The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (232 page)
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Authors: Helen Bianchin
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Erotica, #Collections & Anthologies, #Contemporary Women, #General
For one brief, infinitesimal second she experienced a mental flash of how it might have been, and the thought of what
could
have happened almost destroyed her. A life without Michel in it would be no life at all.
A hand curved round her nape as Michel pulled her towards him, and her hands instinctively clutched hold of his shoulders. Then his mouth was on hers in a brief, hard kiss that almost immediately softened to a light caress before he released her.
‘Don’t,
chérie,
’ he chastised huskily, and uttered a muffled curse as he saw her lips tremble.
She tried to smile but didn’t quite make it. Michel’s eyes darkened, and he caught her hand and held it. His thumb lightly caressed the veins inside her wrist, moving in a rhythmic pattern that stirred her senses. Just looking at him made her want to fling her arms around him and hold on tight.
Relief flooded her veins, closely followed by love. The deep, abiding-forever kind. Her heart, her emotions,
belonged to this man, unequivocally. Nothing else held any importance.
‘There, all done,’ the doctor declared as he applied a dressing and secured it. ‘Those stitches need to be removed in a week.’
Michel rose to his feet, grabbed his shirt from the back of the chair, shrugged it on and attended to the buttons before slipping into his jacket. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘I’ll organise the cab and drop you off on my way to the airport,’ Raoul stated as they exited the building, and Sandrine gave him a brief, keen glance.
‘You’re flying back to the Gold Coast?’
He offered her a wry smile. ‘Yes.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you?’
Her eyes held musing humour. ‘Oh, yes.’ Stephanie was in for a battle if she thought she could easily dismiss Raoul. The Lanier men fought for what they wanted. ‘I recognise the signs.’
‘Then wish me luck, Sandrine.’
‘Do you need it?’
His expression assumed a faint bleakness.
So he wasn’t so sure after all. Good, she decided silently. He’d appreciate Stephanie all the more for not providing him with an easy victory.
She lifted a hand and brushed her fingers down that firm cheek. ‘You have it, Raoul.’
He offered her a smile that held warmth and affection. ‘
Merci.
’
T
HERE
was a rank of taxis outside the main entrance, and one moved forward at a flick from Michel’s fingers.
Twenty minutes later the cab slid to a halt outside their apartment building, and they bade Raoul a quick farewell, then made their way through the foyer to the lift.
The instant the lift doors closed behind them, Michel punched the appropriate panel button, then he pulled her close and fastened his mouth over hers in a kiss that was all too brief as the doors slid open at their designated floor. They walked the few steps to their door and then entered the apartment.
For a few seconds she stood in dazed silence, her eyes large as she looked at him. There was so much she wanted to say, yet the words seemed caught in her throat.
He was so dear to her, so very special. Life itself. Without him, the flame within her would flicker and die.
Something flared in his eyes, and she stood perfectly still as he threaded his fingers into her hair and tilted her head.
‘I couldn’t bear to lose you,’ she said simply, and saw his lips curve into a gentle smile. 177
‘It isn’t going to happen.’
‘Today, just for a while, I thought it might have.’
As long as he lived, he’d never forget the expression in her eyes, the paleness of her features when she entered the emergency room. His thumb caressed the firm line of her jaw. ‘I know.’
She swallowed, the expression in her eyes mirroring her emotions. ‘You probably should rest,’ she voiced huskily.
‘You think so?’
‘Michel…’ She paused as his head lowered down to hers and his lips settled on one cheekbone, then began trailing a path down the slope of her jawbone to settle at the edge of her mouth.
‘Hmm?’
‘I can’t think when you do that.’
‘Is it so important that you think?’
One hand moved to the vee of her top and slid beneath it.
‘I want…’ Her breath hitched as his fingers brushed the slope of her breast, the touch infinitely erotic over the soft silk and lace of her bra.
His lips teased hers, light as a butterfly’s wing, as they stroked over the sensuous lower curve, then he swept his tongue to taste the sweetness within.
This,
this,
was where she was meant to be. Held in the arms of the man who was her soul mate. Nothing else mattered.
‘What is it you want,
chérie?
’ Michel drawled gently.
‘
You,
’ she said simply. ‘But first…’ Her voice
climbed a few notches, then came to a sudden halt as his fingers slid to unfasten the clip of her bra. The sensitive peaks burgeoned in anticipation of his touch, and heat arrowed from deep within as he began an erotic, evocative stroking. It drove her wild, and she groaned out loud as he pulled the knit top over her head, discarded her bra, then lowered his mouth to one highly sensitised peak.
She could feel herself begin to melt as her body melded to his, aligning itself to allow him access as her hands crept round his neck.
A long, heartfelt sigh whispered from her lips as he shifted his attention to render a similar salutation to its twin. For what seemed an age she exulted in the sheer sensation his touch evoked, feeling every pore, every nerve cell pulse into vibrant life.
It wasn’t enough, and she murmured encouragement when his fingers slipped to her waist and attended to the zip fastening.
His clothes were an impossible barrier she sought to remove with considerable care, and his gentle smile almost completely undid her as he put her at arm’s length and finished the task.
Sandrine took in his muscled frame, the olive-toned skin stretching over superb bone structure and honed sinew. His shoulders were broad, his chest tightly muscled and liberally sprinkled with dark, curling hair that arrowed down to his waist, then flared into a geometric vee at the juncture of his thighs.
He was an impressive, well-endowed man, a skilled and exciting lover whose degree of
tendresse
melted
her bones, while his passion had the power to awe and overwhelm.
With one easy movement he swept an arm beneath her knees and lifted her high against his chest.
‘Your arm,’ she protested, and heard his husky laughter.
‘Afraid it might hinder me?’ Michel teased as he strode through to the bedroom.
‘Hurt you,’ she corrected as he pulled back the bed-clothes and drew her down with him onto the sheets.
He kissed her, deeply and with such soul-destroying intensity she lost track of time and place until he slowly released his mouth from her own.
She looked
kissed,
he saw with satisfaction. Her mouth was slightly swollen, and her eyes resembled huge liquid pools a man could drown in.
He wanted to savour the taste of her, skim his lips over every inch of her skin, suckle at her breasts with the ferocity of a newborn infant seeking succour. Except a man nurtured his woman’s breasts to give her pleasure, for some of the most sensitised nerve endings were centred at those peaks.
Most of all he wanted to bury himself deep in her moist heat and become lost in the sweet sorcery that was
Sandrine.
His woman, his wife. His life.
From the moment he met her, he had only one agenda. It was instant, breathtaking desire. Yet it had been more than that, much more. Deep within the raw, primitive emotion had been the instinctive knowledge they were meant to be. Almost as if they’d known each other in a former existence.
Crazy, he dismissed with a mental shake of his head. He possessed a logical, analytical mind. Yet he was frighteningly aware of the timing and how, had he not been at a friend’s home attending a party, he might never have met her. Equally, the slender thread of chance that led her to be persuaded to tag along to something she freely admitted hadn’t been her first choice of an evening’s entertainment.
Of the many women he’d met socially and in the business arena, there had been none who’d come close to the magic that was Sandrine.
Beautiful, with a gently curving slenderness that made her frame perfect for displaying designer clothes on various European catwalks. Fine-boned facial features, lovely, wide-spaced dark brown eyes, a generous mouth.
Rather than her physical appearance, it had been the genuine warmth of her smile, the expressive eyes and her
joie de vivre.
The way her chin tilted when she laughed, the faint twist of her head as she tossed her hair back over her shoulders. The sound of her voice, its faint huskiness when she became emotionally aroused. And because he was a man, the feel of her body in his arms, her mouth beneath his. The scent and essence that made her unique.
Destined to be, he mused, like two halves of a whole that fitted perfectly together as one.
‘Michel?’
He looked down at her and tried to control the slight tremor that threatened to destroy the slim hold on his libido. ‘You get to talk
after
we make love,’ he teased
mercilessly, and felt his body go weak at the languorous humour evident in those beautiful dark eyes.
‘You could make an exception.’
He trailed a finger down the slope of her nose. ‘So what is it you want to say that can’t wait, hmm?’
She reached up a hand and pressed a finger to his lips, stilling any words he might have added. ‘
I love you.
’ There was the prick of unshed tears, an ache deep inside her heart.
He kissed each of her fingers in turn, and she almost melted from the warmth evident in his gaze. ‘
Merci, chérie,
’ he said gently.
‘I always have,’ she assured him with such a depth of feeling two tears materialised, clung to her lashes, then spilled to run down her cheek in twin rivulets. ‘I always will.’
His thumb stroked away the dampness. ‘Are you done?’
She inclined her head and made an attempt to restore her composure. Her gaze speared his, and there was a depth apparent that made him catch his breath.
‘I have something for you.’ He reached out and slid open a drawer of the bedside pedestal, extracted something, then turned back to her and caught hold of her left hand.
It was an exquisite diamond-studded ring, a perfect complement to her existing rings.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Sandrine breathed. ‘Thank you.’ A circle symbolising eternity. She wanted to cry. ‘I have nothing for you.’
The passionate warmth evident in his gaze succeeded
in melting her bones. ‘You’re wrong,’ Michel said tenderly. ‘
You
are my gift. Infinitely more precious than anything you could give me.
Je t’aime, mon amour.
’ His voice was husky as he curved her close against him. ‘
Je t’adore.
’ His lips hovered fractionally above her own. ‘You are my life, my love. Everything.’
Love was understanding, compassion and trust. And more, much more.
She linked her hands behind his head and pulled him down to her. ‘
Merci,
’ she teased, and heard his husky growl an instant before his mouth closed over hers.
After the loving, she lay spent, curled in against his side, one arm flung across his midriff, her cheek resting on his chest.
The sun had shifted lower in the sky, and soon dusk would fall. Shadows danced slowly across the pale wall, creating an indecipherable pattern.
At last everything had fallen into place, she decided dreamily. The film was finished, publicity completed. Tomorrow she would board a flight with Michel bound for New York. A week later they’d embark on a holiday in France.
Paris in winter, drizzle, grey skies. But nothing would dull the magic of love in a city made for lovers. It was the appropriate city in which to try to conceive a child.
‘Are you awake?’
She felt him shift slightly towards her. ‘Want me to order in something to eat?’
‘How do you feel about children?’
‘In general?’
She waited a few seconds. ‘Ours.’
Now she had his attention. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’
‘There’s nothing to tell…yet.’
He propped up his head as he leant towards her. ‘The thought of your being pregnant with my child overwhelms me.’
She wrinkled her nose at him. ‘Too overwhelming?’
He kissed her with lingering thoroughness. ‘I think we should work on it.’
‘Now?’
‘You object?’
She didn’t answer. Instead, she showed him just how she intended to work on it.
Helen Bianchin
R
AOUL
L
ANIER
inclined his head in silent acknowledgment as the attractive airline hostess extended a customary farewell to passengers leaving the aircraft.
Her mouth curved a little wider, and the expression in her eyes offered numerous sensual delights should he choose to extend an invitation to share a drink during her stopover.
The attention she'd bestowed on him during the long international flight had included a friendly warmth that went beyond the courteous solicitousness proffered to his fellow travelers.
It could have proved an interesting diversion, if fleeting sexual encounters formed part of his personal agenda, Raoul mused as he cleared the aircraft and entered the concourse.
As the eldest son and part heir to a billion-dollar fortune, a sense of caution coupled with cynicism had formed at an early age.
Good European genes had blessed him with enviable height, superb bone structure and ruggedly attractive facial features that inevitably drew a second glance. Physical fitness and fine clothes completed a combination that proved magnetic to women of all ages.
A quality that was both an advantage and a curse, he acknowledged with rueful humor as he rode the escalator down to ground level and crossed to the appropriate luggage carousel.
Raoul checked his watch. He had two hours in which to clear customs, take a cab to the hotel at Double Bay, shower and change, before he was scheduled to appear at a business meeting.
Primarily his Australian visit was intended to target the possibility of setting up a Sydney base for the multinational Lanier conglomerate. Wheels had already been set in motion, and if all the details met with his satisfaction, he was prepared to clinch the deal.
Not easily, for he was a skilled tactician whose strategy was recognized and lauded by his peers and associates.
He spotted his luggage, hefted it from the carousel and then strode out of the terminal to summon a taxi.
Brilliant summer sunshine had him reaching for protective sunglasses as he provided the driver with the name of his hotel, then he sank back against the seat in contemplative silence.
The meeting this afternoon held importance. He planned to present a noncommittal persona, and absent himself from the scene for several days, reachable only by cell phone during a sojourn on Queensland's Gold Coast.
Checking up on family. His mouth thinned slightly as his expression assumed reflective thought.
He held filial affection for both his brothers. The
youngest, Sebastian, had recently married and was at present taking an extended holiday in Europe with his new wife.
However, it was Michel who was providing concern, with his marriage of six months in apparent crisis. Seven weeks ago Michel's wife had left New York and flown to Australia to take part in a movie being filmed at the Gold Coast Warner Brothers' studios.
Michel had concluded important European meetings, then followed Sandrine with a view to negotiating a reconciliation. The fact the movie had developed financial problems merely added a bargaining dimension Raoul suspected Michel intended to use to his advantage.
Each of the Lanier brothers possessed a considerable personal fortune, and sinking a few million dollars into a floundering movie wouldn't put a dent in Michel's assets.
A sudden screech of brakes, a muffled curse from the taxi driver, followed by an offered apology captured his attention, and he caught the buildup of traffic, the terrace houses, as the driver swung into the outer lane.
Raoul caught a glimpse of tall buildings stretched skyward in the distance, and estimated it would take ten minutes, fifteen at most, to reach the Ritz-Carlton hotel in Double Bay.
He was no stranger to this large southern hemispheric city, and he held a certain affection for its
scenic beauty and stunning architecture, albeit that it was very young in terms of his native France.
Home
was a luxury two-story apartment in Auteuil filled with antique furniture, marble-tiled floors, oriental rugs, objets d'art.
He had been born and raised in Paris, graduated from one of its finest universities, then was absorbed into the Lanier corporation as a junior executive.
Raoul gave a grim smile in memory of those early days beneath his father's eaglelike tutelage. Henri Lanier had been a hard taskmaster. Ruthless, Raoul conceded, but fair.
Today, Henri presided as the figurehead of a multinational conglomerate, with Raoul and Michel holding equal power. Sebastian, on the other hand, had chosen law, graduated, practiced, then he penned and sold his first novel, and the rest as they say was history.
The taxi slid to a halt outside the entrance to a gracious well-established hotel a short distance from the waterfront.
Raoul handed the driver a folded note, then stepped from the vehicle while the concierge collected his bags from the boot.
Checking in was a simple procedure, and in his room he took bottled water from the bar-fridge and drank it, ordered room service to deliver lunch at midday, then he unpacked a few essentials, showered, shaved, donned a complimentary robe and replaced the receiver on the last of a few calls less than a minute before a steward presented lunch.
Afterward he dressed, checked his briefcase and took the lift to the main lobby. His meeting was scheduled for two. It was now three minutes past the hour. Essential minutes that gave him an edge, unless the man he was due to liaise with was also well-versed in tactical game-playing.
Eagerness inevitably bred punctuality, Raoul acknowledged, especially when the possibility of a large investment was at stake.
The meeting could easily have stretched to an hour. Raoul cut that time in half with clear instruction and assertive demand, leaving no shred of doubt as to who held command.
Afterward he returned to his room, snagged bottled water from the bar-fridge, then he opened his laptop and spent time keying in data and directing it via e-mail to Paris. He made two calls, the second of which was to Michel, alerting him to his arrival the following day.
Raoul flexed his limbs, then stretched his lengthy frame. He needed exercise. The gym? First, he'd exchange the business suit for sweats and sneakers, and take a walk in the fresh air. His plans for the evening encompassed nothing more than ordering in a light evening meal, followed by an hour or two on the laptop, then he intended to fall into bed and catch up on sleep.
Â
The intercom buzzed, and Stephanie reached out to activate it.
âMichel Lanier is here.'
She winced at the receptionist's attempt at a French pronunciation, and stifled a faint smile at the girl's obvious effort to impress. Michel Lanier was, she had to concede, an impressive man. If a woman was susceptible to a tall, dark-haired, attractive male.
âGive me a minute, then show him in.'
It was an integral part of Stephanie's job as a marketing manager to initiate discussions and venture opinions. She liked what she did for a living, it paid well and the rewards were many.
There was satisfaction in utilizing her expertise in film, together with an instinctive grasp of what attracted and titillated public interest, thus improving cinema attendance, and profitability for the film studios, the investors.
This particular movie had gone over budget, over time, financial avenues had been exhausted and a week ago it had been destined not to be completed.
The crux had been Sandrine Lanier, part-time model and actress, who had a minor role in the film, and her husband's willingness to inject a considerable amount of money to salvage it.
Stephanie shuffled the papers she'd been perusing into a folder at the sound of a double knock on her door, and hit the Save button on her computer.
âMichel and Raoul Lanier.'
She successfully hid her surprise as she registered both names, and she stood and summoned a friendly smile as Michel Lanier entered the room.
âPlease take a seat,' she instructed, indicating a pair of comfortable leather chairs.
âMy brother requested he sit in at this meeting,' Michel Lanier revealed smoothly. âYou have no objection?'
What could she say? âNo, of course not.'
Michel made the introduction. âStephanie Sommers. Raoul Lanier.'
In his late thirties, she surmised, and the elder, if only by a few years.
Raoul Lanier stood an inch, maybe closer to two, taller than his brother. His broad frame held a familial similarity, as did his facial features. Except his hair was darker, almost black, and his jaw had the dark shadow of a man who was forced to shave night and morning.
Wide-set gray eyes, dark as slate, were far too knowledgeable for a woman's peace of mind. As to his mouthâ¦its curve held a sensuality that hinted at great passion. Equally she imagined those lines could thin, perhaps become almost cruel if he was so inclined.
His presence in her office hinted
business,
which raised doubt in her mind that Michel Lanier held the sole stake in a financial package aimed at rescuing the film in which his wife played a minor part.
âStephanie.' He extended his hand in formal greeting, and she took it, choosing to ignore the faint tinge of mockery evident.
His handshake was firm, his touch warm, and she told herself the sensual awareness pulsing through her veins was merely a figment of her imagination.
âMr. Lanier,' she acknowledged coolly.
One eyebrow rose, and his mouth curved slightly. âRaoul.' He lifted a hand and indicated Michel with an expressive gesture. âOtherwise an adherence to formality will prove confusing.'
His accent was slight, but evident nonetheless, and the depth and intonation of his voice curled around her nerve endings and tugged a little, setting her internal protective mechanism on edge.
Charm, he had it. There was also knowledge apparent in those dark eyes, a knowledge that was wholly sensual, sexual, coupled with contemplative interest.
He would be lethal with women, she deduced wryly. Given his looks, his physique, his wealth, he wouldn't even have to try.
With deliberate movements, she crossed around her desk and sank into the leather chair. It was a position of power, and she used it mercilessly.
âI have the figures you requested.' She looked at Michel, and chose to ignore Raoul entirely. âTogether with a rundown of proposals we intend to use in promoting the film.' She picked up a manila envelope and slid papers into it. âI'm sure you'll find it satisfactory. Of course, we can't begin with promotion until the film is completed. The marketing people will have a private viewing, then discuss which aspects should be highlighted to attract the attention of the viewing public.'
She kept her attention on Michel. âI believe the producer anticipates another week should wrap up filming, with perhaps a further few days scheduled
for reshooting. It would be of added interest to include you in the publicity campaignâ¦both as an investor, and Sandrine's husband.' Her smile was purely professional. âI trust you'll be agreeable?'
When he didn't respond, she explained, âIt's all part of the bid to protect your investment.' Did she sound cynical? She hadn't meant to, but it had been a long day. âDo you have any questions?'
âYou have another appointment?' Raoul queried silkily.
âYes, I do.' Stephanie glanced at her watch, and stood. âI'm sorry I can't spare you more time.' She met Michel's enigmatic gaze, then picked up the manila envelope and held it out to him. âWhen you've examined these, please feel free to call me with any queries.'
âI'd like the opportunity to continue this discussion,' Raoul indicated. âShall we say dinner, tonight? Michel and Sandrine will join us. I'm staying at the Sheraton Mirage. Six-thirty in the main lobby?'
It annoyed her unreasonably that he took her acceptance for granted. âI'm sorry, I won't be able to make it.'
âA date you can't break in the interest of business?'
Important business. Or was Raoul Lanier merely employing undue influence in his own interest?
âWith my daughter, Mr. Lanier, whom I'm due to collect from the day care center in half an hour.' Her personal file was easily accessible to anyone with the right connections. Eliciting such details would be a
breeze for someone of Michel or Raoul Lanier's standing.
His eyes narrowed fractionally. âIt isn't possible for you to hire a baby-sitter?'
She wanted to hit him for attempting to infringe on her personal life. âDifficult, at such short notice,' she responded stiffly.
âMake the call, Stephanie.'
She disliked being controlled, and she resented this man's aura of power.
There was the temptation to tell him to go to hell, and she barely managed to bite her tongue. Michel Lanier was a wealthy man in his own right, although she couldn't be certain part of his investment wasn't being funded by the Lanier conglomerate. In which case, Raoul Lanier had a legitimate claim.
She could insist on another evening. In fact, she was sorely tempted to do just that. Except it seemed foolish to be irksome just for the sake of it.
Her expression was cool and composed as she inclined her head. âIf you'll excuse me?' She walked to the door and opened it, waiting as both men filed past her and exited the room.
One pair of dark gray eyes held a glimmer of amusement, and her own sharpened, then deepened with silent anger.
He was enjoying this, and didn't appear to give a second's consideration to what it would cost her in time and effort.
She closed the door behind them, then she crossed to her desk and pressed the required digits to connect
with the teenage student she relied on to baby-sit. A few minutes later she replaced the receiver, gave a heavy sigh, then walked out to reception.
Michel Lanier was using his cell phone, and she was acutely conscious of Raoul's studied appraisal as she crossed to his side.
âSix-thirty, the Sheraton Mirage foyer,' she confirmed, adding with a certain cynicism, âI shall look forward to it.'