The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (22 page)

The champagne was superb and she sipped the contents slowly, aware of the shift in Miguel's frame as he draped an arm along the back of the couch bare inches above her shoulders.

It was a relationship film, the acting excellent, and if she remembered correctly both male and female leads had earned Oscar nominations for the parts they played.

Hannah gradually became absorbed in the plot, and relaxed a little. She finished her champagne and Miguel took the empty flute from her fingers, placed it on a nearby low table, then settled back.

Minutes later she was aware of his fingers playing idly with her hair, gradually loosening the pins that held the smooth twist neatly together.

Her concentration was shot to hell as he leaned close and nuzzled her earlobe, then began pressing light kisses along the edge of her neck. When he savoured the sensitive hollow at its base, it was all she could do not to groan out loud.

‘You want to see this movie?' she questioned huskily, and heard his soft chuckle.

‘You watch it,
querida
.' His fingers slipped open one shirt button and slid beneath her lacy bra to tease one burgeoning peak. ‘I have something else in mind.'

‘Here?'

A hand covered her thigh and began a slow upward slide. ‘We'll eventually make the bedroom.' He released another shirt button. ‘But for now, enjoy.'

Five minutes was all it took for her to twist her fingers into the folds of his shirt and pull him hard against her. It was her mouth that sought his with hungry passion, eliciting a husky chuckle as his arms bound her close.

With urgent hands she sought his waist, wrenching the buckle open in her quest to touch him as he had caressed her.

She felt shameless, utterly wanton, in the need for his possession, and she gasped as he reared to his feet in one easy movement and strode towards the stairs.

On reaching the bedroom they helped remove each other's clothes, then Miguel took her down onto the bed with him and subjected her to such exquisite lovemaking she wept from the joy of it.

Later, much later, it was she who initiated a slow, sensual journey that had him breathing deeply as he fought for control, only to lose it as she rode him to a tumultuous climax that left their bodies slick with sensual sweat and sated emotions.

T
HE
day began with rain, which diminished to light showers and by midday the city was bathed in steamy heat and high humidity.

Hannah had dressed to kill in a tailored lightweight black suit that shrieked
class
. The deep V of the buttoned jacket showed a tantalising glimpse of cleavage. Black stiletto-heeled shoes added extra height to her petite frame and sheer black stockings showcased slender calves. Her hair was smoothed into a sleek chignon, and she wore minimum jewellery.

The overall look was one of a woman who was self-confident with high self-esteem. It hardly mattered that inside she felt like jelly as she entered the chosen restaurant a deliberate few minutes late.

It appeared Camille intended to play the same game, for she was nowhere in sight, and Hannah allowed the
maître d'
to escort her to a reserved table where she ordered a light spritzer and sipped it slowly as the minutes ticked on.

The waiting increased her nervous tension, and after ten minutes she summoned the waiter and placed her order. If Camille intended to be a no-show—

‘Hannah. My apologies.' The voice was as fake as the smile Camille offered as she slid into the seat opposite. ‘I was held up on the phone.' She lifted a
hand in an expressive Gallic gesture. ‘Parking, you know how it is.'

Begin as you mean to go on, a tiny voice prompted.

‘I've already ordered. I can only spare an hour.'

The wine steward appeared and Camille ordered
Dom Perignon
. ‘I thought we'd celebrate, darling.'

‘And the occasion is?' Hannah queried with a lift of one eyebrow.

‘Why—
life
.' Camille's smile didn't reach her eyes. ‘Isn't that enough reason?'

‘Not,' she countered firmly, ‘when you're determined to interfere in mine.'

The waiter presented the menu and Camille spared it the briefest of glances, ordered a salad, then flipped Hannah a hard, calculated look. ‘Haven't you learnt I am a formidable adversary?'

‘A very foolish one.'

Camille's gaze narrowed. ‘What did you think of the prints, darling?'

‘The digitally altered ones?' Hannah posed silkily. ‘Or the few of you sprawled among the sheets in a state of
déshabillé
?'

The calculation evident intensified into something that was almost dangerous. ‘How else would I be, when Miguel had just left my bed?'

‘Wrong, Camille,' she corrected with deceptive quietness. ‘Miguel was never in your bed.'

Camille's expression didn't change. ‘Failing to face up to reality, darling?'

Hannah speared a succulent asparagus, dipped the tip in the river of hollandaise sauce on her plate, and
took time to savour it. ‘It is
you
who needs a reality check,' she offered seconds later.

‘The prints were explicit.'

She looked at the Frenchwoman, and almost felt sorry for her. ‘A fantasy, Camille.'

Camille's lips tightened. ‘Irrefutable proof. The date function does not lie.'

‘No,' Hannah agreed. ‘You made just one small mistake.'

‘And what was that?'

She took her time in answering. ‘Miguel flew home Tuesday evening.'

‘Impossible. The suite was still occupied.'

‘By Alejandro,' she confirmed. ‘You were just too clever in activating the camera date function. It made a mockery of Miguel being in your bed, when he was already in mine.'

‘What of Monday night, Hannah?' Camille queried hatefully, and Hannah fought back the desire to slap the Frenchwoman's cheek.

‘Camille, give it up. You played what you thought was your trump card, and it proved to be the joker.'

Red lacquered nails on one hand curled round the table napkin. ‘You invited me to lunch to tell me this?'

‘No,' she denied. ‘I wanted the opportunity to warn you in person that I won't tolerate your attempts to interfere in my life, or my marriage.'

Camille pressed a hand against the region of her heart. ‘I am so afraid.'

The degree of dramatic mockery was almost laugh
able, if Hannah was inclined to see humour in the situation. ‘Be afraid,' she warned inflexibly. ‘I can have you charged with harassment and stalking.' Her gaze was direct, her tone icy with intent. She waited a beat, then added, ‘I doubt your aunt will be impressed. Nor, I imagine, will Graziella and Enrico del Santo.'

Camille's eyes glittered with dark malevolence.

‘I am not finished with you yet. Miguel—'

‘Finds you as much of a nuisance as I do,' Hannah intercepted smoothly. ‘Go get a life, Camille. And get out of mine.'

A venomous stream of French issued from Camille's perfectly outlined mouth in a pithy, street-gutter diatribe that left those who comprehended the language in little doubt of an attack on Hannah's parentage, status and character.

Two things happened simultaneously, and Hannah had the briefest warning of both.

Camille's hand snaked out and caught her cheek a stinging slap. Champagne spilled across the damask tablecloth. Then Rodney Spears appeared from nowhere and held the Frenchwoman's flailing arms in a restraining grip.

What happened next was almost comedic, as the waiter almost flew to the table, followed close on his heels by the
maître d'
. Fellow patrons looked alarmed, others merely curious, and throughout it all Camille continued to demean every one of Hannah's relatives, both living and those who had passed on.

It almost contained a surreal quality, like something out of a movie.

‘You wish me to call the police,
madame
?' the
maître d'
queried with concern. He was all too aware of Hannah's identity and her connection to two of the city's wealthiest families.

Hannah ignored Rodney Spears' nod of assent. ‘No.'

‘You are sure,
madame
?' he repeated anxiously. ‘You are not hurt?'

The left side of her face stung, emotionally she was a little shaken up, but that was all. ‘I'm fine.'

‘There will, of course, be no charge for the meal. Can I get you something to drink?'

‘I will take care of Mrs Santanas,' Rodney asserted in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘Just as soon as I have escorted this woman from the premises.'

He shot Hannah a direct look. ‘You are quite sure you don't want her detained?'

She turned towards Camille, who resembled a spitting cat waiting for another opportunity to lash out. ‘Come within ten metres of me again, and I'll slap you with every charge in the book,' she warned with quiet dignity. Difficult, when inside she felt like a nervous wreck.

Rodney strong-armed the Frenchwoman from the restaurant, and Hannah viewed the table, the spilled champagne, the scattered food.

‘I apologise,' she offered simply, and had her words immediately waved aside. She gathered up her purse and withdrew her credit card.

‘No, no,
madame
.' He waved aside the card. ‘There is no need to leave. Let me arrange another meal.'

‘Thank you, but I must get back to work.' She had to get out of here and breathe in some fresh air.

‘You should wait for the detective to return.'

The bodyguard. Oh, hell, that meant Rodney would report to Miguel, and then, she grimaced, there would be hell to pay.

It didn't take long. Ten minutes, Hannah counted, checking her watch as her cell-phone rang.

‘What in
hell
are you playing at?' Miguel demanded the instant she acknowledged the call.

‘Protecting my own turf,' she relayed imperturbably, and heard his soft curse.

‘Don't be facetious.'

‘The cavalry arrived just in time.'

‘Hannah,' he growled. ‘I am far from being amused.'

‘I wasn't exactly laughing, myself.'

‘Close the boutique and go home.'

‘Why? I'm fine.'

‘Hannah—'

‘If you must conduct a post-mortem, it can wait until tonight.'

The answering silence was palpable, and she could almost
hear
him summoning control. ‘Tonight,' he conceded hardly. ‘Meantime, Rodney stays close.
Comprende?
'

Rodney's instructions were explicit, for he took
close
to mean his presence inside the boutique in full
view of any clientele who happened to wander in and peruse the stock.

Elaine was fascinated by the drama, concerned at the reddened patch on Hannah's cheek, applied an ice-pack, and insisted on staying until closing time.

Of Camille there was neither sign nor word, and Hannah suffered Rodney escorting her to the car park, then following so close behind his bumper was almost touching her car.

Miguel greeted her at the door, and she cast him an exasperated look as he took her face between both hands and conducted a tactile examination of the affected cheek.

There was a slight bruise just beginning to appear over the cheekbone, and his gentle probing made it difficult not to wince.

‘Talk to me,' Miguel commanded. ‘Does it hurt when you move your jaw?'

She effected a light shrug, and saw his gaze narrow. ‘Not too much.'

He took hold of her arm and led her into the study, closed the door, then he turned to face her.

‘Now, suppose you tell me how you happened to lunch with Camille?'

Oh, my, the third degree. The simple truth was the only way to go. ‘I rang and invited her.'

His features assumed a brooding study. Without a word he crossed to the desk and leaned a hip against its edge.

‘What in heaven's name possessed you to do that?'

The query was silk-smooth and dangerous, and she viewed him with open defiance.

‘I tired of being a victim. Camille was running all the action. I figured it was about time she was told enough was enough.'

‘Even knowing I had already instigated legal action and the matter was in hand?' His gaze was direct and analytical. ‘Aware,' he continued with an infinite degree of cynicism, ‘that the woman was unpredictable, and therefore dangerous?'

‘I wasn't alone with her,' Hannah defended. ‘And, thanks to you, the inestimable Rodney was on hand.'

His gaze speared hers. ‘Did it occur to you what might have happened if he hadn't been there?'

She drew herself up to her full height and glared at him. ‘If you're done with the inquisition, I'm going to have a shower and change.'

Miguel uncoiled his length and reached her before she had taken more than a step. His hands closed over her shoulders, then he cupped her chin and tilted her head. ‘Give me your word there'll be no more attempts at independent heroics.'

He was close, much too close. A pulse thudded at the base of her throat, and she just stood still, looking at him as he examined her features with daunting scrutiny.

The breath seemed to catch in her throat, and her eyes clung to his, bright, angry, yet intensely vulnerable. ‘I'll give it some thought.'

His husky imprecation acted like a catalyst.

‘Are you done?' She tried to wrench away from him and failed. ‘Let me go, damn you!'

His eyes assumed an inexorable bleakness. ‘Dinner will be ready in half an hour.' He brushed the pad of his thumb along her lower lip, felt it quiver, and wanted to
shake
her. ‘We're due at the theatre at seven-thirty.'

Oh, Lord. She almost groaned out loud. The play. The producer was a personal friend. Not to appear would be the height of impoliteness.

‘I'm not hungry.'

Emotional upheaval and nerves were hell and damnation. Heaven knew she'd experienced enough of both in the past week to last her for ages.

‘If you're not in the dining room in half an hour, I'll come get you.'

Her eyes widened, deepening to a brilliant sapphire. ‘Don't play the heavy husband,' she warned, and saw his eyes harden.

‘Hannah.' His voice held a silky warning she chose not to heed.

‘Don't,' she retaliated angrily. ‘Just—
don't
.'

Miguel released her without a further word, and she walked from the room.

A leisurely shower did much to restore her equilibrium, and, donning fresh underwear, she pulled on smart jeans and a top, blow-dried her hair, then she went downstairs.

Sofia had prepared a succulent beef stew with crunchy bread rolls and a salad. The pervasive aroma
tempted Hannah's appetite, and she ate with enjoyment.

She thought of a few topics of conversation, then abandoned each of them.

‘Nothing to say?'

She glanced at him, met his gaze and held it, then she forked some rice and speared a plump prawn. ‘What would you suggest? My contretemps with Camille has been done to death.'

‘Renee rang. She assured me it was of no importance, and indicated she'll have the opportunity to speak with you tonight.'

Hannah looked at him sharply. ‘You didn't tell her about today?'

‘No. Why would I worry her unnecessarily?'

Her mother would freak if she discovered the extent of Camille's campaign and the repercussions it had caused.

Opening night at the theatre meant dressing up, and Hannah chose an ensemble that comprised a high-waisted skirt with alternating bands of cyclamen-pink and burnt orange and a strapless fitted top in burnt orange. A long wrap in cyclamen-pink completed the outfit, and she selected minimum jewellery, choosing to twist her hair into a fashionable knot atop her head.

Members of the city's social élite were in attendance, and it came as no surprise to discover Graziella and Enrico del Santo mingling among the guests in the auditorium. Also present were their friends, Aimee Dalfour,
and
, Hannah noted, Camille and Luc.

Somehow, the ‘cat among the pigeons' allegory
didn't even begin to cover it. Admittedly, the harassment injunction Miguel had applied for wouldn't be served until the following day, but, given Camille was no fool, her appearance here tonight was nothing short of blatant arrogance.