Francesca had selected black Armani evening trousers and matching jacket, high-heeled pumps and discreet gold jewellery. Her make-up was understated, with emphasis on her eyes.
‘Sensational,’ Dominic commended with a slow sweeping appraisal that made her heart beat faster. He fixed his black bow tie, adjusted cufflinks, then shrugged into his suit jacket. The look was that of a high-powered business executive, sophisticated, at ease and in total control.
Dominic reached into his pocket and withdrew a slim jeweller’s case. Inside was an exquisite gold chain, and she watched as he extracted it and fastened it around her neck.
His eyes met hers and held them as he lifted her left hand and pressed the intricate gold band to his lips.
The gesture shocked her, and a sensation akin to pain settled deep in her heart. She could only look at him in silence, incapable of uttering so much as a word, and she made no protest as he caught hold of her hand and led her from the suite.
The gallery was in a converted old Queenslander-style home, with wide covered verandahs bordering each of the four external walls. Double French doors led onto the verandah from every room, and the effect was one of rambling spaciousness.
Dominic was greeted effusively, Francesca recognised, and accorded equal reverence.
There was little opportunity to wander at will and admire the exhibited paintings before the first of the guests began to arrive.
‘You’re a hit,’ Francesca murmured later as the gallery filled and the erudite examined and essayed an opinion as they conferred with apparent knowledge on style and form. A ‘Sold’ sticker appeared on one painting after another.
‘Me, or my art?’ Dominic teased, and saw her eyes gleam with hidden laughter.
‘Both,’ she said succinctly. ‘Think you can hold things together for a while?’ There was no doubt he could. ‘I intend to appraise the exhibits.’
‘Why is it that your opinion makes me nervous?’
She cast him a musing smile, then saw that he meant it. ‘Afraid I might get a glimpse of your soul, Dominic?’
‘Perhaps.’
How did one judge the complexities of a man who was capable of such artistic expression? Was any part of it an extension of the man himself, or merely a practised style?
‘He’s very talented, don’t you think?’
Francesca turned at the sound of a male voice, and smiled at the elderly silver-haired gentleman. ‘Yes. Yes, he is.’
He indicated the abstract. ‘What do you see in this?’
‘It intrigues me,’ she said honestly. ‘I look for hidden meanings, and find none.’
‘Precisely. But one cannot easily give up the search for a key which could unlock the puzzle, hmm?’
‘You’re right,’ she conceded slowly, and he lifted an imperious hand.
‘I shall buy it. As an investment it will increase threefold in value over the next few years. It will also provide my guests with a conversation piece.’ He lowered his hand as an assistant hurried forward. ‘Now, my dear, what takes your eye?’
He accompanied her from one room to another, his interest keen, his charm and wit entertaining. It was more than an hour before Francesca rejoined Dominic, and she met his faintly raised eyebrow with a smile.
‘I’ve been conversing with a very interesting gentleman.’
‘Samuel Maxwell, art critic and collector,’ Dominic acknowledged.
‘He thinks you’re very talented.’
His eyes gleamed with mocking humour. ‘I’m honoured.’
‘He bought an abstract.’
‘And flattered,’ he said steadily. ‘Maxwell is selective.’
‘There you go,’ she said lightly. ‘Another fan.’
‘And you, Francesca. Are you a fan?’
‘Of the art, or the man?’
She was saved from answering when his attention was caught by a dowager of generous proportion who flirted outrageously. Francesca cast him a faintly wicked smile, and moved to the far side of the room.
It was a further hour before they could slip away. The evening was, according to the ecstatically fulsome gallery owner, a tremendous success.
A limousine returned them to their hotel, and they took the lift to their floor.
‘Tired?’ Dominic queried as they entered their suite.
‘A little.’ She slipped off her shoes and loosened her jacket.
He lifted a hand and lightly traced the gold chain to where it nestled in the valley between her breasts. ‘You have beautiful skin.’
Her eyes lightened with humour. ‘Are you seducing me?’
‘Am I succeeding?’
Every time. She had only to look at him and her body went into sensual overdrive. All evening she’d been supremely conscious of him, part of the scene yet apart from it. And knew that he was equally as aware of her as she was of him. It had been evident in every glance, the touch of his hand whenever she drifted into his orbit, the warmth of his smile.
He made her feel so incredibly alive. A warm, sensual woman in tune with her own sexuality and aware of its power.
It was an awakening, a knowledge that heightened the senses and brought another dimension to the physical expression of shared sex. The body and mind in perfect accord with that of another. Mutual pleasuring gifted freely without self-thought.
Francesca lifted her arms and pulled his head down to hers, loving the feel of his lips as they grazed across her cheekbone, traversed her jaw, then settled with unerring accuracy on her mouth.
They had the night. Tomorrow they’d board a flight south and resume the hectic tenure of their individual lives. But for now it was enough to savour the loving.
Francesca awoke slowly to the light trail of fingers creating a pattern over the concave of her stomach, and she felt the rekindling of desire as lips settled fleetingly on one shoulder and trailed a path to her breast.
She could feel the faint rasp of his night’s beard as it grazed lightly over her skin, and she gave a soft, exultant laugh as he caught her close and rolled onto his back.
There was a feeling of power in taking control, and he allowed her free rein as she tantalised and teased, then it was he who set the pace and she who clung to him in a ride that tossed her high, so high she had no recollection of anything except acute sensual pleasure, and the knowledge he shared it with her.
Long afterwards she lay cradled against his chest, his arms caging her close as he smoothed her tumbled hair and stroked fingers over her silken skin.
It was late when she woke, and they showered together, ordered in breakfast, then dressed and checked out in time to connect with the Sydney flight.
Several hours later they disembarked, exited the airport terminal, and entered into the stream of traffic heading towards the city.
‘I have to be in Melbourne tomorrow,’ Dominic informed her as he negotiated a busy intersection, and Francesca felt a sense of loss.
‘When will you be back?’
‘Wednesday at the earliest. Probably Thursday.’
She’d miss him. ‘I have a photographic session Wednesday, another scheduled for Thursday.’
They were traversing the Harbour Bridge before she realised he hadn’t taken the Double Bay turnoff.
‘Dominic—’
‘Stay with me tonight.’
She didn’t need to think, didn’t want to think. She’d have enough time to do that while he was away.
It was after eight the next morning when Dominic deposited Francesca outside her apartment building on his way to the airport.
She rang Rick, then Sophy, caught up with Gabbi, and had a long conversation with her agent. An international fax from her mother-in-law’s Italian solicitor needed an immediate response, which entailed a search through copies of legal correspondence.
Lunch comprised a salad sandwich followed by fruit, and she cooked pasta for dinner.
Dominic called her at nine, and the sound of his voice produced an unbearable longing. ‘Missing m
e already?’
You don’t know how much. ‘A little.’
‘It’ll keep, Francesca.’
She hadn’t fooled him in the slightest. ‘Sleep well,’ she lightly mocked, and she heard his soft chuckle.
‘Promises?’
‘Maybe.’
It was late when she slipped into bed, and she lay awake for an age, damning her inability to fall asleep. After an hour she switched on the television and changed channels for a while. Her head felt heavy with tiredness, and she lifted the weight of hair from her nape in an effort to ease the kinks.
Her fingers touched on the gold chain at her neck, and she absently traced its length as she thought of the man who had put it there, and why.
What she’d had with Mario had been special. No one could take it away. But would he have wanted her to live the rest of her life alone? To deny herself happiness and love—a different kind of love perhaps—and children, with another man? Somehow she didn’t think so.
Without questioning her actions she drew off Mario’s wedding ring and attached it to the chain, feeling the weight nestle in the valley between her breasts.
There were roses waiting for her in Reception when she entered her apartment building late the following afternoon, and she rang Dominic on his cellphone, only to discover he was in a meeting and unable to talk freely.
‘I can say anything, and you’ll be hampered in your response?’ Francesca teased.
‘I can always reschedule.’
She laughed. ‘For something terribly decadent, with fresh strawberries and expensive champagne?’
‘Is that a definite?’
‘Would you prefer yoghurt or whipped cream?’
‘Count me in.’
‘I’m offering seconds.’
‘That, too.’
‘What would your associates think if they knew you were indulging in mild phone sex?’
His voice deepened. ‘I’ll look forward to settling with you in a day or two.’
She gave an irrepressible chuckle. ‘I’ll hold that thought.’
It was no easier to summon sleep than it had been the night before, and Francesca lay awake in the darkness caught up in a web of reflective thought.
Love. Was this what it was? An inability to think, to function without him? To want, need with such intensity it became difficult to focus on anything else?
Wednesday’s fashion shoot went way over time, and an unexpected summer shower saw Tony transfer the shoot indoors, to his studio, before moving on as scheduled to a major city department store.
It was almost closing time when the final shot was taken. Staff were packing up, and only a few last-minute shoppers remained.
In the changing room Francesca stepped into cotton trousers, fastened the zip, then pulled a skinny-rib top over her head.
The store’s background piped music clicked off as she stepped into heeled sandals and gathered up her bag.
‘Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?’
‘Waiting for Francesca,’ a deep male voice drawled in response.
Dominic.
She smoothed nervous fingers over the length of her hair, then emerged from the changing room to see Tony regarding Dominic with hard-eyed suspicion.
He turned towards Francesca as she moved forward. ‘You know this man?’
Her eyes met Dominic’s, and what she saw there made her catch her breath. Then she smiled. ‘Yes.’ She didn’t hesitate, just walked straight into his arms and raised her face for his kiss.
Dominic was very thorough, and it was several minutes before he lifted his head. ‘The lady is with me,’ he said with deadly softness, for the benefit of anyone who might have held the slightest doubt. Then he looked down at her. ‘Isn’t that so?’
He was asking much more than that, and she gave him his answer. ‘Yes.’
Later, much later, they lay entwined in the shadowy dark hours of night, sated and deliciously drowsy after a long loving.
‘You are going to marry me?’
Francesca lifted a hand and gently traced a finger over the length of his jaw. ‘Am I?’
Dominic let his teeth nip at a delicate swell of flesh, felt her shudder, and sought to soothe the tiny bruise with a gentle open-mouthed kiss.
‘That was meant to be a statement, not a question.’
‘Ah.’ She smiled in the darkness. ‘Being masterful, are we?’
‘Soon.’ The insistent undertone made her want to tease him a little.
‘Next year?’ The query earned her an evocative kiss that made her forget everything.
‘Next week.’
‘That could be difficult.’
She felt rather than heard his soft laughter as he trailed his mouth down the edge of her neck. ‘Nothing is difficult.’
No, it wasn’t, if you had the money to pay a horde of people to organise everything.
‘Like to hear what I have in mind?’
She let her fingers traverse the indentations of his back, then conducted a slow sweep to one hip. ‘Why is it I get the feeling you’ve already set a plan in motion?’
‘A ceremony in the gardens at my home, a celebrant, family and immediate friends.’
It sounded remarkably simple. And romantic. Francesca could almost see it. A red carpet rolled out on the spacious lawn, glorious stands of trailing roses framing the gazebo. She even had a dress she’d never worn that would be perfect.
She sensed the faint tightening of muscles beneath her straying fingers, felt the increased beat of his heart and was unable to continue teasing him. ‘OK.’
‘OK? That’s it?’
‘Yes,’ she said gently. ‘There’s just one consideration.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I’m due in Milan, remember? Then Paris.’
‘My darling Francesca,’ Dominic declared with deceptive indolence, ‘I’ll not only be sharing your flight—’ he placed his lips against a particularly vulnerable part of her anatomy and felt her indrawn breath ‘—I’ll be standing at the rear of every function room wherever you appear on the catwalk.’ He suckled gently and felt her fingers rake through his hair. ‘And occupying your bed every night.’
‘Mmm,’ she murmured with satisfaction. ‘I was hoping for that.’
His laugh was low and smoky. ‘Should I be brave and ask which has priority?’
As if he needed to ask! Her lips curved to form a winsome smile. ‘It’s nice to share travel with a companion.’
‘Really?’
‘Uh-huh. And of course it will be reassuring to know you’re in the audience.’ The smile widened. ‘Although you should be warned that designers are temperamental creatures who won’t tolerate distractions.’
‘Guess I don’t get to go backstage.’
‘Not if you value your life.’
‘They’re likely to get physical?’ He was deliberately baiting her, and she responded in kind.
‘No, but I might.’ Too many women in various stages of undress wasn’t something she felt inclined to share with him.
‘You’ve left out something.’
‘I have?’ She gave a tiny yelp as he rolled onto his back and carried her with him. A slow, sweet smile lightened her features and she lifted her arms high in a graceful cat-like stretch. ‘Oh, yes. You get to share my hotel suite each night.’
‘Witch,’ Dominic accorded lazily.
It was a while before Francesca could summon sufficient energy to talk.
‘A rooftop apartment in Paris, and a delayed honeymoon would be a nice way to bring my career to a close.’
Something jerked at his insides, and he carefully controlled it. ‘You’re thinking of giving up modelling?’
She hadn’t needed to give it much thought. ‘Professionally.’
There was silence for a few seemingly long seconds. ‘Don’t you want to ask me why?’ Francesca queried gently.
This was one time he found it difficult to coordinate the right words. ‘Tell me.’<
br />
‘I want to have your child. Children,’ she corrected. ‘That is, if you—’
Dominic didn’t allow her to finish as he brought her head down to his, and his mouth was an evocative instrument as he kissed her with such passionate intensity it melted her bones.
When at last he lifted his head, she could only press her cheek into the curve of his neck, and a slight tremor shook her slender frame as he cupped her face and shifted it so that he could see her expression in the slim stream of moonlight arcing across the room.
‘You’ll make a beautiful mother,’ he said gently.
She felt the prick of tears, and consciously banked them down, but not before he’d glimpsed the faint diamond-glitter drops on the edge of her lashes.
His mouth possessed hers with a soft, evocative hunger that was so incredibly tender she could almost feel her whole body sigh in silent acceptance of a joy so tumultuous it transcended any rationale.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE limousine carrying Francesca, Gabbi and Katherine swept smoothly across the Harbour Bridge, then headed towards Beauty Point.
It was a glorious summer afternoon, the sky a clear azure with only a nebulous drift of cloud to mar its perfection.
Francesca lifted a hand and absently fingered the single strand of pearls at her neck. It held a pendant, a pearl teardrop surrounded by diamonds. There were earstuds to match. Dominic’s gift to his prospective bride.
Her gift to him was simplistic, but meaningful. A secret smile curved her lips, and her eyes softened as she imagined his reaction.
Her fingers sought the slim gold chain, and failed to find it. A slight frown creased her forehead. It must be directly beneath the pearls. She remembered taking it off before she showered...and had a mental image of lifting the pearls from their flat jeweller’s box.
She’d left the chain on the bedside pedestal.
‘We have to go back.’ The words slipped out before she was even aware she’d voiced them.
‘But we’re almost there,’ Gabbi protested. And at the same time Katherine expressed in consternation, ‘Francesca, we’ll be late.’
Somehow she didn’t think Dominic would mind. Although first she needed to instruct the driver, then she had to make a call from the car phone. When both were achieved, she sank back against the cushioned seat.
The Marriage Campaign (Harlequin Presents) Page 13