be charged, independently of existing harassment charges.' He paused fractionally. ‘Then there's scientific proof regarding tampering of
photographic prints.' His gaze speared hers. ‘If she's wise, she'll take the first flight out of here.'

And their lives would revert to normal. Until the next time, Hannah added cynically. Although many women coveted Miguel, none had gone to such extraordinary lengths as Camille. Because the woman was obsessive? A practised man-stealer who derived her satisfaction from setting the scene and playing a devious game?

It made Hannah feel fiercely territorial. And possessive. About Miguel, her marriage, her home…
everything
she held sacred.

There were a few what if's tumbling around in her mind, and she felt sickened at the thought that Camille's plan had almost worked.

Don't go there, she silently cautioned. A partnership, a marriage, had to be built on trust. If there wasn't trust, there was nothing.

She reached for her goblet and took a generous sip of wine. It curled round her stomach and seeped into her veins, gradually lessening the tension.

A few weeks ago she hadn't known of Camille Dalfour's existence. Yet in the past week the Frenchwoman had managed to create chaos.

Miguel could take whatever action he chose. But
she
intended to instigate a strategy of her own.

In an impulsive move she drained the remaining wine in a long swallow, then replaced the empty goblet down onto the desk.

‘I feel like a swim before dinner.'

Miguel let her go, and when the door closed behind
her he slid the prints back into the envelope and locked them in the wall safe. Then he picked up the phone and dialled his lawyer's number.

 

Hannah slipped out of her clothes and stepped into a stunning deep aqua one-piece, then she pinned up her hair, snagged a towel and ran lightly down the stairs.

The pool looked inviting, the water clear and sparkling in the early evening sunlight. The heat of the day had diminished slightly, but it was still hot, and she dived cleanly in at the deep end and when she surfaced she struck out with leisurely strokes, one lap after another, until she'd counted to fifty, then she turned onto her back and lay there, held buoyant by the crystal water.

She could feel the sun on her face, her limbs, and she closed her eyes, becoming lost in reflective thought.

Soon she would need to emerge, go upstairs, shower and change ready for dinner. But, for now, she was bent on enjoying the quietness and the solitude.

Five minutes later she rolled onto her stomach in one fluid movement and made her way to the tiled ledge.

The strategy took shape as she showered, then she dried her hair and slipped into a casual pencil-slim skirt and top. Minimum make-up, a touch of lipstick and she was ready.

Dinner was timed for six-thirty, and a quick glance
at her watch revealed she had just five minutes to set the plan in motion.

Rather than use the house line, she extracted her cell-phone and punched in a series of numbers.

‘Graziella?' She exchanged pleasantries, then voiced her request. ‘Could I speak to Camille, if she's there?'

If Camille was surprised at the identity of her caller, she didn't show it.

‘Hannah, how charming,
chérie
.' Her tone was pure feline.

‘Let's do lunch tomorrow.' Hannah named an up-market restaurant a block from the boutique. ‘One o'clock. Be there.' She cut the connection before Camille had a chance to utter a further word.

Dinner was a simple meal of chicken served with piquant rice and a delectable salad with fresh fruit to follow. Hannah declined wine in favour of a lemon spritzer, and admired Miguel's appetite while she merely picked at the food on her plate.

‘Not hungry?'

She met Miguel's steady gaze and effected a light shrug. ‘A client brought in a platter of fresh grapes, crackers and cheese. Elaine and I nibbled all afternoon.'

‘You haven't forgotten we have tickets for the opening of David Williamson's new play tomorrow night?'

She'd been so preoccupied with Camille, she hadn't checked her social diary for days. ‘No, of course not.'

‘I have some work to do on the laptop for an hour or so,' Miguel declared as Hannah pushed her plate to one side.

‘Likewise.' End-of-month invoices, stock receipts, and she also needed to check catalogues from several different fashion houses. ‘I should make a start on it.'

‘You load the dishwasher,' he instructed, rising to his feet. ‘I'll make coffee.'

There was a part of her that wanted the comfort of his touch, the warmth of his arms and the feel of his mouth on hers. In reassurance? It didn't help to feel this needy. Yet they shared a marriage, had created a bond, and what more natural than to go to him, wind her arms round his neck and pull his head down to hers?

She couldn't do it. Not here, not now. Camille stood like a spectre between them, a living, breathing entity that seemed to sap her natural warmth and spontaneity.

When the coffee was made, she poured it into two cups and carried hers through to the comfortable room next to Miguel's study. It wasn't as large as his, but it held an antique desk, bookshelves, filing cabinet, and a laptop.

For the next two hours she worked diligently, and when the paperwork was up to date she fired off a few e-mails to friends, which mostly took care of personal correspondence.

‘Not finished yet?'

Hannah looked up and saw Miguel's tall frame leaning against the door-jamb. He'd removed cuff
links and rolled back his shirt-sleeves. The top few buttons on his shirt were loosened, and he looked as if he'd raked fingers through his hair more than once.

‘Five minutes.'

‘Want to watch a video?'

Why not? ‘Okay.'

‘Comedy? Action? Drama?'

She wrinkled her nose and gave him an impish grin. ‘Surprise me.'

When she entered the entertainment room he sat sprawled on the leather couch, a half-magnum of chilled champagne rested in an ice-bucket, there was a packet of crisps waiting to be opened, the lights were dimmed, and the television screen was running previews prior to the main movie.

Miguel patted the space beside him and extended a hand. His eyes were dark and his mouth curved into a sensual smile. ‘Come here.'

‘That sounds like an invitation,' she murmured as she crossed the room, and his smile broadened.

‘Do you need one?'

Hannah indicated the ice-bucket. ‘Are we celebrating?'

He caught hold of her hand and pulled her down to him. He leaned forward, eased the cork from the bottle, then poured the contents into two flutes and handed her one.
‘Salut.'

Miguel took a sip of excellent vintage champagne and watched as she mirrored his action, then he took the flute from her hand and gave her his.

It was a deliberately sensual gesture, and she held
his gaze for a few seconds, all too aware of the exigent sexual chemistry between them.

Liquid fire coursed through her veins, awakening each separate sensory nerve-end until her body became one pulsing ache in anticipation of his touch.

With considerable effort she dragged her gaze away and looked blindly at the television screen, focusing on the Technicolor images as the movie began to unfold.