The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Something she dared not begin to believe might be hope stirred deep within. ‘I don’t think I can.’

  His lips touched hers with the lightness of a butterfly’s wing. ‘Try.’

  Dared she? No matter how she voiced it, the words would sound calculatingly cold, and afterwards there could be no retraction, only expiation when mere explanation might not be enough.

  ‘Georg deserves to have you as his father,’ she faltered at last, unsure whether she had the courage to continue, and something she could have sworn was pain darkened his eyes.

  There was a strained silence, then Aleksi drawled with dangerous silkiness, ‘You don’t consider Georg deserves to have you as his mother?’

  Alyse felt as if she was treading on eggshells, yet now she’d started there was nothing else for her but to go on. ‘I love him,’ she burst out. ‘How can you doubt that?’

  ‘Your love for him isn’t in question.’

  The breath caught in her throat, then escaped in a ragged expulsion as her features paled, and she actually swayed, fearing she might fall. Somehow the thought that Aleksi might know the extent of her emotions made her feel physically ill. She had to get away from him, if only temporarily. ‘Please—let me go,’ she begged.

  ‘Never.’

  There was an inflexibility apparent that made her feel terribly afraid.

  ‘I think you’ll reconsider when you realise the only reason I entered into marriage was the prospect of obtaining a divorce and legal custody of Georg,’ she began shakily, glimpsing a muscle tense along the edge of his jaw as she fought for the strength to continue. ‘Almost right from the beginning I plotted the ultimate revenge,’ she continued unsteadily, struggling to find the right words, aware that now she’d started, she couldn’t stop. ‘Two years, that’s all I figured it would take before I could return with Georg to Perth.’

  His silence was enervating, and after what seemed an interminable length of time she willed him to say something—anything.

  ‘And now?’

  ‘What would you have me say?’ she queried in anguish.

  ‘Try—honesty.’

  She was weeping inside, drenched by her own silent tears. ‘So you can have your revenge, Aleksi?’

  ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘Oh, why do you have to answer every question with another?’ she beseeched, sorely tried.

  ‘Because I want it all.’

  It was too soon to bare her soul. Much too soon. Love was supposed to happen gradually, not all at once. How was it possible to know if it was love in only a matter of weeks?

  ‘I can’t,’ she denied in a tortured whisper.

  Aleksi was silent for so long she felt almost afraid, then when he spoke his voice was edged with quiet determination.

  ‘As soon as Rachel and Alexandros return to the Coast, we’ll fly to Athens.’

  A startled gasp left her lips, and he pressed a finger against them to still the words in protest.

  ‘My parents will delight in having Georg to themselves for a while.’

  ‘Do you always arrange things on the spur of the moment?’ she questioned weakly, unable to argue.

  ‘Are you saying you don’t want to go?’

  She stood hesitantly unsure for a few timeless seconds. ‘No,’ she whispered at last, aware with frightening certainty that her fate had been irreversibly sealed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE DAYS THAT followed assumed a dreamlike quality. There was a gentleness apparent, a sense of almost secret anticipation that was fuelled by the touch of the hand, the exquisiteness of their lovemaking.

  They accepted few invitations, although when they did venture out Alyse was conscious of the overt, barely concealed glances, the thinly disguised speculative gossip as Aleksi rarely let her out of his sight. At home she took delight in arranging gourmet dinners, with candlelight and wine, loving the long, leisurely conversation shared as they talked about anything and everything.

  Two days after Rachel and Alexandros arrived back from Sydney Alyse and Aleksi flew out to Athens, spending two days in that ancient city before chartering a helicopter to a small remote island set like a shimmering jewel in the midst of a translucent emerald sea.

  There were grapevines, orange trees, olive groves, a few goats, a dog, all lovingly tended by an elderly couple who greeted Aleksi fondly before boarding the waiting helicopter that would take them to visit relatives on another island.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Alyse breathed as Aleksi led her towards an old, concrete-plastered, whitewashed house set on high ground.

  Built around an inner courtyard, the rooms were large and airy and filled with antique furniture. Rich Persian rugs covered highly polished floors, and there were several soft-cushioned sofas in the lounge.

  ‘As a child, I spent most of my holidays here,’ Aleksi revealed.

  ‘Did you ever return to the island after you emigrated to Australia?’ Alyse asked, wandering around the large lounge at will, pausing slightly now and then to study one of the several framed family photographs resting atop items of furniture.

  ‘Several times.’

  She turned to look at him, seeing the inherent strength apparent, the sheer physical attraction, and a shadow fleetingly darkened her eyes at the number of women who had surely formed part of his life.

  ‘To join Rachel and Alexandros, and Georgiou,’ he added softly. ‘This island has always been a family retreat.’

  She summoned a bright smile that hid a slight degree of pain. ‘It’s so warm. Shall we swim before dinner?’

  He was silent for a brief second, then he crossed to where she stood and caught hold of her hand. ‘Why not?’

  The water was crystal-clear and deliciously cool. Alyse challenged Aleksi to a race across the width of the tiny bay, and he merely gave a tigerish laugh as he deliberately let her win. In retaliation she scooped up handfuls of water and threw them at his chest, then shrieked when he pulled her into his arms.

  For a moment she struggled, caught up in a playful game, then she slowly stilled, her expression hesitantly serious.

  There were so many things she wanted to say, words she needed to hear, yet she was strangely afraid to begin.

  A faint edge of tension was evident beneath the surface of Aleksi’s control, and she looked at him in silence, her eyes wide and unblinking.

  Remembering his lovemaking, the tenderness, the passion … She was tired of fighting, and stubborn pride no longer seemed to matter any more.

  ‘Please help me,’ she implored in a husky whisper.

  He lifted a hand to her lips and traced a finger across the generous lower curve. ‘Why not start at the beginning?’

  Her mouth quivered uncontrollably, and she hesitated, unsure now that she had instigated the moment of truth if she possessed the courage to continue. It would be terrible if he was merely amused by a confession of her emotions. Impossible, if he didn’t return them to quite the same degree.

  ‘You were everything I disliked in a man,’ she ventured unsteadily, her eyes silently beseeching him to understand. ‘Overbearing, demanding, and far too self-assured. I told myself I hated you, and at first I did. Then I began to hate myself for being caught up in the maelstrom of physical sensation you were able to arouse.’ She drew a deep breath and released it shakily. ‘I didn’t want to feel like that, and I had to fight very hard not to fall in love with you.’ A soft, tremulous smile parted her lips. ‘It wasn’t a very successful battle, for I lost miserably.’

  The tension left him in one long shuddering sigh as he gathered her close, then his mouth possessed hers, gently and with such an incredibly sweet hunger she thought she might actually die from sheer sensation, and when at last he lifted his head she could only stand in silent bemusement.

  ‘Repeat those last few words again,’ he commanded quietly.

  Her beautiful blue eyes misted, and her lips trembled fractionally as she whispered, ‘I love you.’

  ‘I had begu
n to despair that you’d ever admit it,’ Aleksi said huskily as he bent low to bestow a lingering kiss to her mouth, then he caught her close, holding her as if he never intended to let her go.

  ‘Can’t you feel what you do to me?’ His smile held a certain wryness he made no attempt to hide. ‘I travelled to Perth with one plan firmly in mind,’ he revealed slowly. ‘To get Georg at whatever cost. Yet there you were; so fiercely protective of the baby I’d vowed to adopt as my son, adamantly refusing to give him up when I was so sure you would be only too eager to hand over responsibility and get on with your own life.’ He brushed his lips across her cheek, then pressed each eyelid closed in turn before trailing a slow evocative path down to the edge of her mouth. ‘There was no woman of my acquaintance that I could envisage assuming a motherly role to an orphan child, and faced with your blatant animosity it seemed almost poetic justice to take you as my wife and tame your splendid pride. What I didn’t bargain for was the involvement of my emotions.’ His smile held such incredible warmth, she felt treacherously weak. ‘You were a pocket spitfire, opposing me at every turn. Yet you were so angelic with Rachel and my father, charming to my friends, and I found myself deliberately using every ploy I could engineer in an attempt to break down your defences.’

  He paused, taking time to bestow a long, lingering kiss that melted her very bones. His arms held her close, yet she stood strangely still, waiting, wanting so desperately for him to say the words she longed to hear.

  ‘There were times when I was tempted to kill you for being so blind. I love you. Love,’ he reassured her with a gentle shake.

  Joy unfurled itself and spread with tumultuous speed through her veins, and she reached up to lock her hands behind his neck, pulling his head down to hers as she initiated a kiss so incredibly sweet it took only seconds before he deepened it with passionate intensity.

  When at last he lifted his head, she could only press her cheek into the curve of his shoulder as he slid an arm beneath her knees and lifted her high against his chest.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ she whispered.

  ‘Indoors.’ Aleksi’s eyes were warm. ‘To bed.’

  A soft laugh bubbled from her throat as he carried her into the bedroom, and her eyes sparkled with witching promise as he let her slide down to stand on her feet.

  Unable to resist teasing him a little, she protested softly, ‘I’m not in the least tired.’ Linking her hands together at his nape, she reached up and touched her lips against the corner of his mouth.

  He lifted a hand and brushed a stray tendril of hair back behind her ear with incredible gentleness. His smile was warm and infinitely seductive, and she stood looking at him, seeing the strength of purpose etched on those dark arresting features, the passion evident in the depth of his eyes.

  A slight tremor shook her slender frame as she reached out and slowly removed his briefs, then her own before unfastening the clip of her bikini bra. Collecting a towel, she carefully blotted every trace of sea-water from his body, then she stood still as he took the towel from her hand and gently returned the favour before letting the towel fall to the floor.

  Without a word she reached up and pulled his head down to hers, and her lips brushed across his own, trembling a little as she instigated a hesitant exploration, then she drew him towards the bed and pulled him down beside her.

  ‘Please make love to me.’ The plea left her lips as scarcely more than a whisper, and her mouth parted in welcome to his as he wrought a devastating assault on her senses, plundering until she clung to him unashamedly.

  It seemed an age before he broke the kiss, and she almost died at the wealth of deep slumbrous passion evident.

  ‘I intend to,’ he told her gently. ‘For the rest of my life.’

  A Passionate Surrender

  Helen Bianchin

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘CRISTOS.’

  The husky imprecation held an angry silkiness as Luc Dimitriades tossed the faxed report down onto his desk.

  Detailed surveillance of his wife’s movements during the past nine days revealed few surprises, although one caused his eyes to narrow with contemplative suspicion.

  Reflex action had him reaching for his cellphone and keying in a series of digits.

  ‘Put me through to Marc Andreas,’ he instructed curtly as soon as the receptionist picked up.

  ‘Doctor has a patient with him.’

  ‘It’s urgent,’ he said without compunction, and identified himself. ‘He’ll take the call.’

  Minutes later he had official confirmation, and his expression hardened as he reached for the inter-office phone.

  Clear, concise instructions set his plan in motion, and after replacing the receiver he stood to his feet and crossed to the large plate-glass window.

  The city and harbour spread out before him in splendid panorama. Sparkling blue sea, tall office buildings in varying height and design of concrete, steel and glass. Expensive two- and three-level mansions nestled between trees and shrubbery on a carved-out rock-face overlooking the inner harbour.

  Small craft moored in safe anchorage dotting inlets and coves. The bustling water-cats and ferries vying with a huge tanker being guided by tugboats into berth. The familiar arch of Sydney’s bridge, the distinctive architecture of the opera house.

  It was a familiar sight. Yet today he didn’t register the view. Nor the expensive furnishings, the genuine art gracing the walls of his luxurious office.

  There was no pleasure of the scene evident in his broad, chiselled features, little emotion in his dark brooding gaze as he lapsed into reflective thought.

  A brief marriage in his early twenties to his childhood sweetheart had ended tragically with Emma’s accidental death mere months after their wedding. Grief-stricken, he’d thrown himself into work, putting in long hours and achieving untold success in the business arena.

  Remarriage wasn’t on his agenda. He’d loved and lost, and didn’t want to lose his heart again. For the past ten years he’d enjoyed a few selective relationships…no commitments, no empty words promising permanence.

  Until Ana.

  The daughter of one of his executives, she’d often partnered her widowed father to various functions. She was attractive, in her mid-twenties, intelligent and she possessed a delightful sense of humour. What was more, she wasn’t in awe of him, his status or his wealth.

  They’d dated a few months, enjoyed each other in bed, and for the first time since Emma’s death there was an awareness of his own mortality, his accumulated wealth…the need to share his life with one woman, have children with her, forge a future together.

  Who better than Ana in the role of his wife? He cared for her, she was eminently suitable, and he could provide her with an enviable lifestyle.

  The wedding had been a low-key affair attended by immediate family, followed by a few weeks in Hawaii, after which they settled easily into day-today life.

  A year on, the only blight on the horizon was Celine Moore, an ex-mistress, very recently divorced and hell-bent on causing mischief.

  Luc’s mouth tightened into a grim line as he recalled the few occasions when Celine had deliberately orchestrated a compromising situation. Incidents he’d dealt with with skilled diplomacy and the warning to desist. Something Celine refused to heed, and her persistence became an issue Ana found difficult to condone.

  Less than two weeks ago an argument over breakfast had ended badly, and he’d arrived home that evening to discover Ana had packed a bag and taken a flight to the Gold Coast.

  The note she’d left him declared a need for a few days away to think things through.

  Except a few days had become nine, and the latter thirty-six hours of which had resulted in unreturned calls from voice-mail and text messages left on her cellphone.

  Her father, upon confrontation, swore she wasn’t answering his messages either, and he had every reason not to lie.

  Rebekah, her younger sister and business partner, also disav
owed any knowledge of Ana’s whereabouts, other than to cite a holiday resort on the Gold Coast, from which enquiries revealed Ana had checked out within a few days of registering.

  Hence Luc had no hesitation in engaging the services of a private detective, whose verbal updates were now detailed in a faxed report.

  Ana’s actions merely confirmed Luc’s suspicions. A newly leased apartment and employment weren’t conducive to a temporary break.

  However, he could deal with that, and numerous scenarios of just how he’d deal with it occupied his mind. Foremost of which was the intention to haul her over his shoulder and bring her home.

  Something, he decided grimly, he should have done within a day or two of her leaving, instead of allowing her the distance, time and space she’d vowed so desperately to need. Yet she’d done the unexpected by attempting to cover her tracks…without success.

  Surely she couldn’t believe he’d let her separation bid drag on for long?

  The inter-office phone rang, and he crossed to the desk to take the call.

  ‘The pilot is on standby, and your car is out front.’

  Smooth efficiency came with a high-priced salary.

  ‘Petros will have a bag packed by the time you reach the house.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  An hour later Luc boarded the private jet, sank into one of four plush armchairs, and prepared for take-off.

  ‘Go take a lunch break.’

  Ana attached the ribbon, tied a deft bow, utilised the slim edge of the scissors to curl the ribbon ends, then set the bouquet of roses to one side.

  It was her third day as an assistant at a florist shop in the trendy suburb of Main Beach. She’d entered the shop on a whim, bought flowers to brighten her newly acquired apartment, and, noticing the owner’s harassed expression, she’d jokingly asked if the owner required help, citing her experience as a florist. What she didn’t impart was that she co-owned her own business in an upmarket Sydney suburb.

  Incredible as it seemed, acquiring a job had been as simple as being in the right place at the right time.