What’s more, Emma was giving Raoul a running commentary on the video as it played, drawing his attention to the various figures in and out of costume.
A glance at the screen was sufficient for Stephanie to determine the video had only a few minutes left to run, and as the credits rolled Stephanie reached for her daughter’s hand as she deactivated the VCR. ‘Time for your bath, sweetheart.’
For a moment it seemed Emma might object, then she slid off the cushioned seat and stood.
‘I’ll come back and say good-night,’ she assured Raoul with childish earnestness as he unwound his length in one fluid movement.
‘Mr. Lanier has to leave,’ Stephanie said firmly, willing him to do just that. Her voice gentled, ‘You’d better say good-night now.’
Emma looked at him with unblinking solemnity for all of twenty seconds. ‘Good night.’
Stephanie began to lead her daughter from the room, only to have Emma pause and ask wistfully,
‘Will you come and see us again?’
Raoul looked from the child to the mother, and back again. His smile was gentle. ‘I’d like that.’
Emma grinned unabashedly, and broke into a skipping gait as she followed Stephanie from the room.
Oh hell, Stephanie cursed silently as she ran water into the bath and began undressing her daughter. How did you tell a three-year-old not to like someone? Explain that adult judgment was based on more than superficial appearance? And the reason for her mother’s dislike was seeded in distrust and fear?
It was far beyond the comprehension of a child, and because of that it would be unfair to issue a reprimand.
Raoul focused his attention on the number of picture frames lining a mahogany dropped table, and moved close to examine them.
Emma as a baby; sitting clutching a teddy bear that was almost of a similar size to the child; standing; perched on Santa Claus’s knee in a store studio shot; seated on a tricycle.
There was a photo of an older couple whom he deduced were Stephanie’s parents, but nothing of the man who was Emma’s father.
He lifted a hand and threaded fingers through his hair. If he had any sense he’d let himself out of the house and drive back to his hotel where at least three hours’ work awaited him on the laptop. He had international telephone calls to make, data to check. He’d be lucky if he got to bed before midnight.
Not that it mattered much, he reflected wryly. The past few nights hadn’t been given to peaceful sleep. His mind had centered too often on a strawberry-blond blue-eyed young marketing executive who held no qualms in challenging him to a verbal sparring match at the slightest provocation.
His gaze strayed to the television, caught the moving images in color and endeavored to focus his attention on a geographical program featuring a safari park in Africa.
The sound of a childish voice had him turning toward the door, and seconds later Emma skipped into the room ahead of Stephanie.
‘I’m going to bed now.’
She was her mother in miniature. The hair was a few shades lighter, but the eyes were bright blue, and the features held the promise of fine bone structure.
‘Good night, Emma.’
‘I’ll see you out before I put Emma down,’ Stephanie ventured coolly.
‘If you trust me in your kitchen, I’ll make coffee while you put Emma to bed. There’s something I want to discuss with you.’
She didn’t believe him. He could see the faint wariness, the doubt. And the need not to make an undue fuss in front of her daughter.
‘I’ll be back in ten minutes,’ she accorded with resignation. ‘Coffee and sugar are in the pantry. Milk in the refrigerator. I take mine white with one sugar.’
She reentered the lounge to find two cups filled with steaming coffee set on the occasional table, and the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans teased her nostrils.
‘You’ve made a conquest,’ Stephanie indicated as she picked up a cup.
Raoul inclined his head. ‘With Emma,’ he acknowledged in an accented drawl. ‘But not her mother.’
‘Nor are you likely to,’ she assured coolly. There was a part of her that silently screamed for him to leave, now. She didn’t want him in her house, her lounge, and she especially didn’t want him creating havoc with her emotional sanity.
He didn’t shift position, yet there was a stillness evident in his stance, an intense watchful quality that sent prickles of alarm scudding down the length of her spine. ‘No?’
One single word that held a wealth of meaning she didn’t want to explore. ‘Why don’t you cut to the chase?’ A bald suggestion that evoked a cynical smile.
‘Your unbiased opinion on the projected success of the movie Michel is investing in.’
‘I wouldn’t hazard a guess,’ Stephanie offered evenly. ‘There are too many dependent factors.’ Her gaze speared his. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I must ask you to leave. I have a report I need to work on.’
A lazy smile curved his mouth. ‘A businesslike indication the evening is at an end?’
‘Yes.’ She wrestled with her conscience, and added, ‘It was thoughtful of you to bring dinner. Thank you.’
‘How polite.’
She detected mockery in his tone, and ignored it as she led the way toward the front door. There was a heightened awareness that played havoc with her nerve endings. Dammit, she could almost feel his presence as he walked in her wake, and she hated her reaction as much as she hated him.
Stephanie slipped the latch, opened the door and stood to one side to allow him clear passage. ‘Good night, Mr. Lanier.’
‘Raoul,’ he insisted quietly. ‘There is just one more thing.’
‘What?’ she managed to ask with remarkable steadiness.
‘This.’
His hands captured her face and his head lowered down to hers before she could utter any protest, and then it was too late, for his mouth had taken possession of her own in a kiss that was so incredibly evocative it stirred her emotions and sent them rocketing out of control.
Dear heaven. It was all she could do not to lean in against him as he deepened the kiss to something so intensely sensual her whole body quivered in reaction.
This is insane, a tiny voice cautioned. What in hell are you doing?
With determined resolve she reached up and wrenched free of his hands, his tantalizing mouth, at the same time taking an unsteady step backward in an attempt to put some space between them.
Her breathing came in ragged gasps, and she could only stand looking at him with a combination of dismay and shock.
She wanted to scream how dare you? Twin flags of color tinged her cheeks, and her eyes darkened to the deepest sapphire. ‘Get out.’
The words emerged in a damning whisper, and he pressed a finger to her mouth, tracing its slightly swollen curves with a gentleness that almost undid her.
‘Au revoir, cherie.’
He stepped past her, and she closed the door, attached the safety chain, then she turned and leaned her back against the solid wood.
She closed her eyes against his image, then opened them again. As much as she blamed him, she also apportioned herself some of the blame. For not only responding, but enjoying the feel of that skillful mouth as it possessed her own.
Stephanie pushed herself away from the door and collected the empty coffee cups from the lounge and carried them into the kitchen.
Menial chores completed, she entered the small room she’d set up as a home office, activated her laptop and spent three hours on the report.
It was late when she went to bed, and after two hours spent tossing and turning, she switched on the bed lamp and read for an hour before falling into a deep sleep filled with a vivid dream about a nightmarish character who bore a striking resemblance to Raoul Lanier.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE weekends were strictly devoted to mother-and-daughter time. Saturday morning Stephanie put Emma in the car and drove to a park with a play area, grassy banks bordering a
meandering ornamental lake where children could feed the ducks.
For more than an hour Emma ran and played with some of the other children, scrambled over the jungle gym and had several turns on the swing.
Then it was time to drive to the local shopping center, collect the week’s groceries before returning home for lunch. While Emma had her afternoon nap, Stephanie caught up with the housework, after which Emma engaged in swimming lessons held at the local pool.
Stephanie inevitably planned something special for dinner, and when the dishes had been cleared away and Emma was bathed and in bed, she’d curl up in a chair and slot a rented video into the VCR.
The pattern rarely changed, and she told herself she was content. Or she had been, until five days ago when a tall ruggedly attractive man with a fascinating French accent invaded her life.
Last night his touch had awakened feelings and emotions she didn’t want to think about. Yet conversely, they infiltrated her mind and upset her equilibrium.
Stephanie let her thoughts wander from the actors on screen depicting unrequited love between two people from opposite ends of the social structure.
Another week, she determined, then the film would wrap. That was when her job would step into a higher gear as she organized television interviews, photo and fashion shoots, and the pièce de résistance, the gala dinner and dance.
Her involvement with Michel and Sandrine would be at a premium. Her contact with Raoul would hopefully be minimal.
Then Michel, Sandrine and Raoul would fly out from the Gold Coast to New York, Paris…and her life would revert to normal.
Sunday brought the coveted visit to Movieworld, and Stephanie took pleasure in seeing all the sights, experiencing the acted thrills and spills through the eyes of her daughter. Emma could barely keep awake toward the end, and after such an exciting day she willingly had her bath, ate an early dinner, then climbed into bed.
Monday brought a return to their weekday routine, and Stephanie focused on her schedule as she checked and wrote up her diary.
A cocktail party on Tuesday evening, followed by the gala dinner Saturday night meant she needed to enlist Sarah’s baby-sitting services, and she made the call.
The day fled swiftly, the afternoon proving fraught as last-minute checks revealed a few glitches she needed to chase up and eliminate. Her car, which she’d dropped in for its customary service, needed a replacement part that hadn’t arrived by courier in time for the mechanic to finish the job. A temporary loaned vehicle sufficed, and when she arrived home it was to discover a stray dog…a very large dog, she surmised, had somehow gained entrance through the day and had dug up nearly all of her garden plants. He’d also scared their cat half to death judging by his perch high up a tree.
Adding insult to injury, the dog had had a ball trying to drag washing from the clothesline.
It should have been Friday the thirteenth, Stephanie muttered beneath her breath as she set about rescuing the cat, gathering up broken plants, then she retrieved the washing and sorted clothes into Mend, Discard, Wash.
Surprisingly she slept well and woke to a beautifully sunny day with the promise of soaring temperatures and high humidity.
Stephanie favored slim-fitting stylish business suits for office wear, and she owned several that she mixed and matched with a variety of silk blouses. She coveted a sophisticated look, actively promoting an image of skilled efficiency, knowledge, nous.
This morning she selected a tailored skirt and jacket in deep sapphire blue. No blouse, black stiletto heels, her only jewelry a watch and slender neck chain.
The day progressed without a hitch, and she arrived home with forty minutes in which to bathe and feed Emma, shower, dress, then leave at six to attend an invitation-only cocktail party held in a very prestigious penthouse apartment at Main Beach.
Speed and organization were of the essence, and not for the first time she wished she had an eight-hour-a-day job that began when she walked through the office door in the morning and ended when she left late afternoon. And after-hours social obligations didn’t form part of her salary package.
If that were the case, she wouldn’t be able to afford this pleasantly furnished brick and tile house with its swimming pool, situated a short walk from the beach and a major shopping center. Nor would she own a relatively late-model car, or possess such a fashionable wardrobe of clothes.
For some reason she viewed the evening’s cocktail party with unaccustomed reluctance. She need only stay a short while, she reminded herself as she put the finishing touches to her makeup, then she added earrings, a matching pendant, and slipped her feet into black stiletto-heeled pumps.
Basic black in a classic design, Stephanie accorded as she checked her appearance in the long cheval mirror. Short sleeves, scooped neckline, smooth-fitting, with black lace overlaying the skirt and finishing in a scalloped hemline a modest few inches above the knee.
She flicked a glance at her wristwatch, caught up her evening purse and walked out into the lounge where Sarah was entertaining Emma with a new picture storybook.
The little girl had already been bathed and fed, and Stephanie crouched low to bestow a hug. ‘Be a good girl for Sarah. Love you.’
‘Yes. Love you, too,’ Emma responded, tightening her arms around her mother’s neck for a long minute.
Special, Stephanie accorded silently. The love of a child was unconditional, and therefore something to treasure.
‘Okay,’ she issued as she kissed her daughter’s cheek and broke contact. ‘Time to go.’
She could handle the daily routine of leaving Emma in care, for there was no other option. However, leaving her at night proved a wrench every time, no matter how she rationalized that she only socialized when the job demanded it.
Tonight’s soiree was being held in a penthouse apartment situated opposite the Sheraton Mirage to celebrate soaring sales of an imported line of luxury lingerie. Successful advertising, publicity, promotion and marketing had attracted the eye of the Gold Coast’s glitterati, resulting in a runaway success. The firm’s European director had opted to fly in from Milan to inspect the firm’s first Australian boutique and, rumor had it, to inspect his recently acquired apartment in the luxurious Palazzo Versace.
Stephanie reached Main Beach at six-thirty, parked in the underground car park beneath the complex, then rode the lift to the main foyer. Directions to the designated penthouse were easy to follow, and minutes later she’d cleared security and was led by a hostess into a large formal entertaining area filled with mingling guests.
A waiter appeared almost instantly and proffered a tray containing a selection of hors d’oeuvres. They were bite-size, and Stephanie took one, then at the waiter’s encouragement, she selected another. There was champagne, which she declined in favor of flavored mineral water.
‘Isn’t this something else?’
She turned at the sound of a familiar voice, and offered the advertising executive a warm smile. ‘Something,’ she agreed, following his gaze as it encompassed the luxurious furnishings, magnificent tiling, the expensive paintings adorning the wall, each of which appeared to be genuine originals.
The million-dollar view out over the Broadwater, the many high-rise apartment buildings to the hills in the distance was picture-perfect by daylight. In another hour, when darkness fell, it would provide a fairyland of light against the backdrop of an indigo sky.
‘It would appear lingerie does very well.’
‘It’s high-quality luxury, exceptional workmanship,’ Stephanie stated, and incurred a slightly cynical smile.
‘And ruinously expensive.’
‘It has the name,’ she said simply.
‘Which we help promote.’
She inclined her head. ‘Successfully.’ Her gaze skimmed the room, touching on the occasional familiar face. A waiter proffered a tray of savories, and she accepted one, aware of hunger pangs and the knowledge she wouldn’t eat dinner.
‘If you’ll excuse
me,’ she indicated minutes later. ‘There’s someone I want to talk to.’
During the next hour she mixed and mingled with fellow guests, some of whom she knew, others who clearly represented the cream of Gold Coast society.
Their host was a charming Italian whose attractive good looks caused more than one female heart to flutter in anticipation of gaining his attention.
Stephanie found it mildly amusing to observe the subtle, and not so subtle, attempts to flirt and charm him into more than a fleeting conversation. Some of it was merely harmless game-playing, which he dealt with the ease of long practice.
Anytime soon an announcement would be made, the host would deliver a gratifying speech, there would be the obligatory champagne toast, coffee would be offered, then she could leave and drive home.
Her gaze shifted, made restless by some indefinable shift in the room’s occupants. Her skin’s surface contracted in an involuntary shiver, almost a gesture of self-defense, and a slight frown creased her forehead. What on earth…
Then she glimpsed a tall broad-shouldered frame, and the breath caught in her throat at the sight of a familiar dark well-groomed head.
It couldn’t be…could it? Her attention was riveted as she watched the man turn toward her, and had her worst fears confirmed.
Raoul Lanier.
His features were unmistakable. The sculpted bone structure, broad cheekbones, the slant of his jaw, the wide set of those dark gray eyes. And the mouth.
Her eyes honed on that sensuously curved mouth, and remembered how it felt to have it close over her own. A slight tremor shook her slender frame, and she controlled it, barely.
With a sense of mesmerized fascination she watched as he paused to utter a few words to the person he was speaking to, then he turned and began making his way toward her.
For one wild moment she considered leaving. And she almost did, except instinct warned he would probably follow.
As he drew close she ignored her body’s reaction and consciously took a slow steadying breath, aware the room and its occupants faded into obscurity.
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 231
