The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  For what seemed an age he just looked at her, his silence unnerving in the stillness of the room.

  She was damned if she’d cry. Tears were for the weak and she had to be strong. Her eyes ached as she strove to keep the moisture at bay, and she almost succeeded. Almost—the exception being a solitary tear which overflowed and spilled slowly down one cheek. It came to rest at the corner of her mouth, and after a few long seconds she edged the tip of her tongue out to dispense with it.

  A husky, self-deprecating oath fell from his lips, and she stood in mesmerised silence as he caught hold of her hand and carried it to his mouth.

  ‘Dear God,’ Shalef groaned. ‘Don’t.’ His hand moved to capture her shoulders, then slid upwards to stroke her hair. His eyes were dark—so dark that they mirrored her own emotional pain as he held her head.

  ‘For years I have enjoyed feminine company and never had to work at a relationship. You,’ he enlightened her with gentle emphasis, ‘mentally stripped me of all my material possessions and judged me for the man that I am without them. For the first time I had nothing to rely on except myself. It wasn’t an enviable situation,’ he said with a touch of self-mockery.

  Kristi stood perfectly still, almost afraid to move.

  ‘You didn’t conform and I was intrigued. I thought I knew every facet of a woman, but you proved me wrong.’ He paused, tilting her face slightly so that she had to look at him. ‘You opposed me at every turn, and argued without hesitation. Yet you were angelic with Nashwa, sympathetic with Aisha and Hanan. I knew without doubt that I wanted you as my wife.’ His expression became faintly wry. ‘I imagined all I had to do was ask and you’d agree.’

  He smiled, and the first flutter of hope began to stir inside her stomach.

  ‘Instead you refused and walked out on me. My initial instinct was to follow you. Yet if I had then, even if I’d said the words you so wanted to hear, you would have been disinclined to believe them. So I decided to give you time. Not too much, but enough. Enough for me to set up this house and invent a reason to get you here.’

  Her lips parted to protest, and he stilled her flow of words very effectively by taking possession of her mouth.

  When he finally lifted his head, her own was reeling with the degree of passion he’d managed to evoke.

  ‘This afternoon I wanted to declare my love the instant you walked in the door, but I had to allow for your outrage,’ he qualified with genuine regret, ‘and crack the protective barrier you’d erected around your heart.’ His lips settled against her temple, then trailed a gentle path down to the edge of her mouth.

  She felt shaky, and almost afraid to believe his words.

  ‘I have something for you,’ Shalef said gently. He withdrew a ring from his trouser pocket and placed it in the palm of her hand. ‘It belonged to my mother, gifted to her by my father.’

  Kristi looked at the wide gold ring embedded with diamonds.

  ‘She never wore it, preferring a plain gold band, but she accepted it for what it represented...a symbol of my father’s love.’

  She raised her eyes to meet his, saw the depth of passion evident, and was unable to tear her gaze away.

  ‘It was held in safe-keeping and handed to me on my twenty-fifth birthday, with the relayed request that I gift it to the woman I chose to be my wife.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Kristi said simply.

  He brushed his fingers down her cheek, and warmth radiated through her body, bringing with it the need for the sweet sorcery of his touch.

  ‘Marriage was something I viewed as a convenient necessity with a woman of whom I could become fond...someone who could be my social hostess, the mother of my children, and pleasure me in bed.’ He smiled—a slightly wry gesture that was belied by the warm humour evident in the depths of his eyes. ‘Then I met you. And every woman of my acquaintance paled in comparison.’ He traced the curves of her mouth with a forefinger, and followed its path with his tongue before seeking the soft inner tissues, to create an emotional demand which she didn’t hesitate to answer.

  When at last he lifted his head she could only look at him in bemusement as she saw the raw need, the hunger and the passion in his eyes.

  ‘I love you. Love,’ Shalef declared as he slid trembling hands to frame her face.

  His eyes were dark, almost black, and Kristi sensed the faint uncertainty in his touch—a vulnerability she’d thought she would never see. It moved her more than she could bear.

  ‘I know the only worthy gift I can bestow on you is my heart,’ he said deeply. ‘It’s yours. For as long as it beats within me.’

  Joy unfurled from deep within her and soared to an unbelievable height. Without hesitation she lifted her hands and wound them round his neck.

  ‘I’ll take great care of it,’ she promised softly.

  His features assumed a gentleness that almost made her want to cry. ‘And you’ll marry me?’

  Kristi smiled—a wonderfully warm smile that was meant to banish any doubts. The desire to tease him a little was irresistible. ‘Are you asking?’

  His faint laugh was low and husky as he gathered her close in against him. ‘You want me to go down on bended knee?’

  ‘I may never see you so humbled again,’ she ventured solemnly, and he slowly shook his head.

  ‘You’re wrong. Each day I’ll give thanks that I have the good fortune to share your life.’

  She felt the prick of tears, and was unable to still the twin rivulets that ran slowly down each cheek.

  ‘You haven’t answered.’

  Her mouth trembled. ‘Yes.’

  His mouth closed over hers, possessing it with such incredible passion that she felt dizzy when he finally lifted his head.

  ‘Will you mind if the civil ceremony in London is followed by another in Riyadh?’

  It was somehow fitting, and something that would have pleased his father. She thought of sharing the arrangements with Nashwa, Aisha and Hanan, and knew the enjoyment it would give them.

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘We’ll spend the first week of our honeymoon in Taif, then cruise the Greek islands for a month.’

  ‘June is a nice month for brides,’ Kristi offered wistfully.

  ‘Next week,’ Shalef commanded. ‘You fly out to London with me tomorrow. Don’t object,’ he ordered as she opened her mouth.

  ‘I could follow in a few days. No?’ Her eyes sparkled mischievously. ‘The day after?’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he reaffirmed, giving her a gentle shake.

  ‘In that case I’d better go home and pack.’

  ‘All you need is your passport and a change of clothes, which we’ll collect from your apartment en route to the airport in the morning.’ His mouth fastened over hers in a kiss that left her weak kneed and malleable. ‘I have plans for what remains of the night.’ He revealed precisely what those plans were, none of which involved any sleep. ‘You can rest on the plane,’ he added gently as he placed an arm beneath her knees and swung her into his arms.

  In the bedroom he lowered her to her feet, and she reached for the buttons on his shirt, slipping them free before tackling the belt at his waist.

  Kristi uttered a small gasp as his fingers brushed against her breast, then she groaned out loud as he began teasing each burgeoning peak, intensifying an awareness that radiated from the centre of her being until it encompassed every vein, every sensitised nerve-ending.

  She was his, wholly, completely, to do precisely whatever he wanted with, and she helped him shed what remained of her clothes while he gave assistance in discarding his own before drawing her down onto the bed.

  ‘My darling,’ Shalef whispered with due reverence as he studied the silky sheen of her smooth-textured skin, and his gaze lingered on the soft curves of her breasts, the delicately shaped waist, before settling on the deep auburn curls protecting her womanhood.

  He lifted a hand and brushed his fingers back and forth over the soft concavity of her stomach before traili
ng to trace the bones at one hip.

  Her whole body ached with the promise of passion too long denied, and she reached for him.

  ‘I want you now,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘All of you, inside me, without any preliminaries.’ She cried out as his fingers slipped beneath the soft curls to initiate a sweet sorcery that quickly tipped her over the edge into a secret place where passion flared into an all-consuming fire, sweeping aside inhibition as it imbued her with an abandon that completely took his breath away as he carefully prepared her to accept his swollen length.

  Silken tissues stretched to accommodate him, warm and wonderfully sleek as she met that initial thrust, encouraging his total possession by rising up against him in a rhythm that increased in pace until there was no master, no mistress, only two people in perfect accord, intent on gifting the other with the ultimate pleasure.

  Afterwards she rested her cheek against the curve of his shoulder, too satiated to move so much as a muscle as he lightly trailed his fingers up and down the length of her spine.

  This time their lovemaking was slow and erotic, ascending to new heights of intoxicating sensuality, and it was almost dawn before they drifted into a deep sleep from which they woke in time to shower, dress and depart for the airport via her apartment.

  Once aboard the plane, Kristi slept most of the way to Hawaii, waking to meet the indulgent eyes of the man who would soon be her husband.

  ‘Hello,’ she greeted him softly, giving him a smile, so warm and so incredibly sweet that it almost robbed him of breath.

  Careless of the other passengers travelling in the first-class section of the aircraft, he leaned over and bestowed a lingering kiss on her lips.

  ‘I’ve booked us into a hotel for a fourteen-hour, stopover.’

  Her eyes filled with wicked humour. ‘Only fourteen hours?’

  His mouth softened into a sensual curve. ‘You require more than fourteen?’

  She reached out a hand and traced the strong sweep of his jawline before covering his cheek with her palm. ‘I love you.’

  ‘Now you tell me,’ Shalef groaned softly. ‘Here, where I can do very little about it.’

  She cast him an angelic smile that was totally at variance with the witching sparkle lighting her eyes. ‘Patience, they tell me, is good for the soul.’

  His answering gaze was filled with musing self-mockery. ‘Patience,’ he stressed lightly, ‘will doubtless stretch the limit of my control.’

  Kristi laughed softly. ‘I promise I’ll allow you to make up for it.’

  One eyebrow rose in a gesture of wry humour. ‘That’s supposed to get me through dinner, landing, Customs and a three-quarter-hour drive to the hotel?’

  Her eyes teased him unmercifully. ‘But think of the reward...for each of us.’

  His expression darkened with the promise of renewed passion. ‘Indeed,’ he agreed gently. ‘A lifetime.’

  Mistress by Arrangement

  Helen Bianchin

  For Alex and Angie Kidas,

  with gratitude and affection

  CHAPTER ONE

  MICHELLE sipped superb Chardonnay from a crystal wineglass and cast an idle glance at the room’s occupants.

  The men were resplendent in black dinner suits, white dress shirts and black bow ties, while the women vied with each other in designer gowns.

  This evening’s occasion was a simple dinner party for ten guests held in the beautiful home of their hosts, Antonia and Emerson Bateson-Burrows, whose reputation for providing fine wine, excellent food, and scintillating company was almost unequalled in Queensland’s Gold Coast society.

  ‘Another drink, darling?’

  She felt the proprietorial clasp of Jeremy’s arm along the back of her waist.

  Mine, the action seemed to shriek. The fond glance of his parents, hers, merely served to endorse their approval.

  Did they think she was unaware of the subtle manipulative matchmaking attempts of late? It was too much of a coincidence that Jeremy had been a fellow guest at several social events she’d attended in the past four weeks.

  Marriage wasn’t on her agenda, nor was she willing to drift into a meaningless relationship. Thanks to an annuity from her maternal grandmother, her life was good. At twenty-five, she owned her own apartment, ran a successful art gallery in partnership with a friend, and she had no inclination to change the status quo.

  She felt the faint pressure of Jeremy’s hand at her waist and she summoned a polite smile. ‘Thanks, but I’ll wait until dinner.’

  Which would be when? Were all the guests not accounted for? Speculation rose as she glimpsed Jeremy’s mother spare her wristwatch a surreptitious glance.

  Who would dare to be late for a Bateson-Burrows soiree?

  ‘Mother is becoming a tad anxious,’ Jeremy revealed, sotto voce. ‘Nikos warned he might be unavoidably late.’

  Curiosity sparked Michelle’s interest. ‘Nikos?’

  Jeremy cast her an amused look. ‘Alessandros. Greek origin, relatively new money, respectably earned,’ he added. ‘Electronics. Bases in Athens, Rome, Paris, London, Vancouver, Sydney.’

  ‘If his Australian base is in Sydney, what’s he doing on the Gold Coast?’

  ‘He has a penthouse in Main Beach,’ Jeremy enlightened. ‘The man is a consummate strategist. Word has it he’s about to close an enviable deal.’ His mouth formed a cynical twist. ‘Instead of flying directly to Sydney, he’s chosen to negotiate from the Gold Coast.’

  ‘Impressive,’ she acknowledged, summoning a mental image of a short, paunchy, balding middle-aged Greek with a stylish much younger wife.

  ‘Very,’ Jeremy declared succinctly. ‘Father covets his patronage and his business account.’

  ‘And his friendship?’

  ‘It’s at an adequate level.’

  Adequate presumably wasn’t good enough, and Emerson Bateson-Burrows’ extended invitation to dine was merely part of a larger plan.

  Politics, business and social, involved an intricate strategy of a kind that occasionally sickened her altruistic mind.

  ‘Two hours to dine and socialise over coffee,’ Jeremy inclined. ‘Then we can escape and go on to a nightclub.’

  It irked her that he took her acquiescence for granted. She was on the point of telling him so, when some sixth sense alerted her attention.

  Curious, she lifted her head and felt the breath catch in her throat.

  ‘Nikos,’ Jeremy informed her, although she barely registered the verbal identification as her interest was captured by the tall male figure who had just entered the room.

  He possessed broad-boned features, a strong jaw, and his mouth was chiselled perfection.

  A man, Michelle perceived with instinctive insight, who wore the fine clothes of a gentleman, possessed the requisite good manners...and had the heart of a predatory warrior.

  It was evident in his stance, the cool assessing quality in those dark slate-grey eyes as they roamed the room and its occupants.

  They flicked towards her, paused, then settled in a slow appraisal of her dark honey-blond hair, green eyes, and the slender feminine curves encased in a black designer dress.

  There was no power on earth that could suppress the faint shivery sensation feathering its way down her spine at the intensity of that look. She felt as if it stripped away the conventional bamer of clothes, lingerie, and stroked her skin.

  It took considerable effort to match his appraisal, but she was damned if she’d concede him any sort of victory by glancing away.

  Dark hair, well-groomed. Broad shoulders beneath expensive tailoring, and his shoes were hand-tooled leather. In his mid-thirties, he was the antithesis of the middle-aged paunchy balding man Michelle had envisaged.

  She watched as he worked the room during an introductory circuit, noting the undoubted charm, the easy smile, an easy grace of movement that implied a high level of physical fitness.

  ‘Michelle Gerard,’ Antonia announced by way of introduction, reaching t
heir side. ‘Jeremy’s girlfriend.’

  Nikos Alessandros reached forward, took hold of her hand, and raised it to his lips.

  Michelle’s eyes flew wide with shock as he placed a brief open-mouthed kiss to her palm, then he curled her fingers as if to seal in the flagrant action. Heat flooded her veins, coursing through her body as each nerve-end sprang into vibrant life.

  ‘Michelle.’ His voice held a faint inflection, an accent that was more international than indicative of his own nationality.

  Primitive alchemy, potent and incredibly lethal, was a compelling force, and her skin burned where his lips had touched.

  ‘We meet again.’

  Again? She’d never met him in this lifetime. If she had, she’d remember. No woman alive could possibly forget someone of Nikos Alessandros’ calibre!

  Michelle was at once conscious of Antonia’s surprised gaze coupled with Jeremy’s sharp attention.

  ‘You’ve already met?’

  ‘While Michelle was studying at the Sorbonne in Paris,’ Nikos declared with knowledgeable ease.

  A calculated guess? Somehow she doubted it. Which immediately drew the question as to how he came by the information.

  ‘Really?’ Antonia queried lightly after a few seconds silence.

  Michelle watched in fascination as he directed her a blatantly sensual smile. ‘How could I forget?’

  She should refute they’d ever set eyes on each other, and accuse him of being a sexist opportunist.

  ‘Your capacity to remember surprises me.’ That much was true, yet as soon as the words left her lips she wondered at the wisdom of playing his game.

  Midsummer madness? An attempt to alleviate the matchmaking techniques employed by two sets of parents? Or just plain devilry.

  Nikos’ eyes never left her own, and she experienced the uncanny sensation he could read her mind. Worse, that he could dissect the conventional barriers she’d learnt to erect and divine the path to her soul.

  It wasn’t a comfortable feeling. But then, she doubted there was anything comfortable about this man.

  Dangerous, occasionally merciless, powerful. And rarely predictable. A tiny imp added, incredibly sexual. An earthy, uninhibited lover who would seek every liberty, and encourage a similar response. Demand, she amended with instinctive knowledge.