The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (73 page)

The thought of calmly forking morsels of food into her mouth, sipping wine, and participating in meaningless conversation while waiting for Marcello’s former mistress to strike was enough to ruin her appetite.

Maintaining a façade didn’t help, for she was supremely conscious of her husband’s presence, the faint, exclusive tones of his cologne and the essence of the man himself.

Worse, the tantalisation of having an intimate knowledge of his touch, the caress of his hands, his lips, the way he could make her body sigh, then heat with passion. The heights he helped her reach, and how he held her when she fell.

‘It is good you have returned to Madrid.’

Shannay heard the heavily accented feminine voice, attached it to a woman seated directly opposite and offered a polite smile in acknowledgement.

‘Thank you.’

‘A man in your husband’s position needs a wife by his side.’

But not a wife
and
a mistress.

And the mistress had won out.

Words she didn’t care to voice. Didn’t need to, surely? Estella’s contretemps at the time had caused sufficient speculation.

‘I’m sure Marcello didn’t lack for a suitable companion.’

An understatement, if ever there was one. The women would have been lining up … keen, willing and able to serve in every way possible!

‘Why—no. Marcello usually chose to accompany his aunt, or appear alone.’

He did? How … surprising, was the only word that came to mind.

Shannay took a sip of wine, then followed it with a measure of water, and became aware of Marcello’s interested gaze.

‘The food isn’t to your liking?’

‘It’s fine,’ she hastened quickly. ‘I’m not that hungry.’

His eyes held hers, and saw more than she wanted him to see. Without a word he speared a morsel of food from his plate and offered it to her. ‘Try this. You’ll enjoy it.’

Don’t,
she silently pleaded, and veiled her eyes against the deliberate sensuality evident.

It’s a game, she reminded. We’re like players on a stage, acting out an anticipated part.

With care, she cupped his hand, drew the proffered fork to her lips and eased the morsel into her mouth.

Her lashes swept up to reveal a provocative gleam as she edged the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth, let it slide fractionally over her lower lip, then carefully bit the morsel of food without taking her eyes from his own.

And watched his eyes darken.

Mission accomplished.

Shannay offered a faint smile in silent compliment to his acting ability, then momentarily froze as he slid a hand to her nape and gently massaged the knot of tension there.

To anyone viewing the subtle actions they would appear as two lovers who could barely wait to get a room.

Was that what he wanted to convey?

To many … or just Estella?

Shannay waited a few minutes, then she leaned towards him. ‘You’re verging on overkill,
querido,’
she warned in a softly taunting voice.

Marcello lowered his head to hers. ‘There’s the need to set a precedent.’

She took the opportunity to surreptitiously check her cellphone, saw an SMS message alerting Nicki had gone to sleep at eight-thirty, and felt a sense of relief.

There were speeches in between numerous courses, some discourses brief and amusing … others long as the charity was lauded, together with the efforts of the tireless volunteers without whose help the fundraiser would not have been as successful.

Or at least that was the overall drift, and she joined in the applause, aware Marcello had placed his arm across the back of her chair.

An action which brought him close, and heightened her level of awareness.

As he meant it to do?

Did he know the effect he had on her?

She assured herself she didn’t like or condone what he was doing. Or his manipulation. For at almost every turn she was caught in a trap, bound by love for her daughter, her affection for an elderly ill man, and now the subterfuge of deception.

Only for a certain length of time, she reminded, for her sojourn in Madrid would reach an end and she’d return with Nicki to resume their life in Perth.

Custody arrangements involving travel would be minimal for the next two years, and Marcello’s visits brief, if relatively frequent.

She could cope. So too would Nicki.

So what if she played the game according to Marcello’s dictum in the presence of others?

It was only temporary.

At that moment there was an entertainment announcement, and a female singer offered a rousing rendition in Spanish while colourfully attired back-up dancers performed an energetic routine.

Coffee was served, and Shannay declined the strong espresso in favour of tea.

It was the time of evening when guests were no longer restricted to their seats, and several rose to seek out friends, to linger, share coffee and conversation.

Would Estella make her move now? Or engineer a staged encounter as Marcello rose to leave?

She told herself she didn’t care. But she did, and a tension headache took hold behind her eyes.

Presenting a sparkling façade had taken its toll. So too had attempting to correlate much of a language she hadn’t practised in a few years.

Consequently it was a relief when Marcello withdrew his cellphone and summoned their driver to wait out front.

There was the opportunity for a few brief words with Sandro and Luisa before their attention was diverted.

They were about to exit the ballroom minutes later when a familiar sultry feminine voice purred a greeting, and a sinking feeling manifested itself in the pit of her stomach.

‘Estella.’ She could do polite. It really was the only way to go.

Was it chance or design the man at Estella’s side drew Marcello into conversation, conveniently allowing Estella an opportunity to deliver a verbal barb or three?

‘I see Marcello was able to persuade you to return.’ There
was a very subtle pause. ‘Not very clever of you to deny him the child.’ Her smile failed to reach the coolness in her eyes. ‘I doubt he’ll forgive you for that.’

If the figurative knives were out, it was time to dispense with the niceties. ‘You don’t read the media news?’

‘The reconciliation announcement?’ A soft, humourless laugh escaped her lips. ‘A mere ploy to soothe Ramon’s rapidly ailing health.’

‘And this concerns you … because?’

Something shifted in the woman’s eyes. ‘He’s a very—’ Estella paused, weighting the momentary silence with innuendo ‘—special man.’

‘Yes, he is.’ Shannay aimed for a secretive smile, and saw Estella’s mouth tighten a little.

‘If you’ll excuse us?’ Marcello’s voice held a silky quality Estella chose to heed.

‘Of course.’

It could have been worse, Shannay accorded as the limousine eased its way clear of the hotel’s entrance and joined the flow of traffic.

She let her eyelids drift down in an attempt to shut out the neon lights and the frequent stab of headlights as the headache moved towards migraine territory.

‘You don’t have your medication with you?’

He knew? ‘If I did, I’d have taken some by now.’

There was the faint whisper of sound, followed by another as he released both safety belts, then firm hands positioned her to rest against him. A male arm curved down her back and settled over her thigh, holding her there as she began to protest.

‘Just close your eyes and relax.’

Relax?
With her body curled into the contours of his, her
head cradled against the curve of his shoulder? Her face mere inches from his own?

He had to be joking!

Warmth heated her veins, tantalising her senses as the perceived intimacy invaded pleasure places they had no right to be.

It wasn’t what she wanted. And knew her mind to be at odds with the dictates of her body.

How easy would it be to slip free a few buttons on his shirt and slide her hand to rest against the strong beat of his heart. To feel it kick into a quickened beat as she caressed a male nipple.

Hear his husky murmur as she lowered her hand and traced the hardened outline of his arousal held in tight restraint within the confines of his evening trousers.

To tease a little, then lift her mouth and savour the touch of his in a preliminary to what they’d soon share in the privacy of their bedroom.

A slow, teasing discovery, or a quick shedding of clothes as desire and need meshed and became electrifying passion.

A time when they’d been in perfect sync, two halves of a whole … and she’d innocently believed nothing and no one could touch them.

How wrong had she been.

It almost made her wish it were possible to turn back the clock, and possess the power to change actions and words.

Except it was done, and the past couldn’t be altered.

Did Marcello have any regrets?

How could he?

He hadn’t followed her to Perth.

Hadn’t sought to make contact.

As far as he was concerned, she could have vanished from the face of the earth.

Until a chance encounter had brought her beneath his radar.

Because of Nicki.

Let’s not be fooled in thinking otherwise.

So what in hell was she doing resting against him like this?

Savouring a little self-indulgence?

It would be simple to push against him and straighten into a sitting position … except his arms tightened and held her in place.

‘Stay there. We’re almost home.’

All the more reason for her to move.

This time he didn’t try to stop her.

Nor did he attempt to touch her as they alighted from the limousine and moved indoors.

He merely acknowledged her “goodnight” with a brief nod, and watched as she ascended the stairs.

‘I
S RAMON GOING
to die?’

The plaintive query from so young a child was heartrending, and Shannay went down on one knee and gathered her daughter close.

‘He’s very sick,’ she said gently.

‘Like Fred.’

Fred had been a pet white mouse who’d developed a tumour, and been replaced, after due ceremony, by a goldfish.

‘Like Fred,’ she agreed solemnly.

‘It’ll be sad,’ Nicki ventured, and Shannay inclined her head, then sought to offer a distraction by suggesting a swim in the pool.

It was a warm day, with no breeze to riffle the tree-leaves, and together they donned swimsuits, lathered on sunscreen cream, then gathered up towels, alerted Carlo as to their whereabouts, and wandered down to the pool.

Nicki was like a fish in water, diving, floating, and showing her swimming prowess with a credible crawl … for a young child.

It was fun to play, to splash, laugh a little and temporarily relax her guard.

‘Daddy!’

Shannay turned slowly in the direction Nicki indicated, and
saw Marcello’s tall masculine figure walking the path through the grounds towards the few marble steps leading to the pool and its surrounds.

Attired as he was in a short black towelling robe with a towel slung over one shoulder, his intention to join them was obvious, and she tried to ignore the unbidden convulsing sensation deep inside.

She didn’t want to feel like this, and hated her body’s traitorous reaction. It wasn’t fair to be constantly reminded of the sensual heat that coursed through her veins in remembered passion.

With every passing day it became more intense, the memories disruptive. The nights were worse when she lay alone in her bed, so aware of his presence as he slept in a suite not far from her own.

Did he sleep easily, or did he lie awake as she did, caught up in emotional hunger?

Enough,
a silent voice taunted.

Yet being here, in his home and his constant company, attacked her defences and seriously eroded them.

There was a part of her that wished he absented himself in the city each day, instead of utilising the benefits of modern technology to keep in touch with the business world from home.

Although she had to accept he had reason enough to rearrange his life in order to spend as much time as possible with his daughter.

Now here he was, about to shrug off a robe and join them in the water.

Wearing, Shannay noted with a quick glance, a very respectable pair of black boxer swim shorts.

Her heart rate accelerated at the sight of his powerful frame with its fluid flex of muscle and sinew, and his eyes caught
hers for a few timeless seconds before she deliberately shifted her attention to Nicki.

‘Daddy, watch me swim.’

He did, slipping into the water and applauding his daughter’s efforts as Nicki went through her paces.

Shannay was conscious of the brevity of her
maillot,
cut high at the hip and a halter-neck plunging to a deep V between breasts a little fuller since Nicki’s birth.

Had he noticed?

Oh, for heaven’s sake …
stop,
she cautioned in silent castigation. What are you
thinking?

Yet the warmth of his touch as he’d cradled her close in the limousine had stirred something deep inside, reminding her too vividly of everything they’d shared … and never would again.

So get over it.

‘Nicki is a beautiful child,’ Marcello opined quietly. ‘Obedient and unspoilt. You’ve done well with her.’

She looked at him carefully. ‘A compliment, Marcello?’

‘Is it so difficult to accept I might offer you one?’

He was close, within touching distance, and she stilled the almost irresistible urge to move away.

‘In the circumstances, yes,’ she stated coolly, and heard a faint drawling quality enter his voice.

‘Perhaps it is wise to ignore circumstances.’ His pause held a weight of meaning she chose not to explore. ‘And attempt to move on.’

‘I was doing fine,’ Shannay offered sweetly. ‘Until you dragged me here under threat.’ With that, she used breaststroke to glide effortlessly away and did her best to ignore him.

Difficult, when Nicki sought his attention at every turn, laughing with delight as he splashed her, then allowed her to catch him.

He was good with her. Kind, playful and clearly her idol.