The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  She exulted in the degree of eroticism he skilfully bestowed, the depth of emotion she experienced beneath his touch, so that when he finally took her it was all she could do not to cry out with joy.

  Afterwards she lay curled into the curve of his body, delightfully sated and on the verge of sleep.

  Elise woke later to find that Alejandro had already left for the city, and she indulged in a leisurely stretch before sliding from the bed. So far she had been very fortunate, for, although she occasionally experienced a slight queasiness on waking, it had not developed into morning sickness.

  After a refreshing shower she dressed in shorts and a top, then ran lightly downstairs to the kitchen.

  ‘Morning, Ana. Isn’t it a beautiful day?’

  ‘Sí,’ the older woman answered with a warm smile. ‘I will get your breakfast.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’ Cereal, fruit and toast, with orange juice and tea, were simple enough to assemble. Besides, she’d looked after herself for years, and valued a degree of independence.

  Elise enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, browsing through the morning papers, then when she had finished she moved outside for a walk round the gardens.

  The flowers were beautiful, grown in colour co-ordinated borders that were a visual delight: delicate pinks and whites, brilliant reds and yellows, then carefully clipped shrubs. There were a number of urns gracing the steps leading down from the terrace, and a splendid concrete tiered bird-bath was the central feature of a square expanse of manicured lawn.

  Beyond that lay the swimming-pool with an adjacent cabana which housed a bar and changingrooms.

  It was a magnificent property, the architecture and landscaping in perfect harmony. Its location and beautiful views out over the harbour indicated a value she was hesitant to calculate.

  Was it any wonder that Savannah coveted the man who owned it? His position in the city’s social scene was unquestionable, and there were few women who were not fascinated by rich and powerful men. Some even sold themselves in a quest for fame and fortune.

  As she had. Although not for fame or fortune. Her father…Dammit, such introspection was dangerous. It led nowhere, and achieved nothing except to highlight her own insecurities.

  Love was a mixture of heaven and hell. Especially when you were not loved in return. The physicalities of lovemaking were there, but not the emotional commitment.

  Would it ever be any different? Could it be? Sadly, she didn’t think so.

  Elise wandered down to the swimming-pool and sat in one of the chairs positioned beneath a wide sun-umbrella. The sun felt warm against her bare skin, and she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

  ‘Elise? It is ten-fifteen.’

  She came sharply awake at the sound of Ana’s voice, amazed that she could have lapsed into a light doze.

  Her hand had swollen slightly and was beginning to show signs of bruising. There was also a degree of pain when the physiotherapist supervised her exercises, a fact which he noted, adding an admonition to be more careful. There didn’t seem much point in assuring him that it was not self-inflicted.

  At home she ate the chicken salad Ana had prepared for lunch, then she changed into a bikini, selected a book, and wandered out to sit beneath a shade-umbrella by the pool.

  It was almost six when Alejandro arrived home, and Elise cast him a warm smile as he entered the lounge.

  ‘How was your day?’ she asked lightly, and was unprepared for his brief hard kiss.

  ‘A series of meetings, appointments.’ His tone was dry, his eyes dark and inscrutable. ‘I’ll change. Then we’ll have a drink before dinner.’

  ‘I’ll go and check with Ana.’

  The table was already set, and there was a delicious aroma emanating from the kitchen.

  ‘Vegetable soup,’ Ana informed her as she stirred the contents of a saucepan. ‘Paella, with fresh fruit to finish.’

  ‘Sounds wonderful. Can I help with anything?’

  ‘It is all under control,’ the older woman beamed companionably. ‘I will serve in fifteen minutes.’

  Elise wandered towards the lounge, and was busy watching the televised news when Alejandro entered the room.

  He looked vaguely satanic in casual dark trousers and a polo shirt which highlighted the olive tint of his skin and emphasised his length and breadth. ‘A cool drink?’

  She glanced towards him and her breath caught in her throat as she glimpsed the hard demeanour just beneath the surface of his control. ‘Please,’ she managed evenly, returning her attention to the television.

  She turned as he reached her side, and instead of handing her a glass he placed both down on a nearby pedestal.

  ‘Let me see your hand.’

  He knew. How? The physiotherapist? There was no one else who could have told him, she reasoned silently.

  ‘It’s a bit stiff,’ she admitted with a helpless shrug, unwilling to extend it for his inspection.

  ‘Some bruising, pain and reduced mobility,’ Alejandro stated with dangerous softness, ‘consistent with the hand being compressed.’ He reached forward and carefully caught hold of her arm. His intent examination filled her with a peculiar sense of dread, and she almost died at the savagery apparent as he seared her features. ‘Savannah?’

  She swallowed nervously. ‘What if I accidentally knocked my hand?’

  His expression became inscrutable, and his voice contained dangerous indolence. ‘Did you?’

  Evasion of the truth was hardly wise, for there was already visible evidence of bruising. ‘No.’

  He said something vicious beneath his breath in Spanish, then lifted a hand to cup her jaw. His finger traced a gentle pattern over her lower lip, probing slightly before moving to caress her cheek. His eyes became dark, their depths unfathomable as he searched her features.

  ‘My relationship with Savannah was…’ He paused fractionally, then said deliberately, ‘Mutually convenient.’

  Mutual need, Elise qualified, sickened at the picture that conjured up.

  ‘Marriage was not something I had considered until you stormed into my office in a state of fury and began hurling accusations and making allegations.’ His smile held wry cynicism. ‘Over dinner that same evening I decided I wanted your loyalty, your fierce pride, your honesty.’

  He had deliberately tested her, and it rankled unbearably.

  He brushed her mouth lightly with his own. ‘Eventually—your love,’ he added quietly.

  He had placed the chess-pieces on a board, and played the game with infinite patience and skill. She hurt too much to let him know that he had won.

  ‘Along with good health, love is something that money can’t buy,’ Elise declared carefully, and glimpsed a flicker of pain in the depths of his eyes, so fleeting that she wondered if she had imagined it.

  ‘The time between being informed of your accident and discovering the extent of your injuries were the worst minutes I have ever spent,’ he assured her ruminatively as he took possession of her mouth in a kiss so incredibly gentle that she simply closed her eyes and gave herself up to the sensual eroticism of his touch.

  It seemed an age before he broke contact and slowly lifted his head.

  It took enormous will-power to step away from him, and her voice was not quite steady as she offered, ‘Ana will be ready to serve dinner.’

  ‘Then let us go in and eat.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  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.

&nb
sp; ‘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.’