The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Yet she was bound to him, caught in an invisible trap, and the clock was ticking down towards the moment they were alone.

  Even the thought of that large, lithe frame, naked, was enough to send her heartbeat into overdrive.

  ‘More champagne?’

  His voice was an inflected drawl as he indicated her empty flute, and he was close, too close for comfort, for she was supremely conscious of him, his fine tailoring, the exclusive cologne, and the man beneath the sophisticated exterior.

  ‘No,’ she managed politely. ‘Thank you.’ There was some merit in having one drink too many in order to endure the night. However, the evening was young, dinner would soon be served, and she valued her social reputation too much as well as her self-esteem to pass the next few hours in an alcoholic haze.

  Choosing what to wear had seen her selecting one outfit after another and discarding most. In the end she’d opted for a bias-cut red silk dress with a soft, draped neckline and ribbon straps. Subtle make-up with emphasis on her eyes, and she’d swept her hair into a careless knot atop her head. Jewellery was an intricately linked neck chain with matching ear-studs.

  Packing an overnight bag had been simple…she’d simply tossed in a change of clothes and a few necessities. A bag Diego had retrieved from her hand as she emerged from the foyer and deposited in the trunk of his car.

  Quite what she expected she wasn’t sure. There had been nothing overt in his greeting, and he made no attempt to touch her as he saw her seated in his stylish Aston Martin.

  During the brief drive to their hosts’ home he’d kept conversation to a minimum…presumably influenced by her monosyllabic replies.

  What did he expect? For her to smile and laugh? Act as if this was a date, for heaven’s sake?

  He’d made her part of a deal, and she hated him for it. Almost as much as she hated being thrust among a coterie of guests for several hours.

  Guests who were undoubtedly curious at Diego’s choice of partner for the evening. Or should that be curiosity at her choice of partner?

  Had whispers of Preston-Villers’ financial straits begun to circulate? And if they had, what context was placed on Cassandra Preston-Villers appearing at Diego’s side? Would gossip allude the amalgamation had moved from the boardroom to the bedroom?

  Cassandra told herself she didn’t care…and knew she lied.

  Dinner. Dear heaven, how could she eat? Her stomach felt as if it were tied in knots, and primed to reject any food she sent its way.

  ‘Relax.’

  Diego’s voice was a quiet drawl as they took their seats at the elegantly set table, and she offered a stunning smile. ‘I’m perfectly relaxed.’

  There were numerous courses, each a perfect complement served with the artistry and flair of a professional chef.

  Compliments were accorded, and Cassandra added her own, painfully aware her tastebuds had gone on strike.

  She conversed with fellow guests, almost on autopilot, playing the social game with the ease of long practice. Although afterwards she held little recollection of any discussion.

  Diego was there, a constant entity, and the buildup of tension accelerated as the evening progressed. The light brush of his hand on hers succeeded in sending her pulse into overdrive, and she almost forgot to breathe when he leaned close to refill her water glass.

  She began to pray for the evening to end, to be free from the constraints of polite society. At least when they were alone she could discard the façade and fence verbal swords with him!

  Somehow she made it through the seemingly endless meal, and it was a relief to retreat to the lounge to linger over coffee.

  Diego seemed in no hurry to leave, and it was almost eleven when he indicated they bid their hosts goodnight.

  The short drive to nearby suburban Point Piper was achieved in silence, and Cassandra felt her body stiffen as he activated the electronic gates guarding the entrance to a curved driveway illuminated by strategically placed lights leading to a large home whose architecturally designed exterior and interior had featured in one of the glossy magazines soon after its completion.

  The Aston Martin eased beneath electronic garage doors and slid to a halt as the doors closed behind them with an imperceptible click.

  Trapped.

  Take me home. The words rose as a silent cry, only to die unuttered in her throat.

  You have to go through with this, a silent voice prompted pitilessly. Think of Alexander, Cameron.

  But what about me?

  Diego popped the trunk, then emerged from behind the wheel and retrieved her bag as she slipped out of the passenger seat.

  In silence she preceded him indoors, then walked at his side as he moved into the main foyer.

  With a sense of increasing desperation she focused on the generous dimensions, the gently curving staircase with its intricately designed balustrade leading to the upper floor. A crystal chandelier hung suspended from the high ceiling, and solid mahogany cabinets added to the Spanish influence. Art graced the walls, providing an ambience of wealth.

  Had he personally chosen all this, or consulted with an interior decorator?

  Diego deposited her bag at the foot of the staircase, then he indicated a door on his right. ‘A nightcap?’

  Cassandra watched as he crossed the foyer and revealed a spacious lounge. The thought of exchanging polite conversation and playing pretend was almost more than she could bear.

  The entire evening had been a preliminary to the moment she’d need to share his bed. Drawing it out any further seemed pointless.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to get on with it.’

  She was nervous. He could sense it in her voice, see the way her pulse jumped at the base of her throat, and he took pleasure from it.

  ‘Cut to the chase?’

  His query was a silky drawl that sent an icy feather sliding down her spine. ‘Yes.’

  Diego gave an imperceptible shrug as he closed the door and indicated the staircase. ‘By all means.’

  Was she mad? Oh, for heaven’s sake, she chided silently. He’s only a man, like any other.

  They’d have sex, she’d sleep, he’d wake her at dawn for more sex, then she’d shower, dress, and get a cab to work.

  How big a deal could it be?

  The way the blood fizzed through her veins, heating her body was incidental. The rapid thudding of her heart was merely due to nervous tension. Stress, anxiety…take your pick. A direct result of the sexual price she’d agreed to pay with a man she told herself she didn’t like.

  Together they ascended the curved staircase, then turned left, traversing the balustraded gallery to a lavishly furnished master suite.

  Cassandra entered the room, only to falter to a halt as uncertainty froze her limbs. Think, she silently cajoled. Slip off your stiletto-heeled pumps, remove your jewellery…

  The ear-studs were easy, but her fingers shook as she reached for the clasp at her nape.

  ‘Let me do that,’ Diego said quietly, and moved in close.

  Far too close. She could sense him behind her, almost feel the touch of that powerful body against her own. How much space separated them? An inch? If she leant back, her shoulders would brush his chest.

  Oh, hell, should she, and make it easy for herself? Play the seductress and melt into his arms?

  His fingers touched her nape and she unconsciously held her breath as he dealt with the clasp. Then it was done, and she took a step away from him as he dropped the jewellery into her hand.

  Cassandra crossed to where Diego had placed her bag and tucked the jewellery into a pouch. When she turned he was close, and her stomach clenched as he reached for the pins in her hair.

  His fingers grazed the graceful curve of her neck, and sensation shivered the length of her spine.

  ‘Beautiful.’

  His silky murmur did strange things to her equilibrium, and she fought against the almost mesmeric fascination threatening to undermine her defences.
r />   It would be so easy to sway towards him, angle her head, fasten her mouth on his and simply sink in.

  Yet to meekly comply meant she condoned his actions, and there wasn’t a hope in hell she’d ever forgive his manipulation.

  ‘Let’s not pretend this is anything other than what it is.’

  Cassandra reached for the zip fastener on her dress, and managed to slide it down a few inches before his hand halted its progress.

  ‘Highly priced sex?’ Diego queried in a faintly accented drawl.

  ‘You got it in one.’

  She was nervous, and that intrigued him. Any other woman would have played the coquette, and provocatively stripped for his pleasure. Teasing, before undressing him, then moving in to begin a practised seduction before he took control.

  ‘If you want to unwrap the package…’ Cassandra managed what she hoped was a negligent shrug ‘…then go ahead.’

  Diego’s eyes narrowed, and his voice was a husky drawl. ‘How could a man resist the temptation?’

  He slid the zip fastener all the way down, then lifted his hands to the shoestring straps, slipping them over each shoulder so the gown slithered to a heap on the carpeted floor.

  The only garment that saved her from total nudity was a silk thong brief, and she forced herself to stand still beneath his studied appraisal.

  Her eyes blazed blue fire as his gaze lingered on her breasts, skimmed low, then lifted to meet the defiant outrage apparent.

  With slow, deliberate movements he removed his shoes and socks, shed his jacket, loosened his tie and removed it, then he freed his trousers before tending to the buttons on his shirt.

  He was something else. Broad shoulders, lean hips, a washboard stomach, olive-toned skin sheathed an enviable abundance of hardened sinew and muscle. Fit, not pumped, with a sleekness that denoted undeniable strength.

  Black silk briefs did little to hide his arousal, and she hated the warm tinge that coloured her cheeks as he swept back the bedcovers.

  With unhurried steps he closed the distance between them, and her eyes widened fractionally as he touched a gentle finger to her lips and traced the lower curve. Warmth flooded her body and became pulsing heat as he cupped her face, and a soundless groan rose and died in her throat as he lowered his head down to hers.

  Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t the slow, evocative touch of his mouth on her own, or the way his tongue slid between her lips as his hands cupped her face.

  She felt his thumbs brush each cheek, and the breath caught in her throat as he angled his mouth and went in deep.

  He tugged at her senses and tore them to shreds, destroying the protective barrier she’d built up against him.

  Her hands lifted to his shoulders in a bid to hang on, only to rest briefly, hesitantly there as he slid a hand to capture her nape while the other skimmed the length of her spine to curve over her bottom and pull her close.

  In one fluid movement he dispensed with the scrap of silk, and she gasped as he sought the warm heat at the apex of her thighs.

  There was little she could do to prevent his skilled fingers wreaking havoc there. He knew where to touch and how…light strokes that almost drove her wild, and just when she thought she couldn’t stand any more he eased off, only to have her gasp as the oral stimulation intensified to another level.

  ‘Let go,’ Diego instructed huskily, and absorbed her despairing groan.

  Her body might be tempted, but her mind wasn’t in sync. Had it ever been? she registered cynically, aware that for her intimacy, while pleasurable, was hardly a mind-blowing experience. Why should it be any different this time?

  Fake it, a silent imp prompted. Just…get it over with, then it’ll be done. For tonight.

  His hands shifted to cup her face. ‘Don’t.’

  Cassandra stilled at his softly voiced admonition, and cast him a startled glance. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  He traced the lower curve of her mouth with the pad of his thumb, and saw her eyes flare. ‘Yes, you do.’

  She could feel the warmth colour her cheeks. What was it with this man that he could lay bare her secrets?

  Her previous partners had been so consumed with their own pleasure they hadn’t cared about her own.

  A strangled laugh rose and died in her throat. It wasn’t as if she’d had numerous partners…only two, each of whom had declared undying devotion while fixing an eye on her father’s wealth.

  ‘I don’t want to be here with you.’

  ‘Perhaps not.’ He waited a beat. ‘Yet.’

  ‘Are you sure there’s enough space in this room for both you and your ego?’

  His husky laugh was almost her undoing. ‘You doubt I can make you want me?’

  ‘It would be a first.’ The words were out before she thought to stop them, and she saw his eyes narrow.

  He was silent for what seemed an age, then he released her. In one fluid movement he reached for the bedcovers, restored them to their former position, then he indicated the bed. ‘Get in.’

  Uncertainty momentarily showed in her features.

  ‘You prefer the bed?’

  ‘It’s more comfortable.’

  Comfort. It beat tumbling to the carpeted floor. Although somehow she doubted Diego was prone to awkward moves.

  ‘To sleep,’ Diego added, watching confusion cloud her eyes.

  ‘Sleep?’ She felt as if she was repeating everything he said.

  His gaze speared hers. ‘For now,’ he qualified evenly. ‘Does that bother you?’

  A stay of execution? She wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or peeved. ‘A reprieve? Should I thank you?’

  ‘Don’t push it, querida.’ His voice held the softness of silk, but the warning was pure steel.

  Capitulation would be a wise choice, she perceived, and crossed to her bag, extracted a large cotton T-shirt and pulled it on, then after a moment’s hesitation she joined him in the large bed, settling as far away from him as possible.

  Diego pressed a remote module and doused the lights, and Cassandra felt her body tense in the darkness as she waited for the moment he might reach for her.

  Except he didn’t, and she lay still, aware of the moment his breathing slowed to a steady pace.

  Dammit, he was asleep! As easily and quickly as that, he’d been able to relax sufficiently to sleep.

  Leaving her to lie awake to seethe in silence. The temptation to fist her hand and punch him was paramount! How dared he simply switch off? How could he?

  She still had the imprint of his hands on her body, and her mouth felt slightly swollen from the touch of his.

  Unfulfilled anticipation. Dear heaven, she couldn’t be disappointed, surely?

  Diego del Santo was someone she intensely disliked, hated, she amended. Just because there was an exigent chemistry between them didn’t alter a thing.

  How could she sleep, for heaven’s sake? He was there, his large, powerfully muscled body within touching distance.

  Was it imagination, or could she feel his warmth? Sense the heat of his sex, even in repose?

  It was madness. Insane. She closed her eyes and summoned sleep, only to stifle the groan that rose and died in her throat.

  Her limbs, her whole body seemed stiff, and she’d have given anything to roll over and punch her pillow, then resettle into a more comfortable position. Yet if she moved, she might disturb Diego, and that wasn’t a favoured option.

  Cassandra counted sheep…to no avail. She concentrated on an intricate jewellery design she was working on, visualised the finished item and made a few minor adjustments.

  How long had she been lying in the dark? Ten, twenty minutes? Thirty? How long until the dawn? Four, five hours?

  There was a faint movement, then the room was bathed in soft light, and Diego loomed close, his upper body supported on one elbow.

  ‘Can’t sleep?’ His voice was a husky drawl that curled round her nerve-ends and tugged a little.

  Her eyes were larg
e, and far too dark, her features pale.

  ‘I didn’t know you were awake.’ He must sleep like a cat, attuned to the slightest movement, the faintest sound.

  ‘Headache?’

  It would be so easy to acquiesce, but she wasn’t into fabrication. ‘No.’

  He lifted a hand and trailed gentle fingers across her cheek. ‘Waging an inner battle?’

  There was nothing like the witching midnight hour to heighten vulnerability. ‘Yes.’

  His mouth curved into a musing smile. ‘Honesty is a quality so rarely found in women.’

  ‘You obviously haven’t met the right woman.’ Was that her voice? It sounded impossibly husky. Sexy, she amended, slightly shocked, and flinched as his fingers traced a path to her temple and tucked a swathe of hair behind her ear.

  There was a sense of unreality in the conversation. She was conscious of the room, the bed…then the man, only the man became her total focus.

  The pad of his thumb traced her lower lip, depressed its centre, then slid to her chin, holding it fast as he fastened his mouth on hers, coaxing in a prelude to the deliberate seduction of her senses.

  The subtle exploration became an evocative sensual possession that took hold of her inhibitions and dispensed with them…far too easily for her peace of mind.

  She should withdraw and retreat, protest a little. Except his touch held a magic she couldn’t resist, and she groaned as his hands caressed her breasts, shaped the sensitive flesh, then tantalised the burgeoning peaks.

  Heat flooded her veins, filling her body with sensual warmth as she arched against the path of his hand, and he absorbed her soft cry as he caught hold of her T-shirt and tugged it free.

  For several long seconds she bore his silent appraisal, glimpsed the vital, almost electric energy apparent, and knew instinctively that intimacy would surely take place.

  The intention, the driven need was there, clearly evident, and sensation spiralled through her body at the thought of his possession.

  All her skin-cells came achingly alive, acutely sensitive to his touch as he lowered his head over her breast and suckled its tender peak. Then she cried out as he used his teeth to take her to the brink between pain and pleasure.