The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

Cassandra slid her fingers through his hair and tugged, willing him to cease, only to gasp as he trailed a path to her waist, paused to circle her navel with his tongue before edging slowly towards the apex of her thighs.

  He couldn’t, wouldn’t…surely?

  But he did, with brazen disregard for her plea to desist. The level of intimacy shocked her, and she fought against the skilled stroking, the heat and thrust of his tongue as he sent her high. So high, the acute sensory spiral tore a startled cry from her throat.

  Just as she thought the sensation couldn’t become more intense, it came again, so acutely piercing it arrowed through her body, an all-consuming flame soaring from deep within.

  Dear heaven. The fervent whisper fell from her lips as an irreverent prayer as Diego shifted slightly and trailed his lips over her sensitised flesh to possess her mouth in a kiss that took her deep, so deep she simply gave herself over to it and shared the sensual feast.

  Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind an alarm bell sounded, and she stilled. ‘Protection?’

  ‘Taken care of.’

  Cassandra felt him nudge her thighs apart, the probe of his arousal as he eased into her, and her shocked gasp at his size died in her throat.

  His slick heat magnetised her, and she felt her muscles tense around him, then relax in a rhythm that gradually accepted his length. He stilled, his mouth a persuasive instrument as he plundered at will, sweeping her high until all rational thought vanished.

  Then he began to move, slowly at first, so slowly she felt the passage inch by inch, and just as she began to think he intended to disengage, he slid in to the hilt in one excruciatingly sensual thrust, repeating the movement as he increased the pace. Until the rhythm became an hypnotic entity she had no power to resist.

  Mesmeric, urgent, libidinous…it became something she’d never experienced before. An intoxicating captivation of her senses as he swept them high to a point of magical ecstasy.

  She had no memory of the scream torn from her throat, the way her nails raked his ribs, or how she sought his flesh with her teeth. She was a wild wanton, driven beyond mere desire to a primitive place where passion became an incandescent entity.

  Diego brought her down slowly, gently, soothing her quivering body until she stilled in his arms.

  There were tears trickling down each cheek, and he felt his heart constrict at her vulnerability.

  She felt exposed. As if this man had somehow managed to see into her heart, her soul, and that everything she was, all her secrets were laid bare.

  There was little she could gain from his expression, and her mouth shook as he carefully rolled onto his back, taking her with him.

  His gaze held hers in the soft light, and she couldn’t look away. There were no words, nothing she could say, and the breath hitched in her throat as he lifted both hands to her breasts.

  With the utmost care he tested their weight, then traced the gentle swell, using his thumb pad to caress the swollen peaks.

  Her skin felt sensitive to his touch as he cupped her waist, then slid to her hips.

  Cassandra felt her eyes widen as he began to swell inside her, and a soundless gasp parted her lips as he began a slow, undulating movement.

  Again? He was ready for more?

  She caught the rhythm and matched it, enjoying the dominant position, and what followed became the ride of her life…and his, for there was no doubting his passion, or the moment of his climax as it joined with her own.

  Afterwards he drew her down against him and cradled her close until her breathing, his own, returned to normal.

  She could have slept right there, her cheek cushioned against his chest, and she began to protest as he disengaged and eased her to lie beside him.

  Then she did voice a protest as he slid from the bed and swept her into his arms.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Her faintly scandalised query held an edge of panic as he crossed to the en suite and entered the spacious shower cubicle.

  ‘We can’t share a shower,’ Cassandra protested, and earned a husky laugh.

  ‘We just shared the ultimate in intimacy,’ Diego drawled as he picked up the soap and began smoothing it over her skin.

  So they had, but this…this was something else, and she put a hand to his chest in silent remonstrance.

  ‘No.’

  He didn’t stop. ‘Afterwards we sleep.’

  She pushed him. Or at least she tried, but he was an immovable force. ‘I can take care of myself.’

  ‘Indulge me.’

  ‘Diego—’

  ‘I like the sound of my name on your lips.’

  ‘Please!’ His touch was a little too up close and personal, and he was invading her private space in a way no man had done before.

  ‘You get to have your turn any minute soon,’ he drawled with amusement, then had the audacity to chuckle as she took a well-aimed swipe at his shoulder.

  ‘If you want to play, querida, I’m only too willing to oblige.’

  ‘I’m all played out.’ It was the truth, for exhaustion was beginning to overpower her, combined with the soporific spray of hot water, heated steam and lateness of the hour. Plus she hurt in places she’d never hurt before.

  He finished her ablutions, then set about completing his own. Within minutes he turned off the water, snagged a bath towel and towelled her dry before applying the towel to his own torso.

  Seconds later he led her into the bedroom and pulled her down onto the bed, settled the covers, then doused the light.

  With one fluid movement her gathered her in against him and held her there, aware of the moment tiredness overcame her reluctance and she slept.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CASSANDRA woke slowly, aware within seconds this wasn’t her bed, her room, or her apartment. Realisation dawned, and she turned her head cautiously…only to see she was the sole occupant of the large bed.

  Of Diego there was no sign, and she checked the time, gasped in exasperated dismay, then she slid to her feet, gathered fresh underwear and day clothes from her bag and made for the en suite.

  Fifteen minutes later she gathered up her bag and moved down to the lower floor. She could smell fresh coffee, toast…and felt her stomach rumble in growling protest as she made her way towards the kitchen.

  Diego stood at the servery, dressed in dark trousers, a business shirt unbuttoned at the neck, and a matching dark jacket rested over the back of a chair with a tie carelessly tossed on top of it.

  He looked far too alive for a man who’d spent the greater part of the night engaged in physical activity, and just the sight of him was enough to shred her nerves.

  ‘I was going to give you another five minutes,’ he drawled. ‘Then come fetch you.’ He indicated the carafe. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Please.’ She felt awkward, and incredibly vulnerable. ‘Then I’ll call a cab.’

  Diego extracted a plate of eggs and toast from a warming tray. ‘I’ll drive you home. Sit down and eat.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  He subjected her to a raking appraisal, saw the darkened shadows beneath her eyes, the faint edge of tiredness. ‘Eat,’ he insisted. ‘Then we’ll leave.’

  Any further protest would be fruitless, and besides, the eggs looked good. She took a seat and did justice to the food, sipped the strong, hot black coffee, and felt more ready to face the day.

  As soon as she finished he pulled on his tie and adjusted it, then shrugged into his jacket.

  She began clearing the table with the intention of doing the dishes.

  ‘Leave them.’

  ‘It’ll only take a few minutes.’

  ‘I have a cleaning lady. Leave them.’

  Without a word she picked up her bag and followed him through to the garage.

  The distance between Point Piper and Double Bay amounted to a few kilometres, and Cassandra slid open the door within seconds of Diego drawing the car to a halt outside the entrance of her apartment building.

  There
wasn’t an adequate word that came to mind, and she didn’t offer one as she walked away from him.

  The cat gave an indignant miaow as she unlocked her door, and she dropped her bag, put down fresh food, then took the lift down to the basement car park.

  Minutes later she eased her vintage Porsche onto the road and battled morning peak-hour traffic to reach her place of work.

  Concentration on the job in hand proved difficult as she attempted to dispel Diego’s powerful image.

  Far too often she was reminded of his possession. Dear heaven, she could still feel him. Tender internal tissues provided a telling evidence, and just the thought of her reaction to their shared intimacy was enough to bring her to the point of climax.

  As if last night wasn’t enough, he’d reached for her in the early dawn hours, employing what she reflected was considerable stealth to arouse her before she was fully awake and therefore conscious of his intention.

  Worse, he had stilled any protest she might have voiced with a skilled touch, inflaming her senses and attacking the fragile tenure of her control.

  How could she react with such electrifying passion to a man she professed to hate? To transcend the physical and unleash myriad emotions to become a willing wanton in his arms. Accepting a degree of intimacy she’d never imagined being sufficiently comfortable with to condone.

  Yet she had. Swept away beyond reason or rational thought by sexual chemistry at its zenith.

  Her cellphone buzzed, signalling an incoming text message, and she checked it during her lunch break, then responded by keying in Cameron’s number.

  ‘Just checking in,’ her brother reassured.

  ‘Enquiring how I survived Act One of the three-act night play?’

  ‘Cynicism, Cassandra?’

  ‘I’m entitled, don’t you think?’

  ‘Act Two takes place…when?’

  ‘Saturday night.’

  ‘I appreciate—’

  ‘Don’t,’ she said fiercely, ‘go there.’ She cut the connection, automatically reached for the Caesar salad she’d ordered, only to take one mouthful and push the plate aside. Instead, she ate the accompanying Turkish bread and sipped the latte before returning to the workshop.

  Mid-afternoon she gave in to a throbbing headache and took a painkiller to ease it, then she fixed the binocular microscope, adjusted the light, and set to work.

  Cassandra was relieved when the day came to an end, and she stopped off at a supermarket en route to her apartment and collected groceries, cat food and fresh fruit.

  Essential provisions, she mused as she carried the sack indoors, unpacked it, then she fed the cat, prepared fish and salad for herself. Television interested her for an hour, then she opened her laptop, double-checked design measurements and made some minor adjustments, then she closed everything down and went to bed.

  Within minutes she felt the familiar pad of the cat’s tread as it joined her and settled against her legs. Companionship and unconditional love, she mused with affection as she sought solace in sleep.

  Difficult, when the one man she resented invaded her thoughts, filling her mind, and invaded her dreams.

  Diego del Santo had a lot to answer for, Cassandra swore as the next day proved no less stressful. Her stomach executed a downward dive every time her cellphone rang as she waited for him to confirm arrangements for Saturday night.

  By Friday evening she was a bundle of nerves, cursing him volubly…which did no good at all and startled the cat.

  Consequently when she picked up the phone Saturday morning and heard his voice, it was all she could do to remain civil.

  ‘I’ll collect you at six-thirty. Dinner first, then we’re due to attend a gallery exhibition.’

  ‘If you’ll advise an approximate time you expect to return home,’ Cassandra managed stiffly, ‘I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘No.’

  Her fingers tightened on the cellphone casing. ‘What do you mean…no?’ She felt the anger begin a slow simmer, and took a deep breath to control it. ‘You can take someone else to dinner and the gallery.’

  ‘Go from one woman to another?’

  He sounded amused, damn him. ‘Socialising with you doesn’t form part of the arrangement.’

  ‘It does, however, entitle me to twelve hours of your time on two of our three legally binding occasions. If you’d prefer not to socialise, I’m more than willing to have you spend those twelve hours in my bed.’

  She wanted to kill him. At the very least, she’d do him an injury. ‘Minimising sex with you is my main priority.’ Trying to remain calm took considerable effort. ‘As I’ll need my car for the morning, I’ll drive to your place.’

  ‘Six-thirty, Cassandra.’ He cut the connection before she could say another word.

  Choosing what to wear didn’t pose a problem, for she led a reasonably active social life and possessed the wardrobe to support it.

  For a brief moment she considered something entirely inappropriate, only to dismiss it and go with stunning.

  Soft and feminine was the in style, and she had just the gown in jade silk georgette. Spaghetti straps, a deep V-neckline, and a handkerchief hemline. Guaranteed wow factor, she perceived as she swept her hair into a careless knot and added the finishing touches to her make-up.

  It was six-twenty-five when she drew her car to a halt outside the gates guarding the entrance to Diego’s home. Almost on cue they were electronically released, and she wondered whether it was by advance courtesy on his part or due to a sophisticated alarm system.

  The Aston Martin was parked outside the main entrance, and Diego opened the front door as she slid out from her car.

  Cassandra inclined her head in silent greeting and crossed to the Aston Martin.

  ‘A punctual woman,’ Diego drawled, and incurred a piercing glance.

  ‘You said six-thirty.’ She subjected him to a deliberate appraisal, taking in the dark dinner suit, the crisp white shirt, black bow-tie…and endeavoured to control the sudden leap of her pulse. ‘Shall we leave?’

  Polite, cool. She could do both. For now.

  ‘No overnight bag?’

  ‘I’ll get it.’ She did, and he placed it indoors before tending to the alarm.

  ‘You’ve dressed to impress,’ Diego complimented, subjecting her to a raking appraisal that had male appreciation at its base, and something else she didn’t care to define.

  There was an edge of mockery apparent, and she offered a practised smile. ‘That should be…to kill,’ she amended as he unlocked the car door, saw her seated, then crossed round the front to slide in behind the wheel.

  ‘Should I be on guard for hidden weapons?’

  Cassandra shot him a considering glance. ‘Not my style.’

  ‘But making a fashion statement is?’

  ‘It’s a woman’s prerogative,’ she responded with a certain wryness. ‘Armour for all the visual feminine daggers that’ll be aimed at my back tonight.’

  ‘In deference to my so-called reputation?’

  ‘Got it in one.’

  The sound of his husky laughter became lost as he ignited the engine, and she remained silent for the relatively short drive to Double Bay, electing to attempt civility as the maître d’ seated them at a reserved table.

  ‘Australia must appeal to you,’ she broached in an attempt at conversation. ‘You’ve been based in Sydney for the past year.’

  They’d progressed through the starter and were waiting for the main.

  Diego settled back in his chair and regarded her with thoughtful speculation. ‘I have business interests in several countries.’ He regarded her with musing indolence. ‘And homes in many.’

  ‘Therefore one assumes your time of residence here is fairly transitory.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  Cassandra picked up her wine glass and took an appreciative sip. ‘Hearsay accords you a devious past.’

  ‘Do you believe that?’

  She considered him carefully
. ‘Social rumour can be misleading.’

  ‘Invariably.’

  There was a hardness apparent, something dangerous, almost lethal lurking deep beneath the surface. He bore the look of a man who’d seen much, weathered more…and survived.

  ‘I think you enjoy the mystery of purported supposition.’ She waited a beat. ‘And you’re too street-wise to have skated over the edge of the law.’

  ‘Gracias.’ His voice held wry cynicism.

  The waiter presented their main, topped up their wine glasses, then retreated.

  Cassandra picked up her cutlery and speared a succulent morsel. ‘Do you have family in New York?’

  ‘A brother.’ The sole survivor of a drive-by shooting that had killed both their parents. A shocking event that happened within months of his initial sojourn in Sydney, the reason he’d taken the next flight home…and stayed to build his fortune.

  It was almost nine when they entered the gallery. Guests stood in segregated groups. The men deep in discussion on subjects which would vary from the state of the country’s economy to the latest business acquisition, and whether the current wife was aware of the latest mistress.

  The women, on the other hand, discussed the latest fashion showing, which cosmetic surgeon was currently in vogue, speculated who was conducting a clandestine affair, and what the husband would need to part with in order to soothe the wife and retain the mistress.

  The names changed, Cassandra accorded wryly, but the topics remained the same.

  Tonight’s exhibition was more about being seen than the purchase of a sculpture or painting. Yet the evening would be a success, due to the fact only those with buying power and social status received invitations.

  Should nothing appeal, it was considered de rigueur to donate a sizeable cheque to a nominated charity.

  Uniformed waitresses were circulating proffering trays with canapés, while waiters offered champagne and orange juice.

  ‘Feel free to mix and mingle.’

  Their presence had been duly noted, their coupling providing speculation which would, Cassandra deduced, run rife.

  Had news already spread about the financial state of Preston-Villers? It was too much to hope it would be kept under wraps for long.