The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  ‘That’s unfair,’ Sandrine protested quickly.

  ‘And unjustified,’ Stephanie added, folding her napkin and placing it beside her plate. ‘You insisted on meeting tonight.’ She picked up her evening purse and focused her attention on Michel. ‘I’ve already relayed our marketing strategy. Therefore my presence here is no longer necessary. Enjoy the rest of your meal.’

  Sandrine watched the attractive blonde turn from the table and step quickly towards the main desk, pause briefly as she presented a credit card, then disappear through the door.

  ‘A slight case of overkill, Raoul?’ Michel mocked, raising one eyebrow at his brother’s narrowed gaze, then added thoughtfully, ‘Are you going to let her get away?’

  Raoul shifted his napkin onto the table and rose to his feet. ‘No, I don’t believe I am.’

  ‘That was extremely—’

  ‘Inappropriate,’ Michel completed with dry cynicism.

  ‘Yes, it was.’

  ‘I hope he catches her.’

  ‘Even if he does, I doubt it’ll do him any good,’ Sandrine opined, annoyed at Raoul’s inexplicable behaviour and Michel’s subsequent amusement.

  ‘You don’t think Raoul will be able to mend fences?’ He lifted his glass and took an appreciative sip of the excellent wine.

  ‘Not easily.’

  His eyes gleamed with humour as they swept her expressive features. ‘You don’t think my brother would benefit from the love of a good woman?’

  ‘Whatever happened to the reverse side of the coin?’ Sandrine parried. ‘Shouldn’t a woman benefit from the love of a good man?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s unfortunate the Lanier men have their thinking locked into another century.’

  Michel’s gaze narrowed fractionally. ‘Specifically?’

  The waiter removed their plates and summoned the wine steward to replenish their glasses.

  ‘You’re amused by Raoul’s reaction to Stephanie. What if it progressed into something serious?’ She lifted a hand in an expressive gesture. ‘Do you imagine Raoul would countenance Stephanie’s continuing with her career?’

  He subjected her to an unwavering appraisal as he leant back in his chair with indolent ease. ‘As you are determined to do?’ he riposted with deceptive mildness.

  ‘You don’t get it, do you?’

  ‘Get what, precisely?’

  ‘It’s not about a career as such.’ She should have a script, dammit! She’d carefully thought out everything she wanted to say. Hell, she’d had enough time! Where were all those fine words now? Out the window, along with her sanity.

  She took a slow, calming breath. ‘It’s about seizing an opportunity and striving to achieve the best possible result. Not for fame and fortune, but to satisfy a creative need.’ She waited a few seconds before adding, ‘Because there’s a depth, an inner feeling so in tune with the part that you feel you are meant to be the medium to convey the written words, actions and emotions on film for the audiences to appreciate the true depth of the character.’

  Michel remained silent. The silence stretched into minutes as the waiter brought their main course and made a production out of flourishing a gigantic pepper-mill, explaining the intricacies of the chef’s skill before bidding them bon appétit in appalling French.

  Michel picked up his fork and speared an artistically carved carrot rosette. ‘You didn’t pause to consider that if you got the part, it would involve your being in Australia at a time when I was locked into important business meetings in Paris?’

  ‘Do you know how many actresses auditioned for that part?’ she demanded. ‘My chances of succeeding were as hopeful as a snowflake surviving in hell.’

  He was calm, his movements controlled, but she sensed leashed anger beneath the surface. ‘Yet you did succeed,’ he reminded her with deceptive mildness. ‘You also signed a contract, confirmed flight arrangements and waited to tell me coincidentally two days prior to my being due in Paris.’

  He pressed his fork into a baby potato, slid it into the small pool of hollandaise sauce and sampled it with evident enjoyment, then he lifted his head and his gaze pierced hers, steady and unblinking. ‘You expected me to say, “That’s fine, darling. Call me. See you next month”?’

  The nerves in her stomach tightened and curled into a painful knot. ‘The timing was wrong. So was the film location.’ She ran the tip of a fingernail along the hemmed edge of her napkin. ‘I knew you’d protest, but I hoped you’d understand.’

  ‘Enough to agree to your being apart from me for a considerable length of time?’

  ‘It was only a few weeks.’

  ‘At a time when I couldn’t delegate in order to join you,’ he reminded her. ‘If you remember, we opted against an open relationship for the commitment and permanency of marriage, determining to arrange our lives so we could be together.’

  ‘Are you implying I placed more importance on an acting part than you?’

  ‘Deny your actions confirmed it.’

  ‘You reacted as if I were a possession, someone who should be available whenever you happened to snap your fingers!’ Sandrine accused, and saw his eyebrow lift in silent mockery. ‘I wasn’t referring to the bedroom!’

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ Michel drawled.

  ‘Am I interrupting something?’

  Sandrine turned towards the owner of the faintly accented voice and summoned a wry smile. ‘Only a current battle in the continuing war.’

  Raoul slid into his seat. ‘Want me to play mediator?’

  ‘No,’ she responded sweetly.

  ‘Michel?’

  ‘It’ll keep.’

  A devilish imp prompted the words that slipped easily from her tongue. ‘We have a capricious airhead opposing a dictatorial tyrant.’

  ‘A moment ago I was labelled possessive,’ Michel relayed with marked cynicism, flicking his brother a dark glance. ‘You caught up with Stephanie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I assume you offered an apology.’ ‘Which she refused to accept,’ Raoul indicated dryly, and Sandrine proffered a musing grin.

  ‘Verbally flayed you, did she?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘So, when do you intend seeing her again?’ Michel asked archly.

  ‘Not at all, if she has anything to do with it.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ Sandrine posed. ‘Tomorrow? On what grounds?’

  Raoul lifted one eyebrow. ‘Do I require any?’

  No, of course he didn’t, she dismissed. All he had to do was exert a measure of innate charm and women fell at his feet. Stephanie, she perceived, could prove to be an exception.

  The waiter came with his main course and appeared affronted when Raoul dismissed his spiel before he even had the chance to begin with it.

  ‘How long will it take to wrap up filming?’ Raoul queried as he sliced into a succulent fillet of beef.

  ‘I have another day scheduled. Maybe two at the most,’ Sandrine told him. ‘Tony is hopeful two weeks will do it.’

  ‘I understand you have to remain on call for the possibility of retakes, publicity, promotion?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Raoul turned towards Michel. ‘You intend remaining on the Coast?’

  ‘Sydney,’ Sandrine interjected. ‘I have family there. If the studio calls me in, I can take the next flight out and be here the next day.’

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something, chérie?’ Michel queried silkily.

  ‘You?’ Her smile was a little too wide and too bright.

  ‘So brave,’ he mocked lightly.

  Foolish, she amended silently, for thinking she could best him. Verbally, physically, or mentally.

  ‘Dessert?’

  ‘Coffee,’ she said firmly, aware of the need to be decisive. ‘Liqueur. Kahlua.’

  Michel beckoned the waiter, conferred with Raoul, indicated their order, then requested the bill.

  ‘The account has been settled, m’sieur.’r />
  ‘I think you’re mistaken.’

  ‘No, m’sieur. The lady who was dining with you instructed the account be billed to her credit card.’

  Sandrine hid a smile. Stephanie had managed to score on two counts. She’d walked out on Raoul Lanier and she’d added insult to injury by taking care of the bill.

  ‘It appears Ms Sommers is a young woman to be reckoned with,’ Michel commented dryly.

  ‘Indeed.’

  She detected mockery in Raoul’s drawled response and was unable to suppress a grin. ‘I’m with Stephanie.’

  Both men sent her a level glance.

  ‘Take her home,’ Raoul instructed as he rose to his feet. ‘And hush her mouth.’

  Michel’s eyes gleamed with humour. ‘I intend to,’ he said, suppressing a laugh.

  Raoul accompanied them through the foyer to the main entrance and stood while the concierge summoned their car.

  ‘Sweet dreams,’ Sandrine teased as she bade Raoul goodnight, then slid into the passenger seat.

  His expression was unreadable, and she gave a soft chuckle as Michel eased the car down to street level. Unless she was mistaken, Raoul had met his match, and she, for one, was going to enjoy watching the game!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SANDRINE focused her attention on the scene beyond the windscreen as the car entered the flow of northbound traffic.

  The night was clear, the air sharp, and the lighted windows of various high-rise apartment buildings vied with far distant stars in an indigo sky.

  ‘Shall we continue where we left off?’

  She cast Michel a steady glance, aware that the night’s shadows were highlighting the angles and planes of his face.

  Her voice assumed unaccustomed cynicism. ‘It won’t change the fact that we had a major fight over my decision to fulfil an acting contract.’

  He smote a clenched fist against the steering wheel, and she looked at him in startled disbelief.

  ‘Mon Dieu. This is not about you pursuing a career.’ He paused at a roundabout, waiting for two cars to circle and exit. ‘It’s about us being together. Not me being forced to spend time in one city while you’re on the other side of the world in another. Comprends?’

  ‘It was unavoidable.’

  ‘It need not have been if you’d enlightened me about the audition at the time,’ Michel enunciated with restraint. ‘Thus giving me the opportunity to implement a contingency plan.’ He directed her a dark look returning his attention to the road. ‘I won’t allow it to happen again.’

  She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘Excuse me? You won’t allow it?’

  ‘No,’ he reiterated hardily. ‘In future there will be no misunderstandings, no assumptions. We communicate and leave nothing in doubt.’

  ‘I’m not sure we have a future,’ she countered wretchedly, and could have bitten her tongue for uttering the foolish words.

  ‘Oh, yes, we do, mignonne.’ His voice was deadly soft.

  ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘Easily.’

  ‘What about unresolved issues?’

  ‘Name them,’ Michel challenged.

  ‘You,’ Sandrine began, crossing each of his sins off on her fingers. ‘Keeping tabs on me, investigating everyone to do with the film, conspiring to come up with a financial rescue package and making me a condition. Blackmail,’ she asserted finally, ‘is a criminal offense.’

  ‘You’re the wife of a wealthy man whose access to a family fortune makes anyone associated with me a prime target. Ransom, extortion, kidnapping. Of course I had someone watch over you.’

  ‘You could have told me! How do you think I’d have reacted if I saw someone following me?’

  ‘You refused to take or answer any of my calls, remember?’ he retorted. ‘And I pay for the best. Not some amateur who’d frighten you by being visible.’

  ‘What did he do?’ she demanded, immeasurably hurt. ‘Report whom I spoke to, where I went, what I did…every minute of every day?’

  ‘It wasn’t about my lack of trust in you,’ he bit out angrily. ‘It was about protection. Yours.’

  ‘It was an invasion of privacy. Mine.’ She was on a roll and couldn’t seem to stop. ‘I hate you for it.’

  ‘So hate me, mignonne. At least I knew you were safe.’

  ‘I guess the film running overtime and over budget played right into your hands. It gave you a lever, a figurative gun to hold to my head. Do what I say, or else.’ She directed him a fulminating glare. ‘I’ll never forgive you for that.’

  “‘Never” is a long time.’

  ‘It’s as long as my lifetime.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Michel drawled. ‘What did you intend to do when filming was completed?’

  ‘Visit my family.’

  ‘And afterwards?’

  That was in the hazy future and something she’d deliberately not given much thought.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted honestly, and grimaced at the husky oath that rent the air.

  ‘You don’t know.’ He raised both hands off the wheel, then gripped it hard. ‘Next you’ll tell me you intended contacting me through a lawyer.’

  ‘I suppose it was a possibility.’

  ‘Not telephoned me? Or caught a flight home?’

  ‘Where is home, Michel?’ she queried wryly. ‘You have a residential base in several cities. I’d have had to have your secretary check on your whereabouts at the time.’

  ‘Sacré bleu. You have my personal cell phone number where you can reach me anywhere at any time!’

  ‘Maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to!’

  ‘Did it not occur to you that I might have taken all that into consideration and put, as you so cynically called it, “a figurative gun” to your head?’

  The car slowed almost to a halt, and Sandrine was startled to see Michel activate the security gate permitting access to the Sanctuary Cove residential suburb. Seconds later the gate slid open and they drove through.

  ‘Believe me, I would have used any weapon I had.’

  ‘Blackmail, Michel?’

  ‘You wouldn’t answer my calls. If I arrived on your doorstep, would you have let me in?’

  ‘Probably not.’ At least, not at first. Her initial instinct would have been to slam the door in his face. The next…call the police? No, she refuted silently. She wouldn’t have gone that far.

  Was he right insisting on an enforced reconciliation? Putting them in the same residence, giving her no choice in the matter?

  Within minutes they reached the villa, and once inside she crossed to the stairs and made her way up to the main bedroom.

  For weeks she’d been so angry with Michel, herself, the circumstances that had caused the dissent between them. Now there was a degree of self-doubt, a measure of regret…and pain.

  In the bedroom she slipped off her shoes and crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window. She made no attempt to draw the drapes as she looked out across the bay to the brightly lit restaurant cantilevered over the water.

  Within a few days she’d leave here and probably not return. Sydney beckoned, and family. Her mother would be pleased to see her, likewise her father. But on separate occasions at different venues. She’d visit, take gifts, greet each of her step-siblings, and pretend she belonged.

  She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the loneliness deep inside. An ache behind her eyelids culminated in tears that escaped and slid slowly down each cheek.

  A faint sound, a slight movement, alerted her to Michel’s presence, and she prayed he wouldn’t turn on the light.

  Sandrine sensed rather than heard him cross to stand behind her, then his hands closed over her shoulders as he drew her back against him.

  ‘We made a deal, remember?’

  ‘What deal are you referring to?’

  ‘Never to spend a night apart. Except in circumstances beyond our control.’

  So they had. And somehow taking a bit part in a movie being shot on the other side
of the world didn’t come close in the qualifying stakes of circumstances beyond our control.

  ‘Where do we go from here?’ she queried quietly, and he didn’t pretend to misunderstand.

  ‘Let’s just take it one day at a time, hmm?’

  For several minutes he didn’t move, then his hands slid down her arms and linked together at her waist. She felt his lips brush against her ear, then trail slowly down the sensitive cord of her neck to nuzzle the soft hollow there.

  It was heaven to lean her head into the curve of his shoulder and just be. To absorb the warmth of that large pulsing body, to take comfort in the shelter it afforded her, and to luxuriate in the touch of his hands, his lips.

  He didn’t offer a word, nor did she. They didn’t move, just stood there for what seemed an age.

  Then Michel gently turned her to face him, and she lifted her arms to encircle his neck as he lowered his head down to hers.

  His mouth explored the soft lower curve of her own, grazing it with the edge of his teeth before sweeping his tongue to test the delicate tissues and tease the sensitised ridges in an erotic tasting that made her want more than this gentle supplication.

  He’d removed his jacket and tie, but his shirt was an impossible barrier she sought to remove. She needed to touch his skin, to feel the heavy pulse of his heart beneath his rib cage and to explore the very essence of him.

  By tacit agreement, they divested each other’s clothes in a leisurely, evocative fashion, the slither of silk over skin arousing and heightening the senses to fever pitch.

  Now. She wanted him now. Hard and fast. She needed to feel his strength, his unfettered passion.

  Her mouth met his hungrily as he tumbled her down onto the bed, and she was aware of uttering small sounds of encouragement as he explored her, then she groaned out loud with pleasure as he entered her in one long thrust, stilling for timeless seconds as she absorbed him.

  He withdrew and she lifted her hips as he plunged deep inside. She clung to him, urging him harder, closer, until pleasurable sensation reached an almost unbearable intensity.

  Sandrine cried out, beseeching him with a litany of pleas as she became helpless beneath an emotion so treacherous it almost succeeded in destroying her.