The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise Allen

and with determined resolve she collected cutlery and systematically divided the cold omelette into bite-sized portions, forking them automatically into her mouth.

      When she had finished, she cleaned the skillet, rinsed the plate and cutlery, and placed them in the dishwasher.

      The house seemed incredibly silent, the lounge much too large for her to sit in alone. Feeling thoroughly unsettled, she wandered into the informal sala, collected a magazine, and sank into one of the deep cushioned seats. The pages were not able to capture her interest, and she discarded the magazine, choosing instead to use the remote module to switch on the television. Surely there would be something she could become involved in, she thought with despair, as she clicked one channel after another.

      Two half-hour comedy shows provided some light relief, but her appreciation of the humour portrayed was only superficial, and when they were over she roved between the channels in search of a movie that might prove interesting.

      There was not much selection, and she crossed to the cabinet and browsed through the collection of videos, discarding all but one. It was a dark Gothic piece that had earned critical acclaim, but she found it too intense, and was quite pleased when the credits finally rolled.

      Elise crossed back into the kitchen and filled a glass with ice from the freezer, then added orange juice and slowly sipped the contents.

      What time would Alejandro come home? If he came home, a tiny voice taunted. Dammit, of course he would. He had never stayed out before, so why would he begin now?

      Maybe because you virtually gave him carte blanche to spend time with Savannah, the same tiny voice reminded her with devilish glee.

      A glance at her watch revealed it to be after ten, and with sudden decisiveness she finished the juice, then made for the stairs. She would have a shower, then go to bed.

      Twenty minutes later she slid beneath the cool linen sheets, snapped off the light, and closed her eyes.

      Sleep did not provide the release she craved, and half an hour later she gave a muttered groan and slid out of bed, choosing to curl up in a chair close to the curtain-draped window.

      How did one reconcile the heaven of loving Alejandro Santanas, and the resultant hell of knowing he could never love her? Elise reflected as she gazed sightlessly round the darkened room.

      Like a moth at a flame, she had been struck by the lightning of instant attraction, aware of the swift invasive pull of sheer physical desire, and engulfed by its powerful magnetism.

      By day she had fought him, hating him for being able to hold her captive to her own desire, hating herself for being so easily entrapped by the dictates of her own flesh…By night she lost the fight and revelled in the magic of his touch.

      Would it ever be any different between them? It had been, she reflected sadly. For six short weeks she had believed him to be a caring, loving husband. A man who had devoted all of his time to her, and shown her incredible tendresse.

      Had it been real? Or merely an act? She would probably never know.

      Oh, hell, she cursed, as her eyes filled and tears began to trickle down both cheeks. She hardly ever cried. Except when her father had died. Dammit, her hormones must be raging some sort of inner war with her emotional heart. To be this stricken with tears was crazy.

      Futile, she amended, timeless minutes later when she appeared all cried out. The spent emotion made her sleepy, and she snuggled deeper into the chair and rested her head in the curve of one arm.

      It was there Alejandro found her, and he stood for a long time looking down at the graceful arch of her slender neck illuminated by the bedside lamp, the softness of her hair as it clung to her neck, the slender curves beneath the simple white cotton nightgown. And the faint evidence of tears.

      Slowly he discarded his clothes, then he crossed back to the chair and carefully lifted her into his arms.

      Elise stirred, aware in the depths of her subconscious that something was different. Whereas the cushioned chair was softly padded, now there was the warmth of hard muscular flesh beneath her head. She was aware of a deep rhythmic heartbeat, and an arm curving her close against a long male body. Fingers traced a light transient pattern over her hair, and she felt the brush of lips against her temple.

      A soft sigh emerged from her lips, and almost in reflex action her arm crept out to encircle his waist.

      His mouth was beautifully chiselled, and she knew exactly how it felt against her own. Even thinking about it brought alive the flicker of desire, igniting from her central core and licking treacherously along every nerve in her body.

      Of its own accord her head angled slightly, the soft curves of her mouth parting to accept a kiss that began with incredible gentleness. Teasing, provocative, and profoundly seductive.

      There was no thought of denying him, or herself, and she exulted in each caress, the overwhelming bewitching rapture as he guided her towards fulfilment—seismic, earth-shattering, a surrender to the sensual delights of passion.

      It was the one level on which they communicated. No discord, no sense of disappointment. Just beautiful intimacy. Sex, she corrected, all too aware of the difference.

      ‘Drop me anywhere along Oxford Street, José,’ Elise declared. ‘It’s a beautiful day, and I feel like walking.’

      The Pajero eased through the traffic-lights and pulled into a parking bay. ‘What time, and where shall I collect you?’

      ‘I’ll get a taxi back,’ she said lightly, unwilling to put a curfew on the day. Who knew how long lunch with Siobhan would extend? And besides, she might want to explore the shops for a while.

      ‘Perhaps you will ring when you are ready?’ José suggested on an anxious note. ‘Alejandro would insist.’

      Alejandro could insist all he liked! ‘I’ll let you know,’ she conceded, feeling only slightly guilty that she had no intention of calling José. She proffered a warm smile, then opened the door and stepped down on to the pavement, waiting only a few seconds after he pulled out into the traffic before making her way towards the next street.

      Siobhan was waiting for her, and they hugged each other as if it was years instead of several weeks since they had last seen each other.

      ‘You look fantastic,’ Siobhan declared as they entered the restaurant. The maître d’ took them to a table with views of the harbour, handed them each a menu, then left them to make a selection. ‘How is your hand?’

      They ordered mineral water, deliberated over what they would eat, ordered, then attempted to continue where they had left off the previous afternoon.

      Three hours later they shared the bill and wandered out into the fresh afternoon sunshine.

      ‘The shops?’ Siobhan hazarded with an irrepressible grin, laughing as Elise concurred with alacrity.

      It was after five when they parted, promising to phone to arrange another lunch together the following week.

      Taxis were in high demand, and the queue at the nearest rank was a lengthy one. Securing a taxi within half an hour looked to be impossible.

      Damn, Elise cursed, aware that she should have taken the peak hour into consideration. Maybe a rank in one of the neighbouring streets would offer her a better opportunity.

      It didn’t. If anything, it was even longer. There wasn’t much choice except to ring José.

      She reached into her bag, then made a wry grimace on discovering that she had left the compact mobile phone at home. Locating a telephone booth took several minutes, and she had to wait for two people in front of her to take their turn in making calls.

      Finally she got through, and the signal only sounded twice before the receiver was lifted from the hook. However, it wasn’t José, or even Ana, who answered, and her heart took on an agitated beat.

      ‘Where are you?’

      Alejandro