The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  She barely registered the rattle of the door handle, and studiously ignored the double knock as Marcello demanded to be let in.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  The assurance didn’t work, for she heard him utter a string of wicked-sounding Spanish imprecations. ‘Open the door.’

  ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’

  Not exactly an auspicious start to the day, and definitely not an enticing prelude to amorous activities, she grimaced as she washed her face and cleaned her teeth.

  While there, she ran a brush through the tumbled length of her hair and twisted it into a knot atop her head, then she released the lock and emerged to find a concerned Marcello bent on dragging agitated fingers through badly rumpled hair.

  A warm hand cupped her shoulder, while a firm thumb and finger captured her chin and lifted it as he subjected her to a dark-eyed scrutiny.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  Next he’ll query if he should call a doctor …

  He didn’t disappoint, and he frowned as she rolled her eyes.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Morning sickness is a common occurrence during the early months of pregnancy,’ she relayed with an impish grin. ‘And not always confined to the morning.’ She lifted a shoulder in a negligible shrug. ‘It tends to wear off during the second trimester.’

  ‘Is there nothing that helps?’

  ‘Most often a cup of tea and a plain biscuit as soon as I wake will avert the physical symptoms.’

  He crossed to the phone. ‘I’ll order Room Service.’

  ‘Do that, for breakfast,’ Shannay qualified. ‘I’ll make the tea.’

  He looked appealingly disconcerted, and she had a difficult time hiding a smile.

  Marcello Martinez, corporate head, entrepreneur and billionaire … master of many things, but a tad lost around his pregnant wife.

  ‘I have a feeling I’m in for a learning curve,’ he acknowledged with musing wryness.

  She laughed, a low, throaty sound that was infectious. ‘You’ll do fine.’ As he did with everything he chose to undertake.

  He smoothed a hand over her cheek, cupped it, then traced her lower lip with his thumb. ‘Starting now. Sit down and I’ll make the tea.’

  They showered, ate a leisurely breakfast, then checked out of the hotel and met Carlo, who drove them to Shannay’s apartment in suburban Applecross, where Nicki greeted her father with unabashed affection.

  ‘Daddy! Are you here for a visit?’

  Shannay watched as Marcello swung their daughter into his arms and hugged her close.

  ‘A very long visit.’

  ‘Love you, Daddy.’

  ‘Right back at you, pequena.’

  Shannay swallowed the sudden lump in her throat at his smile.

  ‘What would you say to me staying with you and Mummy?’

  Nicki wound her arms around his neck and sank back in the cradle of his arms to regard him solemnly. ‘Here, with us in Perth? All the time?’

  ‘All the time,’ he reiterated gently. ‘Occasionally I’ll need to visit Madrid, but I won’t be away long, and sometimes you and Mummy can come with me.’

  ‘I’d like it. Very much.’ She leaned forward and kissed his cheek and assured plaintively, ‘I missed you.’

  ‘I missed you, too.’

  It was enough knowing Marcello would be a permanent fixture for Nicki to go happily off to kindergarten while her parents met with real-estate agents.

  The Peppermint Grove house won Shannay’s vote. It was so right in every aspect, with its large grounds, spacious rooms and the most glorious curved staircase leading from an elegant tiled foyer to the upper floor.

  All she needed to do was say “I love it”, and Marcello closed the deal there and then.

  Next came legal confirmation notification that the court would in all probability succeed in negating the processing of their decree absolute, thus voiding the existing divorce application.

  The following few weeks proved hectic, as Shannay ordered furniture, furnishings and fittings, and, with Marcello organising delivery and placement, successfully orchestrated the move to their new home.

  Shannay refused to leave John without a registered pharmacist, and worked a shorter evening shift for the week it took to employ a replacement.

  Nicki loved her new bedroom, and delighted in the special playhouse Marcello had set up in the grounds for her.

  By far, the baby news won out, with the future advent of a little sister or brother providing endless excitement.

  Marcello was busy setting up a city office, employing staff and organising office space at home.

  At his suggestion Shannay chose to lease her Applecross apartment, fortuitously to Anna’s daughter and son-in-law, who had decided to relocate from Tasmania.

  Everything seemed to fit into place with organised efficiency … mostly due to Marcello’s influence, including a re-affirmation of their wedding vows to be held in the gardens of their Peppermint Grove home.

  Sandro and Luisa flew in via private jet to attend the ceremony, while Penè declined on the grounds she was still mourning Ramon.

  The day dawned with pale sunshine and a sky with drifting cumulus, and caterers moved in mid-morning to prepare a sumptuous late-afternoon feast for the few guests Marcello and Shannay had chosen to invite.

  It was the antithesis of the media circus their first wedding had become, and Nicki was in her element as Anna helped dress her in a miniature version of Shannay’s gown. Wearing ivory shoes and a coronet of small flowers in her hair, she resembled a little princess.

  Shannay chose a simple full-length gown in ivory silk with a long-sleeved slim-fitted jacket in matching fabric with a stand-up collar, ivory stilettos and a sheer scarf in ivory chiffon draped over her hair.

  Her only jewellery was a diamond pendant and matching ear-studs.

  There was an ornamental white gazebo in the grounds, decorated with white flowers, and Marcello stood resplendent in a dark suit, white shirt and ivory satin tie together with the celebrant as they waited for Shannay and Nicki to join them.

  John and Anna acted as witnesses, and the vows were personally selected to endorse Shannay and Marcello’s commitment to each other.

  Guests were few, and consequently it was a very intimate gathering, with fine champagne, exquisite food, and much laughter.

  Nicki was in her element, loving every minute of the day, and she made no protest when it came time for Carlo to take her with Anna for a sleep-over at Anna’s apartment.

  The caterers packed up, John departed, together with the remaining guests, and Sandro and Luisa left soon after for their city hotel.

  Marcello closed and locked the door, then he drew Shannay into his arms and touched his mouth to hers in a gentle salutation.

  ‘Have I told you how beautiful you are?’

  He had, when he’d slid her wedding ring in place, and again as the afternoon drew to a close.

  A teasing smile curved her lips and she tilted her head slightly to one side. ‘Should I commend how incredibly handsome you look?’

  ‘Minx. Come dance with me, hmm?’

  ‘That could lead to trouble.’

  ‘Of the most delightful kind,’ he agreed. ‘But what’s a wedding without a bridal waltz?’

  She pressed a light kiss to his chin. ‘Where?’

  He activated a remote control and slow, dreamy music filtered through concealed speakers.

  Together they barely moved, just held each other and drifted a little, swayed some, and Shannay felt boneless as the music crept into her soul, meshed with the overwhelming love she felt for the man who held her, and she rested against him, following wherever he led.

  The track eventually concluded, and she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him.

  ‘I love you.’ The words drifted from her lips in a husky murmur. ‘So much.’ She thread her fingers through his hair, then caressed his nape, the sensitive skin beneath each earlobe, and rested against the pulse
beating strongly at the base of his throat. ‘I always have. Always will.’

  He caught hold of her hand, unfolded it and laid his lips to her palm. ‘Gracias.’

  She’d said the words before, but not quite like this, without accompanying passion, or in the dreamy aftermath of lovemaking.

  ‘Let’s go upstairs.’

  Marcello placed a kiss to her forehead. ‘Is that an invitation?’

  ‘Do you need one?’

  He placed an arm beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms, then began ascending the staircase.

  ‘Isn’t this just a little over the top?’ she teased, and he chuckled.

  ‘Perhaps I’m conserving your strength?’

  ‘Next you’ll suggest I lie supine while you do all the work.’

  ‘It has been a long day.’

  For which he received a thump on his arm from a very feminine fist.

  ‘Wretch. Just as long as you remember I get to play payback in the early dawn hours.’

  ‘Promises, huh?’ They reached the main bedroom and he slid her down onto her feet, then they began removing each other’s clothes … slowly, with infinite care.

  Their love was everlasting, infinite and very special.

  There was no need to hurry. They had the night, and all those remaining for the rest of their lifetimes.

  Eternity.

  Ramon Alejandro Martinez was born five months and two weeks later in the presence of his father, who cut the umbilical cord and handed him into his mother’s arms.

  With black hair, knowing eyes, he was the image of Marcello, and appeared to possess his mother’s nature.

  His sister, Nicki, adored him from first sight, and vowed to take care of him forever and teach him everything she knew.

  Mistress Arrangements

  Passion’s Mistress

  Desert Mistress

  Mistress by Arrangement

  Helen Bianchin

  Passion’s Mistress

  Helen Bianchin

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT WAS ONE of those beautiful southern hemispheric summer evenings with a soft balmy breeze drifting in from the sea.

  An evening more suited to casual entertainment outdoors than a formal gathering, Carly mused as she stepped into a classically designed black gown and slid the zip in place. Beautifully cut, the style emphasised her slim curves and provided a perfect foil for her fine-textured skin.

  A quick glance in the mirror revealed an attractive young woman of average height, whose natural attributes were enhanced by a glorious riot of auburn-streaked dark brown curls cascading halfway down her back.

  The contrast was dramatic and far removed from the elegant chignon and classically tailored clothes she chose to wear to the office.

  Indecision momentarily clouded her expression as she viewed her pale, delicately boned features. Too pale, she decided, and in a moment of utter recklessness she applied more blusher, then added another touch of eyeshadow to give extra emphasis to her eyes.

  There, that would have to do, she decided as she viewed her image with critical appraisal, reflecting a trifle wryly that it was ages since she’d attended a social function—although tonight’s soirée was entirely business, arranged for the express purpose of affording a valuable new client introduction to key personnel, and only her employer’s insistence had been instrumental in persuading her to join other staff members at his house.

  ‘All done,’ she said lightly as she turned towards the small pyjama-clad girl sitting cross-legged on the bed: a beautiful child whose fragility tore at Carly’s maternal heartstrings and caused her to curse silently the implicit necessity to attend tonight’s party.

  ‘You look pretty.’ The voice held wistful admiration, and a wealth of unreserved love shone from wide, expressive dark eyes.

  ‘Thank you,’ Carly accepted gently as she leant forward and trailed slightly shaky fingers down the length of her daughter’s dark, silky curls.

  Tomorrow the waiting would be over. In a way, it would be a relief to know the medical reason why Ann-Marie’s health had become so precarious in the past few months. The round of referrals from general practitioner to paediatrician, to one specialist and then another, the seemingly endless number of tests and X-rays had proven emotionally and financially draining.

  If Ann-Marie required the skills of a surgeon and private hospital care…

  Silent anguish gnawed at her stomach, then with a concentrated effort Carly dampened her anxiety and forced her wide, mobile mouth into a warm smile as she clasped Ann-Marie’s hand in her own.

  ‘Sarah has the telephone number if she needs to contact me,’ she relayed gently as she led the way towards the lounge.

  Leaving Ann-Marie, even with someone as competent as Sarah, was a tremendous wrench. Especially tonight, when apprehension heightened her sense of guilt and warred violently with any need for divided loyalty. Yet her work was important, the money earned essential. Critical, she added silently.

  Besides, Ann-Marie couldn’t be in better hands than with Sarah, who, as a nursing sister at the Royal Children’s Hospital, was well qualified to cope with any untoward eventuality.

  ‘The dress is perfect.’

  Carly smiled in silent acknowledgement of the warmly voiced compliment. ‘It’s kind of you to lend it to me.’

  The attractive blonde rose from the sofa with unselfconscious grace. ‘Your hair looks great. You should wear it like that more often.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ann-Marie agreed, and, tilting her head to one side, she viewed her mother with the solemn simplicity of the very young. ‘It makes you look different.’

  ‘Sophisticated,’ Sarah added with a teasing laugh as she collected a book from the coffee-table. It was a popular children’s story, with beautiful illustrations. ‘Ann-Marie and I have some serious reading to do.’

  Carly blessed Sarah’s intuitive ability to distract Ann-Marie’s attention—and her own, if only momentarily.

  Their friendship went back seven years to the day they’d moved into neighbouring apartments—each fleeing her own home town for differing reasons, and each desperate for a new beginning.

  ‘I won’t be away any longer than I have to,’ she assured quietly, then she gave Ann-Marie a hug, and quickly left.

  In the lobby, Carly crossed to the lift and stabbed the call-button, hearing an answering electronic hum as the lift rose swiftly to the third floor, then just as swiftly transported her down to the basement.

  The apartment block comprised three levels, and was one of several lining the northern suburban street, sharing a uniformity of pale brick, tiled roof, and basement car park, the only visual difference being a variation in the grassed verges and gardens, dependent on the generosity of any caring tenant who possessed both the time and inclination to beautify his or her immediate environment.

  Carly unlocked her sedan, slid in behind the wheel and urged the aged Ford on to street level, taking the main arterial route leading into the city. It was almost seven-thirty, and unless there were any delays with traffic she should arrive at the requested time.

  Clive Mathorpe owned an exclusive harbourside residence in Rose Bay, and a slight frown creased her forehead as she attempted to recall a previous occasion when her employer had organised a social event in his home for the benefit of a client—even the directorial scion of a vast entrepreneurial empire.

  Acquiring Consolidated Enterprises had been quite a coup, for Mathorpe and Partners bore neither the size nor standing of any one of the three instantly recognisable internationally affiliated accounting firms.

  Carly’s speculation faded as she caught a glimpse of towering multi-level concrete and glass spires vying for supremacy in a city skyline, followed within minutes by an uninterrupted view of the unique architectural masterpiece of the Opera House.

  It was a familiar scene she’d come to appreciate, for it was here in this city that she had developed a sense of self-achievement, together with an inner satisfaction at h
aving strived hard against difficult odds and won. Not handsomely, she admitted a trifle wryly, aware of the leasing fee on her apartment and the loan on her car.

  Negotiating inner-city evening traffic demanded total concentration, and Carly gave a silent sigh of relief when she reached Rose Bay.

  Locating her employer’s address presented no problem, and she slid the car to a halt outside an imposing set of wrought-iron gates.

  Minutes later she took a curving path towards the main entrance, and within seconds of pressing the doorbell she was greeted by name and ushered indoors.

  It was crazy suddenly to be stricken with an attack of nerves; mad to consider herself a social alien among people she knew and worked with.

  Soft muted music vied with the chatter of variously toned voices, and Carly cast the large lounge and its occupants an idle sweeping glance. Without exception the men all wore black dinner-suits, white silk shirts and black bow-ties, while the women had each chosen stylish gowns in a concerted effort to impress.

  Within minutes she was offered a drink, and she managed a slight smile as Bradley Williamson moved to her side. He was a pleasant man in his early thirties and considered to be one of Mathorpe and Partners’ rising young executives.

  His roving appraisal was brief, and his eyes assumed an appreciative sparkle as he met her steady gaze. ‘Carly, you look sensational.’

  ‘Bradley,’ she acknowledged, then queried idly, ‘Has Clive’s honoured guest arrived yet?’

  His voice took on an unaccustomed dryness. ‘You’re hoping he’ll appear soon and let you off the figurative hook.’

  It was a statement she didn’t refute. ‘Maybe he won’t come,’ she proffered absently, and caught Bradley’s negative shake of the head.

  ‘Doubtful. Mathorpe revealed that the director favours a personal touch in all his business dealings. “Involvement on every level” were his exact words.’

  ‘Which explains why the company has achieved such success.’

  Bradley spared her a quizzical smile that broadened his pleasant features into moderate attractiveness. ‘Been doing your homework?’