The Helen Bianchin Collection. Helen Bianchin

unhurried movements she rose to her feet, collected her evening purse, barely stifling a startled gasp as Nicos unfolded his lengthy frame and caught hold of her wrist.

      ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she vented with an angry snap.

      ‘I’d say it’s obvious.’

      The waiter appeared out of nowhere, accepted the cash Nicos handed him, beamed appreciatively at the size of the tip, and Katrina had little option but to allow Nicos to accompany her from the restaurant.

      The instant they reached the foyer she tried to wrench her hand from his, and failed miserably. Short of an undignified struggle she was compelled to walk at his side through the elegant arcade to the street.

      ‘If you don’t let my hand go, I’ll scream,’ she threatened, sotto voce.

      ‘Go ahead,’ Nicos directed imperturbably. ‘I imagine female histrionics will garner some attention.’

      ‘You’re the most impossible man I’ve ever met!’

      His quiet laughter was the living end.

      ‘Go to hell!’

      ‘You don’t want me to take you there,’ Nicos warned with a dangerous silkiness that sent ice slithering down the length of her spine.

      ‘I don’t want you…finis.’

      ‘Is that a challenge?’

      ‘A statement.’

      ‘A year, Katrina. Maybe we could attempt a truce of sorts?’

      She spared him an angry glance. ‘I doubt it’s possible.’

      ‘Try,’ he suggested succinctly.

      She reached into her evening purse, extracted a set of keys, and indicated the sleek white Porsche parked kerbside. ‘My car.’

      ‘Proving a point, Katrina?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Perhaps I should follow your example.’ He lowered his head and pulled her close in one easy movement.

      She opened her mouth to protest, but no word escaped as he took possession in a manner that reached right down to her soul. And tugged at something long dormant. Evoking a vivid memory of how it used to be between them.

      Of its own accord her body sank in against his, savouring for a brief few seconds the feeling of coming home. Of recognition at the most base level, and need.

      The slow sweep of his tongue explored her own, tangled, then took her deep.

      Dear Lord, how could she be this needy?

      With a reluctant groan she tore her mouth away, and attempted to put some distance between them. Her own distress was evident, and she fought a mixture of anger and resentment as he brushed his knuckles along the edge of her jaw.

      ‘Chemistry,’ she dismissed with practised flippancy.

      His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable, and she stifled a silent curse.

      ‘You think so?’ He took the keys from her hand, deactivated the alarm, then he unlocked the door. He opened it, slid the key into the ignition, then stood to one side as she slipped in behind the wheel.

      ‘Friday, Katrina.’

      As if she needed reminding. With a deft twist of the wrist she gunned the engine into life, eased out of the parking space, then she sent the car forward at a quick pace.

      She barely had time to shift through the gears before it was necessary to change down as she reached the driveway to her apartment.

      Minutes later she’d garaged the Porsche and was safely indoors, choosing the lift instead of stairs to reach her apartment.

      It wasn’t late, only a few minutes past nine. Too early to go to bed. She toyed with the idea of phoning any one of several friends, suggesting she meet up with them and share a drink and chat a while. Except they would ask questions at such an impulsive action, and questions were something she’d prefer to avoid.

      Instead, she undressed, pulled on an oversized tee shirt, removed her make-up, then she curled up in a comfortable armchair and changed channels on the television until she found something worth watching.

      Katrina must have fallen asleep, for when she woke her neck felt stiff, one leg was numb, and a glance at her watch revealed it was long past midnight.

      Minutes later she doused the lights and crawled into bed to lie awake haunted by the feel of Nicos’s mouth on her own.

      Choosing what to pack required minimum effort. A selection of clothes for the office, casual gear, and a few suitable outfits for the rare social occasion.

      Katrina closed the zip on both suitcases, took one last look around the apartment, then she set the security alarm, closed the outer door, and summoned the lift down to the basement garage.

      It was only a few kilometres from Double Bay to Point Piper, and no matter how she qualified the move it was impossible to control her nervous tension as she turned into the elegant street housing Nicos’s home.

      Katrina eased the car to a halt, engaged the remote control, waited as the high wrought-iron gate slid smoothly to one side, then she traversed the semi-circular driveway towards a stylish tri-level home set in well-kept grounds. One of many in this tree-lined street where a mix of old and new residences provided an air of wealth in a harbour-front suburb.

      The wide portico framed an impressive entry with ornate double doors protected by a sophisticated security system.

      A married couple came in each weekday to clean and tend the grounds, but they would have left hours ago, Katrina reflected as she entered the lobby.

      The house was silent, and it was impossible to shrug off a sense of déjàvu.

      Late-afternoon sun hit the ornamental multi-paned leaded glass, sending prisms of soft pinks and greens across the cream marble-tiled floor, showcasing the high ceilings, the wide curved staircase leading to an oval balcony, an elegant chandelier.

      To her right lay a large formal lounge and dining room, to her left a study, an informal sitting room, dining room and kitchen.

      A spacious entertainment room, sauna, spa, gym, were situated on the lower floor, together with an indoor swimming pool with wide French doors leading out onto terraced gardens.

      Five bedrooms, each with en suite, comprised the upper level of a beautifully furnished house with magnificent views out over the inner harbour.

      For a brief few months it had been home. A place where she’d shared love, laughter, and great passion.

      Don’t go there, a tiny voice warned.

      Discipline was something she’d mastered at a young age, yet she was helpless against the unwanted emotions invading her mind, her body.

      Re-entering Nicos Kasoulis’s space was a move fraught with tension. Yet what choice did she have?

      None, if she wanted control of Macbride, Katrina reflected a trifle pensively as she ascended stairs to the upper floor.

      Did Nicos occupy the master suite they’d once shared? Or had he moved into one of the other bedrooms?

      The master suite, she determined minutes later. His clothes were there, and an array of masculine toiletries took up space on the marbled vanity.

      She skimmed a glance over the large bed, and endeavoured to still her increased heartbeat. How could he bear to stay here? Occupy this room, this bed?

      Pain clenched in her stomach, and she turned abruptly away in an attempt to stifle a host of memories.

      Control, she had it. But for how long? a devilish imp taunted as she chose a bedroom on the opposite side of the balcony.

      There was, she saw at once, a small desk ideal for her laptop. A