An Ideal Marriage?. HELEN BIANCHIN

the motions of perusing the menu, opting for a Caesar salad with fresh fruit to follow.

      Three-quarters of an hour after the appointed time Annaliese joined her in a waft of exclusive perfume. A slinky slither of red silk accentuated her model-slender curves. She was tall, with long slim legs, and her skilfully applied make-up enhanced her exotic features, emphasised by dark hair styled into a sleek bob.

      No apology was offered, and Gabbi watched in silence as Annaliese ordered iced water, a garden salad and fresh fruit.

      ‘When is your next assignment?’

      A feline smile tilted the edges of her red mouth, and the dark eyes turned to liquid chocolate. ‘So keen to see me gone?’

      ‘A polite enquiry,’ she responded with gentle mockery.

      ‘Followed by an equally polite query regarding my career?’

      Gabbi knew precisely how her stepsister’s modelling career was progressing. Monique never failed to relay, in intricate detail, the events monitoring Annaliese’s rise and rise on the world’s catwalks.

      ‘It was you who initiated lunch.’ She picked up her glass and took a deliberate sip, then replaced it down on the table, her eyes remarkably level as she met those of her stepsister.

      Annaliese’s gaze narrowed with speculative contemplation. ‘We’ve never been friends.’

      In private, the younger girl had proven herself to be a vindictive vixen. ‘You worked hard to demolish any bond.’

      One shoulder lifted with careless elegance. ‘I wanted centre stage in our shared family, darling. Numero uno.’ One long, red-lacquered nail tapped a careless tattoo against the stem of her glass.

      Gabbi speared the last portion of cantaloupe on her plate. ‘Suppose you cut to the chase and explain your purpose?’

      Annaliese’s eyes held a calculated gleam. ‘Monique informed me James is becoming increasingly anxious for you to complete the deal.’

      The fresh melon was succulent, but it had suddenly lost its taste. ‘Which deal are we discussing?’

      ‘The necessary Stanton-Nicols heir.’

      Gabbi’s gaze was carefully level as she rested the fork down onto her plate. ‘You’re way out of line, Annaliese.’

      ‘Experiencing problems, darling?’ The barb was intentional.

      ‘Only with your intense interest in something that is none of your business.’

      ‘It’s family business,’ Annaliese responded with deliberate emphasis.

      Respect for the restaurant’s fellow patrons prevented Gabbi from tipping a glass of iced water into her stepsister’s lap.

      ‘Really?’ Confrontation was the favoured option. ‘I have difficulty accepting my father would enrol you as messenger in such a personal matter.’

      ‘You disbelieve me?’

      ‘Yes.’ The price of bravery might be high. Too high?

      ‘Darling.’ The word held a patronising intonation that implied the antithesis of affection. ‘The only difference between daughter and stepdaughter is a legal adoption decree. Something,’ she continued after a deliberate silence, ‘Monique could easily persuade James to initiate.’

      Oh, my. Now why didn’t that devious plan surprise her? ‘James’s will is watertight. Monique inherits the principal residence, art and jewellery, plus a generous annuity. Shares in Stanton-Nicols come directly to me.’

      One delicate brow arched high. ‘You think I don’t know that?’ She lifted a fork and picked at her salad. ‘You’ve missed the point.’

      No, she hadn’t. ‘Benedict.’

      Annaliese’s eyes assumed an avaricious gleam. ‘Clever of you, darling.’

      ‘You want to be his mistress.’

      Her soft, tinkling laugh held no humour. ‘His wife.’ ‘You aim high.’

      ‘The top, sweetheart.’

      Iced water or hot coffee? Either was at her disposal, and she was sorely tempted to initiate an embarrassing incident. ‘There’s just one problem. He’s already taken.’

      ‘But so easily freed,’ her stepsister purred.

      ‘You sound very sure.’ How was it possible to sound so calm, when inside she was a molten mass of fury?

      ‘A wealthy man wants an exemplary hostess in the lounge and a whore in his bedroom.’ Annaliese examined her perfectly lacquered nails, then shot Gabbi a direct look. ‘I can’t imagine passion being your forte, or adventure your sexual preference.’

      Gabbi didn’t blink so much as an eyelash. ‘I’m a quick study.’

      ‘Really, darling? I wonder why I don’t believe you?’

      Gabbi summoned the waiter, requested the bill, and signed the credit slip. Then she rose to her feet and slid the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

      ‘Shall we agree not to do this again?’

      ‘Darling,’ the young model almost purred. ‘I’m between seasons, and where better to take in some rest and relaxation than one’s home city?’ Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. ‘As family, we’re bound to see quite a lot of each other. The social scene is so interesting.’

      ‘And you intend being included in every invitation,’ Gabbi responded with soft mockery.

      ‘Of course.’

      There wasn’t a single word she wanted to add. A contradiction—there were several...not one of which was in the least ladylike, and therefore unutterable in a public arena. It was easier to leave in dignified silence.

      Three messages were waiting for her on her return. Two were business-oriented and she dealt with each, then logged the necessary notations into the computer before crossing to the private phone.

      There was a strange curling sensation in the pit of her stomach as she waited for Benedict to answer.

      ‘Nicols.’

      His voice was deep and retained a slight American drawl that seemed more noticeable over the phone. The sound of it caused her pulse to accelerate to a faster beat.

      ‘You rang while I was out.’

      She had a mental image of him easing his lengthy frame in the high-backed leather chair. ‘How was lunch?’

      Her fingers gripped the receiver more tightly. ‘Is there anything you don’t know?’

      ‘Annaliese requested your extension number.’ He relayed the information with imperturbable calm.

      Any excuse to have contact with Benedict; Gabbi silently derided her stepsister.

      ‘You didn’t answer my question.’ His voice held a tinge of cynicism and prompted a terse response.

      ‘Lunch was fine.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Is that why you rang?’

      ‘No. To let you know I won’t be home for dinner. A Taiwanese associate wants to invest in property, and has requested I recommend a reputable agent. It would be impolite not to effect the introduction over dinner.’

      ‘Very impolite,’ she agreed solemnly. ‘I won’t wait up.’

      ‘I’ll take pleasure in waking you,’ he mocked gently, ending the call.

      A tiny shiver slithered the length of her spine as she recalled numerous occasions when the touch of his lips had woken her from the depths of sleep, and how she’d instinctively welcomed him, luxuriating in the agility of his hands as they traversed a tactile path over the slender curves of her body.

      With concentrated effort