The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Quiver? ‘Really?’ She wanted to hit him.

  ‘Which one of us did you want to tear limb from limb?’

  ‘Bettina,’ she declared with soft vehemence, and heard his husky chuckle.

  ‘Claws, when there’s absolutely no need?’

  ‘Careful,’ Suzanne warned. ‘I haven’t sheathed them yet.’

  She leaned into him a little, and heard the strong beat of his heart, felt the strength of his body, and enjoyed the moment for as long as the slow music lasted. Then she joined Georgia and Trenton for a few minutes before slipping to the powder-room to freshen up.

  When she returned most of the couples had drifted off the floor to sit in groups at various tables. Sloane was deep in conversation with Bettina’s husband, Frank, and Suzanne made her way out onto the terrace where a breeze teased its way in from the ocean.

  At this time of year the tropical far north was close to perfection. Lovely sunny days, cool clear nights, and little or no rain. Ideal for those who lived in southern states where winter tended to be cold and wet with winds that gusted round corners and buffeted buildings.

  In two days Georgia would fly to Paris. The city for lovers, with its historic buildings and magnificent art collections. Haute couture, food, the total ambience. She’d read about it, viewed the travel documentaries on film, and felt vaguely envious.

  No, that wasn’t strictly true. There were always goals in life, some achievable, others merely dreams. The aim was to strive for the dream, but not lose sight of the reality.

  There was also avarice and greed, which she deplored, along with artificial superficiality. And those who sought and fought for it Love had been destroyed, lives wrecked, even lost, in pursuit of an abundance of wealth and all it could provide.

  A slight shiver shook her slim frame. She’d tasted it, felt the fear and opted to remove herself from its orbit. Had she been right to handle it herself? The doubts, ever present, rose to the surface.

  ‘Voluntary solitude, or an escape?’

  Suzanne straightened at the sound of Sloane’s drawled query, and she didn’t move as he slid his arms round her waist and drew her back against him.

  ‘A little of both,’ she answered honestly.

  ‘Want to share?’

  Her eyes sprang open at that quietly voiced query. Share her innermost thoughts? That would give the danger a new dimension.

  ‘I’ll take a rain check.’

  She felt his chin rest down on top of her head. ‘Yon realise I’ll call it in?’

  Yes, he would. But not now. ‘Perhaps we should go inside.’

  ‘I came out to find you,’ Sloane said. ‘Trenton and Georgia intend to retire soon.’

  ‘Leaving the guests to party on?’ Was it that late?

  ‘It’s almost midnight.’

  Where had the evening gone? ‘Time flies when you’re having fun,’ she said lightly, and felt her stomach curl as Sloane moved one hand towards her breast while the other splayed across her hip.

  They were, she knew, visible to the guests inside. “Don’t. Please,’ she added quietly.

  ‘Then come indoors, and bid our respective parents goodnight.’

  Out of the way of temptation. But not for long. Sooner or later they’d return to their villa. What then? She couldn’t afford the ecstasy of one long night of loving, or the resulting agony when she had to leave him.

  Without a word she slipped free of his hold and led the way indoors.

  ‘Oh, there you are, darling,’ Georgia said warmly. ‘Trenton and I are about to leave.’ She leant forward and gave her daughter a fond hug. ‘It’s been a splendid party, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Really lovely,’ Suzanne agreed as she caught hold of her mother’s hands.

  ‘Most of the guests are meeting around nine for a champagne breakfast. You’ll join us, of course.’

  ‘Of course, Mama.’

  ‘Now we’re going to get out of here,’ Trenton declared as he bestowed upon his new wife a look of passionate warmth.

  Georgia’s eyes held a delightful sparkle, and her cheeks bore the faintest tinge of colour.

  Trenton took care of their escape by simply declaring, ‘Goodnight,’ and led Georgia from the restaurant.

  ‘Would you like me to get you some coffee?’ Sloane queried.

  ‘Please,’ Suzanne replied, and within seconds of his return they were joined by Bettina, which, Suzanne decided, was stretching coincidence a bit far.

  ‘Frank doesn’t want to stay and party on. We thought we might go for a walk along the beach. Maybe go for a swim. Want to join us?’

  And watch Bettina strip down to nothing and display those voluptuous curves, cavort in the moonlight and attempt to capture more than one man’s attention?

  ‘Thanks, but no.’ Sloane tempered the refusal with a quizzical smile, then cast Suzanne a dark, gleaming look. ‘We have other plans.’

  ‘A party?’

  ‘For two,’ he responded evenly. He took Suzanne’s cup and saucer and deposited them down onto a nearby table, then he caught hold of her hand. ‘If you’ll excuse us?’

  ‘We should,’ Suzanne admonished mildly, ‘say goodnight to the guests.’

  ‘We shall. Very briefly.’

  ‘And have them speculate why we’re in such a hurry to leave?’

  ‘Do you want to stay?’

  Not really. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to the villa, either. Nor did she want to walk along the beach and encounter Bettina.

  ‘No.’

  Ten minutes later Sloane unlocked their door, then closed it behind them. Suzanne watched as he shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over a nearby chair, tugged free his tie and loosened the top two buttons of his shirt.

  Then he crossed to the bar-fridge, extracted a magnum of champagne, opened it, filled two flutes, then handed her one. He touched the rim of her flute with his own, then lifted it in silent salute before sipping the contents.

  Suzanne was acutely aware of him, and the raw, primitive chemistry that was his alone. There was a brooding sensuality apparent that fired a deep answering need inside her.

  She could almost feel the blood move more quickly through her veins, the fine hairs on her skin rise as sensitised nerve-ends came alive, and slow heat radiated throughout her whole body.

  Imagining how it would be with him almost brought her to a state of climax. Three weeks seemed an eternity, each night apart so long and lonely she’d lain awake aching in solitary pain.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SLOANE glimpsed the faint fleeting shadows, determined their cause, and fought the urge to sweep Suzanne into his arms. The sex would be a wonderful release...for both of them. Wild, wanton, and uninhibited. He could almost smell the bloom of sensual heat on her skin, taste her exotic scent. The thought of sinking into her, hearing the soft purr in her voice change to something deep and driven, the cries of ecstasy as he took her with him...

  ‘It was a lovely wedding.’ She had the feeling she’d already said those words, and fought to keep the wistfulness out of her voice, the awkward hesitancy. Dammit, it must be the champagne’s eroding effect on her self-confidence. Warm and fuzzy wasn’t a feeling she wanted to cultivate. ‘Georgia looked radiant.’

  ‘Yes, she did.’

  ‘And Trenton—’

  ‘Wouldn’t allow anything or anyone to interfere with their plans,’ Sloane interceded. He was silent for a few long seconds, and when he spoke his voice held an inflexible edge. ‘Any more than I will.’

  There was something in his eyes, the powerful set of his features that triggered alarm bells in her brain.

  She regarded him carefully, apprehension uppermost as it merged with sickening knowledge. ‘You’ve discovered who she is, haven’t you?’

  His expression hardened, muscles sculpting broad facial bones into a daunting mask. ‘Yes. I had the answer I needed this morning.’

  Suzanne didn’t have to ask how. He had the power and the contacts to eli
cit any information he wanted. It was impossible to believe that he wouldn’t take action. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘It’s already done. Zoe’s father is now aware of the facts. And extremely grateful we’ve chosen not to prosecute. He will personally ensure she seeks professional help.’

  Her eyes searched his, and she almost died at the ruthlessness apparent. There was something else she couldn’t define, and it frightened her.

  ‘No one,’ Sloane intoned with brutal mercilessness, ‘threatens me. Directly, or indirectly.’ He kept his anger under tight rein. The e-mail report had listed extensive repairs to her car. He could only imagine the verbal assault.

  Suzanne saw his clenched fists, evidenced the cold fury in those dark eyes, and placed her partly empty flute onto a nearby pedestal.

  She needed to get out of this room, away from him, even if it was only briefly. ‘I’m going for a walk.’

  ‘Not alone.’

  She tilted her head to look at him, uncaring that the conversation had taken a dangerous shift. ‘Don’t play the heavy, Sloane.’ She walked across the room to the door, her anger so intense she knew she’d hit him if he tried to stop her.

  Outside the darkness seemed like a shroud, and she followed the lit path down to the beach. When she reached the sand she stepped out of her heeled shoes and bent to collect them in one hand.

  Sloane was a short distance behind her, and it was all she could do not to throw something at him. If he wanted to follow her, he could. But she was damned if she’d allow him to dictate her actions, or when she’d return to the villa. If she returned, she decided darkly. There were plenty of beach loungers that would make an adequate place to rest for what remained of the night.

  The moonlight bathed the beach with an eerie glow, and she trod the crunchy sand to the water’s edge, then followed its curve towards the outcrop of rocks.

  The tide eddied and flowed at her feet, and on impulse she paused, shed her clothes and dropped them onto dry sand, then turned and walked into the sea.

  The water felt silky and wonderfully cool against her skin, and when it reached her waist she eased into a lazy breast-stroke parallel to the shore. Then she turned onto her back and floated, idly counting the sprinkle of stars.

  A faint splash alerted her bare seconds before Sloane’s dark head appeared less than a metre away.

  He didn’t say a word, didn’t need to, and she moved away from him and rose to her feet. If he was intent on invading her space, then she’d simply shift it somewhere else!

  She had only taken two steps towards the shore when hard hands grasped hold of her shoulders and turned her back to face him. ‘Let me—’

  Anything else she might have said remained locked in her throat as his mouth closed over hers in a kiss that possessed...mind, body and soul.

  She tried to struggle, and got nowhere. Dear Lord, he was strong, If she could only bite him...but his jaw had possession of her own, dictating its movements as he ravaged the inner tissues with his tongue, his teeth, in a deliberate assault on her senses.

  One hand curved down to cup her bottom, while the other held fast her head. She pummelled his back with her fists, and attempted to kick his shin...with totally ineffectual results.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t bear any more, he loosened his hold, only to change it as he hefted her over one shoulder and walked out of the sea onto the sand.

  ‘What in hell do you think you’re doing?’

  He bent down and she automatically clutched the back of his waist. And found no purchase.

  ‘Collecting our clothes.’

  ‘Put me down!’

  He stood upright, adjusted his hold of her, then calmly strode towards the path. ‘No.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake,’ Suzanne hissed. ‘Someone might see us.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn.’

  ‘At least give me your shirt.’ The request came out as a hollow groan.

  ‘I happen to be holding it in front of a vulnerable part of my anatomy,’ he responded drily.

  ‘You’d better pray we make it undetected,’ she threatened direly. ‘Or I’ll never forgive you.’

  The path to their villa was reasonably short, but Suzanne was conscious of every step Sloane took until they were safely indoors.

  ‘You fiend! How dare you?’ She pummelled his back with her fists, and attempted to kick him. ‘Put me down.’

  He kept walking, ascended the steps to the bedroom, paused long enough to toss their clothes onto the bed, then he crossed into the en suite and turned on the shower.

  ‘What in sweet hell do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Precisely what it looks like.’ He stepped into the shower stall and closed the glass sliding door. Then he pulled her down to stand in front of him.

  Without thought she lifted a hand and slapped his jaw. Anger, sheer helpless rage, exuded from every pore, and when she lifted her hand a second time he caught it mid-air in a punishing grip.

  ‘You want to fight, Suzanne?’

  ‘Yes, damn you!’

  ‘Then go ahead.’ He released her hand and stood still, his arms folded across his chest.

  His eyes gleamed darkly, silently daring her to thwart him, and she lashed out, both fists flailing as she connected with his chest, his shoulders, anywhere she could land a punch.

  He took each and every one, and only grunted once.

  Hot, angry tears filled her eyes, then spilled to run in twin rivulets down to her chin. Her knuckles hurt from where she’d struck strong muscle and sinew. And bone. He didn’t move, and her arms slowed, then dropped to her sides.

  ‘Are you done?’

  The water lashed his shoulders and coursed down his back, and she turned blindly towards the glass door, only to halt as he prevented her escape.

  Without a word he pulled her into his arms, effectively stilling any further struggle.

  ‘Let me go.’ To stay like this was madness.

  Fingers splayed across the base of her spine began a subtle movement, sufficient to make her breath catch, and she tried to pull away from him without success.

  The hand that held her nape slid to capture her head, tilting it so she had no defence against his descending mouth.

  She expected a devastating invasion, and was unprepared for the soft slide of his tongue against her own. Teasing, tantalising, he made it a sensual assault as he explored and caressed, encouraging her response in a manner that soon left her weak-willed and malleable.

  Uncaring of the consequences, she lifted her arms and twined them round his neck, melting into him as she kissed him back. Slowly, tentatively, then with an increasing urgency that left both of them labouring for breath.

  ‘Please.’ Now. She didn’t think she could wait a second longer, and an exultant laugh broke free from her throat as he parted her thighs and lifted her high to straddle his waist.

  With one supple action he buried himself inside her, and she gloried in the hard, deep thrust that stretched silken tissues to a level where she gasped at his degree of penetration.

  For several seconds he remained still, then he began to move, slowly at first, each thrust deeper than the last as he increased the pace until their actions became a synchronised match leading to an explosive climax.

  Suzanne had thought she’d experienced every facet of his lovemaking, but this had held a wild quality, almost unbridled, as if he was barely retaining a hold on his emotions.

  She could only bury her head against his neck as he cradled her close, his lips warm and evocative as they traced a path across one exposed cheek.

  How long they stood like that, she had no idea. Long seconds, minutes maybe. Eventually her breathing steadied, and with infinite care he set her down onto her feet.

  Then he reached for the soap and slowly lathered every inch of her body before turning his attention to his own.

  Suzanne felt as if she wasn’t capable of moving, much less uttering a single word, and when he sw
itched off the water she stepped out from the shower stall and caught up a towel, only to have him take it from her to blot their skin free of moisture.

  Not once did his eyes leave hers, and she became lost in the darkness, every cell flaring brilliantly alive in the knowledge of what would follow.

  She wanted him. Dear heaven, so much. But what about afterwards? How could she board the launch on Monday and return to Sydney, her own apartment, and attempt to get on with her life as if this weekend had never happened?

  It would be a living nightmare of unfulfilled needing, wanting...empty. She doubted if she could survive.

  ‘Sloane—’ She couldn’t say the words, and she lifted a hand then let it fall helplessly down to her side.

  He brushed gentle fingers against her cheek, then let them drift to trace the pulsing cord at her neck.

  She was melting inside, subsiding into a state of sensual inertia where all she wanted was for him to continue until the slow warmth heated to white-hot fire.

  He knew. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch as his hand slid to her breast and caressed the soft contours before wreaking havoc with the sensitive peak.

  His head lowered and his mouth closed over hers in a deep evocative kiss that tore what little defences she had left to shreds. His mouth left hers and followed a sensual path to her breast, savouring, suckling on the tender nub as she arched her neck in silent invitation.

  One night, she groaned silently. Just one night.

  Her hands reached for him, the movement compulsive as she began exploring tight muscle and sinew, touching, tasting, and wanting more. So much more.

  The blood flowed through her veins like quicksilver, feeding every nerve-cell until her whole body ached with need. Sensual heat at its zenith.

  Sloane carried her into the bedroom and sank down with her onto the bed. She looked magnificent, her eyes deep blue crystalline, her soft mouth slightly swollen and parted from his kiss. There was a faint sheen on her skin, and her hair hung in tousled disarray.

  She leaned forward and initiated a deep kiss, enjoying the feeling of power as he allowed her free rein. Then in one smooth movement she arched her body and took him deep inside, gasping faintly as she felt inner tissues stretch to accommodate him.