He pleasured her with such acute sensitivity it was all she could do not to cry out as sensuality reached fever pitch, and she clung to him, urging his possession until he joined his body to her own.
His mouth covered her own as they scaled the heights of passion in a rhythm only lovers shared.
Afterwards she fell asleep in his arms, and she had no knowledge that the man who held her lay awake in the darkness, lost in reflective thought.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ANA followed the delivery van into the bowels of Celine’s apartment building, and secured the lift while Harry, the delivery guy, transported the buckets of cut flowers.
‘That’s everything, Harry?’
‘The lot.’
‘OK, let’s go.’
Harry did the heavy work, then left, and Ana utilised the laundry as her work-station.
‘I trust you won’t make a mess.’
Ana glanced up from separating various stands of natives, and aimed for a pleasant smile. ‘It’ll be minimal, Celine, and contained here.’
A half-hour should have been sufficient, but it took twice that as Celine changed her mind on previously agreed displays.
If Ana had been mean-spirited, she would have said it was a deliberate attempt to minimise her ability and expertise.
She silently repeated ‘the customer is always right’ mantra, and maintained a professionally polite demeanour. But it was difficult, very difficult!
At last all three displays finally earned Celine’s grudging approval, and Ana began restoring the laundry to its former tidiness.
It didn’t take long, and she emerged into the hallway, empty buckets in hand, her equipment neatly stacked in a holdall.
‘Watch your back, darling,’ Celine advised coolly as she led the way to the door. ‘I play to win.’
‘And you don’t care who you hurt in the process?’
The woman plucked an imaginary speck from the sleeve of her blouse. ‘Not at all.’
‘Naturally, Luc is the prize.’
‘Of course.’
‘You’ve neglected one aspect in your campaign,’ Ana said carefully.
‘And what’s that?’
‘Luc’s willingness to play.’
‘You don’t get it, do you?’ Celine queried. ‘Men of Luc’s calibre think nothing of maintaining a mistress.’
‘While the wife turns a blind eye, accepting the lifestyle, social prestige, and unlimited spending money in lieu of fidelity?’
‘You could do much worse.’
‘Sorry, Celine. That’s not what I want for myself or my child.’
A concerted smile tilted Celine’s carefully painted mouth. ‘Can I take that as a given?’
‘Absolutely.’
It wasn’t the best exit line she’d ever offered, but she derived a sense of dignity as she walked from the apartment and took the lift down to the basement carpark.
It was late when she arrived home. Luc’s Mercedes wasn’t in the garage, and when she checked her cellphone there was a text message relaying a business meeting had run over time and they intended winding it up over dinner.
A message Petros confirmed as she made her way through the foyer to the kitchen.
‘I’ve made vegetable soup, with a steak salad.’
Oliver appeared through the doorway and stalked across the tiles to brush himself against her leg. She bent down and scratched behind his ear, then stroked his tummy when he rolled over onto his back.
‘I’ll go shower and change, then be down in about fifteen minutes.’
Tonight she chose to eat indoors, and afterwards she settled down in front of the television set, channel-hopped, then riffled through the collection of DVDs, found one that appealed, and slotted it into the player.
At nine Petros brought her freshly made tea, then he retired to his flat.
The movie ran its course, and she wavered between slotting in another or going to bed.
Bed won, and she settled Oliver in the laundry, then made her way upstairs.
She reflected on the day’s events as she discarded her clothes, lingering on Celine’s pernickety fussing with the floral displays. A dinner party. She wondered how it was going, and who were the guests.
Then her hands froze.
No. Surely not. Luc’s business meeting was a legitimate meeting…wasn’t it? He wouldn’t, couldn’t be one of Celine’s dinner guests. Could he?
However, the seed of doubt was planted, and steadily over the next hour it took root.
Imagination was a terrible thing, Ana accepted as she plumped her pillow for the umpteenth time and checked the bedside clock.
Eleven-o-five. So it was a leisurely meal, with Luc and his associates lingering over coffee.
She was still awake at eleven-thirty, convinced the business meeting was long over…if in fact there had been any meeting at all!
Damn Luc. If he’d dined as a guest at Celine’s apartment, she’d kill him. In her mind, she conducted the argument they would have, the accusations she’d fling, and the physical fight that would follow. Then, she reasoned, she’d throw a few clothes into a suitcase and walk out of this house, his life, and never return.
Luc Dimitriades would never see his child, never again see her, and…
The peal of the telephone was a stark, intrusive sound that jolted her into action, and she fumbled for the bedside lamp, then picked up the receiver.
‘Luc?’
‘He’ll be home soon, darling.’ Celine’s voice was recognisable and held a distinct purr. ‘Just thought I’d let you know.’
Ana heard a click as the call ended, and she slowly lowered the receiver down onto its cradle.
A few choice oaths slipped from her tongue as she stared blankly at the opposite wall. Bastard. How could he?
All too easily, she concluded silently.
She switched off the lamp and settled down in bed to stare emptily into the room’s darkness for what seemed an age.
Images ran through her mind. Luc sharing Celine’s table, conversing with fellow guests. A cynical laugh rose in her throat. Or maybe there were no guests at all, and it was strictly dinner à deux.
And afterwards… Dear heaven, she didn’t want to think about afterwards.
He’d promised fidelity. Would he, had he broken that promise?
Get real, a tiny voice taunted. As if he’s going to admit to it.
A slight sound made the breath catch in her throat, and she tensed as the bedroom door opened, then closed with an almost silent click.
He didn’t turn on a light, and seconds later she heard the faint rustle of clothes being discarded. He’d probably shrugged out of his jacket and loosened his tie as he ascended the stairs, and it wasn’t difficult to picture him unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it free from his trousers and tossing it onto the bedroom chair.
Shoes and socks would follow, and she detected the slide of a zip fastener as he prepared to remove his trousers.
All that remained were his briefs, and they too would be discarded to suit his preference to sleep naked.
For a moment she had a mental image of his tall, tightly muscled frame. The breadth of shoulder, the tapered waist, lean hips, powerful thighs. The fluid way he moved.
The mere thought he might have been at Celine’s apartment incensed her, and her body tensed as she felt the faint depression of the mattress.
If he came close… Her mind seethed with a number of possible scenarios, each featuring various forms of retribution.
For the space of a few seemingly long seconds it seemed as if he was settling to sleep, and she slowly released the breath she’d unconsciously held from the moment he’d slid into bed.
The brush of his thigh and the touch of his arm as he curled his large body into the curve of her own brought an instant reaction.
Ana jabbed her elbow into his ribcage in a stark movement that took him completely by surprise, and the breath hissed from his throat as she kicked both heels into his
shins.
‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ The words scarcely left her mouth when she followed them with a scandalised yelp as he used both arms to hold her close. ‘Let me go, damn you!’
He was too big, too strong, for her to escape, and any attempt she made to kick his shins was prevented as he scissored both her legs between his own.
In one easy movement he rolled onto his back, carrying her with him, holding her there with galling ease as he reached out a hand and switched on the bedside light.
She looked magnificent in her fury, Luc perceived through narrowed eyes. Her hair was loose and tumbled, her cheeks flushed, her eyes brilliant sapphire shards meant to tear him to shreds.
The nightshirt she wore didn’t begin to cover her and rode high over her hips.
‘Now,’ Luc growled huskily. ‘Suppose you explain what this is all about.’
Ana struggled afresh, and managed to free one of her hands. She acted without thought, barely conscious of swinging her arm in a swift arc until her palm connected with his cheek. The sharp sound seemed loud in the silence of the room, and there was a part of her that registered horror at having lashed out at him.
Dear God. Such anger culminating in one retaliatory slap.
Her eyes widened in shock as she saw his features harden, facial muscles tightening into a visual mask of anger.
‘Let me go!’
‘Not in this lifetime, pedhaki mou.’
‘You’re hurting me.’
‘No. I’m being extremely careful not to.’ He had no trouble restraining her hands, and he was quick to take evasive action as she brought her head down and attempted to bite his arm. ‘Stop it. You’ll only hurt yourself.’
‘Go to hell.’
‘You consign me there with increasing regularity.’ His voice was a hateful drawl that irked her unbearably. ‘This isn’t the first time I’ve had to attend a business dinner and arrived home late. Why such a reaction tonight?’
She wanted to hit him, and tried, only to find the effort futile. ‘As if you don’t know!’
His features bore a sculpted hardness, and his eyes were dark. Temper held in tight control, but there, none the less. ‘If I knew, I wouldn’t need to ask.’
Ana made a further attempt to pull free, and failed. ‘I hate you.’
‘For what, specifically?’
Her anger moved up a notch. ‘This afternoon I spent an hour in Celine’s apartment arranging flowers for a dinner party she was having tonight.’ She threw him a fulminating glare. ‘Twenty minutes ago she rang to tell me you were on your way home.’
Luc went still. ‘You believe I was with Celine?’ His voice was quiet. Way too quiet.
‘You do the maths.’
‘You think I’d lie to you?’
She didn’t answer, couldn’t. Her voice seemed to have temporarily disappeared.
‘Worse,’ he continued silkily. ‘Come from her bed to yours?’
Icily bleak eyes riveted hers, trapping her in his gaze, and she caught the grim resolve apparent as he captured her head and held it fast.
‘You expect me to accept your word unconditionally?’
‘Is that so difficult?’
‘Based on blind faith?’ Ana lashed out with scepticism. ‘My naïvety?’ She was on a roll. ‘Please. Don’t insult my intelligence.’
He held on to his temper with difficulty. ‘Why would I go out for hamburger when I have fillet steak at home?’
Oh, my. ‘That’s some analogy.’
‘Cristos.’ The oath held a dangerous softness that sent apprehension scudding down the length of her spine. ‘This has gone far enough!’
In one fluid movement he slid from the bed and picked up the phone, then swore and crossed to the small antique desk, flicked on the lamp, then he opened a drawer and pulled out a phone book.
It took him only seconds to riffle through the pages, find the appropriate one, scan the relevant names and punch in the required digits.
Ana told herself she wasn’t going to listen, but she’d have had to put both hands over her ears to close out the sound of his voice.
Hard, inflexible words, with no hint of observing any social niceties, they carried an unmistakable warning to cease and desist from verbal stalking, or he’d take legal action.
His controlled anger held a menacing quality as he replaced the receiver and turned to face her.
‘Give me all of it. From the beginning.’
‘Celine?’
‘All, Ana. Every hint, each accusation…don’t leave anything out.’
It took a while, but at last she was done, and her face paled at his expression.
‘That’s it?’
Most of it…unless you counted the tone of voice, the malicious intent.
He wanted to pull on some clothes, collect his keys, drive to Celine’s apartment and issue her with a writ. And while he had the power to get his lawyer out of bed, there was the due process of the law to observe, and no judge was going to comply at this hour of the night.
‘You should have told me all this before.’
‘I thought I had. Some of it,’ she amended, and incurred his dark look.
‘She won’t bother you again.’
Want to bet? Somehow she doubted Celine would fade gracefully into the woodwork. Ana had blown her out of the water, and revenge would surely follow.
Luc slid into bed and gathered her close. ‘Don’t ever keep anything from me again.’
His mouth sought hers, and a hollow protest rose and died in her throat as he forced her jaw wide and plundered at will.
It became a ravaging assault on her senses, flagrant, primitive, and demanding, until he conquered each and every one of her defences.
Then, and only then, his mouth gentled fractionally and took on an eroticism she fought hard to resist.
Hungry, sensual, he caressed with devastating expertise, coaxing her capitulation until he sensed the moment she stopped fighting him.
One hand moved, catching the hem of her nightshirt before tugging it over her head, then he reached forward and began tracing the outline of her breast, watching her eyes dilate as sensation arched through her body.
Not content, he teased and tantalised the delicate peak before shifting to its twin, and she gasped as he spread his fingers and trailed a path to her waist.
Sensation spiralled through her body, and she made no protest as he brought his head down to hers in a kiss that drove her mindless.
With care he gathered her close and rolled over so their positions were reversed, then he eased into her, taking it slow as he controlled each plunge until she was driven almost mad with need.
In desperation she grazed her teeth over the hard muscle and sinew at his shoulder, then trailed low to one male nipple…and rendered a love-bite that brought the breath hissing between his teeth.
‘So you want to play, hmm?’
It was she who groaned out loud as he took revenge in tantalising every pulse-beat, each sensory pleasure spot until she began to beg, and she cried out as he took her high, held her there, then caught her as she fell.
For a while she didn’t want to move, didn’t feel she could, and she rested in his arms, luxuriating in the slow drift of his fingers along the edge of her spine, soothing as his lips brushed her temple, then slipped to taste the delicate hollows at the base of her neck.
Minutes later he shifted her to one side, then slid to his feet and walked naked to the valet frame, collected his wallet, removed a credit slip from a leather sleeve, and handed it to her.
‘The restaurant at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. I picked up the tab for four.’ He moved to the phone. ‘You want I should ring Henri, the maître d’, and have him confirm what time we left?’
The date, the amount, both tallied. Irrefutable proof.
‘I owe you an apology.’ It wasn’t easy to say the words. It was even harder to look at him. But she did, and didn’t let her gaze waver.
For someone as delusio
nal and determined as Celine, it wouldn’t have proven too difficult to discover Luc’s plans and slip a waiter money to phone her when Luc left the restaurant.
‘Accepted.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
ANA knew as soon as she hit the traffic snarl that she should have taken Rebekah’s advice and left the shop earlier. Now she’d be impossibly late.
Dammit. Why me? she silently demanded of the Deity. Except no one was listening. The traffic remained stalled, and the only certainty was the knowledge she wouldn’t be going anywhere in a hurry.
Luc would not be pleased. The evening’s event was a prestigious fund-raiser, and the guest speaker a prominent American ex-president.
Everyone who was anyone would be there. Including Celine. But not, she prayed God, seated at the same table.
She checked the time, and hesitated between two options. Ring Luc from her cellphone, or wait for him to contact her.
Better make the call. He answered on the second peal, and the sound of his voice did strange things to her equilibrium.
It was damnable the effect he had on her, even from a distance. Elevated heartbeat, a faint breathlessness, and heat…the acute sexual awareness of shared intimacy. Past, present, future. She only had to think of him to have numerous erotic images flood her mind.
Get over it, she remonstrated silently.
‘I won’t say you should have left the shop before now.’
‘Please don’t. I’ll be there whenever this line of traffic begins to move.’
It did, eventually, and she reached home with the sure knowledge it would take more than a miracle to shower, change, dress and shine in less than ten minutes.
She managed it in thirty, the scarlet bias-cut silk organza gown with its knee-high ruffled split a masterpiece of fabric and style. The simply cut bodice and shoestring straps completed a stunning design, complemented by her upswept hair, expertly applied make-up, and minimum jewellery.
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 145
