The Marriage Campaign. HELEN BIANCHIN

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СКАЧАТЬ an abstract,’ a slightly accented male voice revealed with a degree of musing mockery.

      Francesca’s stomach muscles tightened, premonition providing an advance warning even as she turned slowly towards him.

      The bank, the foodhall, and now the art gallery?

      Dominic had witnessed her entrance, and noted her progress around the room with interest. And a degree of satisfaction when she was greeted with such enthusiasm by the wife of one of his business associates. It made it so much easier to initiate an introduction.

      She regarded him silently. The deeply etched male features, the hard-muscled frame tamed somewhat beneath superb tailoring. Also apparent were the hand-stitched shoes, Hermes tie, and gold Rolex.

      The smile reached his eyes, tingeing them with humour, yet there was a predatory alertness beneath the surface that was at variance with his portrayed persona.

      A man who knew who he was, and didn’t require any status symbols to emphasise his wealth or masculinity.

      Power emanated from every pore, leashed and under control. Yet there was a hint of the primitive, a dramatic mesh of animalistic magnetism that stirred something within her, tripping the pulse and increasing her heartbeat.

      ‘Francesca.’

      The soft American drawl caught her attention, and she turned at once, her expression alive with delight.

      ‘Benedict!’ Her smile held genuine warmth as she leaned forward to accept his salutary kiss. ‘It’s been a while.’

      ‘Indeed.’ Gabbi’s husband offered an affectionate smile in acknowledgement before shifting his attention to the man at her side. ‘You’ve met Dominic?’

      ‘It appears I’m about to.’

      Something flickered in Benedict’s eyes, then it was masked. ‘Dominic Andrea. Francesca Angeletti.’

      The mention of her surname provided the key to her identity, Dominic acknowledged, as details fell into place.

      He was Greek, Francesca mused, not Italian. And the two men were sufficiently comfortable with each other to indicate an easy friendship.

      ‘Francesca.’

      Her name on his lips sounded—different. Sexy, evocative, alluring. And she didn’t want to be any one of those things with any man. Especially not this man.

      Dominic wondered if she was aware the fine gold flecks in her eyes intensified when she was defensive... and trying hard to hide it? He felt something stir deep inside, aside from the desire to touch his mouth to her own, to explore and possess it.

      ‘Are you sufficiently brave to offer an opinion on my exhibit?’

      He couldn’t be serious? ‘I’d prefer to opt out on the grounds that anything I say might damage your ego.’

      His husky laughter sent a shivery sensation down the length of her spine. ‘Benedict and Gabbi must bring you to dinner tomorrow night.’

      If Dominic Andrea thought she’d calmly tag along he was mistaken! ‘Why?’

      ‘You intrigue me.’ He saw her pupils dilate, sensed the uncertainty beneath her cool façade. And was curious to discover the reason.

      ‘No. Thank you,’ she added.

      ‘Not curious to see my artist’s attic?’

      ‘Where you live doesn’t interest me.’ Nor do you, she wanted to add. And knew she lied. For there was an invisible pull of the senses, a powerful dynamism impossible to ignore.

      A man who sought to forge his own destiny, she perceived, not at all fooled by the smile curving that generous mouth. The eyes were too dark and discerning, dangerous.

      She had the strangest feeling she should be afraid of the knowledge evident in those depths. An instinctive sureness that he was intent on being a major force in her life.

      ‘Six-thirty. Gabbi will give you the address.’ His lips tilted slightly as he slanted her a mocking glance. ‘If you’ll excuse me?’

      ‘Extraordinary man,’ Francesca commented, silently adding lethal and persistent as she watched him thread his way to the opposite side of the gallery.

      ‘A very successful one,’ Benedict informed her mildly. ‘Who dabbles in art and donates a lot of his work to charity.’

      ‘Accept Dominic’s invitation,’ Gabbi added persuasively. ‘If you don’t, I’ll be outnumbered, and the conversation will be confined to business.’

      Francesca rolled her eyes. ‘Not really a hardship. You excel in business.’

      Gabbi’s eyes sparkled with impish humour. ‘Take a walk on the wild side and say yes. You might enjoy yourself.’

      All Francesca’s instincts shrieked a silent denial. She liked her life as it was, and didn’t need nor want any complications that might upset its even tenure.

      Although it might prove a challenge to play Dominic Andrea at his own game and win.

      ‘What do you think of that sculpture in steel?’ Benedict queried, successfully diverting their attention.

      Ten minutes later Francesca chose to leave, indicating to Gabbi quietly, ‘I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow.’

      Leon was effusive as she crossed to his side and thanked him for the invitation, and as she turned towards the door she saw Dominic Andrea deep in conversation with a stunning diminutive blonde.

      Almost as if he sensed her gaze, his head lifted and dark eyes pierced hers with mesmerising awareness.

      There was nothing overt in his expression, just an unwavering knowledge that had an electric effect on her equilibrium. It was almost as if he was staking a claim. Issuing a silent message that he would enjoy the fight, and the victory.

      Fanciful imagination, Francesca dismissed as she gained the foyer, then she descended the short flight of steps and took the well-lit path to her car.

      With the ignition engaged, she eased the vehicle forward and entered the busy thoroughfare.

      Dominic Andrea had no part in her life, she assured herself silently as she headed towards her Double Bay apartment.

      

      Francesca put the finishing touches to her make-up, examined the careless knot of hair she’d swept on top of her head, then stood back, pleased with the overall image.

      Halter-necked black dress, sheer black tights, perilously high stiletto-heeled black pumps. Cosmetic artistry provided a natural look, and a brilliant red gloss coloured her lips. Jewellery comprised a diamond bracelet and matching ear-studs.

      Without pausing to think, she collected a slim evening purse and car keys, walked out of the apartment and took the lift down to the basement car park.

      Traffic was heavy as she drove through the city, and once clear СКАЧАТЬ