Читать книгу A Passionate Surrender - HELEN BIANCHIN, Helen Bianchin - Страница 9

‘GOOD evening, Ms Dimitriades.’

Ana returned the greeting and offered Petros a faint smile as she slid into the rear passenger seat, aware that Luc crossed behind the vehicle and slipped in beside her.

Within minutes Petros eased the car forward, cleared the private sector and joined the flow of traffic vacating the airport.

At this time of night they’d make good time to Vaucluse, and she sank back against the soft leather upholstery, intent on viewing the passing surroundings.

Bright lights, coloured flashing neon…the muted noise of a big, cosmopolitan city.

To her it was home, where she’d been born and raised, with an endearing sense of the familiar.

A blustery shower sprang up, splattering the windscreen with fine rain-spray and diminishing visibility.

It seemed to close in, heightening the close confines of the car and her proximity to the man seated at her side.

Silence stretched between them like a yawning chasm, and she thought of a safe topic of conversation, only to discard it. Why pretend? 34

Vaucluse was a prestigious suburb with magnificent views over the inner harbour, and Ana’s nerves tensed as the car turned in between the electronically controlled gates leading to Luc’s architecturally designed home.

Stretching over two blocks of land, the elegant double-storeyed mansion possessed imposing lines, archways, and high-domed windows. It was set in well-kept grounds, the sculptured gardens maintained by Petros, who resided in rooms above the garages, and whose duties covered numerous chores supplemented by twice-weekly household help.

The car drew to a halt beneath the wide portico, and Ana emerged before Petros could move round to open the door, thereby incurring his faintly pained expression.

She stood as Luc disabled the security system and unlocked the panelled double doors. He swung them wide and she entered at his side.

Marble floor tiles in varying shades of cream bordered by dark forest-green covered the spacious foyer, and there were expensive works of art gracing the walls. Formal lounge and dining-room were positioned to the right, informal rooms and a spacious study lay to the left. The focal point was a wide, sweeping marble staircase leading to the upper floor which held no fewer than four bedrooms, each with ensuite, the master suite, and a private sitting-room.

‘I’ll serve refreshments,’ Petros indicated as he moved into the foyer after securing the doors.

‘Not for me.’ Ana softened her refusal with a slight smile, and made for the stairs. She felt disinclined to extend the fac¸ade any longer than necessary.

Luc followed in her footsteps, and she turned to face him as they reached the landing.

‘I’d prefer to have a room of my own.’

His expression didn’t change. ‘No.’

Resentment flared. ‘What do you mean…no?’

‘I would have thought my answer held sufficient clarity.’

‘I don’t want to sleep with you.’

‘Perhaps not…tonight,’ he amended silkily, and caught the flicker of pain in those deep blue eyes before it was successfully hidden.

‘Not any night!’

‘Brave words, Ana.’

He moved ahead of her with indolent ease, her bag in hand, and she watched in silence as he entered the master suite only to emerge seconds later empty-handed.

She wanted to rail against him, hating the power he possessed and her inability to retaliate in kind. She was caught in a web, tied to him by the child she’d conceived, and held there by family loyalty.

‘Go to hell, Luc,’ she evinced bitterly as he drew level.

He paused, and caught hold of her chin, tilting it so she had little option but to meet his steady gaze. ‘Careful, pedhaki mou. I might be tempted to take you there.’

Her eyes widened at the silkily voiced threat, and her lips shook slightly as his hand slid to cup her cheek. ‘I don’t scare easily.’

The edge of his mouth quirked. ‘One of your admirable qualities.’ He released her and moved towards the head of the stairs.

He would, she knew, check with Petros for any messages, make the required calls, scan his electronic mail, and deal with the urgent stuff…all of which could take half an hour, or more.

It gave her time…to do what? Settle in? The thought was laughable.

Ana entered the master bedroom and came to a halt a few steps into the large room. Nothing had changed…had she really expected it to?

The king-size bed with its dark, richly patterned duvet and numerous pillows was a focal point. Furniture comprised matching sets of multi-layered chest of drawers in varying heights, and there were dual ensuites, dual walk-in wardrobes. A deep-cushioned sofa and a chaise longue completed a room that was designed for comfort and pleasure.

Sensual pleasure.

A feathery sensation scudded the length of her spine, and she cursed beneath her breath as memories of what she’d shared with Luc in this room rose damnably to the surface.

Vivid, sexually electrifying, and shameless.

Dear heaven. How could she slip beneath those covers and pretend everything was the same?

It didn’t bear thinking about. Yet she had to face the situation.

But not tonight, she determined as she crossed to the upholstered stool at the foot of the bed, caught up her bag and retreated to another room, where she unpacked an oversized T-shirt, toiletries, then crossed to the adjoining en suite.

She should phone her father, then her sister to let them know she was home. Although if either opted to call, it would be to her cellphone, and there was time enough tomorrow to apprise them both of her return.

Now all she wanted to do was undress and slip into bed. Although there were too many thoughts chasing through her brain to promote an easy slide into sleep.

She was wrong. The events of the day, the flight, each took their toll, and combined with the effects of pregnancy ensured she was asleep within minutes of her head touching the pillow.

Ana woke slowly, drifting pleasantly towards consciousness, unaware for a few disoriented seconds of her whereabouts.

Then it all came flooding back…the flight, Sydney, Luc.

Her eyes widened as she recognised the master suite, the large bed…and the familiar dark-haired male head resting on the pillow beside her own.

How could she be here when last night…?

‘You were asleep.’ Luc’s voice was an indolent drawl, and her gaze became trapped in his for a few heart-stopping seconds, then he shifted, moving that powerful frame into a sitting position with fluid ease.

Ana closed her eyes, then opened them again. There was too much warm olive-toned flesh moulded into enviable shape by muscle and sinew.

The smattering of chest hair made her fingers itch to tangle there, and she longed to reach up and curl her hands round his nape and drag his mouth down to hers.

Except she did none of those things. Instead anger rose to simmer beneath the surface as she sought to inch away from him.

‘You have no right—’

‘Yes, I do.’ He lifted a hand and brushed back a swathe of hair from her cheek.

She scrambled to the side of the bed, only to have him reach out and halt her flight.

‘Let me go!’

‘No.’

She lashed out at him, and struggled wildly as he pulled her onto his lap. Not a good position, she discovered. She was too close, much too close. And the dictates of her brain were at variance with the demand of her senses.

The thought of succumbing was more than she could bear, and she stilled, aware that fighting him was a futile exercise.

‘Don’t.’ The single negative held a beseeching anguish. ‘Please.’

It was the heartfelt plea that got to him, and he caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting it to examine her features.

Her eyes were deep enough to drown in, their emotions stark with a vulnerability that twisted his gut, and his gaze narrowed at the fast-beating pulse drumming at the base of her throat.

Her mouth shook a little, and he watched as she sought control. But it was the shimmering moisture in her eyes, and the single escaping tear running in a slow rivulet down one cheek that tore a husky imprecation from his lips.

With incredible gentleness he smoothed the moisture with his thumb, then he lowered his head and trailed his mouth over her cheek.

He let the palm of one hand slip down her arm and settle against the curve of her waist.

Their child grew there, a tiny embryo that would succour and gain strength. Its existence touched him as nothing else could.

‘Come share my shower.’

‘I don’t think so.’ He couldn’t know just how much it cost her to refuse. Yet to slip back easily into the relationship they’d shared would indicate she condoned his use of emotional blackmail…something she hated him for. And Celine…dear heaven, she didn’t even want to go there!

She slid from his grasp, aware it was only because he let her, and she gathered fresh underwear and retreated into the en suite.

Her stomach felt as if it didn’t belong to her, and she pressed a hand to her navel in an attempt to soothe the disturbance.

Fifteen minutes later, showered and dressed in tailored trousers, singlet top and jacket, she felt measurably better, and she caught up her shoulder bag and ran lightly down the stairs to the kitchen where Petros was preparing eggs Benedict and the smell of freshly brewed coffee was ambrosia.

‘Luc is in the dining-room. You will join him there.’ He spared her a warm smile. ‘I have made you tea.’

‘But I prefer—’

‘Tea. Caffeine is not recommended during pregnancy.’

Ana wrinkled her nose at him, feeling her spirits lighten a little. ‘Bossy, aren’t we?’ Hunger assailed her, and she took a slice of toast from the stacked rack Petros had just added to the breakfast trolley, nibbled on it, then filched a fresh strawberry and popped it into her mouth.

She curled both hands over the trolley handle. ‘Want me to take this through?’

‘Really, Ms Dimitriades,’ the man chastised with an aloofness that brought forth a smile. ‘Most definitely not.’

‘Don’t you think you could call me Ana?’ she cajoled, then added teasingly, ‘I’m almost young enough to be your daughter.’

He drew himself up to his full height. ‘You are the wife of my employer. I could not begin to be so familiar.’

A laugh bubbled up in her throat and escaped as a mischievous chuckle. ‘You call him Luc,’ she reminded, and met his level glance.

‘We have known each other a long time.’

‘So how many years do I have to wait before you accord me the honour of using my Christian name?’

‘Five years,’ he responded solemnly, skilfully transferring grilled bacon onto a heated platter and placing it on the trolley together with the eggs. ‘At least.’

‘In that case, I get to wheel the trolley.’

His mouth parted in silent protest, then he pursed his lips as he caught her cheeky grin, watching as she took care of the chore and leaving him to tidy the kitchen.

The informal dining-room was at the back of the house, overlooking the pool, and caught the morning sun.

Ana reached it in seconds and swept through the open door. ‘Breakfast…at your service.’

Luc was seated at the head of the table, the day’s newspaper spread out in front of him, a half-finished cup of coffee to one side.

His jacket hung over the back of his chair, on top of which lay his tie. A briefcase and laptop rested on the floor near by.

He looked up at the sound of her voice, cast the trolley a quizzical glance, then folded the newspaper.

‘How did you manage that?’

‘Feminine wiles and logical rationale.’ She shifted platters onto the table, added fresh coffee, tea, and toast, then she drew out a chair and sat down.

She poured herself tea, added milk, then helped herself to eggs and toast.

Heaven, she decided after the first mouthful. No one but Petros made eggs Benedict this good.

‘I imagine you’ll call your father and Rebekah this morning?’

‘Yes.’ She took a sip of tea, and felt her stomach settle. ‘Dad, as soon as I finish this.’ She indicated the plate with her fork. ‘Then I’ll go into the shop.’

‘Not to work.’

There was almost an edge of command apparent, and she paused in the process of transferring a portion of food to her mouth. ‘Of course, to work.’

‘There’s no need for you to work.’

‘Are we talking today specifically?’

‘At all.’ There was no mistaking the clarification.

‘Now that I’m pregnant?’ Her voice was quiet, too quiet.

‘I don’t see the necessity for you to be on your feet all day, put in long hours, and become overtired.’

She replaced her cutlery with care and pushed her plate aside. ‘Instead, you’d prefer me to join the social-luncheon set, shop a lot and rest each afternoon like a delicate swan?’

‘You can shift your interest in the shop to that of silent partner, and have Rebekah employ an assistant.’

‘No.’

‘I’m not giving you an option.’

His voice was silk-smooth with an edge of anger she chose to ignore.

‘Don’t try to manipulate me, Luc.’ Heat flared, turning her eyes into brilliant blue shards. ‘I won’t stand for it.’

‘Finish your breakfast.’

‘I’ve lost my appetite.’ She stood to her feet and tossed the napkin onto the table. ‘I have a few calls to make.’

He caught hold of her arm, halting her flight, and she had no illusions his grasp would tighten if she attempted to struggle.

‘Tell Rebekah to employ your replacement.’ Those who knew him well would have blanched at the silkiness in his tone, recognised the predatory stillness apparent…and quailed. ‘Or I will.’ He waited a beat. ‘Meanwhile, ensure your time at the shop is kept to a minimum.’

‘Go to hell.’

His gaze chilled. ‘Don’t push me too far.’

She ignored the urge to respond as he released her arm. Instead she chose dignified silence, and walked out onto the terrace and descended the few steps to the garden.

There, she extracted her cellphone and called her father, confirmed her return and suggested lunch, only to have it postponed due to a business meeting until the following day.