The Helen Bianchin Collection. Helen Bianchin

her blood and sent her pulse thudding to a quickened beat.

      She slid her hands to his shoulders and clung as he deepened the kiss to something so incredibly erotic she lost track of time and place. There was just the two of them, and the magic that was theirs alone.

      Nicos eased back from the brink of passion, softening his mouth as he trailed his lips over hers, pressing light kisses to each corner, the slightly swollen lower curve, before burying his mouth into the vulnerable hollow at the base of her neck.

      How long did they remain like that? Five minutes? Ten? More?

      Katrina felt wonderfully mellow, and filled with a lazy warmth that crept towards wanting more.

      ‘We should get out of here,’ she began to say tentatively, and felt his lips trail up to settle against her temple.

      ‘Uh-huh.’

      She leaned forward and closed the water dial while Nicos snagged a towel, handing it to her before catching up another for himself.

      The temptation to linger was great. Even greater was the need to stay in and not venture from the bedroom at all.

      ‘Later,’ Nicos promised, his eyes dark with slumbering passion as he pressed a finger to her lips.

      The art exhibition was held in a city gallery, featuring up-and-coming artists among whom two were gaining coveted acclaim.

      Katrina wandered among the strategically placed paintings, and gravitated towards one that had caught her eye.

      There was something in the use of colours that reminded her of Monet and the garden theme he so loved to depict on canvas. Beautifully framed, it reminded her of the French countryside with its fresh fields and flowers.

      ‘Like it?’

      ‘Yes, I do.’ It would look perfect in her apartment. Or better yet, hanging on a wall in her office.

      She moved on, aware Nicos had become caught up in conversation with a fellow business associate.

      ‘Dear Katrina, we do seem to garner invitations to the same events.’

      ‘Enrique.’ She acknowledged. ‘Why am I not surprised to see you here?’

      ‘I have contacts, connections,’ he relayed with a glib smile. ‘Schmoozing is the name of the game, and I excel at working a room.’

      ‘Alone?’

      ‘Young, budding artists aren’t Chloe’s thing. Have you thought about my offer?’

      ‘I don’t need to think. The answer, as always, is the same.’

      ‘Katrina,’ Enrique chastised, shaking his head. ‘I’m willing to trade information to your advantage.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘No?’ He waited a beat. ‘Aren’t you in the least curious to hear some interesting facts about Georgia’s love-child? Facts Nicos can substantiate?’

      A cold hand clenched round her heart. ‘That’s old news.’

      ‘It made good copy at the time.’

      ‘Is there anything you won’t do for money?’ she demanded fiercely.

      ‘I have an expensive habit, darling, which needs constant feeding.’ His smile reminded her of a shark baring its teeth. ‘It matters little whether the newspaper pays me, or you do.’

      ‘Go to hell.’

      ‘I take it that’s a no?’

      ‘A very definite and permanent refusal to your demands, now or at any time in the future,’ Nicos said in a dangerously quiet voice. ‘Take heed, Enrique. If you contact Katrina again, I’ll have a restraining order served on you before you can blink.’

      ‘You can’t threaten me!’

      Belligerence tempered with false bravado didn’t augur well with a man of Nicos’s calibre. ‘I’ve stated facts.’ His voice was hard, almost deadly with intent. ‘It’s your choice whether you comply or not.’

      Enrique cast Katrina a look that was filled with animosity. ‘You owe me. Kevin owes me.’

      ‘Harassment is a punishable offence,’ Nicos reminded him with chilling softness.

      Enrique swore. ‘I hope you both rot in hell.’ He turned and began threading his way through the milling guests.

      ‘Charming.’

      Nicos inclined his head. ‘Indeed.’

      ‘I think I’ll go check out some of the exhibits.’

      He fell into step beside her, and they hadn’t moved far when a guest signalled his attention. Katrina offered a polite greeting, then left the two men to talk.

      ‘Something to drink, ma’am?’

      Katrina smiled at the hovering waiter, and selected a flute of champagne from a proffered tray, then she browsed among the exhibits, returning to the painting she’d admired. It held a discreet sold sticker, and she felt a stab of disappointment, mentally cursing herself for not seeking out the gallery owner and negotiating a price.

      ‘I think,’ Nicos drawled as he rejoined her, ‘we’ve provided sufficient patronage. Shall we leave?’

      There were a few acquaintances present among the guests, and it took long minutes to observe the social niceties before they were able to escape the gallery.

      ‘Hungry?’

      She cast him a solemn glance as he eased the car out of its parking bay. ‘Are you offering me food?’

      ‘Did you manage lunch?’

      She hadn’t managed breakfast either, and had subsisted on fruit, a sandwich her secretary had sent out for, and coffee, tea and juice throughout the day.

      Somehow finger food comprising canapés, miniature vol-au-vents and crackers with cheese proffered at the gallery were no substitute for a meal.

      ‘Not as such,’ she admitted, observing the short distance the car travelled before sliding to the kerb adjacent to a trendy pavement café in Double Bay.

      The menu was a mix of exotic-sounding dishes, and she chose a prawn risotto with bruschetta, followed by black coffee. Nicos ordered the same, and they sipped iced mineral water as they waited for the food to arrive.

      Katrina was supremely conscious of him, aware the fine clothes were merely the sophisticated trappings of a man whose heart moved to a primitive beat. It was evident in the way he held himself, his eyes reflecting an innate strength, a power that combined a dramatic mesh of elemental ruthlessness with indomitable will. Add latent sensuality, and it became something lethal, mesmeric.

      Rarely had she seen him exert due force, or resort to anger. Except for last night. It had been like unleashing a tiger, and she shivered slightly at the memory.

      ‘Cold?’

      She’d worn elegant evening trousers, with a matching camisole and jacket, and the night was mild. ‘No.’

      A waiter presented their food, and they ate with leisurely ease, then lingered over coffee.

      It was after eleven when Nicos garaged the car and they made their way indoors. The events of the past few days were beginning to have their effect, and all she wanted to do was remove her clothes and crawl into bed.

      ‘Let me do that.’

      Katrina shot him a startled glance as his fingers took care of the buttons on her jacket. The camisole came next, followed by the trousers, which he slid gently down over her hips, and she stepped out of them, then toed off her stiletto-heeled pumps.

      She murmured in protest when his hands reached for her bra clip, and she stilled as he began easing free her bikini briefs.

      ‘Nicos—’