The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (242 page)

‘Ghislaine possesses a fanciful imagination,' he drawled. ‘Fostered by overindulgent parents in a desire to link Chabert to Lanier.' Facial muscles shifted and reassembled over chiseled bone structure. ‘A business merger is out of the question, and there are no marriage plans.'

‘Ghislaine appears to think differently.'

‘And you believed her?' His voice was quiet, deadly.

Her eyes sparked blue fire, and the anger she'd managed to hold at bay for the past few hours rose to the surface. ‘She was very convincing.'

‘Yes,' he acknowledged cynically. ‘I imagine she was.'

‘There's no purpose to this,' Stephanie refuted, sorely tried.

‘I disagree.'

Her chin tilted. ‘
Why?
The result remains the same.'

‘You're so sure about that?'

I'm not sure about anything, damn you! But even with the most generous heart, I can't see it happening
any other way. A proposal and happy-ever-after belong in fairy stories.

‘Raoul,' Stephanie commanded unsteadily. ‘Go home. Please.' She wanted him out of here, now, before she did something totally stupid. As it was, her eyes ached with repressed emotion. ‘I really do have a few hours work ahead of me.'

He looked at her, saw the tiredness, the emotional strain evident, and subdued the anger he wanted to direct against Ghislaine for having caused Stephanie grief.

Without a word he caught hold of her shoulders and pulled her into his arms, curving a hand beneath her nape as he slid the other down to splay over the slight curve of her bottom.

She twisted against him in an attempt to break free, then fought against dissolving into him as his lips sought the vulnerable hollow at the edge of her neck.

‘Don't.' The word emerged as a despairing groan. She didn't want this. She couldn't afford the sweet slide into emotional ecstasy, and she doubted her ability to survive the exquisite passion without fragmenting into a hundred shimmering pieces.

How long they stood together she had no idea. There was the sensation of it being right, as if some ephemeral force was at work. And dear heaven, it was so
good
to lean against him, accept his strength, his assurance.

Like this, she didn't care how long it lasted. It was enough he was here, and they had the night. So what
if there were too few nights left? The truth was she didn't want to deny herself the ultimate pleasure of shared intimacy with him. Was that so bad?

Slowly, gently, he disentangled her arms and stood back a pace. Then he caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, lifted it, and tried not to drown in those dark sapphire depths.

‘Go do whatever it is you have to do to finish on the computer,' Raoul bade easily. ‘I'll get the coffee.'

Stephanie opened her mouth to protest, only to close it again. Her lashes swept wide as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, then he trailed his fingers down the curve of her cheek and let them rest against the edge of her mouth. He leaned down and dropped a soft kiss on the tip of her nose, then he pushed her gently in the direction of the table, and the computer.

It took her almost two hours, and there was a sense of satisfaction in pressing the Save key and transferring the data onto disk.

She'd been conscious of Raoul sprawled comfortably at ease on the large sofa in the adjoining open plan lounge. He had the television on low, and he looked totally relaxed. Every now and then she'd been conscious of him sparing her a watchful glance, and experienced the answering tremor as her body leaped in response.

With automatic movements she closed down the program, then disconnected the power inlet.

She didn't hear Raoul move, and a slight gasp es
caped her lips as she felt his hands close over her shoulders.

His fingers began a deep soothing massage of her shoulders and neck muscles, gradually easing out the kinks until she sighed and let her head roll forward in a gesture of total acceptance.

It felt so good, so very good, it was all she could do not to express her pleasure in a purr of gratitude. When he began on her scalp she closed her eyes and surrendered to the magic.

There was little sense of the passage of time, and she made a token protest as his hands slid to her shoulders, then caught hold of her waist.

In one fluid movement he lifted her into his arms and carried her down the hall to the bedroom.

‘Raoul—'

‘Don't think,' he said huskily as he swept aside the covers and tumbled down onto the bed with her. His lips caressed the edge of her mouth. ‘Just feel.'

He discarded his clothes with ease, shrugging out of his shirt, discarding trousers, shoes and socks, briefs, then he gathered her close and began a long, slow loving that had her begging for release.

It was flagrant, evocative, as his mouth took a tortuously slow path over every inch of her body. Caressing, tasting, in a supplication that drove her wild. The blood sang in her veins as sensation spiraled to impossible heights, and he caught her as she fell, only to wreak havoc as he sent her soaring again and again.

Skillful fingers knew where to touch, to stroke, as
he paid sensual homage to every pleasure spot, each heightened nerve ending. Just as she thought she'd experienced it all, he followed the same path in a tasting feast that made her cry out in all-consuming ecstasy.

Her whole body was one pulsating ache, and her response was unrestrained as she captured his head and dragged his mouth to her own.

He took her then, melding his body to hers in one powerful thrust, stayed there, then began a tantalizing withdrawal, before plunging deeper in a slow primal rhythm that built in pace until there was only the raw passion of two lovers in perfect accord.

Afterward they slept, held close in each other's arms in a tangle of sheets as the moon disappeared and the night became shrouded in darkness.

At some stage Stephanie stirred, felt the soothing slide of fingers down her back, and settled comfortably against warm skin and muscle, subsiding easily into relaxed somnolence.

The shrill sound of the alarm was an impossible intrusion, and Stephanie automatically reached out to close it, only to come in contact with a hard, muscular forearm intent on the same task.

‘Six-thirty,' a slightly accented male voice drawled with a degree of amusement. ‘Time to rise and shine.'

‘Shower's mine,' she voiced drowsily, then yelped in shocked surprise as his hand slid down to create renewed havoc, bringing her to orgasm with such
tactile skill it stole her breath. ‘I think I should get up.'

Raoul's mouth nuzzled the soft hollow at the base of her neck. ‘Only think?'

‘Affirmative action is essential,' she said weakly, and slid out from beneath his grasp. ‘Otherwise I'll be late.'

He rolled onto his back and linked his arms behind his head. Then he smiled, and Stephanie felt the powerful tug of desire.

She couldn't imagine anything she'd rather do than sink down onto the bed and give in to the hunger, the sheer sensual pleasure of his touch. To gift him a similar pleasure.

What would it be like to wake every morning like this after a night of exquisite lovemaking, only to do it all over again?

Sex. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. Very good sex. It wasn't—
couldn't
—be anything more. Could it?

Oh God. What she felt wasn't love.
Was it?
Realization washed through her body, quickly followed by apprehension.
No,
she screamed a silent denial. This wasn't happening.

Raoul observed the play of emotions chase across her expressive features, saw the shocked surprise evident in her eyes before her lashes swept down in a protective veil, and caught the faint tremor as she lifted a shaky hand to tuck back her hair.

His gaze narrowed fractionally as she caught up her robe and made for the en suite.

Minutes later she stepped into the shower stall, turned on the water and picked up the bottle of shampoo. Only to have it taken out of her hand within seconds of wetting her hair.

‘You can't—'

‘Yes, I can,' Raoul drawled as he poured thick liquid into one cupped palm, then he massaged it over her scalp.

When he was done, he picked up the soap and began smoothing it over her body. It became a teasing, evocative action that brought a groan to her lips.

At this rate, she'd need to forego breakfast. But oh dear Lord, it would be worth it just to savor his touch, to gift him a similar supplication.

‘Raoul.' His name silvered from her lips, and anything else she might have said remained locked in her throat as his mouth closed over hers in a kiss that became a possession all of its own.

Nothing else mattered as he slid her arms up to link at his neck, and when he lifted her close she simply held on, exulting in the shape and feel of him, his strength, his earthy taste and raw sexuality.

She could almost believe he was bent on assaulting her senses…in an attempt to achieve what? she wondered idly as she snagged a towel and removed some of the excess moisture from her hair.

Soft color stained her cheeks at the thought of her craven response, and how easily he was able to achieve it. In his arms she became a wanton, eager to sample every sexual delight he cared to introduce.

Toweled dry, she went through the personal rou
tine, collected fresh underwear, then hurriedly selected an elegant trouser suit, applied makeup, brushed her hair and slid her feet into high-heeled pumps.

Stephanie didn't even bother running a check on the time. It hardly mattered what the clock said, when it was obvious she was going to be late.

She caught up her bag, crossed to the laptop and retrieved the disk, then moved toward the front door.

He was right behind her, his holdall in one hand, his personal laptop in the other. He'd shaved, and in place of the suit he wore tailored trousers and a dark polo shirt.

Stephanie crossed to the garage, used the remote to open the automatic doors, then swore beneath her breath when she saw her car had a flat tire. Something she wouldn't have noticed had she not crossed around to the front passenger side to shift a garden rake, which seemed to have slid forward and lay resting against the bodywork of her car.

‘Problems?'

Stephanie gestured toward the front wheel. ‘This is the second time I've had a flat tire in two days,' she vented angrily. ‘If this one is slashed, too, I'm going to report it to the police.'

‘Slashed?' Raoul queried with deceptive quiet, and she inclined her head.

‘That's what the guy at the tire mart said. He fitted two new tires for me last night.' She pushed a hand through her hair, and stifled an inward sigh. ‘I'll get the spare.'

‘Leave it,' he instructed. ‘I'll drive you.'

‘Dammit, I
need
my car.'

‘And collect you from work. Give me the remote module, a spare key to the car and I'll take care of it.'

She opened her mouth to argue, then simply closed it again as he brushed the knuckles of one hand lightly along her jaw.

‘No contest,
ma cher.'

It was easier to do as he said, and as he negotiated traffic she retrieved her cell phone and called reception, alerting her imminent arrival.

Stephanie reached for the door clasp the moment Raoul swept to a halt outside the entrance to her office building, and she uttered a hurried ‘thanks' as she slid from the car.

A
S MORNINGS
went, Stephanie's was a doozy, and losing an hour merely made a bad situation worse. Everything that could go wrong, did. Worse, her secretary had called in sick, and her temporary replacement didn't have a clue.

Coffee, hot sweet and strong helped some, and she prioritized paperwork, telephone calls, and didn't stop until one, when she deemed it sensible to take a lunch break. Otherwise she'd never make it through the afternoon.

There was a café close by, one of a few which catered for staff working in the many tall office blocks in this part of Southport, and Stephanie covered the short distance, choosing a table outdoors.

Numerous spreading tree branches provided shade, and there were bright striped awnings and umbrellas to protect patrons from the heat of the summer's sun.

The food was superb, the service swift, and within a very short space of time she was presented with a chicken and salad focaccia sandwich and a cappuccino.

It was a beautiful day, and from where she sat she could see the park, the sparkling waters of the main channel, and beyond it the architectural white sails of the Marina Mirage shopping complex soared
against the background of blue sky. Next to it stood the condominium complex of the beautifully designed Palazzo Versace.

A view, she conceded with warmth, to die for. The café was well patronized, but not sufficiently so to warrant anyone requesting to share her table, and she took time to enjoy the food, the ambience. Entitled, she assured, by virtue of working late at home last night.

Thinking about what had happened
after
she'd closed down the computer last night set every nerve-end tingling alive. Dangerous, she mused, definitely dangerous to focus overlong on the passion Raoul had aroused…and her answering hunger.

Tonight's cocktail party for the marketing executives was a “must attend” function. Although she need only stay an hour, two at the most, and she'd be able to leave.

Stephanie finished her sandwich, drained the last of her cappuccino, then paid her bill at the counter and walked out into the sunshine.

She hadn't covered more than a few steps when a feminine slightly accented voice said her name.

No, please tell me it isn't Ghislaine, she prayed silently, only to turn and discover her prayers unanswered. What on earth was the Frenchwoman doing in this part of town?

‘I took the wrong exit from the shopping center,' Ghislaine offered in explanation. ‘I was looking for a taxi rank.'

‘Way wrong,' Stephanie agreed. ‘You can either
retrace your steps to the center and get directions for the right exit, or,' she suggested, wondering why she should be so helpful, ‘I can ring the taxi company and have them send a car here.'

‘Oh,
here
would be wonderful.'

It took only minutes to organize, and she replaced the cell phone into her bag. ‘You'll have to excuse me. I need to get back to the office.'

‘Before you go,' Ghislaine began with pseudo sweetness. ‘I want to thank you.'

‘For what?'

‘Discrediting me with Raoul.'

Stephanie's stomach executed a painful somersault at the thought Ghislaine had probably deliberately set up watch on the off chance she'd frequent her usual lunch venue today.

‘You managed to do that all by yourself,' Stephanie responded carefully.

‘Raoul rang me this morning, suggesting we meet for coffee at the Terraces.' Her eyes glittered with ill-concealed anger. ‘I looked forward to a tête-è-tête. Surely my visit to your office was private?'

Stephanie could almost visualize Ghislaine sharpening her metaphorical claws.

‘Or do you always run to your men and tell tales?'

Grr.
She was inclined to unsheathe her own! However a scene on a public street simply wasn't on her agenda. Silence, in some instances, was more effective than mere words.

‘Who are you? A nonentity with no noble breed
ing, no social standing,
nothing!
' Ghislaine stated with scathing insolence.

‘Whereas you are eminently qualified in each criterion?'

‘
Yes,
damn you!'

Stephanie felt her blood heat. ‘Sadly, blue blood and lineage don't necessarily guarantee desire.'

‘Bitch.'
She took a step forward and swung the palm of her hand, narrowly missing her target as Stephanie twisted her head to one side.

‘Perhaps I should remind you that verbal defamation can warrant legal prosecution, and physical abuse will land you in court.'

‘Raoul belongs to
me.
'

There was no way she was going to stand here and take any more of Ghislaine's verbal vitriol. Without a word she stepped forward and began walking.

‘Don't you
dare
turn your back on me. I haven't finished with you!'

She didn't pause, or even bother to look back. A mistake, she learned seconds later, as something heavy careened into her back and almost sent her sprawling to the pavement.

A shoulder bag, she saw as she straightened, and swung with Ghislaine's weight behind it. ‘That amounted to deliberate assault.'

Ghislaine's attractive features were brittle with fury. ‘Where are your witnesses?' She gave an expressive shrug. ‘As far as I'm concerned, you tripped. Pity you didn't fall.'

This had gone quite far enough! ‘You want to go
the distance, Ghislaine? Raoul won't be impressed to learn you paid someone to slash my tires. Not once, but twice.' Her eyebrows rose. ‘You didn't think I'd find out?'

‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

Stephanie drew breath, and aimed for the kill. ‘No? What did you think your scare tactics would do, Ghislaine? Send me running in the opposite direction?' She shook her head. ‘I don't frighten that easily.'

‘He just wants you for sex!'

‘If that's true,' she opined carefully. ‘Why me, when you're so willing to service him?'

Ghislaine looked as if she was going to throw the mother of all hissy fits, for her face paled, then tinged pink. Her eyes assumed a glassy look, her mouth thinned, and if it was possible for steam to emit from a human's ears…

‘If you weren't on the scene—'

‘It would be some other woman,' Stephanie offered. ‘Accept it for the truth, and move on.'

‘As you will?'

A horn blast close by alerted the taxi's arrival, and Ghislaine stepped across the grass verge and slid into the rear seat. Seconds later the taxi accelerated down the road.

Within minutes Stephanie walked through the entrance foyer and took the lift to her floor. Outwardly she appeared composed. No small achievement, when inside she was a mess of conflicting emotions,
uppermost of which was the need to hit out in restrained anger at Ghislaine's obsessive behavior.

‘You have two urgent calls to return, three faxes are on your desk and your three o'clock appointment has rescheduled thirty minutes early.'

It was back to work with a vengeance, and she continued at a punishing pace until five. The worst of it had been dealt with, and what hadn't could wait until tomorrow, she decided wearily as she shut down the computer, collected her bag and exited the office.

Raoul was waiting for her in the downstairs foyer, and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. His dark suit was perfectly tailored, his grooming exemplary. He really was something else, she conceded as she drew close. She'd miss him like hell when he left.

‘Hi.'

Her greeting was bright, too bright, Raoul decided as he took in her pale features, the air of fragility apparent.

‘Tough day?' he queried lightly, and saw her faint grimace.

‘An understatement.'

With a swiftness that surprised her he captured her mouth with his own and kissed her. Thoroughly.

She could only gaze at him in startled surprise when he lifted his head, and he smiled, watching her eyes darken and dilate. ‘You looked as if you needed it.'

She did, but not for the reason he imagined.

Traffic was heavy, and it took twenty minutes to reach Mermaid Beach.

‘I'll go shower and change,' Stephanie intimated as they entered the house. ‘Help yourself to a drink.'

He let her go, and crossed into the kitchen, selected something nonalcoholic from the refrigerator, then entered the lounge.

The bank of framed photographs caught his attention, and he picked up one of Stephanie holding Emma as a young baby.

He traced her outline with his finger, his lips curving slightly at her celluloid smile, the brave tilt of her head. Strong, courageous, she possessed integrity, passion, and a sense of self he found admirable.

Emma's father had been a fool, he accorded silently. In more ways than one.

Raoul replaced the frame and crossed to the window, then stood looking out over the grass to the neat bordered garden running the length of the fence separating the house next door. Flowers bloomed in carefully tended clumps, and there were shrubs, a few palm trees indicative of the tropical Queensland climate.

Stephanie found him there as she entered the lounge, and he turned, taking in her slender frame, the light red-gold hair styled in a neat bob, the delicate facial bone structure.

‘Stunning,' he complimented, noting the way the electric-blue silk emphasized her cream-textured skin and highlighted her eyes.

‘Shall we leave?'

Raoul caught up his keys and followed her out to the car. ‘You'll need to give me directions.'

‘It's not far.'

The private home was owned by a wealthy client who was known for his generosity and his penchant for entertaining. Located in a one-way street running parallel to the foreshore, the extensive three-level mansion was one of many very exclusive homes overlooking the ocean.

There were perhaps thirty invited guests sipping champagne and indulging in bite-size canapés.

‘The purpose of this soiree is business?' Raoul inclined as more guests drifted into the large lounge.

‘Definitely. Charles is one of the firm's most influential clients.' Stephanie wrinkled her nose at him. ‘Who likes to lead into the festive season with the first of the pre-Christmas cocktail parties.' A faintly wicked smile tugged the edge of her lips. ‘Yes, I know. It's only the first week in November.'

During the ensuing hour they mixed and mingled, together and separately as Raoul was drawn into conversation while a guest snagged Stephanie's attention.

She was good at her job, he perceived. Her interest was genuine, and she had a head for dates and figures that earned her respect from her peers.

His gaze lingered as she laughed spontaneously at someone's joke, then moved easily into conversation.

At that precise moment she lifted her head and looked at him, aware instinctively that he'd been
watching her, and she smiled, offering him a slightly raised eyebrow in silent query.

Was it possible for two people to communicate without words? Did he sense that she wanted him so badly she could almost feel his touch?

Stephanie felt the heat rise deep inside, sensed the prickle of awareness scud across the surface of her skin, as she endeavored to contain her wayward thoughts.

With a sense of fascination she watched as he murmured a few words to the man he was with, then he made his way toward her.

‘Having fun?' she lightly teased as he drew close, and almost melted beneath the warmth of his smile.

‘By any definition,' Raoul drawled, and lifting a hand he trailed the pads of his fingers across her cheek.

Her eyes flared, and she was willing to swear her lower lip shook a little in involuntary reaction. She felt her body sway fractionally toward his, almost as if it had a mind of its own.

‘Hungry?' He let his hand trace the length of her arm to her wrist and threaded his fingers through hers. ‘For food?' she countered with a wicked smile, and felt the faint pressure as his fingers curled around her own.

‘That, too.'

‘I know of an intimate restaurant not far from here that serves the most divine Italian food.' She waited a beat. ‘We could take some home and have a feast.'

‘You don't want candlelight, Chianti and Andrea Bocelli singing sweet ballads on the CD player?'

She felt a bubble of laughter rise in her throat. ‘Well,' she conceded, offering him a deliciously seductive smile. ‘If you insist on an authentic ambience.'

They left a short while later, and it took only minutes to reach the small restaurant situated in a long block of shops fronting the southbound highway.

Owned and operated by an extended Italian family, they were greeted at the door by a courtly uncle, served wine by the eldest son, a daughter served the food, while both parents and the uncle's wife reigned in the kitchen.

The aroma of fresh herbs and spices mingled with wine and a host of tantalizing sauces, and there was music…

‘Pavarotti,' Raoul drawled as Stephanie opted for a table, ‘Making me wait, hmm?' he murmured with a teasing smile as he followed her to a spare table on the far side of the room.

‘It's called anticipation.'

‘I'll get my revenge later.'

Her eyes gleamed with wicked humor as they each took a seat. ‘I'm trembling.'

‘As well you should.'

Raoul ordered a mild red Lambrusco, and they settled on a starter each and followed it with another, rather than a main, choosing a clear soup, followed by spinach and feta ravioli served with mushrooms.

‘Perfecto,'
Raoul declared when they finished the dish and ordered coffee.

It was after eleven when Raoul paid the bill and they left. The night was warm, and the sky held a myriad of stars, heralding another fine day tomorrow.

How many more days did she have left? Two, three? Don't think about it, a small voice cautioned. They had the night, and it was enough. It
had
to be enough.