Yet, if she accepted him now, it would be akin to accepting a half-measure. Most—dear heaven, all women of her acquaintance would be content with less. To have him in their bed, access to his immense wealth and the rewards it would bring would be enough.
‘You offer me everything,’ Kristi said slowly, and was unable to prevent the faint, husky catch in her voice. Deep inside she felt incredibly sad. She’d hoped for so much, prayed that he would say the words she desperately wanted to hear. ‘Everything except your love.’ Her eyes searched his, hoping to pierce the inscrutable barrier and discover a depth of emotion that was based on more than just desire for her body.
‘I want, need to be more to you than just a woman gracing your arm, a hostess in your home.’ She paused, then added quietly, ‘A mistress in your bed.’
There wasn’t so much as a flicker in his expression to give any visible indication of his feelings. It angered her unbearably, making her want to rage, shout, hit him in order to get some kind of reaction.
‘I asked you to be my wife.’ The words were softly spoken, yet deadly, and she shivered inwardly as a sliver of ice slid down the length of her spine.
She lifted her head, tilting her head fractionally in silent challenge. ‘To bear your sons?’ Inside she was slowly dying. ‘If you plant only the seeds of daughters in my womb, will you cast me aside for another wife who might sire the son you desire—you need to uphold the coveted name of Al-Sayed?’
Icy rage flared briefly in his eyes before it was quickly masked. ‘You would lead an envied lifestyle.’
She thought of Nashwa and her daughters, and knew she could never be meekly accepting of such subjugation.
‘It isn’t enough,’ Kristi offered with incredible sadness, aware that life without him would be like dying a very slow and painful death. ‘When I marry, I want to believe it will be for ever. That I am as important to the man I accept as my husband as he is to me.’ Her eyes felt as if they were drowning in unshed tears. ‘Above all others. Beyond material possessions.’ The ache in her throat was a palpable lump she dared not attempt to swallow. ‘I need to know I am everything you need. All you ever want.’ She felt boneless, and in danger of falling in an ignominious heap at his feet.
‘You ask for guarantees, when with human emotions there can be none? Assurances are only words, given at a time when the head is ruled by the heart.’
‘I feel sorry for you, Shalef. True love is a gift. Priceless.’
‘I do not require your sympathy,’ he declared with an infinite degree of cynicism.
‘No,’ she agreed bravely. ‘You do not even require me.’ It almost killed her to voice the words. ‘My position in your life, your bed will be easily filled.’
His eyes narrowed fractionally, their depths so darkly unfathomable that it made her feel immeasurably afraid. ‘You play for high stakes.’
Her chin lifted, and it took every ounce of strength she possessed to keep her voice level. ‘The highest.’
‘And if you lose?’
Kristi was aware of her fragile hold on her emotions. Afterwards, she could cry. But not yet. ‘Inshallah,’ she said with quiet simplicity.
A tiny flame leapt in his eyes, flaring briefly before being extinguished beneath the measure of his control.
For one infinitesimal second she thought that he might strike her, so intense was his anger, then she silently damned a vivid imagination. He could employ a far more effective method of retribution if he so chose, without resorting to physical violence.
‘You try my patience.’
There were words she could have uttered, but they were meaningless phrases, and not worth uttering. ‘Please.’ She lifted a hand, then let it fall helplessly down to her side. ‘I have to finish packing.’
His eyes resembled dark shards of slate as he thrust one hand into his trouser pocket in a tightly controlled gesture.
‘You want me to leave?’
‘Yes.’
His facial muscles tensed over sculptured bone.
‘As you please. But first—’
He reached for her, and she froze, her eyes widening with an apprehension that had little to do with fear as he lowered his head to hers.
The touch of his mouth was soft against her own, and she was unaware of the tiny, inarticulate sound that emerged from her throat as the edge of his tongue made an exploratory sweep over the full curve of her lower lip.
She wanted to cry out, Don’t do this to me. A treacherous warmth invaded her veins, firing her body with a passion that she knew she’d never experience with any other man.
It was like drowning, descending with exquisite slowness into a nirvana-like state where reality faded into obscurity. There was only now, and the wealth of sensation that he was able to evoke.
Her body shook slightly as she fought against giving a response, and she felt the ache of unshed tears as he alternately teased and cajoled, pressing home with each small advantage gained, until her mouth aligned with his in involuntary capitulation.
A despairing groan rose and died in her throat as he deepened the kiss, possessing, demanding, invading in a manner that made her body tremble, and she clutched at his shoulders in a desperate bid to cling onto something tangible as he swept her into an emotional void from which she doubted she could emerge intact.
His passionate intensity was almost a violation, and when he released her she stood perfectly still, afraid that the slightest movement would rend every crack in her crumbling composure.
Part of her wanted to scream, Go; get out of my life before I break into a thousand pieces; the other part wanted to beg him to utter the necessary words that would bind her to him for ever.
His eyes were dark and partly hooded, making it impossible to read anything in his expression.
Lifting a hand to her face, he trailed a forefinger lightly over the swollen curves of her mouth, then traced a path along the edge of her jaw and back again.
For what seemed an age he simply looked at her, imprinting on his mind her delicate features, the flawless skin, waxen-pale from the intensity of her emotions, the wide-spaced, fathomless deep brown and topaz eyes, and the bruised softness of her mouth.
Then his hand dropped to his side, and he turned towards the door, walking to it, through it without so much as a backward glance.
The sound of the lock clicking into place proved the catalyst for the release of her tears, and she stood exactly where he’d left her as their flow trickled to each corner of her mouth, then slowly slid to her chin.
Kristi stayed locked into immobility for a very long time, then something stirred within her, providing her with sufficient strength to turn and walk back into the bedroom, where she methodically completed her packing.
She even managed to bathe her face and apply fresh make-up before crossing to the in-house phone and alerting Reception that her bags were ready to be taken down.
‘Thank you, Miss Dalton. A car is waiting.’
One last check round the suite, then she caught up her shoulder bag and moved out into the hallway. The lift transported her down to Reception, where she was informed that her account had already been settled.
Her fingers shook as she put away her credit card then handed over the key. Shalef. Like the sleek Bentley parked by the kerb outside the main entrance, with its boot open ready to receive her luggage, it represented a final gesture. A silent, mocking attestation to what she had given up.
Kristi stepped through the revolving door and out into the cool air, and the chauffeur opened the rear passenger door.
She didn’t hesitate as she crossed to his side. ‘Please thank Sheikh bin Youssef Al-Sayed for his kindness,’ she said firmly, ‘and tell him that I chose to hire a taxi.’
The chauffeur paled with concern. ‘Miss Dalton, I have strict instructions to drive you to the airport and assist you through Customs.’
She offered a faint smile of dismissal. ‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘The Sheikh
will be annoyed.’
‘With me,’ she clarified. One eyebrow rose in wry amusement. ‘I don’t imagine his instructions included bundling me into the car against my will?’
‘No, Miss Dalton.’
‘Then you are exonerated from any blame.’ Turning away, she spoke to the porter and had him beckon a hovering taxi.
Within minutes it pulled out into the flow of traffic and Kristi leaned back against the seat and stared blindly out of the window. There were people briskly walking on the pavements, coats caught tightly closed against the cold. And it began to rain, settling into a heavy deluge that diminished visibility and set the wipers swishing vigorously back and forth against the windscreen.
In less than twenty-four hours she would touch down to warm summer temperatures, soft balmy breezes, and home. The prospect of seeing Shane again, and a few very close friends, should have evoked anticipatory pleasure. Instead, she was filled with a desolation so acute that it became a tangible pain, tearing at her insides and leeching the colour from her face.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘ANYTHING of interest in next week’s bookings?’ Kristi queried as she deposited her camera-case on a nearby chair.
‘Nothing outstanding,’ Shane relayed as he scanned the appointment book spread out on the desk.
It was late, Annie had left for the day, commuters were on their way home, and outside a traffic lull had emptied the streets.
Soon it would be dark, bright neon signs would vie for attention, and the restaurants and theatres would fill with people seeking food, fun and laughter.
Kristi had been back in Sydney for more than a month. Six weeks, three days and counting, she mused idly as she crossed the floor and stood gazing idly out over the city’s skyscape.
The inner harbour waters were a brilliant, sparkling blue beneath the sun’s rays, their surface dotted with a mix of pleasure craft, two ferries sailing in opposite directions and a huge freighter led by a pilot tug en route to a harbour dock.
Two days after her return from London she’d thrown herself into work, taking every assignment that was logged into her appointment book in an effort to keep busy during the daylight hours so that she wouldn’t have time to think.
She had even let it be known that she was prepared to cover the social circuit, and as a consequence she’d been out most nights at one function or another, photographing some of the city’s glitterati. Two weddings, two christenings...the list was far too lengthy, the pace too frenetic for one person alone.
The sun’s warmth had coloured her skin a light honey-gold, but her eyes held shadows of sadness, her seldom offered smile lacked any real warmth, and her soft curves had become redefined into almost waif-like slenderness.
She could cope, she assured herself silently. She had to cope. The nights were the worst—hours when she lay awake staring into the darkness, remembering, caught up with visions so graphic, so explicit that it became an agony of the mind as well as of the flesh.
‘I’ve had an offer which I’m tempted to accept,’ Shane offered slowly, hating the shadows beneath her eyes, the carefully contrived smile, and the hint of sadness apparent whenever she thought no one was looking.
‘Hopefully not in the wilds of Africa, or Bosnia?’ Despite her lightly voiced query, there was an underlying concern. Neither location was an impossibility.
‘New Zealand. A geographic spread for the tourism industry. It’ll provide a contrast to my last assignment,’ he noted with wry humour. ‘As a bonus I get to go skiing and trek the Milford Sound.’
She turned back to face him. ‘When do you leave?’
‘How well you know me,’ came the slightly wry observation. ‘Tomorrow. Is that a problem?’
‘When will you be back?’
‘The end of next week, providing the weather holds and there are no delays.’ His expression softened. ‘Why don’t you cancel a few appointments and take some time off? You look ragged.’
‘Thanks.’ She managed a smile that didn’t fool him in the slightest. ‘Just what I needed to hear.’
‘Hey,’ Shane chided her gently. Lifting a hand, he brushed his knuckles along the edge of her jaw. ‘I care.’
A smile trembled at the edge of her lips. ‘I know.’
‘Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed may have been instrumental in saving my hide,’ he said quietly, ‘but if I could get my hands on him now I’d kill him for whatever it is that he’s done to you.’
Her eyes were remarkably steady as she met his. ‘He wanted marriage,’ she said evenly. ‘For all the wrong reasons.’
‘You love him.’
It was a statement she didn’t bother to deny. For as long as she could remember they’d shared an affinity, an extra perception that transcended the norm. It generated an indestructible bond—two minds so attuned to each other’s thoughts that there had rarely been the need to explain an action.
‘It isn’t enough.’ Her eyes felt large and ached with suppressed emotion.
‘The man is a fool,’ Shane said gently.
There had been no phone call, no fax. But then, she hadn’t expected any. You lie, a tiny voice taunted. Admit you hoped he would initiate some form of contact. Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed was a master player, and she hadn’t played the game according to his plan. There were a hundred other women who could fill his bed. Ten times that many who would leap at the chance.
Kristi switched on the answering machine and caught up her camera-bag. ‘Let’s lock up and get out of here.’
‘Dinner. Somewhere that serves good food,’ Shane suggested as he followed her to the door.
‘I’d rather go home.’
He tended the lock, checked that it was firmly in place, then moved ahead of her down the single flight of stairs. ‘A restaurant. I’m buying. And don’t argue,’ he added softly as they reached the pavement.
French cuisine at its best, Kristi mused almost two hours later. Despite her professed lack of appetite, she’d managed to do justice to chicken consommé followed by a delectable portion of steamed fish with a delicate lemon sauce, accompanied by an assortment of vegetables. To finish, she’d selected a compote of fresh fruit doused in brandy, then flambéed and served with cream.
‘Coffee?’
‘Please,’ she said gratefully. ‘Black, very strong.’ A few months ago she would have requested a decaffeinated variety and added milk. How some things change, she mused idly as she pushed down the plunger of the cafetière and poured the dark, aromatic brew into two cups. Adding a liberal amount of sugar, she sank back in her chair, then lifted the cup to her lips and took an appreciative mouthful.
The glass of Cabernet Shiraz she’d sipped throughout the meal had had a mellowing effect. ‘Thanks.’
‘For dinner?’
Kristi smiled. ‘For insisting on bringing me here.’
‘My pleasure.’
It was late, she was tired, and she knew that she really should go home, but she was loath to return to her empty apartment. So she finished her coffee and poured another for herself and for Shane.
‘Want to talk about it?’ he queried lightly, and she shook her head.
‘Then let’s do the business thing. What do you think about allowing Annie to buy a small share of the studio?’
‘You’re serious?’
‘You have reservations?’
‘It’s been Dalton Photographics for years,’ she protested. ‘Why change?’
‘It will still be Dalton Photographics.’
Comprehension dawned as she remembered the faintly wistful expression on a certain young woman’s face whenever Shane was in town. ‘Annie?’
‘Is it so obvious?’
‘Not to anyone else.’ A slow, sweet smile lit her features. ‘I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have as a sister-in-law.’
‘I proposed last night. When I get back from New Zealand we’ll make it official. More coffee?’
She shook her head, and he beckoned for the account, then che
cked off each item, signed, and handed over a tip as he got to his feet.
He took her key as they reached their parked vehicles, unlocked her door, then saw her safely seated behind the wheel with her belt in place.
‘Drive carefully.’
She cast him a teasing glance. ‘Always,’ she assured him. ‘Don’t fall off the side of a mountain.’
‘No chance.’ He reached out a hand and brushed his fingers against her cheek. ‘I’ll phone.’
‘Make sure of it.’ She turned the key in the ignition and fired the engine, then put the car into gear. ‘Ciao.’
It took fifteen minutes to reach her apartment, another fifteen for her to shower and slip into bed.
Perhaps it was the wine or the numerous sleepless nights but the next thing she heard was the sound of her alarm the following morning.
Annie was on the phone when Kristi walked into the studio shortly after eight, and in comical sign language she indicated that there was hot coffee in the percolator and could Kristi pour one for her too.
Annie should have opted for a career on the stage, Kristi mused as she extracted two mugs, added sugar, filled each with the hot, deliciously aromatic brew and deposited a mug on Annie’s desk. The girl was a natural-born satirist who could mimic anyone you cared to name.
‘Miss Dalton,’ Annie reiterated in a low, devilishly husky voice as soon as she replaced the receiver, her eyes sparkling with impish humour, ‘is summoned to undertake a photographic session at one of the most fabulous homes Point Piper has to offer. An interior decorator is being flown in from London after she’s sighted photographs of each room, the existing landscaping, and the exterior shot from every imaginable angle.’
‘When?’
‘One gets the feeling it should have been yesterday. I said that you couldn’t possibly fit him in until this afternoon.’
Kristi took an appreciative sip of coffee. ‘And?’
‘He negotiated for this morning.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I almost considered rescheduling. But he sounded...’ She paused, then continued with dramatic intonation, ‘frightfully autocratic. I decided he deserved to be taught a little humility.’
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 108
