The Helen Bianchin Collection. HELEN BIANCHIN

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СКАЧАТЬ generated a desire for her pleasure as much as his own, and there had never been an occasion when she had felt—used.

      When had she fallen in love with him? Sadly, Elise couldn’t pinpoint a single moment when the revelation had hit. She was aware only of its stealthy possession, and the agonising knowledge that her life would never be the same without him.

      ‘Tonight is the exhibition of fine art held in one of the Woollahra Galleries,’ Raphael informed her. ‘You are attending, of course.’

      Alejandro was a known patron of the arts, and he had a reputation for adding one or two paintings each year to his collection of works by Australian artists.

      The evening’s event included cocktails and horsd’oeuvres, and attendance was strictly by invitation.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘A notable occasion,’ Raphael proffered as his scissors moved with crafted expertise.

      Without doubt, she agreed mentally. The social glitterati would be present, together with members of the Press, and several photographers, each attempting to outdo the other.

      She had even bought a new black gown. Sleeveless, its simple slim-fitting style was enhanced with intricate silver embroidery on the bodice. A high scooped neckline precluded jewellery, and there were matching shoes and evening bag.

      Raphael reached for several fat rollers and positioned them in place, collected a magazine for her to read, then moved towards Reception to greet the next client.

      It was almost four when Elise emerged, another half-hour before she brought the Mercedes to a halt beside the main entrance of Alejandro’s Point Piper home.

      She could hear the shower running as she entered their suite, and she stripped down to briefs and bra, collected a silk robe and slipped it on, then she crossed to the dressing-table to attend to her make-up.

      Alejandro entered the bedroom, with a towel hitched low on his hips, as she applied the finishing touches, and she watched in mesmerised fascination as he moved to her side and bestowed a lingering kiss on the soft curve of her neck.

      His touch sent warmth tingling through her veins, and her expression held a faint wistfulness as he stood behind her and viewed their mirrored reflections.

      ‘What time do you want to leave?’ she queried, unable to tear her gaze away.

      ‘Fifteen minutes. The traffic will be heavy.’ His hands rested on her shoulders, then slowly slid down the front edges of her robe to slip beneath the silk and gently tease the softness of her breasts. With tantalising care he began to brush the pad of his thumb over each sensitive peak.

      Elise felt them swell and harden, and she gave a soundless gasp as his fingers slid to unfasten her bra.

      ‘Alejandro——’

      ‘Humour me,’ he said huskily. His eyes held hers captive, their depths alive with leashed passion. ‘I have thought of little else all day. The intoxicating texture of your skin, its delicate perfume, the way your beautiful eyes soften when I touch you.’

      Sensation spiralled from her feminine core as intense sexual awareness swept through her body. All he had to do was pull her into his arms and she would be lost.

      ‘Shouldn’t we get ready?’ she asked in a strangled voice, and glimpsed the edge of his mouth twist in a gesture of wry self-mockery.

      ‘Indeed.’ His hands lingered, then slowly withdrew to settle briefly on her shoulders. ‘If I kiss you, we’ll never leave this room.’

      ‘In that case, perhaps you’d better get changed and let me finish my make-up,’ she suggested shakily, and he laughed, a deep, soft, husky sound that sent goose-bumps over the surface of her skin.

      ‘Eventually we will return home, mi mujer, and then we shall resume where we have left off.’

      ‘If I’m not too tired.’ It was a tame attempt at denial, and didn’t fool him in the least.

      ‘I promise to do all the work, querida.’ His lips brushed her temple, then slid down to nibble an earlobe.

      Not all, she promised silently as he moved away and selected underwear, a dress-shirt and black trousers that formed parts of a sophisticated shield for the primitive strength of his body. Socks, shoes came next, and when he reached for the immaculate bow tie she hurriedly transferred her attention and picked up a shiny gold tube with which to stroke pastel colour on to her lips.

      Her choice of perfume was her favourite, Evelyn, a subtle rose fragrance that imbued the skin with immense delicacy.

      Five minutes later she slipped into the gown, and she stood perfectly still as Alejandro slid the zip-fastener into place.

      ‘You look beautiful,’ he complimented as she stepped into the elegant evening shoes.

      Collecting her evening bag, she turned towards him and proffered a faint smile. ‘The women will vie with each other for your attention,’ she anticipated lightly.

      ‘I have no control over inherited genes,’ he responded in an amused drawl. ‘And the only woman I am interested in is you.’

      For now, Elise added silently, wishing she could believe him. It would be incredible to feel truly secure in a man’s love, to know without any element of doubt that you were adored, and that even if he displayed visual appreciation for another no other woman had a chance of capturing his heart.

      Such a hope belonged in the realms of fantasy, she decided ruefully, as the Bentley became part of the flow of traffic entering the inner-city perimeter.

      Reality was a combination of harsh facts and formidable statistics which existed as irrefutable proof that love did not always last forever. The first heady bloom often flared brilliantly, only to diminish all too frequently to a state of prosaic affection.

      The car slid to a halt, and Elise’s eyes widened with the realisation that they were stationary. The car park was brightly lit, and there were sounds and movement as guests vacated their cars.

      Alejandro caught her elbow in a light clasp and led her towards the main entrance. Inside, several guests mingled in small groups, and there were several smartly uniformed waiters and waitresses proffering drinks and bite-sized food.

      Almost at once Alejandro was greeted by the gallery owner and engaged in conversation, and Elise found herself drawn into a civilised debate on the advantages of free artistic expression over the confines of conformity.

      ‘Do you enjoy Alejandro’s artistic taste?’

      Oh, hell, she wasn’t even sure which artists he favoured. The paintings hanging on the walls at Point Piper and Palm Beach were visually pleasing, although a few were a little too modern for her own enjoyment.

      ‘Mostly,’ she agreed. ‘Although he has a Pro Hart of which I’m not particularly fond.’

      ‘My wife is a traditionalist,’ Alejandro relayed smoothly. ‘Her taste runs to Max Boyd.’

      ‘Oh, my dear. Hart is quite brilliant.’

      ‘So СКАЧАТЬ