Public Marriage, Private Secrets. Helen Bianchin

have plans for the evening.’ Some plans, she reiterated silently. Drive home, change, feed Jazz, make herself something to eat, watch television, then call it a night.

      He spared her a level look. ‘Postpone them.’

      Gianna turned to confront him. ‘And if I choose not to?’

      ‘Do you particularly want to indulge in a verbal fencing match?’

      He was standing too close, and she was suddenly all too aware of the subtle aroma of his cologne, light with musky undertones. Indisputably his, as if crafted especially for him.

      It stirred her senses and awakened too many sensitive nerve-endings for her peace of mind.

      Raúl’s eyes narrowed fractionally, almost as if he knew, and it irked unbearably…so much so she raked his tall frame from head to foot and back again with slow deliberation.

      ‘Let’s get one thing straight.’ She took a deep calming breath. ‘If I agree, it’ll be on my terms,’ she qualified as her eyes seared his own with unblinking determination. ‘It’ll take days, possibly a week, for me to organise staff, contact my clientele, suppliers, ensure there will be no hiccups with replacement stock arriving on time. When that’s in place, I’ll take the first available flight to Madrid, arrange hotel accommodation, and inform you of my arrival.’ There was more, and she delivered the words with precise care. ‘Meantime, I suggest you return to Madrid.’

      ‘That’s it?’ he queried silkily.

       ‘Yes.’

      He regarded her with dispassionate imperturbability. ‘No.’

      ‘No—what?’

      ‘We’ll return together in my private jet, and hotel accommodation isn’t an option.’

      ‘That’s ridiculous.’

      Only a fool would refuse to travel in the maximum comfort afforded by luxury fittings which included a lounge that converted easily into a working office, a bedroom with en suite bathroom…and being served by a personal in-flight attendant.

      Except it meant endless air hours secluded in Raúl’s company something she’d do almost anything to avoid.

      ‘I’d prefer to take a commercial flight.’

      For a long moment he regarded her with lazy appreciation, and there was nothing she could do to still the increased tempo of her heart…or the faint shivery sensation feathering her fine body hairs.

      ‘Teresa has a full complement of medical staff on hand. The villa in Mallorca is large, and she insists you stay there as her guest.’

      Mallorca? ‘I don’t think…’

      ‘Determined to fight me on every issue, Gianna?’

      ‘You expect anything less?’

      ‘Shall we call a temporary truce?’

      She looked at him carefully. ‘It’s been a long day. I have work to do and calls to make.’

      ‘In which case you can eat and leave. An hour, Gianna…or less.’

      Reluctance vied with determination to prove she was immune to him. A distinct untruth, if ever there was one, but she refused to concede him so much as a glimmer of satisfaction. You can do this, she vaunted silently.

       She effected a seemingly careless shrug. ‘I guess so.’

      Raúl spared her a musing glance and caught the faint air of tension apparent in her demeanour. She reminded him of a gazelle, uncertain whether to trust or flee.

      With good reason, he admitted silently as he indicated the escalator at the eastern end of the spacious forecourt.

      For flee she certainly would if she suspected there was another reason for Teresa’s request. One infinitely more precious than the personal gift of a few heirlooms, or the pleasure of spending time in Gianna’s company.

       The fervent hope Teresa held for a reconciliation between her son and the young woman he’d taken as his wife.

      A young woman so well matched to his needs it seemed almost a crime for the marriage to have fallen apart.

      Dusk was falling as they crossed the overhead pedestrian walkway to the popular low-level resort. Already streetlights shone, and in the distance the tall concrete sentinels harbouring luxury apartments bore illumination against a darkening skyscape.

      The expansive resort foyer, with its plush oriental carpet squares and large comfortable chairs, bore a Caribbean air which extended to a wide marble staircase leading down to ground level. A magnificent waterfall cascaded into a decorative pool, and beyond huge thick plate glass lay an extensive swimming pool, with an island bar fronting on to a sandy foreshore and the sparkling blue waters of the Pacific Ocean.

      The à la carte restaurant held a small clientele as the maître d’ led the way to a table by the window, saw them seated, and summoned the drinks steward.

      Raúl’s presence garnered discreet attention especially from the women present. Not surprising, Gianna reluctantly conceded, given his attractive broad-boned Mediterranean features.

      There was something that set him apart from his contemporaries. An elusive ruthlessness lay beneath the sophisticated exterior, meshing an inherent masculine vitality with latent sensuality. Add an animalistic sense of power, and the combination proved electric…dramatic.

      Fine tailoring, handcrafted shoes, the faint glimpse of a Rolex gracing his wrist, merely showcased a man whose presence was equally dynamic in anything he chose to wear…or not.

      As she could attest to…and she hated the sensation that shook her slender form as an image of his splendid body unadorned rose to taunt her.

      The broad shoulders, superb musculature, lean waist and hips, tight butt, long powerful legs. Awesome…in every area.

      She recalled how it felt to be held close to him, the faint muskiness of aroused male combining with his elusive cologne…oh, God, his skilled touch with his mouth, tongue, fingers, as he sought out every sensitive pulse, each erotic nerve-end in a bid to escalate her emotions to fever-pitch…

       Stop!

      For a wild moment she imagined she’d screamed the word out loud.

       What was wrong with her?

      Somehow she managed a seemingly polite façade as the drinks steward approached and offered a formal greeting and presented Raúl with the wine list.

      ‘We have an excellent selection. Do you have a particular preference, or would you prefer me to offer a suggestion?’

      Dark eyes captured her own. ‘Gianna?’

      It was easy to defer, and she did so with a polite smile. ‘You choose.’

      He did…a mild red, well-known as one of Australia’s finest vintages.

      ‘Mineral water—still,’ she added, and earned Raúl’s faintly arched eyebrow.

      ‘The need for a clear head?’

      ‘An aversion to drink-driving.’

      ‘Wise.’

      She summoned a sweet smile as she accepted the proffered menu, and pretended to study the various selections while attempting to deal with a host of conflicting emotions.

      It didn’t make sense.

      She was over him…had been for a while, she reiterated silently.

      To the point of weighing up the need to initiate divorce. Three years…Even discounting the initial few months of separation, when she’d retreated into despair, sufficient time had elapsed to reach a decision.

      So…why