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

the solitude.

      Five minutes later she rolled onto her stomach in one fluid movement and made her way to the tiled ledge.

      The strategy took shape as she showered, then she dried her hair and slipped into a casual pencil-slim skirt and top. Minimum make-up, a touch of lipstick and she was ready.

      Dinner was timed for six-thirty, and a quick glance at her watch revealed she had just five minutes to set the plan in motion.

      Rather than use the house line, she extracted her cell-phone and punched in a series of numbers.

      ‘Graziella?’ She exchanged pleasantries, then voiced her request. ‘Could I speak to Camille, if she’s there?’

      If Camille was surprised at the identity of her caller, she didn’t show it.

      ‘Hannah, how charming, chérie.’ Her tone was pure feline.

      ‘Let’s do lunch tomorrow.’ Hannah named an up-market restaurant a block from the boutique. ‘One o’clock. Be there.’ She cut the connection before Camille had a chance to utter a further word.

      Dinner was a simple meal of chicken served with piquant rice and a delectable salad with fresh fruit to follow. Hannah declined wine in favour of a lemon spritzer, and admired Miguel’s appetite while she merely picked at the food on her plate.

      ‘Not hungry?’

      She met Miguel’s steady gaze and effected a light shrug. ‘A client brought in a platter of fresh grapes, crackers and cheese. Elaine and I nibbled all afternoon.’

      ‘You haven’t forgotten we have tickets for the opening of David Williamson’s new play tomorrow night?’

      She’d been so preoccupied with Camille, she hadn’t checked her social diary for days. ‘No, of course not.’

      ‘I have some work to do on the laptop for an hour or so,’ Miguel declared as Hannah pushed her plate to one side.

      ‘Likewise.’ End-of-month invoices, stock receipts, and she also needed to check catalogues from several different fashion houses. ‘I should make a start on it.’

      ‘You load the dishwasher,’ he instructed, rising to his feet. ‘I’ll make coffee.’

      There was a part of her that wanted the comfort of his touch, the warmth of his arms and the feel of his mouth on hers. In reassurance? It didn’t help to feel this needy. Yet they shared a marriage, had created a bond, and what more natural than to go to him, wind her arms round his neck and pull his head down to hers?

      She couldn’t do it. Not here, not now. Camille stood like a spectre between them, a living, breathing entity that seemed to sap her natural warmth and spontaneity.

      When the coffee was made, she poured it into two cups and carried hers through to the comfortable room next to Miguel’s study. It wasn’t as large as his, but it held an antique desk, bookshelves, filing cabinet, and a laptop.

      For the next two hours she worked diligently, and when the paperwork was up to date she fired off a few e-mails to friends, which mostly took care of personal correspondence.

      ‘Not finished yet?’

      Hannah looked up and saw Miguel’s tall frame leaning against the door-jamb. He’d removed cufflinks and rolled back his shirt-sleeves. The top few buttons on his shirt were loosened, and he looked as if he’d raked fingers through his hair more than once.

      ‘Five minutes.’

      ‘Want to watch a video?’

      Why not? ‘Okay.’

      ‘Comedy? Action? Drama?’

      She wrinkled her nose and gave him an impish grin. ‘Surprise me.’

      When she entered the entertainment room he sat sprawled on the leather couch, a half-magnum of chilled champagne rested in an ice-bucket, there was a packet of crisps waiting to be opened, the lights were dimmed, and the television screen was running previews prior to the main movie.

      Miguel patted the space beside him and extended a hand. His eyes were dark and his mouth curved into a sensual smile. ‘Come here.’

      ‘That sounds like an invitation,’ she murmured as she crossed the room, and his smile broadened.

      ‘Do you need one?’

      Hannah indicated the ice-bucket. ‘Are we celebrating?’

      He caught hold of her hand and pulled her down to him. He leaned forward, eased the cork from the bottle, then poured the contents into two flutes and handed her one. ‘Salut.’

      Miguel took a sip of excellent vintage champagne and watched as she mirrored his action, then he took the flute from her hand and gave her his.

      It was a deliberately sensual gesture, and she held his gaze for a few seconds, all too aware of the exigent sexual chemistry between them.

      Liquid fire coursed through her veins, awakening each separate sensory nerve-end until her body became one pulsing ache in anticipation of his touch.

      With considerable effort she dragged her gaze away and looked blindly at the television screen, focusing on the Technicolor images as the movie began to unfold.

      The champagne was superb and she sipped the contents slowly, aware of the shift in Miguel’s frame as he draped an arm along the back of the couch bare inches above her shoulders.

      It was a relationship film, the acting excellent, and if she remembered correctly both male and female leads had earned Oscar nominations for the parts they played.

      Hannah gradually became absorbed in the plot, and relaxed a little. She finished her champagne and Miguel took the empty flute from her fingers, placed it on a nearby low table, then settled back.

      Minutes later she was aware of his fingers playing idly with her hair, gradually loosening the pins that held the smooth twist neatly together.

      Her concentration was shot to hell as he leaned close and nuzzled her earlobe, then began pressing light kisses along the edge of her neck. When he savoured the sensitive hollow at its base, it was all she could do not to groan out loud.

      ‘You want to see this movie?’ she questioned huskily, and heard his soft chuckle.

      ‘You watch it, querida.’ His fingers slipped open one shirt button and slid beneath her lacy bra to tease one burgeoning peak. ‘I have something else in mind.’

      ‘Here?’

      A hand covered her thigh and began a slow upward slide. ‘We’ll eventually make the bedroom.’ He released another shirt button. ‘But for now, enjoy.’

      Five minutes was all it took for her to twist her fingers into the folds of his shirt and pull him hard against her. It was her mouth that sought his with hungry passion, eliciting a husky chuckle as his arms bound her close.

      With urgent hands she sought his waist, wrenching the buckle open in her quest to touch him as he had caressed her.

      She felt shameless, utterly wanton, in the need for his possession, and she gasped as he reared to his feet in one easy movement and strode towards the stairs.

      On reaching the bedroom they helped remove each other’s clothes, then Miguel took her down onto the bed with him and subjected her to such exquisite lovemaking she wept from the joy of it.

      Later, much later, it was she who initiated a slow, sensual journey that had him breathing deeply as he fought for control, only to lose it as she rode him to a tumultuous climax that left their bodies slick with sensual sweat and sated emotions.

       CHAPTER NINE

      THE day began with rain, which diminished to light showers and by midday the city was bathed