The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Marcello cast her a musing glance as he caught hold of her hand and brushed a soothing thumb over the veins at her wrist, where the quickened beat of her pulse belied her contrived air of calm.

  The intervening years had provided a level of maturity and independence he could only admire.

  With every passing day his desire for revenge lessened, and it irked him, for he wanted to make her pay for denying him the experience of her pregnancy, the birth, and his daughter’s infancy.

  There was still a degree of anger beneath the surface vying with an overpowering physical need he fought hard to control.

  As she did.

  Two opposing forces caught up with events of the past, and fighting to reconcile their future.

  A future he was determined to secure.

  Shannay felt a sense of relief when it came time to be seated for the third and final act.

  Marcello enclosed her hand in his throughout, and his fingers merely tightened whenever she tried to withdraw.

  Once he lifted their joined hands to his lips, brushed hers lightly, then rested them on his lap, and her heart jumped and refused to settle for what seemed an age.

  His arousal beneath the conventional clothing was a potent hidden force, and it took considerable effort to focus on the players on the stage as the act progressed towards its conclusion.

  She didn’t move, could barely bear to breathe, and she was never more glad of the theatre’s darkened interior.

  Dear heaven, did his aunt notice?

  She sincerely hoped not, and refused to glance in Penè’s direction.

  It was a tremendous relief when the curtain came down, then rose again to applause, and the lights came on.

  Exiting the auditorium became a slow process, noisy with audience chatter against muted background recorded music, and there was the obligatory pause or ten when they reached the foyer and moved towards the main entrance.

  Penè bade them goodnight as her car and driver pulled into the kerb, followed minutes later as Carlo eased their own car to a halt.

  They were scarcely seated when Marcello reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through her own.

  Shannay attempted to free them without success, and she looked at him in silent askance.

  What was he doing?

  They had no audience, no one to impress with their pretended togetherness.

  Twice she endeavoured to pull free during the drive to La Moraleja, and he refused to allow her to succeed.

  When they reached the mansion he drew her indoors, then he simply lifted her over one shoulder and made for the stairs.

  ‘What in hell are you playing at?’

  ‘Taking you to bed.’

  ‘I can walk,’ she assured his back in scandalous tones, and heard his husky laughter.

  ‘Humour me.’

  ‘Aren’t you in the least wary I might kick you where it hurts?’

  ‘Don’t try it, querida. You’ll spoil the fun, and I can promise you won’t like my retaliation.’

  ‘Fun? You think it’s fun being hauled around like a sack of potatoes?’

  They reached the gallery and, at its end, the master suite, where he slid her down to her feet.

  Without a word he caught her close and kissed her … gently at first, savouring the taste and texture of her lips, her mouth. Then with a sensual intensity that reached right down and took hold of her soul.

  She was helpless, mindless, and barely aware of his fingers releasing the zip fastening on her dress … until it slithered to the floor in a silken heap. Her bra came next, followed by the satin briefs, and she gasped as he cupped her breast and lowered his mouth to suckle its peak.

  A hand slid down over her stomach and sought the moist warmth at the apex of her thighs, and the breath hitched in her throat.

  ‘Undress me.’

  He helped her dispense with his clothes, his shoes, as she slid out of stilettos, then he lifted her onto the bed and moved down beside her.

  The trail of his lips followed the same path as his fingers as he brought her to climax again and again, until she cried out, begging for the release only he could give.

  It was then he sought the moist heat with his fully engorged penis and thrust in to the hilt in one forceful movement, waited until she caught her breath, and sought the familiar rhythm that sent them both soaring to unbelievable heights, held them there in a spectacular climax, then tipped them over the brink in a slow, sensual free-fall.

  Later, much later, she gifted him a tasting that left the breath hissing through his clenched teeth, and tested his control to the limit.

  It was her turn to cry out as he pulled her on top of him and took her for the ride of her life.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TWO DAYS LATER Ramon slipped into a coma, from which he never recovered, and his funeral was a private family occasion, followed by a memorial service attended by close friends, family and captains of industry.

  It was an infinitely sad time for them all, especially Penè who went into a decline and cancelled everything on her social calendar for an unspecified time.

  Ramon’s will distributed his considerable personal fortune equally between Penè, Marcello, Sandro … and Nicki.

  Marcello and Shannay were named as Nicki’s trustees, and the inheritance made their daughter a very rich little girl.

  Marcello’s presence was required in the city on frequent occasions during the ensuing week. Days when he left early and returned late, sometimes long after Nicki had fallen asleep.

  To compensate he rang and spoke to his daughter through the day and again before she went to bed.

  Shannay filled the days as best she could, supervising Nicki with her swimming, reading, finger-painting and constructing models with play-dough.

  She also offered to assist Penè in any way possible, without success.

  ‘Leave her grieve,’ Marcello advised when she broached it one evening after he arrived home late. ‘She needs to come to terms with Ramon’s death in her own time, in her own way.’

  She looked at him carefully, noting the lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes seemed more pronounced, the grooves slashing his cheeks a little deeper.

  ‘And you, Marcello?’

  ‘Concerned for me, querida?’

  ‘Perhaps. A little.’

  He discarded his suit jacket, loosened his tie, toed off his shoes, then he reached for her, pulling her close to kiss her deeply, taking his time before he lifted his mouth from her own.

  ‘Come share my shower.’

  She tilted her head to one side and regarded him thoughtfully. ‘That could be dangerous.’

  His eyes gleamed and he gave a husky chuckle. ‘So take the risk and live a little.’

  ‘In the shower?’

  His fingers slid to the hem of her singlet top and pulled it free from the waistband of her jeans, stripped her of it in one easy movement, then he undid the clip on her bra.

  ‘Since when has that presented a problem?’

  He reached for the snap on her jeans, slid the zip down and eased the denim over her hips.

  It felt so good to have his hands shape her slender form, to drift his fingers over the highly sensitive curve at the base of her neck, the touch of his lips to her nape, the gentle tactile exploration that unfurled a capricious sexuality and became raw with hunger … for him, only him.

  He branded her with his mouth, the edges of his teeth in a coupling that was explosive, primitive as he demanded her compliance and made her his own.

  It said much as she lost herself in him and became greedy, meeting him with each thrust as she urged him almost to a point of savagery, and she held on, soaring with him to unbelievable heights in a sexual climax more pagan than any they’d previously shared.

  Afterwards he simply rested his cheek against her temple as their breathing slowed, and the water cascaded over their bodies slick with sexual sweat.

  He said something in Spanish beneath his breath
, then trailed his mouth down to capture hers in a kiss so incredibly gentle, her eyes shimmered with emotive tears.

  With care, he took the soap and smoothed it over her body, his eyes dark and impossibly slumberous as he caught the faint pink smudges marking her tender flesh.

  When he was done, she took the soap from his hand and returned the favour, exulting in the hard musculature, olive skin darker than her own, and the inherent masculinity that was intensely male and his alone.

  It took a while before they pulled on towelling robes and emerged into the bedroom.

  Her cellphone beeped intermittently, alerting a text message, and a slight frown creased her forehead as she read the text.

  ‘Anything urgent?’ Marcello queried as he discarded the robe and slid naked between the bedcovers.

  ‘It’s John,’ she relayed slowly, meeting his gaze. ‘He wants to know when he can expect me back.’

  His eyes darkened, and he went completely still. ‘You won’t be returning to Perth.’

  Shannay opened her mouth, then closed it again. ‘Marcello, my job, my life, everything is there.’

  ‘It was never there from the moment I discovered Nicki’s existence.’

  Oh, dear lord. ‘You don’t understand,’ she protested, feeling sick and slightly stricken as she took in his hardened features.

  ‘Make me understand,’ Marcello began in a dangerously silky tone. ‘How you can lose yourself in my arms night after night … and yet still want to leave.’

  He had her there, and she felt suddenly bereft of words. Too ashamed to admit he held the power to render her wanton and solely his. To need him as a flower in the desert craved water in order to survive.

  That without him, she simply existed.

  ‘You asked me to stay longer for Ramon’s sake, and I have.’

  Say it, she begged silently. Say you care. Tell me I mean something to you.

  ‘Leaving isn’t an option.’ The reiteration held an adamant non-negotiation hardness that chilled her to the bone.

  There was only one thing she could do, and she tightened the belt on her robe and moved to the door.

  ‘I’ll sleep in another room.’

  It killed her to walk through the door and close it quietly behind her.

  Stupid tears gathered and rolled slowly down each cheek as she traversed the gallery to the suite she’d occupied during the initial few days after her arrival.

  For some reason she needed to check on Nicki, to see her sweet face in sleep, and try to quantify her wayward emotions.

  The dim night-light revealed a child at peace, silently trusting, and so much a part of her just the thought brought an ache to her throat.

  Nicki was happy here … and hadn’t that been the object of this excursion?

  A visit, to help Nicki adjust to spending time with her father. Thinly disguised custody posing as holidays.

  Preparation for what the future would involve.

  Shannay had never in her wildest imagination expected the visit to be anything else.

  Yet she hadn’t counted on being so acutely vulnerable to the father of her child. Or to remember so vividly what they’d shared.

  She’d been a fool. Incredibly naive not to foresee maintaining a formal relationship couldn’t last long.

  Had he knowingly plotted just this outcome? Planned to seduce her and force her to stay?

  Even get her pregnant?

  It was a long time before she fell into an uneasy sleep, and late next morning when she woke.

  Nicki was happily ensconsed in the kitchen beneath Maria’s care, and relayed Marcello had left early for the city.

  There was a need to do something constructive with the day, preferably away from the house.

  Shopping held no appeal but, recalling how much Nicki had loved the children’s section of the Parque de Attracciones, Shannay thought it would be great to enjoy a return visit.

  With Carlo in attendance, of course.

  It was relatively easy to arrange, and they set off with a delighted little girl whose excitement became infectious as the day progressed.

  The rides, the people, the other children and the carnival-like atmosphere helped diminish Shannay rehashing the fallout from John’s text message.

  How could she remain in Madrid when there were unresolved issues?

  Worse, how could she bear to stay in a marriage simply because of convenience? Even more disturbing … consider adding another child?

  It wasn’t enough to pretend. To attempt to believe the marriage was alive and healthy simply because the sex was good.

  Oh, tell it like it is, why don’t you? It’s fantastic … off the Richter scale.

  She’d been there, suffered, and thrown in the towel.

  Why put herself through it again?

  Except you’re already in over your head.

  Admit it.

  Something … instinct, maternal or otherwise, alerted her attention.

  Nicki. Where was Nicki?

  Fear, panic, both meshed into something incredibly frightening as she consciously searched for the red top and cropped jeans Nicki was wearing, the bright red bow in her hair … felt her heart leap when she thought she caught a glimpse of red, only to have her hopes dashed seconds later.

  Carlo? Where in hell was Carlo?

  How could they both be missing?

  ‘Please, have you seen a little girl …’ She began frantically questioning one stranger after another, some of the children … in a mixture of English and Spanish as she described Nicki and her clothing … to which she received visual concern, the shake of a head, nothing.

  Oh, dear God. She prayed, made deals with the deity, and in a moment of common sense extracted her cellphone and rang Marcello’s private number on speed dial.

  He picked up on the second tone, listened to her garbled explanation and issued an icily calm directive.

  ‘Stay where you are. I’m on my way.’

  He immediately excused himself from an important meeting, made a personal call to the chief of police, issued orders to various staff as he had his car brought kerb-side in front of the building’s main entrance, and he attempted to make contact with Carlo.

  By the time he arrived at the parque, he’d gathered an overview of the situation … and Carlo’s cellphone had been switched off.

  So too had the personal tracking device he carried at all times when leaving the house.

  Two factors which sent alarm bells screaming inside Marcello’s head.

  Nicki’s existence had been kept as low-profile as possible. Except it didn’t take a mathematician to work out the value of a child with direct connections to the Martinez dynasty. Factor in Ramon’s recent demise, and the value accelerated a thousandfold.

  The abductors had to be professionals. Carlo was the best, and if they’d slipped beneath his alert surveillance it had to be a highly planned operation.

  Shannay saw Marcello the instant he came into view, and she looked at him in silent desperation as he joined her.

  There was little evident in his expression as he gathered her close, and one glance at her pale features was sufficient for him to reassure,

  ‘Don’t blame yourself.’

  Then he began firing questions over the top of her head.

  His presence did little to ease the panic pumping through her body. She was too stunned to cry, too inwardly frozen to do more than operate on some form of automatic pilot as police joined the parque’s security personnel.

  The majority of their rapid Spanish went beyond her comprehension, and she stood at Marcello’s side, endeavouring to dismiss numerous images too horrifying to contemplate.

  How could Marcello deal with the situation with such apparent calm?

  Shannay searched his features, caught the clenched muscle at the edge of his jaw, heard the tightness in his voice … and exchanged calm for control.

  There would be a phone call.

  Wasn’t that how a kidnapping unfolded?r />
  She was a total mess, mentally and emotionally, desperately wanting to rewind the clock, wishing she hadn’t taken her eye off Nicki for a second.

  For that was all it had taken.

  ‘Carlo? Who are these men?’ Nicki’s small hand tightened within his own. ‘Where are they taking us?’

  Carlo was wired, he’d already activated the panic button, but any minute soon they’d pat him down … and any existing contact would be lost.

  The important thing was to protect his charge. To minimise the impact of the kidnapping and to remain alert for any eventuality.

  ‘Just a little ride, pequena,’ he assured gently. ‘It’s OK.’

  His training served him well, and no one, especially the child whose trust in him at this moment was unconditional, guessed beneath his calm persona there was a concealed Glock aimed right at his kidney.

  They reached a nondescript dark-coloured van, the rear doors opened and Carlo lifted Nicki and deposited her on the metal floor.

  ‘There aren’t any seats to sit on,’ Nicki whispered as he leaned in close.

  He watched her eyes widen as he spread his arms and legs wide … hiding, he hoped, the fact he was being competently searched, his sports watch taken in case it contained an alert device.

  A guttural oath sounded from behind as the taped wire was discovered, and he clenched his teeth as it was wrenched free. Then a hard metal object slammed into his kidneys, his hands were cuffed and he was pushed into the van, managing by reflex action to roll into an upright position without making a sound. Difficult when suffering excruciating pain.

  ‘I don’t like those men.’

  Neither did he.

  The doors slammed shut, he heard the lock catch, followed seconds later by the faint throb of the engine.

  ‘We’re going on an adventure,’ Carlo offered gently. ‘Shall I tell you a story?’

  There was a tiny electronic device in his shoe. Virtually a panic button, which when activated provided a direct link to the police. As long as the device remained undetected, it would allow the police to track their whereabouts.

  It wouldn’t be too difficult to extract, but he couldn’t risk Nicki asking what he was doing.