The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Although adequate hardly equated with a hard-muscled masculine frame at the peak of physical fitness. A visual attestation of powerful male destined to cause the female heart to leap into a quickened beat.

  Yet it was more than that, much more.

  Sloane possessed a primitive magnetism, an animalistic sense of power which, combined with an intimate knowledge of the human psyche, set him apart from other men. It was evident in his eyes, an essential hardness that alluded to an old soul, one that had seen much, dealt with it and triumphed. Equally, those dark, almost black depths could soften and warm for a woman, give hint to sensual delight, the promise of devastating sexual pleasure.

  Remembering just how devastating had kept her awake nights, tossing and turning in an attempt to forget.

  In the daylight hours she could convince herself she was fine, really fine.

  Now, she was faced with his constant company for three, almost four days. Mistake; big mistake. Seven hours into this farcical misadventure, and she was already a bundle of nerves, almost jumping out of her skin whenever he came within touching distance.

  Why, why, why had she put herself in such jeopardy?

  For Georgia. Dear sweet Georgia, who deserved happiness during her wedding celebration unclouded by an edge of anxiety for her only beloved daughter.

  It wasn’t so much to ask, was it?

  ‘Do you want to swim, or simply gaze at the ocean?’

  Sloane’s drawling voice snapped Suzanne’s introspection, and she summoned a faint smile.

  ‘Race you in.’

  She sprinted into the cool blue-green water until it reached waist-level, then she broke into long, strong strokes that took her a few metres out from the shore.

  Seconds later a sleek dark head broke the surface beside her, and she regarded him a trifle warily as she trod water.

  ‘You look,’ Sloane said softly, ‘as if you’re waiting for me to pounce.’

  She should never play poker, he decided silently. Her eyes were too expressive. He knew every nuance in her voice, could read each movement of that wide, mobile mouth.

  ‘Why would you do that?’ Suzanne queried evenly. ‘There’s not a soul in sight.’

  ‘No need for you to be under any illusion, hmm?’

  He moved close, much too close, and his legs curled around hers before she could attempt to put some distance between them. A hand curved round her waist, while the other held fast her nape, and she didn’t have a chance to utter a sound before his mouth closed over hers in a kiss that was incredibly gentle in its possessiveness.

  She felt as if she was drowning, sinking, and entirely at his mercy as he took her down beneath the water’s surface. He held her so close she was aware of the pressure of his body, the strength of his arousal, the absorption of his mouth on hers, then the power of his thighs as he kicked to bring them up for air.

  The bream tore at her throat, and she gasped deeply as he released her mouth and slowly eased his hold. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of shocked surprise and anger. and her lips moved soundlessly for an instant before she broke into spluttering speech, only to lapse into an inaudible murmur as he pressed a forefinger over her mouth.

  ‘Just so you’re not in any doubt,’ Sloane murmured in a husky undertone, and covered her mouth with his own.

  This time there was nothing gentle about his possession, and her head whirled as his tongue mated with hers, sweeping deeply and in total control. She whimpered as he took his fill, his jaw powerful in its demanding onslaught until compliance was her only option.

  She had no idea how long it lasted, only that it seemed an age before the pressure began to ease. She felt the light brush of his lips as he explored the bruised softness of her mouth before he lifted his head.

  His eyes were incredibly dark, almost black as he regarded her pale features, and for one infinitesimal second he experienced a tinge of regret.

  She wanted to hit him. Would have, if she thought she could connect and physically hurt him. Instead, she resorted to words.

  ‘If you’ve quite finished playing the masterful macho male, I’d like to go ashore and dry out.’ Nothing would allow her to admit how shaken she felt. Or how ravaged.

  His soft laughter almost unleashed her control, and she kicked out at him, then swore when she failed to connect.

  ‘Most unladylike,’ Sloane chided with an indolence that set her teeth on edge.

  ‘I don’t feel ladylike,’ she assured him, hating him for tearing her emotions to shreds. Claim-staking. A reminder of how it had been between them; a promise of how it could be again.

  Without another word she turned and swam back to shore, uncaring whether he followed her or not.

  The sun’s rays warmed her body as she emerged onto the sand, and she lifted her hands to squeeze excess water from her hair, then combed her fingers through its length so that it would dry more quickly, before tending to the moisture beading her body with a towel.

  She possessed naturally fair skin which she took care to protect with sunscreen, and she applied coverage from the slim tube she’d brought with her.

  By the time she finished the Lycra bikini was almost dry, and she pulled on shorts and top, slid her feet into trainers, then made her way towards the rocky outcrop to explore...in solitude.

  Breathing space, she qualified, uncaring how Sloane chose to occupy himself. As long as it wasn’t with her.

  There were pools of water trapped in several natural rock hollows, tiny lizards the length of her finger which scattered out of sight, and the occasional shell of a dead crustacean.

  She could hear the faint lap of water against the rocks, and every now and then there came the screeching call from parrots disturbed in their natural habitat.

  Suzanne rounded the corner, and paused to admire the long curve of clean golden sand stretching to the northern point of the island. Beautiful, she thought, stepping from one rock to another.

  Was it some form of sensory perception that made her pause and glance to her rear? Or simply an elusive connection she shared with the one man from whom she’d sought a temporary escape?

  Sloane stood highlighted against the sky as he closed the distance between them, and she turned back, quickening her steps.

  Foolishly, for she misjudged, slipped, and cushioned her fall with an outstretched hand.

  Nothing, she determined within seconds, was twisted or broken. Tomorrow she might have a bruised hip, but she could bear with it. There wasn’t even a graze on either leg, and her ankles were both fine.

  ‘What in sweet hell were you thinking of?’

  Sloane’s anger was palpable as he crouched down beside her, and she directed him a dark look as she aimed for brutal honesty.

  ‘Aiming to get down onto the sand before you caught up with me.’

  His hands skimmed her arms, her legs with professional ease. ‘Are you hurt?’

  Now there was a question. If she said her emotions were, what good would it do?

  He caught hold of her hands, examined the fine bones, then extended his attention to each palm.

  Blood seeped from a deep graze on the fleshy mound beneath her left thumb, and she regarded it with a degree of fascination, wondering why it should sting quite badly when at the time she hadn’t been conscious of it at all.

  Til go wash it in the sea.’

  ‘It needs antiseptic.’

  She gave a slight shrug. ‘So I’ll put some on when I get back to the villa.’

  Sloane gave her a penetrating look. ‘Are your tetanus shots up to date?’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. Yes.’ She tried to wrench her hand from his grasp. Unsuccessfully, which only served to increase her exasperation.

  His eyes were steady, their depths too intensely dark for her to mistake the implacability evident, then without a further word he lifted her hand to his lips, took the fleshy mound into his mouth, and began cleansing the wound with his tongue.

  The provocative action caused
sensation to feather the length of her spine, and she suppressed a faint shiver at the sheer power of her emotions.

  Everything faded beyond the periphery of her vision. There was only the man as she became caught up in the spell of him. Acute sensuality, so potent it robbed the strength from her limbs.

  She was aware of the soft body hair that curled darkly, visible in the deep V of his polo shirt, and the faint musky aroma of cologne and salt emanating from his skin.

  Her heart began to race, and she became supremely conscious of the need to regulate her breathing in an effort to portray a dispassionate calmness.

  Fire coursed through her veins, heating pleasure that pooled in each erogenous zone and became evident with every pulsing beat.

  This close, it was possible to detect the dark shadow of almost a day’s growth of beard he deemed necessary to dispense with night and morning. It was an intensely masculine feature, and one she found attractive.

  Dear heaven, she had to get a grip, otherwise she’d never survive the next few days with any semblance of emotional sanity.

  ‘Don’t.’ The single negation sounded vaguely husky, and she swallowed compulsively as he raised his head.

  ‘Don’t—what?’ His eyes pierced hers. ‘Take care of you?’ His voice dropped a tone. ‘Love you?’

  It felt as if a fist slammed into her chest at the last two words, and she held her breath in silent pain. ‘Sloane—’

  ‘Another don’t, Suzanne?’ His voice was too quiet, too controlled as he released her hand. ‘You think ignoring what we share together will make it go away?

  Her eyes were remarkably clear as they met and held his. ‘No. But I plan to work on it.’

  ‘Why?’

  The silky tone aroused a dormant rage that coloured her fine-textured skin and turned her eyes to pure crystalline sapphire.

  ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ The heat emanated from the pores of her skin. ‘Love—’ she paused, drew in a deep breath, then expelled it ‘—doesn’t provide a security blanket against reality.’ She rose to her feet in one fluid movement, and immediately lost the momentary advantage as he followed her actions.

  ‘You demean my intelligence.’

  ‘Really?’ Her chin tilted in open contempt. ‘Then perhaps you should consider re-evaluating it.’

  She turned away and traversed the few remaining rocks to the sandy stretch below, aware that he followed close behind.

  ‘Suzanne.’

  She swung round to face him. Fine. If a confrontation was what he wanted, then so be it!

  ‘What do you want, Sloane? A pound of my flesh because I dared assess a situation, and decided retreat was the wisest course of action?’ She was defiant, determined to hide the utter defencelessness she hadn’t been able to deal with then, any more than she could now.

  His eyes darkened into a deep flaming brilliance. ‘Dammit, were you so emotionally unsure of yourself—of me, that you felt the only option you had was to throw in the towel?’

  Anger flashed in her clear blue eyes. ‘I didn’t throw in the towel!’

  A slight smile curved his mouth, lending it a cynical edge. ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘No, I didn’t!’

  One eyebrow rose slightly. ‘What would you call it?’

  ‘A tactical withdrawal.’

  He was silent for several long minutes, his regard unwavering. ‘You possess a high degree of common sense.’ His gaze intensified, and his eyes became incredibly dark. ‘Sufficient, I would have thought, to judge me for the man I am beneath the superficiality of material possessions.’

  It hurt to enunciate the words without allowing a slight catch to affect her voice. ‘Oh, I did, Sloane. I fell in love with the man.’ Her expression became pensive, her eyes incredibly sad. ‘Then I discovered it was impossible to separate the man from everything that comes with the Wilson-Willoughby tag.’

  ‘On that basis, you took the easy route and threw what we had together away?’

  She felt like a laboratory specimen being examined beneath a microscope, and at that precise moment she hated him. ‘Damn you, Sloane! What was I supposed to do?’

  ‘Stay.’

  One word. Yet it conveyed so much. ‘I’m not into masochism.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘What in hell are you talking about?’

  ‘You are regarded as the ultimate prize in a field of wealthy, well-connected men.’ A tight smile momentarily widened her mouth. ‘And I, heaven forgive me, am merely a nonentity who dared to usurp each and every one of the women aspiring to share your life.’

  The hurt, some of the pain clouded her eyes, and her lashes lowered to form a protective veil. ‘I chose not to compete.’ There was more, much more she could have said. Repeated the bitchy comments, relayed one very real threat.

  ‘Unnecessary, when there was no contest.’ Sloane enunciated the words with quiet emphasis, and felt a wrench of pain at the momentary sadness reflected in her expression.

  ‘No?’

  ‘You hold me responsible for other women’s aspirations?’

  Her hands clenched until the knuckles showed white, although she managed to keep her voice remarkably calm. ‘No more than I hold you responsible for being who you are.’

  He wanted to shake her. ‘And, being who I am, I should select any one of several society princesses from the requisite gene pool, have her grace my arm, my bed, and produce the expected two children?’

  The image hurt. So much, it was all she could do not to close her eyes in an attempt to shut it out.

  ‘Be content with a marriage devoid of passion?’ Sloane persisted ruthlessly. ‘Based on duty and a degree of affection?’ His voice lowered and became almost brutally merciless. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

  Her eyes flashed with latent anger at his analytical and persistent questioning. ‘Damn you! I’m not on the witness stand.’

  He didn’t touch her, but she felt as if he had. ‘Humour me. Pretend that you are.’

  ‘And play the truth deal, entirely for your benefit? Sorry, Sloane. I’m not in favour of game-playing.’

  His eyes held hers, and she was unable to look away. ‘Neither am I.’

  ‘Yet you do it every day in the courtroom,’ Suzanne retaliated, and saw his mouth form a cynical twist.

  ‘I don’t allow my profession to intrude into my personal life.’

  His compelling scrutiny was unsettling, and her eyes gleamed with hidden anger. ‘You’re so skilled with word play, I doubt it’s possible to separate one from the other.’

  ‘You think so?’ He moved forward, and she had to forcibly refrain from taking a step backwards. His action wasn’t intimidating, but nevertheless she felt threatened.

  ‘Sloane—’

  He lifted a hand and brushed a thumb along her jawline. ‘Tell me the love changed.’

  Oh, God. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, stricken by the tearing pain deep inside. She was powerless to move as he lowered his mouth to capture hers in a kiss that made her ache for more.

  She physically had to prevent her body from leaning into his as she tried to stem the hunger that activated every nerve-ending. It would be so easy to wind her arms up around his neck and hold on as he took her on an emotional ride, the equal of which she’d never experienced with anyone else. Yet eventually the ride would be over, and she’d be left with only battered pride.

  The sensual magic that was his alone tore at the very foundation of her being, tugging her free until she had no concept of anything but the heat of his mouth and the wild, sweet promise of heavy, satiated senses as they merged as one entity, meshing mind and soul.

  A hollow groan rose and died in her throat at the need for more, much more than this. She wanted to dispense with the restriction of their clothes, to feel the texture of his skin, the flex of muscle beneath her hands, and have his lips, his mouth savour every inch of her body as they urged each other from one sensual plane to another.

  What are you doing? The
insidious query rose silently to taunt her. For a few long seconds she ignored it, then reality intervened as the magnitude of what she was inciting doused the heat and began cooling the warm blood in her veins.

  Sloane sensed the moment it happened and mentally cursed the swing of her emotions. For the space of a few seconds he considered conquering the subtle change, then discarded the urge, aware that she would hold it against him.

  Instead, he lightened the depth of emotion. Slowly easing the pressure of his mouth as he withdrew his possession, he allowed his lips to linger against her own as he pressed a number of light kisses over the full, slightly swollen contours.

  At the same time his hands soothed her body, sliding gently over her slim curves, subtly massaging her nape, the delicate bones at the base of her scalp, the fine slope of her back, the firm waist.

  Then his mouth left hers and trailed down the edge of her neck to savour the faint hollows at the base of her throat.

  He wanted to lift her into his arms and take her here, now, remove what remained of her clothes, his, and make love until there could be no vestige of doubt in her mind as to how he felt.

  Except she would equate that with sexual satisfaction. And while it would certainly ease the ache it wasn’t enough while there were doubts to appease. He wanted her mind, her soul. Everything.

  Who had poisoned the verbal darts and aimed them with careful precision, sufficient to undermine her confidence to such a level that she felt the only option she had was to leave?

  Any one of many, came the cynical knowledge as he ran a mental gamut of numerous female acquaintances capable of sowing the seeds of doubt... and revelling in the byplay.

  Sloane trailed his lips to her mouth, pressed a warm kiss to its edge, then withdrew to within touching distance, his smile tinged with a certain wry humour as he surveyed her bemused expression.

  ‘There’s a path leading off from the beach. Shall we see if it leads back to the villa?’

  He was letting her off the hook...for now. She told herself she was relieved, and made a valiant effort to ignore the vague st irrings of disappointment.