The Helen Bianchin Collection. Helen Bianchin

ignored her protest as he discarded his jacket, loosened his tie, and turned back the cuffs of his shirt.

      ‘Be quiet, and relax.’

      She opened her mouth, then closed it again as his hands began working the tense muscles at her neck, then her shoulders.

      Oh, dear heaven, that felt good. So good. She let her lashes drift down, and just went with the flow as his fingers worked their magic.

      No one had been this kind to her in a while. Not hands-on kind. Not since Kevin had fallen ill.

      Unbidden, withheld emotions rose to the surface, and the tears welled then trickled silently down each cheek.

      Nicos felt a plop of warm moisture hit his fingers as he used both thumbs to massage her neck, and he swore softly, then with simple expediency he lifted her from the chair and pulled her close in against him.

      If he had said one word, she’d have jerked free, but the comfort he offered was too great, and for the first time since Kevin’s death she quietly sobbed her heart out.

      She was hardly aware that he rested his cheek against the top of her head, or that her arms crept round his waist as she held onto him.

      After a while he swept an arm beneath her knees and carried her upstairs to her room. He turned back the covers, then lay down on the bed with her, all too aware that any minute she’d realise where she was and who was with her, and push him away.

      Except she didn’t. The shudders shaking her slender frame gradually lessened, and she fell still. Her breathing evened out and slipped to a steady beat as she slid into sleep.

      Holding her reawakened a host of memories, each of them a torture to his libido, and after a while he attempted to slowly ease himself away, only to have her murmur in protest.

      So he stayed. Aware he was all kinds of a fool. For enjoying the feel of her in his arms, her scent, the soft silkiness of her hair beneath his lips.

      The evening air cooled, and he toed off his shoes, pulled up the covers, and eventually slept.

      Katrina surfaced through the layers of wakefulness to an awareness that, while she was definitely in bed, she wasn’t alone.

      Not only not alone, but her head was cushioned against a male chest, a muscular arm kept her there, and her own arm lay linked around his waist.

      Nicos. Realisation hit, and her first instinct was to scramble out of the bed and away from him.

      Then several things registered. She was in her own room, Nicos was fully dressed, and she had instant memory recall.

      Maybe if she slowly removed her arm… She attempted to dislodge it, only to have Nicos tighten his hold.

      He slept like a cat, aware of her slightest move, and he’d sensed the moment she’d woken, had felt the change in her breathing, the instant tension. He could almost hear her thinking.

      What he wanted was to lean forward and brush his lips to her temple, to slip a hand beneath the gaping folds of her robe and caress her breasts. Nuzzle the vulnerable hollow at the edge of her neck, then trail lower to tease one tender peak as he let the fingers of one hand brush a path to the apex of her thighs.

      Early morning lovemaking, he reflected, made for a wonderful way to begin the day.

      Maybe… No, he dismissed. Not here, not now. When the time was right, there would be no hesitation. But he wanted her to need him, and for that he required time. Something, thanks to the terms of Kevin’s will, he had plenty of. Wasn’t there an analogy that those who waited got what they deserved? He thought grimly of his aroused body, the desire, and banked it down.

      Half an hour in the gym, followed by a shower and breakfast, then he’d channel his energy into the corporate day ahead.

      But first he’d indulge himself a little.

      ‘Headache gone?’

      Katrina’s body tensed at the sound of his husky voice, and she cautiously lifted her head. ‘Yes.’ All her instincts screamed a warning to put some distance between them, fast.

      ‘You slept well.’

      It didn’t appear that she’d moved much through the night. Or perhaps he hadn’t allowed her to. For a moment she struggled with the need to thank him for offering support. A wave of embarrassment encompassed her body at the thought of the tears she’d shed in the comfort of his arms.

      She slowly rose to a sitting position, caught his amused gleam, looked hurriedly down at her gaping robe, then quickly pulled the edges together.

      With an easy, fluid movement Nicos swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood to his feet. His dark hair was slightly ruffled, and he combed his fingers through it, then he bent down to collect his shoes.

      ‘Breakfast on the terrace at eight?’ he slanted, enjoying her confusion. Without waiting for her to respond he moved towards the door, and Katrina was left gazing at the empty aperture.

      For a few seconds she stood in stunned silence, then she quickly turned back the bed covers, gathered up fresh underwear and headed for the en suite.

      Half an hour later she collected her briefcase and moved quickly down the stairs. She’d just set foot in the lobby when Nicos entered it via the passageway leading from the spiral staircase connecting to the gym.

      Her heart executed a double flip at the sight of him in shorts and sweatshirt, a damp towel hugging his neck, and trainers. He looked disturbingly male, all bunched muscle, and the faint sheen of sweat leaving patches of damp on a tee shirt that clung to wide shoulders, a broad chest.

      Nicos took in the briefcase, the business suit, the stiletto heels, and slanted an eyebrow.

      ‘An early start?’

      ‘Yes,’ Katrina agreed evenly. She could put in some time on the computer before her secretary arrived and the day began in earnest.

      He used the edge of the towel to blot moisture beading his forehead. ‘Don’t wait dinner. I’ll be late.’

      ‘So will I,’ she responded without thought, and stepped towards the internal door leading to the garage.

      What on earth had prompted her to say that, when she hadn’t planned a thing? She could ring Siobhan and suggest they eat out, she contemplated as she fired the engine and eased her car towards the gates. Maybe take in an art gallery, or a foreign movie.

      The day progressed with only a few minor irritations. She contacted Harry, and arranged to meet him in her lunch-hour at the townhouses where, in typical Harry-style, he overrode her suggestions with the air of one who knows best.

      ‘Muted green carpet, a mix of pale apricot, peach and shades of cream for the paintwork and soft furnishings, darling.’ He caught her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, then drew a wide arc with one arm. ‘It will be truly magnifica.’

      ‘Not blue?’ she teased, and caught his pained expression. ‘Okay,’ she capitulated with a warm smile. ‘Suppose you tell me what colour scheme you’ve devised for the adjoining townhouse?’

      Harry waxed lyrical, as only Harry could, and she wrangled a little, because he expected it, and they achieved a compromise with which each was quietly pleased.

      She had a good eye for a bargain, a knack for being able to envisage the finished product, and the two adjoining townhouses numbered her third property purchase in the past year. Each one had been completely redecorated by Harry’s team of contractors, and sold for a handsome profit. As she cut him a percentage of that profit, he had more than the usual interest in each project.

      ‘I’m looking at something in Surrey Hills.’ It was an older suburb, parts of which were becoming trendy among the ‘double income, no kids’ set.

      Harry’s eyes sharpened. ‘A terrace house?’

      ‘Three, actually.’