The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  The large kitchen was a chefs delight, with every conceivable modem appliance. A central cooking island held several hobs, and there were twin ovens, two microwaves, and a capacious refrigerator and freezer.

  With considerable ease Gabbi extracted two cups and saucers, then set out milk and sugar.

  ‘How was dinner?’

  ‘Genuine interest, or idle conversation, Gabbi?’

  Was he aware of the effect he had on her? In bed, without doubt. But out of it? Probably not, she thought sadly. Men of Benedict’s calibre were more concerned with creating a financial empire than examining a relationship.

  It took considerable effort to meet his lightly mocking gaze. ‘Genuine interest.’

  ‘We ate Asian food in one of the city’s finest restaurants,’ Benedict informed her indolently. “The business associate was suitably impressed, and the agent will probably earn a large commission.’

  ‘Naturally you have offered them use of the private jet, which will earn you kudos with the Taiwanese associate, who in turn will recommend you to his contemporaries,’ she concluded dryly, and his lips formed a twisted smile.

  ‘It’s called taking care of business.’

  ‘And business is all-important.’

  ‘Is that a statement or a complaint?’

  Her eyes were remarkably steady as she held his gaze. ‘It’s a well-known fact that profits have soared beyond projected estimates in the past few years. Much of Stanton-Nicols’ continuing success is directly attributed to your dedicated efforts.’

  ‘You didn’t answer the question.’ The words held a dangerous softness that sent a tiny shiver down her spine, and her eyes clashed with his for a few immeasurable seconds before she summoned a credible smile.

  ‘Why would I complain?’ she queried evenly, supremely conscious of the quickening pulse at the base of her throat.

  ‘Why, indeed?’ he lightly mocked. ‘You have a vested interest in the family firm.’

  ‘In more ways than one.’

  His eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘Elaborate.’

  Gabbi didn’t hedge. ‘The delay in providing James with a grandchild seems to be the subject of family conjecture.’

  For a brief millisecond she caught a glimpse of something that resembled anger, then it was lost beneath an impenetrable mask. ‘A fact which Annaliese felt compelled to bring to your attention?’

  One finger came to rest against the corner of her mouth, while his thumb traced the heavy, pulsing cord at the side of her throat.

  ‘Yes.’

  His hand trailed lower to the firm swell of her breast, teased a path along the edge of her bikini top, then brushed against the aroused peak before dropping back to his side.

  ‘We agreed birth control should be your prerogative,’ Benedict declared with unruffled ease, and she swallowed painfully, hating the way her body reacted to his touch.

  ‘Your stepsister is too self-focused not to take any opportunity to initiate a verbal game of thrust and parry. Who won?’

  ‘We each retired with superficial wounds,’ Gabbi declared solemnly.

  ‘Dare I ask when the game is to continue?’

  ‘Who can tell?’

  ‘And the weapon?’

  She managed a smile. ‘Why—Annaliese herself. With you as the prize. Her formal adoption by James would make her a Stanton. Our divorce is a mere formality in order to change Stanton to Nicols.’

  He lifted a hand and brushed light fingers across her cheek. ‘Am I to understand you are not impressed with that scenario?’

  No. For a moment she thought she’d screamed the negative out loud, and she stood in mesmerised silence for several seconds, totally unaware that her expressive features were more explicit than any words.

  ‘Do you believe,’ Benedict began quietly, ‘I deliberately chose you as my wife with the future of Stanton-Nicols foremost in mind?’

  Straight for the jugular. Gabbi had expected no less. Her chin tilted slightly. ‘Suitable marriages are manipulated among the wealthy for numerous reasons,’ she said fearlessly. ‘Love isn’t a necessary prerequisite.’

  His expression didn’t change, but she sensed a degree of anger and felt chilled by it.

  ‘And what we share in bed? How would you define that?’

  A lump rose in her throat, and she swallowed it. ‘Skilled expertise.’

  Something dark momentarily hardened the depths of his gaze, then it was gone. ‘You’d relegate me to the position of stud?’

  Oh, God. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘No. No,’ she reiterated, stricken by his deliberate interpretation.

  ‘I should be thankful for that small mercy.’

  He was angry. Icily so. And it hurt, terribly.

  Yet what had she expected? A heartfelt declaration that she was too important in his life for him to consider anyone taking her place?

  Gabbi felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes were trapped by his, her body transfixed as though in a state of suspended animation.

  ‘The coffee has finished filtering.’

  His voice held that familiar cynicism, and with an effort she focused her attention on pouring coffee into both cups, then added sugar.

  Benedict picked up one. ‘I’ll take this through to the study.’

  Her eyes settled on his broad back as he walked from the kitchen, her expression pensive.

  Damn Annaliese, Gabbi cursed silently as she discarded her coffee down the sink. With automatic movements she rinsed the cup and stacked it in the dishwasher, then she switched off the coffee-maker and doused the lights before making her way upstairs.

  Reaching the bedroom, she walked through to the en suite, stripped off her bikini, turned on the water and stepped into the shower.

  It didn’t take long to shampoo her hair, and fifteen minutes with the blow-drier restored it to its usual silky state.

  In bed, she reached for a book and read a chapter before switching off the lamp.

  She had no idea what time Benedict slid in beside her, nor did she sense him leave the bed in the early- . morning hours, for when she woke she was alone and the only signs of his occupation were a dented pillow and the imprint of his body against the sheet.

  CHAPTER THREE

  GABBI glanced at the bedside clock and gave an inaudible groan. Seven-thirty. Time to rise and shine, hit the shower, breakfast, and join the queue of traffic heading into the city.

  Thank heavens today was Friday and the weekend lay ahead.

  Benedict had accepted an invitation to attend a tennis evening which Chris Evington, head partner in the accountancy firm Stanton-Nicols employed, had arranged at his home. Tomorrow evening they had tickets to the Australian première . performance at the Sydney Entertainment Centre.

  The possibility of Annaliese discovering their plans for tonight was remote, Gabbi decided as she slid in behind the wheel of her car. And it was doubtful even Monique would be able to arrange an extra seat for the première performance at such short notice.

  It was a beautiful day, the sky clear of cloud, and at this early-morning hour free from pollution haze.

  Gabbi was greeted by Security as she entered the car park, acknowledged at Reception en route to her office, and welcomed by her secretary who brought coffee in one hand and a notebook in the other.

  As the morning progressed Gabbi fought against giving last night’s scene too much thought, and failed. During the afternoon she overlooked a miscalculation and lost valuable time in cross-checking. Consequently, it was a relief to slip behind the wheel of her car and head home.

  Benedict’s vehicle was already parked in the garage when she arrived, and she felt her stomach clench with unbidden nerves as she entered the house.

  Gabbi checked with Marie, then went upstairs to change.

  Benedict was in the process of discarding his tie when she reached the bedroom.

  ‘You’re home early.’ As a greeting it lacked originality, but it was better than silence.

/>   She met his dark gaze with equanimity, her eyes lingering on the hard planes of his face, and settling briefly on his mouth. Which was a mistake.

  ‘Dinner will be ready at six.’

  ‘So Marie informed me.’ He began unbuttoning his shirt, and her eyes trailed the movement, paused, then returned to scan his features.

  Nothing there to determine his mood. Damn. She hated friction. With Monique and Annaliese it was unavoidable—but Benedict was something else.

  ‘I should apologise.’ There, it wasn’t hard at all. Did he know she’d summoned the courage, wrestled with the need to do so, for most of the day?

  A faint smile tugged at the edges of his mouth, and the expression in his eyes was wholly cynical. ‘Good manners, Gabbi?’

  He shrugged off the business shirt, reached for a dark-coloured open-necked polo shirt and tugged it over his head.

  Honesty was the only way to go. ‘Genuine remorse.’

  He removed his trousers and donned a casual cotton pair.

  He looked up, and she caught the dark intensity of his gaze. ‘Apology accepted.’

  Her nervous tension dissolved, and the breath she’d unconsciously been holding slipped silently free. ‘Thank you.’

  Retreat seemed a viable option and she crossed to the capacious walk-in wardrobe, selected tennis gear, then extracted casual linen trousers and a blouse.

  The buzz of the electric shaver sounded from the en suite bathroom, and he emerged as she finished changing.

  Gabbi felt the familiar flood of warmth, and fought against it ‘What time do you want to leave?’ It was amazing that her voice sounded so calm.

  ‘Seven-fifteen.’

  They descended the stairs together, and ate the delectable chicken salad Marie had prepared, washed it down with mineral water, then picked from a selection of fresh fruit. A light meal which would be supplemented by supper after the last game of tennis.

  Conversation was confined to business and the proposed agenda at the next board meeting.

  Chris and Leanne Evington resided at Woollahra in a large, rambling old home which had been lovingly restored. Neat lawns, beautiful gardens, precisely clipped hedges and shrubbed topiary lent an air of a past era. The immaculate grassed tennis court merely added to the impression.

  A few cars lined the circular forecourt, and Gabbi slid from the Bentley as Benedict retrieved their sports bags from the boot.

  Social tennis took on rules of its own, according to the host’s inclination and the number of participating guests.

  The best of seven games would ensure a relatively quick turn-around on the court, Chris and Leanne determined. Partners were selected by personal choice, and it was accepted that two rounds of mixed doubles would precede two rounds of women’s doubles and conclude with two rounds of men’s doubles.

  Gabbi and Benedict were nominated first on the court, opposing a couple whom Gabbi hadn’t previously met. All four were good players, although Benedict had the height, strength and skill to put the ball where he chose, and they emerged victorious at the end of the game with a five-two lead.

  Chris and Leanne’s son Todd had nominated himself umpire for the evening. A prominent athlete and law student, he had any number of pretty girls beating a path to his door. That there wasn’t one in evidence this evening came as something of a surprise.

  Until Annaliese arrived on the scene, looking sensational in designer tennis wear.

  ‘Sorry I’m late.’ Annaliese offered a winning smile.

  ‘Mixed has just finished,’ Leanne informed her. ‘The girls are on next.’

  Annaliese turned towards Gabbi. ‘Will you be my partner? It’ll be just like the old days.’

  What old days? Gabbi queried silently. Surely Annaliese wasn’t referring to an occasional mismatch during school holidays?

  Leanne allocated the pair to the second round, and Gabbi accepted a cool drink from a proffered tray.

  The guests reassembled as Todd directed play from the umpire’s seat. The men gravitated into two groups, and in no time at all Annaliese had managed to gain Gabbi’s attention.

  ‘I had a wonderful afternoon phoning friends and catching up on all their news.’

  ‘One of whom just happened to mention the Evington tennis party?’ Gabbi queried dryly.

  ‘Why, yes:

  ‘Who better to know the guest list than Todd?’

  ‘He’s a sweet boy.’

  ‘And easily flattered.’

  Annaliese’s smile was pure feline. ‘Aren’t most men?’

  ‘Shall we join the others?’

  It was thirty minutes before they took their position on the court, and evenly matched opponents ensured a tight score. Deuce was called three times in the final game before Annaliese took an advantage to winning point by serving an ace.

  An elaborate seafood supper was provided at the close of the final game, followed by coffee and a selection of delicious petits fours.

  Gabbi expected Annaliese to commandeer Benedict’s attention. What she didn’t anticipate was an elbow jolting her arm.

  It happened so quickly that she was powerless to do anything but watch in dismayed silence as coffee spilled onto the tiled floor.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Gabbi assured Benedict as he reached her side. She bore his swift appraisal with a determined smile.

  Only a splash of hot liquid was splattered on her tennis shoes, and a cloth took care of the spillage.

  ‘You could have been burnt,’ Annaliese declared with apparent concern.

  ‘Fortunately, I wasn’t.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK, Gabbi?’ Leanne queried. ‘Can I get you some more coffee?’ Her eyes took on a tinge of humour. ‘Something stronger?’

  She was tempted, but not for the reason her hostess imagined. A ready smile curved her mouth and she shook her head. ‘Thanks all the same.’

  It was almost midnight when she slid into the passenger seat of the Bentley. Benedict slipped in behind the wheel and activated the ignition.

  ‘What happened in there?’

  The car wheels crunched on the pebbled driveway, and Gabbi waited until they gained the road before responding.

  ‘Could you be specific?’

  He shot her a quick glance that lost much of its intensity in the darkness. ‘You’re not given to clumsiness.’

  ‘Ah, support.’

  ‘Annaliese?’

  Tiredness settled like a mantle around her slim shoulders. Indecision forced a truthful answer. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘She was standing beside you.’

  ‘I’d rather not discuss it.’

  Gabbi was first indoors while Benedict garaged the car, and she went upstairs, stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower-stall.

  A few minutes later Benedict joined her, and she spared him a brief glance before continuing her actions with the soap. They each finished at the same time, emerged together and reached for individual towels.

  Ignoring Benedict, especially a naked Benedict, was impossible, and there was nothing she could do to slow the quickened beat of her heart or prevent the warmth that crept through her body as she conducted her familiar nightly ritual.

  A hand closed over her arm as she turned towards the door, and she didn’t utter a word as he pulled her round to face him.

  Eyes that were dark and impossibly slumberous held her own and she bore his scrutiny in silence, hating her inner fragility as she damned her inability to hide it.

  More than anything she wanted the comfort of his arms, the satisfaction of his mouth on her own. Slowly she lifted a hand and traced the vertical indentation slashing his cheek,. then pressed her fingers to the edge of his lips.

  Her eyes flared as he took her fingers into his mouth, and heat unfurled deep inside her as he gently bit the tip of each finger in turn.

  Unbidden, she reached for him, drawing him close, exulting in the feel of his body, his warm, musky scent, and she opened her mouth in generous acceptance of
his in a deep, evocative kiss that hardened in irrefutable possession, wiping out any vestige of conscious thought.

  Gabbi gave a husky purr of pleasure as he drew her into the bedroom and pulled her down onto the bed, lost in the sensual magic only he could evoke.

  If business commitments didn’t intrude, Benedict elected to spend Saturdays on the golf course, while Gabbi preferred to set the day aside to catch up on a variety of things a working week allowed little time for.

  Occasionally she took in a matinée movie, or had lunch with friends.

  Today she chose to add a few purchases to her wardrobe and keep an appointment with a beautician and her hairdresser.

  Consequently it was almost six when she turned into their residential street and followed Benedict’s four-wheel drive down the driveway.

  He was waiting for her as she brought the car to a halt.

  ‘Great day?’ Gabbi asked teasingly as she emerged from behind the wheel.

  ‘Indeed. And you?’

  ‘I flashed plastic in a few too many boutiques,’ she said ruefully, indicating several brightly assorted carrier bags on the rear seat.

  He looked relaxed, his height and breadth accentuated by the casual open-necked shirt that fitted snugly over his well-honed muscles.

  His potent masculinity ignited a familiar response deep within her as he reached past her and gathered the purchases together.

  Maybe one day he wouldn’t have quite this heightened effect on her equilibrium, she thought wryly as she followed him indoors. Then a silent laugh rose and died in her throat. Perhaps in another lifetime!

  It was after seven when they left for the Entertainment Centre to witness the New Jersey-born son of a menswear storekeeper, who was known to mesmerise an audience with any one of the two hundred and fifty magic illusions in his repertoire.

  Gabbi adored the show. Pure escapism that numbed the logical mind with wizardry and chilled the spine.

  The fact that Annaliese was nowhere in sight added to her pleasure—a feeling that was compounded the next day when Gabbi and Benedict joined friends on a luxury cruiser.