Why was she suddenly given to thinking like this? Because Camille posed a threat?
Dammit, you didn’t have a child to use as a bargaining tool, much less a weapon!
The electronic buzzer dispersed her train of thought, and she endeavoured to keep her smile in place as she recognised Camille.
Talk of the devil!
‘I enjoyed a long lunch, then spent an hour or two browsing the boutiques,’ Camille informed her as she crossed to where several silk shirts were displayed.
‘I caught sight of something here yesterday that I thought I should have.’ She slid hangers every which way and a slight frown creased her brow. ‘Perhaps you’ve put it aside?’ She described the shirt, named the label, the size, then looked askance at Hannah as if she might conjure it up out of thin air.
‘I sold it yesterday afternoon.’
‘Order one in for me.’
It was a command, not a request, and Hannah held her breath for a few seconds before slowly releasing it. ‘I can try,’ she said evenly. ‘However, everything here is limited edition stock.’
Camille gave her a long considering look. ‘Make the call. I want it.’
Hannah viewed her carefully, then threw politeness out the window. ‘You can’t always have what you want.’
There was no mistaking her meaning.
The Frenchwoman examined her perfectly manicured nails, then seared Hannah with a vindictive glare.
‘You’re wrong, chérie. I always get what I want.’
‘Really?’ Her cynicism was marked. ‘Maybe it’s time you didn’t.’
Camille resembled a hissing cat about to strike. ‘So you intend to fight?’
This could rapidly digress into something feral. ‘I won’t gift-wrap Miguel and hand him to you on a platter.’
‘Why, chérie. I don’t need for you to gift me anything. I reach out and take what I want.’
She could feel her fingers curling in against each palm, and it was all she could do to stay calm. ‘Even if it doesn’t belong to you?’
‘The fact it doesn’t belong to me merely adds to the attraction. Marriage? What is it?’ Camille emphasised the point with a Gallic shrug. ‘Merely a piece of paper.’
‘Try sacred vows citing fidelity, trust and honour,’ Hannah cited, and heard the Frenchwoman’s pitying laughter.
‘Poor enfant,’ Camille chided. ‘So naive and caught up with ideals.’
Ideals, huh? She was as well versed in reality as the next person. More so, because she’d grown up very aware there were those who would adopt any façade if they thought it would work to their advantage. Luc was the only one who’d managed to pull the wool over her eyes.
‘What if Miguel won’t play your game?’ Hannah queried deliberately.
Camille broke into disbelieving laughter and shot her a pitying look. ‘That is not an option.’
‘You’re so sure of yourself?’
‘Sure of my—’ she paused fractionally ‘—ability, darling.’
‘Singular?’ Hannah posed with wry cynicism, determined not to concede this verbal match in any way.
‘Perhaps we should agree to confer a week from now. You might not be so confident.’ With that parting shot, Camille swept out of the boutique and soon disappeared from sight.
Phew! She might not have won that round, but she hadn’t exactly lost.
It was after five when she left the boutique, and she drove to the hospital, visited a slightly wan Cindy, then headed home.
Miguel had showered and was in the process of dressing when Hannah entered the bedroom.
His taut, steel-muscled body projected an enviable aura of power. A strength that was also of the mind and spirit, and she would have given anything to be able to go to him, have him enfold her close, and make the world go away.
Well, maybe the world was asking too much. All she wanted was for Camille Dalfour to be gone.
‘Bad day?’
She lifted her head and threw him a wry look as she shrugged out of her jacket and began unbuttoning her blouse. ‘Tomorrow has to be better.’
He reached for his shirt and pulled it on. ‘Want to cancel out tonight?’
What she wanted was to relax in the spa-bath for as long as it took for her tense muscles to unknot, then indulge in a long, sweet loving.
‘No. The movie received good reviews overseas,’ she said evenly.
Miguel’s hands stilled at the faint catch in her voice, and he cast her a discerning look, saw the soft shadows beneath her eyes, cheeks that were devoid of colour, and he covered the distance between them in a few easy steps.
He cupped her chin, lifting it so she had no recourse but to meet his gaze. ‘Something bothers you?’
Yes, it bothers me like hell. ‘As I said,’ she prevaricated as both of his thumbs smoothed a soothing pattern along the edge of her jaw, ‘a bad day.’
‘Hannah.’ His voice was a silky drawl. ‘Don’t take me for a fool. Honesty, remember?’
Well, this was it. There wasn’t going to be a better time. ‘Camille wants you.’
His eyes darkened, although his expression didn’t change. ‘She has told you this?’ The query held an icy softness. ‘When?’
She held his gaze without difficulty. ‘Yesterday, and today.’ She attempted a smile, and failed miserably. ‘You’re a marked man.’
‘Indeed?’ His voice was a cynical drawl.
This time the smile was bright, too bright. ‘She’s convincing.’
‘I’m sure she is.’
‘I assured her I possess a few advantages.’ She lifted a hand and began counting off her fingers. ‘Minor things like a hefty inheritance, a convenient and compatible marriage. You.’ She cast him a measured look. ‘Did I get those in the right order?’
His eyes darkened and became obsidian shards. ‘I could shake you.’
‘Please don’t,’ she protested slowly. ‘I might shatter.’
Nevertheless he did, gently. ‘You sweet fool,’ he growled in husky chastisement. ‘I am not interested in extra-marital games.’ He traced her lower lip with the pad of his thumb, then released her. ‘Comprende?’
‘Words, Miguel?’ she queried with a hint of sadness. ‘Don’t insult me by uttering them meaninglessly.’
‘Why would I risk our marriage?’
‘Exactly.’ Something inside her died at the way he obviously regarded their alliance. ‘Why would you?’
‘Hannah.’ The silky warning was evident, but she chose to ignore it.
‘To Camille, you’re a challenge.’
‘Women of Camille’s ilk,’ Miguel evinced hardly, ‘are known to have their own agenda.’
Hannah’s eyes sparked with blue fire. ‘Well, she can take her agenda and go shove it.’
Amusement lifted the corners of his mouth, and his eyes assumed a humorous gleam. ‘At daggers drawn, querida?’
‘Yes.’
His gaze narrowed slightly. ‘You’re not in her league.’
‘I hope that’s a compliment?’
‘Without doubt.’ He leant down and brushed his lips to her temple. ‘Go have your shower.’
Hannah caught up fresh underwear, a wrap, and entered the en suite, emerging fifteen minutes later to discover Miguel had already gone downstairs.
She pulled on smart jeans and a rib-knit top, twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head, then she joined Miguel in the dining room.
Sofia had excelled herself with the meal, and an accompanying light white wine provided a relaxing effect.
It took only minutes to clear the table and stack the dishwasher before returning upstairs to change.
Hannah selected an evening trouser suit in brilliant sapphire, brushed her hair loose, and tended to her make-up before adding a knee-length sheer silk evening jacket patterned in green and blue peacock hues. A beaded evening purse completed the outfit.
‘Exquisita,’ Miguel complimented, and she gave him an impish smile.
‘Gracias, h
ombre.’ She cast his tall frame a considering look, deliberately noting the splendid dark evening suit, the snowy white cotton shirt, the neat black bow tie. ‘Not bad.’ A mischievous smile curved her generous mouth. ‘I guess you’ll do.’
‘Indeed?’ He took in her finely boned features, the petite stature that never failed to stir in him a host of emotions. ‘Shall we leave?’
They arrived fifteen minutes before the premiere was due to begin, and walked into the crowded foyer as invited patrons were entering the auditorium.
The film had an unusual premise, one that enchanted the mind, yet held an underlying thread which provided a startling conclusion. The acting was superb, and it was touted that the three main actors would receive Academy Award nominations.
Miguel reached for her hand as the credits rolled, and together they slipped from the darkened theatre ahead of the general exodus.
‘Feel like going somewhere for coffee?’
Hannah almost declined, then changed her mind. ‘Why not?’
They walked a block, then entered an arcade whose decor was late nineteenth century, and chose a small café specialising in imported coffee and delicate home-made savouries and cakes.
No one seemed to be in a hurry, and it was an ideal niche to relax, unwind, and just be.
They both ordered liqueur coffees, and selected a small delicacy to sample.
‘My cousin Alejandro and his wife Elise are flying in for the weekend,’ Miguel told her as he sweetened his coffee. ‘They’ll attend the Leukaemia Foundation charity ball as our guests on Saturday evening.’
Hannah offered him a warm smile. She’d only met Elise a few times since the wedding, but they shared a friendly empathy. ‘How long are they staying?’
‘Only a few days. Elise is leaving the two boys with a nanny and flying north to spend time with friends while Alejandro is in Perth.’
‘You’re going with him.’ It was a statement, not a query, and Miguel glimpsed the fleeting emotions evident in her expressive features.
‘You could join me.’
Hannah almost said yes. Then she remembered Cindy was unavailable, and leaving the boutique in a stranger’s hands wasn’t an option. ‘I’d love to,’ she said regretfully. ‘But I can’t.’ She gave a resigned shrug. ‘How long will you be away?’
‘Two, maybe three days.’
Two lonely nights. She could go visit her parents, connect with a few friends and organise a night at the theatre, take in a movie, maybe go out to dinner. Numerous possibilities to occupy her time. Except she’d miss him like crazy.
Did he possess an inkling how much he meant to her? Somehow she doubted it. Fondness and affection didn’t equate to love. And duty was an empty substitute.
‘The boutique—’
‘Is important to you.’
She looked at him carefully, silently imploring him to understand. ‘We agreed—’
‘I know.’
‘It’s the one thing I’ve done totally on my own,’ she said simply.
‘I’m not questioning your ability to achieve success in your own right.’
‘No. But you want me to choose.’
‘The social circuit in favour of the boutique?’ He arched a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Not your style, Hannah.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘Give Cindy a promotion. Elevate her to manageress, cultivate two relieving saleswomen who can work in your place.’
‘Thus leaving me available to travel with you at short notice?’
‘I would prefer to have you with me, than leave you at home.’
A concession? An admission of sorts? ‘I’ll give it serious thought,’ she conceded, and saw his gleaming smile.
‘Do that, amada.’ He drained what remained of his coffee. ‘Shall we leave?’
It was late when Miguel garaged the car, and on entering their bedroom Hannah removed her clothes, her make-up, and slid between the cool percale sheets.
She fell asleep within minutes, drifting effortlessly into oblivion where scattered dreams invaded her subconscious mind until the early hours, when the light brush of fingers trailing the indentations of her spine brought her slowly into a state of lazy wakefulness.
Hannah arched her body in a feline stretch, then turned towards the man who was bent on creating havoc with her senses.
With deliberate playfulness she traced a teasing pattern over the dark whorls of hair that smattered his chest, dipping the tips of her nails and gently dragging them across his pectoral muscles before trailing to his navel.
She heard his faint intake of breath, and explored lower, barely touching the engorged tumescent shaft as she sought the apex between his thighs.
In one fluid movement she rose into a sitting position and swept aside the bedcovers, aware of his hands as they caressed her breasts, bringing the dusky peaks into tingling arousal.
Her hair was loose, its length tousled from sleep, and she bent her head so that it brushed against the most sensitised part of his body in a movement that brought him to the brink.
With a soft growl he closed his hands over her waist as he deftly swung her round to sit astride him, and she gasped out loud as his fingers touched her intimately.
Sensation arrowed through her body as he gently rocked her back and forth, until it was she who cried out his name and begged for his possession.
He gave it, lifting her so that she slowly took him deep inside as her body lowered onto him, and then it was she who held the power, she who set the pace, until he removed it from her and took over.
Together they sought the pinnacle and soared the heights in perfect accord. A slow, beautiful sharing of the ultimate meshing of mind, body and soul.
Such attuned sensuality robbed her of the ability to speak, even to move for what seemed an age, then she gently subsided against his chest, nuzzling her lips into the curve of his neck.
His hands brushed the length of her back, caressed her buttocks, returned to slide through the length of her hair as he angled her head towards his, seeking her mouth in a kiss that made her want to weep with its gentle evocativeness.
He traced a path over every inch of her skin, lingering over pleasure pulses, teasing them into vibrant life until she pleaded for him to stop.
‘Are you sure you want me to?’ Miguel teased in a soft accented drawl, and he gave a low husky laugh at her denial.
What followed was a tantalisingly slow loving as he followed the trail of his hand with his mouth, using it as an erotic instrument that made her totally his. Passion flared as he surged into her, raw and primitive, an exotic hunger that was libidinous and almost beyond control.
Afterwards they slept a little, exhausted, until dawn filtered silvered fingers of light through the diminishing darkness, slowly painting soft muted colour over land and sea until the emerging sun feathered a faint golden glow, giving substance to shadows as it heralded a new day.
Hannah woke to an awareness of weightlessness and the knowledge she was being carried. There was also the faint hum of tumbling water, and the slight scent of aromatic oils.
Within seconds Miguel lowered her into the pulsing spa-bath, then stepped in to sit opposite.
He looked far too vibrant for her peace of mind, and she scooped up a handful of water and aimed it at him, watching his gleaming smile as he returned the favour.
With automatic movements she twisted the length of her hair atop her head and secured it with a pin from a nearby shell-shaped dish.
It was a perfect way to begin the day. All of it. The lovemaking, which she refused at this moment to call sex, the sheer bliss of curling into her lover’s arms, and now the shared luxury of gently pulsing jets to ease away the slight pull of overused muscles.
She wanted to lean her head back, close her eyes, and stay here for hours. Perhaps enjoy a champagne breakfast, with fresh strawberries followed by eggs Benedict, crispy bacon and two cups of strong black sweet coffee. Then crawl back to bed and sleep beneath the cove
rs until the sun rose to its zenith.
Sadly, it was the wrong day. The weekend didn’t begin until tomorrow, and the boutique awaited, as did the replacement saleswoman. And then there was Camille.
Slowly she opened her eyes.
‘Where did you go?’ Miguel queried gently, and she smiled at him.
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘If you tell me, I can—’
‘Wave your magic wand?’
‘Make a few calls, pull a string or two.’
‘Ah, I believe you would. But it’s not that simple. Besides, this one’s mine, querido.’ She reached out a hand and snagged a towel, then stepped out from the spa-bath.
It wasn’t nearly as late as she’d thought, she discovered as she dressed in the exquisitely tailored gear she chose to wear to work.
There was time for a leisurely breakfast before catching hold of her briefcase and following Miguel through to the garage.
The automatic door lifted, and almost in unison they unlocked each vehicle, slid in behind the wheels, engaged the ignitions, and at Miguel’s signal Hannah reversed out ahead of him.
At the end of the street, she lifted a hand and waved, glancing in her rear-vision mirror as she turned in the opposite direction.
The replacement salesgirl arrived late, and, although her credentials appeared satisfactory, she was more suited to the teen section in a department store than catering to a very particular clientele demanding exclusive and expensive designer labels.
Hannah did her best to provide a crash course in haute couture, but after one disastrous clash with a client she relegated Chantal to menial tasks, and had her fetch lunch.
By mid-afternoon Hannah had a tension headache, Chantal had called it quits, which meant another call to the agency, impressing very specific needs, and a desperate call to Renee who willingly agreed to fill in for a few hours the next day.
There was a brief moment when Hannah seriously considered Miguel’s suggestion to promote Cindy. But first, she decided a trifle grimly, she had to get through the next week or two.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 19