Dangerous Alliance. HELEN BIANCHIN

restaurant was one she’d frequented occasionally with Paige, and its elegant décor projected an ambience that was frequently sought by the city’s upper social echelons. Which was probably why Dimitri had selected it, she decided darkly as the maître d’ proffered an effusive greeting before leading them to a prominent table reserved, Leanne instantly surmised, for the chosen, favoured few.

      Dimitri ordered champagne, Dom Pérignon, and at Leanne’s faintly raised eyebrow he merely smiled and asked the wine steward to fill her glass.

      The lighting was subdued and attuned to intimate dining, but she felt as if she and Dimitri were the room’s central focus. The diamond on her finger flashed with a fiery brilliance from myriad facets, and she pushed her hand out of sight on her lap, supremely conscious of its significance.

      The restaurant catered for leisurely dining, and she selected the soup de jour, followed it with a prawn starter, refused a main course, passed on dessert and opted against the cheeseboard. The serving of each course seemed to take an age, and by the time coffee was brought to the table she was seething with impatience to leave.

      To attempt to maintain a polite façade almost killed her, yet inherent good manners wouldn’t permit a public display of anger.

      And he knew, damn him, for he kept up a divertissement that was masterly, with an ease she could only admire but inwardly seethe at as he tempted her to try a morsel from his fork and refilled her flute with champagne.

      The coffee was strong and aromatic, and she sipped it abstractedly, wishing only for the evening to conclude. She was tired, emotionally exhausted, and suffering the onset of a headache.

      A predominate waft—wave, Leanne corrected wryly—of exotic perfume assailed her nostrils, and was immediately followed by the tinkling sound of a feminine voice.

      ‘Dimitri, what are you doing here? I understood you weren’t due back from Perth until next week.’

      ‘Shanna.’ Dimitri’s greeting was warm, but not effusive.

      Courtesy ensured an acknowledgement of his companion. ‘Leanne.’ The brunette proffered a brilliant smile. ‘How are you? Are you down on holiday from the Coast?’

      ‘Not exactly,’ Leanne managed in polite response.

      ‘Is this a family tête-à-tête? Or may I join you?’

      ‘Leanne and I were just about to leave,’ Dimitri imparted smoothly.

      ‘Surely you could stay,’ Shanna suggested persuasively. ‘There’s a group of us, just friends—we’d love you to join us.’

      ‘Thank you—but not tonight.’

      The maître d’ hovered discreetly as Dimitri signed the credit slip, then moved unobtrusively out of sight.

      Shanna’s eyes moved to the empty champagne bottle. ‘Celebrating a recent success, darling?’

      ‘You could say that,’ he responded, shooting Leanne a musing smile. ‘Personal, not business.’

      ‘You’ve aroused my curiosity. Is it confidential?’

      ‘I’ve persuaded Leanne to marry me.’

      Shanna’s smile slipped for the space of a second, and Leanne could only commend her superb control, for, although the brunette’s features portrayed surprised pleasure, her eyes held a darkness that contained bitter disappoint-ment.

      ‘You must tell me how you managed to convince Dimitri to make a commitment,’ she said to Leanne.

      A degree of humour was the only way, and Leanne tempered her reply with a musing smile. ‘He simply slid a ring on my finger.’

      Dimitri stood and held out his hand to Leanne. ‘You’ll excuse us, Shanna?’

      Leanne had no recourse but to follow his lead, and she felt a certain sympathy for the attractive model. Rejection hurt like hell. Hadn’t she suffered at Dimitri’s hands more than four years ago? As she would again, a tiny voice taunted. How long after Paige’s passing would he retract the engagement—a few days, a week?

      ‘You’ve burned your bridges,’ Leanne said as the Jaguar picked up a cruising speed, and she incurred Dimitri’s dark glance.

      ‘There were no bridges to burn,’ he replied with deliberate mockery.

      ‘She was your—’ She couldn’t say it.

      ‘Lover?’ he prompted.

      ‘Yes!’

      ‘We visited the opera on a few occasions, took in the theatre, and attended several parties and functions.’

      ‘I don’t care what you did together.’

      ‘No?’

      ‘You could have bedded a hundred women, for all I care.’

      ‘I’m very particular as to who shares my bed.’

      She was unable to resist the taunt, ‘I’m not the one you should be attempting to reassure.’

      He didn’t answer, and there was something heady about having the last word. It lifted her spirits, and prompted an appraisal of her surroundings.

      A dark indigo sky with a sprinkling of stars was at variance with the light summer shower that was as sudden as it was fleeting, necessitating only a few swishing turns of the wiper blades. Bright neon street-lights provided inter-mittent illumination, and cast long, deepening shadows from numerous trees standing guard on both sides of the suburban road.

      There was the slight but distinctive sound of tyre-treads traversing wet bitumen, then the car slowed and paused as Dimitri activated the remote-control module that electronically opened the gates.

      Within minutes another button released the garage doors, and the Jaguar slid to a halt between Paige’s Mercedes and a luxurious four-wheel drive.

      Once inside, Leanne made her way towards the stairs.

      ‘Will you join me in a nightcap?’

      ‘No,’ she declared evenly. ‘I’m going to bed. I’m tired and I have a headache.’

      ‘I’m disappointed,’ he said with studied indolence. ‘I imagined the instant we reached the house you’d fly at me in a rage.’

      ‘I want to,’ Leanne assured him tightly. ‘Badly. Unfortunately I don’t possess the energy to launch an attack.’

      A slight smile curved his mouth, and there was a gleam apparent in his dark gaze. ‘In that case, I’ll see you at breakfast.’

      The words she wanted to hurl at him remained unsaid, and she ascended the stairs to her room where she undressed and removed her make-up before slipping between the cool, freshly laundered sheets.

      She should have fallen asleep the instant her head touched the pillow. Instead, her mind was filled with a host of images, not the least being Paige herself, and the inimicable man who had temporarily taken charge of her life.

      She had little comprehension of how long she lay staring at the darkened ceiling as the painful throbbing in her head deepened until she began to feel physically ill. Her body broke out in a sweat, then began to cool, and she knew any attempt at sleep without some form of medication would be useless.

      Slipping out of bed, she crossed to the en-suite bathroom and rummaged through the bathroom cabinet for some pain-killers, only to curse softly on discovering that there were none.

      She lifted a hand and pressed it wearily against her temple. Maybe there was something in the cabinet in Paige’s suite. If not, she’d have to venture downstairs.

      It took only a few minutes to discover that there was nothing stronger available than paracetamol, and she closed her eyes momentarily, then opened them again in restrained exasperation. Maybe if she took two now it would take the edge off