The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  He hid a faint sigh, for she burned as a bright flame, and a man could get singed just from looking.

  Katrina rode the lift down to the ground floor, crossed the street to the adjacent car park, located the relevant floor, and slid in behind the wheel of her car.

  It was almost five, the day’s office hours reaching a close, and she eased the Porsche onto street level, then entered the stream of city traffic.

  Katrina drove, negotiating the choked roadways until she’d covered distance and the traffic dissipated. Then she moved into a higher gear, heard the muted response of the finely tuned engine, and revelled in the speed.

  It was almost six when she pulled to a halt on the grassy bank overlooking the beach. There was a tanker on the horizon, easing slowly down towards the inner harbour, and a few children frolicked in the shallows beneath the watchful eye of their parents.

  Gulls crested low over the water, dipped, skidded along the surface and settled, only to move their wings in a graceful arc to skim onto the sand.

  It was a peaceful scene, one she desperately needed to ease the ache of recent loss. There had been so much to organise, family to deal with.

  And now there was Nicos.

  It was over, done with. And she’d healed.

  Liar.

  She only had to think of him to remember how it had been between them. Not a day went past that her subconscious didn’t force a memory. He invaded her mind, possessed her dreams, and became her worst nightmare.

  All too frequently she woke in a sweat, his hands, his mouth on her so real she could almost swear he’d been there with her.

  Yet she’d always be alone, the security system intact, and she’d spend what remained of the night reading or watching a late movie on television in an attempt to dispel his haunting image.

  Occasionally she bumped into him at social gatherings around the city, professional soirées where her presence was de rigueur. Then they greeted each other, exchanged polite conversation…and moved on. Except she was acutely conscious of him, his steady gaze, the latent power he exuded, and his sensual heat.

  Even now her pulse quickened to a faster beat, and her skin warmed, the soft body hairs raising in awareness. Sensation unfurled deep inside, and spread through her body like a lick of flame, activating each pleasure pulse, every erotic zone.

  This was crazy. She took a deep, steadying breath and held onto it, then slowly exhaled. Two, three times over.

  Focus, she bade silently. Remember why you walked out on him.

  Dear Lord, how could she forget Nicos’s ex-mistress relaying news of a confirmed pregnancy and naming Nicos as the father of her unborn child?

  Georgia Burton, a model whose slender beauty graced several magazine covers, had delighted in informing a conception date coinciding with a time when Nicos had been out of town on business.

  Georgia’s assurance her affair with Nicos hadn’t ended with his marriage was something Katrina couldn’t condone, despite Nicos’s adamant denial, and after one argument too many she’d simply packed up her things and moved into temporary accommodation.

  Even now, several months later, the memory, the pain, was just as intense as it had been the day she had left him.

  The peal of her cell phone sounded loud in the silence, interrupting the solitude, and she checked the caller ID, saw it was her mother, and took the call.

  ‘Siobhan?’

  ‘Darling, have you forgotten you’re joining me for dinner and the theatre tonight?’

  Katrina closed her eyes and stifled a curse. ‘Can we skip dinner? I’ll collect you at seven-thirty.’ She could just about make it if she edged over the speed limit, took the quickest shower on record, and dressed.

  ‘Seven forty-five. I have tickets, and valet parking will eliminate several minutes.’

  She made it…just. Together they entered the auditorium and slid into their seats just as the curtain rose.

  Katrina focussed on the stage, the actors, and blocked out everything else. It was a technique she’d learned at a young age, and now it served her well.

  Between acts she gathered with her mother among patrons in the lobby, sipped a cool drink, and indulged in conversation. Siobhan owned a boutique in exclusive Double Bay, and had in the years since her divorce become an astute and extremely successful businesswoman.

  ‘I’ve put something aside for you,’ Siobhan relayed.

  Her mother’s taste in clothes was impeccable, and Katrina proffered a warm smile. ‘Thanks. I’ll write you a cheque.’

  Siobhan pressed her hand on that of her daughter. ‘A gift, darling.’

  A prickle of awareness slithered down Katrina’s spine, and she barely caught herself from shivering in reaction.

  Only one man had this effect on her, and she turned slowly, forcing herself to skim the fellow patrons with casual interest.

  A difficult feat when all her body’s self-protective instincts were on full alert.

  Nicos Kasoulis stood as part of a group, his head inclined towards a gorgeous blonde whose avid attention was almost sickening. Two men, two women. A cosy foursome.

  Yet even as she was about to turn away he lifted his head and captured her glance, held it, those dark eyes steady, mesmeric, almost frightening.

  He had the height, Katrina conceded, the breadth of shoulder, the stance, that drew attention.

  Sculptured facial bone structure inherited from his Greek ancestors—wide cheekbones, strong jaw, not to mention a mouth that promised a thousand sensual delights and eyes as dark as sin—merely added another dimension to a man who wore an aura of power as comfortably as a second skin. Thick dark hair worn longer than was currently conventional added an individualistic tone to a man whose strength of will was equally admired as well as feared among his contemporaries.

  If he thought to intimidate her, he was mistaken. Katrina lifted her chin, and her eyes flashed with green fire an instant before she deliberately turned her back on him.

  At that moment the electronic buzzer sounded, heralding patrons to return to their seats.

  Katrina’s focus was shot to hell, and the final act passed in a blur of dialogue and action that held little consequence. Her entire train of thought was centred around escaping the auditorium without bumping into the man who’d stirred her to passionate heights, the mere thought of which caused her equilibrium to crash and burn.

  An escape Nicos would contrive to allow, or not, as the mood took him.

  Not, she perceived as they made their way through the lobby to the front entrance.

  ‘Katrina. Siobhan.’

  His voice was like black satin, dark and smoothly dangerous beneath the veneer of sophisticated politeness.

  ‘Why, Nicos,’ her mother breathed with delight as he bent to brush his lips to her cheek. ‘How nice to see you.’

  Traitor, Katrina accorded silently. Siobhan had been one of Nicos’s conquests from the beginning. Still was.

  ‘Likewise.’ He turned slightly and fixed Katrina with a deceptively mild gaze. ‘Dinner tomorrow night. Seven?’

  Bastard. The curse stopped in her throat as she caught her mother’s surprise. Nicos, damn him, merely arched an eyebrow.

  ‘Katrina hasn’t told you?’

  She wanted to hit him, and almost did. ‘No.’ The single word escaped as a furious negative.

  Siobhan looked from her daughter to Nicos, who merely inclined his head in silent deference to Katrina.

  Grr! She wanted to scratch his eyes out, and for a wild nanosecond she actually considered it.

  He knew, darn it. She could tell from the faint musing gleam evident, the slight quirk at the edge of his mouth as he waited for her to pick up the ball and play.

  There was no way around it, and better the truth than prevarication. ‘Kevin, in his infinite wisdom,’ she declared with heavy irony, ‘has made it a condition of his will that I reside in the same house with Nicos for a year. If I don’t, Nicos gains a majority control of Macbride.’ She th
rew him a dark look that would have felled a lesser man. ‘Something I absolutely refuse to let happen.’

  ‘Oh, my,’ Siobhan voiced faintly, her eyes clouding as she glimpsed her daughter’s simmering temper.

  Siobhan knew her ex-husband well. The iron will beneath the soft, persuasive Irish charm. It had been a time ago, and she’d long forgiven him. For the one good thing to come out of their union had been Katrina.

  ‘The man’s a meddling fool,’ she said quietly, and saw her daughter’s wry smile. But a smart one. Oh, yes, Kevin Macbride had been nothing if not astute. And he’d developed an instant liking for the attractive Greek his daughter had wed. Maybe, just maybe, the father might achieve in death what he hadn’t been able to achieve while he’d been alive.

  Siobhan, how could you? Katrina seethed silently. While I’m capable of slaying my own dragons, I expected you to stand beside me, not welcome the enemy with grace and charm.

  Nicos discerned each and every fleeting expression on his wife’s features. She’d lost weight, her skin was pale, and at the moment she was a seething bundle of barely controlled fury. A bundle he was hard-pressed not to heft over one shoulder and carry kicking and cursing out to his car. And ultimately into his bed.

  Katrina glimpsed the intent in those dark eyes, and wanted to hit him. ‘Goodnight.’

  The word was evinced as a cool dismissal. Icy, with a tinge of disdain meant to convey the edge of her temper.

  She saw what he was going to do an instant before his head descended, and he anticipated her move, countered it, and captured her mouth with his own in a kiss that destroyed her carefully erected defences.

  Brief, possessive, evocative, it brought a vivid reminder of what had been.

  And would be again.

  The purpose was there, a silent statement that was neither threat nor challenge. Merely fact.

  Then he straightened, and his lips curved into a musing smile as he caught the unmistakable edge of anger in her glittering green gaze.

  ‘Seven, Katrina,’ he reminded her with deceptive quietness, and saw her chin tilt fractionally.

  Cool, control. She’d had plenty of practice at displaying both emotions. ‘Name the restaurant, and I’ll meet you there.’

  One eyebrow arched. A silent, faintly mocking gesture that put a serious dent in her bid for independence.

  ‘The foyer of the Ritz-Carlton.’

  An established, élite hotel situated a few blocks from her Double Bay apartment, negating the need to take her car.

  She had no doubt it was a deliberate choice on his part, and she was sorely tempted to stamp her foot in childish repudiation. Instead, she offered him a cool glance and kept her voice neutral. ‘Fine.’

  Nicos inclined his head towards Siobhan, then he turned and began weaving his way through numerous patrons converging near the entrance.

  ‘Don’t say a word,’ Katrina warned in caution as they gained the external pavement.

  ‘Darling, I wouldn’t dream of it,’ her mother evinced with a soft chuckle.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE evening was warm, the air like silk on a soft breeze whispering in from the sea as Katrina locked her car and set the alarm.

  The hotel entrance lay ahead, its elegant façade attesting élite patronage in an established, moneyed inner-city suburb.

  She’d dressed to kill, although only she knew how much time had been spent selecting and discarding one set of clothes after another in a quest to do battle and win.

  Nicos viewed her entry into the lounge with veiled interest.

  Business, he silently attested, noting the power suit in stylish black. The cut of the jacket, the mid-thigh length of the straight skirt, the sheer black hose showcasing shapely legs, slim ankles emphasised by stiletto-heeled black pumps. Jewellery confined to a diamond pendant on a slender gold chain, and a simple diamond stud worn in each earlobe.

  Was she aware how well he could read her? The tiny signals that indicated her mood were evident in the sweep of her hair into a smooth, sophisticated French twist, the perfectly applied make-up, highlighting her eyes, the shape of her mouth. The tilt of her chin.

  It was a façade, one he’d been able to dispense with easily. He retained a vivid memory of the way she melted beneath his touch. The spill of hair as he slid his fingers through its thick length and cupped her nape, angling her head so that soft, evocative mouth lifted to meet his own. The wild, untamed passion of her response as she met and matched him, treading a path to mutual satisfaction that was more, much more than he’d shared with any other woman in his lifetime.

  He saw the moment she sighted him, and glimpsed the faint straightening of her shoulders, the way her fingers tightened over her evening purse. Her step didn’t falter as she crossed towards him.

  ‘Nicos.’ Her greeting was polite, almost cool.

  Take control, a tiny voice prompted. ‘Shall we go through?’

  Fire and ice, he mused. A combination that never failed to intrigue him. ‘Eager to be done, Katrina?’

  Her gaze met and held his. ‘I’d prefer to keep this short,’ she stated civilly, and caught the imperceptible lift of those broad shoulders.

  ‘Such honesty,’ he chided softly.

  He made no attempt to touch her, but this close she was all too aware of his body heat, the faint tang of his exclusive cologne. Not to mention the aura of leashed power that was so much a part of him.

  He was biding his time, she alluded with a tinge of bitterness. Tonight was a mere indulgence. A social formality in an attempt to create some form of mutual truce whereby they could co-exist for the next year.

  Nicos had nothing to lose, while she…

  Don’t think about it, she chided silently as she entered the restaurant at Nicos’s side.

  Seated, she let him choose the wine while she perused the menu, ordering after scant deliberation a starter and a side salad.

  ‘Not hungry?’ Nicos posed as he watched her sip the excellent Chardonnay.

  Katrina met his gaze with equanimity. ‘Not particularly.’ Her stomach felt as if it were attempting intricate somersaults, and the movement was not conducive to the easy digestion of food.

  It irked that he could still have this effect. Worse, that all it took was one look at him and her pulse raced to a faster beat.

  Was he aware of it? She hoped not. She’d spent a lifetime learning to mask her feelings. To smile, and pretend she was immune from the barbs two stepmothers and two stepsiblings had inflicted at every opportunity.

  Adopting a façade wasn’t difficult. She did it every day of her life. Professionally. Emotionally.

  ‘Let’s get this over with, shall we?’

  ‘Why not finish your meal first?’ Nicos countered silkily.

  Katrina picked at her salad, then discarded it. ‘I’ve lost my appetite.’

  ‘Some more wine?’

  ‘No. Thanks,’ she added politely. The need for a clear head was essential.

  Dammit, why did he have to be so blatantly male? He savoured his food as he savoured a woman. With care, enjoyment, and satisfaction.

  There was something incredibly sensual about the movement of his hands, and she had only to look at his mouth to imagine how it felt on her own. The devastation it could wreak as he pleasured her. He had the touch, the knowledge, to drive a woman wild.

  Focus, she chided silently. This isn’t about you. Or Nicos. It’s about claiming a right to Macbride.

  ‘We need to decide whose residence we’ll share,’ she began firmly.

  He forked a succulent piece of fish, and followed it with a portion of salad. ‘Naturally you’d prefer your apartment.’

  It couldn’t be this easy. ‘Yes.’

  He cast her a measured look. ‘The Point Piper house is large. It would be more convenient for you to move in there.’

  It surprised her that he hadn’t sold the luxurious mansion they’d occupied for the few brief months of their ill-fated marriage. An architectural mas
terpiece built against sloping rock-face, it encompassed three levels of modern living, with terraced grounds, ornamental gardens, a swimming pool, and a magnificent harbour view.

  It also housed too many memories. ‘No, it wouldn’t.’

  Nicos replaced his cutlery and settled back comfortably in his chair. ‘Afraid, Katrina?’

  She looked at him carefully, noting his steady gaze, the seemingly relaxed expression. Deceptive to the unwary, she acknowledged silently, for Nicos Kasoulis possessed a razor-sharp mind and a killer instinct. Qualities that had gained him immense respect from both friend and foe. In the business arena, and among the socially élite.

  It had been this ruthless streak that had appealed so much to Kevin Macbride, who’d seen in Nicos what he’d himself possessed: someone who knew what he wanted and went after it regardless of anything or anyone who stood in his way.

  ‘Have I reason to be?’

  His smile held a certain wryness. ‘You must know I have your welfare at heart.’

  ‘If that were so, you’d have stood down as executor of Kevin’s will.’

  ‘I gave him my word.’

  ‘And that is everything.’

  ‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you.’

  Katrina picked up her glass, and took a leisurely sip of wine. ‘Forgive me,’ she said without any hint of apology. ‘I learned it at any early age.’

  ‘Why not try a dessert?’ Nicos queried blandly, and saw the fire bank beneath those brilliant green eyes.

  She took a deep breath and sought to retain a semblance of calm. ‘We need to arrive at some sort of compromise.’

  Nicos slid a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, extracted a bulky envelope, and tossed it down onto the table in front of her.

  Katrina viewed it with suspicion. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘A remote for the front gates, and keys to my home.’

  He was far too sure of himself. ‘Presumptuous, aren’t you?’

  ‘Practical,’ he corrected.

  ‘Arrogant,’ she attested. ‘What if I insist you move into my apartment?’ she queried heatedly, hating him at that moment.