The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Nicos took in the briefcase, the business suit, the stiletto heels, and slanted an eyebrow.

  ‘An early start?’

  ‘Yes,’ Katrina agreed evenly. She could put in some time on the computer before her secretary arrived and the day began in earnest.

  He used the edge of the towel to blot moisture beading his forehead. ‘Don’t wait dinner. I’ll be late.’

  ‘So will I,’ she responded without thought, and stepped towards the internal door leading to the garage.

  What on earth had prompted her to say that, when she hadn’t planned a thing? She could ring Siobhan and suggest they eat out, she contemplated as she fired the engine and eased her car towards the gates. Maybe take in an art gallery, or a foreign movie.

  The day progressed with only a few minor irritations. She contacted Harry, and arranged to meet him in her lunch-hour at the townhouses where, in typical Harry-style, he overrode her suggestions with the air of one who knows best.

  ‘Muted green carpet, a mix of pale apricot, peach and shades of cream for the paintwork and soft furnishings, darling.’ He caught her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, then drew a wide arc with one arm. ‘It will be truly magnifica.’

  ‘Not blue?’ she teased, and caught his pained expression. ‘Okay,’ she capitulated with a warm smile. ‘Suppose you tell me what colour scheme you’ve devised for the adjoining townhouse?’

  Harry waxed lyrical, as only Harry could, and she wrangled a little, because he expected it, and they achieved a compromise with which each was quietly pleased.

  She had a good eye for a bargain, a knack for being able to envisage the finished product, and the two adjoining townhouses numbered her third property purchase in the past year. Each one had been completely redecorated by Harry’s team of contractors, and sold for a handsome profit. As she cut him a percentage of that profit, he had more than the usual interest in each project.

  ‘I’m looking at something in Surrey Hills.’ It was an older suburb, parts of which were becoming trendy among the ‘double income, no kids’ set.

  Harry’s eyes sharpened. ‘A terrace house?’

  ‘Three, actually.’

  ‘Solid structure?’ He fired off a number of questions, then requested the address. ‘I’ll go check them out, and get back to you.’

  He would, she knew, make them a priority, and as she drove back into the city she wondered if his vision would match her own.

  Three terrace houses might be a bit ambitious, but they were in a block of six, situated in a prime position, and formed part of a deceased estate which the family wanted sold.

  The afternoon was busy. She left the office late, and went directly to meet Siobhan at the small, trendy restaurant a friend had recommended. New owners, a fresh decor and an appealing menu provided an excellent meal.

  The film Katrina chose was a slick Spanish comedy with English subtitles, containing wry, often black humour, and afterwards they shared coffee.

  Her mother was great company, with an infectious wit, and very much her daughter’s friend, for they shared an equality that dispensed with any generation gap.

  ‘Are you coping okay?’ Siobhan queried gently as she reached forward and caught hold of Katrina’s hands, the touch warm, brief.

  ‘Now, there’s an ambiguous question.’ She managed a smile. ‘Care to define it?’

  ‘Living with Nicos.’

  The term held connotations Katrina didn’t want to think about. ‘Separate rooms, separate lives.’

  A succinct summary that didn’t come close to describing the electric tension apparent. It was a latent force, a constant reminder of what they’d once shared, and she rode an emotional see-saw trying to deal with it.

  Siobhan wisely kept her own counsel. She knew her daughter well. Enough not to pursue a sensitive subject. ‘More coffee, darling?’

  Katrina shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’ She spared her watch a glance and saw that it was close to midnight. ‘I really should get—’ she faltered on the verge of saying home. ‘Back.’

  Nicos’s Mercedes was in the garage when she drove in, and lights glowed in the house.

  He appeared from the direction of the study as she entered the lobby. He’d discarded his jacket and tie, had loosened the two top shirt buttons, and had rolled up his sleeve cuffs.

  ‘Interesting evening?’

  She could prevaricate and almost did, except something in those dark eyes warned against defiance. ‘Dinner and a movie with Siobhan,’ she elucidated. ‘We lingered over coffee.’ If he could question her whereabouts, she could query his. ‘Yours?’

  ‘Dinner with a client.’

  ‘Who won?’ It was a facetious query, and one that brought a faint, humorous twist to the edge of his mouth.

  ‘I achieved a narrow winning margin.’

  Of course. Nicos didn’t play to lose. ‘Congratulations.’

  He inclined his head. ‘A business colleague has issued a dinner invitation for tomorrow evening.’

  ‘How nice for you.’

  ‘Naturally I expect you to accompany me.’

  Naturally. ‘What if I choose not to?’

  ‘I thought we’d agreed to present a united front?’

  ‘In that case, you won’t object accompanying me to the ballet next Monday evening?’ Katrina countered with a sweet smile. Nicos enjoyed the arts, but that did not include classical dance.

  His gaze narrowed. ‘You have tickets?’

  ‘Of course.’ A visiting Russian troupe had ensured a bookings sell-out, and she’d intended to invite a friend. Now she hastily revised her plans to include Nicos.

  Her smile broadened. ‘It’s called negotiation. A term you’re very familiar with.’

  ‘Done.’

  ‘In that case,’ she said sweetly. ‘I’ll say goodnight.’ Without a further word she turned and ascended the stairs.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KATRINA dressed with care, choosing an elegant, fitted gown in cream ecru. The intricate small crystal and pearl beading made the top a work of art, extending to the hipline, where the beads fell in measured, loose strings to the hem to swing slightly with every move she made.

  Tonight she sought a sophisticated image, and she pinned her hair into a sleek French twist, took time with her make-up, and added a diamond tennis bracelet with matching pendant and ear studs. Stiletto heels lent her added height.

  She had wined and dined with some of the country’s social élite, and could converse knowledgeably on any number of subjects.

  So why should she be nervous about sharing an evening with a few of Nicos’s associates and their wives?

  Because what the tabloid press hadn’t revealed, gossip and innuendo would have filled in the blanks…in spades.

  The interest would be circumspect, the conversation polite. But without doubt, Nicos and Katrina Kasoulis would be the focus of attention.

  ‘Ready?’

  She turned and spared him a level glance, noting the black evening suit—Armani? Cerruti? He favoured the impeccable tailoring of both designers. His white shirt was of the finest cotton, the silk tie faultless.

  However, it was the man wearing the clothes who stirred her senses. The broad facial features, dark piercing eyes, a mouth she had only to look at to remember how it felt on her own.

  He possessed a dangerous sensuality that drew women like bees to a honey pot. Inherent charm and an awareness of some indefinable primitiveness beneath a sophisticated façade. Add wealth and power, and the combination was lethal.

  She could understand how a woman would fight for him.

  As Georgia had?

  Could she have gone to such lengths to have his child and wreck a marriage?

  Katrina mentally shook her head. A fair fight was one thing. Employing devious underhand means was something else.

  ‘Have I suddenly acquired a few grey hairs?’

  She registered Nicos’s drawled query, and managed a quizzical response. ‘Not to my knowl
edge.’

  ‘Then, shall we leave?’

  Their hosts resided in Woollahra, a gracious old home set back from the road with a magnificent view.

  Cars lined the illuminated driveway, and inside guests mingled in a large formal lounge. Muted music emitted from speakers, providing a pleasant background as Katrina moved at Nicos’s side while their host performed introductions.

  Nicos’s hand rested against the small of her back. A proprietorial gesture, or reassurance?

  Katrina accepted a flute of champagne and sipped the chilled liquid.

  ‘I imagine we’re supposed to project solidarity?’ she inclined lightly, and caught the hint of amusement evident in the look he cast her.

  ‘Advisable, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Just don’t expect me to display adoring affection.’

  His mouth curved into a warm smile. ‘I’m disappointed. Adoring affection would make a pleasant change.’

  ‘I’ll save the animosity for when we’re alone.’

  ‘For which I’m incredibly grateful.’

  ‘The animosity, or being alone?’ It was almost fun to indulge in harmless banter.

  ‘Both.’

  ‘You enjoy our heated exchanges?’

  Nicos lifted a hand and pressed a finger to her mouth. ‘I enjoy watching your emotions at play.’

  He was adept at discerning each and every one of them. Right now she was nervous, but determined to adopt a façade that only he could penetrate. It was evident in the slightly rapid beat of her pulse, the quick and almost too-ready smile, the depth of green in those beautiful emerald-green eyes.

  His attempt to soothe was spontaneous, a light trail of his fingerpads across her shoulder blades, and he watched her eyes dilate in awareness of his touch.

  ‘I think we should mingle, don’t you?’ Katrina murmured, and took a deliberate sip of champagne. This was madness. A simple gesture, and she had to control her body’s natural instinct to lean into him. ‘Thea and Rafe Richardson have not long arrived. Perhaps we could join them?’

  It was a pleasant evening, the food superb. The table seating arrangements proved interesting, and while the conversation flowed, accompanied by scintillating laughter, Katrina was conscious of receiving circumspect attention…from several women, whose veiled curiosity searched for the slightest crack appearing in Nicos’s or her own projected persona.

  If anything, Nicos seemed bent on displaying an element of tendresse, much to her discomfort. It was evident in the touch of his hand on hers, albeit that it was fleeting. Whenever they spoke together, and it seemed it was often, he gave the impression each word held meaningful importance. His attentiveness was exemplary.

  ‘You’re in serious danger of overkill,’ Katrina relayed in an undertone as he refilled her water glass.

  ‘Taking care of you?’

  She was willing to swear he wasn’t talking about food. It brought forth a vivid memory of just how he’d taken care of her needs…in the bedroom, and out of it…and her frequently explosive reaction. He possessed the touch, the skill, the knowledge, to drive her wild.

  By the time dessert was served, she’d had enough. If this was a game, it was only fair she began to play.

  Without pause for thought she spooned a small quantity of superb crème caramel and offered it to Nicos. ‘Taste this, darling.’

  His gaze locked with hers, dark brown with emerald green, and the firm curve of his mouth parted to accept the morsel.

  She refrained from repeating the gesture, and minutes later she laid a hand on his thigh. The sudden tightening of sinew beneath her fingers was encouraging, and she dug her nails in lightly, then slowly trailed her fingertips towards his groin.

  ‘Payback, Katrina?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t overstep the mark.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware any boundaries were set.’

  ‘Retribution has a price.’

  ‘Threat or challenge?’

  His eyes darkened. ‘It’s your hand to play.’

  A double entendre if ever there was one! Perhaps a retreat was advisable. Temporarily, she conceded, for she wasn’t done yet.

  With deliberate intent she turned to the guest next to her and began a conversation, the content of which she retained little memory within minutes of concluding it.

  ‘I understand you’re flying down to Melbourne tomorrow to examine two sites Kevin had under review,’ said Nicos.

  Katrina turned towards him and contained her surprise. Her lawyer knew of her intention, and had presumably seen it as his duty to relay the information to Nicos.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll accompany you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s in my interest as joint executor of Kevin’s will and a member of the directorial board to sanction any decision you make regarding the sale of estate assets,’ he evinced smoothly.

  ‘I intend staying overnight.’ An intention which should interfere with his business schedule.

  ‘No problem. I imagine you’ve booked the early flight?’

  She wanted to gnash her teeth, and barely restrained herself from doing so. He’d very cleverly manoeuvred her into something she could hardly get out of, given that it was a legitimate business trip. But it was the overnight bit that irked, for the invention had worked against her.

  Coffee was served in the lounge, and she sank gracefully into a single cushioned chair. Here at least she was safe.

  Wrong, she acknowledged minutes later. Nicos came to stand within touching distance, and his close proximity had a measured effect on her breathing. As well as other more intimate parts of her body.

  What was wrong with her? They were each enacting a part. As soon as their car cleared the gates, it would herald a return to the status quo. Separate bedrooms, separate lives. Connecting only for the sake of appearances.

  So why did she feel as if her body was a finely tuned instrument awaiting the master’s touch? Every nerve was taut, each pleasure pulse acutely sensitised.

  If he touched her, she’d go up in flames.

  Did he know? Dear heaven, she hoped not! It would be a total humiliation. Hers.

  She wanted the evening to end. To be able to go home, slip out of her clothes, remove her make-up, and crawl into bed. Alone.

  Liar. You want to be with him. To experience once more what you once shared together. For the good times.

  With Nicos, it had been more than sex. It had been intimacy, a physical expression of love between two people in tune with each other on every level.

  All her protective instincts warned any attempt to revisit that special place would be akin to committing emotional suicide. And she was a survivor. She had to be.

  It was after eleven when Nicos indicated they should leave, and she expressed her gratitude to their hosts, bade fellow guests goodnight, and walked at Nicos’s side to the car.

  Minutes later they cleared the gates and soon reached the arterial road leading towards Point Piper.

  Street lights provided illumination, and the tree-lined avenues cast looming shadows. Many of the houses were in darkness, but every now and again a lit window revealed activity within.

  ‘All talked out?’

  Katrina turned slightly at the sound of that musing drawl, and could determine nothing from his expression. In the shadowed interior, his features were all angles and planes.

  ‘In recovery mode after playing charades,’ she declared, and heard his throaty chuckle.

  ‘That bad, hmm?’

  In their hosts’ home there had been security in numbers. Now they were alone, and effects of the game still lingered. Yet she was conscious of an elemental danger, aware that if she didn’t tread very carefully she could unleash a situation she wasn’t ready to deal with…now, or at any stage in the future.

  Had Nicos’s affectionate attention been entirely contrived? She told herself she didn’t want to know. Except there was a part of her that reacted to his touch, and it irked
unbearably that she hadn’t been in total control of her emotions.

  It didn’t take long to traverse the distance between Woollahra and Point Piper, and Katrina slid from the car in one fluid movement, entering the lobby a few steps ahead of her inimitable husband.

  The click of her heels on marble tiles sounded loud in the night’s silence, and her steps were quick as she entered the spacious lobby and headed for the elegant staircase.

  She was aware of Nicos resetting the alarm system, closing lights, and she fought against the instinctive need to run.

  From what? a tiny voice demanded. Yourself?

  She deigned not to answer, nor even give the thought any credence as she reached the sanctuary of her room.

  Nicos hadn’t attempted to stop her.

  So why did she harbour the intuitive feeling he had a strategy and a hidden agenda?

  To seduce her?

  Why? Except to prove he could?

  And he had as much hope of achieving that as a snowflake’s chance in hell, she vowed as she slipped off her heeled pumps and discarded the beaded gown.

  Make-up removal came next, then she donned a nightshirt and slid into bed, all too aware that sleep was never more distant.

  After an hour of tossing restlessly from one position to another she pulled on a wrap and made her way downstairs to the indoor pool adjacent the gym. There, she cast aside the wrap and dived neatly into the sparkling, crystal-clear water.

  Katrina stroked several lengths, then changed style, enjoying the feel of cool water against her skin as she covered length after length.

  It was mindless exercise, but one she welcomed in a bid to bring on a state of semi-exhaustion that would enable sleep.

  Maybe then Nicos’s image wouldn’t haunt her, or invade her dreams.

  Her muscles were beginning to tire, and her breathing was no longer smooth or even. Time to stop, she decided as she reached the tiled edge, then rested there for several long seconds as she caught her breath and smoothed excess water from her hair.