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CHAPTER SEVEN

QUEENSLAND’S Gold Coast lay little more than an hour’s flight north of Sydney, and the Stanton-Nicols’ Lear jet ensured private airport access, luxurious cabin space and personalised service.

Cleared for take-off, the streamlined jet cruised the runway and achieved a rapid ascent before levelling out.

‘No laptop?’ Gabbi quizzed as she loosened her seat belt. ‘No papers in your briefcase?’

Benedict sank back in his chair and regarded her with indolent amusement. ‘Each within easy access.’

‘Are you going to work during the flight?’

‘Would you prefer me to?’

‘No.’ Her eyes assumed a mischievous gleam. ‘It’s not often I get one hour of your undivided attention.’ She saw one eyebrow slant, and quickly qualified this. ‘Alone. Out of the bedroom,’ she added, then spread her hands in helpless acceptance at having stepped into a verbal quagmire. ‘I’ll give up while I’m ahead.’

‘Wise.’

‘Coffee, Mr Nicols? Juice, Mrs Nicols?’

‘Thanks, Melanie.’

The cabin stewardess’s intrusion was timely. Her smile was professional as she unloaded the tray, then poured coffee and juice. ‘I’ll be in the cockpit. Buzz me if you need anything.’

Gabbi leaned forward, picked up the glass of fresh orange juice and took an appreciative sip. ‘Tell me about the deal you and James are involved in with Gibson Electronics.’

He proceeded to do so, answering her queries as she debated various points.

‘It’s tight, but fair,’ she conceded after a lengthy discussion. ‘Think we’ll pull it off?’

‘Gibson needs Stanton-Nicols’ proven reputation with the Asian market.’

‘And in return we gain a slice of Gibson Electronics.’

Business. The common factor that forged the link between them. Without it, she doubted she’d be Benedict Nicols’ wife. A chilling thought, and one she chose not to dwell on.

The ‘fasten seat belt’ sign flashed on as the jet began its descent towards Coolangatta airport.

A car was waiting for them, and it took only a few minutes to transfer the minimal luggage into the boot. Benedict signalled to the pilot and had a brief word with the driver while Gabbi took the passenger seat, then he strode round and slid in behind the wheel.

The Gold Coast was Australia’s major tourist mecca. Long, sweeping beaches, surf, golden sands, towering high-rise buildings, modem shopping complexes and a subtropical climate all combined to make it a highly sought-after holiday destination. Theme parks, a casino, hotels, cruise boats, canal developments and luxurious prestige housing estates promoted a lifestyle that belonged in part to the rich and famous.

Gabbi loved the casual atmosphere, the spacious residential sprawl. A city with few disadvantages, she mused as Benedict joined the north-bound traffic.

High-rise apartment buildings lined the foreshore, their names varying from the prosaic to the exotic. Warm temperatures, sunshine, azure-blue sky, palm fronds swaying beneath a gentle breeze.

A smile curved her generous mouth, and her eyes filled with latent laughter. Paradise. And Benedict. They were hers for two days.

Conrad and Diandra Nicols had purchased a beach-front block of land and built a three-level vacation home in the days before prestigious real estate lining Mermaid Beach’s Hedges Avenue had gained multi-million-dollar price-tags.

Benedict had chosen to retain it as an investment, persuaded from time to time to lease it short-term to visiting dignitaries who desired the privacy of a personal residence instead of a hotel suite or apartment block. Gabbi loved its location, its direct access onto the beach and the open-plan design.

A sigh of pure pleasure left her lips as Benedict drew the car to a halt before the electronically controlled gates, depressed the modem that released them and keyed in a code to operate the garage doors.

The three-car garage was backed by a games-room that led out to a terraced swimming pool. The first level comprised an office, lounge, kitchen and dining-room, with a master suite, three guest bedrooms and two bathrooms on the upper floor.

Each level was connected by a wide curved staircase leading onto a semi-circular, balustraded landing, providing a circular central space highlighted by a magnificent chandelier suspended from the top-level ceiling and reaching down to almost touching distance from the ground-level entertainment room. Lit up at night, it was a spectacular sight.

‘You sound like a student let out of school,’ Benedict commented as they ascended the stairs to the uppermost floor.

‘I love it here,’ she said simply as she swung round to face him.

‘What do you suggest we do with the day?’

‘Oh, my, what a responsibility.’ Her eyes danced with impish humour, and she pretended to deliberate. ‘I could drag you off to visit a theme park. We could hire a boat and cruise the broadwater. Do a bit of sunworshipping by the pool. Or take in a movie at the cinema.’ Her mouth curved into a winsome smile. ‘On the other hand, I could be an understanding wife and tell you to go set up a game of golf... something you’d enjoy.’

Benedict reached out a hand and brushed light fingers across her cheek. ‘And in return?’

‘I get to choose where we have dinner.’

‘Done.’ He bent down and gave her a brief, hard kiss. ‘We’ll go on to a show or the movies.’

‘You ring the golf course while I unpack.’ She had a plan, and she put it into action. ‘Do you want to take the four-wheel drive or the sedan?’

‘The four-wheel drive.’

Half an hour later she backed the sedan out of the garage and headed for the nearest major shopping complex. It was fun to browse the boutiques, sip a cappuccino, before getting down to the serious business of shopping.

She had a list, and she entered the food hall, selected a trolley and began.

It was almost midday when she re-entered the house with no less than five carrier bags, the contents of which were systematically stored in the refrigerator and pantry.

The menu was basic. The accompanying sauces would be anything but. Wine, French breadsticks. A delicious tiramisu for dessert. Liqueur coffee. And she had hired a video.

At five she set the table with fine linen and lace, silver cutlery and china. Then she checked the kitchen and went upstairs to shower. After selecting fresh underwear, she donned elegant blue silk evening trousers and a matching top, then groomed her hair into a smooth knot on top of her head. She then tended to her make-up, which was understated, with just a hint of blusher, soft eyeshadow and a touch of clear rose-pink lip-gloss.

It was after six when the security system beeped, alerting her to the fact that the gates were being released, followed by the garage doors. She heard a refined clunk as the vehicle door closed, then Benedict came into view.

Gabbi stilled the nervous fluttering inside her stomach as she moved out onto the landing to greet him.

He looked magnificent. Dark hair teased by a faint breeze. Broad shoulders and superb musculature emphasised by a navy open-necked polo shirt. Strong facial features, tanned a deeper shade by several hours spent in the sun.

‘Hi. How was the game?’

He looked intensely male, emanating a slight air of aggressive goodwill that spoke of achievement and satisfaction at having pitted his skill against a rival and won.

He reached the landing and moved towards her, pausing to bestow a brief, evocative kiss. ‘I’ll hit the shower.’

‘Don’t bother dressing.’

One eyebrow lifted and his lips twisted to form a humorous smile. ‘My dear Gabbi. You want me to be arrested?’

‘We’re eating in.’ Now that she’d taken the decision upon herself, she was unsure of his reaction. ‘I’ve made dinner.’

He looked at her carefully, noting the slight uncertainty, the faint nervousness apparent, and her effort to camouflage it. ‘Give me ten minutes.’

He rejoined her in nine. Freshly shaven, showered, and dressed in casual trousers and a short-sleeved shirt.

‘Would you like a drink?’

Gabbi shook her head. ‘You have one. I’ll wait until we eat.’

He followed her into the kitchen, caught sight of numerous saucepans washed and stacked to drain. ‘Looks professional. Smells delicious. Hidden talents, Gabbi?’

She wrinkled her nose at him, then swatted his hand as he reached forward to sample the sauce. ‘No advance tasting, no peeking. Open the wine. It needs to breathe.’

She served the starter. Delicate stuffed mushrooms that melted in the mouth. French bread heated to crunchy perfection.

The main course was an exquisite filet mignon so tender that the flesh parted at the slightest pressure of the knife. With it they had asparagus with hollandaise sauce, baby potatoes in their jackets split and anointed with garlic butter and glazed baby carrots.

When they’d finished, Benedict touched his glass to hers in a silent salute. ‘I haven’t tasted better in any restaurant.’

‘To the French, food is a passion. The meals I shared with Jacques’s family were gastronomical feasts, visual works of art.’ Her eyes sparkled with remembered pleasure. ‘I made a deal with his mother,’ she said solemnly.

‘You kept your hands off her son, and she taught you to cook?’

Gabbi began to laugh. ‘Close.’

‘One look at you and any mother would fear for her son’s emotional sanity,’ Benedict drawled.

She met his gaze and held it. What about his emotional sanity? Was it so controlled that no woman could disturb it?

‘I’ll get dessert.’ She rose to her feet and stacked his plate and cutlery with her own, then took them through to the kitchen.

Two wide individual crystal bowls held the creamy ambrosia of liqueur-soaked sponge, cream and shaved chocolate that was tiramisu.

It was good; she’d even have said delicious.

Benedict sat back in his chair and discarded his napkin. ‘Superb, Gabbi.’

She lifted one shoulder in a negligible shrug. ‘We dine out so often, I thought it would make a change to stay home.’

‘I’ll help with the dishes.’

‘All done,’ she assured lightly. ‘I’ll make coffee. There’s a video in the VCR.’

When the coffee had filtered, she poured it, added liqueur and topped it with cream, then took both stemmed glasses through to the lounge.

Benedict had chosen one of three double-seater leather settees, and he indicated the empty space beside him.

The movie was a comedy, loosely adapted from the original La cage aux folies. It was amusing, well acted and entertaining.

Gabbi sipped her coffee slowly, then, when she had finished, Benedict took the glass and placed it together with his on a side table.

She relaxed and leaned her head back against the cushioned rest. Being here like this was magical. No guests, no intrusions.

An arm curved round her shoulders and drew her close. She felt his breath stir her hair. And she made no protest as he used a modem to switch off the lights.

The only illumination came from the television screen, and the electric candles reflected from the chandelier. Which he dimmed.

Awareness flared as his fingers brushed against her breast and stayed. His lips lingered at her temple.

She let her hand rest on his thigh, and didn’t explore.

Occasionally his fingers would move in an absent pattern that quickened her pulse and triggered the heat deep inside her.

It was a delightful, leisurely prelude to a rhapsody that would gather momentum and crest in a passionate climax.

Gabbi wasn’t disappointed. Just when she thought there were no more paths she could travel, Benedict took her along another, gently coaxing, pacing his pleasure to match her own before tipping her over the edge.

Close to sleep, she whispered, Je t‘aime, mon amour, to the measured heartbeat beneath her lips. And wondered if he heard, if he knew.

They rose early and took a leisurely walk along the beach, then stripped down to swimwear and ventured into the ocean.

The water was cool and calm, the waves tame, and afterwards they sprinted back to the house and rinsed the sea from their skin and hair, donned casual clothes and ate a hearty breakfast out on the terrace.

‘How do you feel about a drive to the mountains?’

Gabbi took a sip of coffee, then rested the cup between both hands. Visions of a picnic lunch and panoramic views were enticing. ‘What of the call you’re expecting?’

Benedict subjected her to a measured appraisal, then moved his shoulders in an indolent gesture. ‘Divert the house phone to my mobile, sling the briefcase and laptop onto the rear seat.’

It wasn’t often he took an entire weekend off. All too frequently his time was spent in the study in front of the computer, surfing various global financial sites on the Internet. Leisure was relegated to social occasions, and even then business was inevitably an ongoing topic of discussion.

Hesitation wasn’t an option. ‘Let’s do it.’ She replaced her cup on the table and rose to her feet. ‘I’ll make sandwiches.’

He put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘We’ll pick up something along the way.’

The phone rang, and Gabbi froze as Benedict crossed into the house to take the call. The day’s pleasure disappeared as she heard the curt tone of his voice, saw him make notes on paper then fold the sheet into his shirt pocket.

Nice plans, she thought with wistful regret as she cleared their breakfast dishes onto a tray and carried them through to the kitchen. Pity they had to be abandoned.

She was determined not to show her disappointment. ‘Shall I take more coffee through to the study?’

He shot her a sharp look. ‘I need an hour, maybe less. Then we’ll leave.’

‘Can I help?’

He gave a brief nod of assent, and she followed him to the study.

The fax machine held paper, and Benedict collected it en route to the desk. Within seconds the laptop was up and running.

They worked together side by side and, when the document was done and checked, it was consigned to the printer then faxed through to the States.

‘OK. Let’s get out of here.’

Five minutes later Benedict reversed the four-wheel drive from the garage and, once clear of suburbia, he headed west, taking the mountain road to Mount Tamborine.

‘Thanks.’

‘Whatever for?’

The terrain was lush green after seasonal subtropical rain. Grassed paddocks, bush-clad hills, homes on acreage, working farms.

They were gaining height as the bitumen road curved round the foothills and began its snaking ascent towards the peak.

‘The weekend,’ Gabbi elaborated. ‘Today.’ For the simple pleasures that cost only his time and therefore were infinitely more precious to her than anything money could buy.

‘It’s not over yet.’

No. The sun suddenly appeared much brighter, the sky a magical azure.

As the road wound higher there was a spectacular view of the hinterland, and in the distance lay the ocean, a sapphire jewel.

They reached the uppermost peak and travelled the road that traversed its crest, past houses of various ages and designs, an old-English-style hotel, and a quaint café.

The village was a mixture of shops with broad verandahs clumped together, and they stopped to purchase a large bottle of chilled mineral water, some delicious ham and salad rolls and fruit. Then they walked back to the four-wheel drive and drove to a grassed reserve with magnificent views over the valley.

It was isolated, picturesque, and Gabbi felt as if they were perched on top of the world, removed from everything and everyone. It was a heady feeling, more intoxicating than wine, breathtaking.

Benedict unfolded a rug and spread it over the grass beneath the shade of a nearby tree. They ate until they were replete then sprawled comfortably, at ease with the vista and the silence.

A true picnic, it reminded Gabbi of the many she’d shared with Jacques in the days when laughter had risen readily to her lips and the only cares she had had were studying and excelling in her exams.

‘Penny for them.’

Gabbi turned at the sound of Benedict’s drawling voice, and gave him a slow smile. ‘We should do this more often.’

‘That’s it?’

He sounded mildly amused, but she could play the faintly teasing game as well as he. ‘You want my innermost thoughts?’

‘It would be a start.’

‘I love you’ was so easy to say, so difficult to retract. Whispered in the deep night hours was one thing—voiced in the early afternoon on a mountaintop was something else.

‘I was thinking this is a little piece of heaven,’ she said lightly. ‘Far away from the city, business pressures, people.’

“The place, or the fact we’re sharing it?”

She offered him a wide smile that reached her eyes and lit them as vividly as the blue of the ocean in the distance. ‘Why, both, of course. It wouldn’t be nearly as much fun on my own.’

He curled a hand beneath her nape and brought his mouth down over hers in an evocative kiss that teased, tantalised and stopped just short of total possession.

‘Witch,’ he murmured a few moments later against her temple. ‘Do you want to stay here, or explore the mountain further?’

She pressed a kiss to the hollow at the base of his throat and savoured the faint taste that was his alone—male heat mingled with cleanliness and exclusive cologne.

‘We’re close to a public road, it’s a public park, and we wouldn’t want to shock anyone passing by,’ she teased, using the edge of her teeth to nip his skin. ‘Besides, there’s a plane waiting to take us back to the rat race.’

‘Tomorrow morning. Dawn.’

They had the night. ‘We shouldn’t waste a moment,’ Gabbi said with mock reverence, and gave his chest a gentle push. ‘When we reach the coast we’ll get some prawns and Moreton Bay bugs which you can cook on the barbecue while I get a salad together. We’ll open a bottle of wine, eat, and watch the sun go down.’

He let her go, watched as she rose lithely to her feet, then took her outstretched hand and levered himself upright in one fluid movement.

It was after five when they entered the house, and by tacit agreement they took a long walk over the damp, packed sand of an outgoing tide, then reluctantly turned and retraced their steps.

Her hand was held lightly clasped in his, and a faint breeze tugged her blouse and teased loose tendrils free from the careless knot of her hair. Her skin glowed from its exposure to the fresh sea air, and her eyes held a mystic depth that owed much to the pleasure of the day, and the anticipation of the night.

After preparing the meal there was time to change into swimwear and swim several lengths of the pool before emerging to dry the excess water from their skin.

The aroma of barbecued seafood heightened their appetite, and, seated out on the terrace, Gabbi reached for a prawn with her fingers, declared it ambrosia, then reached for another as she dug her fork into a delectable portion of salad.

‘You’ve got prawn juice on your chin,’ Benedict said lazily, and she directed a dazzling smile at him.