The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  His eyes were dark and infinitely dangerous. ‘You walked out on a legal consultation this morning, and now you refuse to discuss Georg’s welfare.’ It was his turn to subject her to a raking scrutiny, his smile wholly cynical as he glimpsed the tide of colour wash over her cheeks. ‘I imagine the police will be sympathetic.’

  ‘They’ll also throw you out!’

  ‘They’ll suggest I leave,’ he corrected. ‘And conduct any further discussion with you via a legal representative.’ He paused, and his eyes were hard and obdurate, reflecting inflexible masculine strength of will. ‘My stepbrother’s child has a legal right to his stake in the Stefanos heritage. It is what Georgiou would have wanted; what my father wants. If Antonia were still alive,’ he paused deliberately, ‘I believe she would have wanted her son to be acknowledged by her lover’s family, and to receive the financial benefits and recognition that are his due.’

  Alyse’s eyes sharpened as their depths became clearly defined. ‘I intend having you and your family fully investigated.’

  As a possible threat, it failed dismally, for he merely acknowledged her words with a cynical smile.

  ‘Allow me to give you the relevant information ahead of official confirmation.’

  Beneath the edge of mockery was a degree of inimical anger that feathered fear down the length of her spine and raised all her fine body hairs in protective self-defence.

  ‘My father and stepmother reside in Athens. I, however, left my native Greece at the relatively young age of twenty to settle in Australia. Initially Sydney—working as a builder’s labourer seven days a week, contractual obligations and weather permitting. After three years I moved to the Gold Coast, where I bought land and built houses before venturing into building construction. The ensuing thirteen years have escalated my company to a prestigious position within the building industry. Without doubt,’ he continued drily, ‘I possess sufficient independent wealth to garner instant approval with the Family Services Department, and there are no mythical skeletons in any one of my closets.’

  ‘Hardly a complete résumé, Mr Stefanos,’ Alyse discounted scathingly.

  ‘How far back into the past do you wish to delve? Does the fact that my mother was Polish, hence my unusual Christian name, condemn me? That she died when I was very young? Is that sufficient, Miss Anderson?’ One eyebrow slanted above dark eyes heavily opaque with the rigors of memory. ‘Perhaps you’d like to hear that a sweet, gentle Englishwoman eased my father’s pain, married him and bore a male child without displacing my position as the eldest Stefanos son or alienating my father’s affection for me in any way. She became the mother I’d never known, and we keep in constant touch, exchanging visits at least once each year.’

  ‘And now that Georgiou is dead, they want to play an integral part in Georg’s life.’ Alyse uttered the words in a curiously flat voice, and was unprepared for the whip-hard anger in his.

  ‘Are you so impossibly selfish that you fail to understand what Georg’s existence means to them?’ he demanded.

  ‘I know what it means to me,’ she cried out, sorely tried. ‘If Antonia hadn’t written to Georgiou, if—’

  ‘Don’t colour facts with unfounded prejudice,’ Aleksi Stefanos cut in harshly. ‘The letters exist as irrefutable proof. I intend assuming the role of Georg’s father,’ he pursued, his voice assuming a deadly softness. ‘Don’t doubt it for a minute.’

  ‘Whereas I insist on the role of mother!’ she blazed.

  ‘You’re not prepared to compromise in any way?’

  ‘Compromise? Are you prepared to compromise? Why should it be me who has to forgo the opportunity of happiness in a marriage of my choice?’

  His eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘Is there a contender waiting in the wings, Miss Anderson? Someone sufficiently foolish to think he can conquer your fiery spirit and win?’

  ‘What makes you think you could?’

  His eyes gleamed with latent humour, then dropped lazily to trace the full curve of her lips before slipping down to the swell of her breasts, assessing each feature with such diabolical ease that she found it impossible to still the faint flush of pink that coloured her cheeks.

  ‘I possess sufficient experience with women to know you’d resent any form of male domination, yet conversely refuse to condone a spineless wimp who gave way to your every demand.’ Alyse stood speechless as his gaze wandered back to meet hers and hold it with indolent amusement. A sensation not unlike excitement uncoiled deep within her, and spread throughout her body with the speed of liquid fire, turning all the highly sensitised nerve-endings into a state of sensual awareness so intense it made her feel exhilaratingly alive, yet at the same time terribly afraid.

  ‘The man in my life most certainly won’t be you, Mr Stefanos!’ she snapped.

  ‘One of the country’s best legal brains has given me his assurance that my adoption application will succeed,’ he revealed. ‘This morning’s consultation in Hugh Mannering’s office was arranged because I felt honour-bound to personally present facts regarding my stepbrother’s accident and subsequent death. As to Georg’s future …’ he paused significantly ‘… the only way you can have any part in it will be to opt for marriage—to me.’

  ‘You alternately threaten, employ a form of emotional blackmail, attempt to buy me off, then offer a marriage convenient only to you?’ The slow-boiling anger which had simmered long beneath the surface of her control finally bubbled over. ‘Go to hell, Mr Stefanos!’

  The atmosphere in the lounge was so highly charged, Alyse almost expected it to explode into combustible flame.

  He looked at her for what seemed an age, then his voice sounded cold—as icy as an Arctic gale. ‘Think carefully before you burn any figurative bridges,’ he warned silkily.

  Alyse glared at him balefully, hating him, abhorring what he represented. ‘Get out of my house. Now!’ Taut, incredibly angry words that bordered close on the edge of rage as she moved swiftly from the room.

  In the foyer she reached for the catch securing the front door, then gasped out loud as Aleksi Stefanos caught hold of her shoulders and turned her towards him with galling ease.

  One glance at those compelling features was sufficient to determine his intention, and she struggled fruitlessly against his sheer strength.

  ‘The temptation to teach you the lesson I consider you deserve is almost irresistible,’ he drawled.

  His anger was clearly evident, and, hopelessly helpless, Alyse clenched her jaw tight as his head lowered in an attempt to avoid his mouth, only to cry out as he caught the soft inner tissue with his teeth, and she had no defence against the plundering force of a kiss so intense that the muscles of her throat, her jaw, screamed in silent agony as he completed a ravaging possession that violated her very soul.

  Just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over, and she sank back against the wall, her eyes stricken with silent hatred.

  At that precise moment a loud wailing cry erupted from the bedroom, and Alyse turned blindly towards the nursery. Crossing to Georg’s cot, she leant forward and lifted his tiny body into her arms. He smelled of soap and talc, and his baby cheek was satin-smooth against her own as she cradled him close.

  His cries subsided into muffled hiccups, bringing stupid tears to her own eyes, and she blinked rapidly to still their flow, aware within seconds that her efforts were in vain as they spilled and began trickling ignominiously down each cheek.

  This morning life had been so simple. Yet within twelve hours Aleksi Stefanos had managed to turn it upside down.

  She turned as the subject of her most dire thoughts followed her into the nursery.

  ‘You bastard!’ she berated him in a painful whisper. ‘Have you no scruples?’

  ‘None whatsoever where Georg is concerned,’ Aleksi Stefanos drawled dispassionately.

  ‘What you’re suggesting amounts to emotional blackmail, damn you!’ Her voice emerged as a vengeful undertone, and Georg gave a slight whimpering cry, then settl
ed as she gently rocked his small body in her arms.

  ‘What I’m suggesting,’ Aleksi Stefanos declared hardily, ‘is parents, a home, and a stable existence for Georg.’

  ‘Where’s the stability in two people who don’t even like each other?’ Damn him—who did he think he was, for heaven’s sake?

  An icy shiver shook her slim frame in the knowledge that he knew precisely who he was and the extent of his own power.

  ‘The alternatives are specific,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘the choice entirely your own. You have until tomorrow evening to give me your answer.’

  She was dimly aware that he moved past her to open the door, and it was that final, almost silent click as he closed it behind him that made her frighteningly aware of his control.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ALYSE STOOD WHERE she was for what seemed an age before settling Georg into his cot, then she moved slowly to the front of the house, secured the lock and made for her own room, where she undressed and slid wearily into bed.

  Damn. Damn him, she cursed vengefully. Aleksi Stefanos had no right to place her in such an invidious position. For the first time she felt consumed with doubt, apprehensive to such a degree that it was impossible to relax.

  Images flooded her mind, each one more painful than the last, and she closed her eyes tightly against the bitter knowledge that adoption was absolute, so final.

  If Aleksi Stefanos was successful with his application, he would remove Georg several thousand kilometres away to the opposite side of the continent. To see him at all, she would have to rely on Aleksi Stefanos’s generosity, and it would be difficult with her business interests, to be able to arrange a trip to Queensland’s Gold Coast more than once a year.

  The mere thought brought tears to her eyes, and she cursed afresh. At least divorced parents got to share custody of their children.

  However, to become divorced, one first had to marry, Alyse mused in contemplative speculation. Maybe … No, it wasn’t possible. Or was it? How long would the marriage have to last? A year? Surely no longer than two, she decided, her mind racing.

  If she did opt for marriage, she could have a contract drawn up giving Miriam a percentage of the profits, thus providing an incentive ensuring that the boutique continued to trade at a premium. As far as the house was concerned, she could lease it out. Her car would have to be sold, but that wouldn’t matter, for she could easily buy another on her return.

  A calculating gleam darkened her blue eyes, and a tiny smile curved her generous mouth.

  When Aleksi Stefanos contacted her tomorrow, he would discover that she was surprisingly amenable. It was infinitely worth a year or two out of her life if it meant she got to keep Georg.

  For the first time in the six weeks since Antonia’s funeral, Alyse slept without a care to disturb her subconscious, and woke refreshed, eager to start the new day.

  With so much to attend to, she drew up a list, and simply crossed every item off as she dealt with it.

  A call to Hugh Mannering determined that marriage to Aleksi Stefanos would reduce the adoption proceedings to a mere formality, and he expressed delight that she was taking such a sensible step.

  Alyse responded with a tongue-in-cheek agreement, and chose not to alarm her legal adviser by revealing the true extent of her plans.

  Miriam was delighted to be promoted, and proved more than willing to assume management of the boutique for as long as necessary.

  By late afternoon Alyse was able to relax, sure that everything was in place.

  A light evening meal of cold chicken and salad provided an easy alternative to cooking, and she followed it with fresh fruit.

  The telephone rang twice between seven and eight o’clock, and neither call was from Aleksi Stefanos.

  A cloud of doubt dulled her eyes as she pondered the irony of him not ringing at all, only to start visibly when the insistent burr of the phone sounded shortly before nine.

  It had to be him, and she let it peal five times in a fit of sheer perversity before picking up the receiver.

  ‘Alyse?’ His slightly accented drawl was unmistakable, his use of her Christian name an impossible liberty, she decided as she attempted to still a sense of foreboding. ‘Have you reached a decision?’

  He certainly didn’t believe in wasting words! A tinge of anger heightened her mood. Careful, a tiny voice cautioned. You don’t want to blow it. ‘Yes.’

  There was silence for a few seconds as he waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t he queried with ill-concealed mockery, ‘Must I draw it from you like blood from a stone?’

  If it wasn’t for Georg she’d slam down the receiver without the slightest compunction. ‘I’ve considered your proposition,’ she said tightly, ‘and I’ve decided to accept.’ There, she’d actually said it.

  ‘My parents arrive from Athens at the beginning of next week,’ Aleksi Stefanos told her without preamble, and she would have given anything to ruffle that imperturbable composure. ‘They’re naturally eager to see Georg, and there’s no reason why you both shouldn’t fly back to Queensland with me on Friday.’

  ‘I can’t possibly be ready by then,’ Alyse protested, visibly shaken at the way he was assuming control.

  ‘Professional packers will ensure that everything in the house is satisfactorily dealt with,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Whatever you need can be air-freighted to the Coast, and the rest put into storage. The house can be put into the hands of a competent letting agent, and managerial control arranged at the boutique. I suggest you instruct Hugh Mannering to draw up a power of attorney and liaise with him. All it takes is a few phone calls. To satisfy the Family Services Department, it would be advisable if a civil marriage ceremony is held here in Perth—Thursday, if it can be arranged. Relevant documentation regarding Georg’s adoption can then be signed ready for lodgement, leaving us free of any added complications in removing him from the State.’

  ‘Dear heaven,’ Alyse breathed unsteadily, ‘you don’t believe in wasting time!’

  ‘I’ll give you a contact number where I can be reached,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, relaying a set of digits she had to ask him to repeat as she quickly wrote them down. ‘Any questions?’

  ‘At least ten,’ she declared with unaccustomed sarcasm.

  ‘They can wait until dinner tomorrow evening.’

  ‘With everything I have to do, I won’t have time for dinner!’

  ‘I’ll collect you at six.’

  There was a click as he replaced the receiver, and Alyse felt like screaming in vexation. What had she expected—small talk? Revenge, she decided, would be very sweet!

  Removing the receiver, she placed a call to Miriam Stanford and asked if the manageress could work the entire day tomorrow, informed her briefly of her intended plans and promised she would be in at some stage during the afternoon.

  Alyse slept badly, and rose just after dawn determined to complete a host of household chores, allowing herself no respite as she conducted a thorough spring-clean of the large old home, stoically forcing herself to sort through Antonia’s possessions—something she’d continually put off until now.

  It was incredibly sad, for there were so many things to remind her of the happy young girl Antonia had been, the affection and laughter they had shared. Impossible to really believe she was no longer alive, when celluloid prints and vivid memories provided such a painful reminder.

  Despite her resolve to push Aleksi Stefanos to the edge of her mind, it was impossible not to feel mildly apprehensive as she settled Georg with the babysitter before retiring to the bathroom to shower, then dress for the evening ahead.

  Selecting an elegant slim-fitting off-the-shoulder gown in deep sapphire blue, she teamed it with black stiletto-heeled shoes, tended to her make-up with painstaking care, then brushed her shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair into its customary smooth bell before adding a generous touch of Van Cleef & Arpels’ Gem to several pulsebeats. Her on
ly added jewellery was a diamond pendant, matching earstuds and bracelet.

  At five minutes to six she checked last-minute details with the babysitter, brushed a fleeting kiss to Georg’s forehead, then moved towards the lounge, aware of a gnawing nervousness in the pit of her stomach with every step she took.

  Now that she was faced with seeing him again, she began to wonder if she was slightly mad to toy with a man of Aleksi Stefanos’s calibre. He undoubtedly ate little girls for breakfast, and although she was no naïve nineteen-year-old, her experience with men had been pitifully limited to platonic friendships that had affection as their base rather than any degree of passion. It hardly equipped her to act a required part.

  Yet act she must—at least until she had his wedding ring on her finger. Afterwards she could set the rules by which the marriage would continue, and for how long.

  Punctuality was obviously one of his more admirable traits, for just as she reached the foyer there was the soft sound of car tyres on the gravel drive followed almost immediately by the muted clunk of a car door closing.

  At once she was conscious of an elevated nervous tension, and it took every ounce of courage to move forward and open the door.

  Standing in its aperture, Aleksi Stefanos looked the epitome of male sophistication attired in a formal dark suit. Exuding more than his fair share of dynamic masculinity, he had an element of tensile steel beneath the polite veneer, a formidableness and sense of purpose that was daunting.

  ‘Alyse.’ There was an edge of mockery apparent, and she met his gaze with fearless disregard, blindly ignoring the increased tempo of her heartbeat.

  Just a glance at the sensual curve of his mouth was enough to remember how it felt to be positively absorbed by the man, for no one in their wildest imagination could term what he had subjected her to as merely a kiss.

  Conscious of his narrowed gaze, Alyse stood aside to allow him entry, acknowledging politely, ‘Mr Stefanos.’

  ‘Surely you can force yourself to say Aleksi?’ he chastised with ill-concealed mockery.