The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (27 page)

Of its own accord her body sank in against his, savouring for a brief few seconds the feeling of coming home. Of recognition at the most base level, and need.

The slow sweep of his tongue explored her own, tangled, then took her deep.

Dear Lord, how could she be this needy?

With a reluctant groan she tore her mouth away, and attempted to put some distance between them. Her own distress was evident, and she fought a mixture of anger and resentment as he brushed his knuckles along the edge of her jaw.

‘Chemistry,' she dismissed with practised flippancy.

His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable, and she stifled a silent curse.

‘You think so?' He took the keys from her hand,
deactivated the alarm, then he unlocked the door. He opened it, slid the key into the ignition, then stood to one side as she slipped in behind the wheel.

‘Friday, Katrina.'

As if she needed reminding. With a deft twist of the wrist she gunned the engine into life, eased out of the parking space, then she sent the car forward at a quick pace.

She barely had time to shift through the gears before it was necessary to change down as she reached the driveway to her apartment.

Minutes later she'd garaged the Porsche and was safely indoors, choosing the lift instead of stairs to reach her apartment.

It wasn't late, only a few minutes past nine. Too early to go to bed. She toyed with the idea of phoning any one of several friends, suggesting she meet up with them and share a drink and chat a while. Except they would ask questions at such an impulsive action, and questions were something she'd prefer to avoid.

Instead, she undressed, pulled on an oversized tee shirt, removed her make-up, then she curled up in a comfortable armchair and changed channels on the television until she found something worth watching.

Katrina must have fallen asleep, for when she woke her neck felt stiff, one leg was numb, and a glance at her watch revealed it was long past midnight.

Minutes later she doused the lights and crawled into bed to lie awake haunted by the feel of Nicos's mouth on her own.

 

Choosing what to pack required minimum effort. A selection of clothes for the office, casual gear, and a few suitable outfits for the rare social occasion.

Katrina closed the zip on both suitcases, took one last look around the apartment, then she set the security alarm, closed the outer door, and summoned the lift down to the basement garage.

It was only a few kilometres from Double Bay to Point Piper, and no matter how she qualified the move it was impossible to control her nervous tension as she turned into the elegant street housing Nicos's home.

Katrina eased the car to a halt, engaged the remote control, waited as the high wrought-iron gate slid smoothly to one side, then she traversed the semi-circular driveway towards a stylish tri-level home set in well-kept grounds. One of many in this tree-lined street where a mix of old and new residences provided an air of wealth in a harbour-front suburb.

The wide portico framed an impressive entry with ornate double doors protected by a sophisticated security system.

A married couple came in each weekday to clean and tend the grounds, but they would have left hours ago, Katrina reflected as she entered the lobby.

The house was silent, and it was impossible to shrug off a sense of
déjàvu
.

Late-afternoon sun hit the ornamental multi-paned leaded glass, sending prisms of soft pinks and greens across the cream marble-tiled floor, showcasing the high ceilings, the wide curved staircase leading to an oval balcony, an elegant chandelier.

To her right lay a large formal lounge and dining room, to her left a study, an informal sitting room, dining room and kitchen.

A spacious entertainment room, sauna, spa, gym, were situated on the lower floor, together with an indoor swimming pool with wide French doors leading out onto terraced gardens.

Five bedrooms, each with
en suite
, comprised the upper level of a beautifully furnished house with magnificent views out over the inner harbour.

For a brief few months it had been
home
. A place where she'd shared love, laughter, and great passion.

Don't go there
, a tiny voice warned.

Discipline was something she'd mastered at a young age, yet she was helpless against the unwanted emotions invading her mind, her body.

Re-entering Nicos Kasoulis's space was a move fraught with tension. Yet what choice did she have?

None, if she wanted control of Macbride, Katrina reflected a trifle pensively as she ascended stairs to the upper floor.

Did Nicos occupy the master suite they'd once shared? Or had he moved into one of the other bedrooms?

The master suite, she determined minutes later. His clothes were there, and an array of masculine toiletries took up space on the marbled vanity.

She skimmed a glance over the large bed, and endeavoured to still her increased heartbeat. How could he bear to stay here? Occupy this room, this
bed
?

Pain clenched in her stomach, and she turned
abruptly away in an attempt to stifle a host of memories.

Control, she had it. But for how long? a devilish imp taunted as she chose a bedroom on the opposite side of the balcony.

There was, she saw at once, a small desk ideal for her laptop. A calculated guess on Nicos's part that she'd select this room, or sheer coincidence?

Second-guessing Nicos's motivation was a fruitless exercise.

Move your gear in, unpack, take a shower, check your e-mails, make a few calls, then have an early night, she prompted silently.

It was almost ten when hunger forced the realisation she'd missed dinner. Lunch had been a sandwich eaten at her desk, and breakfast had comprised orange juice and black coffee.

Hardly adequate sustenance, she decided as she made her way down to the kitchen to raid the refrigerator.

A ham sandwich and a cup of tea would suffice, and she'd almost finished both when she heard the front door close followed by the beep of the security alarm being set.

There was no way she could escape upstairs without detection, and she didn't bother to try. The slim hope she'd held that Nicos would simply ignore the array of lights on this level died as he entered the kitchen.

The mere look of him stirred her senses, and set her composure seriously awry.

A dramatic mesh of primitive sexuality and latent power that had a lethal effect on any woman's peace of mind. Especially hers.

It irked her unbearably that he knew, with just one look at her, no matter how she schooled her expression.

‘A late-night snack, or did you miss dinner?' Nicos queried mildly as he crossed the room to stand a metre distant.

He took in the baggy tee shirt that reached her thighs, her bare legs and feet, and the hair she'd swept into a pony-tail. A look that was the antithesis of the corporate executive.

‘You're back early.'

‘You're evading the question.'

Katrina lifted the cup and took a sip of tea. ‘Both,' she informed succinctly.

He loosened his tie and thrust both hands into his trouser pockets. She looked beat, and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. At a guess she hadn't slept much in the past few nights.

Anxiety at their enforced living arrangements?

‘Should we attempt polite conversation?' Katrina parried.

He looked vaguely dangerous. She tried to tell herself such a thought was the height of foolishness. But the feeling was there, in the look of him, his relaxed stance. Deceptive, she accorded warily, as all her fine body hairs rose up in protective self-defence.

Instinct warned she should tread carefully. Yet she
was prey to a devilish imp prompting her towards certain conflagration.

‘How was your date—sorry, dinner?' she corrected deliberately.

One eyebrow rose with deliberate cynicism. ‘Why assume my companion was female?'

‘A calculated guess, given the increasing number of women in the business arena.'

‘And my penchant for the company of women?' Nicos queried silkily.

‘You have a certain reputation.' A statement that held a wealth of cynicism.

‘I won't deny intimacy with previous partners,' he said with dangerous softness. ‘The relationships were selective and meant something at the time.'

‘But you don't offer fidelity. In or out of marriage.'

He didn't move, but she had the sensation he was suddenly standing much too close. ‘You want me to reiterate something you refuse to believe?' he demanded silkily.

The air between them was electric. ‘Why bother?' She held his gaze without fear. ‘We did that to death at the time. It achieved nothing then. I don't see that it will now.'

His control was admirable, but his eyes were dark, almost chillingly still. ‘If I were to offer the same query following your return from a business dinner, your answer would be?'

She didn't hesitate. ‘Get stuffed.'

‘An eloquent phrase.'

Katrina turned towards the sink and jettisoned the
remains of her tea. ‘Forget
polite
.' She rinsed the cup and placed it in the dishwasher. ‘Let's just stick with
good morning
and
goodnight
.'

‘You think that will work?'

Why did she get the feeling he was at least one step ahead of her?

‘The alternative is a war zone.'

‘Battles won and lost?'

She gave him a long, considering look. ‘It's not about whether you win or lose, but how you play the game.'

‘An interesting analogy.'

‘Isn't it?' She turned away from him and stepped towards the door. ‘Goodnight.'

‘Sleep well,
pedhaki mou
.'

His cynical drawl echoed in her mind as she ascended the stairs, and even in the relative safety of her bedroom the affectionate endearment recurred as a repetitive taunt.

Consequently sleep proved an elusive captive, until exhaustion overcame the many scenarios she plotted against him.

T
HERE
was evidence Nicos had already eaten breakfast when Katrina entered the kitchen the next morning.

The aroma of freshly made coffee teased her nostrils, and she took down a cup and filled it from the cafetière, added sugar, slotted bread into the toaster, then sipped the excellent brew as she waited for the toast to pop.

A daily newspaper lay on the table, and she scanned the front-page headlines highlighting the latest criminal injustice, the fall of a major company, and touting plaudits for two councillors running in the upcoming elections.

When the toast was ready she spread it with conserve, topped her cup with coffee, then she pulled out a chair and dedicated fifteen minutes to acquiring an informative view of the day's reported journalism.

Until she reached the social pages, and found herself looking at a photograph of her and Nicos. Taken, she confirmed on closer examination, at a social function not long after their marriage. The caption read,
Together Again?

Anger rose, and a sibilant curse escaped from her lips.

Without pausing for thought she gathered up the pertinent page and went in search of her errant husband.

She found him in the study, seated at his desk, his attention focussed on the computer screen.

He glanced up as she entered, took one look at her expression, and pressed the save key.

‘Good morning.'

Katrina threw him a fulminating glare. ‘Have you
seen
this?' She cast the newspaper page down onto the keyboard, and jabbed a finger at the caption.

Someone had been busy. Given her extended dysfunctional family, it narrowed the suspects down to four. Any one of whom would take delight in presenting such facts to the press.

‘You want to complain and request a retraction?'

She was so angry she could hardly speak. ‘What good would that do?'

‘None whatsoever.'

Suspicion clouded logic. ‘Were
you
responsible?'

Katrina saw his features harden and his eyes grow cold. ‘That doesn't even qualify for an answer.'

‘
Who
, then?'

Nicos's silence was eloquent, and her anger took on a new dimension.

‘I need to make a few phone calls. Then,' she announced between clenched teeth, ‘I'm going out.'

‘I have an invitation to attend dinner this evening.'

‘I wouldn't dream of stopping you.'

‘For both of us.'

‘You can go alone!'

‘An action that would cause speculation, surely?' Nicos posed reasonably. ‘Given our very recent reconciliation?'

‘I have no intention of partnering you on the social circuit,' Katrina vowed tersely.

‘Considering my attendance is minimal, it won't be a hardship.'

‘And we haven't reconciled. We're merely sharing the same house!'

‘So we are,' Nicos said with dangerous softness. ‘However, for the duration of one year we partner each other whenever the necessity should arise.'

‘That isn't a condition of Kevin's will.'

‘Consider it one of my own,' he said hardily, and watched her green eyes fire with anger.

‘Don't try to manipulate me,' she warned as she moved to the door, adding as a parting shot, ‘I won't stand for it.'

‘Be ready by six-fifteen,' Nicos relayed silkily.

Katrina didn't deign to answer, and barely restrained the temptation to slam the door behind her.

With carefully controlled movements she went upstairs, changed into tailored trousers, added a blouse, a jacket, slid her feet into heeled pumps, then col
lected her bag, caught up her car keys and went down to the garage.

Ten minutes later she drew to a halt adjacent a park, withdrew her cellphone, and made the first of several phone calls.

Whilst Andrea, Kevin's second wife, coveted wealth and a luxurious lifestyle, was self-orientated to the point of selfishness, she didn't possess a vicious bone in her body. Her daughter, Paula, by Andrea's first marriage, was overindulged and a snob, but an unlikely candidate to raise her stepsister's ire.

Which left Chloe, Kevin's third wife, and her son, Enrique, by a previous marriage. Each of whom would delight in causing Katrina grief.

Katrina had contacts, and she used them ruthlessly.

An hour later she had the answer she wanted.
Enrique.
Now, why didn't that surprise her?

Her stepbrother was a smooth charmer who made it no secret that in his opinion
he
, as the only male in a clutch of associated family females, should inherit a major share in Macbride. It mattered little that Kevin had insisted each of his successive wives sign a prenuptial agreement, and had made both Andrea and Chloe aware that Katrina was his successor.

Enrique was a young man who adored the high life, fast cars and beautiful women. He had also acquired an expensive habit in his teens, one that had seen him in a private clinic on more than one occasion during the few years Chloe had been Kevin's wife.

At least she knew her enemy, Katrina determined as she put the car in gear and headed towards Double
Bay. She intended checking out her apartment, reassessing her wardrobe; then she planned some retail therapy.

There were a few girlfriends she could phone to come join her and share lunch. Except the invitation would elicit questions she had no desire to answer, and while her heart ached for the loss of her father she knew he would hate her to grieve.

Life, he had always maintained, was a celebration. And he had celebrated it well.

Yet she missed his laughter, his love. He'd been her rock, her safe harbour. In a quirk of misplaced wisdom, he'd appointed Nicos in his place.

Katrina wanted to reiterate she didn't need or want Nicos's protection. Except Kevin had played his final card and had given her no choice.

 

It was well after five when she garaged the Porsche and entered Nicos's home with three evening gowns draped over her arm.

She reached the stairs as Nicos emerged into the lobby, and she paused, her expression one of controlled politeness.

‘Formal, Katrina,' Nicos drawled as he reached her. He named the venue, the charity, and glimpsed her momentary disconcertion as they ascended the stairs.

How could she have forgotten? It was one of the city's prestigious social events, and one Kevin had unfailingly sponsored for as long as she could remember.

She had…how long? Forty-five minutes in which to shower, attend to her hair and make-up, then dress.

She made it with scant seconds to spare, and stood silent beneath Nicos's appraisal.

The crêpe georgette gown in jade-green with its bias-cut asymmetric flounces and figure-hugging lines accented her slim curves and highlighted her cream-textured skin. To save time she'd simply swept her hair into a careless chignon, had added diamond stud earrings and a matching pendant.

As to Nicos, the sight of him made the breath catch in her throat. He held his thirty-seven years superbly, his masculine frame attesting to a regular exercise regime. Attired in a black evening suit, white shirt and black bow tie, he looked every inch the wealthy sophisticate. Yet it was his innate sexuality and an intrinsic knowledge of the opposite sex that added another dimension. One any thinking woman couldn't fail to recognise.

A year ago she would have offered a teasing comment, brushed the edge of his jaw with her fingers and placed her mouth against his in a light kiss.

Now she did none of those things. Instead she crossed the lobby in silence at his side and slid into the car parked out front.

‘Should we discuss the evening's role-play?' Katrina queried as Nicos cleared the gates and traversed the leafy street.

‘In light of Enrique's link to a certain gossip columnist?'

‘You knew?'

He cast her a quick, telling glance. ‘Did you imagine I wouldn't make it my business to find out?'

She didn't answer. Instead she examined the passing scenery with detached interest. No matter where she'd travelled in the world, Sydney was
home
.

It was a beautiful city, with a picturesque harbour and buildings of varied architecture. Possessed of a relatively mild climate, the clear blue skies and sparkling waters of Port Jackson, with cliff-top mansions and numerous small craft anchored in the many bays and inlets, provided an endearing sense of familiarity evident as Nicos traversed the inner-city streets before easing the car to a halt adjacent the hotel's main entrance for valet parking.

Guests mingled in the large lobby adjoining the grand ballroom. Uniformed waiters circled the area proffering trays of drinks, and the buzz of conversational chatter abounded.

The social élite, Katrina mused, dressed in their finest, with the women collectively displaying sufficient jewellery to fund a year's aid to a Third-World country.

There were many guests present who would have sighted the photo of Katrina and Nicos Kasoulis and its teasing caption in the morning's newspaper gossip column. Circumspect interest was expected, and she forced herself to ignore the telling glances, the quiet asides as she stood at Nicos's side and sipped a mix of champagne and orange juice.

A few acquaintances made a point of extending their condolences for the loss of her father, others
conveyed silent hand signals indicating they'd catch up through the evening.

Katrina sighted both of her stepmothers standing at opposite ends of the lobby, a presence that issued a silent statement of their individual importance on the social scene. Andrea had her man-of-the-moment in tow, while Chloe was partnered by none other than her son, Enrique.

It was a blessing that Siobhan, at least, didn't try to compete on any level, much preferring a less fashionably social existence.

Three
of Kevin's ex-wives at one gathering would be too much to handle. It had been bad enough keeping the peace at her father's funeral, where a farce worthy of Hollywood had been played out for the benefit of those sufficiently intrigued to observe it. Of whom there had been several, Katrina reflected grimly.

Nicos watched the fleeting expressions chase across his wife's features, and caught the determined resolve evident as she mentally braced herself for an inevitable confrontation.

Andrea and Chloe's interest in Kevin's daughter could only be termed superficial, yet each woman painstakingly observed social etiquette. Enrique, on the other hand, was something else.

‘You don't have to handle it alone.'

Katrina met Nicos's dark gaze, and forced her lips into a faint smile. ‘Is that meant to be reassuring?'

‘Count on it.'

‘My bodyguard,' she stated with an attempt at cynicism.

‘That, too,' he responded with light mockery.

‘Katrina, darling.'

She turned at the sound of that soft, purring voice, and went into the air-kiss routine Andrea favoured.

‘Nicos.' There was a degree of wariness beneath the superficial greeting before Andrea turned back to her stepdaughter. ‘Kevin would be proud you made the effort to be here so soon after his passing.'

A compliment or condemnation? Katrina chose to take the words at face value. ‘Thank you, Andrea.'

Five minutes after Andrea moved away, Chloe crossed the lobby to Katrina's side.

‘We weren't sure you'd attend tonight.' Sleek, polished, and very self-assured, Kevin's third wife possessed the practised aloofness of a catwalk model.

‘It's what Kevin would have wanted,' Katrina responded evenly before acknowledging her stepbrother. ‘Enrique.'

A young man whose pretty-boy attractiveness was deceptive, during Chloe's marriage to Kevin he'd imagined that seducing Kevin's daughter would be a shoe-in…only to discover Katrina wasn't about to play. It hadn't stopped him from trying, and he'd never quite forgiven her for spoiling his plans of a dream ride through life on the Macbride fortunes.

His eyes gleamed briefly with something akin to bitter resignation as they raked her slender form. ‘You look divine, sweetheart.'

‘Doesn't she?' Nicos caught her hand and lifted it
to his lips, his eyes dark and unfathomable as he silently dared her to pull her fingers free from his grasp.

Her reaction to his touch was immediate and damning, for her pulse jumped to a quickened beat as warmth coursed through her veins. It felt as if her heart was working overtime, and it took considerable effort to appear unaffected.

‘What do you think you're doing?' Katrina demanded quietly the instant Chloe and Enrique moved out of earshot.

‘Damage control.'

‘For whose benefit?' she queried with skepticism.

‘Yours,' Nicos said silkily.

‘I doubt playing charades will work.'

A hovering waiter took her empty glass and offered her another, which she declined.

It was something of a relief when the ballroom doors opened minutes later and the guests were instructed to take their seats.

The food had to be delectable, given the price per ticket, but Katrina merely forked a few mouthfuls from each course, sipped a glass of excellent Chardonnay, and conversed politely with fellow guests seated at their table.

The evening's entertainment was varied, and during a break she excused herself and threaded her way towards the powder room.

A headache was niggling away above her temple, and she'd have given anything to be able to leave and go home.

Except home was no longer her apartment, and the
term of her enforced sojourn with Nicos had only just begun.

There was a queue, and she had to wait to gain space in front of the long mirror in order to freshen her lipstick.

Was it design or coincidence that seconds after emerging the first person she saw was Enrique? Considering her stepbrother inevitably had a plan, she opted for the former, acknowledged his presence, and made to bypass him
en route
to the ballroom.