The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  ‘Do you really want me in the next bedroom to yours?’ Nicos queried mildly. ‘Sharing the same living quarters, the same kitchen? In an apartment more suited to one person than two?’

  ‘You know nothing about my apartment,’ she retaliated, and saw the slight lift of his eyebrow.

  ‘I was responsible for the gutting and rebuilding of the original homestead.’

  She cast him a scathing look. ‘Next you’ll tell me you own it.’

  Nicos inclined his head. ‘Guilty.’

  If she’d known, she’d never have bought it. Her eyes narrowed. Come to think of it, it had been her father who’d first drawn her attention to the penthouse apartment in the large, modernised, tri-level home. Less than a month after she’d walked out on Nicos.

  Nicos watched the fleeting emotions chase across her expressive features before she successfully masked them.

  ‘Mythos Investments is one of my companies.’

  Of course. The name alone should have alerted her, but at the time she hadn’t given much thought to anything other than finding a solitary haven of her own.

  Suspicion ignited, and demanded answer. ‘Did you employ a private detective to monitor my every move?’ Katrina queried tightly.

  An ex-military whose instructions were to observe, protect if necessary, and be unobtrusive at all times. A successful operation, Nicos acknowledged, for which the man had received a handsome remuneration.

  His silence was more eloquent than mere words, and Katrina’s mouth thinned. ‘I see.’

  Nicos’s gaze speared hers. ‘What do you see, pedhi mou?’ His voice was dangerously quiet.

  Too quiet. Like the calm before a storm. Something she chose to ignore.

  ‘Two men bent on manipulating my life,’ she retaliated fiercely. ‘My father during his lifetime, and now you.’ She picked up her water glass and momentarily toyed with the idea of throwing its contents in his face.

  ‘Don’t,’ Nicos warned softly.

  She was caught on the brink of violence. Aware of the acute satisfaction of such an action, and the folly of carrying it through. ‘You read minds?’

  ‘Yours.’

  She took in a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘The activity reports would have been incredibly repetitive,’ she began tightly.

  Work, social activities. A few male partners, none of whom had stayed overnight.

  ‘How dare you?’ The anger bubbled over. ‘It was an invasion of privacy. Harassment. I should file charges against you!’

  His gaze didn’t waver. ‘It was protection.’

  ‘Did Kevin know?’ she demanded starkly.

  ‘We discussed it.’

  Traitors, both of them. ‘Dear heaven,’ she breathed with pious disregard. ‘I’m twenty-seven, not seventeen!’

  ‘You’re the daughter of a very wealthy man, and—’

  ‘The estranged wife of someone who is almost my father’s equal,’ Katrina finished bitterly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I hate you.’

  His shoulders lifted in an imperturbable shrug. ‘So—hate me. At least it’s an active emotion.’

  She was steaming, her anger a palpable entity.

  He caught the way her fingers curled into her palm, the whiteness of her knuckles as she sought control.

  ‘If you leave now, you’ll only delay the inevitable,’ Nicos warned silkily. ‘And invoke a repeat performance.’

  It didn’t help that he was right.

  ‘I don’t want this,’ she vowed with unaccustomed vehemence. ‘Any of it.’

  ‘But you want Macbride.’

  It was a statement she didn’t, couldn’t refute.

  Why should sharing a residence for a year with her estranged husband pose any problems? They were both adults. They had extensive work obligations, separate interests. With luck, they’d hardly see each other much at all.

  A tiny bubble of laughter rose and died in her throat. Who was she kidding?

  Katrina looked at the bulky envelope, then lifted her head and met his enigmatic gaze. ‘I won’t share a bedroom with you.’

  Their eyes clashed, brilliant green and dark brown. And held. She wasn’t conscious of the way her breath hitched, or its slow release several long seconds later.

  ‘I don’t believe I asked you to.’

  His voice was cool, almost ice, and she contained a slight shiver as it threatened to slither the length of her spine.

  ‘Friday,’ Katrina stated. The seventh day, thus fulfilling the first condition listed in Kevin’s will. ‘Evening,’ she qualified.

  ‘I won’t be home until late.’

  One eyebrow arched in disdain. ‘I don’t see that as a problem.’

  Nicos inclined his head, signalled the waiter, and ordered coffee.

  ‘Not for me.’ She had to get out of here, away from the man who’d once held her heart, her world, in his hands.

  Whatever needed to be faced, she’d face on Friday. But for now, she wanted to be as far away from Nicos Kasoulis as possible.

  With unhurried movements she rose to her feet, collected her evening purse, barely stifling a startled gasp as Nicos unfolded his lengthy frame and caught hold of her wrist.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she vented with an angry snap.

  ‘I’d say it’s obvious.’

  The waiter appeared out of nowhere, accepted the cash Nicos handed him, beamed appreciatively at the size of the tip, and Katrina had little option but to allow Nicos to accompany her from the restaurant.

  The instant they reached the foyer she tried to wrench her hand from his, and failed miserably. Short of an undignified struggle she was compelled to walk at his side through the elegant arcade to the street.

  ‘If you don’t let my hand go, I’ll scream,’ she threatened, sotto voce.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Nicos directed imperturbably. ‘I imagine female histrionics will garner some attention.’

  ‘You’re the most impossible man I’ve ever met!’

  His quiet laughter was the living end.

  ‘Go to hell!’

  ‘You don’t want me to take you there,’ Nicos warned with a dangerous silkiness that sent ice slithering down the length of her spine.

  ‘I don’t want you…finis.’

  ‘Is that a challenge?’

  ‘A statement.’

  ‘A year, Katrina. Maybe we could attempt a truce of sorts?’

  She spared him an angry glance. ‘I doubt it’s possible.’

  ‘Try,’ he suggested succinctly.

  She reached into her evening purse, extracted a set of keys, and indicated the sleek white Porsche parked kerbside. ‘My car.’

  ‘Proving a point, Katrina?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Perhaps I should follow your example.’ He lowered his head and pulled her close in one easy movement.

  She opened her mouth to protest, but no word escaped as he took possession in a manner that reached right down to her soul. And tugged at something long dormant. Evoking a vivid memory of how it used to be between them.

  Of its own accord her body sank in against his, savouring for a brief few seconds the feeling of coming home. Of recognition at the most base level, and need.

  The slow sweep of his tongue explored her own, tangled, then took her deep.

  Dear Lord, how could she be this needy?

  With a reluctant groan she tore her mouth away, and attempted to put some distance between them. Her own distress was evident, and she fought a mixture of anger and resentment as he brushed his knuckles along the edge of her jaw.

  ‘Chemistry,’ she dismissed with practised flippancy.

  His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable, and she stifled a silent curse.

  ‘You think so?’ He took the keys from her hand, deactivated the alarm, then he unlocked the door. He opened it, slid the key into the ignition, then stood to one side as she slipped in behind the wheel.

  ‘Friday, Katrina.’

&nb
sp; As if she needed reminding. With a deft twist of the wrist she gunned the engine into life, eased out of the parking space, then she sent the car forward at a quick pace.

  She barely had time to shift through the gears before it was necessary to change down as she reached the driveway to her apartment.

  Minutes later she’d garaged the Porsche and was safely indoors, choosing the lift instead of stairs to reach her apartment.

  It wasn’t late, only a few minutes past nine. Too early to go to bed. She toyed with the idea of phoning any one of several friends, suggesting she meet up with them and share a drink and chat a while. Except they would ask questions at such an impulsive action, and questions were something she’d prefer to avoid.

  Instead, she undressed, pulled on an oversized tee shirt, removed her make-up, then she curled up in a comfortable armchair and changed channels on the television until she found something worth watching.

  Katrina must have fallen asleep, for when she woke her neck felt stiff, one leg was numb, and a glance at her watch revealed it was long past midnight.

  Minutes later she doused the lights and crawled into bed to lie awake haunted by the feel of Nicos’s mouth on her own.

  Choosing what to pack required minimum effort. A selection of clothes for the office, casual gear, and a few suitable outfits for the rare social occasion.

  Katrina closed the zip on both suitcases, took one last look around the apartment, then she set the security alarm, closed the outer door, and summoned the lift down to the basement garage.

  It was only a few kilometres from Double Bay to Point Piper, and no matter how she qualified the move it was impossible to control her nervous tension as she turned into the elegant street housing Nicos’s home.

  Katrina eased the car to a halt, engaged the remote control, waited as the high wrought-iron gate slid smoothly to one side, then she traversed the semi-circular driveway towards a stylish tri-level home set in well-kept grounds. One of many in this tree-lined street where a mix of old and new residences provided an air of wealth in a harbour-front suburb.

  The wide portico framed an impressive entry with ornate double doors protected by a sophisticated security system.

  A married couple came in each weekday to clean and tend the grounds, but they would have left hours ago, Katrina reflected as she entered the lobby.

  The house was silent, and it was impossible to shrug off a sense of déjàvu.

  Late-afternoon sun hit the ornamental multi-paned leaded glass, sending prisms of soft pinks and greens across the cream marble-tiled floor, showcasing the high ceilings, the wide curved staircase leading to an oval balcony, an elegant chandelier.

  To her right lay a large formal lounge and dining room, to her left a study, an informal sitting room, dining room and kitchen.

  A spacious entertainment room, sauna, spa, gym, were situated on the lower floor, together with an indoor swimming pool with wide French doors leading out onto terraced gardens.

  Five bedrooms, each with en suite, comprised the upper level of a beautifully furnished house with magnificent views out over the inner harbour.

  For a brief few months it had been home. A place where she’d shared love, laughter, and great passion.

  Don’t go there, a tiny voice warned.

  Discipline was something she’d mastered at a young age, yet she was helpless against the unwanted emotions invading her mind, her body.

  Re-entering Nicos Kasoulis’s space was a move fraught with tension. Yet what choice did she have?

  None, if she wanted control of Macbride, Katrina reflected a trifle pensively as she ascended stairs to the upper floor.

  Did Nicos occupy the master suite they’d once shared? Or had he moved into one of the other bedrooms?

  The master suite, she determined minutes later. His clothes were there, and an array of masculine toiletries took up space on the marbled vanity.

  She skimmed a glance over the large bed, and endeavoured to still her increased heartbeat. How could he bear to stay here? Occupy this room, this bed?

  Pain clenched in her stomach, and she turned abruptly away in an attempt to stifle a host of memories.

  Control, she had it. But for how long? a devilish imp taunted as she chose a bedroom on the opposite side of the balcony.

  There was, she saw at once, a small desk ideal for her laptop. A calculated guess on Nicos’s part that she’d select this room, or sheer coincidence?

  Second-guessing Nicos’s motivation was a fruitless exercise.

  Move your gear in, unpack, take a shower, check your e-mails, make a few calls, then have an early night, she prompted silently.

  It was almost ten when hunger forced the realisation she’d missed dinner. Lunch had been a sandwich eaten at her desk, and breakfast had comprised orange juice and black coffee.

  Hardly adequate sustenance, she decided as she made her way down to the kitchen to raid the refrigerator.

  A ham sandwich and a cup of tea would suffice, and she’d almost finished both when she heard the front door close followed by the beep of the security alarm being set.

  There was no way she could escape upstairs without detection, and she didn’t bother to try. The slim hope she’d held that Nicos would simply ignore the array of lights on this level died as he entered the kitchen.

  The mere look of him stirred her senses, and set her composure seriously awry.

  A dramatic mesh of primitive sexuality and latent power that had a lethal effect on any woman’s peace of mind. Especially hers.

  It irked her unbearably that he knew, with just one look at her, no matter how she schooled her expression.

  ‘A late-night snack, or did you miss dinner?’ Nicos queried mildly as he crossed the room to stand a metre distant.

  He took in the baggy tee shirt that reached her thighs, her bare legs and feet, and the hair she’d swept into a pony-tail. A look that was the antithesis of the corporate executive.

  ‘You’re back early.’

  ‘You’re evading the question.’

  Katrina lifted the cup and took a sip of tea. ‘Both,’ she informed succinctly.

  He loosened his tie and thrust both hands into his trouser pockets. She looked beat, and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. At a guess she hadn’t slept much in the past few nights.

  Anxiety at their enforced living arrangements?

  ‘Should we attempt polite conversation?’ Katrina parried.

  He looked vaguely dangerous. She tried to tell herself such a thought was the height of foolishness. But the feeling was there, in the look of him, his relaxed stance. Deceptive, she accorded warily, as all her fine body hairs rose up in protective self-defence.

  Instinct warned she should tread carefully. Yet she was prey to a devilish imp prompting her towards certain conflagration.

  ‘How was your date—sorry, dinner?’ she corrected deliberately.

  One eyebrow rose with deliberate cynicism. ‘Why assume my companion was female?’

  ‘A calculated guess, given the increasing number of women in the business arena.’

  ‘And my penchant for the company of women?’ Nicos queried silkily.

  ‘You have a certain reputation.’ A statement that held a wealth of cynicism.

  ‘I won’t deny intimacy with previous partners,’ he said with dangerous softness. ‘The relationships were selective and meant something at the time.’

  ‘But you don’t offer fidelity. In or out of marriage.’

  He didn’t move, but she had the sensation he was suddenly standing much too close. ‘You want me to reiterate something you refuse to believe?’ he demanded silkily.

  The air between them was electric. ‘Why bother?’ She held his gaze without fear. ‘We did that to death at the time. It achieved nothing then. I don’t see that it will now.’

  His control was admirable, but his eyes were dark, almost chillingly still. ‘If I were to offer the same query following your return from a business dinner, yo
ur answer would be?’

  She didn’t hesitate. ‘Get stuffed.’

  ‘An eloquent phrase.’

  Katrina turned towards the sink and jettisoned the remains of her tea. ‘Forget polite.’ She rinsed the cup and placed it in the dishwasher. ‘Let’s just stick with good morning and goodnight.’

  ‘You think that will work?’

  Why did she get the feeling he was at least one step ahead of her?

  ‘The alternative is a war zone.’

  ‘Battles won and lost?’

  She gave him a long, considering look. ‘It’s not about whether you win or lose, but how you play the game.’

  ‘An interesting analogy.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ She turned away from him and stepped towards the door. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Sleep well, pedhaki mou.’

  His cynical drawl echoed in her mind as she ascended the stairs, and even in the relative safety of her bedroom the affectionate endearment recurred as a repetitive taunt.

  Consequently sleep proved an elusive captive, until exhaustion overcame the many scenarios she plotted against him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THERE was evidence Nicos had already eaten breakfast when Katrina entered the kitchen the next morning.

  The aroma of freshly made coffee teased her nostrils, and she took down a cup and filled it from the cafetière, added sugar, slotted bread into the toaster, then sipped the excellent brew as she waited for the toast to pop.

  A daily newspaper lay on the table, and she scanned the front-page headlines highlighting the latest criminal injustice, the fall of a major company, and touting plaudits for two councillors running in the upcoming elections.

  When the toast was ready she spread it with conserve, topped her cup with coffee, then she pulled out a chair and dedicated fifteen minutes to acquiring an informative view of the day’s reported journalism.

  Until she reached the social pages, and found herself looking at a photograph of her and Nicos. Taken, she confirmed on closer examination, at a social function not long after their marriage. The caption read, Together Again?

  An unidentified source confirms Nicos and Katrina Kasoulis have reunited to satisfy a condition of Kevin Macbride’s (of Macbride) will. Fact or fallacy?