The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Afterwards he cradled her against him as his fingers trailed a soothing pattern up and down her back, traceing each indentation of her spine.

  She slept, drifting into blissful somnolence, secure in the knowledge that she was safe. His. Undoubtedly his.

  Suzanne came awake at the soft pressure of lips brushing against her own, and she opened her eyes slowly, allowing the lashes to drift wide as she focused on the man who was intent on disturbing a dreamy ambience she was loath to leave.

  ‘It’s almost four,’ Sloane informed her huskily, and she offered him a slow, sweet smile.

  ‘Time to shower, dress, and meet Trenton and Georgia for tennis.’

  ‘I could ring through to their villa and cancel.’

  ‘We shouldn’t disappoint them,’ she opined solemnly, and he uttered a faint laugh. ‘Should we?’

  ‘Witch.’ He levered himself off the bed, and extended a hand. ‘Come on, then, or we’ll be late.’

  They were, but only by ten minutes, and Georgia and Trenton were already on the court, quite happily enjoying a relaxing rally.

  Together, they agreed on one set, and although both men were evenly matched the pace was laid-back rather than competitive, ending an hour later with a seven-five win in favour of Sloane and Suzanne.

  ‘A drink in the bar?’ Sloane suggested as they exited the court, and Trenton clapped a hand to his son’s shoulder in silent agreement.

  ‘I must be feeling my age,’ Georgia declared with a sparkling laugh as they entered the main complex and sank into comfortable chairs.

  Trenton signalled to the waiter and within minutes they were each sipping something long and cool.

  ‘Dinner at six-thirty?’ Trenton proposed. ‘I’ll have someone alert the dining room.’

  That would give them time to shower and change. Their final night on the island, Suzanne reflected, unsure whether to feel relieved or regretful that the extended weekend sojourn was almost at an end.

  What had begun as something she’d have given anything to avoid had become quite different in many respects from anything she’d envisaged.

  The anger, the resentment was gone. Yet what was in its place? The sex was great. Better than great...magnificent. But was that all it was?

  She wanted to ask, but she was afraid of the answer. Knew that if she was to survive emotionally she had to cull some form of self-preservation.

  ‘It’ll be the last night we spend with Georgia and Trenton for a while,’ Sloane reflected with indolent ease. ‘Shall we view a video, play cards, or just take a leisurely stroll along the beach for a while after dinner?’

  Trenton looked from his wife to his stepdaughter for confirmation. ‘Georgia? Suzanne?’

  Georgia’s smile was infectious. ‘Cards. Suzanne and I are rather good, aren’t we, darling?’

  It was, Suzanne decided gratefully, the more mentally stimulating choice. ‘Yes,’ she conceded with droll humour. ‘Let’s pit our combined skills and see if we can beat them.’

  Sloane arched an eyebrow and spared his father a wry look. ‘Men against the women?’

  Trenton. indulged in a husky chuckle. ‘You do play, Sloane? Otherwise we’re in deep trouble.’

  ‘Your villa or ours?’

  ‘Yours,’ Trenton drawled, and shot Georgia a wicked glance. ‘Then we can leave when we want to.’

  ‘Bring matchsticks,’ Suzanne bade them solemnly. ‘Georgia and I never play for money.’

  They finished their drinks and wandered out into the cool evening air. Darkness was falling, and already the garden lights illuminated the complex and grounds.

  Trenton and Georgia paused at a fork in the path leading to their villa. ‘We’ll meet in the restaurant in half an hour.’

  Once indoors, Suzanne made straight for the en suite, stripped off her clothes, and stepped beneath the warm pulsing water. Then gasped in surprise when Sloane followed close behind her.

  His presence triggered a spiral of electric energy, and she reached for the soap only to have it removed from her hand.

  What followed became an incredibly sensual assault that heightened every nerve-ending until her entire body seemed to pulse with sensory awareness.

  When he finished he silently handed her the soap, and she returned his ministrations, then stood still as he rinsed the lather from his skin.

  He reached for the water dial and closed it, then he cupped her face and kissed her hard and all too briefly before reaching out for a towel.

  ‘I don’t think we need dress up. Something casual will do.’

  Nevertheless she did, selecting black silk evening trousers and a matching silk singlet top. She kept make-up to a minimum, and added a slim gold chain Georgia had gifted her on her twenty-first birthday. Medium-heeled strappy sandals completed the outfit.

  Wearing immaculate ivory linen trousers and a deep blue cotton shirt, Sloane exuded a vibrant energy that was intensely male, and her senses leapt when he enfolded her hand in his as they made their way to the restaurant.

  Dinner was a convivial meal, and they each chose locally caught seafood, garnished with a variety of fresh salad greens. They opted out of dessert and selected the cheeseboard instead, with fresh grapes and cantaloupe, followed by a sinfully rich liqueur coffee.

  A leisurely walk among the lamp-lit grounds and gardens extended the time it took to reach the villa, and once inside they seated themselves comfortably at the table while Trenton extracted and shuffled a pack of cards.

  It wasn’t so much the game, or winning, Suzanne mused as she collected the cards she’d been dealt. She found the pitting of mental skills honed by chance to be an enjoyable challenge. Predicting how the suits and the numbers would run, and the odds. She didn’t believe in tricks, or sleight of hand, and abhorred players who utilised any system.

  As a pair, she and Georgia won the first game, then the second. When the third meant another loss for the men, there was keen speculation about the fourth game.

  ‘I think we’re about to go down,’ Trenton declared, meeting Sloane’s musing smile with one of his own.

  ‘If we win, we’ll split up and change partners,’ Georgia offered generously.

  ‘Now that could make things interesting,’ Sloane drawled, and Suzanne spared him a wicked grin.

  ‘Must we, Mama? This might be the only advantage we’ll ever gain over them.’

  Sloane lifted a hand and brushed his knuckles across her cheek. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he intoned tolerantly. ‘I can think of other advantages.’ His eyes were dark with lambent warmth, his meaning unmistakable, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about the soft tinge of colour that flared high across her cheekbones.

  ‘You’ll embarrass my mother,’ she chided, and Trenton laughed.

  ‘Doubtful, darling,’ Georgia assured her.

  Suzanne looked from one gleaming gaze to another, and conceded defeat. ‘I think we should play on.’ Afterwards, when they were alone, she’d pay Sloane back. And relish every second. of it. She shot him a silently threatening glance from beneath her lashes, and glimpsed the teasing gleam in those dark depths.

  It gave her a degree of satisfaction to win, and she chose to be paired with Trenton against Georgia and Sloane in a series of games that brought a finish so close, the margin was minuscule in Georgia and Sloane’s favour.

  Being seated opposite him provided the opportunity to watch every move, glimpse each facial expression, the faint narrowing of his eyes as he considered which card to play, which one to discard.

  He was a superb tactician, a supreme strategist. And he learned really fast. Too fast. It made her wonder if he hadn’t deliberately played to lose earlier.

  ‘Anyone for coffee?’

  ‘No, thank you, darling.’ Georgia spared a glance at her watch, then rose to her feet. ‘We’ll see you at breakfast. Around eight?’

  Sloane walked at Suzanne’s side to the door. ‘We’ll be there.’

  Georgia leaned forward and brushed her
daughter’s cheek with her own. ‘Sleep well.’

  As soon as the door had closed behind them, Suzanne crossed to the table and gathered up the pile of matchsticks, then collected the cards.

  ‘Leave them.’

  His smile was warm with implied intimacy, and she almost melted at its mesmerising quality. ‘It’ll only take a minute. Then I’ll pack.’

  His expression didn’t change. ‘There’s plenty of time to do that in the morning.’

  She looked at him helplessly. ‘Sloane—’ How could she say she was a mass of nerves, relieved in one way the weekend was almost over, yet deep inside fighting off a feeling of inconsolable grief? Wanting him, but reluctant to add another night of loving that would only add to the heartache? She shook her head in silent remonstrance, then drew on inner strength ‘It won’t take long.’

  He was close, much too close. Her breathing seemed to hang suspended as her pulse raced into overdrive.

  ‘Look at me.’

  Her stomach executed a painful flip. ‘Sloane—’

  ‘Look at me, Suzanne,’ he commanded in a voice that was deceptively mild—too mild.

  She turned from her task of clearing the table, and hugged her arms together in an involuntary defensive gesture.

  ‘You’re as skittish as a newborn foal.’ And consumed by a confusing mix of contrary emotions, he added silently, aware of almost every one of them. ‘Want to talk about why?’

  How did she begin, and where? Or should she even begin at all? Words seemed superfluous and contradictory, yet there were things that needed to be said.

  She looked at his strongly etched features, and felt as if she was teetering on the edge of a bottomless pit.

  ‘I’d like to go to bed. It’s late, and I’m tired.’

  He reached out a hand and took hold of her chin, then tilted it. ‘You’re avoiding the issue.’

  Her eyes darkened, and she felt them begin to ache with suppressed emotion. ‘Tomorrow we go back to Sydney and lead separate lives.’

  ‘If you believe I’m going to let that happen, then you’re sadly mistaken.’

  He lowered his head and angled his mouth over hers in a gentle possession that soon hardened into something deep and incredibly erotic.

  It was all she could do not to respond, and she fought against the dictates of her own traitorous body, almost hating herself for being so mindless, so incredibly vulnerable where he was concerned.

  Want; need. The two were entwined, yet separate. With differing meanings, depending on the gender.

  A man could want, and use seducing skills to achieve sexual satisfaction. Was that what Sloane was doing? Making the most of the weekend?

  Yet it was two-sided. She hadn’t exactly displayed too much reluctance.

  When he lifted his head she could only stand in silence, her eyes wide and hiding her pain.

  His arm slid down her back, and she tried to put some distance between them. Without success. ‘Please, don’t.’

  ‘Don’t what, Suzanne? Take you to bed? Is that what this is all about?’ His eyes searched hers, and glimpsed the slight flaring evident in her own.

  ‘Sex isn’t the answer to everything.’

  He noted the faint wariness in the set of her beautiful mouth, the bruised softness in those crystalline blue eyes, and wanted to wipe away all the indecision the doubt, and replace it with the uninhibited emotion she’d gifted him in the beginning.

  ‘I don’t call what we share sex,’ Sloane opined gently.

  No, it was never just sex. Shared intimacy, lovemaking, a sensual exploration and satiation of the senses with love the ultimate goal.

  ‘Last night—’

  ‘Last night was a mistake.’

  His eyes hardened to dark obsidian shards, and his expression became a bleak, angry mask.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘THE hell it was.’

  ‘Sloane—’

  ‘What excuse are you going to try for, Suzanne? Too much champagne, when you barely touched a second glass? It seemed like a good idea at the time?’ His dark eyes bored into her with relentless and deadly anger. ‘What?’

  Oh, God. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘Then explain how it was.’

  Magical, euphoric. Devastating in more ways than one. She tried for an ineffectual shrug and almost got it right. ‘I let the pretence become reality.’ The burning need to experience heaven one last time.

  ‘You expect me to believe that?’ His voice was dangerously quiet.

  ‘Dammit, Sloane. What do you want? A blow-by-blow analysis of my emotions?’

  ‘The truth might help.’

  ‘What truth?’

  ‘There were two people in that bed. And you were with me every inch of the way.’

  ‘So what does that prove, other than you’re a skilled lover?’

  ‘Are you saying you’d respond to any man the way you respond to me?’

  No. Never. So deep was her certainty, it robbed the power from her voice.

  ‘Suzanne?’

  His eyes sharpened, homing in on the thinly disguised bleakness. ‘You didn’t answer the question.’

  Her eyes blazed, and she lifted her chin to a defiant angle. ‘What would you do if I said yes?’

  His expression frightened her. ‘Be tempted to beat you within an inch of your life.’

  ‘You’re not a violent man,’ she said with certainty, only to have that conviction waver at the brilliant flare of intense emotion evident in his eyes, the deep set of his features projecting a mask that made her feel suddenly afraid. Which was ridiculous.

  ‘Try me.’ The silky softness of his voice sent a chill chasing the length of her spine.

  Gone was the cool, implacable control of the courtroom barrister. Absent, too, was the veneer of sophistication. In its place was a man intent on fighting—if not physically then verbally—to the bitter end to effect a resolution. Here, now. No matter what the outcome.

  Suzanne moved her shoulders in an infinitely weary gesture. ‘Can’t this wait until morning?’ It had been a long night, and an even longer day.

  He folded both arms across his chest. ‘No.’

  ‘Sloane—’

  ‘No,’ he reiterated with dangerous softness.

  She was almost at the end of her tether, tired in spirit, physically, emotionally. All she wanted to do was undress, curl into bed and sleep.

  Then, when she woke in the morning, the long weekend would be over. She’d board the launch, take the flight back to Sydney, and attempt to take up with her life again. Without Sloane.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ It was a tortured cry straight from the heart.

  A muscle bunched at the edge of his jaw. ‘You. Just you.’

  Her throat ached with emotion, and she was willing to swear her heart stopped beating.

  ‘As my wife, my partner, the twin half of my soul. For the rest of my life.’

  She could only look at him in silence as she tried to assemble a few words that made sense.

  He didn’t give her the chance. ‘I have a Notice of Intention to Marry in my possession.’ He let his arms fall to his sides. ‘All you have to do is attach your signature prior to the service tomorrow morning.’

  Her voice emerged from her throat with difficulty. ‘Tomorrow?’ The single query was little more than a soundless gasp. ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘Remarkably sane.’

  Suzanne felt as if she needed to sit down. ‘We can’t possibly—’

  ‘We can,’ Sloane insisted. ‘You’re as aware of the legalities as I am.’ He paused fractionally, then touched a gentle finger to the corner of her mouth, traced its outline, then let his hand fall. ‘Georgia and Trenton will act as witnesses.’

  ‘You expect me to agree to all this?’ she questioned weakly.

  He looked at her for long, timeless minutes, examining the fall of clean blonde hair, the fine-texture skin with minimum make-up coverage, the
beautiful crystalline blue eyes. And played his last card.

  ‘We can go back to Sydney tomorrow and begin organising the social event of the year. Plan the date, the venue, the marquee, the guest list, your designer gown, the media. If that’s what you want, I’ll go along with it. Happily.’ He paused, his voice softening. ‘As long as it means I get you.’ He lifted a hand and brushed gentle fingers down her cheek, then cupped her jaw. ‘Or we can many quietly here, tomorrow.’ His smile held incredible warmth. ‘The choice is yours.’

  Life with Sloane. Life without Sloane. There really wasn’t any choice at all. Never had been.

  ‘Tomorrow?’ she reiterated in stunned disbelief.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Sloane insisted.

  Suzanne’s brain whirled with numerous implications. ‘You planned it like this,’ she said unsteadily. ‘Didn’t you?’

  He touched a forefinger to her lips. ‘I planned to marry you. The time, the place were irrelevant.’

  She searched his features and glimpsed the strength of purpose evident. ‘Georgia and Trenton’s wedding, this remote island resort—’ She faltered, absently lifting a hand to push a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘Their plans made it easy for you to—’

  ‘Discover the truth,’ he finished.

  ‘But what if—’

  There was a faint edge of tension beneath the surface of his control that he fought hard to subdue. Losing her temporarily had nearly cost him his sanity.

  ‘You said you needed time and space,’ Sloane declared quietly. ‘Something I vowed to give you... within reason.’

  Suzanne digested his words, and perceived the meaning behind them. ‘You had that much faith in me?’

  A slight tremor in her voice brought a faint smile, and he lifted a hand and tucked another loose tendril of hair behind her ear. ‘Yes.’

  She saw the passion visible in those dark, arresting features, and her bones began to melt. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply.

  His mouth curved with sensual warmth, deepening the darkness of his eyes as he leaned forward and trailed his lips along her cheekbone, then traced her jaw and settled near the edge of her mouth.