The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  ‘Apology accepted.’

  Hannah looked at him sharply. ‘Don’t patronise me.’

  ‘Stop it right there,’ Miguel warned.

  ‘I’m not a child, dammit!’ What was she doing, for heaven’s sake? She was like a runaway train that couldn’t stop.

  ‘Then don’t behave like one.’

  ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t join you for breakfast,’ Hannah said stiffly. ‘I’ll stop off at a café for coffee and a croissant.’

  She moved past him and entered the en suite. She picked up the hairbrush and attacked her hair, stroking the brush through its length until her scalp tingled, then she applied minimum make-up.

  Her eyes widened as she caught sight of Miguel via mirrored reflection as he moved in to stand behind her, and her fingers faltered and tightened around the tube of lipstick.

  She felt like a finely tuned string that was about to snap as he turned her round to face him, and she was powerless to move as his head descended.

  ‘This, this,’ Miguel breathed close to her mouth, ‘is important. Nothing else.’ And he kissed her, thoroughly, until her head spun. Then he released her, and walked from the room.

  Hannah gripped hold of the marbled vanity unit and tried to regain her breath. Dear heaven, what was the matter with her?

  She had no idea how long she stood there, only that it seemed an age before she gathered up her bag, slid her feet into heeled shoes, and made her way downstairs to the garage.

  Ten minutes later she parked the Porsche, then crossed the road, bought a daily newspaper, entered a coffee bar and joined the patrons enjoying breakfast.

  At nine she unlocked the boutique and spent the next half-hour on the phone chasing a courier who had been supposed to deliver late the previous afternoon, and hadn’t.

  The morning dragged, and trying to continually pin a smile on her face began to take its toll. How could she pretend to be happy when inside she was breaking into a thousand pieces?

  ‘Are you ill?’ Elaine enquired with concern at midday.

  ‘No.’

  An inquisitive smile curved her attractive mouth. ‘Pregnant?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You sound hesitant,’ Elaine teased. ‘Could that be a maybe, but it’s too soon to tell?’

  Hannah simply shook her head. ‘Go take your lunch break.’ She extracted her purse and took out a note. ‘Can you bring me back a chicken and salad sandwich and bottled water?’ Today she’d eat in the small back room instead of spending her usual half-hour break at a nearby café.

  Elaine finished at four, and the afternoon seemed to drag as Hannah checked her stock list, then made a few phone calls. A fax came through alerting that a special order would be despatched by overnight courier, and she made a note to phone the client.

  Miguel’s forceful image haunted her, as it had all morning, only now it was worse, for there was no one to talk to, no client entering the boutique to attract her attention, and the phone didn’t ring.

  Thinking about last night made her stomach twist into a painful knot. Somehow Miguel’s controlled anger had been worse than if he’d let fly a string of pithy oaths, or thrown something, yelled at her. Instead he’d reduced her angry outburst to a childish tantrum, and that irked and angered her more than she wanted to admit.

  The electronic buzzer sounded, alerting her to someone entering the boutique, and she summoned a warm smile as she moved out from behind the desk.

  ‘Hannah, darling.’

  ‘Mother.’ Renee always rang before calling in. Always. The fact she hadn’t this time caused Hannah’s forehead to crease into a slight frown.

  ‘I know, I should have phoned first. But I was close by…’ She trailed off, before launching into an explanation, ‘Lunch with an old friend, darling. And I thought I’d just pop in and say hello.’

  ‘It’s great to see you.’ She injected enthusiasm into her voice and crossed the floor to bestow the customary air-kiss to each cheek. ‘The scarves arrived this morning. I put a few aside that I thought you might like. Would you like to see them?’

  Business. If she could keep everything on a business footing, maybe Renee wouldn’t notice the fine cracks in her daughter’s façade.

  ‘Oh, please, darling.’

  Hannah retrieved the box, extracted three scarves and spread them across the counter. They were pure silk, exquisitely patterned, and an attractive fashion accessory.

  Renee selected two, then crossed to the blouse rack, chose one, then moved to the desk. ‘I’ll take these, darling.’ She gave a soft exclamation, and followed it with a ladylike curse. ‘I don’t believe it. I’ve left my bag in the car.’

  ‘Locked, I hope,’ Hannah said at once, concern marring her features.

  ‘Of course, locked, darling. I have my keys.’ She held them up in plain sight. ‘I remember activating the alarm.’

  ‘Where are you parked?’

  ‘This side of the street, just a few cars down.’ She held out the keys. ‘Would you mind fetching it for me?’ She cast the empty boutique a cursory glance. ‘It’ll only take a minute.’

  Maybe a breath of fresh air might lift her mood, Hannah determined as she accepted the keys and made for the door.

  It was hot outside, the sun’s brightness intense after the air-conditioned coolness indoors. A few cars down meant she met the worst of the glare as she walked towards her mother’s car, and she lifted a hand to shade her eyes. Only to come to a dead halt at the sight of a familiar tall frame standing beside Renee’s Lexus.

  Miguel. Looking totally relaxed and at ease, his expression shaded behind dark sunglasses. A deceptive pose, for she had no doubt beneath that calm exterior lay the coiled strength of a predator.

  There was a part of her that wanted to turn back and return to the boutique, where her mother’s presence would ensure civility was maintained. Yet she refused to take the easy way out. Whatever they needed to say to each other had to be said.

  Miguel saw the moment she mentally squared her shoulders, witnessed the slight lift of her chin, and accurately defined the expression in her clear blue eyes.

  It was her nature to confront, resolve, and move forward. He was bargaining on her doing just that.

  ‘It’s four thirty,’ Hannah said evenly as she took the necessary steps to reach the Lexus. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He pulled back the cuff of his jacket, checked his watch, then trapped her gaze. ‘A few minutes past that, if you want total accuracy.’

  Miguel didn’t shift position, and she was forced to move in close as she deactivated the alarm, unlocked the passenger door, retrieved her mother’s bag, then reversed the security process.

  ‘Shall we return Renee’s bag?’ he queried mildly, and she threw him a measured look.

  ‘We?’

  He caught hold of her elbow, firming his grasp as she made to wrench away. ‘We,’ he reiterated firmly.

  ‘Miguel—’

  ‘There’s the easy way where we walk back to the boutique. Or I can hoist you over one shoulder and carry you. Which would you prefer?’

  Her eyes sparked angry fire. ‘You’re giving me a choice?’

  He brushed his thumb over the generous curve of her mouth. ‘No.’

  Her palms itched with the urge to slap him.

  ‘Don’t.’ The warning was silky soft and curled round her nerve-ends.

  Without a word she turned and made her way back to the boutique, aware of an explosive electric force field that surrounded them.

  Hannah was startlingly aware of him, his proximity, the faint aroma of his aftershave, the clean smell of his clothes. His grasp on her elbow would tighten in a heartbeat if she attempted to pull free.

  Four shop fronts, a matter of mere metres, and they reached the boutique. She didn’t even question his intention to enter, for it was clearly evident he meant to.

  She paused, her features strained, her eyes too dark. ‘Is there a purpose to this?’

  ‘Ye
s.’

  Hannah extended her hand to open the door, only to have it swing inward.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ Renee declared, her features carefully schooled. ‘There was one phone call, which I dealt with.’

  Hannah looked from one to the other, and settled on Miguel, suspicion uppermost. ‘You set this up.’ She turned towards her mother. ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘Guilty.’

  ‘Why?’ Hannah demanded, sorely tried.

  ‘Go get your bag,’ Miguel instructed. ‘We’re leaving.’

  ‘I’ll stay and close the boutique,’ Renee informed before her daughter had a chance to protest.

  ‘No.’ Hannah threw Miguel a vengeful glare. ‘And if you try any macho tactics, I’ll call the police.’

  ‘Call them.’ It took two seconds to sweep an arm beneath her knees and lift her against his chest.

  Renee crossed quickly to the desk, opened a cupboard, retrieved Hannah’s bag, and handed it to Miguel.

  ‘I’ll never forgive you for this,’ Hannah vented as she closed her fingers into a fist and set a bruising punch to his shoulder.

  He turned and walked out the door, traversed the pavement to where his car was parked, unlocked the door, then he thrust her into the passenger seat.

  The next instant he crossed round to the driver’s side, then slid in behind the wheel.

  The engine fired and settled into a soft purr as he eased the car out of its parking space and into the flow of traffic along Toorak Road.

  Hannah didn’t trust herself to speak. There was too much anger to bother with meaningless words.

  Instead, she looked beyond the windscreen, noting the traffic, people walking, children, mothers laughing, scolding. Movement, life. Outside, the world continued to evolve, along with people’s lives.

  From inside, somehow it didn’t seem real. She might as well have been viewing the scene on television.

  Familiar streets, familiar locale. She passed by here five days out of seven.

  But not quite this far, she suddenly realised.

  ‘You’ve missed the turn.’

  ‘We’re not going home.’ Miguel’s voice was a faintly inflected drawl, and she looked at him carefully, seeing the strength and sense of purpose evident.

  ‘Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me exactly where we are going?’

  He slanted her a quick glance. ‘Wait and see.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Hannah dismissed angrily, and refrained from offering so much as another word.

  The flow of traffic intensified as they neared the city, and she contained her surprise as Miguel swung the car into the entrance of one of the inner city’s most exclusive hotels.

  The porter opened her door, leaving her little recourse but to slip out from the passenger seat.

  What on earth were they doing here? In a hotel, for God’s sake, when they had a beautiful luxurious home less than fifteen minutes distant? It was crazy. Even more puzzling was the fact Miguel had apparently checked in, for he led the way to the bank of lifts adjacent the foyer.

  Hannah spared him a level glance as they rode the lift to a high floor, and within minutes Miguel ushered her into a spacious, elegantly appointed suite.

  She crossed to the wide plate-glass window and parted the filmy day curtains to look at the view, then she slowly turned back to face him.

  He had removed his jacket, and was in the process of loosening his tie.

  ‘You owe me an explanation.’

  Miguel discarded the tie, undid the top few buttons of his shirt, removed cuff-links from each sleeve, then he crossed to the bar-fridge.

  ‘What would you like to drink?’

  She was angry and on edge. ‘Stop playing the gentleman.’

  He paused, and she had the impression of harnessed strength and immeasurable control. For some reason it made her feel apprehensive.

  His eyes held an expression she didn’t care to define. ‘What would you have me play, amante?’

  She was reminded of silk being razed by steel, and she crossed her arms, hugging them against her midriff in a unconscious protective gesture.

  ‘The savage?’ he posed. ‘A husband who is moved to such anger, it is all he can do not to strangle his beautiful wife’s neck?’ He extracted bottled water, unscrewed the cap, filled a glass and handed it to her, then he took out a can of cola, pulled the tab, and drained some of the contents.

  ‘Or perhaps I should beat you.’ He lifted the can and took a long swallow. ‘Believe I am sorely tempted to do both.’

  ‘Try it,’ Hannah said tightly.

  He cast her a long dark look that sent shivers scudding down the length of her spine. ‘Don’t push me.’

  Without thinking she threw the contents of her glass in his face, watching with a sense of mesmerised disbelief as the cold water splashed from his broad features down onto his shirt, leaving a huge wet patch that was impossible to ignore.

  She didn’t move, despite a terrible sense of panic that urged her to run as far and as fast as she could.

  Instead, she stood glaring at him in silent defiance.

  His eyes didn’t leave hers as he set the can aside, then in seeming slow motion he pulled the shirt free from his trousers, undid the buttons, then he shrugged it off and draped it over a nearby chair before turning to face her.

  With deliberate movements he reached for a neatly folded towel displayed in plain sight and removed the excess moisture from his face, then he tossed the towel onto the bed.

  He was an impressive sight. Olive skin stretched over hard musculature, the liberal sprinkle of dark hair at his chest, a tight stomach, firm waist, with not a spare ounce of flesh in evidence.

  ‘Are you done?’

  ‘It depends.’

  He took a step towards her, and she stood her ground.

  ‘So brave,’ Miguel mocked silkily, watching her pupils dilate as he drew close.

  She was damned if she’d beg, and the single word emerged as a warning. ‘Don’t.’

  He didn’t touch her. ‘Don’t—what, specifically?’

  ‘I’ll fight you,’ she said fiercely, unaware that her hands had tightened into fists, or that her stance had altered slightly preparatory for attack.

  ‘You can’t win.’

  ‘I can try.’ She would, too. Self defence was an art form she’d studied to a degree, and she had the element of surprise on her side.

  He saw the slight lift of her chin, the muscle flex at the edge of her jaw, the anger, the fire so close to the surface.

  ‘Do you want to so badly?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hannah vented, and saw him slide a hand into each trouser pocket.

  ‘Then go ahead.’

  Hit him? For all the times she’d wanted to, for the few occasions she actually had…now that he was placing himself at her mercy, she found she couldn’t do it.

  Miguel caught each fleeting expression on her mobile features, and accurately defined every one of them.

  ‘I guess we need to talk,’ she offered slowly.

  ‘We did that. It didn’t resolve anything.’

  Her face paled as she recalled the explosive scene they’d shared early this morning.

  ‘Miguel—’

  Whatever else she might have said remained locked in her throat as his mouth slanted down to cover hers in a kiss that tore at the very roots of her emotional foundation.

  There was nothing punishing about it, just intense evocative passion that seemed to plunder the depths of her soul, dragging something from her she was reluctant to give.

  She didn’t want to respond. Dear heaven, how could she, when there was so much hurt and anguish?

  It was almost as if he was trying to tap into her fragile heart, to instil something so infinitely precious that meant more, so much more than mere words could convey.

  His mouth was the only part of his body touching her. He could easily have drawn her into his arms, used his hands to mould her slender frame to his, his heavy ar
ousal in evidence. Employed sensual body heat to tantalise her senses, to touch and tease with such skilful expertise she would soon shatter into a thousand pieces. His.

  Yet he did none of those things. There was just his mouth, and the mesmeric intoxication of heat and passion.

  She hated the distance between them, and it took tremendous strength of will not to sink into him. This, after all, was the one level of communication at which they excelled.

  Sex. Really great sex.

  She’d thought it was enough. She’d even managed to convince herself that love didn’t matter. But it did, and a little part of her had slowly died with each passing day.

  Sensation flared, spiralling through her body, filling it with a sweet sorcery only Miguel had the power to wield.

  A faint sob rose and died in her throat, a slight compulsive movement he felt rather than heard, and he sensed the way her hands rose, then fell again as she sought control.

  The long slow sweep of his tongue against her own almost caused her to lose it, and she began to shake beneath the emotional weight of resisting him.

  He sensed the moment she ignored her mind and went with her heart, felt the first tentative touch of her hands as they crept to his shoulders and twined together round his neck.

  Something within him convulsed, and a deep shudder raked his powerful frame as he drew her close in against him.

  His kiss deepened, possessing with shameless hunger as he led her down a path towards sensual conflagration.

  Hannah lost track of time and a sense of place in the need to be part of him. The rest of his clothes, hers, were an unwanted intrusion, and her fingers sought the buckle fastening the belt on his trousers, only to have him shift slightly and cover her hand with his own before gently placing her at arm’s length.

  Her eyes widened and seemed too large in her face. Uncertain, she edged the tip of her tongue along the swollen curve of her lip. The gesture was unbidden, and she saw his eyes flare, then become incredibly dark.

  He placed a finger over her lips, felt the faint tremble, and cupped her jaw.