The Helen Bianchin Collection. HELEN BIANCHIN

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      Miguel joined her there minutes later, and she felt acutely vulnerable as he took the soap from her hand, using it gently over every inch of her body before extending it to her to return the favour.

      For a second she hesitated, and the breath caught in her throat as he cupped her face and slanted his mouth down to cover her own in a kiss that was so tender it was all she could do not to cry.

      It was a while before they both emerged, and towelled dry, re-entered the bedroom and slipped beneath the covers.

      He reached for her, and she went to him willingly, curving her arms round his neck as she pulled his head down to hers.

      Miguel indulged her, allowing her to take the initiative, until he stilled her hands and held them.

      ‘Amante, no. As much as I want you, last night—’

      ‘Was wonderful,’ Hannah assured. ‘Earth-shattering.’

      ‘I don’t think—’

      ‘Don’t,’ she pleaded. ‘Think, I mean,’ she added quickly. ‘Just feel. Please.’ She extricated her hands and ran light fingers down his chest, traced a pattern over his navel, then moved low. ‘I want to make love with you.’

      And she did, with exquisite care, rising above him as she took in his length, feeling acute pleasure, enclosing him tightly she began to move.

      Yet it was Miguel who took control and measured the pace, making it a slow erotic dance that shattered them both with its intensity. Then he brought her down to him and held her long after her breathing returned to normal and she slept.

      Saying goodbye was harder than it had ever been before, and she wanted to say don’t go. Except the words never found voice, and she managed the semblance of a warm smile as he kissed her briefly before moving quickly out to the car and slipped into the front seat beside Alejandro.

      Fortunately there wasn’t much time to reflect on Miguel’s departure as she returned to the dining room to finish the last of her breakfast and skim the daily newspaper before ascending the stairs to get ready for work.

      The replacement salesgirl sent by the agency proved to be a dramatic improvement on Chantal, and Hannah began to relax as the morning progressed.

      Renee rang to check how the new girl was shaping up, and Miguel called to say they’d landed in Perth.

      When the phone rang again minutes later Hannah automatically lifted the receiver and intoned her usual greeting.

      ‘Bonjour, Hannah.’

      The voice on the other end of the phone was familiar. Far too familiar, and not one she wanted to hear.

      ‘How did you get my number?’ A silly question, she silently castigated herself the instant the words slipped from her lips.

      ‘Dearest Hannah,’ Luc drawled with cynical humour. ‘Your boutique has a name, which is listed in the telephone directory.’

      The connection to Camille was obvious. ‘What do you want?’

      ‘Ah, chérie,’ he chastised softly. ‘Straight to the point.’

      ‘I don’t have time to chat.’ Her voice was distant, formal.

      ‘Meet me for coffee.’

      ‘I don’t think so.’

      ‘You have to break for lunch, surely?’

      ‘Yes, but I don’t intend to have it with you.’

      ‘Afraid, chérie?’

      Had he always been this insufferably arrogant? She almost cringed at the thought she’d once been attracted to him. ‘Of you? No.’ She replaced the receiver, and turned towards the sheaf of invoices waiting to claim her attention.

      A client entered the boutique, and Hannah watched surreptitiously as Elaine moved forward with a practised greeting. In only a matter of hours the girl was showing her worth, and Hannah felt cautiously hopeful she’d work out.

      Elaine took a lunch break at midday, and on her return an hour later Hannah crossed the street to the café she usually frequented. The food was good, the coffee superb.

      Big mistake, she realised within seconds of entering the busy eatery. Being a creature of habit had its downfall, for anyone familiar with her regular routine would be aware this particular café was her favourite haunt for lunch…whether she chose food to take away, or took the time to eat in.

      Seated at a table overlooking the street was Luc Dubois, looking the relaxed urbane sophisticate he aspired to be.

      Now why wasn’t she surprised to see him there? Luc did nothing without motivation. It made her feel distinctly wary.

      ‘Bonjour, chérie,’ Luc greeted with deliberate warmth. ‘I knew if I sat here long enough it would be only a matter of time before you arrived.’

      ‘I must remember to change my eating venue.’ Without a further word she turned on her heel and walked out again.

      The entire street held several equally trendy eating places. She’d go somewhere else.

      Five minutes later she was seated at a table and had just given her order when someone slid into the seat opposite.

      ‘Whatever the lady ordered,’ Luc instructed the waiter, ‘make it two.’

      Hannah cast him an arctic glare. ‘Just what in hell are you trying to pull?’

      Luc extended one arm in a sweeping gesture. ‘We’re in public,’ he indicated with an eloquent shrug. ‘Why not combine lunch with a little reminiscing?’

      Hannah arched one eyebrow. ‘To what purpose?’

      He tried to look hurt. ‘Why, chérie. We shared some good times together.’

      She spared him a bitter smile. ‘It took me three months to discover your charm was only an act.’

      ‘Not all the time.’

      ‘Oh…p-l-e-a-s-e,’ she discounted wearily.

      ‘The attraction was Daddy’s bank account and my healthy annuity. I was irrelevant.’ Every instinct told her to get up and walk out now.

      The waiter delivered two lattes, and against her better judgement she tore open a sugar tube and tipped the contents into the milky froth. Luc did the same.

      She cut straight to the chase. ‘What has Camille paid you to do?’

      He spread both hands in a conciliatory gesture.

      ‘Why should Camille have anything to do with me wanting to share a coffee with you?’

      She speared him with a look. ‘Don’t take me for a fool.’

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