The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  ‘Generous of you.’

  ‘Half the wardrobe is mine,’ she managed firmly. ‘With equal time and space in the bathroom.’

  A lazy smile curved the edges of his mouth. ‘Done.’

  She looked at him warily. His calm acceptance of her suggested sleeping arrangement was...unexpected.

  There was a loud knock on the door, and Sloane moved indolently downstairs to allow the porter to deposit their bags, then, taking hold of one in each hand, he ascended the short flight of stairs.

  ‘I’ll unpack.’ A prosaic task that would take only minutes.

  She was all too aware of Sloane’s matching actions as she hung a few changes of clothes on hangers in the wardrobe, lay underclothes into a drawer, and set out toiletries and make-up on one half of the vanity unit.

  ‘Anything for valet pressing?’

  ‘No.’ She watched as he extracted the appropriate bag, added two shirts, then filled in the slip and slung it down onto the bed.

  ‘When you’re ready, we’ll go join Georgia and Trenton in the dining room.’

  She needed to run a quick brush through her hair and retouch her lipstick. ‘Give me a few minutes.’

  In the en suite she regarded her mirror image with critical appraisal. Her eyes were too darkly pensive, her features too pale.

  A few swift strokes of eyeshadow, blusher and lipstick added essential colour, and she made a split-second decision to twist the length of her hair into a careless knot atop her head.

  Her hand automatically reached for the light parfum spray Sloane had gifted her. Her fingers hesitated, then retreated.

  Oh, to hell with it. She wore perfume because she liked the fragrance, not because of any attempt to tantalise a man. If Sloane chose to think the fresh application was attributed to him, he was mistaken.

  A quick spray to the delicate veins crossing each wrist, the valley between each breast. Better, much better, she determined as she emerged into the bedroom.

  Sloane regarded her with one swift encompassing glance, then caught up his sunglasses and held out her own before standing to one side to allow her to precede him down onto the lower level.

  Suzanne was supremely conscious of the intense maleness emanating from his broad frame as they stepped outside their villa. It was like a magnet, pulling at something deep inside her, heightening emotions to a level she didn’t want to acknowledge.

  ‘Hungry?’

  The sun’s warmth caressed her skin, the slight breeze teasing free a few tendrils of her hair as she offered him a brilliant smile. ‘Yes.’

  A gleam lit his expressive eyes, and he gave a soft laugh as he caught hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips.

  Her stomach curled at the implied intimacy, and she silently damned the way each and every one of her nerve-ends sprang into acutely sensitised life.

  She attempted to pull her hand free without success. ‘The act is a little premature, don’t you think?’

  ‘Not really, given we’re in a public place and unsure who can see and hear us.’

  The tinge of humour in his voice brought forth a rueful smile. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

  One eyebrow slanted upwards. ‘It’s a rare opportunity for me to gain an upper hand.’

  ‘Don’t overdo it, Sloane,’ she warned in a low voice, and glimpsed his mocking smile.

  ‘What a vivid imagination you have.’

  Much too vivid. That was the problem.

  The restaurant was spacious, with tables set wide apart indoors and beneath the covered terrace. It was a peaceful setting overlooking the wide sweep of the bay as it curved out into the ocean, the bush-clad undulations of the island providing a tranquil remoteness.

  ‘Would you prefer to sit indoors or out on the terrace?’

  ‘The terrace,’ Suzanne said without hesitation.

  Georgia and Trenton had yet to arrive, and she selected a table protected from the sun’s warm rays.

  She watched as Sloane folded his length into an adjoining seat, and was grateful for the tinted lenses shading her eyes. They provided a barrier that made it a fraction more comfortable to deal with him.

  A silent laugh stuck in her throat. Who was she kidding? No one dealt with Sloane. That was his prerogative. Control, which some would call manipulative strategy, was a skill he’d honed to an enviable degree in the business arena. In his private life, he added charm and seductive warmth with dangerous effect.

  ‘Mineral water?’

  She met his gaze, partly masked by tinted lenses, and offered a slight smile. ‘Orange juice.’

  The generous curve of his mouth relaxed and humour tugged its edge. ‘Preference, Suzanne? Or a determined effort to thwart me?’

  ‘Why would I want to do that, Sloane,’ she queried evenly, ‘when the next three days are supposed to project peace, harmony and celebration?’

  ‘Why, indeed?’

  His tone was pure silk, with the merest hint of caution should she attempt to try his patience too far in this game they’d each agreed to play.

  A young waitress crossed to the table to take their order, her smile bright, her expression faintly envious as her eyes lingered fractionally longer than necessary on Sloane’s attractive features.

  Suzanne felt a slight stab of something she refused to accept as jealousy. Dammit, why was her body so attuned to this man, when she’d determinedly dismissed him from her mind?

  It was one thing to uphold when she had the distance and protection of a telephone conversation. It was something else entirely when confronted with his presence, for then the barriers she’d erected seemed in danger of disintegrating into a heap at her feet.

  Conversation seemed safer than silence. ‘Tell me about the case you’re currently involved in.’

  ‘Genuine interest, Suzanne?’

  His amused drawl touched a raw nerve. ‘What would you prefer? A polite dissertation about the weather?’

  ‘You could try for an unexpurgated version of what motivated you to walk out on me.’

  Straight for the jugular. She aimed for levity. Anything else was impossible. ‘And risk the possibility of having Georgia and Trenton appear in the middle of a heated discussion?’

  He sank back in the chair and folded his hands together behind his head. ‘My dear Suzanne, I rarely have the need to raise my voice.’

  Why should he resort to anger when he could employ a wealth of words with such innate skill, their delivery sliced with the deadliness of an expertly wielded scalpel? Anger had been her emotional defence.

  ‘This isn’t the time, or the place.’

  The waitress’s reappearance bearing a tray containing two tall glasses filled with orange juice and chinking ice cubes brought a halt to the conversation, and Suzanne watched as the young girl made a production of placing decorative coasters down onto the table, followed by each individual glass.

  ‘If there’s anything else you need, just call.’ The smile was pure female and aimed at Sloane before she turned and retreated to the bar.

  ‘Oh, my,’ Suzanne said with saccharine sweetness. ‘You don’t even have to try.’

  His smile held wry cynicism. ‘I suppose I should be grateful you noticed it was entirely one-sided.’

  I notice, she silently assured him. Everything about you. She reached for her glass, lifted it, and took an appreciative sip of the iced liquid. ‘She looks—available.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You forget,’ he remarked in a silky drawl. ‘I’m with you.’ The words alone were simple. His delivery of them was not.

  It cost her to lift one eyebrow in a gesture of ill-concealed mockery. ‘It’s only day one, and already we’re into verbal sparring. What will we both be like at the end of day four?’

  There was warm humour evident in his smile, and she felt her stomach clench with something she refused to acknowledge as pain.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he replied indolently. ‘I’m rather looking forward to the progression.’ He lifted hi
s glass and touched its rim to her own. ‘Here’s to us.’

  ‘There is no us,’ Suzanne declared adamantly.

  ‘Isn’t there?’

  She shot him a baleful glare. ‘Get too close, Sloane, and you’ll discover I bite.’

  ‘Be warned I’ll retaliate.’

  Yes, he’d do that, and ensure that, while he might permit her to win a battle, he had every intention of winning the war.

  It was a chilling thought, and one which had her poised for a stinging response.

  ‘Georgia and Trenton have just entered the restaurant,’ he warned, and she changed a glare to a slow, sweet smile, glad of the tinted shield shading her eyes as he leaned forward and brushed his fingers against her cheek.

  A blatant action if ever there was one, signalling his intention to take advantage of each and every situation during their island sojourn. If he was intent on playing a game, then it shouldn’t be uneven, she decided with a touch of vengeance.

  With deliberate calm she captured his hand with her own and brought it to her lips, then used her teeth to nip the soft pad of one finger...hard.

  Triumph, albeit temporary, was very sweet. Despite the faint warning flare that promised retribution.

  ‘Isn’t this an idyllic place?’ Georgia enthused as she sank into the chair Trenton held out for her.

  ‘Wonderful,’ Suzanne agreed lightly. Almost anything was worth it to see her mother so blissfully happy. Even wielding emotional and verbal swords with Sloane.

  ‘I’ve checked arrangements with the hotel staff,’ Trenton disclosed as he settled into the remaining chair.

  The waitress appeared at his side, took an order, then retreated to the bar to fill it.

  ‘Everything’s under control.’

  Why wouldn’t it be? Suzanne questioned silently. The Wilson-Willoughby name was sufficient to ensure assistants scrambled over one another in the need to please.

  Success wasn’t born of those who were fainthearted, insecure, or inept. And no one in their right mind could accuse Trenton or Sloane of possessing any one of those character flaws.

  Power was the keynote, and with it came a certain ruthlessness Suzanne found difficult to condone. A paradox, for it was a quality she could also admire.

  ‘When do the guests arrive?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning. The launch will make an unscheduled run from Dunk Island.’

  Lunch comprised a superb seafood starter, followed by freshly caught grilled fish and salad, and they each chose a selection of succulent fresh fruit for dessert.

  ‘Have I met each of the invited guests?’ Suzanne voiced the query with what she hoped was casual interest, and tried to ignore the faint knot twisting in her stomach as she waited for Trenton’s response.

  Sloane’s eyes sharpened, although his expression remained unchanged.

  ‘I’m almost certain of it,’ Trenton concurred with a relaxed smile. He named them, and Suzanne endeavoured to breathe normally as she waited for one specific name, and felt the easing of tension when it wasn’t mentioned.

  Sloane was aware of every nuance, every gesture, no matter how slight. His suspicions, laser-sharp, moved up a notch.

  ‘Shall we leave?’ Georgia broached with a sunny smile. ‘I haven’t finished unpacking, and there are a few things I want to check on.’

  Sloane rose to his feet, and held Suzanne’s chair as she followed his actions. His hand brushed her arm, and she felt warmth flood her veins in an instantaneous reaction to his touch. There was little she could do to prevent the casual arm he placed around her waist as he led her from the restaurant. Nor could she give in to temptation and shrug it off as they lingered outside.

  With a hint of desperation she turned towards her mother. ‘Do you need help with anything this afternoon?’ Say yes. Please, she begged silently, doubtful anyone, least of all her radiant mother, would take heed. Murphy’s law had prevailed from the moment she’d picked up the phone the day before yesterday to take Georgia’s call.

  ‘Oh, darling, thank you. But no, there’s nothing.’

  Of course not. Anything that needed to be done had been taken care of before Georgia had boarded the plane in Brisbane. And here on this idyllic island there were ample staff to cater to a guest’s slightest whim.

  ‘The past few days have been so hectic,’ Georgia continued, sparing Trenton a warm glance. ‘Now that we’re here, I just want to relax.’ The warmth heated, and was diffused with a generous, faintly humorous smile. ‘You and Sloane take time out to explore. We’ll join you for a drink before dinner. Shall we say six?’

  There was little to do except agree, and Suzanne suffered Sloane’s loose hold as he led the way back to their villa, pulling free as soon as they were safely inside with the door closed behind them.

  Suzanne glanced around the elegant topical-designed furnishings, the four spacious walls, and felt the need to escape.

  ‘I think I’ll go for a walk.’ She moved towards the stairs leading to the bedroom. She’d change into cotton shorts and sleeveless top, and exchange her shoes for light trainers.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  His drawling tone halted her steps and she turned to face him. ‘What if I don’t want you to?’

  ‘Tough.’

  Anger rose to the surface, tingeing her cheeks with colour, and adding a dangerous sparkle to her eyes. ‘You’re determined to make this as difficult as possible, aren’t you?’

  He closed the distance between them. ‘Everything we do this weekend, we do together. Understood?’

  ‘Everything, Sloane?’ Her chin tilted. ‘Isn’t that a bit too literal?’

  Those dark eyes above her own hardened fractionally, and she forced herself not to blink as he lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. ‘We agreed to a temporary truce. Let’s try to keep it, shall we?’

  She’d never seen him lose his temper, only witnessed a chilled expression turn his eyes almost black, detected the ice in his voice more than once in the courtroom, and on a few occasions when dealing with an adversary over the phone. But never with her.

  A faint shiver shimmied across the surface of her skin, and she fought to diffuse the intense, potentially dangerous air that swirled between them.

  ‘I hope you packed trainers,’ she said lightly. ‘Those hand-stitched Italian shoes you wear weren’t made for trekking through sand and bush.’

  The edges of his mouth quirked, then relaxed into a musing smile. ‘A temporary escape, Suzanne?’

  ‘Got it in one.’

  His thumb brushed across her lower lip, then he let his hand fall to his side. ‘Give me a few minutes to change, then let’s go try to enjoy it.’

  She ascended the stairs and quickly changed, deciding on the spur of the moment to don a bikini beneath shorts and top. With a deft movement she pulled on a peaked cap, slid her sunglasses into place, caught up a towel and turned to face him.

  ‘Ready?’

  Shorts had replaced tailored trousers, and the hand-stitched shoes had been exchanged for trainers. He looked, Suzanne decided, relaxed and at ease. A projected persona that could be infinitely deceiving.

  She followed in his wake, aware of the broad set of his shoulders, the powerful back beneath the cotton polo shirt. The exclusive tones of his cologne teased her senses, heightening them to a degree that made her want to scream.

  Elusive scents, the movement of honed muscle and sinew, knowing their power, the sensual magic this one man could create within her—it was torture.

  It had taken her every hour of every day since she’d left him to build up invisible walls from within which she could protect and defend herself against his powerful alchemy. Night after night she’d lain awake rationalising her motives for leaving him; applied logic, indulged in amateur psychology, and resolved that she’d reached a satisfactory and sane decision.

  Yet somehow instinct continued to war with rationale, and she disliked the contrariness of her ambivalence.

  ‘OK, where shall w
e begin?’ Determination was the key. “The beach?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Sloane’s voice held a tinge of amusement, and she spared him a searching glance for evidence of cynical humour. However, it was impossible to detect anything behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE sand resembled light honey, marked high by a thin line of shells, most broken, some whole, and scraps of seaweed: the flotsam of an outgoing tide.

  Suzanne paused every now and then to select a few, only to send them skimming out into the translucent blue-green water.

  It was quiet, so quiet as to imagine there was no one else on the island. The sun was pleasantly warm in a tropical climate known as the winterless north, and tempered only by a slight breeze drifting in from the sea.

  She was supremely conscious of the man at her side; how, now she was in casual trainers, her height seemed diminished in comparison to his. It made her feel fragile and vaguely vulnerable, which was crazy.

  ‘Do you want to clamber over those rocks and discover what’s on the other side?’

  They had followed the beach’s gentle curve to a wide outcrop of boulders that separated land and sea.

  Anything was better than going back to their villa. ‘OK.’

  They came to a small cove, the shallows bounded by an irregular scatter of huge boulders, and patches of soft crunchy sand above the shoreline. Isolated, and quite breathtakingly beautiful.

  ‘Want to continue on?’

  ‘Swim,’ suzanne said without hesitation, and she spared him a quick glance.

  His warm smile caused the breath to catch in her throat. ‘I’ll join you.’

  Was he wearing briefs? This was a sufficiently isolated spot for it not to matter. So why should it bother her? Except it did, of course. Badly.

  ‘You object?’ His soft drawl made her stomach dip and execute a series of slow somersaults.

  ‘No, of course not.’ How come a decision to swim suddenly seemed dangerous? Fool, she silently castigated herself as she quickly stripped down to her bikim.

  Suzanne was conscious of Sloane matching her actions, and a surreptitious glance beneath her lashes was sufficient to determine that thin black silk provided an adequate covering.