The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Her eyes sparked with a mixture of residual temper and pride. ‘Maybe not. But right now I’m going home.’

  ‘I intend to see you again.’

  He was right, she discovered shakily. Running away wouldn’t achieve anything. But she needed space, and time to think.

  She took the few steps necessary to her car, paused, then turned back to face him. ‘I have a modelling assignment scheduled for Tuesday, and a reasonable night’s sleep is a prerequisite to looking good.’

  He followed her to the car, and stood within touching distance. The breath caught in her throat as he took hold of her shoulders and lowered his head down to hers.

  She wanted to cry out a verbal negation, but it was too late as his mouth closed over hers in a kiss that tore at the very foundation of her being.

  As he meant it to do.

  The knowledge frightened her on a sensual level, and made her aware of a primitive alchemy that was shattering in its intensity.

  ‘Tuesday night. Be here, Francesca,’ Dominic commanded silkily.

  She was incapable of uttering so much as a word, and her fingers shook as she unlocked her car. The engine fired seconds later and she cleared the gates, aware her breathing vied in raggedness with her fast-pulsing heartbeat.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE Leukaemia Foundation luncheon was well patronised, the venue excellent, and the fashion parade succeeded without a visible hitch.

  Behind the scenes it was a different story. Annaliese arrived late and in a dangerous mood, taking pleasure in denigrating a designer, which reduced him in a very short space of time to a quivering wreck. Nothing assigned from Wardrobe pleased her, and she insisted on making changes, which caused frayed tempers, hand-wringing, and mutterings among the ranks of fellow models, not to mention everyone else involved backstage. It wasn’t the worst session Francesca had participated in, but it came close.

  Choosing what to wear for the evening took considerable thought, and Francesca cursed as she riffled through the contents of her wardrobe. Relaxed and casual? Or should she aim for sophistication?

  The tension knotted inside her stomach as she considered crossing to the phone and cancelling out.

  Her fingers momentarily stilled as Dominic’s image came vividly to mind. A curse fell from her lips and her eyes clouded with pensive introspection. What was she doing?

  Why did she have the feeling that he would appear at her door within an hour of her failing to appear at his?

  After much deliberation, she selected an elegant three-piece silk trouser suit in deep emerald-green. Jewellery was minimal, and she stepped into matching stiletto-heeled pumps.

  It was a glorious evening. Clear sky, blue ocean, creating a perfect background for various harbour craft taking the benefit of a slight breeze drifting over the sea.

  The worst of the traffic making a daily exodus from the city was over, and Francesca experienced no delays at computer-controlled intersections.

  Consequently, it was six thirty when she turned into Dominic’s drive, and within minutes she cleared the gates and drew to a halt close to the main door.

  She hadn’t suffered such a wealth of nervous tension since her early modelling days.

  Dammit, get a grip, she counselled herself silently as she pressed the doorchimes. Seconds later the door opened, and she summoned a warm smile.

  ‘Hello.’

  Dominic’s eyes narrowed slightly at the huskiness evident, the faint shadows clouding her expression.

  Attired in dark tailored trousers and a cream cotton shirt unbuttoned at the neck, he looked relaxed and at ease.

  It would be wonderful to move into those arms and lift her face for his kiss. For a wild moment she almost considered doing just that.

  ‘Bad day?’

  Francesca offered a faintly wry smile. ‘I guess you could say that.’

  ‘Want to tell me about it?’

  ‘What part do you want to hear?’

  ‘Let me guess. One of the models went ballistic, a designer threw a tantrum, and whoever was in charge of Wardrobe threatened to quit.’ One eye-brow slanted in humour. ‘Close?’

  ‘Close enough.’

  He took hold of her arm and led her into the lounge. ‘Mineral water or wine?’

  ‘It’s sacrilege, but can I have half of each?’

  She felt too restless to sit, and she crossed the room to examine a small painting that had caught her attention on a previous occasion.

  It was beautiful in every detail, soft blues, pinks and lilacs, a garden scene. She glimpsed the signature in the lower right corner, and almost forgot to breathe. There was little doubt as to its originality.

  ‘You admire Monet?’

  Dominic had moved silently to stand behind her, and she felt his nearness, sensed the warmth of his body.

  She turned slowly to face him. ‘Who doesn’t?’

  He handed her a tall frosted glass, and Francesca gestured a silent toast. ‘Salute.’

  Dinner was a casual meal of barbecued prawns with a variety of salads, eaten informally on the terrace.

  ‘Heavenly,’ Francesca accorded as she selected slices of cantaloupe and plump red strawberries from a fruit platter. There was also ice cream. Vanilla, with caramel and double chocolate chip.

  She caught his teasing look, and laughed. ‘You remembered.’

  His eyes gleamed with latent humour. ‘Will you eat it? That’s the thing.’

  She wrinkled her nose at him and selected a spoon. ‘Just watch me!’

  The view out over the harbour was magnificent as the sun began to fade towards the horizon and the shadow of dusk cast a stealthy haze. Streetlights sprang into life, regulated pin-pricks of white light spreading out over suburbia as far as the eye could see. In the distance was the heat and the beat of the city, flashing neon, bright lights, action.

  Yet here it was peaceful, almost secluded, with high walls and cleverly planted shrubbery providing privacy from neighbouring properties.

  ‘Would you like to go indoors?’

  Francesca wiped her fingers on a serviette, then let her head rest back against the chair. ‘I don’t think I want to move.’ She sighed at the thought of checking in to the airport at six the next morning.

  A fashion parade at the Gold Coast Sheraton Mirage, followed by a photographic shoot, then cocktails with a public relations executive and his colleagues.

  Soon she had to fly to Europe for the designer collections. After which she intended secluding herself for a week of rest and relaxation. No phones, no contact whatsoever with the outside world. Where the resort staff were bound to secrecy and the guests paid a fortune for the privilege of total anonymity.

  A few weeks ago she’d been sure of her future and its direction. Now she was beginning to query what she really wanted.

  ‘Coffee?’

  Francesca turned her head slightly to look at him. ‘Please.’

  Dominic stood to his feet and moved indoors, and she followed, suddenly restless for something constructive to do.

  In the kitchen she watched as he filled the coffeemaker, added ground beans, opened cupboards, withdrew sugar, then set out cups and saucers on the servery counter.

  His hands were sure, their movements economical, and her eyes travelled, encompassing the muscular forearms exposed by the turned-back cuffs, the breadth of shoulder, the expanse of chest covered in cream chambray, up to that defined jaw, sensuous mouth, sculpted cheekbones. Those eyes, so dark, so steady as they met hers.

  The breath locked in her throat at what she saw there.

  Desire. Raw and primitive.

  Her pulse quickened to a thudding beat that was audible to her own ears. Visible, she felt sure, as her whole body began to reverberate with answering need.

  ‘Come here.’ The command was gently spoken, and she placed her fingers onto his outstretched palm and allowed herself to be pulled into his arms.

  His mouth was firm as it settled over her own, shaping, exploring th
e soft contours, then nibbling at the lower fullness.

  She felt his breath, warm and vaguely musky as he teased his tongue against her teeth, and she stifled a faint gasp as he began to invade the moist crevices, tasting, laving each ridge, each slight indentation, before creating a tantalising foray that deepened into total possession.

  One hand slid down her spine and cupped her bottom, lifting her close up against him so that she could be in no doubt of his arousal.

  She fitted as if she was meant to be there. His. All he had to do was convince her of that.

  He could feel her acceptance of now, but he sensed her indecision and knew that afterwards she would feel she’d betrayed her dead husband’s memory.

  Francesca’s hands clutched his forearms, then slipped up to his shoulders as his mouth left hers and trailed down to savour the fast-beating pulse at the base of her throat.

  Her neck arched, allowing him free access, and she groaned out loud as his lips travelled down to the valley between her breasts and lingered there, caressing the soft fullness with his tongue as he edged the material down to reveal one burgeoning peak.

  Dominic breathed in deeply as he tasted the wild honey that was her skin, and wanted more. Much more. He contented himself with the fact that a journey was made up of many steps. If he was to succeed, he’d have to exert patience and take one step at a time.

  She wanted to feel his skin, and her fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, freeing each one, then,, not content, she pulled it free of his waistband.

  Dear God, he felt good. Tight-muscled midriff, taut chest, and a generous mat of dark hair that just begged to have her fingers curl into its length.

  His mouth closed over the roseate peak and he suckled shamelessly, nibbled, then caught the nipple between his teeth and took her to the edge between pleasure and pain.

  Her hand slid down over the fold of his zip-fastening, trailing the rigid length before seeking the tab and slowly releasing the nylon teeth.

  Fingers feathered over silk briefs to explore what lay beneath, and she felt a momentary sense of panic at the size and thickness of him.

  She needed gentle persuasion, reassurance, and above all he had to show her that this was more than just sex.

  ‘Dominic—’

  His mouth took possession of her own, cutting off her protest as he utilised every ounce of skill he possessed in showing her part of his heart.

  She was vaguely aware of being swept into his arms and carried up a flight of stairs to a bedroom.

  His, she decided dimly as he switched on a bedside lamp on a pedestal next to a large king-size bed. Slowly he let her slide down to her feet.

  Oh, God—what was she doing? ‘I don’t think—’ She halted as he took her face between his hands and lowered his mouth to hers.

  ‘Don’t think,’ Dominic bade against her lips. ‘Just feel.’

  I’m not sure I can give what you want. How would he react if she said those words aloud?

  His teeth nipped the tip of her tongue. ‘Yes.’ His tongue soothed hers and his hands gentled the agitated movements of her own. ‘You can.’

  He wanted her so badly, needed the advantage of joining his body with hers so that he could show her how much he cared. How right this was—for both of them.

  He kissed her deeply, gently coaxing in a manner that made every bone in her body turn to jelly. Dominic uttered the two words he hoped would make the difference. ‘Trust me.’

  Dared she? She didn’t have any choice as her body proved to be its own traitorous mistress by leaning in to his kiss, giving him access to her mouth so he could plunder at will.

  Her clothes, his, were quickly, easily dispensed with, and she stood almost breathless at his male beauty.

  Warm, sun-kissed skin sheathed strong muscle and sinew, defining superb musculature with a sculptor’s precision. Tight flanks curved down from a narrow waist, his stomach taut with an arrow of dark hair that led down to the juncture at his thighs, thickening in growth as it couched his manhood.

  He stood watching her appraisal, at ease with his nudity, and her eyes skimmed the potent thickness of his arousal, skittered to his chest, and came to rest at his chin.

  ‘Look at me.’

  I just have. She lifted her face fractionally and met his intense gaze.

  He reached for her, closing his hands over her arms as he slid them up to capture her shoulders.

  ‘Open your eyes, Francesca,’ Dominic bade her as his breath feathered her cheek. ‘I want you to see me. Only me.’

  He pulled her forward and lowered his head down towards the soft hollow at the edge of her neck.

  His mouth worked an evocative magic as he savoured each and every pleasure pulse until she quivered in his arms.

  Heat shimmered through every vein as she went up in flames, and he hadn’t even begun.

  Beautiful, he thought reverently. The faint edge of shyness appealed, even as it appalled him. She didn’t possess that fierce fervour of a woman well-versed in experiencing an explosive climax. Or of one who was fully aware of the pleasure her own body could give, not only to her partner but to herself.

  Slow, he determined. Slow and easy. They had the night.

  Francesca groaned softly as his fingers trailed low over her stomach, then tangled in the hair curling at the apex of her thighs.

  His mouth suckled at one breast, tormenting its peak into a turgid arousal, and just as she thought his touch unbearable he crossed to render a similar assault on its twin.

  Fire arrowed from the centre of her being, the flame licking through her body until she felt every nerve, every cell overheating as his skilled fingers probed the moist folds, and she cried out as he stroked the small nubbin, caressing until her whole body shuddered and she sank against him.

  A strangled gasp left her lips as he sank down onto his knees and traced the same path with his tongue, tasting the indentation of her navel before savouring the line of her hipbone.

  Teasing, tantalising, until he reached the soft hair guarding entrance to her womanhood.

  ‘Dominic—no—’ The cry was one of stark disbelief, but he ignored the tug of her hands as she took hold of his head.

  But it was too late, much too late as she began to experience the most intimate kiss of all. And as his tongue wrought havoc she went up in flames, unaware of the soft, guttural cries that emerged from her throat, the purring pleasure as he took her higher, or the subdued scream as he held her there before tipping her over the edge.

  Dear God, she was sweet. An intoxicating mix of honey and musk. He suckled her moisture, savouring it like a fine wine, and held her firm when she would have fallen.

  It was too much, Francesca thought dimly as she sought to retain a hold on her emotional sanity. Way too much. She wanted to beg him to stop, yet the words wouldn’t formulate, let alone escape from her throat.

  His lips began a slow path over her stomach, then travelled up to her breasts to caress each peak in turn, settled briefly on the rapidly beating pulse at the base of her throat, then took possession of her mouth.

  She could taste herself, then only him as he encouraged her tongue to participate in a duelling dance with his own.

  It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Total capitulation, complete possession, and she was hardly aware of the soft mattress beneath her back until he paused to extract a small foil package from the nearest pedestal drawer.

  Quick, deft movements, then his hands moulded her slight frame, caressed, then gentled as he prepared her to accept his length.

  She was slick with need, aching as she’d never ached for a man, and she gasped when her flesh stung slightly as he gained entrance. She could feel the expansion of muscles and tissue, the gradual acceptance as he buried himself to the hilt inside her.

  Then he began to move, slowly, almost withdrawing before carefully plunging in again, angling his shaft slightly until he felt her muscles seize and grip him. Then, when she was ready, he graduall
y quickened his movements until she lifted her hips to take him even deeper.

  Francesca had thought it couldn’t get any better, but she was wrong. His oral onslaught had heightened her senses and stimulated desire to fever-pitch. Now he took her to a higher plane, where mind, body and soul reached perfect accord and transcended anything she’d ever experienced on a sensual level.

  So much for control. She had none. Nor did she want any, she decided dazedly as the spiral of sensation reached its zenith.

  Perhaps she cried out as he shuddered in the throes of his own climax, for his mouth settled over hers, soothing, gentling, as he held her close.

  For a while she didn’t move. Couldn’t. She felt warm, and wondrously lethargic. Later she’d feel the pull of unused muscles. But for now she was content just to lie here, and savour the tumultuous aftermath of passion.

  She lifted a hand and let her fingers drift down the column of his back, lingering at the indentations of his spine as she explored each vertebra until she reached the strong splay of pelvic bone.

  His buttocks flexed, and she felt him swell slightly inside her.

  ‘Uncomfortable?’ His voice sounded deep and faintly husky as he grazed the hollow at her neck.

  ‘No.’ She liked the closeness, the feel of his large body, the heat and the smell of it. ‘Do you want to...?’ She paused, suddenly hesitant, and she felt his mouth move to form a smile.

  ‘Disengage? Not particularly.’ He shifted his weight so that he rested the bulk of it on his elbows.

  He could tell from her expression, the slightly dazed look in her eyes, the soft pink tingeing her cheeks and the glow of her skin that she felt good. Lord, she excited him as few women had in the past. He wanted to take her again, to feel the tightness as she sheathed him and experience the way she moved beneath him.

  Yet perhaps not so soon. There was time to tease a little, to play.

  Francesca felt him shift slightly as his hands curled beneath her shoulders, then he rolled onto his back, carrying her with him.

  He lifted his hands and threaded his fingers through her hair, dislodging most of the pins which held its length in what had once been an elegant French twist.