The Helen Bianchin Collection. Helen Bianchin

be friends!’

      A smile tinged with wry mockery tugged the edges of his mouth. ‘Perhaps at this moment you do not believe so.’ Dark eyes gleamed with cynical humour. ‘Why don’t you get into bed?’

      Her pulse tripped its beat and measurably quickened—as a result of anger, she assured herself, not passion. ‘I don’t want to go to bed, and I especially don’t want to share a bed with you/

      ‘We share, Elise,’ he insisted in a dangerously soft voice, ‘as we have done from the beginning.’

      His threat wasn’t an idle one, and she looked at him in silent mutiny for several long seconds. ‘If you touch me, so help me, I’ll hit you,’ she vouched with low-pitched vehemence, and, turning away from him, she caught up her nightgown and crossed into the bathroom to remove her make-up.

      Her fingers shook so badly that the cream got into her eyes, and she dabbed frantically at it before sluicing her face.

      Alejandro was in bed when she emerged, stretched out, his arms crossed behind his head.

      Elise eyed him warily as she slipped in beneath the covers and closed her eyes. Seconds later she heard the snap of the bedside lamp as the room was plunged into darkness.

      Slowly her lashes swept upwards, and for a long time she stared sightlessly ahead, discerning shadows and a thin strip of moonlight threading between the curtains as her eyes adjusted to the grey light of night.

      She was acutely aware of every sound, her own breathing, his, and she knew the moment when Alejandro’s steadied and assumed a deep rhythmic beat.

      Tomorrow, she promised as her eyelids became heavy and began to flutter down. Tomorrow she would launch an attack about the depth of his involvement with the glamorous Savannah.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      ELISE woke late to discover that Alejandro had already left for the city. His absence provided an anticlimax, for there was a fine edge to her inner rage that longed for the satisfaction of a full-scale confrontation.

      ‘Alejandro asked me to tell you that you are both to attend a formal dinner to aid charity this evening,’ Ana conveyed as Elise sat down to a solitary breakfast.

      The Santanas Corporation was a well-known benefactor, and Alejandro lent his personal patronage to selected organisations. Elise had attended several such dinners in the past, and her heart sank at the thought of mingling with Alejandro’s sophisticated coterie of acquaintances.

      Without doubt Savannah would be present, and Elise hated being an object of conjecture as certain guests speculated on the latest developments between the Santanas scion, his wife, and the glamorous model who had been his constant companion for years before his sudden marriage to a virtual unknown with no social background.

      Elise entertained no doubt that Alejandro’s absence from the social scene for the past six weeks had been duly noted and commented upon, details regarding her accident embellished and explicated.

      It seemed coincidental that she was to have the bandages removed from her hand today. After this afternoon, physiotherapy would be reduced to weekly instead of daily sessions. Soon the only evidence would be a thin scar on her hand.

      The thought of regaining her independence was a heady one. After today, she would be able to drive again. There were a few friends she needed to contact. Siobhan. Realisation suddenly hit her that her dearest friend might be anxious not to have heard from her at all in the past six weeks.

      As it was, she had no idea whether Siobhan was still working days at the Royal Children’s Hospital, or if she had crossed over to night duty. If it was nights, the answering machine would be on and she could leave a message.

      Elise checked the time, then finished her breakfast and moved quickly upstairs to use the bedroom telephone.

      Siobhan picked up on the third ring, her voice jubilant on discovering who was on the other end of the line, and they talked for the best part of an hour before Elise reluctantly had to conclude the call in order to keep her appointment with the orthopaedic surgeon.

      ‘Let’s meet for lunch—soon,’ she insisted.

      ‘I’m a working girl, remember?’ Siobhan teased. ‘However, I’m off the next two nights. Is tomorrow soon enough?’

      Elise gave an exultant laugh. ‘Tomorrow it is. Just name the place, the time, and I’ll be there.’

      An hour later José deposited her outside the consultant orthopaedist’s rooms, and thirty minutes later she walked out sans protective half-cast and bandages. The specialist sanctioned a return to driving, advised care with her hand, and suggested a further appointment in a month.

      Now all she had to do was determine which car she could use as her own. There had been no mention of the white Porsche or its fate. Surely it couldn’t have been smashed beyond repair? With the Bentley out of action, Alejandro was taking the Porsche Targa into the city, which left the Pajero wagon for José. She would have to broach it with Alejandro tonight.

      After lunch she went through the contents of her wardrobe in an effort to reach a decision over what to wear to dinner, and after much deliberation she narrowed the choice down to two, eventually selecting a stunning fitted gown in deep emerald. The colour matched her eyes, highlighted the creamy texture of her skin, and proved a vivid contrast to her blonde hair.

      It was almost four when José delivered her home from physiotherapy, and at five she took a shower, washed her hair and had Ana curl fat rollers into its length before attending to her nails.

      Alejandro entered the bedroom as she began applying make-up, and she met his studied appraisal with equanimity.

      ‘How is your hand?’ He moved towards her, and Elise felt an immediate awareness of his close proximity.

      Without a word she displayed the pink scar. ‘I’m sure you’ve already received the specialist’s report.’ She hadn’t intended to sound quite so cynical.

      His eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘Yes.’

      ‘You also know that I am able to drive again,’ she offered, watching as his head lowered down to hers.

      She averted her head so that his kiss landed on her cheek, and almost at once he caught hold of her chin, anchoring it as he covered her mouth with his own in an invasion that brought forth a muffled entreaty he chose to ignore.

      When he finally lifted his head she silently damned him to the depths of perdition.

      The desire to rage against him was paramount, and, drawing in a deep breath, she launched into attack. ‘I’d like to become independent again, rather than have to drag José away every time I want to go out.’

      Alejandro slipped the knot free on his tie and began unfastening the buttons on his shirt. ‘That is part of his job.’

      Her eyes assumed a brilliant hue as anger began to unfurl, and it took considerable effort to control her temper. ‘Have you assigned him as my gaoler?’

      ‘You’re being fanciful.’

      ‘Am I?’

      He looked every inch the power broker… indomitable, lethal, inflexible. ‘Are you intent on having an argument?’

      She wanted to throw something at him and have it cause mild bodily harm. ‘I find it difficult to condone almost everything you do where I am concerned.’

      He pulled his shirt free and tossed it down on to the bed. ‘Almost everything, querida?’ One eyebrow slanted in silent mockery. ‘Should I take that to indicate there is some hope for me?’

      ‘Don’t be so damned facetious,’ she condemned fiercely, seething with helpless indignation as she glimpsed his amusement.

      ‘We