The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  ‘Let’s take a look at the exhibits,’ Diego suggested smoothly, and led her towards the nearest section of paintings.

  Modern impressionists held little appeal, and she found herself explaining why as they moved on to examine some metal sculptures, one of which appeared so bizarre it held her attention only from the viewpoint of discovering what it was supposed to represent.

  ‘Diego. I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  The silky feminine purr held a faint accent, and Cassandra turned to see Alicia move close to Diego.

  Much too close.

  ‘Cassandra,’ the model acknowledged. ‘I haven’t seen Cameron here tonight.’

  A barbed indication she should get a life, a lover…and not resort to accompanying her brother to most social events? Cameron relied on her presence as a cover, while she was content to provide it. A comfort zone that suited them both. Two previous relationships hadn’t encouraged her to have much faith in the male of the species. One man had regarded her as a free ride in life on her father’s money; the other had wanted marriage in order to gain eventual chairmanship of Preston-Villers.

  ‘Cameron was unable to attend,’ she answered smoothly. It was a deviation from the truth, and one she had no intention of revealing.

  Alicia looked incredible, buffed to perfection from the tip of her Italian-shod feet to the elegantly casual hairstyle. Gowned in black silk which clung to her curves in a manner which belied the use of underwear, she was a magnet for every man in the room.

  Alicia’s eyes narrowed fractionally as a fellow guest commandeered Diego’s attention, drawing him into a discussion with two other men.

  ‘You’re here tonight with Diego?’ The query held incredulous disbelief. ‘Darling, isn’t he a little out of your league?’

  Cassandra kept her voice light. ‘The implication being…?’

  ‘He’s rich, primitive, and dangerous.’ Alicia spared her a sweeping glance. ‘You’d never handle him.’

  This was getting bitchy. ‘And you can?’

  The model cast her a sweeping glance, then uttered a deprecatory laugh. ‘Oh, please, darling.’

  Well, that certainly said it all!

  She resisted the temptation to tell the model the joke was on her. Handling Diego was the last thing she wanted to do!

  ‘In that case,’ Cassandra managed sweetly, ‘why did Diego invite me along when you’re so—’ she paused fractionally ‘—obviously available?’

  Anger blazed briefly in those beautiful dark blue eyes, then assumed icy scorn. ‘The novelty factor?’

  If you only knew! ‘You think so?’ She manufactured a faint smile. ‘Maybe he simply tired of having women fall over themselves to gain his attention.’

  Alicia placed a hand on Cassandra’s arm. ‘Playing hard to get is an ill-advised game. You’ll end up being hurt.’

  ‘And you care?’

  ‘Don’t kid yourself, darling.’

  ‘Are you done?’ She offered a practised smile, and barely restrained an audible gasp as Alicia dug hard, lacquered fingernails into her arm.

  ‘Oh, I think so. For now.’

  Anything was better than fencing verbal swords with the glamour queen, and Cassandra began threading her way towards the remaining exhibits, pausing now and then to converse with a fellow guest.

  There was a display of bronze sculptures, and one in particular caught her eye. It was smaller than the others, and lovingly crafted to portray an elderly couple seated together on a garden stool. The man’s arm enclosed the woman’s shoulders as she leaned into him. Their expressive features captured a look that touched her heart. Everlasting love.

  ‘Quite something, isn’t it?’ a male voice queried at her side.

  Cassandra turned and offered a smile. ‘Yes,’ she agreed simply.

  ‘Gregor Stanislau.’ He inclined his head. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Cassandra.’

  His grin was infectious. ‘You have an interest in bronze?’ He indicated the remaining sculptures and led her past each of them. He was knowledgeable, explaining techniques, discussing what he perceived as indiscernible flaws detracting from what could have been perfection.

  ‘The elderly couple seated on the stool. It’s your work, isn’t it?’

  He spread his hands in an expressive gesture. ‘Guilty.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she complimented. ‘Is it the only piece you have displayed here?’

  He inclined his head. ‘The couple were modelled on my grandparents. It was to be a gift to them, but I was unable to complete it in time.’

  She didn’t need to ask. ‘Would you consider selling it?’

  ‘To you?’ He named a price she considered exorbitant, and she shook her head.

  He looked genuinely regretful. ‘I’m reasonably negotiable. Make me an offer.’

  ‘Forty per cent of your original figure, plus the gallery’s commission,’ Diego drawled from behind her, and she turned in surprise as he moved to her side. How long had he been standing there? She hadn’t even sensed his presence.

  Gregor looked severely offended. ‘That’s an outrage.’

  Diego’s smile was superficially pleasant, but the hardness apparent in his eyes was not. ‘Would you prefer me to insist on a professional appraisal?’

  ‘Seventy-five per cent, and I’ll consider it sold.’

  ‘The original offer stands.’

  ‘Your loss.’ The sculptor effected a negligible shrug and retreated among the guests.

  ‘You had no need to negotiate on my behalf,’ Cassandra declared, annoyed at his intervention. ‘I was more than capable of handling him.’

  Diego shot her a mocking glance, which proved a further irritation. Did he think blonde and naïve automatically went hand-in-hand?

  Wrong. ‘He saw me admiring it, figured I was an easy mark, so he spun a sentimental tale with the aim to double his profit margin.’ She lifted one eyebrow and deliberately allowed her mouth to curve in a winsome smile. ‘How am I doing so far?’

  His lips twitched a little. ‘Just fine.’

  Cassandra inclined her head. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see your follow-up action.’

  ‘Watch and learn.’

  ‘At a guess,’ he inclined indolently, ‘you’ll file a complaint with the gallery owner, who’ll then offer to sell you the sculpture at a figure less than its purported value, as a conscience salve for the sculptor’s misrepresentation.’

  A slow smile curved her mouth, and her eyes sparkled with musing humour. ‘You’re good.’

  Cassandra was discreet. No doubt it helped her father was a known patron of the arts, and the name Preston-Villers instantly recognisable. Apologies were forthcoming, she arranged payment and organised collection, then she turned to find Alicia deep in conversation with Diego.

  Nothing prepared her for the momentary shaft of pain that shot through her body. It was ridiculous, and she hated her reaction almost as much as she hated him.

  Diego del Santo was merely an aberration. A man who’d callously manipulated a set of circumstances to his personal advantage. So what if he was a highly skilled lover, sensitive to a woman’s needs? There were other men equally as skilled… Men with blue-blood birth lines, educated in the finest private schools, graduating with honours from university to enter the fields of commerce, medicine, law.

  She’d met them, socialised with them…and never found the spark to ignite her emotions. Until Diego.

  It was insane.

  Was Alicia his current companion? Certainly she’d seen them together at a few functions over the past month or so. There could be no doubt Alicia was hell-bent on digging her claws into him.

  ‘Cassandra—darling. I was hoping to find you here. How are you?’

  There were any number of society matrons in the city, but Annouska Pendelton presided at the top of their élite heap.

  The air-kiss routine, the firm grasp of Annouska’s manicured fingers on her own formed
an integral part of the greeting process.

  Annouska working the room, Cassandra accorded silently, very aware of the matron’s charity work and the excessively large sums of money she managed to persuade the rich and famous to donate to the current worthy cause.

  ‘How is dear Alexander?’ There was a click of the tongue. ‘So very sad his health is declining.’ There was a second’s pause. ‘I see you’re with Diego del Santo this evening. An interesting and influential man.’

  ‘Yes,’ Cassandra agreed sweetly. ‘Isn’t he?’

  Annouska’s gaze shifted. ‘Ah, Diego.’ Her smile held charm. ‘We were just talking about you.’

  He stood close, much too close. If she moved a fraction of an inch her arm would come into contact with him. The scent of his cologne teased her nostrils, subtle, expensive, and mingled with the clean smell of freshly laundered linen.

  ‘Indeed?’ His voice was a lazy honeyed drawl that sent all her fine body hairs on alert.

  ‘You must both come to next month’s soirée.’ The matron relayed details with her customary unfailing enthusiasm. ‘Invitations will be in the mail early in the week.’ She pressed Cassandra’s fingers, then transferred them to Diego’s forearm. ‘Enjoy the evening.’

  ‘Would you like coffee?’ Diego queried as Annouska moved on to her next quarry.

  What I’d like is to go home to my own apartment and sleep in my own bed…alone. However, that wasn’t going to happen.

  Already her nerves were playing havoc at the thought of what the night would bring.

  ‘No?’ He took hold of her hand and threaded his fingers through her own. ‘In that case we’ll leave.’

  She attempted to pull free from his grasp, and failed miserably. ‘Alicia will be disappointed.’

  ‘You expect me to qualify that?’

  Cassandra didn’t answer, and made another furtive effort to remove her hand. ‘Must you?’

  It took several long minutes to ease their way towards the exit, and she caught Alicia’s venomous glare as they left the gallery.

  ‘Do you mind?’ This time she dug her nails into the back of his hand. ‘I’m not going to escape and run screaming onto the street.’

  ‘You wouldn’t get far.’

  ‘I don’t need to be reminded I owe you.’

  The Aston Martin was parked adjacent to the gallery and only a short-distance walk. Yet he didn’t release his grasp until he’d unlocked the car.

  She didn’t offer so much as a word during the drive to Point Piper, and she slid from the seat the instant Diego brought the car to a halt inside the garage.

  It wasn’t late by social standards, but she’d been in a state of nervous tension all day anticipating the evening and how it would end.

  Dear heaven, she knew what to expect. There was even a part of her that wanted his possession. What woman wouldn’t want to experience sensual heaven? she queried silently.

  So why did she feel so angry? Diego del Santo wasn’t hers. She had no tags on him whatsoever. He was free to date anyone, and Alicia Vandernoot was undoubtedly a tigress in bed.

  Wasn’t that what men wanted in a woman? A whore in the bedroom?

  A hollow laugh rose and died in her throat as she preceded Diego into the house.

  ‘Would you like something to drink?’ He undid his tie and unbuttoned his jacket.

  Cassandra continued towards the stairs. ‘Play pretend?’ She reached the elegantly curved balustrade and began ascending the stairs. ‘In order to put a different context on the reason I’m here?’

  ‘A man and a woman well-matched in bed?’ Diego countered silkily, and she paused to turn and face him.

  ‘It’s just…sex.’ And knew she lied.

  Without a further word she moved towards the upper floor, aware of the sensual anticipation building with every step she took.

  The warmth, the heat and the passion of his possession became a palpable entity, and she hated herself for wanting what he could gift her, for there was a part of her that wanted it to be real. The whole emotional package, not just physical sex.

  Yet sex was all it could be. And she should be glad. To become emotionally involved with Diego would be akin to leaping from a plane without a parachute.

  Death-defying, exhilarating…madness.

  Cassandra made her way along the gallery to the main bedroom, and once there she stepped out of her stiletto-heeled pumps, removed her jewellery, then reached for the zip fastener of her gown.

  She was aware of Diego’s presence in the room, and the fact he’d retrieved her overnight bag. Her fingers shook a little as she took it from him and retreated into the en suite.

  Minutes later she removed her make-up, then she unpinned her hair and deliberately avoided checking her mirrored image.

  Showtime.

  Diego was reclining in bed, his upper body propped up on one elbow, looking, she perceived wryly, exactly what he was…one very sexy and dangerous man.

  She was suddenly supremely conscious of the large T-shirt whose hemline fell to mid-thigh, her tumbled hair and freshly scrubbed face.

  The antithesis of glamour. Alicia, or any one of the many women who had shared his bed, would have elected to wear something barely-there, probably transparent, in black or scarlet. Provocative, titillating, and guaranteed to raise a certain part of the male anatomy.

  Except she wasn’t here to provoke or titillate, and she slid beneath the covers, settled them in place, then turned her head to look at him.

  He lifted a hand and trailed fingers across her cheek, then threaded his fingers through her hair.

  He traced the delicate skin beneath her ear, then circled the hollow at the base of her neck as he fastened his mouth over hers.

  She told herself she was in control, that this was just physical pleasure without any emotional involvement.

  Only to stifle a groan in despair as his hand slid down her body to rest on her thigh.

  How could she succumb so easily? It galled her to think she’d been on tenterhooks all evening, waiting for this moment, wanting it.

  His tongue tangled with hers in an erotic dance as she began to respond. Her T-shirt no longer provided a barrier, and she exulted in the glide of his hands as he moulded her body close to his.

  Diego rolled onto his back, carrying her with him, and he eased her against the cradle of his thighs, then shaped her breasts, weighing them gently as he caressed the sensitive skin.

  Their peaks hardened beneath his touch, and the breath hissed between her teeth as he rolled each nub between thumb and forefinger, creating a friction that sent sensation soaring through her body.

  With care he eased her forward to savour each peak in turn, and she cried out as he took her to the edge between pleasure and pain.

  His arousal was a potent force, and he settled her against its thickened length, creating a movement that had the breath hitching in her throat.

  Cassandra felt as if she was on fire, caught up in the passion he was able to evoke, rendering everything to a primitive level as he positioned her to accept him in a long, slow slide that filled her to the hilt.

  Then he began to move, gently at first, governing her body to create a timeless rhythm that started slow and increased in depth and pace until she became lost, totally. Unaware of the sounds she uttered as she became caught up in the eroticism of scaling the heights, only to be held at the edge…and caught as she fell.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT WAS early when Cassandra stirred into wakefulness, the dawn providing a dull light filtering through the drapes, and she lay there quietly for a while before slipping from the bed.

  With slow, careful movements she collected her bag and trod quietly from the room, choosing to dress at the end of the hallway before descending the stairs to the kitchen, where she spooned ground coffee into the coffee maker, filled the carafe with water, then switched it on.

  When it filtered, she took down a mug and filled it, added sugar, and carried it out onto the t
errace.

  A new day, she mused, noting the glistening dew. The sun was just lifting above the horizon, lightening the sky to a pale azure, and there was the faint chirping of birds in nearby trees.

  It was peaceful at this hour of the morning. Nothing much stirred. There wasn’t so much as a breeze, and no craft moved in the harbour.

  ‘You’re awake early,’ Diego drawled from the open doorway, and she turned to look at him.

  He was something else. Tousled dark hair, hastily donned jeans barely snapped, bare-chested, nothing on his feet…gone was the sophisticated image, instead there was something primitive about his stance.

  ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  Diego effected a faint shrug. ‘I woke as you left the room.’

  The memory of what they’d shared through the night was hauntingly vivid, and she swallowed the faint lump that rose in her throat. ‘I’d like to leave soon. I have a few things to do, and I need to spend time with my father.’

  ‘I’ll start breakfast.’

  ‘No. Please don’t on my account. I’ll just finish my coffee, then I’ll get my bag.’

  Suiting words to action, she drained the mug, then she moved through the house to the front door, collected her bag, and turned to say goodbye.

  He was close, and she was unprepared for the brief hard kiss he pressed against her mouth.

  Cassandra wasn’t capable of uttering a word as he opened the door, and she moved quickly down to her car, slipped in behind the wheel, fired the engine, then she eased the Porsche down the driveway.

  There were the usual household chores, and she spent time checking her electronic mail before leaving to visit her father.

  His increasing frailty concerned her, and she didn’t stay long. He needed to rest, and she conferred with Cameron as to who would contact Alexander’s cardiologist.

  An early night was on the agenda, and she slept well, waking at the sound of the alarm to rise and face the day.

  An early-morning meeting to review the week’s agenda, assess supplies and prioritise work took place within minutes of her arrival, then she took position at her workspace and adjusted the binocular microscope to her satisfaction.