The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  On the off-chance a listening device was planted inside the van, he lifted his cuffed hands to his face and pressed a finger to his lips.

  Nicki copied his action and nodded.

  Good. She’d remembered the few basic alerts he’d offered in explanation of why he always accompanied members of her family, instilling gently he would always win and she should never be frightened.

  He began to intone a nursery rhyme as he quietly worked, controlling the slow slide as the van took a corner, the pause as it halted at a traffic intersection.

  Their abductors were taking no chances, he perceived, for their speed was regulated, normal, and they were heading in a northerly direction.

  There was a sense of satisfaction when he freed the electronic device, then once it was activated he replaced it carefully out of sight.

  By now, Shannay would have alerted Marcello, notified the police … and it was only a matter of time.

  He gave Nicki an indicative victory sign, and moved from one story to another. Heaven help him, he even sang a few songs, silently encouraging Nicki to join in … which, bless her brave little heart, she did.

  It would take time to set up a roadblock, and his main objective was providing sufficient distraction to prevent Nicki from becoming too frightened.

  Together they discussed her favourite stories, and Shrek the movie, Fiona, Puss in Boots and Donkey.

  Once, she lifted hands and wiped tears from her cheek. ‘When will I see my mummy?’

  ‘Soon, pequena. Soon,’ he promised, and prayed he was right. ‘Your daddy will make sure of it.’

  Every minute seemed like an hour, each one the worst and the longest in Shannay’s life.

  Nothing else came close.

  Then two things happened almost simultaneously.

  Marcello’s cellphone rang … and seconds later he smiled.

  Hope soared as she waited anxiously for him to relay news, and when he did it was all she could do not to subside in a heap.

  Nicki was safe.

  Carlo had her.

  Their abductors had been forced to a halt at a police roadblock on the northern outskirts.

  Nicki was in Carlo’s care, and their abductors were under arrest.

  Reaction, immense relief … the emotional fall-out from a living nightmare began to have an effect, and tears welled up and spilled to run silently down each cheek.

  Marcello took one look and cradled her face between his hands, easing the warm moisture with each thumb.

  ‘Nicki is fine. They’re on their way home in a police car. We’ll meet them there.’

  She wasn’t capable of uttering so much as a word, and he lowered his head to hers and pressed his lips to each eyelid in turn.

  A gesture which only increased the flow of tears, and his mouth closed over her own in a brief, evocative kiss before he lifted his head.

  ‘Let’s go home, hmm?’

  Shannay was grateful for the arm he curved across the back of her waist as he led her to his car. Seated, he spared her a brief glance, glimpsed her still pale features and dark eyes fixed unseeing beyond the windscreen and he swore softly beneath his breath.

  ‘Let it go, querida,’ he advised gently, and she turned towards him with tear-drenched eyes.

  ‘How can I?’ Her mouth quivered with emotion. ‘What if Carlo—?’ She couldn’t say the words. Didn’t want to voice them.

  ‘From tomorrow, Carlo will have a partner, and they’ll both shadow your every move.’

  If he meant to reassure, he failed miserably.

  Two bodyguards.

  The thought of always needing protection freaked her out. Never being able to make a spontaneous decision.

  She didn’t want Nicki to grow up always on the defensive, intensely cautious and wary.

  Heaven knew what effect this afternoon’s episode would have, or the long-term toll it might take.

  ‘I’ll ensure it will never happen again,’ Marcello vowed quietly, and she shot him a disbelieving look.

  ‘You can’t promise that. We both know Nicki has become a target.’

  There were choices.

  And she knew which one she had to make.

  Nicki appeared subdued and clung to each of them in turn the instant they entered the foyer.

  Carlo was there, so too was Maria, as well as a plain-clothes policewoman who spent considerable time talking with Nicki. A psychology tool which undoubtedly helped, and afterwards Marcello took Carlo aside for an in-depth rundown of the abduction.

  Shannay couldn’t bear to let Nicki out of her sight, and she bathed her, then she picked at a salad while encouraging Nicki to eat.

  Together with Marcello, they shared reading a bedtime story, and afterwards she remained at Nicki’s bedside long after her daughter fell asleep.

  It was late when Marcello returned to the room and hunkered down beside the chair.

  ‘Come to bed,’ he bade quietly. ‘Nicki is perfectly safe.’

  ‘I need to be here if she wakes.’

  ‘The sensors monitor every sound. We’ll hear the instant she stirs.’

  She looked at him in the dimmed lighting and slowly shook her head. ‘I can’t.’

  He remained silent for several telling seconds, then he rose to his full height and walked from the room.

  She wanted to cry, but she was all teared out, and she sat staring into space, living and reliving the afternoon from the moment before Nicki disappeared, trying to pin down something … anything that would provide a visual clue so she could correlate it in her mind with the facts Carlo had relayed.

  Shannay wasn’t aware of falling asleep, only that she woke with a start, experienced a moment of disorientation before she recognised her whereabouts.

  She checked Nicki, then turned towards the chair … only to hesitate. Her neck felt stiff, and she was cold. Not from the room’s temperature, but chilled and shaky from emotional exhaustion.

  Even in bed she couldn’t get warm, and after what seemed an age spent tossing and turning she moved quietly out onto the gallery, contemplated going down to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, then changed her mind.

  ‘Unable to sleep?’

  She hadn’t heard a sound or sensed any movement, yet Marcello was there, large and indomitable in the dim gallery light.

  ‘I looked in on Nicki, and decided to check on you,’ he offered quietly, and uttered a soft imprecation as a shiver shook her slim frame.

  With an unconscious movement she wrapped her arms round her midriff in the hope it would minimise the shaking … without success, and the next instant he swept her into his arms and carried her to the master suite.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Shannay muttered as he slid into bed and drew her with him.

  ‘Sure you are.’ The soft oath whispered in the night air as he began smoothing his hands over her limbs, stimulating circulation with brisk sweeping movements, until the shivering slowly eased and warmth invaded her body.

  She should leave, and she meant to … except she was reluctant to part from the compassion he offered, the security of being held in strong arms, and the touch of his lips against her forehead.

  It felt so good to breathe in the familiar scent of him, the faint tinge of soap he’d used mingling with the muskiness of male.

  It crept into her senses, as powerful as any aphrodisiac, stirring alive the hunger for his touch, and she murmured indistinctly as she pressed her lips into the warm skin, savoured a little, then slid her hand down his arm to rest on his hip.

  Marcello tilted her chin and sought her mouth with his own, gently at first, taking it slow with an evocative slide of his tongue along her longer lip, felt her mouth part, allowing him entry, and the tentative welcome as her tongue moved to tease his own, sweetly cajoling in an elemental dance that could have only one ending.

  He fought to control his arousal, knowing that if he didn’t it would be over before it began, and she needed a slow loving, a subtle, drifting touch that took a leisurel
y path towards fulfilment.

  This was all about comfort and reassurance, before need.

  He could give her that.

  And he did. With the slow drift of his hand, the soft caress of his lips as he traversed every sensitive pulse-point, each hollow, pausing to suckle at the tightened bud at the peak of her breast, the tender swell beneath, and low over her quivering stomach to the curls at the apex of her thighs.

  Lower, as he explored the sweet moistness, the delicious scent of woman and the swollen clitoris pulsing beneath the erotic laving of his tongue.

  Her fingers threaded through his hair, then curled into its length and tugged as sensation spiralled through her body. She arched, unconsciously craving more … and he obliged, cradling her hips between his hands as he held her still.

  She was his, mind, body and soul, and still he held back, exerting taut control as she shattered beneath his touch.

  Marcello eased her into his arms, cradling her shuddering form as she buried her face into the curve of his neck … and when she went to move, he tightened his hold.

  ‘Stay,’ he bade huskily. ‘I need you like this.’

  It was so easy to let her eyelids drift closed, to relax and let the darkness of sleep steal over her.

  For a long time he simply held her, lulled by the evenness of her breathing, the soft sigh of her breath warm against his skin … and on the edge of sleep he wondered what the new day would bring.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DESPITE EVERY EFFORT to minimise the abduction attempt on Nicki, it still made the news, appearing on television stations and in the newspapers.

  Marcello refused all interviews, requesting the media and public respect their privacy. He employed guards to ensure no media representative intruded into the grounds of his mansion, and Shannay kept Nicki indoors away from the zoom lenses of persistent cameramen well-known to use devious means in order to gain the slightest advantage.

  Staff were reminded of their signed confidentiality agreement, and Marcello placed Sandro in a position of power in the city office while he worked from home.

  Nicki’s well-being was a prime focus, and Shannay rarely let her out of her sight. Thanks to Carlo’s handling of the abduction attempt itself, his protective reassurance during their captivity in the van and counselling, Nicki appeared to be dealing quite well with the trauma.

  Yet it became apparent the media refused to give up, and although they didn’t get past the guards it was impossible to ignore reflected sunlight bouncing off the poised camera lenses, and a helicopter bearing a TV-station logo passed overhead at least three times a day in the hope of a photo scoop.

  For Shannay, it was the last straw, and on the third day she drew Marcello aside soon after Nicki had settled to sleep.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Let’s take it in the bedroom, shall we?’

  Not the bedroom. It held too many memories, and she needed to be strong. ‘I’d prefer the office.’

  He regarded her carefully, examining her features and noting the darkness apparent in her beautiful eyes, the exigent determination, and prepared to do civilised battle.

  With a smooth movement he indicated the direction of the office. ‘By all means.’

  On reaching his sanctum, he closed the door behind them and indicated a comfortable leather chair. ‘Take a seat.’

  And have him tower over her? ‘I’d prefer to stand.’

  Marcello crossed the room, leant one hip against the executive desk and held her faintly defiant gaze.

  ‘There is something you want to discuss?’

  His voice was mild, but there was a studied stillness about him that reminded her of an indolent predator.

  Don’t falter. Don’t allow him to see the slightest chink in your resolve. ‘I’m taking Nicki home to Perth.’ There, she’d stated her intention. ‘I can book a commercial flight, or ask you to organise your private jet.’

  He didn’t protest, merely stated fact. ‘Your home is here.’

  Shannay gave a slight shake of her head. ‘We have an arrangement, and you gave me your word,’ she reminded, holding his steady gaze. ‘I insist you honour it.’

  ‘Circumstances have changed.’

  Her chin tilted. ‘Because you persuaded me to have sex with you?’

  Marcello was silent for a few measurable seconds, then one eyebrow arched in deliberate query. ‘Just … sex. Is that what you call what we share?’

  ‘We scratched a mutual itch.’ Liar. It was more than that. Much more.

  She stood immobile beneath his deliberate appraisal, and she held his gaze as if her life depended on it.

  ‘There’s nothing I can say or do that will change your mind?’

  Assure your love for me never died. That love is the reason you dragged Nicki and me back to Madrid … not a need to avenge the past.

  But he remained silent. And she didn’t have the courage to lay bare her emotions.

  ‘No.’ It was the only word she could manage without risking an inability to control the tremble in her voice.

  ‘You intend to return to Madrid … when?’

  This was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. ‘I’ll accompany Nicki when she travels to visit with you.’ And die a little every time, she added silently.

  ‘That’s your final word?’

  She couldn’t afford to back down, even though the decision was killing her.

  Did he know? Or even guess?

  Maybe he didn’t even care. Sex was … well, sex. And for a man, without love to make it special, almost any woman would do. And any number of women would line up hoping to tempt him into their bed the instant news filtered out his wife had left him … again.

  ‘Yes.’ A determined if stoic confirmation.

  She searched his features for the slightest sign her decision affected him … and failed to detect a thing.

  When she thought of their lovemaking … and it was lovemaking, she wanted to burst into ignominious tears that he could brush it aside so easily.

  ‘When do you plan to leave?’

  He wasn’t going to argue? Attempt to persuade her to stay?

  Yet what had she expected? For him to break down and beg?

  That wasn’t his style.

  ‘As soon as possible.’

  He didn’t move. He merely inclined his head. ‘I’ll instruct my pilot to have the jet ready tomorrow.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She had to get out of here, away from him, before she broke down, and she turned towards the door.

  ‘What do you plan on telling our daughter?’

  It took tremendous effort to look back at him. ‘The truth.’

  With that she opened the door, passed through the aperture, then quietly closed the door behind her.

  A week later Shannay conceded life had begun to slip into its former pattern.

  The apartment was aired, cleaned, vacuumed and polished. The pantry, refrigerator and freezer stocked.

  Anna appeared delighted to resume evening duties as Nicki’s carer, and John was pleased to have her start back at the pharmacy.

  She should be happy, content, relieved to have left a highly fraught situation behind.

  It was, she silently assured, resolved. As originally intended. Hadn’t she worked hard to hammer out a satisfactory custody arrangement suitable to Nicki’s needs?

  Her daughter appeared relatively relaxed, and was looking forward to resuming kindergarten, meeting up with her friends.

  Each evening, at the same time, Marcello rang to speak to his daughter and bid her ‘goodnight’.

  Calls which Nicki eagerly anticipated and received with excited fervour.

  The fact he rarely offered more than a restrained greeting to Shannay was immaterial … yet it hurt terribly.

  Although what did she expect? Pleasant conversation?

  How could he just … switch off, like that?

  She shouldn’t feel crushed, but she did. It aff
ected her sleep and left her hollow-eyed and aching.

  If she didn’t soon pull herself together, she’d become a complete and utter emotional mess.

  The second week in, she found it difficult to readjust to working the five-to-midnight shift, and John’s voiced concern began to rankle.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, and refused to elaborate on the Madrid sojourn.

  At the end of the second week confirmation her decree nisi had been granted arrived in the mail from her lawyer.

  The decree absolute would follow in approximately one month.

  It should have been good news, except it sent her into the depths of despair.

  The third week she developed a stomach bug … a persistent one which showed no inclination to subside.

  Combined with unaccustomed tiredness and mood swings, the obvious possible reason sent alarm bells skyrocketing through the stratosphere. Consternation provided the need for a pregnancy test, the result of which confirmed her worst fears.

  Not so inconceivable when she hadn’t used any form of contraceptive following Nicki’s birth … nor had Marcello favoured protection.

  Fool. What had she been thinking?

  Worse, what had he?

  Although, on reflection, thinking hadn’t even entered the equation!

  A fraught twenty-four hours later she redid the pregnancy test, only to have it show the same result.

  Ohmigod, no. The silent scream seemed to echo inside her brain as she processed the implications in a stark replay.

  OK, think, she bade shakily, and groaned out loud when she did the calculations and possible became probable, of which each passing day provided its own confirmation.

  Then came the phone call on a week night when she’d cried off work, where Nicki unwittingly informed Marcello “Mummy is sick”, and the words were out in spite of Shannay frantically shaking her head.

  Seconds later Nicki held out the receiver. ‘Daddy wants to talk to you.’

  Well, I don’t want to talk to him. ‘Not now, darling, I’m busy.’

  Nicki’s eyes rounded in surprise, for Shannay was only folding clothes, and Marcello must have heard, for his voice came clearly through the mouthpiece.

  ‘Take the phone, Shannay.’

  She swore softly, and saw her daughter’s eyes dilate even further, then she collected the receiver and prepared to play polite.