Читать книгу The Helen Bianchin Collection - HELEN BIANCHIN, Helen Bianchin - Страница 20

HANNAH woke late, took one look at the digital clock and raced to the shower, then she dressed and applied basic make-up in record time before running lightly downstairs.

Miguel was in the process of draining the last of his coffee when she entered the kitchen, and heat flared through her veins at the mere sight of him.

It was as if she could still feel his touch, the masculine heat of his possession, the passion…

Dear heaven, she cursed shakily. This was post-coital awareness at its most provocative!

He looked at her and glimpsed the faint tremor that shook her lush mouth. Did she have any conception of her beauty? Something that went far beyond the visual, to the depths of her soul. At this precise moment she was remarkably transparent, and it moved him almost beyond measure.

He watched as she collected a glass and poured herself some fresh orange juice, then she plucked a slice of toast from the rack and spread it with marmalade.

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ Hannah queried in the quest for normality. She took a bite of the toast and followed it down with black sweet coffee.

He looked every inch the corporate executive, his tailoring impeccable, a dark silk tie resting against a pristine white shirt.

‘I reset the alarm,’ Miguel relayed imperturbably, and checked his watch. ‘Timed to go off around now.’ He cast her a quizzical glance. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’

Hannah shook her head. ‘No time.’

Dammit, he looked good. She wanted to slide her fingers through his hair, lower her head down to his, and kiss him until they both had to pause for breath.

Dangerous thoughts, she perceived as she took a long swallow of coffee. If she gave in to them, she’d be even later for work, and that would never do!

Instead, she finished the toast, downed the last of her coffee, then she extracted a banana and an apple from a silver fruit bowl, caught up her car keys and followed him through to the garage.

Miguel unlocked the door, and regarded her steadily over the top of the Jaguar. ‘A restless night, no breakfast to speak of, and food on the run isn’t an ideal way to start the day.’

She effected a light shrug. ‘So I’ll grab coffee and something to eat later.’

He wanted to wring her slender neck. ‘See that you do.’ He pulled open the door and slid in behind the wheel.

‘Yes-sir.’

He shot her a dark speaking glance, freed the electronic garage mechanism, then he fired the engine and eased the car towards the gates.

Hannah’s soft curse feathered the air accompanied by an exasperated sigh. Work beckoned, and there was no time to dally if she was to open the boutique on time.

Seconds later she exited the driveway and headed towards Toorak Road, her mood reflective as she bore with morning peak traffic.

It would have been nice to have woken in Miguel’s arms, stirred by his touch, enticed into sex by his passion in an early-morning ritual. She missed the shimmering sensual heat, the electrifying hunger followed by a languid after-play, for it was then they talked awhile before sharing a leisurely shower.

Camille’s features sprang all too readily to mind, intrusive and vaguely taunting.

The power of pre-emptive thought? Hannah pondered as she dispelled the Frenchwoman from her mind and focused on the day ahead.

The courier service was scheduled to deliver some new stock this morning, and she mentally selected a stunning ensemble as window display, its accessories, and the rearrangement and placement of existing stock.

By the time she unlocked the boutique Camille temporarily ceased to exist.

Twice during the next hour her hand hovered over the phone. She badly needed to hear Miguel’s voice, if only to say ‘hi’. Discussing what lay ahead in their respective days had become an early-morning habit. Dammit, she’d ring and ask him to meet her for lunch. Cindy could manage the boutique for an hour, longer if necessary.

Without hesitation she keyed in the digits for his mobile phone, only to have the call go to voice-mail. She left her name and invitation, then busied herself with routine chores.

Cindy, a friend with a flair for fashion who welcomed part-time work while her daughter was in school, arrived at ten, closely followed by the courier.

Unpacking, checking invoices and preparing stock for display took time, and there were the serious clients who came to buy and not-so-serious passers-by who merely wanted to browse.

Then there were the phone calls, none of which was Miguel. Until eleven-thirty, when Hannah had all but given up on him.

‘It’s the man,’ Cindy indicated as she extended the cordless handset.

Hannah moved a few paces away. ‘I thought we might do lunch.’ She drew a slight breath, then released it. ‘I can get away any time between now and two.’

‘I’m tied up with meetings all afternoon,’ Miguel drawled. ‘Can it wait until tonight?’

He sounded mildly amused, almost as if he sensed the reason behind her call. ‘Of course.’

‘Hasta luego, querida,’ he bade indolently, and cut the line.

‘Will you finish doing the window, or shall I?’ Cindy queried seconds later, and Hannah gestured towards the clothed mannequin.

‘Be my guest.’ A cleverly draped scarf, an elegant brooch would add the final touches, together with heeled shoes and matching handbag. Something that would take only minutes to complete.

The end result was stunning, and Hannah was quick to add her compliment. ‘Why don’t you take a break for lunch?’ she suggested, checking her watch. ‘I can manage for a while.’

Most of the regular clientele chose to do their shopping mid-morning or mid-afternoon. For the most part, the time between midday and two was spent lunching at any one of several trendy cafés or restaurants in and around the city and its élite suburbs.

Cindy collected her bag and made for the door.

‘See you soon.’

Hannah crossed to the CD player, removed the morning selection and inserted sufficient discs to provide soothing unobtrusive background music until closing time.

The electronic buzzer heralded the arrival of a prospective client, and Hannah turned with a welcome smile in place, only to have it momentarily freeze as she caught sight of Camille.

Tall, proportionately slender, the Frenchwoman exuded confidence and a degree of arrogance as she stepped forward. Dressed in designer clothes and wearing expensive perfume, she was elegance personified.

‘Bonjour, Hannah.’ She inclined a perfectly coiffed head, and scanned the carefully arranged racks.

‘I thought I might visit.’

Somehow Hannah doubted clothes were Camille’s main purpose. ‘How nice of you to call in.’ At what point did politeness cross the line and become a white lie? She indicated a rack of imported designer labels. ‘Is there anything in particular I can help you with?’ She crossed the floor and extracted a gown that would look stunning on Camille’s tall frame.

‘Darling, I can get that in Paris.’ Her mouth pursed, and her eyes assumed a hardened gleam as she riffled through carefully spaced hangers with total disregard for their existing presentation.

Hannah watched as the Frenchwoman pulled out a hanger, examined the garment with disdainful criticism, then returned it carelessly back onto the rack before moving a pace or two and repeating the process.

There was little doubt as to the deliberateness of the action, and Hannah wondered just how long it would take for Camille to cut to the chase.

Exhausting garments displayed on one side of the boutique, the Frenchwoman crossed the floor and began a similar examination of various silk shirts.

‘How does it feel being manipulated into a loveless marriage?’

Four minutes, give or take a few seconds, Hannah calculated. If Camille wanted to conduct a verbal altercation, then so be it. She met the woman’s hard stare, and arched a delicate eyebrow. ‘Manipulated by whom?’

Camille’s gaze narrowed. ‘It doesn’t bother you Miguel’s motivation was born out of duty? To his father, and the Sanmar conglomerate?’

Hannah took time to ponder the Frenchwoman’s words. ‘For someone who has only been in Melbourne a short time, you seem to have acquired considerable information.’

‘Graziella is very discreet. However, my interest in Miguel was captured several weeks ago at a party in Rome,’ Camille enlightened with a secretive smile. ‘Miguel attended briefly with a business associate.’

Hannah had instant recall. She’d flown in to buy new season’s stock, tying the visit in with one of Miguel’s Italian business meetings. She even remembered the evening in question, and a wretched migraine that had seen her creep into bed while issuing instructions for Miguel to go on to the party without her.

‘I made it my business to discover everything about Miguel Santanas,’ Camille continued relentlessly. ‘His marriage, his wife, her background.’

This was far more complex than idle curiosity. Almost chilling, Hannah realised silently.

‘And your affair with Luc Dubois,’ the Frenchwoman revealed, intent on analysing Hannah’s expressive features. ‘Interesting man.’

Interesting didn’t come close. The man was a practised rogue, and it still irked that it had taken her a few months to lose the fantasy and face reality.

‘I imagine this is leading somewhere?’ Hannah queried coolly.

‘Of course, darling. You’re hardly naive.’

It didn’t take much imagination for it all to fall into place. ‘Let me guess,’ she began pensively. ‘You came here purposely with your aunt, who conveniently happens to be a good friend of the del Santos, aware of their social standing and the opportunity to use them to include you in numerous invitations around the city. Thus ensuring regular social contact with Miguel.’

A tinkling laugh escaped Camille’s lips. ‘How clever of you, chérie. Naturally, the Australian visit was my suggestion.’

Hannah’s eyes assumed a fiery sparkle. ‘Do we draw battle lines?’

‘As long as you understand Miguel is mine.’ Camille’s smile was entirely lacking in humour.

‘Really?’ Hannah posed with deliberate sarcasm. ‘Aren’t you forgetting I have an advantage or two?’

‘Miguel might view you as an obligation,’ the Frenchwoman relayed with pitiless asperity, ‘but, darling, I intend to be his titillation.’

The peal of the telephone came as a welcome interruption, and Hannah crossed to take the call, aware as she did so that the Frenchwoman had turned towards the door. Within seconds she had departed, and Hannah gathered her wits together, answering a client’s query, then, when she was done, she set to restoring order to the racks Camille had deliberately disorganised.

Tension knotted her stomach. It was worse, much worse than she’d envisaged. How would Miguel react if she told him? Be amused, probably. But what would lie beneath the humour? Male satisfaction? The thrill of the chase, the challenge? More pertinently, would he indulge in an extra-marital affair?

Dear God, she hoped not. Even the thought that he might almost destroyed her.

The peal of the telephone interrupted her reflection, and she took the call, attended to a client who bought a skirt, two blouses, a beautiful silk scarf, and on Cindy’s return she collected her bag and crossed the street to lunch in a trendy café.

Hannah ordered a latte and a salad bagel, sipped the first and picked at the second, only to discard it entirely and order another latte.

Usually she took only sufficient time to eat before returning to the boutique, but today she chose to browse a few shops and view exquisite antique jewellery. A pair of earrings caught her eye, and she entered the shop, tried them on, then bought them in a moment of impulse.

It was almost two when she re-entered the boutique, four when Cindy left for the day, and at five-fifteen she locked up and drove home.

As hard as she tried, it was impossible to dismiss Camille from her mind. What she’d first thought was a transitory game had now proven to hold premeditated intent. Dealing with it could be akin to walking through a minefield.

One thing for sure…Miguel was hers. And she intended to fight for him, her marriage, her life, she determined as she garaged the car and made her way into the house.

Sofia was in the kitchen preparing dinner, and Hannah greeted her fondly as she crossed to the refrigerator.

‘There are messages for you, and two for the señor,’ the housekeeper informed her as she wielded a chopping knife with considerable dexterity. ‘I put them in the señor’s study.’

Hannah extracted a bottle of chilled water and poured some into a glass. ‘Thanks. I’ll go check them in a minute.’ A piquant aroma teased her nostrils. ‘Mmm,’ she murmured appreciatively. ‘Something smells delicious.’

‘Seafood,’ Sofia enlightened. ‘Served with a mixed salad.’

She lifted the glass to her lips and took a long swallow, then moved to the cook-top and lifted the lid on the gently simmering saucepan. The temptation to retrieve a steaming mussel was too great, and she quickly passed the hot shell from one hand to the other as she tore it apart and extracted the succulent flesh.

‘You want? I pull some out and put on a plate,’ Sofia determined, and Hannah shook her head.

‘No, I’ll save it for dinner.’ Her stomach growled in protest of insufficient sustenance. ‘I’ll go shower and change. Is Miguel home?’

‘The señor ring an hour ago. Delayed. I serve dinner at seven. Okay?’

Hannah savoured the mussel flesh, and followed it with yet another glass of water. Maybe she’d go swim a few lengths in the pool first. She had time, and she felt strangely restless with a need to expend some nervous energy.

It took only minutes to reach her bedroom, and a few more to discard her clothes and don an aqua bikini. Then she caught up a beach towel from the linen closet, quickly retraced her steps and made her way through the wide set of French doors at the rear of the house to the tiled pool area.

Heaven, she breathed a short while later as she cleaved sure strokes through the cool salt-chlorinated water.

She didn’t allow herself to think, only focused on the silky feel of the water against her skin, the weightlessness of her body and the measured movement of her arms and legs.

It was so quiet, with no neighbourhood noise to disturb the air. High walls, with tall trees lining the boundaries, lent a secluded atmosphere, making it difficult to believe a large cosmopolitan city hummed with vibrant life mere kilometres away.

She could be anywhere, she mused, intent for a few seconds imagining a place far removed from here, where there were no phones, no social obligations, no distractions. Just her, with Miguel. Lazing in the sun, relaxing. Making love, eating when they felt the need for food, and sleeping when everything else palled.

Except that was a fantasy. Reality was a hurried break in between scheduled meetings…whether it was Paris, Rome, Madrid or Frankfurt. A snatched day here and there, always within reach of a mobile phone and an important call that inevitably broke the spell.

It was life in the fast lane. The need to make and close the next deal. To build and expand, to consolidate and venture into new fields. Always a step ahead of the competitors.

Like a merry-go-round that kept moving, once you were on it was hard to get off.

Maybe she could persuade Miguel to fit a holiday into his schedule. Hawaii. All that sun, surf and sand, where the pace was slower, and the outer islands offered a relaxed, carefree lifestyle.

Hannah didn’t hear the faint splash as Miguel dived cleanly into the pool, and it was only when his head broke the surface close by that she became aware she was no longer alone.

She turned towards him and trod water as he reached her side. ‘Hi. You’re home early.’

Miguel paused to sweep water from his face and smooth both hands over his head, leaving his hair a sleek ebony. ‘Impossible, of course, that I might want to be with my wife?’

Hannah tilted her head to one side and cast him a considering look. ‘Hmm, maybe.’

‘Gracias, amada,’ he teased lightly. ‘For the vote of confidence.’ He moved close and cradled her hips, then eased both hands beneath the thin fabric to cup her bottom.

A delicious shiver feathered the length of her spine, and her body arched into his of its own accord, exulting in the touch of hair-roughened thighs against her smooth skin.

Her hands instinctively linked together at his nape, and she angled her mouth as his slanted to capture hers in a sensual tasting that began slowly, sweetly, then began to build into something that became an evocative preliminary to the promise of passion.

She wanted more, much more than this as the slide of his hands wreaked havoc in seeking sensitised pleasure pulses, and a faint groan sighed in her throat at the prospect of what he intended to do.

But not here. She possessed few inhibitions, but making love in the pool in daylight when there was every possibility Sofia might happen into view did much to kill her spontaneity.

Had they been completely alone… Slowly Hannah broke the kiss, and regretfully unwound her hands from his neck. ‘Dinner will be ready soon, and we both need to shower and dress.’

Miguel let her go, his eyes dark with lambent emotion. ‘I guess we could indulge in a leisurely shower.’

It was her turn to tease. ‘Be late for dinner, and ruin Sofia’s paella?’

He pressed a quick hard kiss to her parted lips.

‘It will keep, querida.’ And the promise, the erotic wait would present a slow torture…for both of them. Afterwards, she would weep for the release, and cry from the mutual joy of it.

She completed a few side-strokes and reached the tiled ledge, then she pulled herself over it to stand in one lithe movement, aware Miguel mirrored her actions.

In unison they each caught up a towel, removed the excess moisture, then hitched it securely and made their way indoors.

Halfway up the stairs Miguel hoisted her slender frame over one shoulder and carried her the rest of the way.

‘Caveman tactics?’ Hannah queried to the broad expanse of his back, and felt rather than heard his faint rumble of laughter.

‘You object?’

She clung onto his shoulders, felt the shift and play of powerful muscles as he moved towards the bedroom.

‘Would it make any difference?’

Miguel entered their suite, closed the door, then lowered her down to stand in front of him. ‘You don’t want to play?’

Hannah looked at him carefully, saw the sensual curve of his mouth and glimpsed the darkness in his eyes.

‘Yes,’ she answered simply, and tried not to wish with all her heart that it was her he needed, not just the woman who bore his name.

He made lovemaking an art form, and she told herself she didn’t care. It was enough he could make her feel like this. Enough that together they created a sexual magic that transmuted sheer sensation and became exquisite ecstasy.

Desire flared…wild, mesmeric and primitive as instinct met with hunger, and ravaged them both.

Afterwards they showered, then dressed in casual clothes before making their way downstairs, choosing to collect the delectable paella and eat on the patio adjoining the pool.

Occasionally they paused to tempt each other with a forkful of food, and they sipped a fine white wine, ate crusty bread, and watched the summer sun slowly sink over the horizon.

They took time to discuss the day, and Hannah deliberately made no mention of Camille. Somehow it seemed almost a sacrilege to spoil the moment, and the night.

Outdoor lights provided a soft glow, illuminating the gardens, throwing long shadows from surrounding shrubbery. Moths fluttered around the electric lamps, fascinated by the brightness.

It was a while before they silently collected plates, glassware and cutlery and returned them to the kitchen.

‘Tired?’

‘A little,’ she answered honestly as he mobilised the alarm system.

He held out his hand and she curled her fingers within his as they ascended the stairs. In the bedroom he removed her clothes, then his own, drawing her down onto the bed before gathering her close into the curve of his body.

She succumbed to sleep within minutes, and Miguel lay staring with brooding reflectiveness into the darkness, all too aware of the rhythmic beat of her heart beneath the palm of his hand, the faint muskiness of her feminine scent, the clean, fresh fragrance of her hair as her head nestled close in against the curve of his shoulder.

She moved, snuggling closer, and the hand that rested at the edge of his waist slipped down to his hip. She slept, for her breathing pattern remained unchanged.

He shifted his head slightly to brush his lips to the edge of her forehead and a faint smile softened his mouth as a soft sound sighed from her lips.

Independent, strong, individualistic, he mused as he courted sleep. A generous and passionate lover who matched him with an equal hunger of her own.

His.