The Helen Bianchin Collection. HELEN BIANCHIN

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      ‘Was I successful in overturning your decision?’

      He seemed to take his time in answering. ‘You could say we eventually reached an understanding.’

      ‘You asked me out.’ This much she knew, because he had told her.

      ‘You opposed me as no other woman had, questioning my business acumen and condemning me for my lack of compassion.’ Warmth gleamed in the depths of his dark eyes. ‘Your fierce loyalty impressed me, and I was sufficiently intrigued to insist we share dinner. Within twenty-four hours I had persuaded you to marry me.’

      ‘And arranged for the wedding to take place a month later.’ Dear God. Such omnipotence was devastating. She found it vaguely shocking that she had given her consent. ‘Am I supposed to believe you’re an honourable man, or go with reality?’

      One eyebrow slanted in mocking cynicism. ‘Which reality would you prefer, querida?’

      ‘You have the advantage,’ she managed, with a degree of sadness. ‘While I possess none.’

      ‘Finish your tea,’ he commanded quietly. ‘Then I will take you upstairs to rest.’

      She wanted to say that she wasn’t in the least tired, but the thought of being free from his disturbing presence for an hour or two was attractive, and she replaced her cup on its saucer.

      ‘I have a house overlooking the ocean at Palm Beach. It’s an ideal location for you to relax and recuperate.’

      ‘You mean for both of us to stay there?’ Not alone, surely? she agonised, aware that he had caught the fleeting emotions apparent on her expressive features.

      He lifted a hand and brushed warm fingers across her cheek. ‘Of course. Your welfare is very important to me.’

      For some inexplicable reason she felt the faint stirring of apprehension feather insidiously down her spine.

      Why? she queried silently as they moved towards the magnificent staircase. Yet with every step she took, her sense of anxiety increased.

      The entire floor was covered in thick-piled powder-blue carpet, providing a cool tranquillity that was pleasing.

      Elise caught glimpses of rooms employing muted shades of pale green and peach, delicate pinks and greens, the softest shades of blue and cream, all so beautifully co-ordinated that she began to suspect he had enlisted the services of an interior decorator.

      The master suite held a king-sized bed and two finely crafted rosewood chests of drawers, with matching cabinets and bedside pedestals. The drapes and bedcover were of a bold design in cream, pale lilac and blue.

      She watched as he crossed to the bed to turn back the cover, then with deft movements he retrieved several pillows from a cabinet and assembled them into a comfortable nest against the bedhead.

      ‘There’s an intercom device on the pedestal,’ Alejandro informed her as she slid off her shoes, then sank back against the pillows.

      The breath caught in her throat as he lowered his head and brushed his lips against her own in a provocative caress before straightening and moving back a pace.

      ‘I’ll be in the study for an hour or two. If you need anything, just activate the intercom. Rest well, querida,’ he bade gently, then he turned and left the room.

      There was a collection of magazines conveniently placed within easy reach, and Elise idly browsed through two before discarding them, her eyes heavy with a weariness she could no longer fight.

      Her sleep was dreamless, and when she woke it was to see Alejandro standing a short distance from the bed, his eyes dark and faintly brooding as they examined her pale features.

      ‘I’ll have Ana bring you a tray.’ He reached out a hand and tucked a stray tendril of hair back behind her ear. ‘Come,’ he commanded, sweeping the sheet aside. ‘I’ll help you undress.’

      No, a silent voice screamed from deep within. ‘I should be able to manage,’ she voiced in strangled tones.

      ‘I doubt it,’ Alejandro returned, his eyes darkening measurably at her evident reluctance. ‘Think of me as a nurse,’ he drawled, taking in her cleareyed resolve with a narrowed gaze as she got to her feet.

      No nurse of the male species could possibly look as he did, nor create such havoc with her senses.

      Calm deliberation was evident in his actions as his fingers undid first one button, then another.

      ‘The thought of a man you can’t remember removing your clothes,’ Alejandro pursued in a silky voice, ‘a man who as your husband has lain with you every night in this bed, tasted every inch of you, and placed the seed of his child in your womb…frightens you?’

      ‘Unnerves me,’ Elise corrected shakily, almost hesitant to voice the words that had tortured her since she had been made aware of her pregnancy. ‘Had we planned to have this child?’

      His eyes took on a gleaming warmth as he leant down and brushed his lips to the edge of her mouth. ‘The choice and timing of conception was your decision.’ His fingers freed the third button, then moved to the fourth. ‘Rest assured, I could not be more delighted.’

      The last button slid undone, and she stood helplessly still as he slipped the silk blouse free from her left arm, removed the sling supporting her injured right hand, then carefully drew the blouse free.

      When he reached for the clip fastening on her bra she was unable to prevent an intake of breath or govern the erratic beat of her heart, and she would have given anything not to be dependent on his help.

      ‘Close your eyes, if you must,’ he advised with amused indulgence. ‘Unfortunately I cannot do the same, for fear I might cause you unnecessary pain.’

      He was amused, damn him! Resentment flared, lending her eyes a brilliant sparkle as she sprang into barely restrained speech.

      ‘You think I enjoy being dependent on you?’ Stupid tears welled up and threatened to spill.

      ‘Your reticence is somewhat misplaced,’ he chastised as he freed the clip, then eased the straps off each shoulder, and his eyes narrowed as she lifted an arm to cover her breasts.

      A protesting gasp escaped from her lips as he caught hold of her left wrist and carefully pulled it away.

      She closed her eyes, aware of her bruised shoulder. The colour had changed from dark red to purple. Now it was a deep bluish-green.

      ‘Por Dios.’ The soft curse slipped into the stillness of the room, and his eyes darkened in silent anger as he saw that the bruising extended the length of her ribs on the right side.

      The silence stretched between them, and began to play havoc with her nerves.

      ‘It could have been worse,’ she offered, and saw his expression harden into a frightening mask.

      ‘Yes,’ Alejandro agreed with brutal cynicism. ‘That young fool behind the wheel could have been responsible for your death.’

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