The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (239 page)

A delicious lemon pie was an excellent complement, and she waived Celeste's offer to take care of the dishes.

‘You cooked, I'll do the dishes,' she said firmly.

‘I agree,' Raoul added as he stood and pushed in his chair. ‘You go and sit down. I'll help Stephanie.'

He probably hadn't cleaned a dish in his life. ‘Thanks,' she said sweetly. ‘You rinse, I'll stack the dishwasher, then you can attack the pots and pans.'

He shot her a dark gleaming glance, almost as if he divined her thoughts, and set about proving her wrong with quick deft thorough movements she found hard to keep pace with. He scoured pots and pans with considerable skill, and when they were all done he wiped down the sink bench, then leaned one hip against the bench and watched her finish up.

‘Why don't you go put Emma to bed, while I make coffee?'

It was worth it just to watch those beautiful dark blue eyes dilate and pink color her cheeks. As long as she was angry he didn't have anything to lose, he determined as he caught hold of her chin and possessed her mouth in a brief hungry kiss.

‘How dare you?' she whispered furiously, and heard his quietly drawled response,

‘Easily.'

She walked from the kitchen without offering a further word, and when she returned he was seated comfortably opposite Celeste, conversing as if he'd known her mother for years.

It was an acquired trait, an entrepreneurial strategy someone kindly disposed would term
charm.
Was it genuine? Celeste seemed to think so, and her mother was no fool when it came to judging character.

‘If you'll excuse me, I must leave,' Raoul intimated and rose to his feet. He took hold of her mother's hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘
Merci,
Celeste, for the meal and your company.'

‘I'll see you to the door.' A few minutes and he'd be gone, then she could relax.

He was close, much too close as she preceded him down the hallway, and before she had a chance to open the door he cradled her face and took possession of her mouth in a kiss that tugged at the very depths of her heart.

When he lifted his head she could only look at
him, her breathing as unsteady as her rapidly beating pulse.

‘Bonne nuit, mon ange,'
he bade gently. ‘Until tomorrow.' He pressed the pad of his thumb to her lower lip. ‘I'll be here at nine.' His mouth curved with sensuous warmth. ‘Sleep well.'

He opened the door and moved lightly down the steps to his car, and Stephanie watched as he slid behind the wheel, then reversed down the driveway.

She closed the door, secured the locks, then reentered the lounge.

Celeste wisely didn't comment on the faint color tinging her daughter's cheeks. Instead she mentioned a new social club she'd joined in Sydney, discussed two recent movies and refrained from mentioning Raoul's name. At ten, she stifled a faint yawn, then indicated the need for an early night.

Stephanie followed her down the hallway, closing lights as she went, and in her own room she stripped off her clothes, then indulged in a leisurely shower before slipping into bed to lay staring at the darkened ceiling.

She must have slept, because when she woke sunlight was streaming through chinks in the wooden shutters at her window.

A tap at her door brought her sitting up in bed, and Celeste entered with a cup of coffee in her hand.

‘Morning, darling. I thought I should wake you. It's after eight.'

Oh hell. ‘Raoul will be here at nine.' She threw
aside the bedcovers and reached for her robe. ‘Where's Emma?'

‘Watching one of her videos. She's had breakfast, and I've packed the holdall with most of the things I think she'll need.'

Stephanie took a sip of the strong, sweet coffee and felt its reviving effect. ‘Thanks, Celeste. I'll grab something to eat, then change.'

Stephanie chose fatigue-style beige shorts, a pale blue singlet top and slid her feet into trainers. Makeup was a thorough application of sunscreen cream, a light dusting of powder, and lipstick.

Raoul arrived at nine, looking ruggedly attractive attired in casual navy shorts and a white short-sleeved polo shirt. He was fit and tanned, with the muscular build of a man who enjoyed exercise and physical fitness.

It was easy to imagine him playing tennis, racquetball, or training in martial arts. He had the look, the physique, and displayed an aura of control.

It was a beautiful day, the sun warm, with just the slightest breeze stirring the palm fronds and tree leaves.

‘Going on a boat,' Emma relayed during the drive to Marina Mirage.

A very large luxury boat, Stephanie saw as Bruno led them through the security gate and indicated the berth where the cruiser lay moored.

For the wealthy tourist, private charter was ideal. Captain and crew, plus catering staff ensured a very
pleasant excursion without any of the attending hassle.

Celeste took delight in Lucia, and the little girl reciprocated twofold.

‘You remind her of her beloved Nonna,' Adriana confided as they settled in the spacious midsection fitted and furnished as a luxurious lounge.

It was evident Raoul and Bruno shared the camaraderie of long friendship, and Stephanie felt her pulse race each time she met his gaze.

He stirred her emotions in a way no man had ever done before. And he knew. It was there in the faint gleam in his eyes, the sensual pull of his mouth as it curved to form a smile.

Throughout the day he made little attempt to touch her, and then it was merely a light brush of his hand on her arm. Emma was generous in her affection, trusting with the unaffected instinct of a child. As far as her daughter was concerned, he was Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny rolled into one.

And you,
a persistent little gremlin taunted. What is he to you?

Someone, she conceded cynically, whom she need regard with caution. There was the fear of being hurt, of being let down. And having to pick up the pieces. She'd done it once, and she didn't want to do it again.

Don't think about it,
she chastised silently. Enjoy the day for what it is—the company of charming people—and just
be.

The captain cruised the coastal waterways, the
main Nerang river and the larger inland canals. So many beautiful homes lined the water frontage, many with large cabin cruisers moored at individual jetties. Landscaped gardens, huge stands of palm trees and swimming pools.

The captain gave a commentary on various landmarks, and relayed anecdotes about several different men who had made and lost fortunes during the spasmodic “boom and bust” cycles over the years.

After lunch the cruiser headed through the main channel to Sanctuary Cove, then retraced its path via Couran Cove, Stradbroke Island, passed Seaworld theme park, and slid into its berth at Marina Mirage shortly after six.

It had been an incredible day, and Stephanie said so, thanking Bruno and Adriana as they disembarked.

‘Please, join us in our apartment for an hour or two.' Adriana issued the invitation with warm enthusiasm. ‘I can make a salad, the men will cook steaks on the open grill.'

‘But you're leaving tomorrow, you must need to pack—'

‘Only a few things,' Adriana assured. ‘It is easier to have a wardrobe in each of our apartments. Please, it would give us pleasure for you to visit for a while.'

‘The girls are tired,' Stephanie indicated. ‘It's been a long day for them.'

‘I don't think an hour will make much difference,' Celeste offered as they cleared the security gate and entered the shopping complex.

Two against one, Stephanie reflected wryly. Make
that three, she mentally adjusted as she caught her daughter's expression. Held in the curve of Raoul's arm the little girl looked enchanting, her gold-blond hair so fair against the darker features of the man who carried her.

Seared steaks, fresh salads, eaten with a crusty baguette cut in thick slices, and washed down with a light wine, then followed by coffee made for a appetizing repast, and a fitting relaxed end to the day.

It was almost eight when Raoul drew the car to a halt outside the house, and he released a sleeping Emma from her booster seat, then carried her indoors.

‘Third door on the left,' Stephanie instructed, leading the way down the hall. ‘I'll change and put her to bed.'

Five minutes later she entered the lounge. ‘Can I get you some tea, coffee? A cold drink?'

‘Not for me, darling,' Celeste declined, and Raoul shook his head.

‘Thanks, but no. I must get back to the hotel. I have some work to do before I catch the early morning flight down to Sydney.'

He was leaving? For how long? And why did she suddenly feel
empty?

‘I'll be back Wednesday evening, Thursday if I encounter any delay.'

He turned to Celeste and bade her good-night, and Stephanie saw him to the door.

‘Thanks for a lovely day.'

His smile caused her toes to curl. ‘I will phone from Sydney.'

She met his mouth without conscious thought, angling her head to fit his, in a kiss that was dazzling in its intensity, and all too brief.

S
TEPHANIE
deliberately sought a hectic work schedule to ensure there was little time to focus much thought on Raoul. For eight hours each day she was mostly successful. Nights were the worst, for no matter how hard she tried, his image came far too readily to mind.

He even managed to invade her dreams, and more than once she woke in a state of restless anticipation only to discover the image in her mind was precisely that…an image.

He rang twice, relatively brief calls which were confined to inquiries about her day, and Stephanie was able to elicit only that he was deeply involved in delicate negotiations that could delay his return.

Flowers were delivered to her office on Tuesday, with the words “Missing you, R” on the card. Stephanie kept them at work where the air conditioning helped keep them fresh.

Deciding what to wear to the gala dinner on Saturday evening caused a thorough appraisal of her wardrobe, and she withdrew three suitable gowns, then discarded each one of them.

What she needed, she determined, was something really spectacular…not flamboyant, but quietly and expensively spectacular.

She found it at an exclusive boutique. A figure-hugging design in black with thin jeweled straps, and the saleslady's approval merely added to her own. The price tag was astronomical, but worth every cent, she assured as she arranged for the hemline to be altered.

So far, the marketing strategy for the film was on schedule, and she made a note to ring Alex Stanford. She really wanted a preview of the shots he'd taken.

Wednesday evening Stephanie arranged for Sarah to baby-sit while she and Celeste went to a movie, a charming tale with an all-star cast featuring English women living in Italy during World War II. Afterward they stopped for coffee in one of several boutique cafés lining a trendy street current in vogue at Broadbeach.

‘I'm so pleased to see you enjoying a social life, darling,' Celeste said gently as they waited for their order.

‘You mean Raoul,' Stephanie responded without preamble.

‘Yes.'

She shook her head in silent negation, assuring, ‘It isn't going to happen.'

‘I think you should leave your options open.'

A teasing smile curved her lips. ‘Celeste, are you suggesting I sleep with him?'

‘I'm your mother, darling. Mothers don't encourage their daughters to—'

‘Indulge in wild sex,' Stephanie completed, offering Celeste a wicked grin.

‘You deserve to be with someone,' Celeste ventured quietly.

A waitress delivered their coffee, and Celeste discussed the movie they'd just seen, the quality of the acting…a subject that lasted for the time it took to savor the superb lattes, before driving the short distance home.

The next day Raoul rang to say he'd be back on the evening flight, and the anticipated pleasure of seeing him again was overwhelming. She'd tried to tell herself she hadn't missed him, but knew she lied.

Friday morning there was another delivery of flowers. Flower, she corrected, unsure how to view the single red rose in its cellophane cylinder. The accompanying card held no message, just the initial
R.

Lunch was a sandwich eaten at her desk and washed down with bottled water as she ran a check on the photo stills that had arrived by courier from Alex Stanford. He'd noted his selection, and she agreed with him. The shots were good, very good.

The lead actress, Cait Lynden, looked great alongside the two professional models. The lead actor, Gregor Anders, had perfected the right angles to portray himself to the best possible advantage.

Michel Lanier should be well pleased. Especially, with the photo stills of Sandrine. There was something about her, some indefinable quality that commanded a second glance. Add unaffected appeal, exquisite bone structure, and you had a visual winner, Stephanie qualified.

The glossy fashion magazine was due to hit the newsstands next week, the interviews and photo segments would appear in two of the weekly women's magazines the same week. A comprehensive one-on-one interview with Cait Lynden and Gregor Anders was scheduled for the magazine section of the Sunday newspaper in three major states, and television interviews were due to air in two weeks' time.

Then there were the social pages. Cocktail party, the gala charity dinner, to which some of Brisbane and the Gold Coast's social elite were invited, together with photographers and journalists to note and record the event.

It was all part of a well-presented media package aimed to attract public interest, a teaser to encourage paying cinema customers, Stephanie accorded wryly.

It would be nice, she reflected ruminatively, if the movie broke even. Although Michel Lanier could well afford to take the loss.

Filming had finished, and next week the marketing team would attend a private screening and decide which segments should appear as trailers. Meetings, conferences, release dates. It was a comprehensive and exacting project.

Stephanie reached for the phone and made a series of calls, logged data into her computer and ran another check on the table seating for the charity gala dinner to be held in the Grand Ballroom at the Sheraton.

She needed to collect her new gown for the event,
and a call to the boutique ascertained the alterations were complete.

It was almost five-thirty when she parked the car at the Marina Mirage shopping complex. Ten minutes later she emerged from the boutique, an emblazoned carry-bag in hand.

With luck, if the traffic wasn't too heavy, she'd be able to collect Emma from the day care center and be home just after six. Celeste was preparing Emma's favorite meal, and they planned a quiet evening together.

Stephanie stepped onto the escalator and idly scanned the ground floor with its marbled tiles, an attractive water fountain and tables set out for casual alfresco dining.

She glimpsed a familiar male head, and recognized Raoul…in the company of a tall stunningly beautiful woman with dark hair pulled back into a sleek knot, classic features, exquisite makeup and a figure to die for.

Worse, one hand was curled round Raoul's forearm. They looked…
cozy,
Stephanie decided.

Did hearts stop? She was willing to swear hers did. And there was a sudden searing pain in the region of her stomach.

At that precise moment he lifted his head and saw her. For a shocking few seconds his expression assumed a still quality, and he removed the woman's hand from his arm, murmured a few words at her protest and moved toward the base of the escalator.

There was no way Stephanie could avoid him, and
although it took considerable effort she summoned a polite smile as she stepped off.

‘Raoul,' she acknowledged with cool formality.

‘
Mon ami,
are you not going to introduce us?'

French, Stephanie deduced, huskily feminine and infinitely feline.

‘Of course,' Raoul inclined with unruffled ease. ‘Ghislaine Chabert. Stephanie Sommers.'

Ghislaine stroked a hand down Raoul's forearm, gifted him a witching smile, then transferred her attention to Stephanie. Her eyes hardened and became cold. ‘You are one of Raoul's business acquaintances?'

Oh my. A tigress. With sheathed claws and a mean disposition. ‘Michel's,' Stephanie corrected succinctly.

‘Stephanie is in marketing.'

Perfectly shaped eyebrows lifted fractionally. ‘Ah,' Ghislaine inclined with condescension. ‘Sandrine's little movie.'

This could only get worse, and she didn't intend hanging around to discover how much worse. ‘If you'll excuse me?' She cast Raoul a measured glance, and inclined her head toward Ghislaine. ‘I'm already late to collect my daughter.'

‘I'll walk you to your car.'

‘Please don't bother.' She stepped to one side and began walking to the set of central escalators that would take her down to the car park.

He said something to Ghislaine in French, brusque
words that were totally incomprehensible, then caught up with Stephanie in a few long strides.

She should have known he'd follow her. Without breaking step she continued toward the escalator, all too aware he was right behind her.

He snagged her arm as she stepped off the escalator and turned her to face him.

‘Whatever you're bent on surmising—
don't,
' Raoul warned silkily.

‘You haven't a clue what I'm thinking,' Stephanie declared distantly.

‘Yes,' he reiterated. ‘I do.'

‘You read minds?' she flung icily, and glimpsed the cynicism in his smile.

‘Yours is remarkably transparent.'

‘There is no point to this conversation.'

‘Sacré bleu,'
he swore softly. ‘You try the patience of a saint. Ghislaine,' he informed hardily, ‘is the daughter of an old family friend, who arrived unannounced, and not by my invitation,' Raoul continued hardily, wanting to kiss her senseless until the doubt, the insecurity, disappeared.

‘You don't need to explain,' she declared coolly.

Oh, yes, he did. With concise honesty, right now. ‘Ghislaine has booked herself into the same hotel. She's not
with
me,' he said with deliberate emphasis. ‘She never has been.'

She directed him a level look. ‘Why are you telling me this?'

He wanted to smote his fist against something
hard. ‘Because Ghislaine is a femme fatale who finds it amusing to play games.'

Stephanie took in a breath and released it as an exasperated sigh. ‘I'd love to stop and chat, but I have to pick up Emma.'

‘And you don't believe a word I've said.'

She retained his gaze fearlessly. ‘You're free to do whatever you like with whomever you please.' She looked pointedly at his hand on her arm.

‘You're making obstacles where there are none.'

‘No,' she refuted as he released her. ‘I'm making it easy.'

Dignity won out every time, she assured silently as she crossed through two rows to where she'd parked her car. Except dignity didn't do a thing for the way her nerves were shredding into numerous strands. Nor did it help ease the painful ache in her stomach.

She unlocked the door and slid in behind the wheel, then she fired the engine and sent the car up to ground level.

Perhaps it was as well she'd planned a quiet evening at home with Celeste and Emma. She needed time to think.

When Raoul rang at eight, she had Celeste tell him she was putting Emma to bed. She didn't return his call.

Her mother wisely maintained a silent counsel, for which Stephanie was grateful. Maternal advice, no matter how well-meaning, wasn't high on her list tonight.

Together they viewed a video, followed by a program on cable, before reaching a mutual agreement to retire.

There were too many images invading her mind to promote sleep, and Stephanie didn't even try. Instead she plumped an extra pillow against the bed head and picked up a book.

Two hours later she snapped off the bed lamp and stared into the darkness.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day, followed by an even longer night. There were press interviews and photographers scheduled to cover the film cast at Movieworld. She needed to take Celeste and Emma to the airport for the midday flight to Sydney. Then there was the gala dinner.

Would Ghislaine inveigle an invitation? It wouldn't be difficult to acquire one. The Grand Ballroom was large, the staff adept at setting up an extra table or two at the last moment, providing seating wasn't already at maximum. All Ghislaine needed to do was have a discreet word in the right ear and pay for the privilege.

Stephanie stifled a muffled curse and thumped her pillow.

The image of Ghislaine
clinging
to Raoul's arm was vivid in her mind. And how had the Frenchwoman known where Raoul was staying?

She vowed it didn't matter. But it did. It mattered a lot. Despite her efforts to prevent it, he'd managed to scale every protective wall she'd erected, and was close to invading her heart.

Raoul's warning returned to haunt her. Ghislaine liked to play games, huh? Well, let the games begin!

 

It was a wrench depositing Celeste and Emma at the airport, and Stephanie experienced a mixture of acute loss and emotional deprivation as she hugged Emma close in a final farewell as they passed through security. Watching the jet taxi down the runway, then ascend, was never a good idea. Maybe, when Emma grew older, she'd be able to discard the practice. But now, the little girl was so young, so vulnerable…yet so excited and happy to embark on an adventure.

Emma would have a wonderful time, Stephanie assured herself as she slid into the car and drove toward the car park exit.

It was
she
who needed to adjust to an empty house, the lack of childish chatter and laughter. The umbilical cord connecting mother to child, although cut at birth, was never really severed, she mused as she gained the northbound highway.

Stephanie stopped off at home, heated a slice of Celeste's quiche and ate it, checked her answering machine, then she collected a container of commercially bottled water from the refrigerator and returned to her car.

Dedication to the job was a fine thing, and she could easily have delegated an appearance at the Movieworld shoot. Except she considered it important to be present for any on-the-spot decisions. It was precisely that dedication to detail that had seen her rise through the marketing ranks.

Away from the comfort of air conditioning the heat was intense. As the afternoon wore on, dispositions became frayed, artistic temperament increased and the suggestion they move to another location brought voiced dissent from a few.

‘It'll add another dimension,' Alex Stanford assured as he packed his camera and hefted the bag over one shoulder.

‘Okay,' Stephanie indicated, trusting his judgment. ‘See you there.'

She'd almost reached the car when her cell phone rang.