The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (28 page)

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Authors: Helen Bianchin

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Erotica, #Collections & Anthologies, #Contemporary Women, #General

BOOK: The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections)
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One glance at his expression determined he had a mission in mind and, unless she was mistaken, he was bent on ill intent.

‘I wanted to see you alone,' he began without preamble.

She could almost pre-empt what he was going to say, but she remained silent, willing to admit she might be wrong.

‘I need some money.'

‘I don't have any on me.'

‘But you can get it.'

They'd been this route before. In the beginning, she'd thought she could help, and had. Until she'd realised she was only feeding his habit. ‘No.'

‘Tomorrow. Meet me for lunch. Bring it then.'

She was past feeling sorry for him. ‘What part of
no
don't you understand?'

‘I'm begging you, dammit!' He pulled in his temper with effort. ‘A thousand, Katrina. That's all.'

‘Didn't playing news gossip informant pay well enough?'

His eyes hardened. ‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

Her headache intensified. ‘Even if I were to lend it to you, how long will that hold off the heavies, Enrique? A week? Then what will you do?'

‘All I need is one win—'

‘No.'

Katrina watched his features darken with dread. Enrique in a mean mood was something she'd prefer to avoid.

His hand caught her arm in a painful grip. ‘Bitch!' he exclaimed with soft venom. ‘You'll pay for this!'

‘Let me go,' she said quietly, and clenched her teeth against a silent cry as his fingers twisted viciously on her skin.

‘Do as Katrina says.' Nicos's voice was a chilling drawl.
‘Now.'

Enrique's hand fell to his side.

‘I can't think of any good reason for you to threaten my wife,' Nicos said with dangerous softness. ‘Touch her again, and I can promise you won't walk or talk for some considerable time.'

‘You should be aware I've instructed my lawyer to contest Kevin's will,' Enrique declared vehemently.

‘Something that will prove an exercise in futility,' Nicos advised with hard inflexibility. ‘Each of Kevin's wives were well provided for in their divorce settlements,' Nicos continued with deceptive mildness. ‘Neither you nor Paula have any reason to make a claim against Kevin's estate.'

‘That's not how I see it!' Without a further word, Enrique turned and re-entered the ballroom.

Katrina cast Nicos a fulminating look, and almost died at the latent anger evident.

‘I didn't need rescuing!'

His expression remained unchanged. ‘No? From where I was standing, your charming stepbrother appeared to have the advantage.'

She could have told him Enrique had used a variety of bullying tactics in the past. And that Chloe's son felt his stepsister owed him by virtue of his mother's marriage to Kevin Macbride.

Her chin lifted fractionally, and her eyes were clear. ‘I can handle him.'

A muscle clenched at the edge of his jaw. ‘Verbally, without doubt,' Nicos acknowledged with an edge of cynicism.

Katrina barely restrained stamping her foot in angry frustration. ‘Don't play the heavy, Nicos.'

‘I'll take you home.'

‘The hell you will.'

‘Determined to thwart me at every turn, Katrina?'

She drew a deep, calming breath. ‘If we don't go back in there, Enrique will imagine he's scored a point against me.'

‘Fifteen minutes,' Nicos conceded. ‘Then we leave.'

It was closer to an hour, and almost midnight when they entered the house. Together they ascended the stairs, and Katrina turned as they reached the landing.

‘Goodnight.'

Nicos lifted a hand and caught hold of her chin, then his mouth closed over hers in an evocative kiss that was all too brief as his tongue skimmed hers, tasted, then retreated.

For a moment it left her wanting more, and she fought against the instinctive need to move in close and kiss him back.

Except that would be tantamount to an admission of sorts, and she'd spent too many months building up a barrier against him. To allow him to begin tearing it down would be the height of foolishness. Besides, she doubted she could bear the pain.

She pulled away from him, and he let her go.

Too easily, she reflected as she reached her room and closed the door behind her.

S
UNDAY
dawned with grey skies and the imminent threat of rain. Katrina rose early, donned a sweatshirt, shorts and trainers, went downstairs to the kitchen, made up fresh orange juice, filled a glass and drank the contents, then traversed the spiral staircase to the gym.

The house was quiet, and she entered the large room, viewed the various equipment, crossed to the punching bag and swung a solid right into its centre. Something which bruised her knuckles, but gave infinite satisfaction.

‘If you aim for a repeat, I suggest you don a boxing glove,' Nicos drawled as he entered the room, and she turned towards him with a glare that merely caused him to arch an eyebrow in silent query. ‘Or perhaps you'd rather hit the quarry instead of making do with a substitute?'

Had he followed her down here? Doubtful, given time spent in the gym was part of his daily routine. She cursed herself for unintentionally choosing an early morning sojourn.

‘Don't tempt me.'

She looked about seventeen, devoid of make-up and her hair caught in a pony-tail. Her eyes were stormy, her mouth soft and full. He had to curb the
desire to cross the room and explore her mouth with his own, aware such an action would probably earn him a swift jab in the ribs and a diatribe worthy of a seasoned navvy.

Katrina crossed to the treadmill, adjusted the settings, and set it in motion, increasing the speed to a punishing pace, then followed it with time on the exercise bike.

She deliberately concentrated her energies on achieving a predetermined number of kilometres, and was unable to stem a heightened awareness of Nicos as he spent time with various weights, the bench press, and the treadmill.

Her fitness regime didn't come close to his, something that appeared clearly obvious as she picked up a towel and began to dab the sheen of sweat beading her forehead.

Katrina spared Nicos a surreptitious glance as she curled the towel round her neck.
He
could have been taking a walk in the park for all the effort it appeared to cost him.

The flex of well-honed muscle and sinew presented a dramatic mesh of strength and power, one that was impossible to ignore. For it brought images to mind she'd tried hard to forget.

It mattered little that she'd been unsuccessful. Or that being thrust back into his presence forced her to confront an ongoing battle with her emotions.

Anger and pain warred with a primitive alchemy. One she recognised, the other she condemned.

How could she feel anything for a man who had
not only kept his mistress after marriage, but had foolishly impregnated her without caution?

Why
, then, had Nicos agreed to Kevin's ridiculous suggestion? Worse, what role did Georgia play in all of this?

Dammit, there was a child involved. A baby boy who must surely be only a matter of weeks old. What of him?

There were too many conflicting thoughts chasing through her mind for easy conjecture, and with a mental shake of her shoulders she contemplated entering the sauna, then the plunge pool. Except that would mean stripping off, and there was no way she intended to disrobe in his presence.

Besides, she really needed to put some space and distance between them, and she quietly exited the room. Breakfast, followed by a shower, then she'd don casual clothes and go out for the day.

Anywhere that would take her away from this house and the indomitable man who owned it.

Twenty minutes later she descended the stairs,
en route
to the garage, and encountered Nicos in the lobby.

He took in the bag slung over her shoulder, and car keys in her hand. ‘Going out?'

‘You object?' Katrina countered coolly.

‘Now, why should I do that?'

She made to move past him. ‘Don't wait up.'

A hand closed over her forearm. ‘An observance of common courtesy wouldn't go astray.'

She cast his hand a telling glance, then lifted her
gaze to meet his. ‘As to where I'll be, and the time of my return? Difficult, when I have no definite plans.'

‘Except to escape.'

It irked that he knew her so well.
‘Yes.'

He let her go, and minutes later she eased her car through the gates, then headed towards the northern beaches.

She could have phoned a friend and organised to share the day, but she preferred solitude and a good book.

Choosing a relatively isolated beach, she spread out a towel, switched her mobile phone to message-bank, and opened the latest paperback release written by a favourite author.

Lunch was a sandwich bought from a nearby kiosk, plus bottled spring water, and she read for a few hours, then oddly restless she packed up her belongings and drove into the city where she browsed the shops at Darling Harbour.

It was easy to lose herself in the wandering crowd, and she paused to admire a silver bracelet displayed in a silversmith's window. Its intricate design was sufficiently unusual to warrant closer examination, and she was about to enter the shop when a familiar voice greeted her. ‘Slumming, darling?'

Katrina turned to face a tall, slender blonde whose attractive features had, she knew, been cosmetically enhanced. The result was perfection, complemented by exquisite make-up, and her designer apparel em
phasised sculptured curves and a physically toned body.

‘Paula,' she acknowledged, aware her stepsister's smile was as superficial as her apparent warmth.

‘Trying for incognito, Katrina? Or am I missing something, and
this
—' she indicated the shorts, shirt knotted at the midriff, and trainers ‘—is a new look?'

‘It's called
casual
,' Katrina responded lightly, and witnessed Paula's faint moue.

‘And where is the inimitable Nicos?'

‘I left him at home.' That much was true. Although how long he remained there was another thing.

‘So newly reconciled.' Her smile was the antithesis of sweet. ‘Although everyone knows it's only to comply with dear Kevin's last wishes.'

‘Everyone?'

‘Why, yes, darling.' She appeared to sharpen her claws. ‘You're the lead topic among the social set.'

Doubtlessly fuelled by erroneous speculation. So what else was new? ‘Really?'

‘Naturally, you're aware Enrique intends to contest the will.'

‘As you do?'

‘Oh, no, sweetie. I have it on authority it would be a lost cause.' Paula raked Katrina's slender frame. ‘How does it feel to be an heiress, darling? You always were Daddy's pride and joy. You even married the prince, only to discover he had feet of clay.' Her smile held little warmth. ‘Interesting coincidence his mistress is back in town.' Her eyes widened with false dismay. ‘Oh, dear, you didn't know?'

She'd had a lifetime of experience in schooling her features. ‘I should thank you for the advance warning.'

‘My pleasure.'

Katrina didn't attempt to qualify a reason to leave. ‘Bye, Paula.'

The practised pout didn't quite cut it. ‘Just when we were beginning to catch up.'

Catching up
with Paula was something Katrina preferred to avoid. A personality clash, Andrea had termed their animosity from the onset.

Friendship between the daughter of one partner and the daughter of another had never been an issue. Existing in superficial harmony required wit, wisdom, and an ever vigilant eye…for the barbed comment, the embellishment of truth, and the metaphorical stab in the back. It had been Paula's mission in life to discredit Kevin's
ewe-lamb
.

Andrea's stint as Katrina's stepmother hadn't lasted long, and just when Katrina had thought it could only get better, along had come Chloe and Enrique.

And that had been worse, much worse.

Katrina spared her watch a glance, ignored the temptation to ring Siobhan, and retraced her steps to the car park. She'd visit one of the large cinema complexes, take in a movie, grab something to eat, then go home.

Except there were too many choices, and she indulged the whim to see two movies, almost back to back, with time for a snack and coffee in between each scheduled session.

It was after ten when she garaged the car and let herself quietly into the house.

Nicos emerged into the lobby from his study as she was about to ascend the stairs. Did he possess X-ray vision? Or had he added a camera to his state-of-the-art security system?

His casual attire of jeans and a polo shirt emphasised his breadth of shoulder, lean waist, and long legs.

‘Did you think to check your voice-mail?'

The silky query gave little indication of his mood, and she paused, meeting his level glance with equanimity.

‘Not since mid-afternoon. Why?'

‘Siobhan has rung twice. Enrique, ditto, stressing the need for an urgent response. And Harry, who assured you have his number.' His expression remained enigmatic, but she detected a hint of dangerous steel just beneath the surface. ‘Each of whom revealed they'd tried and failed to reach you on your cellphone.'

‘You want I should apologise for inadvertently relegating you to message-taking?'

Nicos shifted slightly, a movement that seemed to bring him too close for comfort.

She kept her gaze steady, noticing the tiny lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, before travelling down to encompass the set of his mouth, the firm line of his lips, the edge of his jaw.

He exuded an electric stillness that reminded her of a predator about to pounce.
Go
, a tiny voice
prompted. Except she was primed to fight, and viewed escape as a negative option.

‘I don't owe you an explanation,' Katrina cautioned, and watched the subtle flex of sinew and muscle as he thrust one hand into his trouser pocket.

‘On that we differ.'

‘Go to hell.' She turned to ascend the stairs, only to have Nicos spin her round to face him.

‘Don't push it,' he warned with deadly softness.

His grip on her arm was deceptive, and she knew it would tighten measurably if she attempted to wrench free of him.

Katrina looked pointedly at her arm, then shifted her gaze to meet his. ‘Forcible restraint, Nicos?'

‘You want all out war?'

Apprehension slithered down the length of her spine. ‘Polite harmony would be preferable.'

‘Then, I suggest you work towards it.' His voice sounded like silk being rased by razor-sharp steel.

‘Same goes.'

He released her arm, and she moved quickly upstairs, aware that he watched her ascent. Her bedroom resembled a sanctuary, and she closed the door, then crossed to sink down onto the bed.

With deft ease she activated her cellphone, replayed the recorded messages, then she rang her mother.

Dear, sweet Harry, who was contracted to redecorate two adjoining townhouses she'd recently bought as an investment.

‘Colours, darling. We need to talk. You simply cannot have blue.'

So she'd ring him from the office, they'd argue, she'd relent and agree to his choice. Their token wrangling was viewed with the fondness of long friendship.

Enrique was something else. Arrogant, persistent, desperate. A dangerous combination, she perceived as she stripped off her clothes and made for the shower.

Later she lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling. A few days down, with three hundred and sixty-two to go. How in heaven would she last the distance?

 

Katrina woke late with a headache, missed breakfast in her rush to get to the office on time, and from there on it was downhill all the way through the day.

Whatever could go wrong, did. She dealt with complaints in areas that usually ran smoothly, mediated and lost to a tyrannical subcontractor who bore an elephant-sized grudge, and was terse to the point of rudeness when Enrique insisted he take five minutes of her time.

Lunch was a non-event, and at two she sent out for sandwiches which she ate at her desk. At four o'clock she took a call from Kevin's lawyer informing Enrique intended to contest the will on the grounds he was entitled to a share of the estate.

Enrique's protest was merely a nuisance factor, but it was the lawyer's duty to apprise her of the development.

The headache, for which she'd taken painkillers
mid-morning and mid-afternoon, settled into a throbbing ache that left her feeling physically depleted.

It was almost six when she garaged her car and entered the house. All she wanted to do was indulge in a leisurely spa bath, take more painkillers, pull the shutters closed in her room, slip beneath the cool percale sheets, and shut out the rest of the world for as long as it took to lose the headache and regain her composure.

She almost made it. Would have, if she hadn't had to go downstairs to search for more painkillers, as all she had left was an empty blister pack.

Nicos found her in the kitchen, looking a whiter shade of pale, her slender form wrapped in a towelling robe, and her hair tumbling down her back.

‘What in hell—?'

The words were barely audible, and quickly checked as he subjected her to an encompassing appraisal.

Katrina closed her eyes against the sight of him. The last thing she needed was a verbal inquisition.

‘
Hell
works for me,' she said wearily. ‘Where do you keep your supply of painkillers?'

He crossed to an expanse of inbuilt cupboards, opened one, and extracted a packet, then he filled a glass with water and handed both to her.

‘Headache?'

‘Yes.' She freed two tablets and swallowed them down with water.

She was hardly aware that he had moved to hook out a chair until he gently pushed her into it.

‘What do you think you're doing?' Bed, all she wanted was to lie down and wait for the pain to go away.

He ignored her protest as he discarded his jacket, loosened his tie, and turned back the cuffs of his shirt.

‘Be quiet, and relax.'

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