The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (23 page)

Dressed to kill, the Frenchwoman looked positively sinful in a designer gown that was strapless, backless, and moulded her curves like a second skin.

A last-ditch attempt to show Miguel what he was missing?

Impossible, of course, that they could slip through the foyer unnoticed. Nor could they ignore the del Santos' presence.

Act,
Hannah prompted silently as Miguel enfolded her hand within his own.

‘Hannah, Miguel. How nice to see you,' Graziella greeted with enthusiasm. ‘You remember Aimee, of course. Camille, Luc.'

How could they forget? They exchanged polite meaningless pleasantries and Hannah endeavoured to ignore Camille's sultry appraisal of Miguel. It was a wonder he didn't
burn
at the sensual pouting of her lips and the wicked promise portrayed in the provocative depths of her gaze.

If they were seated close together, she'd
scream,
Hannah decided, and was immeasurably relieved to see her parents moving towards them.

‘Oh, my,' Renee murmured minutes later as the del Santo party moved away. ‘Is there an apt word for such exhibitionism?'

‘Not one utterable in polite company,' Hannah acknowledged with a touch of cynical amusement.

Within minutes the auditorium doors were opened, and the guests began making their way forward to take up reserved seating. Hannah attempted to extricate her hand from Miguel's firm clasp, and failed. Was he making a statement, or seeking to provide her with reassurance? Maybe both?

Hell, now she was being paranoid!

As they took their seats she was thankful there was no sign of the del Santo party within the immediate vicinity, and she began to relax.

The play was superbly acted, the sets, the characters magnificent, and Hannah took pleasure in losing herself in the excellence of the script, the cast, the production.

The interval provided the opportunity for patrons to mix and mingle in the foyer, have a drink or coffee at the bar, or choose to remain in their seats.

‘Let's go out for coffee, shall we?' Renee suggested. ‘Miguel and Carlo can opt for something stronger—' she flashed Hannah a conspiratorial smile ‘—while we check out the fashions other women are wearing.'

Why not? Hannah rose to her feet and felt the light touch of Miguel's hand at the back of her waist as they moved into the aisle.

His close proximity stirred her senses, and she felt the return of nervous tension as they entered the foyer.

There were people she knew, a few clients and their
partners, friends, and she paused briefly to exchange a greeting as they crossed to the bar.

‘Renee, Carlo. Please join us.'

Hannah momentarily closed her eyes, then opened them again. Enrico del Santo indicated four chairs empty at their table. This was not her evening! How long did the interval last? Ten to fifteen minutes? She could survive that long in Camille and Luc's company, surely?

Miguel deliberately placed Hannah next to Renee and took the adjoining seat. He was charming to Graziella, conversed with Carlo and Enrico, and chose a polite façade whenever Camille commanded his attention.

A frequent occurrence, Hannah noticed, as she was meant to. It all became a bit much, and in a bid to escape she excused herself and headed towards the powder room.

Big mistake, she realised minutes later as Camille quickly joined her. A queue was inevitable, given the number of stalls, and Hannah stood stiffly as she waited for Camille to strike.

She wasn't disappointed. ‘Don't imagine you can hide behind a bodyguard. I suppose you think you're very clever.'

Hannah turned slightly to look at the Frenchwoman. ‘Not at all,' she responded lightly. ‘And the bodyguard is there at Miguel's instigation.'

Camille's expression became an icy mask. ‘Protecting his business investment.'

‘Of course.' It was the truth, so why deny it?

‘But there is a bonus,' Hannah continued quietly. ‘I get to share his bed, his life, and bear his children.'

She took a shallow breath and released it. ‘Admit you failed, Camille, and go look for another rich man who's not averse to your game-playing.' She paused fractionally. ‘And take Luc with you.'

‘He's a practised lover,' the Frenchwoman intimated with deliberate maliciousness.

‘Do you think so?' Hannah contrived a slight frown. ‘I found his foreplay technique reasonable, but his application needed work.' She managed a careless shrug. ‘Maybe he's improved.'

Camille swung her hand in a vicious arc, except this time Hannah was prepared, and she took a quick sidestep so the slap didn't connect.

Hannah was aware of a few surprised gasps, then Renee was there, her normally composed features fierce with anger.

‘You've said quite enough, Camille! Now get out of here at once. There is another set of facilities if you must use them.' She turned towards her daughter. ‘Darling, are you all right?'

‘Yes. Thanks,' she added, and couldn't help wondering if Miguel had sent Renee to her rescue.

‘Come, let's go back to—'

‘The table?' She shook her head. ‘I really do need to freshen up. Tell Miguel I'll go straight to our seats.'

‘I'll stay,' Renee said firmly.

‘Then we'll have both our men sending out a
search party.' She could almost see the humour in the situation. ‘Really, I'm fine.'

‘Well,' her mother said doubtfully. ‘If you're sure?'

A stall became vacant, and Hannah moved into it. Minutes later she paused in front of the long mirror to freshen her lipstick, then she emerged into the foyer.

She hadn't taken two steps when Miguel fell in beside her, and she shot him a steady look as he caught hold of her arm. ‘First Renee, now
you
?'

‘Another minute, and I'd have fetched you personally.'

‘Entered a known
women's
domain? How brave.'

‘Don't push it,
querida
,' he warned in sibilant anger.

They weren't moving in the direction of the auditorium. ‘We're going the wrong way.'

‘I'm taking you home.'

‘The hell you are!' She resolutely refused to move. Her eyes sparked blue fire as she confronted him. ‘I'm not missing the rest of the play.' She balled one hand into a fist and connected with his ribs. ‘The only way you'll get me away from here is to toss me over your shoulder and carry me out!'

He was caught between laughter and voluble anger. ‘Don't tempt me,' he bit back with a husky growl.

Hannah wrenched her arm from his grasp and marched, as well as four-inch stiletto heels would allow, towards the auditorium.

By the time she reached a set of double doors he
was beside her, and together they entered the dimmed theatre, located their seats, and slid into them.

Almost immediately the curtain rose and the next act commenced.

Hannah focused on the actors and their lines in a determined effort to forget Camille, Luc, and her inimitable husband. She succeeded, almost, rising from her seat with the audience to applaud the playwright, the cast, and the producer.

The exodus of patrons took a little while, and it was almost eleven when Miguel eased the Jaguar through the city streets. A shower of rain wet the bitumen, and she watched the automated swish of the windscreen wipers as the car turned into Toorak Road.

The headache that had niggled away at her temple for the past hour seemed to intensify, and as soon as he brought the car to a halt inside the garage she slid from her seat and preceded him into the house.

They reached the foyer, and his gaze sharpened as he took in her pale features. ‘Take something for that headache, and go to bed.'

‘Don't tell me what to do.'

‘Querida,'
Miguel drawled. ‘You want to fight?'

‘Yes, damn you!'

‘There's a punch bag in the downstairs gym. Why don't you go try it out?'

He was amused, damn him. She threw him a dark glare. ‘I might do that!'

‘Just one thing,' he ventured indolently. ‘Go and change first.'

She didn't even pause to think, she just bent one knee, pulled off a heeled shoe and threw it at him.

Miguel palmed it neatly, placed it carefully down onto a nearby side-table, and turned back towards her.

‘Want to try again?'

This time it was her evening purse that flew through the air, and she cried out with rage as he scooped her into his arms and carried her upstairs.

Hannah hit out at his shoulders, his arms, anywhere she could connect, and groaned with angry frustration when she didn't seem to make any impression at all.

He reached the bedroom and entered it, kicking the door shut behind him, then he released her down onto the floor.

‘Okay,' he growled huskily. ‘That's enough.'

‘Do you know how I feel?' she demanded vengefully.

‘I'd say it's mutual.' He caught hold of her shoulders and held her still. ‘Stop it.'

‘Right at this moment, I think I hate you.'

‘For being a target for some woman's warped mind?'

‘I want to go to bed. Alone.'
Fool
, a tiny voice derided. You're taking your anger out on the wrong person. Except she wasn't being rational.

Miguel released her slowly. ‘Then go to bed.' He turned and walked from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

She looked at the door, and almost wished he'd slammed it. It would have made more sense.

Slowly she crossed to the window and looked out
over the darkened gardens. The moon was high, a large round white orb that cast a milky light onto the earth below, making long shadows of small shrubs, the trees, and duplicating the shape of the house. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, and another joined it in a howling canine melody.

Hannah closed the curtains, then slowly undressed, removed her make-up, then she pulled on the silky slip she wore to bed and slid between the sheets, snapped off the bedside lamp, and lay staring into the darkness. Images filled her mind, prominent and intrusive, and her eyes swam until tears spilled and trickled slowly towards her ears, then dripped onto the pillow.

She brushed them away, twice, then determinedly closed her eyes in a bid to summon sleep.

Except she was still awake when Miguel entered the room a long time later. She heard him discard his clothes, and felt the faint depression of the mattress as he slid into bed.

Hold me
, she silently begged him. Except the words wouldn't find voice, and she lay still, listening to his breathing steady and become slow and even in sleep. It would have been so easy to touch him. All she had to do was slide her hand until it encountered the warmth of his body.

Except she couldn't do it. Be honest, she silently castigated. You're afraid. Afraid that he might ignore the gesture or, worse, refuse it. And how would she feel if he did?

Shattered.

H
ANNAH
woke to the sound of the shower running in the adjoining
en suite
, and she rolled over to check the digital clock. Seven.

She slid out of bed, gathered up fresh underwear, her robe, and adjourned to the next bedroom where she showered and changed.

It would have been easy to join Miguel, just pull open the glass door and step in beside him as she did every morning. Except today she couldn't, not after last night.

And whose fault was that? a silent voice taunted.

She drew a deep breath, then returned to their room to see Miguel in the process of dressing.

He cast her a long measured look, which she returned, then she discarded her nightwear onto the bed and crossed to her walk-in wardrobe to select something to wear.

‘Do you intend sulking for long?' His voice was a slightly inflected drawl, which she ignored as she stepped into sheer black stockings, then selected one of three black suits she chose to wear to the boutique.

When she emerged, he was standing in her path, and she just looked at him.

‘Hannah,' he warned silkily.

‘I am
not
sulking!' She
never
sulked; it wasn't in her nature.

And I don't hate you, she added silently, unable to say the words aloud. Dear heaven, what had possessed her to say such a thing? Reaction, angry tension. But words, once said, were difficult to retract. Except the longer she left the anger to simmer, the harder it would be to explain.

‘What do you want me to say?' Her eyes darkened and became stormy. ‘I'm sorry I acted like a bitch last night? Okay, I apologise.'

‘Apology accepted.'

Hannah looked at him sharply. ‘Don't patronise me.'

‘Stop it right there,' Miguel warned.

‘I'm not a child, dammit!' What was she doing, for heaven's sake? She was like a runaway train that couldn't stop.

‘Then don't behave like one.'

‘You'll forgive me if I don't join you for breakfast,' Hannah said stiffly. ‘I'll stop off at a café for coffee and a croissant.'

She moved past him and entered the
en suite
. She picked up the hairbrush and attacked her hair, stroking the brush through its length until her scalp tingled, then she applied minimum make-up.

Her eyes widened as she caught sight of Miguel via mirrored reflection as he moved in to stand behind her, and her fingers faltered and tightened around the tube of lipstick.

She felt like a finely tuned string that was about to
snap as he turned her round to face him, and she was powerless to move as his head descended.

‘This,
this
,' Miguel breathed close to her mouth, ‘is important. Nothing else.' And he kissed her, thoroughly, until her head spun. Then he released her, and walked from the room.

Hannah gripped hold of the marbled vanity unit and tried to regain her breath. Dear heaven, what was the matter with her?

She had no idea how long she stood there, only that it seemed an age before she gathered up her bag, slid her feet into heeled shoes, and made her way downstairs to the garage.

Ten minutes later she parked the Porsche, then crossed the road, bought a daily newspaper, entered a coffee bar and joined the patrons enjoying breakfast.

At nine she unlocked the boutique and spent the next half-hour on the phone chasing a courier who had been supposed to deliver late the previous afternoon, and hadn't.

The morning dragged, and trying to continually pin a smile on her face began to take its toll. How could she pretend to be happy when inside she was breaking into a thousand pieces?

‘Are you ill?' Elaine enquired with concern at midday.

‘No.'

An inquisitive smile curved her attractive mouth. ‘Pregnant?'

‘No.'

‘You sound hesitant,' Elaine teased. ‘Could that be a maybe, but it's too soon to tell?'

Hannah simply shook her head. ‘Go take your lunch break.' She extracted her purse and took out a note. ‘Can you bring me back a chicken and salad sandwich and bottled water?' Today she'd eat in the small back room instead of spending her usual half-hour break at a nearby café.

Elaine finished at four, and the afternoon seemed to drag as Hannah checked her stock list, then made a few phone calls. A fax came through alerting that a special order would be despatched by overnight courier, and she made a note to phone the client.

Miguel's forceful image haunted her, as it had all morning, only now it was worse, for there was no one to talk to, no client entering the boutique to attract her attention, and the phone didn't ring.

Thinking about last night made her stomach twist into a painful knot. Somehow Miguel's controlled anger had been worse than if he'd let fly a string of pithy oaths, or thrown something, yelled at her. Instead he'd reduced her angry outburst to a childish tantrum, and that irked and angered her more than she wanted to admit.

The electronic buzzer sounded, alerting her to someone entering the boutique, and she summoned a warm smile as she moved out from behind the desk.

‘Hannah, darling.'

‘Mother.' Renee always rang before calling in. Always. The fact she hadn't this time caused Hannah's forehead to crease into a slight frown.

‘I know, I should have phoned first. But I was close by…' She trailed off, before launching into an explanation, ‘Lunch with an old friend, darling. And I thought I'd just pop in and say hello.'

‘It's great to see you.' She injected enthusiasm into her voice and crossed the floor to bestow the customary air-kiss to each cheek. ‘The scarves arrived this morning. I put a few aside that I thought you might like. Would you like to see them?'

Business. If she could keep everything on a business footing, maybe Renee wouldn't notice the fine cracks in her daughter's façade.

‘Oh, please, darling.'

Hannah retrieved the box, extracted three scarves and spread them across the counter. They were pure silk, exquisitely patterned, and an attractive fashion accessory.

Renee selected two, then crossed to the blouse rack, chose one, then moved to the desk. ‘I'll take these, darling.' She gave a soft exclamation, and followed it with a ladylike curse. ‘I don't believe it. I've left my bag in the car.'

‘Locked, I hope,' Hannah said at once, concern marring her features.

‘Of course, locked, darling. I have my keys.' She held them up in plain sight. ‘I remember activating the alarm.'

‘Where are you parked?'

‘This side of the street, just a few cars down.' She held out the keys. ‘Would you mind fetching it for
me?' She cast the empty boutique a cursory glance. ‘It'll only take a minute.'

Maybe a breath of fresh air might lift her mood, Hannah determined as she accepted the keys and made for the door.

It was hot outside, the sun's brightness intense after the air-conditioned coolness indoors. A few cars down meant she met the worst of the glare as she walked towards her mother's car, and she lifted a hand to shade her eyes. Only to come to a dead halt at the sight of a familiar tall frame standing beside Renee's Lexus.

Miguel. Looking totally relaxed and at ease, his expression shaded behind dark sunglasses. A deceptive pose, for she had no doubt beneath that calm exterior lay the coiled strength of a predator.

There was a part of her that wanted to turn back and return to the boutique, where her mother's presence would ensure civility was maintained. Yet she refused to take the easy way out. Whatever they needed to say to each other had to be said.

Miguel saw the moment she mentally squared her shoulders, witnessed the slight lift of her chin, and accurately defined the expression in her clear blue eyes.

It was her nature to confront, resolve, and move forward. He was bargaining on her doing just that.

‘It's four thirty,' Hannah said evenly as she took the necessary steps to reach the Lexus. ‘What are you doing here?'

He pulled back the cuff of his jacket, checked his
watch, then trapped her gaze. ‘A few minutes past that, if you want total accuracy.'

Miguel didn't shift position, and she was forced to move in close as she deactivated the alarm, unlocked the passenger door, retrieved her mother's bag, then reversed the security process.

‘Shall we return Renee's bag?' he queried mildly, and she threw him a measured look.

‘We?'

He caught hold of her elbow, firming his grasp as she made to wrench away.
‘We,'
he reiterated firmly.

‘Miguel—'

‘There's the easy way where we walk back to the boutique. Or I can hoist you over one shoulder and carry you. Which would you prefer?'

Her eyes sparked angry fire. ‘You're giving me a choice?'

He brushed his thumb over the generous curve of her mouth. ‘No.'

Her palms itched with the urge to slap him.

‘Don't.' The warning was silky soft and curled round her nerve-ends.

Without a word she turned and made her way back to the boutique, aware of an explosive electric force field that surrounded them.

Hannah was startlingly aware of him, his proximity, the faint aroma of his aftershave, the clean smell of his clothes. His grasp on her elbow would tighten in a heartbeat if she attempted to pull free.

Four shop fronts, a matter of mere metres, and they reached the boutique. She didn't even question his
intention to enter, for it was clearly evident he meant to.

She paused, her features strained, her eyes too dark. ‘Is there a purpose to this?'

‘Yes.'

Hannah extended her hand to open the door, only to have it swing inward.

‘Ah, there you are,' Renee declared, her features carefully schooled. ‘There was one phone call, which I dealt with.'

Hannah looked from one to the other, and settled on Miguel, suspicion uppermost. ‘You set this up.' She turned towards her mother. ‘Didn't you?'

‘Guilty.'

‘Why?'
Hannah demanded, sorely tried.

‘Go get your bag,' Miguel instructed. ‘We're leaving.'

‘I'll stay and close the boutique,' Renee informed before her daughter had a chance to protest.

‘No.' Hannah threw Miguel a vengeful glare. ‘And if you try any macho tactics, I'll call the police.'

‘Call them.' It took two seconds to sweep an arm beneath her knees and lift her against his chest.

Renee crossed quickly to the desk, opened a cupboard, retrieved Hannah's bag, and handed it to Miguel.

‘I'll never forgive you for this,' Hannah vented as she closed her fingers into a fist and set a bruising punch to his shoulder.

He turned and walked out the door, traversed the
pavement to where his car was parked, unlocked the door, then he thrust her into the passenger seat.

The next instant he crossed round to the driver's side, then slid in behind the wheel.

The engine fired and settled into a soft purr as he eased the car out of its parking space and into the flow of traffic along Toorak Road.

Hannah didn't trust herself to speak. There was too much anger to bother with meaningless words.

Instead, she looked beyond the windscreen, noting the traffic, people walking, children, mothers laughing, scolding. Movement, life. Outside, the world continued to evolve, along with people's lives.

From inside, somehow it didn't seem real. She might as well have been viewing the scene on television.

Familiar streets, familiar locale. She passed by here five days out of seven.

But not quite this far, she suddenly realised.

‘You've missed the turn.'

‘We're not going home.' Miguel's voice was a faintly inflected drawl, and she looked at him carefully, seeing the strength and sense of purpose evident.

‘Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me exactly where we
are
going?'

He slanted her a quick glance. ‘Wait and see.'

‘Oh, for heaven's sake,' Hannah dismissed angrily, and refrained from offering so much as another word.

The flow of traffic intensified as they neared the city, and she contained her surprise as Miguel swung
the car into the entrance of one of the inner city's most exclusive hotels.

The porter opened her door, leaving her little recourse but to slip out from the passenger seat.

What on earth were they doing here? In a hotel, for God's sake, when they had a beautiful luxurious home less than fifteen minutes distant? It was crazy. Even more puzzling was the fact Miguel had apparently checked in, for he led the way to the bank of lifts adjacent the foyer.

Hannah spared him a level glance as they rode the lift to a high floor, and within minutes Miguel ushered her into a spacious, elegantly appointed suite.

She crossed to the wide plate-glass window and parted the filmy day curtains to look at the view, then she slowly turned back to face him.

He had removed his jacket, and was in the process of loosening his tie.

‘You owe me an explanation.'

Miguel discarded the tie, undid the top few buttons of his shirt, removed cuff-links from each sleeve, then he crossed to the bar-fridge.

‘What would you like to drink?'

She was angry and on edge. ‘Stop playing the gentleman.'

He paused, and she had the impression of harnessed strength and immeasurable control. For some reason it made her feel apprehensive.

His eyes held an expression she didn't care to define. ‘What would you have me play,
amante
?'

She was reminded of silk being razed by steel, and
she crossed her arms, hugging them against her midriff in a unconscious protective gesture.

‘The savage?' he posed. ‘A husband who is moved to such anger, it is all he can do not to strangle his beautiful wife's neck?' He extracted bottled water, unscrewed the cap, filled a glass and handed it to her, then he took out a can of cola, pulled the tab, and drained some of the contents.