The Helen Bianchin Collection
Page 18
‘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.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE day began badly with a phone call from Cindy’s mother to say Cindy had been rushed into hospital for an emergency appendectomy and wouldn’t be able to return to work for at least a week.
Hannah felt genuinely upset, for Cindy was a friend as well as someone who worked part-time in the boutique, and she organised flowers to be sent to the hospital, made plans to visit after work, then began ringing the first of two women who made themselves available to work when required.
The first was overseas, the second had a family emergency, and her only recourse was an employment agency. Failing any success there, she could call on her mother, if only to fill in for an hour around midday.
Breakfast was a non-event, with only time to swallow half a glass of orange juice and follow it with a few sips of coffee.
‘Por Dios,’ Miguel swore swiftly as she caught up her bag and slid the strap over one shoulder. ‘Sit.’
He reached out, closed his hand over her arm, and forced her into a nearby chair. ‘Eat.’ He pushed a plate towards her, split a croissant and spread conserve onto each half.
She threw him a wry look. ‘I can’t. I’ll be late.’
‘So be late,’ he suggested evenly. ‘Five minutes is all it will take. You could easily be caught up in traffic that long.’
‘I’m not a child, dammit.’
‘You’re wasting time,’ Miguel said imperturbably.
She was hungry, and failing finding someone to fill in, or if Renee wasn’t available, she’d have to temporarily close the boutique for the ten minutes it would take to go fetch a sandwich.
Stubborn single-mindedness forbade that she actually sat, but she did eat both pieces of the croissant and followed it down with the rest of the fine, hot, sweet coffee.
‘Satisfied?’
He cast her a brooding glance. ‘No.’
She gathered up her car keys. ‘You, of course, rarely suffer emergencies that toss your schedule out the window.’
‘Occasionally,’ Miguel conceded.
‘Don’t tell me—you always have a back-up plan,’ she responded drily.
‘A few minutes ago you couldn’t wait to leave,’ he drawled, arching an eyebrow. ‘Now you want to argue?’
‘Why, when I never win?’ Hannah flung with exasperation, and threw him a startled glance as he moved swiftly to cup her face.
He angled her mouth to meet his in an evocative kiss that tore at her emotions and made her wish she could take the time to deepen and savour it. Then she was free.
She could only look at him, her eyes wide and unblinking. Just when she thought she could predict how he’d react, he managed to surprise her.
She unconsciously moistened her lips, aware her mouth shook slightly, and saw his eyes flare briefly.
‘Go, querida. I’ll call you through the day.’ Hannah turned away from him and moved quickly through the foyer to the garage.
Could the day get any worse? she queried silently as she put a call through to her mother, only to discover Renee was en route to the airport to catch a scheduled flight to Sydney.
‘I’ll be back tonight, darling. Tomorrow is fine, if you need me. I’ll ring when I get in.’
Within minutes of opening the boutique she rang the first of two agencies on her list, and felt immeasurably relieved to discover half an hour later they had a suitable salesgirl available to report for work the next day.
Hannah was kept busy all morning as several clients came by to examine the latest delivery of new stock. Telephoned requests to put some items aside for a few hours meant the boutique wasn’t empty for long.
At midday she affixed a ‘back in ten minutes’ sign on the door, locked up and quickly crossed the street to a nearby café. A salad sandwich with coffee to take away would assuage her hunger, and with luck she might even get to eat it without any interruption.
‘Hannah.’
The sultry accent caused the hairs to rise on the back of her neck. Tell me I’m wrong, she pleaded silently, only to turn and discover Camille seated at a nearby table.
The Frenchwoman’s presence here seemed too coincidental. Another of Camille’s ploys to draw attention to her knowledge of Hannah’s daily routine?
‘Camille,’ Hannah acknowledged with forced civility as she stood waiting for her order to be filled.
‘Why don’t you join me?’
‘I’ll call in later.’
Hannah barely resisted the temptation to say please don’t as the girl behind the counter handed over a capped take-away cup and a plastic container with her sandwich.
‘Bye, Camille.’ The words were merely a courtesy as she turned towards the door. She didn’t want to play friend with the stunning Frenchwoman. If she had a choice, she’d prefer not to have anything to do with her at all! However, the chances of that were slim, given Camille’s determination.
The phone was ringing when she unlocked the boutique and she hurried forward to answer it. Within minutes of replacing the receiver, it pealed again.
‘I’ve been gifted tickets to a film premiere tonight,’ Miguel began without preamble. He named the title and the venue. ‘I’ll be home at six.’
‘Gracias,’ Hannah declared, and his husky laughter was almost her undoing.
‘Take care, querida. Don’t work too hard.’
Fat chance, Hannah thought as she juggled attending to clients and phone calls in between snatching a bite to eat.
There was satisfaction in selecting beautifully crafted garments to suit a certain occasion for a favoured client. Offering suggestions for footwear, accessories, even jewellery, was something she viewed as an art form. The client’s pleasure and continued loyalty was her reward. So much so that when she bought she did so with specific clients in mind.
It wasn’t just a job. It never had been. Hannah doubted it ever would be. The prospect of selling the boutique, or retiring and letting a vendeuse manage it, hadn’t occurred to her. Although there would probably come a time when she considered children. Having a child was an important issue in their marriage, given the main reason for the union was to legally ensure two united family fortunes continued into another generation.
However, when this should happen hadn’t consciously been decided. Miguel had agreed to her suggestion they wait a year or two, and she had considered maybe thirty might be a good age to discard contraception.