Читать книгу The Helen Bianchin Collection - HELEN BIANCHIN, Helen Bianchin - Страница 22

THE gown Hannah chose to wear for the evening’s soirée was a full-length slim-fitting creation in ice-blue silk with a halter-neck and flaring into soft folds from the knee. A soft cowl effect provided an attractive décolletage. Matching blue stiletto-heeled shoes and a gem-encrusted evening purse completed the outfit.

Jewellery was confined to a diamond tear-drop necklace suspended on a slim gold chain, with earrings to match, and a diamond tennis bracelet at her wrist.

Make-up was kept to a minimum, with emphasis on her eyes, a light rose colouring her lips, and she swept her hair into a sleek chignon.

The prestigious charity event owed its success to an active and imaginative committee, a guest-list of the city’s social élite, a luxurious venue, fine food and wine, and top-line entertainment.

This particular end-of-year function numbered as the jewel in the crown of charity events, with the funds raised being donated to the Leukaemia Foundation.

Miguel looked resplendent in a formal black dinner suit, white shirt and black bow-tie. Superb tailoring accentuated his breadth of shoulder and tall muscular frame. He presented a forceful image that combined a dramatic mesh of latent sensuality and elemental ruthlessness. Add an enviable aura of power, and the effect was lethal.

‘Ready?’

Hannah offered him a sparkling smile. ‘To go do battle?’

His husky chuckle caused a shivery sensation to slither down her spine.

‘Is that how you see tonight’s social event?’

She wrinkled her nose, and resorted to humour.

‘It’ll be a dazzling occasion, with the usual players.’

Including Camille, she added silently, offering a fervent prayer the society princess wasn’t included in the guests seated at their particular table.

The Deity wasn’t listening, she determined an hour later as she slid into reserved seating and saw Camille’s name on a place-card next to Miguel.

Damn. Could she surreptitiously switch it? Suiting thought to deed, she quickly transposed the place-card with that of a guest seated opposite.

Alejandro and Elise were a welcome inclusion, and anyone seeing Miguel and Alejandro together could not fail to note they shared relatives in common. They were of a similar height and possessed the same breadth of shoulder, the same physically fit stature and ease of movement. Even their facial features bore a certain similarity, the sculpted angles and planes, piercing dark eyes, that beautifully moulded sensual mouth.

Their respective fathers were brothers who had each left the land of their birth to seek a fortune in another country, succeeded, married and produced one son.

Alejandro resided in Sydney, with his wife Elise and two young children. The Santanas name was well respected in the business arena, and both Alejandro and Miguel shared a mutual stake in a few financial ventures.

Hannah embraced Elise warmly. ‘It’s so good to see you. When did you arrive?’

‘Midday. Alejandro has only used the cell-phone once, and has yet to open the laptop.’ She gave an irrepressible smile. ‘And I’ve only checked with the nanny twice.’

Hannah’s eyes twinkled with humour. ‘This is the first time you’ve left them at home?’

‘Second,’ Elise owned. ‘It doesn’t get any easier.’

‘She has a compulsive need to check on the children’s welfare,’ Alejandro drawled as he leant forward to brush a kiss to Hannah’s cheek.

‘Of course,’ Elise acceded, sending her husband a long glance of the kind that made Hannah’s nerves shimmer with envy.

‘We’re seated together,’ Hannah indicated, and watched as Elise slid into a chair, then patted the one next to her.

‘Sit beside me. We have so much to catch up on.’

There was background music, and the majority of guests were already seated.

There were only two empty seats at their table, and Hannah had to concede Camille made a stunning entrance, clothed in a deep red creation that covered her perfect body like a second skin.

Hannah’s gaze slid to Camille’s partner, and froze in shocked disbelief for all of three seconds before she quickly masked her expression.

Luc Dubois.

Dear heaven. It was three years since she’d last seen him.

Then, he’d been a charming rake whose main occupation was insinuating himself into the lives of wealthy women. Young, not so young, it hadn’t seemed to bother him. A photographic professional who used his skill to gain entry into the realm of the rich and famous.

She should know. For three months in Paris he’d exercised his considerable charms on her. Wined, dined, and eventually swept her off her feet and into his arms.

Now, Hannah watched as Camille began weaving her way towards them with Luc in tow, and she forced herself to maintain a polite smile as they drew close.

Had Miguel noted their entrance? Recognised Luc?

Apprehension scudded down her spine at the thought of his reaction when he did.

Although it was possible, she wasn’t sure the two men had ever met. A hysterical bubble of laughter rose and died in her throat.

Dear heaven. Camille and Luc seated at their table? How cruel could fate be?

Hannah was aware the instant Miguel caught sight of them, and could only wonder if anyone else noticed the way his body uncoiled and then became frighteningly still. Like a jungle animal scenting an enemy and assessing when to strike.

‘Miguel, Hannah.’ Camille resembled an aristocratic cat who’d just snacked on caviare and cream.

All it took was one glance at Camille’s bland expression to guess that Luc’s invitation had been deliberately orchestrated.

‘Camille.’ She thought her face would crack with the strain of keeping a smile pinned on her face as she acknowledged the Frenchwoman.

What was Luc doing here? Not so much Australia, or even Melbourne, but this particular charity event, and partnering Camille?

It didn’t take a genius to arrive at the correct answer, Hannah decided wryly. Even the most kindly disposed person would suspect Camille of mischief-making. Luc’s appearance here simply reinforced Hannah’s belief that Camille was not only serious in her pursuit of Miguel, but she’d stop at nothing to gain her objective.

So it was war. Well, she was very good at self-protection. She had years of experience in dealing with it. If Camille thought snaring Miguel would be a walkover, she had another think coming!

‘You know each other, of course,’ Camille purred as she slid into her seat, and Hannah opted for confrontational strategy.

‘The media made much of it at the time.’ She looked at Luc, wanting to sear him to a burnt frizzle on the spot. ‘I hope they paid you well.’

‘Handsomely.’ His smile would have melted many a hardened female heart.

But not hers. ‘Let me introduce my husband, Miguel Santanas.’

Miguel was incredibly polite. Anyone who knew him would have blanched at the icy silkiness apparent in his voice.

Luc, however, seemed totally oblivious.

Wine stewards began serving drinks, and the event began with an introductory speech by the charity chairwoman, followed by the MC who outlined the evening’s entertainment.

The organisation was very smooth as models strutted the catwalk to funky music while waiters served the starter.

Hannah looked at the artistically arranged seafood in a bed of salad greens, and merely forked a few morsels, her appetite seriously impaired by the presence of not one enemy, but two, in her immediate vicinity.

She would have given anything to be able to walk out of the ballroom and take a taxi home. Except that would amount to running away, and her pride forbade such an option.

Pretend, a tiny voice urged, and act as if you don’t have a care in the world.

Miguel ordered champagne, and indicated that the steward should fill her flute. Hannah cast him an enquiring glance and caught the faint smile curving the edge of his mouth, the steady gleam apparent as he raised his glass in a silent salute.

He knew, of course, exactly who Luc Dubois was, and the part Luc had played in her life.

‘What is this in aid of?’ Hannah queried quietly, slanting one eyebrow in quizzical humour as she touched the rim of her flute to his. ‘Courage?’

‘Do you need it?’

She inclined her head slightly, and offered with soft-edged mockery, ‘This is going to be one hell of an evening.’

‘Do you want to leave?’

Her eyes widened. He’d do that for her? ‘No.’ Her voice was steady, but inside her heart missed a beat.

The models concluded showing the after-five segment, and the MC announced a well-known comedian who delivered a few amusing and occasionally risqué anecdotes while an army of waiters removed plates and the stewards tended to the guests’ drinking needs.

Two singers performed two numbers, after which the models returned to the catwalk with a comprehensive display of evening wear.

It was while the main course was being served that Camille chose to engage Miguel’s attention with a flirtatious coquetry that made Hannah barely refrain from grinding her teeth in angry vexation.

‘Am I missing something here?’ Elise ventured, sotto voce. ‘Or is the beautiful Camille on a flirting mission with Miguel?’

‘If he responds,’ Hannah murmured, ‘he’s dead meat.’

‘Luc is the smokescreen, or the ammunition?’

‘Both, I imagine.’

Elise’s features softened in empathy. ‘Tread carefully.’

Now would be a good time to utilise the powder room, and with a murmured excuse she slipped out from her chair.

Miguel could indulge in polite conversation with Camille if he chose, but she didn’t have to stay and watch Camille’s play-acting!

‘I’ll come with you.’ Elise rose to her feet and together they began making their way towards one of the exits.

Hannah paused to greet a few friends as she threaded her way through the ballroom, and she took unnecessary time freshening her make-up.

Elise joined her after using the facilities, and she pressed a hand to her waist, then groaned and vanished into a stall, only to emerge looking slightly pale and wan.

Comprehension was immediate. ‘You’re pregnant?’

Elise managed a faint smile. ‘After two sons, this one has to be a girl. Already she’s exerting her personality in a way neither of the two boys did.’

‘Uh-huh,’ Hannah conceded with an impish grin. ‘I gather Alejandro knows?’

‘He finds it incredibly amusing.’

‘Naturally, he’ll be captivated from the instant she’s born and be hers to command within minutes.’

Elise’s gaze misted. ‘He’s a wonderful father.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Oh, yes. I get to throw up on a regular basis halfway through breakfast and dinner.’ She opened her evening purse and produced a toothbrush and paste. ‘Before and after, I’m fine.’

Minutes later, their make-up restored, they moved towards the door, only to see Alejandro standing immediately outside in the vestibule.

Oh, my, Hannah breathed silently. Elise was his most precious possession. It was evident in the way he looked at her, the protective arm that immediately circled her waist. Body language that was intense and evocative.

It must be wonderful to share that kind of emotion, to be twin halves of a whole, and so complete. Together they returned to their table, and Miguel cast her a discerning look as she regained her seat. She was willing to swear she caught a glimmer of amusement evident as she reached for her wine.

‘Your meal has cooled.’ He beckoned a waiter and instructed another plate be served. Something that was done with alacrity.

‘I’m not really hungry.’

‘Nevertheless you will eat something,’ Miguel chastised silkily, and saw her eyes widen as he lifted a hand and brushed the edge of her cheek with his fingers.

‘What are you doing?’

His mouth formed a sensual curve. ‘It’s called reassurance.’

‘The attentive husband bit, huh?’ Hannah queried with a touch of mockery.

‘Something like that.’

‘For Camille’s benefit?’

‘Yours.’

Oh, he was good. Very, very good. She doubted anyone present observing their byplay could be in doubt as to his feelings. She could almost hear the unspoken comments…fifteen months into the marriage, and look at them.

She offered him a brilliant smile. ‘Careful, querido, you’re in danger of reaching overkill.’

He touched a thumb-pad to her lips. ‘Think so?’

The lights dimmed, a spotlight hit the MC, and the charity organiser announced the amount of money raised for the night’s function, alerted guests to the next gala evening, and indicated a return of the comedian.

Somehow Camille had managed to manoeuvre the seating so she occupied a chair next to Miguel, and Hannah had to commend her determination while silently condemning her to hell.

Hannah picked at the decorative fare on her plate, forked a few mouthfuls, then pushed the plate aside.

Camille took every opportunity to engage Miguel’s attention with a light trail of red-lacquered nails on his sleeve, a touch to his hand, and her smile was a work of art in the seduction stakes.

The models took the catwalk for the final round while dessert was being served, and afterwards the waiters brought coffee while the singing duo closed the entertainment for the evening.

A DJ switched on special lighting effects, set the first of several CDs playing, and background music and recorded vocals encouraged those inclined to dance to take to the floor.

Now was the time for guests to mingle, table-hop and socialise with friends who were also present.

Alejandro and Elise communicated their intention to leave. ‘Tomorrow,’ Elise promised quietly. ‘We’ll catch up. I have photos, and the men have organised a day cruise and a picnic lunch.’

As they left a colleague crossed to their table to talk to Miguel, Camille slipped through the crowd heading for the ballroom exit, Miguel excused himself briefly and moved a few steps away as a friend joined the colleague, and within seconds Hannah was aware of someone taking Miguel’s seat.

‘How are you, Hannah?’

The male voice was familiar, and she turned slowly to face the man to whom it belonged.

‘Luc,’ she acknowledged coolly. ‘Believe me, there is no need to observe the social niceties. I have nothing to say to you.’

‘So cool,’ Luc mocked. ‘Still the ice princess, I see.’

‘You expect me to believe your presence here is purely coincidental?’

He inclined his head in a gesture of musing cynicism. ‘We could enjoy a conversation. Three years, Hannah. We have some catching up to do.’

‘No,’ she denied. ‘We don’t.’

‘Why, chérie?’ His smile aimed to melt her heart. ‘It was good while it lasted.’

She could feel the anger begin to burn deep inside. ‘Strange,’ she remarked coolly. ‘Our memories don’t match.’

She fixed him with an icy glare. ‘So let’s cut the pretence, shall we?’

He spread his hands in an expressive gesture. ‘Who’s pretending? I was very fond of you.’

‘Words,’ Hannah dismissed. ‘Suppose you tell me exactly why you’re here?’

‘This event?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. Cut the game-playing. You know very well what I mean.’

‘Are you ready for the facts, chérie?’

As ready as I’ll ever be! She didn’t bother answering, just sent him a fulminating look that spoke volumes.

He gave a voluble sigh. ‘It will cost you.’

‘No, it won’t,’ Hannah denied heartlessly. ‘You owe me. For living the good life at the expense of my foolish generosity.’

He proffered a mocking smile. ‘When did you become so cynical?’

‘Three years ago.’

‘All right, chérie. This one is on me, for old times’ sake.’

‘Merci,’ she acknowledged in a voice as cold as an arctic ice floe.

‘Camille sought me out, paid my air fare, and is footing my accommodation,’ he revealed, and she arched one eyebrow.

‘And you’re bent on playing both ends against the middle?’

He gave a negligent shrug. ‘Your words, not mine.’

Hannah looked at him carefully, saw the handsome features, the rakish gleam evident in his expression, and wondered how on earth she could have been swayed by his charm. His megawatt smile had no effect whatsoever.

‘Go get a life, Luc.’

‘A word of warning, sweetheart,’ he offered quietly. ‘Camille is on a mission.’

‘As if I didn’t know?’

‘Dance with me, and I could be persuaded to tell you more.’

He was unbelievable! ‘Not even if my life depended on it!’

One eyebrow lifted in cynical amusement. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ He cast a glance in Miguel’s direction.

‘Miguel Santanas doesn’t look the type of man who would willingly share.’

No, Hannah agreed, suppressing a slight shiver. Miguel’s ownership was total.

‘Maybe we could share a coffee somewhere and talk about old times.’

‘You can’t be serious?’ He had such a thick skin, it was almost laughable. ‘Yes, you are,’ she acknowledged with a shake of her head.

‘No hard feelings?’

She faced him squarely, her eyes steady. ‘When you report to Camille, tell her she doesn’t stand a snowflake’s chance in hell.’ She stood to her feet, needing a change of scene, if only for a few minutes.

She turned from the table and saw Miguel’s tall frame a few feet distant. He looked totally relaxed, his strong masculine features portraying interest as he listened to whatever his colleague had to say.

One glance at the expression in his eyes was sufficient for Hannah to realise he hadn’t missed a thing. There was a darkness evident, a latent anger that was almost frightening.

She moved towards him, pausing as she reached his side while he performed an introduction, and she stood perfectly still as he reached for her hand and linked his fingers through her own.

Support? Protection? she wondered. Or was he merely staking a claim, making a statement?

The colleague excused himself and returned to a nearby table.

‘Shall we leave?’ Miguel queried with a faintly inflected drawl.

Hannah offered him a stunning smile, then lifted a hand and traced a light path along the edge of his jaw.

‘And spoil Camille’s fun?’

He caught her fingers and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her palm, observing the way her eyes darkened in dilation. Her lips trembled slightly, and for one infinitesimal second she looked acutely vulnerable.

‘You resemble a piece of fragile glass on the point of shattering,’ Miguel said gently. ‘Home, I think.’

Her chin tilted fractionally. ‘I’m really very resilient.’ She summoned a smile. ‘Besides, there’s music, and we should dance.’

They did, for a while, moving to the funky beat, then when it changed to something slower Miguel pulled her into his arms and held her close.

It was heaven. She could almost forget where they were, the time, the place, everything except the man and the emotions he was able to arouse.

She felt his lips brush the top of her head, then linger at her temple, and she made a sound in her throat as they settled just beneath one earlobe.

They fitted together so well, and this close she could feel his powerful thigh muscles, the strength of his arousal.

‘I think we should go home.’

His soft laughter feathered sensation over the surface of her skin, and heat unfurled within, warming her body to fever pitch.

‘Do you need to return to the table?’

She shook her head, and together they made their way towards the ballroom exit, pausing from time to time to speak to acquaintances. They were about to pass through the large double doors when they came face to face with Camille.

‘You’re not leaving?’

Hannah offered a polite smile. ‘We both have an early start tomorrow.’

‘Tired, darling?’ Her expression was deliberately bland. ‘Miguel must find your lack of stamina a little—’ she paused slightly ‘—tiresome.’

‘Perhaps tired is just a polite euphemism,’ Hannah ventured sweetly, and almost held her breath at the sheer venom evident in Camille’s gaze before it was quickly masked. ‘Goodnight, Camille.’

There was little the striking brunette could do other than make a graceful retreat. However there was the promise—no, threat, Hannah amended as she walked at Miguel’s side to the lift, that this was only the beginning of Camille’s campaign.

She sat in silence as Miguel eased the car through the city streets, lost in contemplative thought.

Media speculation had run rife at the time of her engagement to Miguel, and the caption above their wedding photos had given allusion to it being an arranged union. Something that aroused public conjecture, and added fuel to the social gossip columns.

However, more than a year down the track, the conjecture had lessened, they’d settled easily into the pattern of marriage, work and social commitments.

‘You’re quiet.’

Hannah glanced at Miguel and could determine little from his expression in the car’s dim interior.

‘How perceptive,’ she afforded wryly, and incurred his brief glance.

‘Camille bothers you?’

‘Clever, too.’

He waited a beat. ‘And Luc?’

She didn’t even have to think. ‘Is ancient history.’

‘Not from where I was standing.’

Hannah took a deep breath, then released it slowly. ‘You should have stood closer.’ She bit back a humourless laugh. ‘Then you would have heard me tell him to go get a life and stay out of mine.’

‘That was the extent of your conversation?’ They reached Toorak and turned into a select residential avenue.

‘Oh, there’s just one other detail,’ she revealed as he took another turn and slowed before the impressive set of gates guarding the entrance to their home. ‘He revealed Camille has you firmly in her sights, and she’ll go to any lengths to get you.’ She watched as Miguel activated the remote, opening the gates, and the car eased forward onto the wide sweeping drive. The garage doors slid up automatically at the touch of another remote, then closed seconds later when he cut the engine.

Hannah slid out and walked to the door leading into the house, waited while Miguel tended to the lock, then she moved through to the foyer.

‘Indeed?’ he drawled with ill-disguised mockery. He paused at the foot of the beautiful staircase and subjected her to a searching appraisal. ‘Is his role that of accomplice in Camille’s diabolical scheme?’

‘Yes.’

‘Be careful, querida,’ he warned silkily. ‘He hurt you once. I won’t tolerate him hurting you again.’

‘You won’t tolerate it?’ She strove to conquer a complex mix of emotions. ‘There’s no need to play the jealous husband!’

‘I prefer…protective.’

He didn’t move, but she had the impression his body tensed, and apprehension slithered over the surface of her skin.

‘Luc—’

‘Occupied a small part of your life before you committed to me,’ Miguel drawled in a dangerously quiet voice.

Just as several women undoubtedly occupied his. A hollow feeling settled low in her stomach and radiated towards her heart. Dear heaven, just thinking about who they were and how many there might have been made her feel ill.

Hannah held his gaze for several long seconds, then she brushed past him and moved quickly up the stairs.

A hollow feeling settled round her heart as she traversed the gallery to their room, and inside she began removing her ear-studs, then she reached for the catch on her necklace.

Miguel entered the room and shrugged off his dinner jacket, loosened his shoes, and discarded his socks. The bow-tie came next, then he undid and removed his shirt.

Dammit, what was the matter with the catch? She cursed it beneath her breath, and followed it with another as Miguel crossed to her side.

‘Stand still.’

She was incredibly aware of him, the raw primitive aura combined with the subtle scent of his skin and the sensual warmth of his body. There was a part of her that wanted to sink in against him and lift her face for his kiss, while another part wanted to pummel his chest with her fists.

Didn’t he know how vulnerable she felt? How much of a threat she knew Camille to be? As to Luc…she wouldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

Miguel freed the catch in a second, and he dropped the chain into her hand before placing a thumb and forefinger on her chin, lifting it so she had no choice but to look at him.

‘Por Dios.’ His eyes darkened, and a muscle bunched at the edge of his jaw. ‘You think I cannot see what Camille is?’ He traced a thumb along her jaw, then slid a hand to capture her nape. ‘Credit me with some intelligence, mi mujer.’

‘It’s your libido she’s aiming at,’ Hannah returned succinctly. ‘Not your intelligence.’

‘You imagine I would slip easily into another woman’s bed?’ Miguel queried with chilling softness.

All she could do was look at him, her mind filled with haunting images that drove her almost to the brink of sanity.

‘We promised each other fidelity,’ she managed quietly.

‘You have no reason to doubt my word.’

‘Nor mine.’

His gaze seared hers, seeing beyond the surface, aware of her vulnerability, its cause, and he silently damned Camille for deliberately setting out to undermine it.

He moved his fingers to the zip fastening on her gown, releasing it slowly, then he slipped each shoulder strap free so the beaded silk slithered to a heap at her feet. All she wore beneath it was a pair of lacy satin briefs, and his hands skimmed to her waist, settled, then slid up to shape her breasts.

He slanted his head down to hers and took her mouth in a slow, drugging kiss that was wholly sensual, tasting, exploring, teasing, until she wound her arms round his neck and kissed him back.

She loved the feel of him, the glide of her fingers as she traced strong muscle and sinew. The silk-smooth skin, the powerful breadth of shoulder, the hard ribcage, his taut midriff.

He was wearing too many clothes, and she reached for his belt buckle, undid it, then set about freeing his trousers.

Hannah felt the need pulse through her body, heating her senses to fever pitch.

Now, dammit. Now. Hard and fast, and wild. She didn’t want his restraint, only his passion.

Had she said the words aloud? She was past knowing, beyond caring. There was only the moment, and she cried out, urging him on as he lifted her into his arms, then swept aside the bedcovers and tossed her onto the sheets, shielding her body from his weight as he followed her down.

With one hard, long thrust he entered her, felt the customary tightness as she closed like smooth silk around him, taking him in with a series of tiny gasps at his size.

Never before had he resorted to quite this degree of unbridled savagery. Her gaze clung to his, mesmerised by the primitive hunger that sculpted his features into something wild and untamed. His head was flung back, his neck muscles corded, his jaw clenched.

Then he began to move, slowly at first, almost withdrawing before plunging in, again and again, faster and faster, in a rhythm as old as time.

She became caught up in it, swept along on a roaring tide that crashed, then receded, only to gather force and crash again.

There was only the man, the electrifying primeval emotion, and need.

The control he inevitably maintained was gone, and in its place was something incredibly primitive. A hunger so intense it surpassed passion and became raw desire. Brazen, mesmeric, libidinous.

It was as if she was possessed, held captive by a driven overwhelming need, and she abandoned herself to it, to him, allowing him to take her wherever he chose to lead, exulting in the journey.

She had wondered what it would be like to have him lose all semblance of constraint, to be caught up in his total abandonment. A tiny smile curved the swollen fullness of her mouth. Wild, she reflected silently. Incredibly, inexplicably wild.

There was a sense of bewitching satisfaction at having the power to cause a man to lose control so completely in her arms.

Hannah sensed the moment he regained a measure of control, felt the heave of his chest as he dragged in air and steadied his breathing, heard it catch in his throat as his body shuddered in emotive reaction, and she simply held him as he uttered a stream of self-castigating words in whispered Spanish.

She wanted to reassure him, to somehow convey for the first time she truly felt a woman’s sensual power, and that she was completely swept away by it.

With a tentative touch, she stroked her fingers lightly over his back, felt the tautened muscles and tense sinew beneath her tactile caress, and attempted to soothe them. Gently she traversed his waist, and traced the rigid outline of his buttocks, squeezing them slightly before trailing slowly up over his ribcage to rest on his shoulders, then capturing his head and bringing his mouth down to hers.

It was she who kissed him, savouring his lips, his mouth, sweeping her tongue in an evocative dance with his, encouraging, beguiling in a brazen invitation.

Afterwards he held her close, his arms a protective cage as he cradled her, and she felt his lips on her hair, at the edge of her cheek, caressing her temple, then nuzzling the soft hollow at the curve of her neck.

‘Madre de Dios,’ Miguel breathed tautly. ‘Did I hurt you?’

Hannah pressed her mouth to his throat. ‘No.’

It had been passion at its most elemental, for both of them.

His lips found hers, in a kiss that was so incredibly gentle it almost brought her to tears.

‘Rest, amada,’ he bade gently.

She felt the beat of his heart beneath her cheek, and in the security of his arms she simply closed her eyes and drifted into a dreamless somnolence.

At some stage during the early pre-dawn hours she stirred, felt the lack of human warmth and reached for him, only to find the bed empty. Cautiously she lifted her head and searched the shadowy room. It was then she saw him, silhouetted against the partly drawn curtains, looking out over the shadowed garden.

Slowly she slid from the bed and crossed to stand behind him, aware from his slight movement that he had heard the rustle of the sheets, the almost silent pad of her feet.

Hannah linked her arms around his waist and leaned in against him, holding him close. Long minutes later he gathered her into his arms and carried her into the en suite. There, he filled the spa-bath, switched on the jets, then he stepped in and lowered her down in front of him.

She simply closed her eyes and let the pulsing warm water provide a soothing relaxation. It would be so easy just to drift to sleep, and she almost did, only to open her eyes wide when Miguel scooped her out and wrapped her in a huge bath-towel.

Dry, they returned to the bedroom, and she made no protest when he drew her down onto the bed. With exquisite care he began an erotic tasting that took her to the edge of sensual nirvana, then tipped her over.

Would it always be like this? Hannah wondered on the edge of sleep.

Beautiful, glorious, heart-wrenching sex. Affection, fondness, respect. But not love.

She, who had sworn never to become emotionally involved with another man, had no choice.

Her heart belonged to Miguel. It always had, always would, whether he wanted it or not.