The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  ‘Roses.’ Their velvety texture, exotic perfume, the exquisite petals so tightly budded just waiting to unfold.

  ‘What colour do you have in mind?’

  Rebekah moved towards the temperature-controlled cabinet and indicated several vases holding a variety of colours.

  There was the perfection of white, glorious pinks and corals in their various shadings, and deep, dark red.

  He didn’t hesitate. ‘The red.’

  She opened the glass door, removed the vase and carried it to the work table. ‘How many would you like? The cost—’

  ‘Is immaterial,’ Jace concluded. ‘Three dozen.’

  ‘Would you like them delivered? An extra charge applies.’

  ‘I’ll handle delivery.’

  A woman undoubtedly. Hostess, friend, or lover?

  If it was a lover, he must possess all the right moves. He’d only been in the country two days.

  Rebekah gestured towards a stand containing cards for every occasion. ‘Perhaps you’d like to choose a card and write on it while I fix these.’ She was already reaching for Cellophane, and mentally selecting ribbon.

  Within minutes the bouquet was ready, and she attached the card, accepted payment, then handed him the roses.

  Jace took time to admire their assembled artistry, then he presented her with them. ‘For you.’ He observed a gamut of emotions chase across her expressive features, and saw her struggle with each and every one of them.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘The roses are for you. I suggest you read the card.’

  Rebekah read the words with a sense of mounting disbelief. ‘Dinner tonight. Seven.’

  ‘I’ll collect you.’

  ‘You don’t know where I live.’ What was she saying? She had no intention of sharing dinner with him.

  ‘Ana will give me the address.’

  ‘No.’

  One eyebrow slanted in mocking humour. ‘No, Ana won’t give me the address?’

  ‘No, I won’t accept your invitation.’ The thought of spending time with him wasn’t a good idea.

  ‘I promise not to bite.’

  ‘Thanks, but no, thanks.’ She held out the magnificent sheaf of roses. ‘Please take these. I can’t accept them.’

  ‘Can’t, or won’t?’ His New York-accented drawl held humour, and something else she couldn’t define.

  Ana? Where was her sister when she needed her?

  It took only a glance to determine Ana was still on the phone. ‘I don’t date.’

  The stark admission appeared to have no effect at all. ‘Seven, Rebekah.’ He turned and walked from the shop, and her reiterated no fell on deaf ears.

  She swore, and followed it with a husky litany that damned the male species in general and one of them in particular.

  ‘Oh, my,’ Ana declared as she replaced the receiver. ‘What did he do? Issue an indecent proposal?’

  ‘He asked me out.’ Rebekah’s voice came out as an impassioned hiss.

  ‘And that’s the extent of his crime?’

  Rebekah tossed the bouquet of roses onto the work table. ‘I’m not going.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘How dare he come in here and order roses…?’ She could hardly contain her anger. ‘Three dozen of them.’ Her eyes flashed blue fire. ‘Then give them to me?’

  Ana clicked her tongue and shook her head. ‘Very bad taste.’

  Rebekah’s mouth tightened. ‘I’m not accepting them.’ She pushed the bouquet into her sister’s hands. ‘You take them home.’

  ‘Why not you?’ Ana queried reasonably.

  ‘I’ll return them to stock.’ She spared them a glance, and her artist’s eye admired the blooms’ beauty. Just for a moment she felt a twinge of remorse.

  No man had gifted her anything in a while. And never flowers.

  ‘Who does Jace Dimitriades think he is?’ It was a question that required no answer, and she banked down a further tirade as a customer entered the boutique.

  Rebekah was glad of the interruption, although she seethed in silence for the rest of the day. A number of scenarios as to how she’d deal with him crossed her mind. Some of which, should she put them into effect, would be sure to get her arrested for causing grievous bodily harm.

  ‘Do you have a number where I can contact him?’

  It was late afternoon, and Ana was about to leave.

  ‘Jace?’

  ‘Of course, Jace.’

  Ana’s features assumed a thoughtful expression.

  ‘It’s been two years since your divorce. Don’t you think it’s time you emerged into the real world again?’

  ‘You’re advocating I have an affair?’

  ‘Who are you afraid of?’ Ana queried gently. ‘Jace or yourself?’ She walked to the door, paused and turned to give her sister a warm smile. ‘Think about it.’

  Rebekah opened her mouth, then closed it again.

  As an exit line, it was without equal.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT WAS after six when Rebekah eased the MG into the underground car park and rode the lift to the seventh floor.

  Indecisiveness was not one of her traits, yet for the past hour she’d changed her mind at least a dozen times.

  On entering her apartment she crossed to the phone, looked up the number for Jace’s hotel, punched in the digits, only to replace the receiver minutes later. Jace Dimitriades didn’t appear to be in his room, and a request for his cellphone number was politely declined.

  Damn. Failure to contact him meant she had little option but to shower and dress in record time. Or stand him up.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake, she chided silently. A few hours, good food, pleasant conversation… What did she have to lose?

  Her sanity, she conceded half an hour later as she replaced the in-house phone, gathered up her evening purse, car keys, then rode the lift down to the lobby.

  He stood tall, the image of masculine strength, emanating a sense of power only those totally at ease with themselves were able to exude.

  Rebekah met his probing gaze, caught his warm smile, and felt her stomach execute a slow somersault.

  Any mental assurance she could survive the evening began to dissipate. Was it too late to change her mind? Way too late, an inner voice mocked with derision.

  Jace watched the fleeting emotions evident, defined each and every one of them, and felt a sense of male satisfaction in knowing he affected her.

  ‘Rebekah.’ He moved forward, appreciating the cut and style of her clothes. The slim black skirt and matching jacket highlighted the creamy texture of her skin, and her make-up was minimal. A touch of gold at her ears and her throat added a pleasing addition. Her hair was drawn into a smooth twist, and his fingers itched to remove the pins and let it fall free.

  What would she do if he drew her into his arms and covered that pretty mouth with his own? Undoubtedly she’d react like a frightened gazelle, he decided grimly.

  What damage had her ex-husband done to kill her natural spontaneity? Something hardened inside him at the array of possibilities, resulting in a surge of anger against a man he’d never met.

  ‘We’ll take my car.’

  ‘I’ve hired a vehicle for the duration of my stay,’ Jace said smoothly, and glimpsed her faint disconcerted glance before it was quickly masked.

  She wanted to retain control. It made her feel secure, and she suppressed the momentary uneasiness at Jace’s increasing ability to undermine her confidence.

  Together they walked through the entrance doors, and Jace led her towards a gleaming Jaguar, unlocked the passenger door and saw her seated, then he crossed in front of the car and slid in behind the wheel.

  Rebekah’s awareness of him became more pronounced within the close confines of the car, and she banked down the onset of nervous tension. Difficult, when her pulse had already increased its beat and she could feel the thud of her heart.

  This was madness. She should have said an emphatic no, and, fa
iling that, not left it until the last minute to rescind his invitation.

  Except on reflection, his inaccessibility hadn’t really given her much choice.

  In the restaurant, Jace deferred to her preference in wine, ordered, then requested the menu.

  Rebekah wasn’t sure she could eat a thing, for her digestive system seemed to be in a mildly chaotic state. And it wasn’t just her digestive system!

  Oh, move along, an inner voice prompted. You’re here with him. At least try to enjoy the evening. Pretend. Surely it can’t be too difficult. You managed OK last night.

  Yes, but then Luc and Ana had been present. Now she was on her own, and she’d been out of the social scene for too long. It was two years since she’d exercised her social skills to any great degree. One date soon after her divorce had proven to be disastrous, and at the time she’d vowed not to repeat it.

  ‘Tell me what made you choose to be a florist.’

  She took a sip of superb chardonnay, and replaced the goblet onto the table. Blooms and Bouquets…she could do shop-talk. ‘The perfection of professionally grown blooms, their textures, colours and scents. The skill in assembling them together so the image conveys something special to the person to whom they’re gifted.’

  Jace watched her features become animated, her blue eyes deepen and gleam like blue topaz as she elaborated on her craft. Did she know how attractive she was? Or how deeply she appealed to him?

  On every level, not just the physical.

  ‘The pleasure, comfort and solace they provide for every occasion,’ she continued, smiling in reflection of the many memories she’d shared where warmth and the sheer joy of making someone’s day a little brighter became paramount.

  ‘One imagines there’s a downside?’ he probed, and watched as she wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Early starts, long days on your feet, dish-pan hands from having them constantly in and out of water.’ She offered him a wry smile. ‘Difficult customers who are impossible to please. The rush to get orders out on time. Incorrect addresses, mistakes made with deliveries by the courier.’ She effected a negligible shrug. ‘Like any business, there are the accompanying problems.’

  The waiter delivered their starters, and they each began eating. The prawn cocktail was succulent with a delicate sauce on a bed of shredded lettuce, and Jace forked his with evident enjoyment.

  Did he enjoy women as much as he enjoyed food? She almost choked at the thought. Where had that come from?

  She lifted her goblet and took a sip of wine. ‘Your turn, I think.’

  He set his empty dish aside and regarded her with a thoughtful gaze. ‘New York-born to Greek immigrant parents. Graduated from university with a degree in business management.’

  Rebekah held his gaze and attempted to define what lay beneath his composed exterior. ‘The condensed version,’ she acknowledged. ‘Business management covers a broad spectrum.’

  ‘I specialise in takeovers and buy-outs.’

  ‘Large companies with their backs against the wall?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘It fits,’ she said simply.

  ‘On what do you base that assumption?’

  ‘You have a ruthless streak,’ she inclined with thoughtful contemplation, aware it was more than that. Leashed strength meshed with an animalistic sense of power, a combination which boded ill for any adversary.

  ‘I imagine you wheel and deal with cut-throat determination.’ She paused a beat. ‘Mostly you win.’ She doubted he ever lost…unless it was a deliberate tactical manoeuvre.

  ‘An interesting character analysis,’ Jace accorded with musing cynicism.

  The waiter removed dishes, and the wine steward refilled their goblets.

  Soft piano music provided a pleasant background for the muted buzz of conversation.

  ‘You have family in New York?’

  ‘Parents, one brother, two sisters, and several nieces and nephews.’

  Was he removed from them, too caught up being a high-flying entrepreneur and too involved in his own life?

  ‘My mother insists we all get together once a fortnight for a family dinner,’ Jace drawled. ‘Madness and mayhem would be an accurate description.’

  ‘But fun?’ She had a mental image of adults laughing, chiding children, noisy chatter and a table groaning with food and wine.

  ‘Very much so.’

  Did he take his women…it had to be plural, although presumably he was discriminative…to visit?

  ‘Not often, no.’

  Rebekah endeavoured to still her surprise, and failed. ‘You read minds?’

  ‘It’s an acquired skill.’

  ‘One in which you excel.’

  Jace inclined his head, but there was no arrogance apparent, just the assurance of a man well-versed in the vagaries of human nature and possessed of the ability to deal with them.

  It was during dessert that Rebekah happened to glance towards the restaurant entrance. Afterwards she couldn’t say what drew her attention there. Instinct, perhaps? Some deep, inner, protective element alerting her to danger?

  For a few heart-stopping seconds she prayed she was mistaken, but she’d have known that profile anywhere, the angle of his head…

  ‘What is it?’

  She registered Jace’s voice, and tried to tamp down the sick feeling that filled her stomach.

  ‘Rebekah?’

  Oh, God. Think, she bade silently. There’s a good chance he won’t see you, and if he does, what can he do?

  Plenty.

  Jace witnessed her pale features as the colour leeched from her cheeks, and her eyes had dulled an instant before she veiled them with her lashes. What, more relevantly who was responsible for rendering her as still as stone?

  ‘Do you want to leave?’ His voice was quiet, but serious in its intent.

  She wanted to say yes. Now, quickly, quietly.

  Except that was a coward’s way out, and she’d vowed the day she legally severed all ties with him she’d never allow Brad Somerville to intimidate her again. Ever.

  ‘My ex-husband has just walked in the door.’

  Was she aware that with so few words she’d conveyed so much? Somehow he doubted it.

  ‘Is it a problem?’

  If she stuck with the truth, how would Jace Dimitriades deal with it? A hollow laugh rose and died in her throat. Why in hell would he want to?

  ‘No,’ she denied, and knew she lied.

  Jace’s eyes narrowed as he observed her monitor her ex-husband’s progress towards a reserved table, and witnessed her fleeting expression the moment the man recognised her presence. It was neither embarrassment nor awkwardness…but fear.

  ‘Well, hello.’

  Rebekah kept her head erect, her eyes wide and steady. The action was a well-practised one, for she could never be sure what Brad’s next move might be.

  ‘Brad.’ The acknowledgement was stilted, remote.

  ‘Introduce me to your…companion.’

  ‘Jace Dimitriades.’ Jace’s voice held a faintly inflected drawl and was dangerously quiet, almost lethal. He made no effort to rise to his feet or take Brad’s extended hand.

  Rebekah saw something move in Brad’s gleaming gaze, recognised the early-warning sign of his temper, and felt her apprehension accelerate.

  Brad focused his attention on Rebekah. ‘Keeping it all in the family, darling?’

  ‘The maître d’ is waiting to show you to your table,’ Jace intimated with deceptive mildness. Although anyone with any nous would see it as a dismissal. Those who knew him would have quailed at the leashed savagery lurking just beneath the surface.

  Brad inclined his head. ‘Of course.’ His voice softened with silky threat. ‘Take care, Rebekah.’

  She hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath until she released it, and she forced herself to pick up her spoon and scoop a small serving of fruit, then eat it.

  Calm? She felt the antithesis of calm. Yet she’d learned
her lessons well, and it was far better to attempt normality. In the beginning, after the shock of discovering Brad’s dual personality, she’d gone through an entire gamut of emotions…from heartbreaking tears, to anger, remorse, dislike, only to discover it made things worse.

  ‘We can go somewhere else for coffee.’

  Rebekah picked up her water glass with a steady hand. ‘It’s OK.’

  Not, Jace determined as he surveyed her features. She was far too pale, and her actions were too rigidly controlled for his liking.

  Almost as if she guessed his intention to summon the waiter and request the bill, she voiced quietly, ‘Please, don’t.’

  ‘His presence here is making you feel uncomfortable.’

  Now, that had to be the understatement of the year.

  ‘You don’t understand.’

  His eyes narrowed, and she sensed a watchful quality evident. ‘You think if we leave, he’ll have won?’

  He was too astute for her peace of mind. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Meanwhile you eat food you no longer taste, sip water or wine while we wait for coffee,’ he pursued in a silky voice. ‘And tie your stomach in knots during the process.’

  She knew Brad’s modus operandi only too well. Interpretation of her ex-husband’s wild mood swings, anticipating his reactions had become an integral part of her survival.

  ‘It’s better this way,’ she said coolly.

  ‘Not for you,’ Jace declared with certainty, and saw the slight lift of her chin as she met his gaze.

  His own didn’t waver from hers as he ordered coffee from a hovering waiter, and he settled the bill, waited patiently for her to finish, then he led her from the restaurant.

  ‘I’ll take a taxi,’ Rebekah said stiffly, and incurred his swift dark glance.

  ‘The hell you will.’

  She didn’t say a word, couldn’t, for her throat was tight with nerves, and she walked at his side in silence, then slid into the passenger seat the instant he unlocked the car.

  It didn’t take long to reach her apartment building, and during the short drive she stared sightlessly out the window, unaware of the familiar scenery, the traffic.