The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  ‘By your own admission,’ Michelle vented with restrained anger. ‘You brought me here to talk.’

  She needed to shift the balance of control. Fear wasn’t an option. Although the word in itself was a misnomer. Nikos Alessandros didn’t mean her any harm. at least not in the physical sense. Yet when it came to her emotions... Now that was an entirely different ball game, something which irked her unbearably, for how could she be emotionally spellbound by a man who, in a short few hours, had broken every conventional social nicety?

  ‘I suggest you do so, now,’ she continued forcefully. ‘And condense whatever you have to say into two minutes.’ She indicated the mobile phone. ‘One wrong move and I’ll summon the police.’

  He leaned one hip against the smooth bonnet of his car, and regarded her thoughtfully.

  ‘I want you to be my social companion for a few weeks,’ he stated without preamble.

  Michelle drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. Whatever she’d expected, it hadn’t been this. He had only to beckon and women would beat a path to his side. ‘Surely you jest?’

  His attention didn’t falter. ‘I’m quite serious.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For much the same reason it would suit you.’

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘What makes you so sure?’

  ‘Body language,’ Nikos drawled.

  Her eyes flashed golden fire. ‘I can handle Jeremy.’

  ‘I don’t doubt you can.’ One eyebrow lifted. ‘The question is, do you want to?’

  ‘I don’t need anyone to fight my battles,’ she said dryly. ‘Any more than you do. So why don’t you cut to the chase?’

  ‘I thought I already had.’

  Her head tilted to one side. ‘You expect me to believe there’s a female you can’t handle?’ The prospect was almost laughable.

  ‘The widow of a very close friend of mine,’ Nikos enlightened her slowly. ‘Her husband was killed several months ago in a skiing accident.’

  ‘She is emotionally fragile, and genuinely misinterprets the friendship?’ Michelle posed. ‘Or has she become a calculating vixen intent on snaring another rich husband?’

  His expression imperceptibly hardened, a subtle shifting of muscle over bone that reassembled his features into a compelling mask.

  ‘You presume too much.’

  So she’d struck a tender nerve. Interesting that he didn’t answer her question.

  ‘You feel honour-bound to spare—’ She paused deliberately.

  ‘Saska.’

  ‘Saska,’ she continued. ‘Any embarrassment during what is a transitional grieving period?’

  ‘Yes,’ he declared succinctly.

  ‘I see.’ She regarded him thoughtfully. ‘And on the basis of one meeting, an appraisal of body language , you virtually kidnap me and suggest I have nothing better to do with my time than act out a part for your benefit.’

  ‘There would be a few advantages.’

  Topaz flecks shone in the depths of her green eyes, a silent evidence of her anger. ‘Name one.’

  ‘All of the pleasure and none of the strings.’

  ‘And a bonus, I imagine, if I’m sufficiently convincing?’ The flippant query slipped from her lips, and she glimpsed the faint edge of humour tilt the corner of his mouth.

  ‘I’m sure we can come to an amicable arrangement.’

  The entire evening had been a complete farce, including Jeremy’s behaviour. As for Nikos Alessandros... Impossible didn’t come close!

  ‘Just who the hell do you think you are?’ she demanded fiercely.

  His expression hardened slightly, and his eyes took on the quality of steel. ‘A man who recognises an opportunity, and isn’t afraid to seize it.’

  She could still feel the touch of his mouth on hers, his taste...and the way her senses had flipped into a tailspin.

  His indolent stance was deceptive. She had the instinctive feeling that if she turned away from him, he would simply reach out and haul her back.

  ‘Go find some other female,’ Michelle directed. ‘I’m not willing to participate.’

  She caught the dark glitter in his eyes, glimpsed a muscle tense at the edge of his jaw, and experienced momentary satisfaction at besting him.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?’

  Her gaze didn’t waver. ‘No, not a thing.’

  He examined her features with contemplative scrutiny. ‘In that case, we’ll take the lift to the ground floor and I’ll escort you to your apartment.’

  She wanted to argue with him, and almost did.

  ‘Wise,’ Nikos drawled.

  Michelle felt her stomach twist as they stepped into the small electronic cubicle. She was incredibly aware of the emotional pull, the intangible meshing of the senses.

  Seconds later she preceded him into the main lobby, passed reception, then emerged into the fresh evening air.

  Less than a hundred metres distant lay several trendy restaurants and cafés, each with outdoor chairs and tables lending the area a cosmopolitan air.

  Michelle’s apartment building was situated fifty metres distant on the opposite side of the road, and when they reached its entrance she paused, a polite smile widening her lips as she turned towards him.

  There was nothing to thank him for, and she didn’t make a pretense of doing so. The polite smile was merely a concession.

  ‘You forgot something.’

  She caught the purposeful gleam in those dark eyes an instant before hands captured her face.

  His head descended and his mouth covered hers in a kiss that plundered deep, savouring the inner sweetness without mercy, his tongue swift and incredibly clever as he took his fill.

  This was skilled mastery, she registered dimly, and a silent gasp of outrage remained locked in her throat as he cupped her bottom and brought her close up against him so that she was in no doubt of his arousal.

  Potent, shimmering heat sang through her veins and pooled at the centre of her feminine core. She could feel the thrust of her breasts as they swelled in anticipation of his touch, their tender peaks hardening into sensitive buds craving the tantalising succour of his mouth.

  This was insane. A divine madness that had no place, no basis in anything.

  Almost as if he sensed her withdrawal, he gradually lightened the kiss to a gentle brush of his lips against her own. Then he lifted his head, and released her.

  ‘Pleasant dreams, pedhi mou,’ he bade gently.

  His eyes were warm, and deep enough to drown in. The flip response she sought never found voice, and she turned away from him, activated the security code on the external door, then hurried into the lobby without a backward glance.

  Damn him. He was the most arrogant infuriating devastating man she’d ever met. Infinitely dangerous, she added as she jabbed the call button to summon one of two lifts.

  As soon as the doors slid open she entered the cubicle, stabbed the appropriate panel button, and barely suppressed a shiver as the lift sped swiftly upward.

  If she never saw him again, it would be too soon. Which was a total contradiction in terms, she grimaced as the lift came to a halt at her floor.

  Seconds later she let herself into her apartment, hit the light switch, checked the locking mechanism was in place, then she moved through to the kitchen.

  Caffeine would keep her awake, so she opted for a glass of chilled water, sipped the contents, then crossed to her bedroom.

  It was several minutes this side of midnight, and she divested her clothes, took a leisurely warm shower, then slid between cool percale sheets in an effort to cull sleep.

  Without success. There were too many images crowding her mind. A tall dark-haired Greek whose eyes seemed to haunt her. His voice, with its slightly accented timbre that curled like silk round every sensitive nerve-end, invading without license as a vivid reminder of his touch. The feel of his hands on her body, their caressing warmth, and the taste of his mouth on hers as it de
voured, savoured, and sought to imprint his brand.

  It was almost as if she could still sense the exclusive tones of his cologne, the clean smell of fine tailoring and fresh laundered cotton. And a subtle masculine scent that was his...

  Dammit. She didn’t want to be this disturbed by a man. To have her senses invaded by a pervasive sexual alchemy.

  She’d met scores of men, been charmed by several, discovered an affection for a few, and loved none. At least, not the swept off my feet, melting bones kind of emotion portrayed on the cinema screen and extolled between the pages of many a romance novel.

  When it came to attraction, she was still waiting for the earth to move. Warm and fuzzy somehow didn’t come close to hungry shattering sensual sexuality.

  Yet tonight she’d experienced it in the arms of a stranger.

  For the space of...how long? Two, three minutes? She’d lost all sense of time and place. There was only the man, the moment, and raw unbridled passion.

  Her body had curved into his, and clung, moulding in a perfect fit as his mouth had taken possession of her own.

  And it had been possession. Demanding, compelling, and frankly sensual, his kiss was a promise. Primitive, raw, libidinous.

  It should have frightened her. Instead, for the - space of those few minutes she’d felt exhilarated, alive, and aware. Dear God, so aware of every pulse beat, the heat that flared from every erogenous zone as her whole body coalesced into a throbbing entity, almost totally beyond her control.

  If he could initiate such an effect with just a kiss, what sort of lover would he be?

  Intensely vital, passionate, and incredibly sensual. Hungry, wild...shameless, she added with certainty.

  What was she thinking?

  Nikos Alessandros was the last man on earth she would want to have anything to do with.

  She lifted her head and thumped her pillow. Damn the hateful images invading her mind. They clouded her perspective, dulled commonsense, and played havoc with her nervous system.

  All she had to do was fall asleep, and in the morning a fresh new day would dispense with the night’s emotional turmoil.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE insistent ring of the telephone penetrated Michelle’s subconscious, and she reached out a hand, searched blindly for the handset, and succeeded in knocking the receiver onto the floor.

  Oh hell. What a way to start the day.

  She caught hold of the spiral cord and tugged until her fingers connected with the receiver.

  ‘Michelle.’

  Inches away from her ear she recognised the feminine voice, and she stifled an unladylike oath.

  ‘Maman,’ she acknowledged with resignation. Just what she needed.

  ‘Are you still in bed, cherie?’ There was a slight pause. ‘Do you know what time it is?’

  Seven, maybe eight, she hazarded, sparing a quick glance at the bedside clock before drawing a sharp breath. Nine.

  ‘You are alone?’

  Michelle closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘No, Maman. Two lovers have pleasured me all through the night.’

  ‘There is no need to be facetious, darling,’ Chantelle reproved, and Michelle sighed.

  ‘I’m sorry. Blame it on lack of sleep.’

  ‘I thought we might do lunch.’ Chantelle named a trendy restaurant at Main Beach. ‘Shall we say twelve?’ And hung up before Michelle had a chance to confirm or refuse.

  ‘Grrr.’ The sound was a low-pitched growl that held a mixture of irritation and compliance. She could ring back and decline, except she knew almost word for word what Chantelle would say as a persuasive ploy.

  Emotional blackmail of the nicest kind, she added mentally as she replaced the receiver and rolled onto her stomach.

  Lunch for her mother inevitably meant a minuscule Caesar salad, followed by fresh fruit, a small glass of white wine and two glasses of water. Afterwards they would browse the trendy boutiques, drive the short distance to Marina Mirage, relax over a leisurely latte, then wander at will through the upmarket emporiums.

  It was a mother-daughter thing they indulged in together on occasion. Michelle was under no illusion that today’s invitation was a thinly-veiled guise to conduct an in-depth discussion about her association with Nikos Alessandros.

  In which case she’d best rise, shine and meet the day. Routine chores and the weekly visit to the supermarket would occupy an hour and a half, and she’d need the remaining time to shower and change if she was to meet her mother at noon.

  Chantelle ordered her favourite Caesar salad, and mineral water, while Michelle settled for something more substantial.

  ‘Antonia and Emerson have insisted we join them on their boat for lunch tomorrow.’

  Sunglasses shielded her mother’s eyes, successfully hiding her expression. Although Michelle wasn’t fooled in the slightest.

  Chantelle had conversation down to a fine art. First there would be the pleasantries, some light humour in the form of an anecdote or two, followed by the main purpose of the meeting.

  ‘That will be nice,’ Michelle commented evenly.

  ‘We will, of course, be back in time to attend the Gallery exhibition.’

  This month’s exhibition featured an up and coming local artist whose work had impressed both Gallery partners. Arrangements for each exhibition were made many months in advance, and it said much for the Gallery’s reputation that they had bookings well into next year for future showings.

  Emilio possessed an instinctive flair for what would succeed, and their combined talents and expertise had seen a fledging Gallery expand to become one of the most respected establishments on the coastal strip.

  Invitations had been sent out to fifty patrons and their partners, the catering instructions had been given. All that remained were the final touches, and placement of the exhibits.

  Something which both she and Emilio would attend to this afternoon and complete early tomorrow morning. ‘Do you have any plans for tonight, darling?’

  Michelle wound a portion of superb fettuccine marinara onto her fork and held it poised halfway above her plate. ‘An early night, Maman.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  Did she? ‘You know how much effort Emilio and I put into each exhibition,’ Michelle said lightly. ‘There are so many things to check, and Emilio is particular with every detail.’

  ‘I know, darling.’

  Chantelle considered education as something important for Michelle to acquire. The private school, university, time abroad to study at the Sorbonne. Except she really wasn’t expected to do anything as a result of such qualification and experience.

  The Gallery had been viewed as a frivolous venture. Michelle’s partnership with Emilio Bonanno was expected to be in name only, something she quickly dispelled as she steadfastly refused to join her mother on the social circuit, confining herself to the occasional charity dinner or gala, much to Chantelle’s expressed disappointment.

  You could say, Michelle mused, that for the past three years her mother had graciously accepted that her own social proclivities were not shared by her daughter. However, it didn’t stop Chantelle from issuing frequent invitations, or, for the past year, indulging in subtle matchmaking attempts.

  ‘I think you’ve succeeded in making Jeremy jealous.’ Chantelle took a sip of mineral water, then set down the glass. ‘He wasn’t quite himself after you left last night. Has he telephoned you this morning?’

  ‘No,’ Michelle responded evenly. ‘I don’t particularly want to hear from him.’

  ‘Because of Nikos Alessandros?’

  ‘Nikos Alessandros has nothing whatsoever to do with it.’

  ‘He’s quite a catch, darling.’

  She chose to be deliberately obtuse. ‘Jeremy?’

  ‘Nikos,’ Chantelle corrected with a tolerant sigh.

  ‘As I have no intention of indulging in a fishing expedition, whether or not he’s a catch is totally irrelevant.’

  ‘Do you have time to do a
little window shopping?’ Chantelle queried. ‘I really think I could add something to my wardrobe.’

  To give her mother credit, she knew when to withdraw. ‘I promised Emilio I’d be at the Gallery at two-thirty.’

  Chantelle savoured the last mouthful of cos lettuce, then replaced her fork. ‘In that case, darling, do finish your pasta. We’ll share a coffee later, shall we?’

  Clothes, shoes, lingerie, perfume. Any one, or all four, could prove a guaranteed distraction, and Michelle accompanied her mother into one boutique after another in her quest to purchase.

  An hour and a half later Chantelle held no less than three brightly emblazoned carry bags, and there was no time left to share coffee.

  ‘See you tomorrow, darling. Don’t work too hard.’

  Michelle placed a light kiss on her mother’s cheek, then watched as Chantelle stowed her purchases in the boot before crossing to slide in behind the wheel of her Mercedes.

  It was almost two-thirty when Michelle entered the Gallery. A converted house comprising three levels, it had been completely renovated. Polished wooden floors gleamed with a deep honey stain, and the walls were individually painted in several different pale colours providing a diverse background for carefully placed exhibits. Skylights threw angled shafts of sunlight, accenting subtle shadows as the sun moved from east to west throughout the day.

  She experienced a degree of pride at the decor, and what she’d been able to achieve in the past three years.

  ‘Emilio?’

  She returned her keys to her bag and carefully closed the door behind her.

  ‘Up here, cara,’ an accented voice called from the mezzanine level. ‘Brett is with me.’

  A short flight of stairs led to the next level. Above that were Emilio’s private rooms.

  Michelle moved swiftly towards the upstairs studio where Brett’s exhibition was to be held. ‘Hi,’ she greeted warmly as she joined them. Both men glanced up, gave her a penetrating look, then switched their attention to the stack of paintings propped carefully against one wall.

  ‘Cara, stand over there, and tell us what you think,’ Emilio commanded.

  For the next four hours they worked side by side, then when the artist left they ordered in pizza, effected a few minor changes, satisfied themselves that every exhibit was strategically placed according to their original plan.