‘I shall probably throw something at him soon.’
A bubble of laughter rose in Gabbi’s throat. ‘Should I warn him, do you think?’
‘Let it be a surprise.’
Dominic was a man of Benedict’s calibre. Dynamic, compelling, electrifying. And mercilessly indomitable in his pursuit of the seemingly unattainable. Gabbi was unsure how much longer Dominic would allow Francesca to maintain an upper hand. The outcome, she decided with a secret smile, would, be interesting.
The buzzer for the commencement of the following act sounded as they freshened their make-up, and they resumed their seats as the lights began to dim.
It was a faultless performance, the singers in excellent voice. As the curtain fell on the final act there was a burst of applause from the audience that succeeded in a further curtain call.
Emerging from the crush of the dispersing crowd took some time.
‘Shall we go on somewhere for a light supper?’ Dominic asked as they reached the car park.
‘Love to,’ Gabbi accepted. ‘Where do you have in mind?’
‘Benedict?’
‘Your choice, Dom,’ he drawled.
‘There’s an excellent place at Double Bay.’ He named it. ‘We’ll meet you there.’
‘Relax,’ Benedict bade Gabbi as the Bentley bypassed the Botanical Gardens. ‘I doubt Annaliese will embark on a club crawl in an effort to determine our whereabouts.’
‘How astute,’ Gabbi congratulated with a degree of mockery. ‘Her enthusiasm hasn’t escaped you.’
‘And you, Gabbi,’ he continued, ‘are fully aware I provide Annaliese with no encouragement whatsoever.’
‘Darling Benedict, are you aware that you don’t need to?’
‘You sound like a jealous wife.’
‘Well, of course.’
He slanted her a dark glance and chided softly, ‘Don’t be facetious.’
Her lips curved to form a wicked smile. ‘One has to develop a sense of humour.’
‘I could, and probably should, spank you.’
‘Do that, and I’ll seek my own revenge.’
He gave a husky laugh. ‘It might almost be worth it.’
‘I think,’ Gabbi said judiciously, ‘you should give the road your full attention.’
The restaurant was situated above a block of shops on the main Double Bay thoroughfare. The ambience was authentically Greek, and it soon became apparent that Dominic was not only a favoured patron but also a personal friend of the owner.
Gabbi declined strong coffee in favour of tea, and nibbled from a platter filled with a variety of sweet and savory pastries.
Dominic was a skilled raconteur, possessed of a dry sense of humour which frequently brought laughter to Gabbi’s lips and, unless she was mistaken, penetrated a chink in Francesca’s façade.
It was after midnight when they bade each other goodnight and slid into separate cars, almost one when Gabbi slid between the sheets and Benedict snapped off the bedside lamp.
CHAPTER NINE
STANTON-NICOLS supported a few select charities, and tonight’s event was in the form of a prestigious annual dinner held in the banquet room of a prominent city hotel.
Noted as an important occasion among the social élite, it achieved attendance in the region of a thousand patrons.
Haute couture was clearly evident as society doyennes strove to outdo each other, and Gabbi suppressed the wry observation that their jewellery, collectively, would probably fund a starving nation with food.
Men fared much better than women in the fashion stakes. They simply chose a black evening suit, white shirt and black bow-tie, albeit the suit might be Armani or Zegna, the shoes hand-stitched and the shirt expensive pure cotton.
Gabbi had chosen a full-length slimline strapless gown of multicoloured silk organza featuring the muted colours of spring. Cut low at the back, it was complemented by an attached panel and completed by a long, trailing neck-scarf in matching silk organza.
Tonight she’d elected to leave her hair loose, and the carefree windswept style enhanced her attractive features.
Six-thirty for seven allowed time for those who chose to arrive early to mix and mingle over drinks in the large foyer. The banquet-room doors were opened at seven, and dinner was served thirty minutes later.
‘A glass of champagne?’
‘Orange juice,’ Gabbi decided as a waiter hovered with a tray of partly filled flutes. She removed the appropriate flute and caught the glimmer of amusement apparent in Benedict’s dark eyes.
‘The need for a clear head?’
Her mouth curved to form a winsome smile. ‘You read me well.’ James, Monique and Annaliese would be seated at the same table, together with five fellow guests.
‘Every time, querida,’ he mocked softly, and saw the faint dilation of her pupils at his use of the Spanish endearment. Did he know the occasional use of his late mother’s native language had the power to stir her emotions?
Her momentary disconcertion was quickly masked as Benedict greeted a colleague, and with skilled ease she engaged in small talk with the colleague’s wife for the few minutes until Benedict indicated the necessity to locate their designated table.
Stanton-Nicols was one of several sponsors contributing to the event, and already seated at their table was the charity chairman and his wife and a visiting titled dignitary together with his wife and son.
The five minutes remaining before dinner was served were crucial for those who chose to make an entrance. James, Monique and Annaliese slid into their seats with barely one minute to spare, with the obligatory air-kiss, the smiles and the faint touch of a hand. Perfect, Gabbi noted silently. Monique had done it again, ensuring they were the last to arrive, and their passage, weaving through countless tables, observed by almost everyone in the room.
As the waiters distributed the first of three courses, the compère welcomed the guests, outlined the evening’s programme, and thanked everyone for their patronage.
Light background music filtered unobtrusively from numerous speakers as Gabbi lifted her fork and started on an appetising prawn and avocado cocktail.
Someone—Monique, as a dedicated committee member? Gabbi pondered—had seen fit to seat Annaliese on Benedict’s left and the visiting titled dignitary’s son on Gabbi’s right.
The seemingly careless placing of Annaliese’s hand on Benedict’s thigh during the starter could have been coincidental, although Gabbi doubted it.
‘Pleasant evening,’ the dignitary’s son observed. ‘Good turn-out.’
Hardly scintillating conversation, but it provided a necessary distraction, and Gabbi offered a polite rejoinder.
‘An interesting mix,’ he continued. ‘A professional singer and a fashion parade.’
‘Plus the obligatory speeches.’
His smile was disarming. ‘You’ve been here before.’
Gabbi’s mouth slanted to form a generous curve. ‘Numerous times.’
‘May I say you look enchanting?’
Her eyes held mild amusement as she took in his kindly features. ‘Thank you.’
Their plates were removed, and she offered Benedict a wide smile as he filled her water glass. His eyes were dark, enigmatic, and she pressed a hand on his right thigh. ‘Thank you, darling.’
‘My pleasure.’
A double entendre if ever there was one, and she deliberately held his gaze, silently challenging him.
An announcement by the compere that they were to be entertained with two songs by the guest singer was a timely diversion, and Gabbi listened with polite attention.
The main course was served: chicken Kiev, baby potatoes and an assortment of vegetables.
‘Wonderful food,’ the dignitary’s son declared as he demolished his serving with enthusiasm, and Gabbi tried not to notice Annaliese’s scarlet-tipped fingers settling on Benedict’s forearm.
The singer performed another medley, which was followed by dessert, then the charity chair
man took the podium.
At that point Annaliese slid to her feet and discreetly disappeared to one side of the stage.
Coffee was served as the compère announced the fashion parade, and with professional panache three male and three female models appeared on the catwalk, displaying creations from prominent Sydney designers in a variety of styles ranging from resort, city and career, to designer day, cocktail and formal evening wear.
‘Stunning, isn’t she?’
Gabbi turned towards the titled dignitary’s son and saw his attention was focused on Annaliese’s progress down the catwalk. ‘Yes.’ It was nothing less than the truth. Her stepsister exuded self-confidence and had the height, the body, the face...all the qualities essential for success in the modelling arena.
Most men took one look and were entranced by the visual package; most women recognised the artificiality beneath the flawless figure and exquisite features.
Annaliese participated in each section, her smile practised and serene. Although as the parade progressed it became increasingly obvious that she singled out one table for special attention...one man as the recipient of an incredibly sexy smile.
Gabbi’s tension mounted with each successive procession down the catwalk, and it irked her unbearably that she was powerless to do anything about it. Except smile.
Benedict, damn him, took an interest in each model and every item displayed. Resort wear included swim-wear. The bikini, the high-cut maillot. Annaliese looked superb in a minuscule bikini...and was well aware of her effect.
Gabbi felt the urge to kill and controlled it. The slightest hint of her displeasure at Annaliese’s provocative behaviour would be seen as a victory, and she refused to give her stepsister that satisfaction.
Evening wear provided Annaliese with another opportunity to stun when she appeared in a backless, strapless creation that moulded her curves like a second skin.
The finale brought all the participating models on stage for one last turn on the catwalk.
‘Is there anything that catches your eye?’ Benedict enquired.
‘The tall blond male model,’ Gabbi responded with a deliberate smile, and glimpsed the amusement that lightened his features.
‘Naturally you refer to the clothes he’s wearing.’
She allowed her eyes to widen, and they held a glint. of wicked humour. ‘Naturally. Although the whole package is very attractive. He was magnificently impressive in swimwear.’
‘Payback time?’
‘Why, Benedict. Whatever do you mean?’
His expression held a degree of lazy tolerance. ‘It’ll keep.’
‘You think so?’
A gleam lit his dark eyes. ‘We could always leave and continue this conversation in private.’
‘And commit a social faux pas?’
With indolent ease he reached for her left hand and raised it to his lips. ‘I’m fortunate. I get to take you home.’
He kissed each finger in turn, then enfolded her hand in his on the table. Sensation flared and travelled like flame through her veins, but there was no visible change in his expression except for the crooked smile twitching the edges of his mouth as his thumb traced an idle pattern back and forth across the throbbing pulse at her wrist.
His eyes speared hers, faintly mocking beneath slightly hooded lids, and the breath caught in her throat.
‘Some consolation,’ she managed in an attempt at humour.
‘The prize.’
She wanted quite desperately for it to be the truth, but she was all too aware it was part of the game. ‘Ah,’ she said with soft cynicism. ‘You say the sweetest, things.’
‘Gracias.’
The waiters served another round of coffee as guests moved from one table to another, pausing to chat with friends as they made a slow progression towards the foyer.
‘I’ve enjoyed your company.’
Gabbi heard the words and turned towards the dignitary’s son. ‘Thank you.’ She included his parents. ‘It’s been a pleasant evening.’
‘Most pleasant,’ James agreed as he moved to his daughter’s side and brushed a light kiss over her cheek. ‘You look wonderful.’
‘Thanks,’ she murmured, and endeavoured to keep a smile in place as Annaliese rejoined them.
‘A few of us are going on to a nightclub.’ Her eyes focused on Benedict as she touched a hand to his shoulder. ‘Why don’t you join us?’
Gabbi wasn’t aware that she held her breath as she waited for his reply.
‘Another time perhaps.’
‘We must do lunch, Gabrielle,’ Monique insisted as she bade them goodnight. ‘I’ll ring.’
Gabbi felt a sense of remorse at wanting to refuse. It wasn’t very often that her stepmother suggested a tête-à-tête. ‘Please do.’
It was half an hour before they reached the car park and a further thirty minutes before Benedict brought the Bentley to a halt inside the garage.
‘A record attendance,’ he commented as they entered the house. ‘The committee will be pleased.’
‘Yes.’
‘You sound less than enthused.’
‘I’m disappointed.’
‘Explain,’ Benedict commanded as he reset the security alarm.
‘I was just dying to go on to the nightclub.’
He turned and closed the distance between them, and her eyes took on a defiant gleam as he pushed a hand beneath her hair and captured her nape.
‘Were you, indeed?’
He was much too close. His cologne teased her nostrils and melded with the musky male fragrance that was his alone.
‘Yes. It would have been such fun watching Annaliese trying to seduce you.’ She lifted a hand and trailed her fingers down the lapel of his suit.
‘Your claws are showing.’
‘And I thought I was being so subtle.’
‘Do you want to debate Annaliese’s behaviour?’
Her eyes glittered with inner anger, their depths darkening to deep sapphire. ‘I don’t think “debate” quite covers it.’
One eyebrow slanted in quizzical humour. ‘It’s a little late for a punishing set of tennis. Besides, I’d probably win.’ His warm breath teased the tendrils of hair drifting close to one ear. ‘And that,’ he persisted quietly, ‘wouldn’t be the object of the exercise, would it?’
She wanted to generate a reaction that would allow her to vent her own indignation. ‘At least I’d get some satisfaction from thrashing the ball with a racquet.’
His eyes were dark, fathomless. ‘I can think of a far more productive way to expend all that pent-up energy.’
A thumb traced the edge of her jaw, then trailed lightly down the pulsing cord of her neck.
Gabbi could feel the insidious warmth spread through her veins, her skin begin to tingle as fine body hair rose in anticipation of his touch. ‘You’re not playing fair.’
He lowered his head and brushed his lips against her temple. ‘I’m not playing at anything.’
Gabbi closed her eyes and absorbed the intoxicating feel of him as he angled his mouth over her own. His fingers tangled in her hair as he steadily deepened the kiss, intensifying the slow, burning heat of her arousal until it threatened to rage out of control.
Her body strained against his, pulsing, needing so much more, and she was hardly conscious of the small, encouraging sounds low in her throat as she urged him on.
Slowly, gently, he eased back and broke the contact, then swept an arm beneath her knees and crossed the foyer to the stairs.
‘The bedroom is so civilised,’ Gabbi breathed softly as she traced the lobe of his ear with her tongue and gently bit its centre.
When they reached their suite the door closed behind them with a satisfying clunk. ‘You want uncivilised, Gabbi?’ he demanded as he let her slide down to her feet.
The words conjured up a. mental image so evocatively erotic that she had to fight to control the jolt of feeling that surged through her body.
‘This is a
very expensive gown,’ she announced in a dismal attempt at flippancy. ‘One I’d like to wear again.’
Something leapt in his eyes and remained there. A dark, primitive glitter that momentarily arrested the thudding beat of her heart before it kicked in at a wildly accelerated pace.
The breath caught in her throat as he reached for the zip-fastening and freed it so that the gown slid down to the carpet. With mesmerised fascination she stepped aside and watched as he carelessly tossed it over a nearby chair.
His eyes never left hers as he traced the swell of her breasts, teased each sensitive peak, then slowly slipped his fingers beneath the band of her briefs and slid them to her feet.
Her evening sandals came next, and she watched as he removed his jacket and tossed it across the valet-frame.
The bow-tie followed, and his shirt. Shoes and socks were abandoned, and his trousers landed on top of his jacket.
Then he captured her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers, initiating a kiss that took possession and demanded complete capitulation.
This was no seduction. It was claim-staking. Ruthless hunger and treacherous devastation.
She didn’t fight it. Didn’t want to. She rode the crest of his passion, and exulted in the ravishment of unleashed emotions.
It became a ravaging of body and mind—hers—as she gave herself up to him, her surrender complete as he tasted and suckled, tormenting her to the point of madness.
She had no control over her shuddering body, or the way it convulsed in the storm of her own passion. And she was completely unaware of the emotional sobs tearing free from her throat as she begged him not to stop.
A beautiful way to die, Gabbi decided with dizzying certainty as he dragged her down onto the bed. Then she was conscious only of unspeakable pleasure as he drove himself into her, again and again, deeper and deeper as she arched up to him in a dark, rhythmic beat that flung them both over the edge.
Afterwards she lay in a tangle of sheets, her limbs entwined with his, disinclined to move.
She didn’t have the energy to lift a hand, and her eyes remained closed, for to open them required too much effort.
‘Did I hurt you?’
She ached. Dear God, how she ached. But it was with acute pleasure, not pain. ‘No.’ A soft smile curved her lips. ‘Although I don’t think I’m ready for an encore just yet.’
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 175