The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  ‘Something, if you remember,’ he drawled, ‘I refuted at the time.’

  Her gaze remained steady. ‘You were very credible, Marcello, in light of the facts.’

  One eyebrow rose in a gesture of distaste. ‘The fabrication of a disturbed woman?’

  ‘We’ve been there, done that,’ Shannay said in a dismissive tone. ‘It’s old ground.’

  ‘Consign it to the too hard basket, and not seek a resolution?’

  ‘There’s nothing to resolve.’

  ‘Yet it had a drastic effect on our lives and eroded what we once shared.’

  Destroyed it, she wanted to fling at him … and knew she lied. The sensual pull was as strong now as it had ever been. Almost as if her soul reached out to his in a pagan call as old as time.

  She could feel it, sense it deep inside, stirring to life in damning recognition.

  Why? she demanded silently. And why now?

  Tension. Stress. Jet lag.

  A lethal combination which attacked her vulnerability, she justified without conviction.

  ‘I’m over it.’ It took tremendous effort to say the words, but she achieved them … barely.

  She’d had enough, and her nerves were stretched to breaking point. With a careful movement she rose to her feet and held the dark, gleaming gaze of the inimical man seated opposite.

  ‘I’m going to bed.’

  She turned, and had taken only a few steps when she heard the quiet silky timbre of his voice.

  ‘For the record … we’re not done.’

  Her stomach jolted at the thinly veiled threat, and it was only through sheer strength of will she didn’t falter.

  Seconds later she reached the wide arched doorway, and she sensed the faint mockery as he bade,

  ‘Sleep well.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  SHANNAY CAME AWAKE slowly, stretched a little, reached for her watch to check the time and gave a gasp of dismay.

  Nicki.

  She flung back the covers, caught up her robe and hurried through the en suite to the adjoining bedroom, felt her heart leap to her throat at the sight of Nicki’s bed neatly made and no sign of her daughter.

  Where …?

  It was then she caught sight of the note propped against the pillow, and she hurriedly snatched it up, read the brief script in bold black ink, “Nicki downstairs in Maria’s care,” and felt the panic begin to subside.

  All it took was ten minutes to shower, pull on dress jeans and a casual top over bra and briefs, slide her feet into heeled sandals, then she made her way down to the informal dining room to greet a glowing Nicki being fussed over by the benevolent Maria.

  ‘Marcello said not to wake you,’ the housekeeper relayed as she poured steaming aromatic coffee into a cup, offered a wide choice of food for breakfast and shook her head slightly when Shannay chose fresh fruit and yoghurt.

  ‘It’s mid-morning,’ Shannay reminded with a wry smile. ‘My body clock needs time to adjust.’

  ‘Marcello said we can go to a park after lunch,’ Nicki informed as Shannay took a seat at the table.

  ‘That’s nice.’ What else could she say? Any hope Marcello might absent himself in his city office each day seemed doomed. Which meant any form of freedom wasn’t going to happen.

  Goodbye to checking out theme parks as carefree tourists. No spur-of-the-moment shopping excursions.

  This was Madrid. Here she was affiliated to the Martinez family, where extreme wealth necessitated due care with a bodyguard in attendance beyond the safety of home.

  She hadn’t liked it then. Any more than she did now. Except there was Nicki, with little or no conception of her true identity … yet. A vulnerable child who hadn’t been groomed almost from birth to always be aware of possible danger, to unquestionably obey the people in charge of her welfare, or having been taught simple but vital diversionary survival tactics.

  It was a heavy load for such a young child, and not something instantly learned.

  Although she was loath to admit Marcello had been right in bringing them into his home, it made perfect sense to utilise their three-week sojourn as a learning curve.

  It was no use wishing fate hadn’t had a hand in bringing Nicki’s existence to Sandro and Luisa’s attention.

  Life was filled with coincidence, occasionally against all the odds … and she had to deal with it.

  Shannay finished her breakfast, drained the rest of her coffee and extended a hand towards her daughter.

  ‘Shall we go explore?’

  The house first, then the grounds … with Carlo in attendance at a reasonable distance when they ventured outdoors.

  High walls, electronic gates, sophisticated security monitoring the grounds.

  Together she and Nicki trod the neat paths as they viewed the immaculate lawns, the gardens with their beautiful flowerbeds providing brilliant colour, carefully tended shrubbery precision-clipped to landscaped perfection.

  ‘It’s pretty,’ Nicki announced, then pointed in excitement. ‘There’s a swimming pool. Are we allowed to swim in it?’

  ‘Only when I’m with you,’ she cautioned firmly.

  ‘Or Marcello?’

  Shannay inclined an agreement, and felt a degree of maternal alarm at the thought of Nicki being left unsupervised when she wasn’t around. Then she calmed down a little. For the next two years, Nicki’s sojourns here would be restricted to a few … except how could she ever learn to let go?

  She’d be a nervous wreck from the time her daughter boarded the jet until she returned to Australian soil.

  ‘It’s a very big house,’ Nicki declared, visibly awed by the luxurious interior as they moved through the various rooms.

  Shannay provided a running explanation as they completed the first level and trod the stairs to the upper level.

  ‘I like our wing best,’ Nicki clutched a tighter hold of Shannay’s hand, ‘‘specially my room.’

  Who wouldn’t?

  Marcello joined them for lunch, and from his casual attire he’d obviously conducted the morning’s work in his home office.

  Black jeans, a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck and the long sleeves rolled back at the cuffs, he resembled a dark angel, rugged with his hair less smoothly groomed than usual … almost as if he’d thrust fingers through its thickness in exasperation. And if so, why?

  In the early days of their marriage she would have walked up to him, cupped his broad facial features between both hands and leaned in to savour the touch of his mouth. Feel his arms close round her slim body as he deepened the kiss, and exult in his arousal.

  A time when she’d thought nothing could damage their love.

  How naive had she been?

  ‘Must I have a nap?’

  Shannay caught the subdued excitement bubbling beneath the surface as Nicki silently pleaded with her.

  ‘Uh-huh.’ She tempered it with a smile, hating the disappointment clouding her daughter’s expressive features. ‘Everyone has a siesta after lunch.’

  Nicki’s eyes grew round with surprise. ‘Even grown-ups?’ She looked at Marcello. ‘You, too?’

  ‘Sometimes, if I’m home and not too busy.’ His smile transformed his features, and Shannay felt the familiar sensation curl deep within in memory of how they’d shared the afternoon siesta when sleep hadn’t been a factor.

  Marcello’s sanction made it OK, and Nicki obediently caught hold of Shannay’s hand as she led her daughter upstairs to her room.

  With outer clothes removed and tucked beneath light covers, Nicki fell asleep within minutes, and Shannay moved through to her own room, too restless to do other than flick through a magazine.

  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake an instinctively inexplicable feeling of impending … what?

  She shook her head in exasperation, then dispensed with the magazine. It was crazy. She was crazy.

  It was mid-afternoon when Carlo brought the expensive Porsche four-wheel-drive to the front door, and with Nicki
happily ensconced in the rear seat between Shannay and Marcello they headed for the nearest park.

  Her daughter’s enthusiasm for everything new appeared boundless, and she watched as Nicki explored, frequently calling for Marcello to come look at a butterfly, a bee, a pretty flower.

  By day’s end, fed and bathed, Nicki contentedly settled in bed as Marcello read her a bedtime story, then when he reached the end he brushed a light kiss to his daughter’s forehead, bade her goodnight and left the room.

  Shannay adjusted the night-light, checked the internal monitor, and when she turned Nicki was already breathing evenly in sleep.

  If she could, she’d request a tray in her room in lieu of dinner. Except it would be seen as a cop-out, and she refused to allow Marcello to witness so much as a chink in her feminine armour.

  Instead, she showered and dressed in an elegant trouser suit, left her hair loose, applied minimum make-up and went down to join Marcello.

  A familiar sensation knotted her stomach as she caught sight of his tall, compelling frame, only to tighten considerably as he turned to face her.

  There was a degree of lazy arrogance apparent in those dark eyes … a knowledge that probed deep beyond the surface and saw too much.

  In the full blush of love, she’d thought it incredibly romantic. Now she viewed it as an aberration.

  Once again she declined wine in favour of chilled water, and sought to set the record straight.

  ‘There’s no need for you to ignore your social life while Nicki and I are here.’

  ‘Once our daughter is settled for the night I should feel under no obligation to entertain her mother?’ Marcello’s voice held a tinge of something she didn’t care to define.

  ‘You got it in one.’

  ‘Why would you imagine I’d choose to ignore a guest in my home?’

  ‘Cut the polite verbal word play,’ Shannay advised. ‘There’s no need to insult my intelligence by pretending we’re anything other than opposing forces in all areas of our lives.’

  ‘Nicki being the one exception?’

  ‘The only exception.’

  ‘But a very important factor, wouldn’t you agree?’

  He was doing it again, and she glared at him as she took a seat at the table.

  ‘I concede the need to maintain a friendly relationship in Nicki’s presence. But rest assured, the less I see of you, the better.’

  ‘Afraid, Shannay?’

  ‘Of you? No.’

  ‘Perhaps you should be,’ Marcello warned silkily as he indicated she should help herself to the chicken stew gently steaming in the serving dish.

  ‘Oh, please.’ She transferred a small portion of stew onto her plate, replaced the ladle and speared him a glittering look. ‘Cut me a break, why don’t you?’

  He served himself a generous portion, then he selected a fork from the flatware displayed.

  ‘Almost four years,’ he drawled. ‘Yet the pulse at the base of your throat betrays you with a faster beat.’

  ‘Your ego astounds me.’

  ‘Have you not wondered how our lives would be now had you remained here?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she managed coolly, and knew she lied, aware of the nights she had lain awake imagining that very thing. How their pursuit of happiness had faltered, then fallen apart. Perhaps Nicki wouldn’t be the only child she’d bear … because for the life of her she couldn’t think of sharing her body with another man or having his child.

  ‘Interesting.’

  Shannay carefully folded her linen napkin and placed it on the table, then she rose to her feet and shot him a killing look. ‘Go to hell, Marcello.’

  ‘Sit down, Shannay.’

  ‘Only to be picked apart and analysed merely for your amusement? Forget it.’

  She turned away from the table and had only taken a few steps when firm hands closed over her shoulders.

  In a strictly reactive movement she lifted her head and glared at him. ‘What next? Strong-arm tactics?’

  ‘No. Just this.’

  He lowered his head down to hers and captured her mouth with his own in a hard kiss that took her by surprise and plundered at will.

  The faint cry of distress rose and died in her throat, and almost as if he sensed it his touch gentled a little and became frankly sensual, seeking the sensitive tissues before stroking the edge of her tongue with the tip of his own in a flagrant dance that stirred at the latent passion simmering beneath the surface of her control.

  She felt his hands shift as one slid to cup the back of her head, while the other smoothed down her back and brought her close against him.

  Her eyelids shuttered down as she fought against capitulation. The temptation to return his kiss was unbearable, and she groaned as he eased back and began a sensual tasting, teasing the soft fullness of her lower lip, nipping a little with the edges of his teeth, until she succumbed to the sweet sorcery he bestowed.

  Dear heaven. It was like coming home as he shaped her mouth with his own, encouraging her response, taking her with him in an evocative tasting that became more … and promised much.

  Her breasts firmed against his chest, their sensitive peaks hardening in need … for the touch of his hand, his mouth, and she whimpered, totally lost in the moment.

  The hardness of his erection was a potent force, and warmth raced through her veins, activating each pleasure pulse until she felt so incredibly sensually alive, it was almost impossible not to beg.

  It was the slide of his hand over the curve of her breast, the way he shaped it, then slid to loosen the buttons that gave her a moment’s pause for thought.

  It would be so very easy to link her hands behind his neck and silently invite him to rekindle the flame.

  And she almost did. Almost.

  Except sanity and the dawning horror of where this was going provided the impetus to pull away.

  What was she doing?

  Was she out of her mind?

  ‘I hate you.’ The words came out as a tortured whisper as she dropped her arms and attempted to move back a pace.

  For what seemed an age Marcello examined her features, the dilated eyes so dark, almost bruised, with passion. The soft, swollen mouth trembling from his possession.

  The shocked dismay.

  ‘Perhaps you hate yourself more,’ he offered quietly.

  For losing control? Enjoying his touch?

  And, dear lord … wanting it all.

  He watched as she straightened her shoulders, tilted her chin and summoned a fiery glare.

  ‘I’m done. And that,’ she flung recklessly, ‘was a ridiculous experiment.’

  Marcello let her go, watching as she moved towards the door and exited the room.

  Experiment? Far from it.

  A mark of intent.

  And he was far from done.

  The photograph had been taken with a telephoto lens. Had to be, for Shannay couldn’t recall seeing a photographer anywhere as they’d disembarked from Marcello’s private jet.

  Marcello Martinez with a woman and child in tow had sent the news-hounds into a frenzy. How long would it have taken to filch out archival data and discover the woman was Marcello’s estranged wife … and determine the child was his own?

  Not long.

  The caption, even in Spanish, was unmistakable.

  How difficult was it to interpret reconciliacón?

  Or resurrect her knowledge of the language sufficiently to comprehend Señor Martinez’ remark, upon being requested to comment?

  Anything is possible.

  Really?

  Anger suffused her body, coalescing into one great tide of fury, taxing her control to the limit.

  With care she tore out the offending page, then folded it a few times and slid it into the pocket of her jeans, determined to initiate a confrontation.

  He was home … but where?

  His home office would be the best place to begin.

  She sought out Maria, who took one look at th
e clenched jaw, the blazing eyes, and immediately caught hold of Nicki’s hand.

  ‘Come, pequena, we will go into the kitchen and bake some biscuits, si?’

  Shannay even achieved a tense smile. ‘Thank you.’ She smoothed a hand over Nicki’s hair. ‘Be good for Maria. I’ll check with you soon. OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  Marcello’s home office was situated in the far corner of the first level, overlooking the gardens and pool area. Two adjoining rooms whose dividing wall had been removed and refurbished to hold a large executive desk, hi-tech computers, a laptop and the requisite office equipment in one half of the room, while floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined the walls of the remaining half, together with a few comfortable leather chairs, lamps and side-tables.

  A very male domain, and one she entered with barely an accompanying knock to announce her presence.

  Marcello glanced up from a computer screen, caught the gleaming anger apparent in her dark eyes and settled back in his chair to regard her with thoughtful speculation.

  Attired in black jeans and a watermelon-pink top, her hair pulled back into a careless pony-tail and no make-up he could discern, she looked little more than a teenager. Harbouring self-righteous anger he was tempted to stir into something more.

  Her honest emotions had always intrigued him, for she rarely held back … a quality lacking in many women of his acquaintance. Sophisticated women who played a false seductive game with both eyes on the main chance.

  Shannay had been different. She hadn’t known who he was, and didn’t appear to care when she did.

  Four years ago he hadn’t been able to prevent her leaving. Hadn’t fought for her as he should have done, erroneously supposing all he needed to do to soothe some of the hurt and pain inflicted by Estella and his widowed aunt was provide evidence of his love by gifting sex.

  Exceptional lovemaking, he reflected, and felt his body tighten in remembered passion.

  ‘There’s something you want to discuss?’

  He looked so damned laid-back, controlled. Even, she decided furiously, faintly amused.

  With studied calm she extracted the folded newsprint from her pocket, opened it out and tossed it down onto his desk.

  ‘Perhaps you’d care to explain?’