The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Her smile melted his heart. ‘Not for a moment. You and my mother make a formidable team.’

  He kissed the finger which held his rings, and praised his God for the good fortune in finding this woman, his wife.

  When he reflected on the circumstance, the chance meeting, and how close he had come to delegating his trip to Australia... It made his blood run cold to think he might never have met her, never experienced the joy of her love or had the opportunity to share her life.

  He had never seen her look as beautiful as she did today. The dress, the veil, they merely enhanced the true beauty of heart and soul that shone from within.

  A man could drown in the depths of those brilliant deep green eyes, and be forgiven for thinking he’d died and gone to heaven when those soft lips met his own.

  ‘Champagne?’

  Michelle looked at the man seated close beside her, and gloried m the look of him. There was inherent strength apparent, an indomitability possessed by few men. She wanted to reach out and trace the groove that slashed each cheek, trail the outline of his firm mouth, then have those muscular arms hold her close.

  ‘No.’ She leaned against him and laid her head into the curve of his shoulder.

  ‘Tired?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘We’ll order in room service, and catch an early night.’

  She smiled at the delightful vision that encouraged. ‘Sounds good to me.’

  Nikos lifted a hand and threaded his fingers through the length of her hair, creating a soothing massage that had a soporific effect.

  ‘Did I tell you we’re spending two weeks in Paris after I’ve concluded meetings in New York?’

  ‘Paris?’ The Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower, the ambience that was the soul of France.

  ‘Paris,’ he reiterated. ‘A delayed honeymoon.’

  ‘Now I know why I fell in love with you.’

  ‘My undoubted charm?’ he mocked lightly, and felt her fingers curl within his.

  ‘The essence that is Nikos Alessandros, regardless of wealth and possessions. You,’ she emphasised.

  ‘There is an analogy that states “’tis woman who maketh the man.”’

  ‘I think it’s reciprocal,’ she accorded with wicked amusement.

  Michelle lapsed into reflective silence.

  Everything had been neatly taken care of. She’d arranged to lease out her apartment; together, she and Emilio had interviewed several people to act as her replacement at the Gallery, and had finally settled on a competent knowledgeable young woman who would, unless Michelle was mistaken, give Emilio a run for his money.

  She intended to liaise with Emilio from wherever she happened to be in the world. New York, Paris, Athens, Rome. In this modern technological age, distance was no longer an important factor.

  It was almost dark when the Cadillac slid to a halt outside the main entrance to their hotel. Check-in took only minutes, then they rode the lift to their designated suite.

  Flowers, champagne on ice, fresh fruit and an assortment of Belgian chocolates were displayed for their enjoyment, and Michelle performed a sedate pirouette and went straight into Nikos’ waiting arms.

  His kiss was both gentle and possessive, a gift and a statement which she returned twofold.

  ‘Mmm,’ she teased. ‘I could get used to this.’

  ‘The hotel suite?’

  ‘You—me. Sharing and working at making a life together. Happiness, love.’

  ‘Always,’ Nikos vowed. His mouth fastened over hers, and he deepened the kiss, exulting in her response until their clothes were an unbearable restriction.

  ‘I guess we don’t get to eat for a while,’ Michelle murmured as she nibbled his ear.

  ‘Hungry?’

  ‘Only for you.’ Always, only you, she silently reiterated.

  Love. The most precious gift of all, and it was theirs for a lifetime.

  Greek’s Pride

  The Stefanos Marriage

  A Passionate Surrender

  The Greek Bridegroom

  Helen Bianchin

  The Stefanos Marriage

  Helen Bianchin

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE TRAFFIC WAS unusually heavy as Alyse eased her stylish Honda hatchback on to the Stirling highway. From this distance the many tall buildings etched against the city skyline appeared wreathed in a shimmering haze, and the sun’s piercing rays reflected against the sapphire depths of the Swan River as she followed its gentle curve into the heart of Perth.

  Parking took an age, and she uttered a silent prayer in celestial thanks that she wasn’t a regular city commuter as she competed with the early-morning populace striding the pavements to their individual places of work.

  A telephone call from her solicitor late the previous afternoon requesting her presence in his office as soon as possible was perplexing, to say the least, and a slight frown creased her brow as she entered the modern edifice of gleaming black marble and non-reflecting tinted glass that housed his professional suite.

  Gaining the foyer, Alyse stepped briskly towards a cluster of people waiting for any one of three lifts to transport them to their designated floor. As she drew close her attention was caught by a tall, dark-suited man standing slightly apart from the rest, and her eyes lingered with brief curiosity.

  Broad-chiselled facial bone-structure in profile provided an excellent foil for the patrician slope of his nose and rugged sculptured jaw. Well-groomed thick dark hair was professionally shaped and worn fractionally longer than the current trend.

  In his mid-thirties, she judged, aware there was something about his stance that portrayed an animalistic sense of power—a physical magnetism that was riveting.

  As if he sensed her scrutiny, he turned slightly, and she was shaken by the intensity of piercing eyes that were neither blue nor grey but a curious mixture of both.

  Suddenly she became supremely conscious of her projected image, aware that the fashionably tailored black suit worn with a demurely styled white silk blouse lent a professional air to her petite frame and shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair, which, combined with delicate-boned features, reflected poise and dignity.

  It took every ounce of control not to blink or lower her eyes beneath his slow analytical appraisal, and for some inexplicable reason she felt each separate nerve-ending tense as a primitive emotion stirred deep within her, alien and unguarded.

  For a few timeless seconds her eyes seemed locked with his, and she could have sworn the quickening beat of her heart must sound loud enough for anyone standing close by to hear. A reaction, she decided shakily, that was related to nothing more than recognition of a devastatingly sexual alchemy.

  No one man deserved to have such power at his command. Yet there was a lurking cynicism, a slight wariness apparent beneath the sophisticated veneer, almost as if he expected her to instigate an attempt at conversation, initiating a subtle invitation—to God knew what? Her bed?

  Innate pride tinged with defiance lent her eyes a fiery sparkle and provided an infinitesimal tilt to her chin as she checked the hands of the clock positioned high on the marble-slabbed wall.

  Two lifts reached the ground floor simultaneously, and she stood back, opting to enter the one closest her, aware too late that the man seemed intent on following in her wake.

  The lift filled rapidly, and she determinedly fixed her attention on the instrument panel, all too aware of the man standing within touching distance. Despite her four-inch stiletto heels he towered head and shoulders above her, and this close she could sense the slight aroma of his cologne.

  It was crazy to feel so positively stifled, yet she was supremely conscious of every single breath, every pulsebeat. It wasn’t a sensation she enjoyed, and she was intensely relieved when the lift slid to a halt at her chosen floor.

  Alyse’s gratitude at being freed from his unsettling presence was short-lived when she discovered that he too had vacated the lift and was seemingly intent on entering the same suit
e of offices.

  Moving towards Reception, she gave her name and that of the legal partner with whom she had an appointment, then selected a nearby chair. Reaching for a magazine, she flipped idly through the glossy pages with pretended interest, increasingly aware of the man standing negligently at ease on the edge of her peripheral vision.

  With a hand thrust into the trouser pocket of his impeccably tailored suit he looked every inch the powerful potentate, portraying a dramatic mesh of blatant masculinity and elemental ruthlessness. Someone it would be infinitely wiser to have as a friend than an enemy, Alyse perceived wryly.

  Something about him bothered her—an intrinsic familiarity she was unable to pinpoint. She knew they had never met, for he wasn’t a man you would forget in a hurry!

  ‘Miss Anderson? If you’d care to follow me, Mr Mannering will see you now.’

  Alyse followed the elegantly attired secretary down a wide, spacious corridor into a modern office offering a magnificent view of the city. Acknowledging the solicitor’s greeting, she selected one of three armchairs opposite his desk and graciously sank into its leather-cushioned depth.

  ‘There seems to be some urgency in your need to see me,’ she declared, taking time to cross one slim nylon-clad leg over the other as she looked askance at the faintly harassed-looking man viewing her with a degree of thoughtful speculation.

  ‘Indeed. A most unexpected development,’ Hugh Mannering conceded as he reached for a manilla folder and riffled through its contents. ‘These papers were delivered by courier yesterday afternoon, and followed an hour later by a telephone call from the man who instigated their dispatch.’

  A slight frown momentarily creased her brow. ‘I thought Antonia’s estate was quite straightforward.’

  ‘Her estate—yes. Custody of your sister’s son, however, is not.’

  Alyse felt something squeeze painfully in the region of her heart. ‘What do you mean?’

  He bent his head, and his spectacles slid fractionally down his nose, allowing him the opportunity to view her over the top of the frame. ‘I have copies of legal documentation by a delegate of the Stefanos family laying claim to Georg—’ he paused to consult the name outlined within the documented text ‘—Georgiou. Infant son of Georgiou Stavro Stefanos, born to Antonia Grace Anderson at a disclosed maternity hospital in suburban Perth just over two months ago.’

  Alyse paled with shock, her eyes large liquid pools mirroring disbelief as she looked at the solicitor with mounting horror. ‘They can’t do that!’ she protested in a voice that betrayed shaky incredulity.

  The man opposite appeared nonplussed. ‘Antonia died intestate, without written authority delegating legal responsibility for her son. As her only surviving relative, you naturally assumed the role of surrogate mother and guardian.’ He paused to clear his throat. ‘However, technically, the child is an orphan, and a decision would, in the normal course of events, be made by the Department of Family Services as to the manner in which the child is to be cared for, having regard to all relevant circumstances with the welfare of the child as the paramount consideration. An application to adopt the child can be lodged with the Department by any interested party.’ He paused to spare her a compassionate glance. ‘A matter I had every intention of bringing to your attention.’

  ‘Are you trying to say that my sister’s lover’s family have as much right to adopt her son as I do?’ Alyse demanded in a fervent need to reduce reiterated legalese to its simplest form.

  The solicitor’s expression mirrored his spoken response. ‘Yes.’

  ‘But that’s impossible! The clear facts of Georgiou’s chosen dissociation from Antonia’s letters would be a mark against him in any court of law.’

  Tears welled unbidden as Alyse thought of her sister. Six years Alyse’s junior, Antonia had been so carefree, so young. Too young at nineteen to suffer the consequences of a brief holiday romance abroad. Yet suffer she did, discovering within weeks of her return from an idyllic cruise of the Greek Islands that her capricious behaviour had resulted in pregnancy.

  A letter dispatched at once to an address in Athens brought no response, nor, several weeks later, with the aid of a translator, did attempted telephone contact, for all that could be determined was that the number they sought was ex-directory and therefore unobtainable.

  Truly a love-child, little Georgiou had survived by his mother’s refusal to consider abortion, and he’d entered the world after a long struggle that had had the medics in attendance opting for surgical intervention via emergency Caesarian section. Fate, however, had delivered an incredibly cruel blow when complications which had plagued Antonia since giving birth had brought on a sudden collapse, followed within days by her tragic death.

  Shattered beyond belief, Alyse had stoically attended to all the relevant arrangements, and employed a manageress for her childrenswear boutique during those first terrible weeks until she could arrange for a reliable babysitter.

  Now, she had organised a satisfactory routine whereby a babysitter came in each morning, and the boutique was managed during the afternoon hours, thus ensuring that Alyse could spend as much time as possible with a young baby whose imposing Christian name had long since been affectionately shortened to Georg.

  ‘I can understand your concern, Alyse. Mr Stefanos has offered to explain, personally, the reasons supporting his claim.’

  Undisguised surprise widened her eyes, followed immediately by a degree of incredible anger. ‘He’s actually dared to come here in person, after all this time?’

  Hugh Mannering regarded her carefully for several seconds, then offered slowly, ‘It’s in your own interest to at least listen to what he has to say.’

  The solicitor depressed a button on the intercom console and issued his secretary with appropriate instructions.

  Within a matter of seconds the door opened, and the tall compelling-looking man who had succeeded in shattering Alyse’s composure only half an hour earlier entered the room.

  She felt her stomach lurch, then contract in inexplicable apprehension. Who was he? She had seen sufficient of Antonia’s holiday snapshots to be certain that the reflection depicted on celluloid and this man were not one and the same.

  Hugh Mannering made the introduction with polite civility. ‘Alyse Anderson—Aleksi Stefanos.’

  ‘Miss Anderson.’ The acknowledgment was voiced in a deep, faintly accented drawl, and an icy chill feathered across the surface of her skin. His eyes swept her features in raking appraisal, then locked with her startled gaze for a brief second before he directed his attention to the man opposite.

  ‘I presume you have informed Miss Anderson of the relevant details?’

  ‘Perhaps Mr Stefanos,’ Alyse stressed carefully as he folded his lengthy frame into an adjacent chair, ‘would care to reveal precisely his connection with the father of my sister’s child?’

  There could be no doubt she intended war, and it irked her incredibly that he was amused beneath the thin veneer of politeness evident.

  ‘Forgive me, Miss Anderson.’ He inclined his head cynically. ‘I am Georgiou’s elder brother—stepbrother, to be exact.’

  ‘One presumes Georg,’ she paused, deliberately refusing to give the name its correct pronunciation, ‘dispatched you as his emissary?’

  The pale eyes hardened until they resembled obsidian grey shards. ‘Georgiou is dead. A horrific car accident last year left him a paraplegic, and complications took their final toll little more than a month ago.’

  Alyse’s mind reeled at the implication of a bizarre coincidence as Aleksi Stefanos went on to reveal in a voice devoid of any emotion,

  ‘My family had no knowledge of your sister’s existence, let alone her predicament, until several carefully concealed letters were discovered a week after Georgiou’s death. Time was needed to verify certain facts before suitable arrangements could be made.’

  ‘What arrangements?’

  ‘The child will, of course, be brought up a Stefa
nos.’

  Alyse’s eyes blazed with brilliant fire. ‘He most certainly will not!’

  ‘You contest my right to do so?’

  ‘Your right?’ she retorted deliberately.

  ‘Indeed. As he is the first male Stefanos grandchild, there can be no question of his rightful heritage.’

  ‘Georg’s birth is registered as Georgiou Anderson, Mr Stefanos. And as Antonia’s closest relative I have accepted sole responsibility for her son.’

  He appeared to be visibly unmoved, and her chin lifted fractionally as she held his glittering gaze.

  ‘Verification of blood groupings has established beyond doubt that my brother is the father of your sister’s child,’ he revealed with chilling cynicism.

  Alyse felt the rush of anger as it consumed her slim frame. How dared he even suggest otherwise! ‘What did you imagine Antonia had in mind when she dispatched those letters begging for help, Mr Stefanos?’ she managed in icy rage. ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘The thought did occur.’

  ‘Why,’ she breathed with barely controlled fury, ‘you insulting, arrogant—’

  ‘Please continue,’ he invited as she faltered to a speechless halt.

  ‘Bastard!’ she threw with disdain, and glimpsed an inflexible hardness in the depths of his eyes. ‘Antonia had no need of money—your brother’s, or that of his family. As Mr Mannering will confirm, both my sister and I benefited financially when our parents died some years ago—sufficient to ensure we could afford a comfortable lifestyle without the need to supplement it in any way other than with a weekly wage. On leaving school, Antonia joined me in business.’ She had never felt so positively enraged in her life. ‘Your brother, Mr Stefanos,’ she stressed, ‘proposed marriage during their shared holiday, and promised to send for Antonia within a week of his return to Athens for the express purpose of meeting his family and announcing their engagement.’ Her eyes clouded with pain as she vividly recalled the effect Georgiou’s subsequent rejection had had on her sister.