The Helen Bianchin Collection. Helen Bianchin

gift, and Eleni had wanted babies from the day of her marriage.

      Minutes later they gravitated towards the restaurant. The food was excellent, the service good, and the ensuing hours passed so quickly it was difficult to believe it was almost ten when Eleni indicated they should leave.

      ‘My wife tires easily,’ Stavros explained apologetically as Nicos settled the bill.

      ‘One minute I’m fine,’ Eleni said with amusement. ‘The next I can hardly keep my eyes open.’

      They walked towards the exit through the hotel lobby and Stavros organised for the concierge to fetch their car.

      ‘We will see you again soon, yes?’ Eleni embraced Nicos, then turned towards Katrina. ‘Take care, Katrina.’

      Their car arrived, courtesy of a porter, and within a few brief minutes they were gone.

      ‘Would you like to have a drink in the lounge?’ Nicos queried as they re-entered the lobby.

      ‘Okay.’ Anything to delay taking the lift back up to their suite.

      Nicos ordered coffee, and Katrina sipped hers slowly as she indulged in the idle pleasure of people-watching. Couples, singles, young and old.

      ‘Penny for them?’

      She looked at Nicos, and was unable to gain much from his expression. ‘It’s been a successful day.’

      ‘Yes, it has.’

      ‘Can I take it as joint executor, you approve my decisions?’

      ‘I have no doubt as to your ability to make them,’ Nicos said evenly.

      ‘Thank you,’ she responded solemnly.

      ‘I believe you’ve been looking at property.’

      Katrina’s eyes sharpened. ‘I’m using my own personal funds, which gives you absolutely no reason to question me.’

      One eyebrow slanted. ‘I was making an observation.’

      ‘You want addresses? So you can check them out?’ She could feel the anger begin to rise. ‘Or has your source of information already given you a full report?’

      ‘You use Kevin’s lawyer for your own affairs,’ he reminded silkily.

      ‘He contravened client confidentiality privilege?’ she queried, scandalised.

      ‘Not at all, and only in respect of commenting on your business acumen,’ Nicos said smoothly.

      Katrina took in a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘I enjoy restoring property.’

      ‘The terrace houses are a good investment.’

      ‘You know about them—how?’

      He held her gaze. ‘I’m negotiating to buy the remaining three in the same block. The agent rang me this morning and mentioned my wife’s expression of interest.’

      Another breach of confidentiality? Or had the agent simply assumed a husband and wife were aware of each other’s financial investments?

      ‘You intend to outbid me?’

      ‘No. I had in mind we could collaborate.’

      Her interest was piqued. ‘Harry would be delighted.’ She hastened to explain. ‘The interior decorator I use. He’s very good.’

      ‘Have him ring me.’

      A waiter hovered with a cafetière of steaming hot black coffee and offered to refill their cups, which they each declined.

      Katrina stifled a yawn, then rose to her feet. ‘I’m going up to bed.’ She was tired, and they were due to take the morning flight to Sydney.

      Nicos unfolded his length and walked with her to the lift, summoned it, and within minutes they entered their suite.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      ‘WHAT do you think you’re doing?’

      ‘Organising a makeshift bed,’ Katrina informed him as she took down a blanket and snagged a spare pillow.

      ‘The bed is large,’ Nicos said with dangerous softness.

      Katrina met his gaze with open defiance. ‘I’m not sharing it with you.’

      ‘Is it me you don’t trust? Or yourself?’

      ‘You,’ she responded succinctly, and stepped through to the lounge.

      She pulled two chairs together, facing each other, and decided it should be quite comfortable if she adopted a foetal position.

      Seconds later she extracted a long cotton tee shirt from her bag and retreated to the en suite to change.

      Hmm, not so comfortable, she admitted to herself within minutes of settling herself down. She doused the lamp, and the suite was shrouded in darkness.

      Katrina reflected on the events of the day, ruminated the prospect of Siobhan’s enthusiasm at opening a Melbourne branch of her Double Bay boutique…and shifted position on the chairs.

      To no avail, for one hip soon became numb from the hard upholstering. Damn. Maybe if she lay on her back with her knees bent.

      How long did it take for her to decide the chairs were a no-go sleeping situation? Half an hour? She had no idea of the passage of time when she carefully manoeuvred herself free and spread one half of the blanket on the carpet.

      She leaned forward to collect the pillow and knocked her elbow. A faint groan escaped her lips. Hell, that hurt.

      Was Nicos asleep? She stifled the temptation to take the pillow and bat him over the head with it.

      She should have insisted on two separate suites. Dammit, why hadn’t she?

      At that precise moment the bedroom lamp went on, and in the next instant Nicos stood towering in the archway that separated the small lounge and bedroom.

      Without a word he moved forward and scooped her into his arms.

      ‘Put me down!’ Katrina vented in fury.

      He did. On the side of the bed he occupied. ‘Stay there,’ he warned in a voice that sent shivers scudding down the length of her spine.

      She bounced back onto her feet and watched as he crossed round to the opposite side of the bed. ‘The hell I will!’

      He threw her a dark lethal glance. ‘If you want to fight, I’ll oblige.’ He waited a beat. ‘Just be aware how it will end.’

      ‘I’m shaking!’

      ‘You will, if you don’t get back into bed.’

      She didn’t move, and her eyes burned emerald-bright with rage. ‘Since when did you become such a dictatorial tyrant?’

      ‘Ten seconds, Katrina,’ Nicos warned silkily.

      Her eyes went to the telephone on the bedside pedestal. ‘Reception can find me another suite.’ She picked up the receiver, but she didn’t even manage to punch one digit before Nicos cut the connection.

      ‘Don’t even think about it.’

      She rounded on him in fury. ‘How dare you?’

      ‘Easily.’

      Without thought she snatched up a pillow and threw it at him, only to watch as he deflected it onto the bed.

      His anger was a palpable entity. The bedside lamp cast shadows in the room, and his frame seemed to loom large, his features all angles and planes.

      ‘Three nights ago we shared a bed half this size.’

      ‘That