Читать книгу The Helen Bianchin Collection - HELEN BIANCHIN, Helen Bianchin - Страница 15

IT WAS a week later that Elise entered the elegant Double Bay salon and checked with Reception.

‘Raphael will be five minutes, Elise,’ the stunning blonde told her with a bright smile. ‘He’s running a little late. Perhaps you’d care to take a seat? Would you like some tea or coffee? Orange juice, mineral water?’

Elise shook her head in silent negation, adding a polite, ‘Thanks,’ before selecting a chair.

A year ago—make that nine months ago, she corrected mentally—she wouldn’t have been able to afford to walk into this exclusive hairdressing salon. To have had Raphael himself apply his artistic cutting expertise to her hair would have been unthinkable.

The name Santanas opened doors, commanded respect, and produced a desire to pander to any whim with such obsequious effusiveness that it was almost obscene.

Elise reached for one of several thick glossy magazines and began flipping through the pages, noting the elegant models, the beautiful clothes, designer make-up, articles written in stylish prose, a feature profile on one of Australia’s social doyennes, another profile on a top designer, and the usual society pages with a run-down on recent events with accompanying photographs.

She skimmed over them without interest, only to be riveted by a frame depicting Alejandro with Savannah at his side.

Her stomach gave a painful lurch, and she took a deep breath as she willed herself to check the magazine’s date of issue. The event highlighted was a dinner organised specifically to raise money for a well-known charity.

Oh, hell. Why did she have to pick that particular magazine? She could have remained in ignorance. Besides, she silently attempted to reassure herself, the photograph was probably the result of coincidence, taken when Savannah just happened to be standing at his side.

And pigs might fly, she added mentally. There was nothing innocent in any one of Savannah’s actions. The way Savannah was gazing at him in open adoration was positively sickening.

‘Elise. How are you, darling? Sorry to keep you waiting.’

She closed the magazine and rose to her feet with a ready smile. ‘Raphael.’

An extrovert, he delighted in the portrayal of exaggerated mannerisms, creating an erroneous image that was in direct contrast to his true personality. White harem-style trousers and a fine white muslin artist’s shirt with numerous tiny pleats fanning out from a deep yoke gave the illusion of adding to his lean frame. A diamond stud adorned one ear, he wore a diamond signet ring on his left hand, and a religious medallion suspended from a thick chain hung low against his chest. Long black hair was sleekly plastered against his scalp and caught together at his nape to form a ponytail.

‘Your hand? It is still giving you pain?’ He drew her towards the far end of the salon and seated her at a basin.

‘It aches a little.’

Raphael’s personal attention was rare, and Elise, by virtue of being Alejandro’s wife, appeared to be one of the favoured few.

She wrinkled her nose as he sluiced water over her hair and applied shampoo, rinsed and repeated the process with conditioner, then towelled it dry before leading her to a mirrored cubicle.

‘You are able to drive again?’

‘The specialist says I can. Alejandro would prefer José to continue in the role of chauffeur. Although he has compromised and bought me another car.’

‘He is being protective, hmm?’

‘You could say that,’ she agreed with suitable dryness.

Raphael picked up his scissors and comb, and went to work. ‘Don’t knock it, darling,’ he cautioned wryly. ‘Men are not usually protective unless they care.’

Alejandro’s brand of caring was linked to their unborn child. She was merely a secondary consideration.

Or was she? From the beginning his lovemaking had generated a desire for her pleasure as much as his own, and there had never been an occasion when she had felt—used.

When had she fallen in love with him? Sadly, Elise couldn’t pinpoint a single moment when the revelation had hit. She was aware only of its stealthy possession, and the agonising knowledge that her life would never be the same without him.

‘Tonight is the exhibition of fine art held in one of the Woollahra Galleries,’ Raphael informed her. ‘You are attending, of course.’

Alejandro was a known patron of the arts, and he had a reputation for adding one or two paintings each year to his collection of works by Australian artists.

The evening’s event included cocktails and horsd’oeuvres, and attendance was strictly by invitation.

‘Yes.’

‘A notable occasion,’ Raphael proffered as his scissors moved with crafted expertise.

Without doubt, she agreed mentally. The social glitterati would be present, together with members of the Press, and several photographers, each attempting to outdo the other.

She had even bought a new black gown. Sleeveless, its simple slim-fitting style was enhanced with intricate silver embroidery on the bodice. A high scooped neckline precluded jewellery, and there were matching shoes and evening bag.

Raphael reached for several fat rollers and positioned them in place, collected a magazine for her to read, then moved towards Reception to greet the next client.

It was almost four when Elise emerged, another half-hour before she brought the Mercedes to a halt beside the main entrance of Alejandro’s Point Piper home.

She could hear the shower running as she entered their suite, and she stripped down to briefs and bra, collected a silk robe and slipped it on, then she crossed to the dressing-table to attend to her make-up.

Alejandro entered the bedroom, with a towel hitched low on his hips, as she applied the finishing touches, and she watched in mesmerised fascination as he moved to her side and bestowed a lingering kiss on the soft curve of her neck.

His touch sent warmth tingling through her veins, and her expression held a faint wistfulness as he stood behind her and viewed their mirrored reflections.

‘What time do you want to leave?’ she queried, unable to tear her gaze away.

‘Fifteen minutes. The traffic will be heavy.’ His hands rested on her shoulders, then slowly slid down the front edges of her robe to slip beneath the silk and gently tease the softness of her breasts. With tantalising care he began to brush the pad of his thumb over each sensitive peak.

Elise felt them swell and harden, and she gave a soundless gasp as his fingers slid to unfasten her bra.

‘Alejandro——’

‘Humour me,’ he said huskily. His eyes held hers captive, their depths alive with leashed passion. ‘I have thought of little else all day. The intoxicating texture of your skin, its delicate perfume, the way your beautiful eyes soften when I touch you.’

Sensation spiralled from her feminine core as intense sexual awareness swept through her body. All he had to do was pull her into his arms and she would be lost.

‘Shouldn’t we get ready?’ she asked in a strangled voice, and glimpsed the edge of his mouth twist in a gesture of wry self-mockery.

‘Indeed.’ His hands lingered, then slowly withdrew to settle briefly on her shoulders. ‘If I kiss you, we’ll never leave this room.’

‘In that case, perhaps you’d better get changed and let me finish my make-up,’ she suggested shakily, and he laughed, a deep, soft, husky sound that sent goose-bumps over the surface of her skin.

‘Eventually we will return home, mi mujer, and then we shall resume where we have left off.’

‘If I’m not too tired.’ It was a tame attempt at denial, and didn’t fool him in the least.

‘I promise to do all the work, querida.’ His lips brushed her temple, then slid down to nibble an earlobe.

Not all, she promised silently as he moved away and selected underwear, a dress-shirt and black trousers that formed parts of a sophisticated shield for the primitive strength of his body. Socks, shoes came next, and when he reached for the immaculate bow tie she hurriedly transferred her attention and picked up a shiny gold tube with which to stroke pastel colour on to her lips.

Her choice of perfume was her favourite, Evelyn, a subtle rose fragrance that imbued the skin with immense delicacy.

Five minutes later she slipped into the gown, and she stood perfectly still as Alejandro slid the zip-fastener into place.

‘You look beautiful,’ he complimented as she stepped into the elegant evening shoes.

Collecting her evening bag, she turned towards him and proffered a faint smile. ‘The women will vie with each other for your attention,’ she anticipated lightly.

‘I have no control over inherited genes,’ he responded in an amused drawl. ‘And the only woman I am interested in is you.’

For now, Elise added silently, wishing she could believe him. It would be incredible to feel truly secure in a man’s love, to know without any element of doubt that you were adored, and that even if he displayed visual appreciation for another no other woman had a chance of capturing his heart.

Such a hope belonged in the realms of fantasy, she decided ruefully, as the Bentley became part of the flow of traffic entering the inner-city perimeter.

Reality was a combination of harsh facts and formidable statistics which existed as irrefutable proof that love did not always last forever. The first heady bloom often flared brilliantly, only to diminish all too frequently to a state of prosaic affection.

The car slid to a halt, and Elise’s eyes widened with the realisation that they were stationary. The car park was brightly lit, and there were sounds and movement as guests vacated their cars.

Alejandro caught her elbow in a light clasp and led her towards the main entrance. Inside, several guests mingled in small groups, and there were several smartly uniformed waiters and waitresses proffering drinks and bite-sized food.

Almost at once Alejandro was greeted by the gallery owner and engaged in conversation, and Elise found herself drawn into a civilised debate on the advantages of free artistic expression over the confines of conformity.

‘Do you enjoy Alejandro’s artistic taste?’

Oh, hell, she wasn’t even sure which artists he favoured. The paintings hanging on the walls at Point Piper and Palm Beach were visually pleasing, although a few were a little too modern for her own enjoyment.

‘Mostly,’ she agreed. ‘Although he has a Pro Hart of which I’m not particularly fond.’

‘My wife is a traditionalist,’ Alejandro relayed smoothly. ‘Her taste runs to Max Boyd.’

‘Oh, my dear. Hart is quite brilliant.’

‘So are a number of other noted Australian artists,’ she offered firmly. ‘It’s very much a personal choice, don’t you think?’

‘There’s an excellent piece you really must see. Expensive, but worthy of investment.’ He riffled through the catalogue pages and brought the item to Alejandro’s notice, then made his excuses as someone else demanded his attention.

‘I happen to like Max Boyd,’ Elise protested as Alejandro’s amused gaze rested on her expressive features.

‘So do I,’ he assured her, and, placing an arm round her waist, he directed her towards a display. ‘Shall we begin viewing?’

Some paintings verged on the bizarre, others resembled caricatures of design over brilliant slashes of colour. One in particular looked as if a child at kindergarten level had indulged in a totally wild battle with numerous pots of multi-coloured paint.

‘What do you think?’

Elise turned towards Alejandro and endeavoured to present a considered viewpoint. After several seconds she voiced with restraint, ‘I’d prefer not to answer on the grounds that anything I say could be overheard, taken into account, and held against me.’

‘A remarkable nonconformist piece,’ Alejandro drawled knowledgeably, and her eyes danced as she nodded in silent agreement. ‘Shall we move on?’

‘Please.’

There were a number of guests present whom she had met before, and for the next hour she exchanged pleasantries, accepted an invitation for an upcoming fashion parade, deferred to Alejandro on no less than three dinner invitations, and she was just beginning to find the evening a relaxing venture when she glimpsed a familiar head several feet distant.

Savannah. As if by design the guests shifted position so that the model’s body profile was in clear view: a stunning figure, attired in a flamboyant gown that on anyone one else would have looked totally outrageous.

Elise forced herself to meet Savannah’s intent gaze, and for one brief second she witnessed unadulterated venom before it was masked. A slight smile appeared in acknowledgement before Savannah turned towards her partner, and Elise was unable to prevent a slight shiver.

Did Alejandro know Savannah was here? It was a distinct probability.

‘More mineral water?’

‘Thank you.’

‘We should be able to get away in less than an hour. We’ll go on to dinner afterwards,’ Alejandro said quietly.

‘Have you already booked?’

He named a well-known restaurant famed for its fine cuisine. ‘You would prefer somewhere else?’

‘Quiet, out of the way, with little chance of meeting anyone we know?’ she suggested hopefully.

‘I can recollect a few.’

Suitable for clandestine meetings? Damn, she had to stop resorting to destructive introspection! ‘Of course, we could buy a take-away meal on the way home.’

‘Anything in particular?’

‘Chinese?’

His eyes gleamed with humour. ‘I’ll cancel the restaurant from the car.’

‘Thank you.’

He lifted a hand and brushed his fingers lightly across her cheek. ‘Just where precisely do you intend we eat?’

She looked at him with undue solemnity. ‘Dressed like this?’ she enquired innocently. ‘At the dining-room table. Where else?’

‘We could always change first.’

‘And eat out on the terrace?’ She offered a singularly sweet smile. ‘What a wonderful idea.’

The depths of his eyes took on a dark brilliance. ‘Minx. Remind me to extract due penance.’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

A slow, wicked smile tugged the edges of his mouth, and his voice held infinite indolence. ‘Just watch me.’

Every bone in her body began to feel liquefied at the thought of precisely how he would exact atonement. ‘I think,’ she said unsteadily, ‘we should attempt to continue our viewing, don’t you?’

‘An excellent suggestion.’

It was after eight when they left, and almost nine before Alejandro garaged the car. The plastic carrier bag with its various containers emitted a mouthwatering aroma, and Elise slid off her shoes the moment they entered the house.

‘You intend to change before we eat?’

She cast him a studied glance. ‘This gown cost a small fortune.’

‘So did my suit,’ drawled Alejandro.

‘Perhaps you should exchange it for something less formal.’

‘And save on the dry-cleaning bill?’

‘Naturally.’

‘I gather eating in bed would be considered the height of decadence?’

She failed miserably in suppressing an impish smile. ‘It would be such a shame to waste the food.’

‘The terrace?’

Her eyes twinkled with devilish humour. ‘Think of the moonlight.’

He shrugged out of his jacket and placed it over a nearby chair. ‘Plates, cutlery, glasses?’

She pretended due consideration. ‘I guess we could opt for informality,’ she decided as she picked up her shoes and made for the staircase. ‘Two forks, two glasses.’ She began mounting the stairs, then paused to look down at him. ‘Do you think you can manage that?’

He removed the bow tie and loosened the top buttons on his shirt. ‘Don’t be too long, querida,’ he warned gently, and her mouth curved into a guileless smile.

‘Patience, Alejandro.’ She turned and slowly traversed the remaining stairs. In the bedroom she slipped out of the gown, then dressed in silk culottes and a loose top.

Minutes later she walked out on to the terrace to find Alejandro seated at one of the outdoor tables, a portable lamp providing essential light, the food displayed in its various containers, and a slim flute of wine within easy reach. His shirt was undone almost to the waist, the cuffs rolled halfway up his forearms.

Elise sank into a chair opposite, dipped a fork into chop suey, and savoured a mouthful with suitable enthusiasm, then repeated the process. ‘Isn’t this better than eating in a restaurant?’

He forked a prawn into his mouth, then shot her a musing look. ‘This is quite good.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised.’ She met his gaze and wrinkled her nose at him in admonition. ‘The trouble is you’ve been thoroughly spoilt, with a personal cook and professional chefs to pander to your gourmand taste.’

‘Planning to re-educate me, Elise?’

‘In some areas it mightn’t be a bad idea.’

‘And what areas are those, my darling wife?’ He sounded distinctly amused, and dangerously indolent.

‘You could do with a lesson in humility,’ she said with mock severity.

‘Where you are concerned, I am remarkably humble,’ Alejandro claimed solemnly. His eyes held hers, and she couldn’t look away as he lifted his glass in a silent salute before placing the rim to his mouth.

He sounded sincere. Almost as if he cared very much. The breath caught in her throat, and she found it difficult to swallow.

Her fork was suspended in mid-air, and she slowly replaced it on the table, her appetite gone.

He leaned back in the chair, his large frame displaying an indolent grace that was deceptive, for there was a watchfulness apparent, a leashed air she found infinitely disturbing. ‘Lost for words, Elise?’

She looked at him for what seemed an age, wanting more than anything to move into his arms, to lift her mouth for his kiss. But she seemed locked into immobility, and there was a strange ache in the region of her heart.

There was so much she wanted to say, yet she felt hesitant, afraid that if she revealed too much it would render her vulnerable.

‘Shall I make coffee?’ Even her voice sounded breathy and uncertain, and she cursed her own insecurity.

‘No coffee,’ Alejandro said gently. ‘I’ll dispose of these containers, then we’ll go to bed.’

Bed. That was her downfall. It was where she sold her soul and lost control.

‘I’m not tired,’ she offered quietly, and glimpsed his faint smile.

‘Neither am I. Sleeping wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.’

She rose to her feet and gathered up the cutlery and glasses, then carried them through to the kitchen.

Alejandro followed, and she heard him locking the outer doors and setting the security alarm.

It was a simple task to load the dishwasher, and she had just finished when he entered the room.

He looked vaguely piratical: dark trousers, deep olive skin, dark hair, in stark contrast to the white shirt. And tall. He almost seemed overpowering, and, while she craved his touch, there was a part of her that cried out against any sexual subjugation.

She watched as he despatched food down the waste-disposal unit, then dropped empty containers into the pedal-bin before washing and drying his hands.

In silence he turned and caught hold of her hand, leading her through to the lounge, where he selected a compact disc and slid it into the disc player.

Soft music emanated from the speakers and Elise looked at him speechlessly as he drew her into his arms.

Crazy, she thought, as he pulled her close against him and began to drift slowly round the room. She felt his lips brush her hair, followed by the warmth of his breath against her temple. His heartbeat was strong beneath her cheek, and her hands crept to link together at the back of his waist.

The music was so slow and dreamy that after several minutes they hardly bothered to move at all, and simply stood still in the dim light reflected from the foyer.

His kiss was so incredibly gentle that it almost made her cry, and she offered him her mouth, exulting in an erotic tasting that excited without demand.

When the music finished he raised his head and subjected her to a long, searching gaze, then he placed an arm beneath her knees and carried her up the stairs.

Elise wanted to cry, and when he lowered her to her feet in the bedroom, tears shimmered like crystal droplets in each corner of her eyes.

Without a word he led her to the bed and sat down on its edge, then he drew her to stand between his thighs.

Her mouth began to tremble, and there was nothing she could do to prevent the slow downward path of a single tear as it overflowed.

Alejandro lifted a hand and halted its passage with the pad of his thumb before moving to trace the outline of her mouth.

‘I was almost hesitant to question the cause,’ he drawled gently. ‘Do you want to blame it on ambivalent emotions?’

‘I guess that’s as good a reason as any,’ she owned shakily, and almost died at the wealth of passion evident in those dark eyes so close to her own.

‘I need you,’ he said gently. ‘Every day in my life. All night long in my bed.’

Need. Need had to be better than want, didn’t it? And ‘every day in my life’ sounded permanent. As in forever?

She wanted to say, ‘I love you.’ But the words wouldn’t emerge.

He pulled her on to his lap and kissed her, then carefully eased her on to the bed.

Her arms lifted to curve round his neck as she gave herself up to the magic only he was able to create. Soon she was filled with an agonising sweetness as her body began to respond to the exquisite tendresse of his touch, and she throbbed with intense awareness when he entered her, glorying in the mutual joy of complete possession as they journeyed towards a mutual fulfilment of the senses.

It was a wild sweet pleasure tempered by raw desire. Erotic, primitive, yet so incredibly sensual she was held captive in its thrall…his without any equivocation.

On the edge of sleep she was conscious of his arms enfolding her close, and she gave a tiny sigh of contentment before drifting in a dreamless state that lasted until morning.