A faint shiver slithered down her spine. That Georgia had almost succeeded—
‘Don’t go there.’
He read her so well. Too well, she attested silently.
Nicos caught her close and savoured the sweet curve of her shoulder. His hands soothed, brushing lightly over water-slicked skin, pausing to render supplication to vulnerable pleasure pulses before drifting low in an evocative trail that stirred her senses anew.
A soft sigh left her lips as his fingers caressed the sensitised nub, taking her high with a skilled ease that left her breathless.
‘Nicos.’ His name was both plea and protest.
‘Hmm?’ His voice was a teasing murmur at her temple.
‘If you plan taking this further, I should tell you I skipped lunch.’
His husky laughter was almost her undoing. ‘I thought I had your undivided attention.’
Katrina placed her lips against his in a brief teasing kiss. ‘You do.’ Believe me, you do, she added silently.
He rose to his feet in one fluid movement, lifted her effortlessly onto the tiled floor, then wrapped a towel round her slim form before fixing another at his hips.
‘Let’s go check out room service.’
It was later, after a leisurely meal and what remained of the champagne, that Katrina caught hold of his hand and pulled him towards her.
‘Do you have plans for this evening?’
He gave a faint smile. ‘We could go home.’
The word had a nice sound to it. ‘Hmm,’ she teased, pretending to consider their choices. ‘Or we could get dressed.’ She fingered his complimentary towelling robe, one of which she also wore. ‘And take in a nightclub.’
So she wanted to play. He was willing to join in the game. ‘Or a movie.’
Katrina traced a finger down the deep V of his robe. ‘It would be a shame to waste the suite.’
He stood still, content to let her have control, for now. ‘A shame.’
She teased the dark hairs arrowing down to his waist. ‘Do we have any wine?’
‘Red, or white?’
Her faint smile held a wicked tinge. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Want me to check?’
Her fingers were busy, and far too close to a vulnerable part of his anatomy.
‘Uh-huh.’
Nicos moved a few paces, retrieved a small bottle of wine, popped the cork, part-filled two goblets and handed her one.
Katrina dipped a forefinger into the light-coloured liquid, traced a pattern along the edge of his collar bone, then she leaned forward and slowly followed the same path with her tongue.
With one hand she undid the tie fastening his robe and pushed it off one shoulder, then the other, letting it fall to the floor in a heap.
His eyes were dark, and she saw the pulse leap at his throat as she circled one male nipple.
Minutes later his breath hissed through his teeth, and firm fingers closed over her wrist, stilling the evocative trail. ‘Dear God,’ he ground out. ‘Are you done?’
She tilted her head, and her lips curved into a provocative smile. ‘Had enough?’
A muscle clenched at the edge of his jaw. ‘Be warned, I intend to reciprocate.’
A light laugh escaped her throat. ‘I’m counting on it.’
Later, much later, it was she who groaned out loud. She who pleaded, then begged as he took her on a mercilessly provocative journey that explored the senses until she shattered, fragmenting into a thousand, exquisite pieces.
Katrina lay supine, seriously doubting her ability to move. Even lifting a hand seemed to require too much effort. She was barely aware when Nicos pulled up the bed covers, and drew her in close against him.
She slept, waking to the light brush of Nicos’s fingers as he traced a line along the edge of her waist to her hip, then her thigh. His lips teased the soft hollow at the base of her throat, and she moved close to nuzzle his chest.
It was a wonderful way to begin the day. Slow, lazy seduction, and equally slow sex.
Lovemaking, she qualified, glorying in the feel and the taste of him.
Afterwards they hit the shower together, then dressed, they ordered in breakfast and ate it out on the terrace, watching the city come alive as ferries crossed the harbour and road traffic began to build.
A new day, Katrina mused as she sipped the aromatic coffee. The sky was a clear blue, with hardly a cloud in sight, and the sun lent the promise of warmth.
There was a sense of timelessness, and a need to encapsulate the moment and store it somewhere safe.
Nicos studied her profile, the fine bone structure. She possessed a beauty of soul and spirit, an intrinsic quality that was uncontrived.
He felt his body harden remembering the degree of intimacy they’d shared. Two minds so finely attuned, he knew her thoughts, her innermost secrets.
Katrina’s skin prickled, and she turned slightly, met his gaze, and felt her insides begin to melt at what she saw in those dark depths.
‘Time to go,’ she said gently as she rose to her feet and offered him her hand.
Together they took the lift down to reception and collected the car. Ten minutes later Nicos double-parked outside the towering steel and glass structure which housed the corporate offices of Macbride.
Katrina kissed her fingers and touched them briefly to his lips. ‘Until tonight.’
He watched her disappear through the revolving glass doors, then he eased the car into the flow of traffic.
There was a place in the Greek Islands where the sun kissed the translucent waters, vines grew on the gentle slopes, and white-washed villas dotted the hillside. He had an urge to take her there, to relax and enjoy the simple pleasures of life for a while. He’d have his secretary make the arrangements.
Within minutes of reaching his office he picked up the phone, issued specific instructions, and got on with the day.
Across town Katrina viewed the rectangular-shaped package the courier had just delivered, and removed the protective wrapping to reveal the painting she had admired at the art gallery.
She picked up the phone, dialled Nicos’s number, and responded as soon as he answered.
‘Thank you. It’s beautiful.’
‘My pleasure.’
His voice was warm, and sent tingles down her spine.
Minutes later there was another delivery, and she opened the slender florist box to discover a single long-stemmed red rose nestling in a swathe of tissue. The card read, ‘Katrina, agape mou. Nicos.’
My love. She lifted the rose to her cheek, savoured the velvety texture on her skin, then gently inhaled the delicate perfume.
Katrina had a plan of her own, and she implemented the arrangements, rang Siobhan with the invitation, then sank back into her chair with a warm smile.
‘A private dinner,’ Katrina declared as she rose from the bed next morning. ‘In celebration,’ she added, teasing gently, ‘We get to dress up, for each other.’
‘I gather this is something special?’ Nicos queried as he joined her in the shower, and caught her nod in assent.
And it was. Very special. Her gift to him.
Had he guessed? she mused as she led him out into the gardens just before dusk. There, beneath the spreading branches of a beautiful jacaranda, stood a celebrant with Siobhan at his side.
‘A reaffirmation of our wedding vows.’
Nicos drew her into his arms, settled his mouth over hers in a kiss that lasted long and took her breath away.
‘You get to do that after the ceremony,’ the celebrant teased gently.
‘Count on it.’
Siobhan brushed a tear away as the celebrant intoned the words Katrina had requested. With joy for her daughter’s newfound happiness, and the man who so obviously cherished her.
The meal Katrina had Marie prepare was a simple repast served in the candle-lit dining room. Chilled champagne and a single-tiered miniature wedding cake added an unexpected touch.
Afterwa
rds Nicos drew Katrina into the study and slid a diamond-studded ring onto her finger.
‘Eternity. Ours,’ he said gently, watching her beautiful eyes coalesce with emotion. ‘There’s just one other thing.’ He unlocked a desk drawer and handed her a document. ‘Read it.’
Legalese, gifting her the one-third share bequest in Macbride originally assigned to him by Kevin Macbride.
‘It was always yours,’ Nicos relayed quietly. ‘Now it’s official.’
Words momentarily failed her, and she dashed the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes. ‘I love you.’ Tremulously spoken words that came straight from the heart. ‘It never stopped.’
Nicos lifted both hands and gently cupped her face. ‘I know.’ He kissed her with lingering passion, then carried her upstairs to bed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
KATRINA repositioned herself on the low-set lounger and let the warm Aegean sun caress her bikini-clad body. Dark lenses protected her eyes, and she tipped the large straw hat over her face.
It had taken Nicos a few phone calls to delegate, book a flight to Athens, and organise hire of this elegant cruiser.
They’d been here a week. Lovely lazy days and long nights filled with lovemaking. Idyllic, she thought as she closed her eyes and let her mind drift.
All the doubts and turmoil, the insecurities, had vanished. A trial by fire, she reflected, wincing slightly as Georgia’s spiteful image sprang vividly to mind.
‘Don’t,’ Nicos cautioned gently. He was so keenly attuned to her that he sensed the slight tension evident, divined and sought to alleviate it as he brushed the pads of his fingers across her midriff in a soothing gesture.
Her skin was a light honey-gold, its texture silky smooth beneath his touch, and he took pleasure in the caress as he explored the line of Lycra stretching low across her hips.
The slight hitch in her breathing brought forth a faint smile, and he traced lower, witnessed the way her stomach muscles tightened, then he leaned towards her and bestowed a kiss on her navel.
‘You’re in danger of shocking the natives,’ Katrina said in a husky drawl, and heard his soft laughter.
‘There’s not a soul in sight.’
‘Binoculars, paparazzi and long-range-zoom camera lenses,’ she reminded him indolently, not wanting to move.
He had the touch, the skill, that took her from warmth to heat in a few seconds flat. Desire and passion followed in equal time.
‘Want to take this down below?’
A soft chuckle of laughter emerged from her throat, and she lifted a hand, tilted her hat so she could look at him. ‘Are you serious?’
His answering grin held a wolfish quality. ‘You’re not?’
She pretended to consider her options. ‘I guess I could be persuaded.’ Remembering just how good he was at persuasion had her heartbeat moving up a notch.
His fingers pressed a vulnerable nub, so lightly she almost groaned in need of more.
‘If you need to think about it…’
A hand snaked out and managed a grip onto his chest hair, tightened a little. ‘Don’t toy with me.’
Her husky growl was quickly silenced as his mouth took possession of hers in a kiss that promised flagrant seduction.
When he lifted his head she ran the edge of her tongue over the slightly swollen contours of her mouth.
‘Well, then. That settles it.’ She lifted a hand and pressed fingers to his lips, felt them move in a gentle caress, then she rose to her feet in a single, fluid movement, tugging him upright.
The cruiser was large, the galley and bedroom spacious.
Nicos pulled her in close and rested his cheek against her head.
He took it slowly. They had all the time in the world, and he instigated a leisurely tasting, savouring each shudder, each hitch of her breath.
She was his. The most important thing in his life. Always had been, even when they’d been apart. There could never be anyone else to take her place in his heart.
He said the words, in soft, guttural Greek, then in English, and she felt the moisture well in her eyes at the depth of emotion evident.
She captured his head, let her hands slide to frame his face, searched his beloved features, and saw what she knew in her heart, the depths of her soul. The unconditional love of a man for one woman. Beyond boundaries, forever true. It was an infinitely precious gift. One she would treasure for the rest of her life.
‘Promise me something,’ Katrina began to say gently, and saw his smile.
‘You have to ask?’
‘Let’s work at making every day special.’
‘That’s a given.’
‘There’s just one more thing.’ She reached up and kissed him, a fleeting touch. ‘You have my love, my trust.’ Her mouth shook a little. ‘Always.’
‘As you have mine, agape mou,’ he whispered softly, and proceeded to show her a depth of passion that surpassed anything they’d previously shared.
Latin Lovers
A Convenient Bridegroom
In the Spaniard’s Bed
The Martinez Marriage Revenge
Helen Bianchin
A Convenient
Bridegroom
Helen Bianchin
CHAPTER ONE
‘NIGHT, cara. You will be staying over, won’t you?’
Subtle, very subtle, Aysha conceded. It never ceased to amaze that her mother could state a command in the form of a suggestion, and phrase it as a question. As if Aysha had a choice.
For as long as she could remember, her life had been stage-managed. The most exclusive of private schools, extra-curricular private tuition. Holidays abroad, winter resorts. Ballet, riding school, languages ... she spoke fluent Italian and French.
Aysha Benini was a product of her parents’ upbringing. Fashioned, styled and presented as a visual attestation to family wealth and status.
Something which must be upheld at any cost.
Even her chosen career as an interior decorator added to the overall image.
‘Darling?’
Aysha crossed the room and brushed her lips to her mother’s cheek. ‘Probably.’
Teresa Benini allowed one eyebrow to form an elegant arch. ‘Your father and I won’t expect you home.’
Case closed. Aysha checked her evening purse, selected her car key, and turned towards the door. ‘See you later.’
‘Have a good time.’
What did Teresa Benini consider a good time? An exquisitely served meal eaten in a trendy restaurant with Carlo Santangelo, followed by a long night of loving in Carlo’s bed?
Aysha slid in behind the wheel of her black Porsche Carrera, fired the engine, then eased the car down the driveway, cleared the electronic gates, and traversed the quiet tree-lined street towards the main arterial road leading from suburban Vaucluse into the city.
A shaft of sunlight caught the diamond-studded gold band with its magnificent solitaire on the third finger of her left hand. Brilliantly designed, horrendously expensive, it was a befitting symbol representing the intended union of Giuseppe Benini’s daughter to Luigi Santangelo’s son.
Benini-Santangelo, Aysha mused as she joined the flow of city-bound traffic.
Two immigrants from two neighbouring properties in a northern Italian town had travelled in their late teens to Sydney, where they’d worked two jobs every day of the week, saved every cent, and set up a cement business in their mid-twenties.
Forty years on, Benini-Santangelo was a major name in Sydney’s building industry, with a huge plant and a fleet of concrete tankers.
Each man had married a suitable wife, sadly produced only one child apiece; they lived in fine homes, drove expensive cars, and had given their children the best education that money could buy.
Both families had interacted closely on a social and personal level for as long as Aysha could remember. The bond between them was strong, more than friends. Almost family.
The New South Head Road wound down towards Rose Bay, and
Aysha took a moment to admire the view.
At six-thirty on a fine late summer’s evening the ocean resembled a sapphire jewel, merging with a sky clear of cloud or pollution. Prime real estate overlooked numerous coves and bays where various sailing craft lay anchored. Tall city buildings rose in differing architectural design, structured towers of glass and steel, providing a splendid backdrop to the Opera House and the wide span of the Harbour Bridge.
Traffic became more dense as she drew close to the city, and there were the inevitable delays at computer-controlled intersections.
Consequently it was almost seven when she drew into the curved entrance of the hotel and consigned her car to valet parking.
She could, should have allowed Carlo to collect her, or at least driven to his apartment. It would have been more practical, sensible.
Except tonight she didn’t feel sensible.
Aysha nodded to the concierge as she entered the lobby, and she hadn’t taken more than three steps towards the bank of sofas and single chairs when a familiar male frame rose to full height and moved forward to greet her.
Carlo Santangelo.
Just the sight of him was enough to send her heart racing to a quickened beat. Her breath caught in her throat, and she forced herself to monitor the rise and fall of her chest.
In his late thirties, he stood three inches over six feet and possessed the broad shoulders and hard-muscled body of a man who coveted physical fitness. Sculpted raw-boned facial features highlighted planes and angles, accenting a powerful jaw, strong chin, and a sensuously moulded mouth. Well-cut thick dark brown hair was stylishly groomed, and his eyes were incredibly dark, almost black.
Aysha had no recollection of witnessing his temper. Yet there could be no doubt he possessed one, for his eyes could darken to obsidian, the mouth thin, and his voice assume the chill of an ice floe.
‘Aysha.’ He leant down and brushed his mouth against her own, lingered, then he lifted his head and caught both of her hands in his.
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 41
