The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Without hesitation she shifted slightly and parted her lips to meet his in a kiss that merged from warmth to flaring heat in the space of a heartbeat.

  It seemed an age before he lifted his head. ‘We have a wedding to organise.’

  Suzanne’s eyes gleamed as she sought to tease him a little. ‘I don’t have anything suitable to wear.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  In her mind’s eye she skimmed the clothes she’d brought with her. ‘I do?’ The pale blue silk slip dress she’d worn the day before would suffice...providing the resort staff could work a cleaning miracle in time.

  ‘Trust me.’

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

  He smiled, and it sent lines fanning out from the corners of each eye. ‘Do I take that to mean a yes?’

  Suzanne tried for solemnity, and failed. ‘It depends what I’m saying yes to.’

  He leaned forward and brushed his lips to the curve of her neck. His mouth moved lower, trailed a path up her throat and hovered above her lips. He angled his mouth down to hers and took his fill, plundering, possessing, until she could be in no doubt of his feelings, hers.

  ‘Marrying me.’

  His mouth was intent on wreaking such delicious havoc with her senses, savouring the delicate flavour of her skin, while his hands sought and found the acutely sensitised pleasure spots that drove her wild.

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  Yes, she cried silently. There were words she wanted to say, assurances she felt the need to give.

  ‘Sloane.’

  His hands stilled at the way her voice caught in saying his name, and his mouth paused in its downward path. He lifted his head and took in the soft fullness of her lips, the dilated depths of her eyes.

  ‘I love you.’ Words, just three of them. Yet in saying them she gifted more than her body. Her heart, her soul. Everything.

  His hands shook slightly as they slid up to cup her face, and his expression was devoid of any artifice.

  Joy, love, slow-burning deep emotion. Passion. Just for her.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said gently.

  The anger, the frustration, the sheer helplessness that had coloured the past few weeks disappeared. He knew he never wanted to experience them again.

  No one would ever be permitted to diminish what they shared, or seek to damage it in any way. There would be no more doubts, no room for any insecurity. He would personally see to it. Every day of his life.

  Suzanne watched the changing emotions and successfully read every one of them. The resolution, the caring. And love.

  His thumb moved across the fullness of her lower lip with a reverence that made her want to cry. ‘I’m yours,’ he said softly. ‘Always.’ His lips curved into a slow smile that melted her bones. ‘For ever.’

  She had to blink rapidly to dispel the suspicious moistness behind her eyes. ‘Then I guess we get married tomorrow.’ Her mouth moved to form a shaky smile. ‘What on earth will Georgia and Trenton think?’

  Sloane kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Be delighted, I imagine.’

  She leaned into him, overwhelmed by the sheer feel and power of him. ‘Let’s—’ She paused slightly as Sloane’s hand slid beneath the hem of her top and worked an evocative path towards one hip.

  ‘Make love?’ His husky chuckle was low and infinitely sensual.

  ‘Go for a walk along the beach afterwards?’ In the moonlight, in the stillness of night, with the sound of water lapping softly against the sand. Enjoying the magic of an island that was removed from civilisation, where solitude and privacy were guaranteed.

  ‘Sure,’ Sloane agreed easily.

  ‘Providing you have sufficient energy left, of course,’ she said with demure amusement, and had her laugh cut short as his mouth closed over hers in a kiss that promised total ravishment.

  ‘Planning on wearing me out, huh?’ he teased as he carried her upstairs, then laid her down on the bed.

  As he undressed his eyes were so dark, magnificent. And alive with a passion that made her catch her breath. Slowly, and with a sensuality that wasn’t contrived, she lifted the hem of her top, pulled it over her head and dropped it onto the floor.

  He eased himself down onto the bed beside her and she lowered her head and kissed his shoulder, trailing her mouth down to one hard male nipple, savoured it, then followed the dark hair arrowing down to his navel.

  Beneath the fine black silk briefs his arousal was a potent force, and she caressed its outline with the tip of her tongue. It created a slight friction that made him catch his breath, and with a boldness she didn’t pause to question she took the waistband between her teeth and gradually eased them down, inch by inch until the briefs were reduced to a narrow fold across the top of his thighs.

  There was a tremendous beauty in the aroused male form, the knowledge of what that harnessed power could achieve in the pleasure stakes. For each of them.

  Suzanne felt as if she wanted to laugh and cry, both at the same time, with the intense joy of being with this man, for she couldn’t remember feeling so alive, so complete. It was like coming home, the knowledge of everything being right. She wanted to tell him, show him.

  And she did. With infinite care, and a passion unfettered by uncertainty or reservation.

  She wasn’t sure when Sloane took control. Only that together they experienced emotions at their zenith again and again during the ensuing night hours.

  Suzanne stirred as fingers trailed a light path across the flat plane of her stomach, and nuzzled the warm flesh beneath her cheek.

  She didn’t want to move. Didn’t think she could move.

  ‘I guess the moonlit walk along the beach will have to wait.’

  Suzanne registered Sloane’s amused drawl, felt his warm breath tease her temple, and slowly opened her eyes to discover an early dawn fingering soft light into the room.

  ‘Well,’ she murmured, “there’s always the early morning swim.’

  His soft laughter reverberated beneath her ear, and she lifted her head to look at him, glimpsed the teasing warmth evident in the generous curve of his mouth, the liquid darkness of his eyes, and wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Don’t you think I’m capable?’

  The corners of his eyes creased, and the darkness intensified. ‘I should come along in case you drown.’

  ‘You, of course, are a bundle of energy this fine morning?’ She trailed her fingers across his midriff, felt the muscles tighten and created a playful pattern with the dark hair there.

  ‘Go any lower, and I won’t answer to the consequences,’ Sloane warned huskily.

  ‘Just checking,’ she told him with impish mischievousness, then gasped as he lifted her across his chest, rolled her onto her back, and fastened his mouth on hers with devastating accuracy.

  She clung to him, meeting his ardour with her own, loving the fierceness before it altered and softened into something that was incredibly gentle.

  ‘A swim,’ she said with a shaky smile. ‘Definitely a swim. Otherwise we’ll never get out of here.’

  They rose, donned minimum swimwear, and Suzanne caught up a cotton wrap as Sloane collected a towel.

  Outside it was still, and there wasn’t a sound. No birdlife, not so much as a breeze to riffle the foliage as they made their way onto the sand.

  A new day, she mused, watching as the colours around her gradually intensified. Crisp white sand, the sea changing hue from blue to aqua, clearly defined from an azure sky. The air was warm and devoid of the sun’s heat.

  As she watched, the golden orb’s outer rim crept above the horizon, bringing with it the clarity of light, and she heard the first twitter as birds awoke.

  Sloane watched her expressive features, the way her mouth curved slightly open, the softness in those vivid blue eyes as she stood there.

  ‘Want to walk along the shoreline?’

  She turned slowly towards him, and her eyes teased his. ‘Dip our toes in the water, skim a few shells out over the su
rface?’

  ‘Commune with Nature, and maybe sacrifice a swim for a long warm shower?’

  Suzanne gave a throaty laugh as she caught hold of his hand. ‘Chicken,’ she teased. ‘A bracing cold swim, a hearty breakfast...’ She trailed off with a grin. ‘Just what we need to kick-start the day.’ Her eyes sparkled with humour. ‘Last one in—’ She didn’t get to finish as she was swept off her feet and carried into the water. ‘Sloane. Don’t you dare.’

  Cool, not cold, and definitely bracing. The hearty breakfast came way after the long warm shower.

  Then things seemed to move very swiftly into action.

  The celebrant didn’t turn a hair when asked to perform another ceremony. Georgia and Trenton were thrilled with the news. The restaurant management appeared completely unfazed at the request to prepare a small but sumptuous midday wedding feast.

  Suzanne gasped out loud when Georgia removed a pale ivory creation of silk and lace from its protective covering, added shoes, and a fingertip veil.

  Sloane’s contingency plan.

  She reached out a hand and touched the exquisite lace overlay. ‘It’s beautiful.’ The correct size, the right length, perfect.

  ‘Did you—?’

  ‘Help?’ Georgia queried. ‘No, I swear.’

  ‘You’re not going to ask if I have doubts?’

  ‘I don’t need to,’ her mother said gently. ‘You wouldn’t be about to do this if you had them.’

  No, Suzanne agreed in contemplative silence as she crossed to the mirror and began tending to her make-up.

  It was almost eleven-thirty when she made the final adjustment to her veil and stood back from the mirror.

  ‘You take my breath away,’ Georgia said with a tremulous smile.

  ‘Don’t you dare cry,’ Suzanne admonished her with a shaky grin. ‘Or I will too, then we’ll have to redo our make-up, which will make us late, and Sloane will send Trenton on a rescue mission, only to follow closely on his heels with the celebrant in tow.’ Her eyes danced with expressive mischief. ‘Not exactly a scene I would choose. Besides, we can’t have this hastily arranged service misconstrued as a kidnap attempt of the bride by the groom, can we? Think what a field day the gossip columns would have with that!’

  Georgia’s mouth quivered as she caught hold of her daughter’s outstretched hand. ‘Unthinkable,’ she agreed solemnly.

  Tables had been cleared at one end of the restaurant to make room for an elegant archway threaded with hibiscus and frangipani in brilliant shades of pink. Soft music filtered from a stereo system, and red carpet formed a temporary aisle.

  Suzanne took a deep breath, accepted the reassuring squeeze from her mother’s fingers, then began walking slowly towards the archway where Sloane and Trenton waited with the celebrant.

  Father and son were similar in height and stature, their breadth of shoulder outlined by superb tailoring, and almost in unison both men turned to watch the two women in their lives walk towards them.

  Suzanne felt as if time stood still. Her eyes met Sloane’s, and clung. Everything else faded to the periphery of her vision as she drew close, and there was him, only him.

  The expression in those liquid brown eyes held a warmth that threatened to melt her bones. There was a wealth of emotion apparent as he smiled, and her step almost faltered as she reached his side.

  Sloane caught hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips, then he kissed each finger in turn, slowly, as her heart went into overdrive.

  She was barely aware that Georgia moved to one side, and she endeavoured to focus on the celebrant’s voice as he intoned the words, elicited their individual responses, then solemnly accorded them man and wife after the exchanging of rings.

  ‘You may now kiss the bride.’

  Sloane lifted the fine veil with infinite care, then his hands slid to cup her face, and his head descended as he took possession of her mouth in a kiss that claimed and pleasured with such thoroughness, her skin tinged a delicate pink at the blatant promise apparent.

  Afterwards they sipped Cristal champagne from slim crystal flutes, posed for the essential few photographs, then took their seats at an elegantly decorated table where they were served the finest seafood in delicate sauces, fresh salads, an incredible pavlova decorated with fresh cream and fruit for dessert, followed by the pièce de resistance, an iced wedding cake. Which necessitated more champagne, a toast, followed by coffee.

  As weddings went, it had to be one of the smallest, most intimate affairs on record, Suzanne mused as they stood and thanked Georgia and Trenton, the staff, the celebrant, then led the way from the restaurant.

  Sadly, the romantic idyll was almost over, for in half an hour the launch would leave for Dunk Island, where the family jet was on standby to fly them to Sydney.

  Inside the villa Sloane caught hold of her hands and drew her close.

  ‘I don’t think we have time for this,’ Suzanne said a trifle breathlessly as his head descended to hers.

  ‘Depends on your definition of this,’ Sloane teased, touching his lips to the corner of her mouth as he trailed a tantalising path along the contours of her lower lip.

  A groan escaped her throat, and she angled her mouth so that it fitted his, encouraging a possession he didn’t hesitate to give.

  It seemed an age before he lifted his head, and she could only look at him in total bemusement. ‘I think,’ she managed huskily, ‘we should change and pack.’

  His lips brushed across her forehead. ‘Change, but not pack.’ He lingered at her temple, then traced the edge of her jaw. ‘We’re staying here.’

  ‘How can we stay? I’m due back at work tomorrow.’ Her eyes widened. ‘You must have court appearances.’ Her voice husked down to a mere whisper. ‘It’s not possible.’

  He lifted his head and surveyed her features with musing indulgence. ‘Yes, it is.’ He placed a forefinger beneath her chin and lifted it. ‘All it took was a few phone calls.’

  ‘But you can’t—’

  ‘I just have.’

  ‘My job—’

  ‘Secure,’ Sloane assured her. ‘For as long as you want it.’

  She drew in a shaky breath, then released it. ‘What did you tell them?’

  His thumb traced the column of her throat, felt the convulsive movement as she swallowed, and soothed it with the gentle brush of his fingers. ‘The truth.’ He explored the hollow at the edge of her neck, and felt her quivering response. ‘You have a week’s leave with their blessing.’

  It was feasible her work could be shared around. Sloane, however, was in a vastly different position. ‘But what about you?’

  ‘Forward planning,’ he declared, and effected a slight shrug. ‘I did a bit of shuffling, called in a few favours.’

  ‘How long?’ It couldn’t possibly be more than a day or two.

  ‘I’m not due in court until Friday.’

  She wanted to kiss and hug him, both at the same time. ‘I love you,’ she said reverently. ‘Later, I intend to show you just how much.’

  ‘Promises?’

  She offered him a brilliant smile. ‘Oh, yes. Definitely. But now,’ she declared, ‘we change, then we’ll go see Georgia and Trenton onto the launch.’

  His mouth quirked with humour, playing her game. ‘And after?’

  ‘A girl’s wedding day is special.’ Her smile was infinitely wicked. ‘Something of which memories are made and reminisced over down the years.’ She lifted both hands and ticked off her fingers, one by one. ‘There’s the champagne, the bridal waltz, and the throwing of the bridal bouquet.’ Irrepressible humour intensified the blue of her eyes. ‘You planned the first half of the day. Are you willing to leave the second half to me?’

  Sloane caught hold of her hands, and kissed the inside of each wrist before releasing them. ‘I guess I can do that.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THEY reached the jetty a few minutes before Georgia and Trenton, together with the celebrant, were due to board the launch.
Goodbyes were affectionate, but brief.

  ‘I want postcards from Paris,’ Suzanne insisted gently as she kissed Georgia.

  ‘Done.’

  Suzanne stood within the circle of Sloane’s arms as the launch moved out of sight, then she turned and curved an arm around his waist.

  ‘Let’s walk along the beach.’

  He looked down at her expressive features, caught the faint shadows beneath her eyes and experienced a faint pang of regret that he was the cause. She needed to catch up on sleep. Dammit, they both did.

  ‘No rock-climbing,’ he warned, and she laughed, a light, infectious sound that curled round his heart.

  ‘Intent on preserving the energy levels?’

  The smile he slanted her held warm humour. ‘Yours, as well as my own.’

  They trod the soft sand to the first promontory, then turned and slowly retraced their steps. The pool looked inviting, and they stroked a few lengths in lazy rhythm before emerging to lie supine side by side on two loungers, allowing the soft warm breeze to dry the brief, thin pieces of silk they each wore.

  Suzanne must have slept, for she dreamt of isolated incidents that had no common linkage, and woke to the drift of fingers tracing a soft pattern down her forearm.

  The sun was low in the sky, and there were long shadows deepening the colour of the sand.

  ‘It’s late.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Sloane queried, propping himself up on one arm.

  She rose to her feet in one fluid movement. ‘We have a dinner reservation in half an hour.’ She stretched a hand towards him. ‘Time to rise and shine and shower and dress.’

  They made it with barely a minute to spare, and were seated out on the terrace overlooking the bay.

  Suzanne requested champagne, conferred with Sloane over the menu choices, and they opted for a light meal, preferring entrée servings with salads and fresh fruit.

  The scallops mornay were superb, the oysters kilpatrick divine, and the prawns delectable.

  They delighted in feeding each other morsels of food in a feast that equally fed their palates and their senses.

  Anticipation was a powerful aphrodisiac, and they deliberately lingered, delaying the return to their villa by tacit consent.