Seduction Assignment. Helen Bianchin

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      Except she didn’t want to return to the city. Given a choice, she’d have preferred her aunt’s company, her wisdom. And the solitude of a sandy stretch of beach in a gently curving bay where she could walk alone, meditate, and allow fresh emotional scars to heal.

      A solitude she wouldn’t gain if she went back to her small city apartment. Friends, concerned for her welfare, would ring and try to entice her to join them at any one of several parties, or attend the cinema, the theatre. Suggest lunch or dinner and attempt to play amateur psychologist.

      Unburdening her soul and having her every word, every action dissected and analysed didn’t form part of her agenda.

      ‘I intend to stay,’ Anneke responded with equal civility.

      Sebastian hadn’t been aware the small knot of tension existed until it suddenly dissolved in his gut. Nor could he explain the reason for its existence.

      Sure, Vivienne’s niece was a sassy, long-legged blonde whose captivating green eyes invited a second glance.

      His mouth formed a slightly bitter twist. He’d known several sassy, long-legged women in his time, and bedded more than a few. Only to discover they’d coveted his wealth first and foremost. With the exception of Yvette, with whom he’d shared one precious year. In an unprecedented twist of fate, she’d been victim of a random road accident on the eve of their wedding.

      For two years he’d buried himself in work, diced daringly in the world of high finance, only to wake one morning and opt for a complete change of lifestyle.

      He owned apartments, houses, in several major capital cities around the world, and for a while he’d lived in every one of them.

      It was in Paris, the country of his birth, where he’d first begun to pen a novel, the idea for which had niggled at his brain for months. The state-of-the-art computer which linked him to his various business interests had acquired a new file.

      A file which had grown and totally absorbed him. His path to acceptance and publication had been a dream run. At a time when virtual reality teased the readers’ senses, his futuristic upbeat plots had been a hit. International success soon followed, and in a bid for anonymity he’d returned to Australia, sought and found relative isolation in a picturesque bay in the Northern Rivers area, and snapped up a cottage he took pleasure in slowly renovating and refurbishing during the morning hours.

      Once a year he flew to the States for the obligatory book launch. And each Christmas was spent in Paris. Occasionally he looked up old friends and joined the social set for a while, only to find the life palled, the new plot beckoned, whereupon he returned to the place he’d called home for the past five years.

      Now he looked into the clear green gaze of the first sassy blonde who’d shown an active dislike of him, and relaxed his features as he proffered a faint smile. ‘Six o’clock will be fine.’

      Where had he been during that long minute of silence? Anneke told herself she wasn’t interested. And knew she lied.

      She inclined her head stiffly, and matched her voice to the gesture. ‘I intend going back to bed.’ Her eyes held his, fascinated by dark slate-grey depths whose expression was difficult to discern. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d stop hammering so that I can catch up on some sleep.’

      ‘OK.’

      She couldn’t believe he intended to comply. ‘You’ll stop?’

      Those sensuously moulded lips curved slightly. ‘You asked me nicely.’

      Anneke opened her mouth, then closed it again.

      She watched in silence as he removed the ladder and stored it, gathered up the used section of roof guttering and collected his tools.

      Without a further word he turned and covered the distance to his cottage with an easy, lithe stride.

      Denim hugged every curve, hinted at superb thigh and calf muscle, and emphasised the length of his legs. Lean waist, fluid muscular grace evident in the breadth of his shoulders denoted more than average strength.

      Dammit, why was she standing here watching him, for heaven’s sake? Men weren’t her favoured species at the moment, and this man irritated her beyond measure.

      She retreated indoors, paused long enough in the kitchen to fill a glass with water and drink it, then she made for the bedroom and slid between the sheets.

      The anger hadn’t subsided; if anything it had intensified. Joined by the stinging realisation that she had no job, no salary, and running expenses to maintain on her apartment.

      On the plus side, she had an annuity from inherited investments, sufficient to live quite comfortably until she found employment, and there was a reasonably healthy savings account from which she could draw funds to meet weekly expenses.

      Anneke closed her eyes and deliberately summoned pleasant thoughts, employed meditation techniques, and resorted to counting sheep. Nothing worked.

      With an angry jerk she tossed off the sheet, rose and pulled on a swimsuit. A swim, followed by a walk along the beach, then breakfast. After which she’d examine the contents of Aunt Vivienne’s refrigerator and pantry, decide what to prepare for Sebastian’s dinner, then drive into Byron Bay and collect everything she needed from the supermarket.

      Anneke paused long enough to clean her teeth and run a brush through her hair, then she slid on a pair of sunglasses, caught up a towel, and made her way down onto the sandy foreshore.

      The sun was warm, with the promise of increasing heat as the day progressed. A faint sea breeze teased the ends of her hair, and she inhaled the tangy salt air with pleasure.

      There wasn’t another person in sight, and she relished the solitude, choosing to explore the familiar shoreline for several minutes before opting to wade into the cool water.

      Effecting a neat dive, she broke the surface and began a pattern of leisurely strokes parallel to the shore for a while, before emerging to towel the excess moisture from her skin and hair.

      It didn’t take long for the warm air to dry her swimsuit, and she wrapped the towel round her waist, then set out towards the outcrop of rocks at the furthest end of the bay.

      Anneke could feel her body relax as the tension eased, and she increased her pace to a light jog, enjoying the exercise, the morning, the solitude.

      It was almost an hour before she re-entered the cottage, and after a shower she dressed in casual shorts and a top, then caught up a pad and pen as she examined her aunt’s pantry and refrigerator and noted what food supplies she’d need to collect from the supermarket.

       CHAPTER THREE

      BREAKFAST comprised cereal, toast and fruit, followed by ruinously strong black coffee.

      Anneke tidied the few dishes, then she caught up her car keys, slid the strap of her bag over one shoulder, and made her way out to the carport.

      Byron Bay was a pleasant seaside town, a popular holiday area, and the community centre for outlying banana, avocado and sugar cane farmers.

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