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

in a feline stretch, then turned towards the man who was bent on creating havoc with her senses.

      With deliberate playfulness she traced a teasing pattern over the dark whorls of hair that smattered his chest, dipping the tips of her nails and gently dragging them across his pectoral muscles before trailing to his navel.

      She heard his faint intake of breath, and explored lower, barely touching the engorged tumescent shaft as she sought the apex between his thighs.

      In one fluid movement she rose into a sitting position and swept aside the bedcovers, aware of his hands as they caressed her breasts, bringing the dusky peaks into tingling arousal.

      Her hair was loose, its length tousled from sleep, and she bent her head so that it brushed against the most sensitised part of his body in a movement that brought him to the brink.

      With a soft growl he closed his hands over her waist as he deftly swung her round to sit astride him, and she gasped out loud as his fingers touched her intimately.

      Sensation arrowed through her body as he gently rocked her back and forth, until it was she who cried out his name and begged for his possession.

      He gave it, lifting her so that she slowly took him deep inside as her body lowered onto him, and then it was she who held the power, she who set the pace, until he removed it from her and took over.

      Together they sought the pinnacle and soared the heights in perfect accord. A slow, beautiful sharing of the ultimate meshing of mind, body and soul.

      Such attuned sensuality robbed her of the ability to speak, even to move for what seemed an age, then she gently subsided against his chest, nuzzling her lips into the curve of his neck.

      His hands brushed the length of her back, caressed her buttocks, returned to slide through the length of her hair as he angled her head towards his, seeking her mouth in a kiss that made her want to weep with its gentle evocativeness.

      He traced a path over every inch of her skin, lingering over pleasure pulses, teasing them into vibrant life until she pleaded for him to stop.

      ‘Are you sure you want me to?’ Miguel teased in a soft accented drawl, and he gave a low husky laugh at her denial.

      What followed was a tantalisingly slow loving as he followed the trail of his hand with his mouth, using it as an erotic instrument that made her totally his. Passion flared as he surged into her, raw and primitive, an exotic hunger that was libidinous and almost beyond control.

      Afterwards they slept a little, exhausted, until dawn filtered silvered fingers of light through the diminishing darkness, slowly painting soft muted colour over land and sea until the emerging sun feathered a faint golden glow, giving substance to shadows as it heralded a new day.

      Hannah woke to an awareness of weightlessness and the knowledge she was being carried. There was also the faint hum of tumbling water, and the slight scent of aromatic oils.

      Within seconds Miguel lowered her into the pulsing spa-bath, then stepped in to sit opposite.

      He looked far too vibrant for her peace of mind, and she scooped up a handful of water and aimed it at him, watching his gleaming smile as he returned the favour.

      With automatic movements she twisted the length of her hair atop her head and secured it with a pin from a nearby shell-shaped dish.

      It was a perfect way to begin the day. All of it. The lovemaking, which she refused at this moment to call sex, the sheer bliss of curling into her lover’s arms, and now the shared luxury of gently pulsing jets to ease away the slight pull of overused muscles.

      She wanted to lean her head back, close her eyes, and stay here for hours. Perhaps enjoy a champagne breakfast, with fresh strawberries followed by eggs Benedict, crispy bacon and two cups of strong black sweet coffee. Then crawl back to bed and sleep beneath the covers until the sun rose to its zenith.

      Sadly, it was the wrong day. The weekend didn’t begin until tomorrow, and the boutique awaited, as did the replacement saleswoman. And then there was Camille.

      Slowly she opened her eyes.

      ‘Where did you go?’ Miguel queried gently, and she smiled at him.

      ‘You don’t want to know.’

      ‘If you tell me, I can—’

      ‘Wave your magic wand?’

      ‘Make a few calls, pull a string or two.’

      ‘Ah, I believe you would. But it’s not that simple. Besides, this one’s mine, querido.’ She reached out a hand and snagged a towel, then stepped out from the spa-bath.

      It wasn’t nearly as late as she’d thought, she discovered as she dressed in the exquisitely tailored gear she chose to wear to work.

      There was time for a leisurely breakfast before catching hold of her briefcase and following Miguel through to the garage.

      The automatic door lifted, and almost in unison they unlocked each vehicle, slid in behind the wheels, engaged the ignitions, and at Miguel’s signal Hannah reversed out ahead of him.

      At the end of the street, she lifted a hand and waved, glancing in her rear-vision mirror as she turned in the opposite direction.

      The replacement salesgirl arrived late, and, although her credentials appeared satisfactory, she was more suited to the teen section in a department store than catering to a very particular clientele demanding exclusive and expensive designer labels.

      Hannah did her best to provide a crash course in haute couture, but after one disastrous clash with a client she relegated Chantal to menial tasks, and had her fetch lunch.

      By mid-afternoon Hannah had a tension headache, Chantal had called it quits, which meant another call to the agency, impressing very specific needs, and a desperate call to Renee who willingly agreed to fill in for a few hours the next day.

      There was a brief moment when Hannah seriously considered Miguel’s suggestion to promote Cindy. But first, she decided a trifle grimly, she had to get through the next week or two.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      THE gown Hannah chose to wear for the evening’s soirée was a full-length slim-fitting creation in ice-blue silk with a halter-neck and flaring into soft folds from the knee. A soft cowl effect provided an attractive décolletage. Matching blue stiletto-heeled shoes and a gem-encrusted evening purse completed the outfit.

      Jewellery was confined to a diamond tear-drop necklace suspended on a slim gold chain, with earrings to match, and a diamond tennis bracelet at her wrist.

      Make-up was kept to a minimum, with emphasis on her eyes, a light rose colouring her lips, and she swept her hair into a sleek chignon.

      The prestigious charity event owed its success to an active and imaginative committee, a guest-list of the city’s social élite, a luxurious venue, fine food and wine, and top-line entertainment.

      This particular end-of-year function numbered as the jewel in the crown of charity events, with the funds raised being donated to the Leukaemia Foundation.

      Miguel looked resplendent in a formal black dinner suit, white shirt and black bow-tie. Superb tailoring accentuated his breadth of shoulder and tall muscular frame. He presented a forceful image that combined a dramatic mesh of latent sensuality and elemental ruthlessness. Add an enviable aura of power, and the effect was lethal.

      ‘Ready?’

      Hannah offered him a sparkling smile. ‘To go do battle?’

      His husky chuckle caused a shivery sensation to slither down her spine.

      ‘Is that how you see tonight’s social event?’

      She wrinkled her nose, and resorted to humour.

      ‘It’ll