The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Was he deliberately testing her?

  Maybe she should respond in kind and test him.

  Except such a move could be tricky. What if he divined it as an indicative sanction for sex?

  Then she would not only lose the battle, she’d also lose the war.

  And that would never do.

  The weekend brought Marcello’s obligatory attendance at a gala event lauded by the city’s scions.

  Invitation only, black tie, and Shannay was apprised of the need to wear something stunning by Penè, who had stopped by the mansion to visit Nicki.

  The unspoken message was very clear, and racked up Shannay’s nervous tension to unbelievable heights during a shopping expedition the day before with Marcello’s aunt in attendance for the gown, stilettos and accessories.

  It was an indisputable fact that Penè knew fashion as they progressed from one boutique to another, and they eventually settled on a dream of a gown by Armani in pale peach and apricot silk chiffon. Full-length, the skirt was cut on the bias and bore a clever bias-cut overlay in peach over apricot. A silk chiffon stole added an extra elegance, and Shannay could only applaud Penè’s selection.

  Exquisite evening sandals and matching evening bag were added to the growing collection Carlo stowed in the back of the Porsche.

  Penè was in her element, clearly revelling in playing the grande dame with the various vendeuses, and enjoying their obsequious attention.

  Shannay found it all a bit much as the evening closing hours drew near.

  ‘Minimum jewellery,’ Marcello’s aunt stated. ‘The gown requires little enhancement. Your hair should be confined in a sleek style, definitely not loose. Understated make-up with emphasis on the eyes and mouth.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘You look peaky.’ Penè eyes were piercing above her patrician nose. ‘Is my nephew keeping you awake nights?’

  Oh, my. A yes or no would be an equally incriminating response.

  The look sharpened. ‘Are you pregnant?’

  Now that was a definite negative. ‘No.’

  ‘You should have another child,’ Penè said bluntly. ‘Marcello needs a son to take the Martinez name into the next generation.’

  She couldn’t help herself. ‘He already has a daughter.’

  ‘A son,’ Penè insisted imperiously. ‘Named Ramon, in honour of my father.’

  ‘What if I were to consider filing for divorce?’ She chose not to reveal she’d already set the legalities in motion.

  ‘Divorce for a Martinez isn’t an option. Marcello would refuse to countenance such a thing.’ She looked suitably astonished. ‘Foolish girl. What are you thinking? He can give you everything you desire.’

  Except the one thing I want.

  His heart.

  I gave him mine, unconditionally … only to discover he didn’t value it.

  ‘I think we’re done,’ Shannay said aloud. She even managed a faint smile as Carlo added another emblem-emblazoned designer bag to their mounting collection.

  Carlo delivered Penè to Ramon’s residence, then continued to La Moraleja.

  Nicki was tucked in bed with Marcello seated on its edge as he read from a storybook when Shannay entered the bedroom.

  Attired in black jeans and a black chambray shirt, he looked totally at ease, and she tamped down the emotional reaction stirring deep within at the mere sight of him.

  Pheronomes, intense sexual awareness … it was attraction at its most dangerous, and need, basic and earthy, pulsed through her body.

  She remembered only too well when she had only to look at him to witness the secret promise in those dark eyes, and know how the night would end … as it almost always did.

  A time when they couldn’t get enough of each other.

  Until the doubts crept in, and everything began to change.

  ‘Mummy!’

  There was time out for a mutual kiss and a hug before Nicki settled back against the pillow.

  ‘Daddy and me went swimming in the pool. And I’ve had dinner and a bath.’ Brown eyes widened. ‘And I cleaned my teeth.’

  ‘Well done,’ Shannay said with warmth, including both man and child, and incurred a studied appraisal. ‘Thanks,’ she added quietly.

  ‘No problem.’ He glimpsed the faint edge of pain, the aftermath of several hours in Penè’s company. ‘A productive afternoon?’

  ‘I’m sure we maxed your credit card.’

  A faint smile tugged the edges of his mouth. ‘Doubtful.’

  Yes, she supposed it was, and she added— ‘Thank you. Penè’s help was invaluable.’

  But tiring, he deduced, all too aware of his aunt’s incessant need to constantly verbalise with an opinion on everything in an often uncompromising manner.

  ‘Can I see what you bought?’

  Marcello leant forward and lightly touched Nicki’s cheek. ‘In the morning, pequena. Now let’s find out what happens to Cinderella, shall we?’

  ‘She goes to the ball and comes home in a pumpkin,’ Nicki relayed solemnly, and Marcello smiled.

  ‘I think you’ve heard this story before.’

  ‘It’s my favourite.’

  One of many, Shannay reflected as she sat down on the opposite side of the bed while Marcello finished reading, by which time Nicki had fallen asleep, and Shannay turned down the light and preceded him from the room.

  ‘I’ll go change, then meet you downstairs.’ The thought of food held little appeal. Given a choice she’d prefer to eat at the time of the late-afternoon merienda, as Nicki did.

  A quick shower proved refreshing, and she slipped into dress jeans, pulled on a short-sleeved rib-knit top in a deep coral, twisted her hair into a loose knot, then added lipgloss.

  Dinner comprised a light omelette with salad, followed by fresh fruit, during the eating of which they caught up on their individual afternoon activities.

  ‘Penè was suitably restrained?’

  Shannay took a careful sip of water and replaced the glass down onto the table before directing Marcello a pensive look.

  ‘You want polite?’

  He pushed his plate to one side and viewed her with speculative interest. ‘I’m very familiar with my aunt’s penchant for plain speaking.’

  ‘In essence, I’m peaky … the cause of which must be you keeping me awake nights, or I’m pregnant. Preferably the latter, as it’s my duty to provide you with another child. A son.’

  Marcello sank back in his chair. ‘I’m intrigued to hear your response.’

  ‘Let’s just say it invoked the reminder a Martinez would never countenance divorce.’

  His eyes seared her own. ‘You can have whatever you want, Shannay … with one exception. A divorce.’

  A sudden lump rose in her throat, and she swallowed it carefully. ‘I don’t want gifts, haute couture or a high-profile social life. They mean nothing to me. They never did.’

  ‘Yet we share the gift of a child.’

  ‘The one thing I won’t let you take away from me,’ Shannay vowed with renewed fervour, and something flickered in the depths of his eyes before it was successfully masked.

  ‘It was never my intention to do so.’

  ‘Yet you’d consign us both to a convenient marriage where we maintain a façade in public?’ Her eyes darkened, and pain curled deep inside. ‘For what purpose, Marcello?’ She drew in a slightly ragged breath. ‘Revenge … because I didn’t inform you of Nicki’s existence?’

  ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘I think you’re playing a game,’ she flung, sorely tried as she rose to her feet.

  Dignity and pride. She possessed both, and she walked away from him without a further glance, uncaring whether he followed or not.

  Sleep proved elusive, and she tossed and turned, only to slip out of bed and take something to ease a tension headache.

  Eventually she must have slept, for she came awake aware she was no longer in her own bed, but held in strong masculine arms as Marcello trav
ersed the dimly lit gallery en route to his own suite.

  ‘Put me down!’ Her voice was little more than a sibilant hiss as she struggled against him.

  Without success, and she balled a fist and lashed out uncaring as to where it landed.

  In a matter of seconds he entered the suite, closed the door behind him, then released her down to stand in front of him.

  Shannay glared at him in open defiance, hating him in that instant as she ignored the darkness evident in his eyes and the bunched muscle at the edge of his jaw.

  ‘This is ridiculous. You’re impossible!’ She released a growl of frustration.

  ‘That’s the best you can do?’

  She ignored his indolent drawl, the waiting, watching quality in his stance … and launched into a barely restrained diatribe that used every emotive adjective she could recall.

  One eyebrow slanted as she came to a halt, and he posed silkily, ‘You’re done?’

  ‘Yes, dammit!’

  ‘Good.’

  He captured her shoulders and drew her in, then he closed his mouth over her own, took all the fiery heat and tamed it, ignoring her flailing fists as they faltered and fell to her sides.

  He wanted her unbidden response, and deliberately sought it, sensing the low groan deep in her throat as she fought against capitulation. Followed soon after by the involuntary slide of her tongue against his own, the sudden hitch in her breath as she angled her head and allowed him free access.

  One hand slid to her nape, while the other moved down her back, bunched the oversized T-shirt and slipped beneath the cotton fabric to cup and gently squeeze her bottom.

  His body tightened unbearably and he lifted her, eased her thighs apart, then positioned her to accept his fully aroused length as he eased into the slick, welcoming heat, heard her faint sigh … and surged in to the hilt.

  Then it was his turn to bite back a guttural sound as her vaginal muscles enclosed him, and he began to move, creating a rhythm that sent them both high until they reached the brink, then soared together in a shattering climax.

  At some stage Marcello had dispensed with her T-shirt, although she had no recollection of when, only that she was naked in his arms and his lips were tantalising hers, nibbling and teasing until she held fast his head and kissed him with such exquisite eroticism he was hard-pressed not to take her again.

  Instead he crossed to the bed, eased down onto his back with her sitting astride him.

  Her mouth was softly swollen, and his eyes darkened as she lifted both hands and tucked her hair behind each ear. The movement lifted her breasts, and he traced their soft curves, teased the tender peaks … and watched her eyes glaze over.

  They were both at each other’s mercy, and she shifted deliberately, glimpsed the increasing darkness apparent in his gleaming gaze, then she gave a startled cry as he brought her down and took one tender peak into his mouth.

  Intense pleasure spiralled through her body as he suckled, and a warning hiss escaped from her lips as he caught the swollen bud between his teeth and rolled it to the point beyond pleasure to the imminent edge of pain.

  It made her acutely vulnerable, and she opened her mouth to plead with him, only for the pressure to ease as he soothed the tender peak.

  Then he wrapped his arms around her slender frame and rolled until she lay beneath him. For a moment he drank in the sight of her, the wildness of her hair, the sensual glow warming her skin, and the magical passion they shared.

  She moistened her lips, and he drove into her only to almost withdraw before repeating the action again and again, increasing the intensity of the rhythm until she joined him in a climax more shattering than the first.

  Afterwards he gathered her close and rested his lips against her temple in the lazy afterglow of spent passion.

  Shannay was close to sleep when he manoeuvred her onto her tummy and began a wonderfully soothing massage of her neck and shoulders, easing out the kinks there before slipping down to knead her calf muscles and finally her feet.

  His lips pressed a trail of light kisses over her leg, bit gently into the globe of her bottom, then eased up to her nape.

  She turned into him and rested her mouth into the curve at the base of his throat, murmured something indistinct, then drifted into deep sleep.

  The gala event held in one of the city’s splendid theatres appeared to be a sell-out, with numerous fashionistas vying for supremacy in designer gowns and exquisite jewellery.

  The crème de la crème of Madrid society, patrons of the arts, who paid an exorbitant ticket price to attend the evening’s classical production.

  In pairs, small groups, they gathered in the large foyer, and Shannay stood at Marcello’s side with a ready smile in place as guests mixed and mingled.

  Tall, dark, impeccably groomed, his evening suit a perfect tailored fit, pristine white shirt and black bow-tie, he looked the epitome of the powerful, sophisticated male.

  He stood out from the rest. Not so much for his attractive features or his clothing, but for the primitive aura he projected beneath the hard-muscled frame … a disruptive sensuality that threatened much and promised to deliver.

  It drew women to him like bees to a honeypot, and there were those who simply adored to flirt, while a few made moves, subtle and not so subtle, to attract his attention.

  In the early days of their marriage she’d hugged to her heart the knowledge he was hers, believing nothing and no one could harm what they shared.

  How naive she had been!

  ‘Ah, there you are.’

  Shannay turned and met Penè’s encompassing appraisal, caught the brief nod of approval and leant forward to bestow the obligatory air-kiss to each cheek.

  ‘How is Ramon?’

  ‘Fading. The physician expects him to lapse into a coma within the next few days. Sandro and Luisa are with him.’

  Such an incredibly sad end for a man who had once headed the Martinez empire.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Shannay’s empathy was genuine, and Marcello’s aunt inclined her head in acknowledgment.

  ‘Tonight may well be the last public engagement at which the family appear. The usual mourning period will understandably be observed.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I must greet Pablo and Angelique Santanas,’ Penè announced, and melted into the crowd.

  Soon the massive doors swung open and the guests gradually drifted into the auditorium to take their seats.

  The classical performance proved superb, with brilliant costumes and high-tempo music. Stirring, passionate, with a touch of pathos.

  A break between Act I and II proved welcome, so too when the curtain came down after the second act.

  ‘Can I get you something to drink?’ Marcello asked as they entered the foyer.

  ‘Anything chilled and non-alcoholic,’ Shannay requested with a faint smile, and watched as he signalled a hovering waiter.

  It was only a matter of minutes later when she turned slightly and saw Estella moving towards them.

  Oh, joy.

  The woman resembled a picture-perfect Latin doll attired in a Spanish-inspired chiffon gown in stunning red and white diagonal chiffon frills that moved with exquisite fluidity at every step she took.

  Sexy, Shannay accorded silently. Very deliberately sexy, from the top of her gloriously coiffured head to the tip of her beautiful lacquered toenails in matching red.

  ‘Shannay.’ The greeting was polite, brief, then Estella gave Marcello her full attention.

  ‘Querido.’

  Could a woman’s voice purr?

  Definitely.

  ‘Estella.’

  Hmm, was that a tinge of warning beneath Marcello’s pleasant tone?

  Play polite, Shannay bade silently as she summoned a smile and offered an innocuous remark … which Estella totally ignored.

  ‘We are thinking of going on to a nightclub afterwards. Perhaps you’d care to join us?’

  ‘Thank you. No,’ Marcello res
ponded civilly, and the woman offered a convincing pout.

  ‘Your wife—’ she gave the word a faint emphasis and touched a lacquered nail to the lapel of his jacket ‘—accompanies you, and you become less fun.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Marcello drawled, carefully removing her hand, ‘my wife provides all the fun I need.’

  Estella cast Shannay a look that contained thinly veiled mockery. ‘Indeed?’

  In some instances silence was golden, Shannay perceived. This wasn’t one of them.

  ‘Marcello is a superb tutor. Don’t you agree?’

  Estella’s gaze shifted to Marcello as she ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip and offered a knowing smile. ‘The best, darling.’

  It’s an act, she qualified. A deliberate attempt to undermine.

  Four years ago she would have taken the bait.

  Now she simply offered quietly, ‘Yet he chose not to marry you. Why was that, do you suppose?’

  The faint disbelief evident before it was quickly masked should have brought a sense of satisfaction.

  Except instinct warned Shannay that Estella would merely choose her moment for the next verbal strike.

  ‘Possibly I decided he wasn’t the best marriage material?’ She waited a few seconds, then honed in sweetly, ‘Isn’t that why you left him?’

  Bitch.

  If she asserted Marcello hunted her down, she’d leave herself open for Estella to drag Nicki into the verbal equation, and she refused to allow that.

  ‘No.’

  The supercilious arched eyebrow did it.

  Forget politeness. ‘Go find your husband, Estella.’ The silent implication “and leave mine alone” was clearly evident.

  The mocking smile conceded nothing as the socialite turned with a slow, deliberately sensual movement and began weaving her way through the gathered patrons.

  ‘Your support was gratifying,’ Shannay noted quietly, unsure whether she was pleased or relieved, and bore his appraisal.

  ‘You were doing so well on your own.’

  ‘She’s a—’

  ‘Femme fatale,’ Marcello drawled. ‘Who thrives on playing games with the vulnerable.’

  Her chin tilted and her eyes lanced his own. ‘The term vulnerable no longer applies to me.’