She was wrong. The events of the day, the flight, each took their toll, and combined with the effects of pregnancy ensured she was asleep within minutes of her head touching the pillow.
Ana woke slowly, drifting pleasantly towards consciousness, unaware for a few disoriented seconds of her whereabouts.
Then it all came flooding back…the flight, Sydney, Luc.
Her eyes widened as she recognised the master suite, the large bed…and the familiar dark-haired male head resting on the pillow beside her own.
How could she be here when last night…?
‘You were asleep.’ Luc’s voice was an indolent drawl, and her gaze became trapped in his for a few heart-stopping seconds, then he shifted, moving that powerful frame into a sitting position with fluid ease.
Ana closed her eyes, then opened them again. There was too much warm olive-toned flesh moulded into enviable shape by muscle and sinew.
The smattering of chest hair made her fingers itch to tangle there, and she longed to reach up and curl her hands round his nape and drag his mouth down to hers.
Except she did none of those things. Instead anger rose to simmer beneath the surface as she sought to inch away from him.
‘You have no right—’
‘Yes, I do.’ He lifted a hand and brushed back a swathe of hair from her cheek.
She scrambled to the side of the bed, only to have him reach out and halt her flight.
‘Let me go!’
‘No.’
She lashed out at him, and struggled wildly as he pulled her onto his lap. Not a good position, she discovered. She was too close, much too close. And the dictates of her brain were at variance with the demand of her senses.
The thought of succumbing was more than she could bear, and she stilled, aware that fighting him was a futile exercise.
‘Don’t.’ The single negative held a beseeching anguish. ‘Please.’
It was the heartfelt plea that got to him, and he caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting it to examine her features.
Her eyes were deep enough to drown in, their emotions stark with a vulnerability that twisted his gut, and his gaze narrowed at the fast-beating pulse drumming at the base of her throat.
Her mouth shook a little, and he watched as she sought control. But it was the shimmering moisture in her eyes, and the single escaping tear running in a slow rivulet down one cheek that tore a husky imprecation from his lips.
With incredible gentleness he smoothed the moisture with his thumb, then he lowered his head and trailed his mouth over her cheek.
He let the palm of one hand slip down her arm and settle against the curve of her waist.
Their child grew there, a tiny embryo that would succour and gain strength. Its existence touched him as nothing else could.
‘Come share my shower.’
‘I don’t think so.’ He couldn’t know just how much it cost her to refuse. Yet to slip back easily into the relationship they’d shared would indicate she condoned his use of emotional blackmail…something she hated him for. And Celine…dear heaven, she didn’t even want to go there!
She slid from his grasp, aware it was only because he let her, and she gathered fresh underwear and retreated into the en suite.
Her stomach felt as if it didn’t belong to her, and she pressed a hand to her navel in an attempt to soothe the disturbance.
Fifteen minutes later, showered and dressed in tailored trousers, singlet top and jacket, she felt measurably better, and she caught up her shoulder bag and ran lightly down the stairs to the kitchen where Petros was preparing eggs Benedict and the smell of freshly brewed coffee was ambrosia.
‘Luc is in the dining-room. You will join him there.’ He spared her a warm smile. ‘I have made you tea.’
‘But I prefer—’
‘Tea. Caffeine is not recommended during pregnancy.’
Ana wrinkled her nose at him, feeling her spirits lighten a little. ‘Bossy, aren’t we?’ Hunger assailed her, and she took a slice of toast from the stacked rack Petros had just added to the breakfast trolley, nibbled on it, then filched a fresh strawberry and popped it into her mouth.
She curled both hands over the trolley handle. ‘Want me to take this through?’
‘Really, Ms Dimitriades,’ the man chastised with an aloofness that brought forth a smile. ‘Most definitely not.’
‘Don’t you think you could call me Ana?’ she cajoled, then added teasingly, ‘I’m almost young enough to be your daughter.’
He drew himself up to his full height. ‘You are the wife of my employer. I could not begin to be so familiar.’
A laugh bubbled up in her throat and escaped as a mischievous chuckle. ‘You call him Luc,’ she reminded, and met his level glance.
‘We have known each other a long time.’
‘So how many years do I have to wait before you accord me the honour of using my Christian name?’
‘Five years,’ he responded solemnly, skilfully transferring grilled bacon onto a heated platter and placing it on the trolley together with the eggs. ‘At least.’
‘In that case, I get to wheel the trolley.’
His mouth parted in silent protest, then he pursed his lips as he caught her cheeky grin, watching as she took care of the chore and leaving him to tidy the kitchen.
The informal dining-room was at the back of the house, overlooking the pool, and caught the morning sun.
Ana reached it in seconds and swept through the open door. ‘Breakfast…at your service.’
Luc was seated at the head of the table, the day’s newspaper spread out in front of him, a half-finished cup of coffee to one side.
His jacket hung over the back of his chair, on top of which lay his tie. A briefcase and laptop rested on the floor near by.
He looked up at the sound of her voice, cast the trolley a quizzical glance, then folded the newspaper.
‘How did you manage that?’
‘Feminine wiles and logical rationale.’ She shifted platters onto the table, added fresh coffee, tea, and toast, then she drew out a chair and sat down.
She poured herself tea, added milk, then helped herself to eggs and toast.
Heaven, she decided after the first mouthful. No one but Petros made eggs Benedict this good.
‘I imagine you’ll call your father and Rebekah this morning?’
‘Yes.’ She took a sip of tea, and felt her stomach settle. ‘Dad, as soon as I finish this.’ She indicated the plate with her fork. ‘Then I’ll go into the shop.’
‘Not to work.’
There was almost an edge of command apparent, and she paused in the process of transferring a portion of food to her mouth. ‘Of course, to work.’
‘There’s no need for you to work.’
‘Are we talking today specifically?’
‘At all.’ There was no mistaking the clarification.
‘Now that I’m pregnant?’ Her voice was quiet, too quiet.
‘I don’t see the necessity for you to be on your feet all day, put in long hours, and become overtired.’
She replaced her cutlery with care and pushed her plate aside. ‘Instead, you’d prefer me to join the social-luncheon set, shop a lot and rest each afternoon like a delicate swan?’
‘You can shift your interest in the shop to that of silent partner, and have Rebekah employ an assistant.’
‘No.’
‘I’m not giving you an option.’
His voice was silk-smooth with an edge of anger she chose to ignore.
‘Don’t try to manipulate me, Luc.’ Heat flared, turning her eyes into brilliant blue shards. ‘I won’t stand for it.’
‘Finish your breakfast.’
‘I’ve lost my appetite.’ She stood to her feet and tossed the napkin onto the table. ‘I have a few calls to make.’
He caught hold of her arm, halting her flight, and she had no illusions his grasp would tighten if she attempted to struggle.
‘Te
ll Rebekah to employ your replacement.’ Those who knew him well would have blanched at the silkiness in his tone, recognised the predatory stillness apparent…and quailed. ‘Or I will.’ He waited a beat. ‘Meanwhile, ensure your time at the shop is kept to a minimum.’
‘Go to hell.’
His gaze chilled. ‘Don’t push me too far.’
She ignored the urge to respond as he released her arm. Instead she chose dignified silence, and walked out onto the terrace and descended the few steps to the garden.
There, she extracted her cellphone and called her father, confirmed her return and suggested lunch, only to have it postponed due to a business meeting until the following day.
He sounded distracted, anxious. Regretful?
Dammit, she wanted answers, or at least a reason why a man known for his loyalty and integrity had done something so out of character. And she needed to hear it from him.
But not today, she conceded as she retraced her steps.
CHAPTER FOUR
PETROS was clearing the table when she entered the dining-room.
‘Luc has left for the city.’
‘I’ll need the keys to my car.’
The manservant continued loading the trolley with breakfast dishes. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
Ana spared Petros a level glance. ‘Luc is aware of my plans for the day.’
‘Didn’t agree with them, though, did he?’
‘I have things to do, places to go.’
‘The shop,’ Petros concluded. ‘Where you’ll work all day.’
‘I help run a business,’ she reminded firmly.
‘Luc will disapprove.’
She picked up her satchel, slung the strap over one shoulder and collected her car keys. ‘I’ll make sure he knows you told me so.’
‘I’ll drive you.’
‘Thanks.’ She was aware just how deep the man’s loyalty went to his employer. ‘But, no thanks.’
The shop was situated among a group of boutique shops in trendy Double Bay, and possessed a regular clientele.
Rebekah had a talent assembling flowers into an art form, and went the extra mile to match blooms to both the recipient and the occasion. Ana took care of business…ordering, supplies, overseeing deliveries, liaising with the customers.
Wire, scissors, ribbon…and more than a little magic had earned Blooms and Bouquets a well-deserved reputation.
Ana entered the shop just after nine, and breathed in the scent filling the air, sharp and sweet, heady.
The slim blonde arranging blooms in a decorative basket glanced up at the sound of the electronic bell.
‘Ana! It’s so good to see you! When did you get back?’
‘Last night.’
Ana found herself caught in an affectionate hug, from which she disentangled herself to meet Rebekah’s keen appraisal.
‘OK, what gives?’
‘As in?’
‘Your cryptic phone messages didn’t come close to explaining the reason you flew the coop. And I don’t buy Celine was the only reason,’ Rebekah warned. ‘So tell me.’
She could prevaricate, but what was the point? ‘I’m pregnant.’
There was initial surprise, then her sister’s mouth curved into a warm smile and her eyes lit up with pleasure, only to narrow slightly seconds later. ‘So how come you’re not dancing with joy?’
‘It wasn’t planned.’
Rebekah appeared sceptical. ‘And that’s a problem?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘But something’s bothering you. Want to share?’
She was silent a few seconds too long, and Rebekah’s voice gentled a little.
‘Have you told Luc the extent of Celine’s interference? Or just how vicious she’s been?’
What difference would it make? ‘No.’
‘Don’t you think you should?’
‘I can handle Celine.’
‘Darling,’ Rebekah cautioned in rebuke. ‘Given half a chance she’ll eat you up and spit you out.’
Ana offered her sister a wry smile. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘I care about you.’ She waited a beat. ‘That’s it? There’s nothing else?’
Ana was torn between confiding their father’s problems, and keeping silent. ‘Blame it on raging hormones,’ she dismissed with a negligible shrug, and even managed a rueful laugh.
‘At a guess, my gorgeous brother-in-law would prefer his wife to remain at home?’
It was nothing less than the truth. ‘Got it in one.’
‘So that’s why you came into work?’
A faint smile curved the edges of her mouth. ‘You know me well.’
‘As I have no wish to have Luc flay me alive,’ Rebekah declared judiciously, ‘from this day forward I take care of any heavy stuff. OK?’
‘Maybe.’
‘And you take an hour for lunch.’
‘A concession I don’t need.’
‘You do the computer stuff.’
Ana assumed a pained look. ‘Who said you get to be boss?’
Rebekah gave her a cheeky grin. ‘I do.’
‘Like I’ll listen?’
‘You could try.’
She deposited her bag, snagged a uniform coverall and donned it, then crossed to examine the order book. ‘OK, let’s get to it.’
They worked together with the ease of long practice, and the deliveries went out on time, the Interflora orders were dealt with, and there was genuine pleasure in consulting with a prospective bride wanting something different for her bridal bouquet.
Ana was unpacking roses, glorious, long-stemmed, tight-budded blooms, when Rebekah handed her the cordless phone.
‘The father of your child.’
Checking up on her. ‘Luc,’ she acknowledged, and heard his silky drawl in response.
‘I thought we agreed you’d limit your hours at the shop.’
‘I don’t recall accepting your suggestion to do so.’
‘Don’t split hairs.’
‘Is that what you think I’m doing?’
‘Ana.’ His voice held a warning threat she chose to ignore.
‘Your concern is touching.’
‘We’ll continue this discussion later.’
‘I can’t wait.’ She ended the call before he had a chance to utter a further word.
Not a good move, she reflected, given they were dining out that evening with friends. Correction…a few of Luc’s colleagues and their partners. Wives, girlfriends, and mistress.
Ana had no doubt Celine Moore would make sure of the inclusion in a continuing effort to put the cat among the pigeons. The glamorous Celine was the queen of all felines…dangerous and deadly. While women recognised her power and were disturbed by it, men looked no further than stunning looks and her incredible sexuality.
Reneging on the evening was out of the question, and Ana felt the onset of nervous tension as the afternoon drew to a close.
‘Go home,’ Rebekah advised. ‘I can manage things here until we close.’
‘That bad, huh?’
‘Nothing a leisurely shower and skilfully applied make-up won’t fix.’
Ana rolled her eyes. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Rebekah offered a cheerful grin. ‘Wear something gorgeous, and go knock Celine off her perch.’
‘As if. She has claws of steel.’
‘You have a few advantages. As well as Luc’s ring on your finger, you’re carrying his child.’
‘The ring hasn’t had any effect. What makes you think pregnancy will?’
Rebekah shot her a level look. ‘We’re talking Luc,’ she reminded. ‘Not someone like the rat I married and divorced in record time.’
Ana was all too aware of the impact an unsuccessful marriage had on her sister’s life, the bitterness and rejection, the heartache. Three years had helped heal the wounds, but the emotional scars ran deep, leaving a wariness and distrust of men.
Support was a g
iven, but she’d learnt to hold back on expressing verbal sympathy. Only a caring few knew Rebekah’s hard exterior was merely a shell she wore to protect an inner vulnerability.
How would Rebekah react on hearing her brother-in-law had utilised emotional blackmail to bring Ana home?
‘Go,’ Rebekah bade. ‘I’ll do the markets.’
‘That’s unfair.’ Sharing the pre-dawn run to buy fresh flowers at the markets each day was a given. ‘I’m pregnant, not sick. Besides, you’ve had to do it while I was away.’
‘I doubt Luc will hear of it.’
‘Luc,’ she assured, ‘doesn’t dictate my life.’
It wasn’t something she wanted to give much thought to as she fought the late-afternoon traffic en route to his palatial home.
Petros greeted her as she entered the foyer. ‘Luc will be delayed a half-hour, Ms Dimitriades.’
‘Ana,’ she corrected for the umpteenth time, aware having Petros use her Christian name was a battle she’d probably never win.
The man’s role was multi-faceted, at times his manner bore resemblance to military training. His age was indeterminable, but she pinned it between early-to-mid-fifties, and there was a sharpness about him that belied his household position.
General factotum, without doubt, but she was unable to shake the suspicion he also acted as bodyguard on occasion.
When she’d queried Luc, he merely relayed Petros had moved from his late father’s employ to his own.
‘It would be disrespectful for me to be so familiar with the boss’s wife.’
Exasperation tinged her voice. ‘Oh, put a sock in it.’
‘Where precisely should I put the sock?’
She was strongly tempted to tell him. Instead, she chose silence, squared her shoulders and mounted the stairs with as much dignity as she could muster.
Selecting what to wear should have been simple, except there were too many choices. Classic black, or scarlet? Maybe the emerald sheath? One of the pastels with its floating chiffon panels?
Fifteen minutes later she threw her hands up in the air, tossed a black sheath with a lace overlay onto the bed, retrieved black stiletto-heeled pumps and caught up filmy black underwear en route to the en suite bathroom.
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 141
