The Helen Bianchin Collection. HELEN BIANCHIN

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      ‘Well, now, there’s the thing,’ she commented with unaccustomed flippancy. ‘I’m sure I should be flattered.’

      ‘She upset you.’ It wasn’t a query, merely a statement.

      ‘Observant, too. Please don’t ask me for a word-by-word replay.’

      ‘Katrina—’

      ‘Let’s go enter the social fray, shall we?’

      ‘It’ll keep.’

      There were friends present whom they needed to connect with, acquaintances to acknowledge, and it was almost midnight before they could slip away.

      Katrina sat quietly in the car as Nicos traversed city traffic and headed towards the eastern suburbs.

      ‘Want to talk about it?’

      She transferred her attention from the brightly lit street and could define little from his shadowy profile.

      He’d been so chillingly cool with Georgia…for her benefit? She returned her gaze to the scene beyond the windscreen. Even looking at him hurt.

      ‘Not particularly.’

      As soon as they reached home she slid out from the car and moved through to the lobby ahead of him, mounting the stairs at a quickened pace, almost as if she was intent on putting as much distance between them as possible.

      Which was ridiculous, she admitted silently as she reached the landing and made her way towards the bedroom.

      Nicos followed, watching as she stepped out of her shoes, then she removed her jewellery before freeing the zip fastening on her gown.

      ‘I had no idea Georgia would be there tonight.’

      Her fingers stilled for a few seconds, then she slid the straps free from her shoulders and carefully slipped the gown down over her hips.

      All she wore were thong briefs, and he wondered if she had any idea how provocative she appeared. Pale, satin-textured skin, slender, toned curves, and firm breasts which fitted perfectly into his palms.

      He wanted to skim his hands over her hips, then slide up to cup each breast, teasing the peaks with the tips of his thumbs, then replace his hands with his mouth.

      ‘I don’t really care.’ It was as well her face was hidden from him, otherwise he’d have seen through the fabrication in a heartbeat.

      Then he was there, his hands turning her towards him, and he dealt with her token struggle as easily as if he were restraining a child.

      There was little she could do to prevent him capturing her chin and tilting it so she had little option but to look at him.

      ‘Yes, you do.’

      His voice was a soft drawl, and she fought against swallowing compulsively, afraid the gesture would give hint to her fragile emotions.

      ‘Don’t.’ The single word was a desperate plea as his head lowered down to hers, and she closed her mouth against him, only to have her lips part involuntarily at the first, slow sweep of his tongue.

      It was a kiss to die for, gentle, evocative, pervasive, and she ignored the taunting little voice in her head that warned he was merely embarking on a skilled seduction.

      A faint groan sighed in her throat as he reached for the pins in her hair, slipping them free with practised ease, then he threaded his fingers through its length and held fast her head, angling his own as he deepened the kiss to something that was almost an oral duplication of the sexual act itself.

      Then it was too late, and she was unaware of him removing his clothes, only that he had, and she reached for him, drowning in his touch as he tumbled her down onto the bed, the magic his mouth was able to evoke, and her own unbridled response.

      It was only later, much later that she rolled away from him, angry with herself for her own weakness and with him for what she perceived as his ability to take advantage of it.

      ‘Deny what we share, if you can,’ Nicos said hardily.

      Her eyes assumed a fiery sparkle. ‘And that’s supposed to make me feel okay? You think I don’t hate myself for this…addiction to—’

      ‘Sex?’

      ‘You.’

      ‘Thank you, agape mou,’ he acknowledged silkily, ‘for the distinction.’

      Katrina burst into angry speech. ‘I shouldn’t be able to feel like this. It’s—’ words momentarily failed her ‘—disgusting!’

      His expression hardened, and she glimpsed a muscle tense at the edge of his jaw. ‘I can think of many apt descriptions,’ he said with deceptive quietness. ‘Disgusting isn’t one of them.’

      ‘What would you call it, then?’ she demanded.

      ‘Sensual magic. Primitive passion. Raw desire. Meshing into something unique…for both of us.’

      Dear God. In the beginning it had been all of that, and more. Much more. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. Even now, after everything that had split them apart, the emotional intensity was just as fierce. A primeval force demanding recognition.

      A year ago she would have vowed it was love. But how could she call it that now in the face of his infidelity? It didn’t make sense.

      ‘Yet three months after our marriage…three months,’ she emphasised, ‘your obviously not-so-ex-mistress delights in revealing she’s pregnant and names you the father.’ Her eyes sparked green fire. ‘A fact by anyone’s calculation that lays the proof of infidelity squarely at your door.’

      Anger moved up a notch or two. ‘Hell, you must have gone straight from our nuptial bed to hers within days of returning from our honeymoon!’ It didn’t help to remember the idyllic, carefree few weeks they’d spent on Maui. Lazy days and long, love-filled nights.

      ‘At the time you took Georgia’s word over mine.’ Nicos wanted to shake her. ‘Did you pause to consider how that made me feel?’ His hands fisted, and he controlled the urgent need to smash something. Soon, he would have the proof he needed. But for now all he had was words.

      ‘Did it never at any time occur to you that Georgia deliberately set out to destroy our marriage? You, me?’

      ‘Yes.’ It was an honest admission, one that had been her first thought. A woman scorned could prove a dangerous threat. ‘But she provided dates, places…hotels.’ Receipts as confirmation. The horror of being presented with such proof came flooding back, the memory leaving her features pale, her eyes too large, too dark with remembered pain.

      ‘I wasn’t with her.’

      ‘Dammit, she was pregnant,’ Katrina vented. ‘She had medical proof.’ Her breath hitched, and she sought control. ‘She showed me a copy of the ultrasound.’ A video delivered to her apartment weeks later by special messenger. Vivid, cruel evidence she’d only been able to view for seconds before СКАЧАТЬ