The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (18 page)

Alejandro and Elise communicated their intention to leave. ‘Tomorrow,' Elise promised quietly. ‘We'll catch up. I have photos, and the men have organised a day cruise and a picnic lunch.'

As they left a colleague crossed to their table to talk to Miguel, Camille slipped through the crowd heading for the ballroom exit, Miguel excused himself briefly and moved a few steps away as a friend joined the colleague, and within seconds Hannah was aware of someone taking Miguel's seat.

‘How are you, Hannah?'

The male voice was familiar, and she turned slowly to face the man to whom it belonged.

‘Luc,' she acknowledged coolly. ‘Believe me, there is no need to observe the social niceties. I have nothing to say to you.'

‘So cool,' Luc mocked. ‘Still the ice princess, I see.'

‘You expect me to believe your presence here is purely coincidental?'

He inclined his head in a gesture of musing cynicism. ‘We could enjoy a conversation. Three years, Hannah. We have some catching up to do.'

‘No,' she denied. ‘We don't.'

‘Why,
chérie
?' His smile aimed to melt her heart. ‘It was good while it lasted.'

She could feel the anger begin to burn deep inside. ‘Strange,' she remarked coolly. ‘Our memories don't match.'

She fixed him with an icy glare. ‘So let's cut the pretence, shall we?'

He spread his hands in an expressive gesture. ‘Who's pretending? I was very fond of you.'

‘Words,' Hannah dismissed. ‘Suppose you tell me exactly why you're here?'

‘This event?'

‘Oh, for heaven's sake. Cut the game-playing. You know very well what I mean.'

‘Are you ready for the facts,
chérie
?'

As ready as I'll ever be! She didn't bother answering, just sent him a fulminating look that spoke volumes.

He gave a voluble sigh. ‘It will cost you.'

‘No, it won't,' Hannah denied heartlessly. ‘You owe me. For living the good life at the expense of my foolish generosity.'

He proffered a mocking smile. ‘When did you become so cynical?'

‘Three years ago.'

‘All right,
chérie
. This one is on me, for old times' sake.'

‘Merci,'
she acknowledged in a voice as cold as an arctic ice floe.

‘Camille sought me out, paid my air fare, and is
footing my accommodation,' he revealed, and she arched one eyebrow.

‘And you're bent on playing both ends against the middle?'

He gave a negligent shrug. ‘Your words, not mine.'

Hannah looked at him carefully, saw the handsome features, the rakish gleam evident in his expression, and wondered how on earth she could have been swayed by his charm. His megawatt smile had no effect whatsoever.

‘Go get a life, Luc.'

‘A word of warning, sweetheart,' he offered quietly. ‘Camille is on a mission.'

‘As if I didn't know?'

‘Dance with me, and I could be persuaded to tell you more.'

He was unbelievable! ‘Not even if my life depended on it!'

One eyebrow lifted in cynical amusement. ‘Perhaps you're right.' He cast a glance in Miguel's direction.

‘Miguel Santanas doesn't look the type of man who would willingly share.'

No, Hannah agreed, suppressing a slight shiver. Miguel's ownership was total.

‘Maybe we could share a coffee somewhere and talk about old times.'

‘You can't be serious?' He had such a thick skin, it was almost laughable. ‘Yes, you are,' she acknowledged with a shake of her head.

‘No hard feelings?'

She faced him squarely, her eyes steady. ‘When
you report to Camille, tell her she doesn't stand a snowflake's chance in hell.' She stood to her feet, needing a change of scene, if only for a few minutes.

She turned from the table and saw Miguel's tall frame a few feet distant. He looked totally relaxed, his strong masculine features portraying interest as he listened to whatever his colleague had to say.

One glance at the expression in his eyes was sufficient for Hannah to realise he hadn't missed a thing. There was a darkness evident, a latent anger that was almost frightening.

She moved towards him, pausing as she reached his side while he performed an introduction, and she stood perfectly still as he reached for her hand and linked his fingers through her own.

Support? Protection? she wondered. Or was he merely staking a claim, making a statement?

The colleague excused himself and returned to a nearby table.

‘Shall we leave?' Miguel queried with a faintly inflected drawl.

Hannah offered him a stunning smile, then lifted a hand and traced a light path along the edge of his jaw.

‘And spoil Camille's fun?'

He caught her fingers and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her palm, observing the way her eyes darkened in dilation. Her lips trembled slightly, and for one infinitesimal second she looked acutely vulnerable.

‘You resemble a piece of fragile glass on the point of shattering,' Miguel said gently. ‘Home, I think.'

Her chin tilted fractionally. ‘I'm really very resilient.' She summoned a smile. ‘Besides, there's music, and we should dance.'

They did, for a while, moving to the funky beat, then when it changed to something slower Miguel pulled her into his arms and held her close.

It was heaven. She could almost forget where they were, the time, the place, everything except the man and the emotions he was able to arouse.

She felt his lips brush the top of her head, then linger at her temple, and she made a sound in her throat as they settled just beneath one earlobe.

They fitted together so well, and this close she could feel his powerful thigh muscles, the strength of his arousal.

‘I think we should go home.'

His soft laughter feathered sensation over the surface of her skin, and heat unfurled within, warming her body to fever pitch.

‘Do you need to return to the table?'

She shook her head, and together they made their way towards the ballroom exit, pausing from time to time to speak to acquaintances. They were about to pass through the large double doors when they came face to face with Camille.

‘You're not leaving?'

Hannah offered a polite smile. ‘We both have an early start tomorrow.'

‘Tired, darling?' Her expression was deliberately bland. ‘Miguel must find your lack of stamina a little—' she paused slightly ‘—tiresome.'

‘Perhaps
tired
is just a polite euphemism,' Hannah ventured sweetly, and almost held her breath at the sheer venom evident in Camille's gaze before it was quickly masked. ‘Goodnight, Camille.'

There was little the striking brunette could do other than make a graceful retreat. However there was the promise—no,
threat
, Hannah amended as she walked at Miguel's side to the lift, that this was only the beginning of Camille's campaign.

She sat in silence as Miguel eased the car through the city streets, lost in contemplative thought.

Media speculation had run rife at the time of her engagement to Miguel, and the caption above their wedding photos had given allusion to it being an arranged union. Something that aroused public conjecture, and added fuel to the social gossip columns.

However, more than a year down the track, the conjecture had lessened, they'd settled easily into the pattern of marriage, work and social commitments.

‘You're quiet.'

Hannah glanced at Miguel and could determine little from his expression in the car's dim interior.

‘How perceptive,' she afforded wryly, and incurred his brief glance.

‘Camille bothers you?'

‘Clever, too.'

He waited a beat. ‘And Luc?'

She didn't even have to think. ‘Is ancient history.'

‘Not from where I was standing.'

Hannah took a deep breath, then released it slowly. ‘You should have stood closer.' She bit back a hu
mourless laugh. ‘Then you would have heard me tell him to go get a life and stay out of mine.'

‘That was the extent of your conversation?' They reached Toorak and turned into a select residential avenue.

‘Oh, there's just one other detail,' she revealed as he took another turn and slowed before the impressive set of gates guarding the entrance to their home. ‘He revealed Camille has
you
firmly in her sights, and she'll go to any lengths to get you.' She watched as Miguel activated the remote, opening the gates, and the car eased forward onto the wide sweeping drive. The garage doors slid up automatically at the touch of another remote, then closed seconds later when he cut the engine.

Hannah slid out and walked to the door leading into the house, waited while Miguel tended to the lock, then she moved through to the foyer.

‘Indeed?' he drawled with ill-disguised mockery. He paused at the foot of the beautiful staircase and subjected her to a searching appraisal. ‘Is his role that of accomplice in Camille's diabolical scheme?'

‘Yes.'

‘Be careful,
querida
,' he warned silkily. ‘He hurt you once. I won't tolerate him hurting you again.'

‘
You
won't tolerate it?' She strove to conquer a complex mix of emotions. ‘There's no need to play the jealous husband!'

‘I prefer…protective.'

He didn't move, but she had the impression his
body tensed, and apprehension slithered over the surface of her skin.

‘Luc—'

‘Occupied a small part of your life before you committed to me,' Miguel drawled in a dangerously quiet voice.

Just as several women undoubtedly occupied his. A hollow feeling settled low in her stomach and radiated towards her heart. Dear heaven, just thinking about who they were and how many there might have been made her feel ill.

Hannah held his gaze for several long seconds, then she brushed past him and moved quickly up the stairs.

A hollow feeling settled round her heart as she traversed the gallery to their room, and inside she began removing her ear-studs, then she reached for the catch on her necklace.

Miguel entered the room and shrugged off his dinner jacket, loosened his shoes, and discarded his socks. The bow-tie came next, then he undid and removed his shirt.

Dammit, what was the matter with the catch? She cursed it beneath her breath, and followed it with another as Miguel crossed to her side.

‘Stand still.'

She was incredibly aware of him, the raw primitive aura combined with the subtle scent of his skin and the sensual warmth of his body. There was a part of her that wanted to sink in against him and lift her face for his kiss, while another part wanted to pummel his chest with her fists.

Didn't he know how vulnerable she felt? How much of a threat she knew Camille to be? As to Luc…she wouldn't trust him as far as she could throw him.

Miguel freed the catch in a second, and he dropped the chain into her hand before placing a thumb and forefinger on her chin, lifting it so she had no choice but to look at him.

‘Por Dios.'
His eyes darkened, and a muscle bunched at the edge of his jaw. ‘You think I cannot see what Camille is?' He traced a thumb along her jaw, then slid a hand to capture her nape. ‘Credit me with some intelligence,
mi mujer
.'

‘It's your libido she's aiming at,' Hannah returned succinctly. ‘Not your intelligence.'

‘You imagine I would slip easily into another woman's bed?' Miguel queried with chilling softness.

All she could do was look at him, her mind filled with haunting images that drove her almost to the brink of sanity.

‘We promised each other fidelity,' she managed quietly.

‘You have no reason to doubt my word.'

‘Nor mine.'

His gaze seared hers, seeing beyond the surface, aware of her vulnerability, its cause, and he silently damned Camille for deliberately setting out to undermine it.

He moved his fingers to the zip fastening on her gown, releasing it slowly, then he slipped each shoulder strap free so the beaded silk slithered to a heap
at her feet. All she wore beneath it was a pair of lacy satin briefs, and his hands skimmed to her waist, settled, then slid up to shape her breasts.

He slanted his head down to hers and took her mouth in a slow, drugging kiss that was wholly sensual, tasting, exploring, teasing, until she wound her arms round his neck and kissed him back.

She loved the feel of him, the glide of her fingers as she traced strong muscle and sinew. The silk-smooth skin, the powerful breadth of shoulder, the hard ribcage, his taut midriff.

He was wearing too many clothes, and she reached for his belt buckle, undid it, then set about freeing his trousers.

Hannah felt the need pulse through her body, heating her senses to fever pitch.

Now, dammit.
Now.
Hard and fast, and wild. She didn't want his restraint, only his passion.

Had she said the words aloud? She was past knowing, beyond caring. There was only the moment, and she cried out, urging him on as he lifted her into his arms, then swept aside the bedcovers and tossed her onto the sheets, shielding her body from his weight as he followed her down.

With one hard, long thrust he entered her, felt the customary tightness as she closed like smooth silk around him, taking him in with a series of tiny gasps at his size.

Never before had he resorted to quite this degree of unbridled savagery. Her gaze clung to his, mesmerised by the primitive hunger that sculpted his fea
tures into something wild and untamed. His head was flung back, his neck muscles corded, his jaw clenched.

Then he began to move, slowly at first, almost withdrawing before plunging in, again and again, faster and faster, in a rhythm as old as time.

She became caught up in it, swept along on a roaring tide that crashed, then receded, only to gather force and crash again.