The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Suzanne could only admire Trenton’s determination that their weekend sojourn, and particularly the wedding itself, remain a strictly private affair.

  There would be time for the guests to check into their respective villas, enjoy a leisurely lunch, and explore Bedarra’s facilities before assembling next to the main complex for an outdoor marriage ceremony.

  Trenton and Sloane joined the guests in the restaurant for lunch, while Georgia and Suzanne ate a light salad together in Georgia’s villa.

  It ensured there was plenty of time for them to style their hair, complete their make-up, then dress.

  Georgia was ready ahead of time, looking lovely, if slightly nervous. Suzanne gave her mother’s hand a reassuring squeeze, then quickly stepped into the elegant pale blue silk slip-dress she’d chosen to wear.

  There was a matching jacket and shoes, and she opted to leave her hair loose. Make-up was kept to a minimum, except for skilful application of eyeshadow and mascara, and she selected a clear rose lipstick to add colour.

  Then she spared her watch a quick glance. ‘This is it.’ She cast her mother an impish grin. ‘Are you OK?’ There was no need to ask if there were any last-minute doubts.

  Georgia smiled a trifle shakily. ‘In half an hour, I’ll be fine.’

  Suzanne crossed to tuck a hand beneath her mother’s elbow. ‘Then let’s get this show on the road, shall we?’

  The short walk to the main complex was achieved in minutes. Georgia didn’t falter as she crossed the lawn to where Sloane stood waiting at the head of a stretch of red carpet dividing three small rows of seated guests and leading to an artistically decorated archway, where Trenton waited with the celebrant.

  Suzanne felt her breath catch as Sloane turned towards her with a slow, warm smile, then he took Georgia’s hand in his and walked her down the carpeted aisle.

  Suzanne followed, and when they reached the archway she moved to Sloane’s side as Trenton took hold of Georgia’s hand.

  Glorious sunshine, the merest hint of a soft breeze, and a small gathering of immediate family and close friends assembled on an idyllic island resort. What more could a bride ask for?

  Nothing, if Georgia’s radiant expression was anything to go by, Suzanne decided, unable to still a faint stirring of wistful envy.

  Her mother looked beautiful, and much younger than her forty-seven years as she stood at Trenton’s side while the celebrant intoned the words of the marriage ceremony.

  Georgia’s response was clear, Trenton’s deep and meaningful, and his incredibly gentle kiss at the close of the ceremony tugged Suzanne’s heartstrings.

  She moved forward to congratulate and hug them both, and the faint shimmer of tears in Georgia’s eyes was reflected in her own.

  Sloane did the unexpected and kissed Suzanne briefly, but hard, and the pressure of his mouth on hers sent her lashes sweeping wide in silent disapproval.

  His answering smile didn’t come close in explanation, and she stood at his side, almost anchored there as they greeted guests, made social small talk, and accepted the occasional gushing compliment about the happiness of the bride and groom.

  The encroaching dusk meant everyone moved indoors, and it was essentially smile time. In fact, Suzanne smiled so much and so often, her facial muscles began to ache from sheer effort.

  ‘You’re doing well,’ Sloane drawled as she took a further sip from her flute of champagne.

  ‘Why, thank you, darling. Wonderfully well is what I’m aiming for.’

  ‘And a hair’s breadth from overkill.’

  She cast him a stunning glance. ‘No more than anyone else. Even as we speak, deals are being implemented by two of the country’s top business moguls.’ Her eyes sparkled wickedly. ‘Their respective second wives are at daggers drawn beneath the sophisticated façade as they size up who is wearing the more expensive designer outfit.’

  ‘Second and third wife,’ Sloane corrected, and she inclined her head in mocking acceptance.

  ‘Sandrine Lanier and Bettina—?’ She arched her eyebrows speculatively. ‘Just who in Sydney’s social élite tied the knot with Bettina?’

  He lowered his head and brushed his lips against her temple. ‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you.’

  ‘Ah, but given the right context it can be fun,’ she declared solemnly.

  ‘Sandrine works very hard at being the successful wife.’

  It was true. The former actress was delightful, and devoted herself tirelessly to charitable causes. She was also an excellent hostess who enjoyed entertaining her husband’s business associates. Michel Lanier was a very fortunate man.

  Bettina, however, fell into an entirely different category. The glamorous blonde had frequented every social event Suzanne had attended with Sloane. And had taken great pleasure in flirting with him outrageously at every opportunity. As well as with every wealthy eligible man on the social circuit in a bid to cover her options.

  ‘Just who did Bettina choose?’ There could be no doubt on that issue!

  ‘Frank Kahler. They married two weeks ago.’

  She didn’t need to ask. ‘You attended the wedding.’

  ‘Yes.’ Sloane’s acquiescence held a certain wryness for the occasion that had been far too over the top to be described as being in good taste.

  What excuse had he given for her absence?

  ‘You were visiting your mother in Brisbane for the weekend.’

  Suzanne looked at him, and glimpsed the fine lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, then her gaze travelled to the vertical crease slashing each cheek, the wide, sensual mouth, and the strong set of his jaw.

  ‘Feasible, in the circumstances, wouldn’t you say?’ Very feasible, she silently agreed. ‘You could easily have admitted our relationship was over.’

  ‘Now why would I do that?’

  ‘Because it was. Is.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do you mean, no?’

  He leaned forward and brushed his lips against her own, and then he raised his head fractionally. His eyes were dark, and appeared so incredibly deep she became momentarily lost.

  Her heart thudded in her chest, and for a split second she forgot to breathe. Then reality kicked in, and she took in a deep, ragged breath, then shakily released it.

  ‘Did you honestly think I’d let it rest on the basis of the explanation you presented to me?’ Sloane queried, and saw her eyes dilate with something akin to apprehension, then be replaced with an attempt at humour.

  ‘Impossible, of course, that I might have had a hissy fit about the number of women who fawn over you, and acted on impulse?’

  His lips parted to show even white teeth behind an amused smile. ‘A hissy fit?’ The edge of his mouth curved. ‘Now that’s an expression which conjures up an interesting image.’

  ‘Doesn’t it just?’

  His eyes became even darker, and something moved deep within. Something she dared not define. ‘Not your style, Suzanne.’

  No, it wasn’t. Nor did she act on impulse.

  ‘Nor was your note,’ Sloane continued in a dangerously mild voice.

  ‘You know why I left,’ she said fiercely.

  ‘Whatever the motivation, the action was all wrong.’

  ‘Sloane. Suzanne. We need you for photographs.’ Trenton’s voice intruded, and Suzanne drew a deep breath and collected her scattered thoughts as they moved across the room to the position the photographer indicated.

  The man was a hired professional, and aware of the scoop his work would create. He wanted the best shots.

  It took a while. The eye of the camera was very perceptive, and Suzanne should, she felt, have earned an award for her performance in playing the loving fiancée of the bride’s stepson. Not to mention the groom’s son.

  Afterwards trays of exquisitely presented hors d’oeuvre were proffered and the champagne flowed like water. Background music from a selection of CDs filtered from strategically placed speakers as the guests mixed and mingled.


  ‘Sloane, so nice to see you again.’

  Suzanne turned at the sound of a breathy feminine voice, and summoned a stunning smile for the second—no, third wife of one of Trenton’s friends.

  ‘Bettina,’ Sloane acknowledged her. ‘You’ve met Suzanne?’

  Bettina’s laugh was the closest thing to a tinkling bell that Suzanne had ever heard. ‘Of course, darling.’

  Kittenish, Suzanne decided. Definitely cultivated kitten. The short, tight shell-pink skirt, the almost-too-tight matching camisole top covered by a designer jacket one size too small. Her hair and make-up were perfection, her lacquered nails a work of art, and the jewellery she wore just had to be worth a small fortune. Bored, and with an inclination to flirt.

  ‘Such a cute idea to have an island wedding.’ She touched careless fingers to Sloane’ sleeve and deliberately fluttered her lashes. ‘You will save a dance for me, won’t you?’ The moue was contrived. ’Frank isn’t the partying type.’

  Frank Kahler was a substantial catch, Suzanne mused, and felt a pang of sympathy for the much older entrepreneur whose fame and fortune were Bettina’s main attraction.

  ‘I doubt Suzanne would be willing to share,’ Sloane responded with a musing smile.

  ‘Oh, darling, of course you must dance with Bettina,’ she said in mild reproach, and her eyes shimmered with simmering sensuality. ‘After all, I’m the one who gets to take you home.’

  He caught hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips, then kissed each finger in turn. ‘Indeed,’ he intoned softly.

  Oh, my, he was good. She could almost believe he meant it. Then she came to her senses, and she smiled, aware that her acting ability was on a par with his own.

  ‘I think I’ll have some more champagne.’ Bettina cast Sloane an arch look from beneath artificially curled lashes. ‘You’ll fetch another for me, won’t you?’

  Interesting, Suzanne decided, that Bettina should use such a well-used ploy. Sloane’s eyes gleamed in silent recognition, and Suzanne derived a certain pleasure from handing him her flute. ‘I think I’ll join Bettina. Thank you, darling.’ The emphasis was very slight, but there nonetheless.

  ‘He’s a hunk, isn’t he?’ Bettina sighed as Sloane turned and began threading his way to the bar.

  And then some. ‘Yes,’ Suzanne agreed, waiting for the moment Bettina would slip in the knife.

  ‘Sloane came alone to my wedding. Were you sick, or something, darling?’ A dimple appeared in one cheek, although there was no humour apparent in Bettina’s expression. ‘For a moment there, I thought you were no longer an item.’

  Suzanne hated fabrication, but she refused to give Bettina any satisfaction by differing her story from the one Sloane had provided. ‘I was in Brisbane visiting Georgia.’

  ‘Quite a coup.’ The almost-green eyes hardened and her expression became brittle. ‘Mother and daughter snaring both father and son.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Suzanne’s smile was in place, and she appeared perfectly at ease.

  ‘You must have worked very hard.’

  ‘Impossible, of course,’ Suzanne said with the utmost charm, ‘that Trenton and Georgia could have fallen genuinely in love?’

  ‘Oh, really, Suzanne. No one falls in love with a wealthy man. Steering them into marriage involves an extremely delicate strategy.’

  ‘Of the manipulative kind?’ There were no rules in this game, and, as loath as she was to play it, she was damned if she’d allow Bettina a victory. ‘Is that how you snared Frank?’

  ‘I cater to his needs.’

  Suzanne deserved an award for her performance as she touched a finger to the diamond-encrusted watch fastened on Bettina’s wrist. ‘Catering obviously pays well. Perhaps I should try it.’

  ‘What,’ a familiar deep voice drawled, ‘should you try?’

  Suzanne turned slightly and met Sloane’s indolent gaze. She accepted a flute of champagne and watched as he handed another to Bettina.

  ‘Bettina and I were discussing catering to our men’s needs.’ Her eyes sparkled with deliberate guile. ‘My car has been playing up lately, darling. I rather fancy a Porsche Carrera. Black.’ Her mouth widened into a beautiful pout as she lifted a finger to her lips, licked it suggestively, then placed it against the centre of his lower lip. ‘Perhaps we could negotiate—later?’

  Sensation spiralled from her central core as he nipped her finger, then drew it into his mouth and swirled the tip with his tongue before releasing it.

  His eyes were dark, gleaming depths reflecting desire and thinly disguised passion. ‘I’m sure we can reach an agreeable compromise.’

  Are you mad? a tiny voice taunted. Don’t you know you’re playing with fire?

  ‘One imagines you intend tying the knot soon?’

  ‘Trenton and Georgia’s arrangements have taken precedence over our own,’ Sloane informed Bettina smoothly, and incurred her tinkling laugh.

  ‘Don’t wait too long, darling. There’s quite a few who would be happy to push Suzanne out of the way.’

  Suzanne saw Sloane’s eyes narrow slightly, sensed the predatory stillness, and felt all her muscles tense.

  ‘Should that happen, they’d have me to deal with.’ His voice was ominously soft, and intensely dangerous.

  Bettina’s light laugh held a slight note of incredulity. ‘Figuratively speaking. Not literally, for heaven’s sake.’

  Sloane’s expression didn’t change. ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’ His eyes hardened measurably. ‘Any threat, impulsive or premeditated, is something I’d take very seriously.’

  His meaning was unmistakable, and Bettina blinked rather rapidly.

  ‘Well, of course.’ She sipped her champagne, then offered a brilliant smile. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I really should get back to Frank.’

  ‘Wasn’t that just a bit too menacing?’

  His eyes were still hard when they swept over Suzanne’s features. ‘No.’

  She opened her mouth, only to have it pressed closed by his in a brief, hard kiss.

  ‘Don’t argue.’

  Mixing and mingling was a social art form, and Sloane did it extremely well, slowly circulating between guests as he enquired about various family members, listened to an amusing anecdote or two, and shared a few reminiscences.

  Dinner was served at seven. Tables in the restaurant had been assembled to ensure the bridal party of four were easily visible to the guests, and the food, comprising several courses, was superb.

  There were two speeches: one which Sloane delivered welcoming Georgia into the family, and the other a response from Trenton.

  The wedding cake was an exquisite work of art, with intricately iced orchids so incredibly lifelike that one almost wanted to touch a petal to see if it was authentic.

  When it was cut, sliced and handed to each guest, Sloane bit into his before feeding some of it to Suzanne in a sensual display she opted to return, for the benefit of their audience. Or so she told herself, for there was a part of her that wished it were real.

  The kiss was something else. Evocative and incredibly thorough; there was absolutely nothing she could do about it without causing a stir.

  When he lifted his head she could only look at him with a measure of reflected hurt, and just for a second she thought she glimpsed regret beneath the gleaming purpose, then it was gone.

  The music changed and Trenton led Georgia onto the floor to dance.

  ‘We’ll follow suit.’ Sloane indicated, rising to his feet and catching her hand in his.

  Now this...this was dangerous, she mused as she moved into his arms. It was like coming home. Heaven. Her body fitted his with intimate familiarity, and she felt it quiver in recognition of something beyond which she had little control.

  Sexuality. Heightened sensuality. Potent alchemy. If love was like a river, then theirs ran deep. And fast.

  She was acutely aware of her own response and, held close like this, she found it impossible to ignore the evidence of desire
in his.

  It was all she could do not to link her hands together at his nape, and her eyes held bemusement as his lips trailed to one temple.

  Suzanne heard her mother’s soft laugh, and Sloane’s hold loosened as each couple came to a brief halt in order to switch partners.

  ‘It’s a beautiful wedding,’ Suzanne commented as Trenton led her into another waltz. Other guests began to join them on the floor.

  ‘Georgia is a beautiful woman. On the inside, where it counts,’ he said gently. ‘As you are.’

  It was a lovely compliment. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I can promise to take good care of her.’

  ‘I know.’ It was nothing less than the truth. ‘Just as I know you’ll both be very happy together.’

  They circled the floor again, then Sloane effected the change. Five minutes later another guest cut in, and during the ensuing hour Suzanne danced with almost every man in the room.

  Bettina manoeuvred things very skilfully so that she got to dance with Sloane. Suzanne saw each move the glamorous blonde made, and had to commend her tactics.

  To anyone else in the room Bettina. looked a vivacious guest, and their fleeting attention would have admired the practised smile, the faint flutter of perfectly manicured lacquered nails.

  Suzanne, whose examination was much more precise, saw the subtle promise in Bettina’s almost-green eyes, the apparent accidental brush of her generous and silicone-enhanced breasts, the inviting part of those perfectly painted lips, and had to still the desire to tear Bettina’s eyes out.

  Three minutes, four? They each seemed to acquire a tremendous magnitude before Sloane executed a change in partners and drew Suzanne close.

  She held herself stiffly within the circle of his arms, and she moved her head slightly so that his lips brushed her ear and not her cheek as he intended.

  ‘Bettina,’ Sloane drawled with stunning accuracy.

  ‘You’re so perceptive.’

  ‘It’s an inherent trait,’ he declared musingly. ‘Do you know you quiver when you’re angry?’