The Marriage Bed. Helen Bianchin

keep an appointment with a beautician and her hairdresser.

      Consequently it was almost six when she turned into their residential street and followed Benedict’s four-wheel drive down the driveway.

      He was waiting for her as she brought the car to a halt.

      ‘Great day?’ Gabbi asked teasingly as she emerged from behind the wheel.

      ‘Indeed. And you?’

      ‘I flashed plastic in a few too many boutiques,’ she said ruefully, indicating several brightly assorted carrier bags on the rear seat.

      He looked relaxed, his height and breadth accentuated by the casual open-necked shirt that fitted snugly over his well-honed muscles.

      His potent masculinity ignited a familiar response deep within her as he reached past her and gathered the purchases together.

      Maybe one day he wouldn’t have quite this heightened effect on her equilibrium, she thought wryly as she followed him indoors. Then a silent laugh rose and died in her throat. Perhaps in another lifetime!

      It was after seven when they left for the Entertainment Centre to witness the New Jersey-born son of a menswear storekeeper, who was known to mesmerise an audience with any one of the two hundred and fifty magic illusions in his repertoire.

      Gabbi adored the show. Pure escapism that numbed the logical mind with wizardry and chilled the spine.

      The fact that Annaliese was nowhere in sight added to her pleasure—a feeling that was compounded the next day when Gabbi and Benedict joined friends on a luxury cruiser.

      Monday promised to be busier than most, Gabbi realised within minutes of arriving at the office and liaising with her secretary.

      The morning hours sped by swiftly as she fed data into the computer. Concentration was required in order to maintain a high level of accuracy, and she didn’t break at all when coffee was placed on her desk.

      It was after midday when Gabbi sank back against the cushioned chair and flexed her shoulders as she surveyed the computer screen. The figures were keyed in, all she had to do was run a check on them after lunch.

      A working lunch, she decided, fired with determination to meet a personal deadline. James had requested the information by one o’clock tomorrow. She intended that he would have it this afternoon.

      Gabbi rose from her desk, extracted the chicken salad sandwich her secretary had placed in the concealed bar fridge an hour earlier, selected a bottle of apple juice and returned to her seat.

      The bread was fresh, the chicken soft on a bed of crisp salad topped with a tangy mayonnaise dressing. Washed down with juice, it replenished her energy store.

      The phone rang and she hurriedly plucked free a few tissues from the box on her desk, then reached for the receiver.

      ‘Francesca Angeletti on line one.’

      Surprise was quickly followed by pleasure. ‘Put her through.’ Two seconds ticked by. ‘Francesca. Where are you?’

      ‘Home. I flew in from Rome yesterday morning.’

      ‘When are we going to get together?’ There was no question that they wouldn’t. They had shared the same boarding-school, the same classes, and each had a stepmother. It was a common bond that had drawn them together and fostered a friendship which had extended beyond school years.

      Francesca’s laugh sounded faintly husky. ‘Tonight, if you and Benedict are attending Leon’s exhibition.’

      ‘Leon’s soirees are high on our social calendar,’ she acknowledged with an answering chuckle.

      ‘James will be there with Monique?’

      ‘And Annaliese,’ Gabbi added dryly, and one eyebrow lifted at Francesca’s forthright response. ‘Nice girls don’t swear,’ she teased in admonition.

      ‘This one does,’ came the swift reply. ‘How long has your dear stepsister been disturbing your home turf?’

      ‘A week.’

      ‘She is fond of playing the diva,’ Francesca commented. ‘I had the misfortune to share a few of the same catwalks with her in Italy.’

      ‘Fun.’

      ‘Not the kind that makes you laugh. Gabbi, I have to dash. We’ll catch up tonight, OK?’

      ‘I’ll really look forward to it,’ Gabbi assured her, and replaced the receiver.

      For the space of a few minutes she allowed her mind to skim the years, highlighting the most vivid of shared memories: school holidays abroad together, guest of honour at each other’s engagement party, bridesmaid at each other’s wedding.

      The automatic back-up flashed on the computer screen, and succeeded in returning her attention to the task at hand. With determination she drew her chair forward, reached for the sheaf of papers, and systematically began checking figure columns.

      An hour later she printed out, collated, then had her secretary deliver copies to James and Benedict. She was well pleased with the result. The reduction of a percentage point gained by successful negotiations with the leasing firm for Stanton-Nicols’ company car fleet could be used to boost the existing employee incentive package. At no extra cost to Stanton-Nicols, and no loss of tax advantage.

      It was after five when she rode the lift down to the car park and almost six when she entered the house.

      ‘Benedict just called,’ Marie informed Gabbi when she appeared in the kitchen. ‘He’ll be another twenty minutes.’

      Time for her to shower and wash and dry her hair. ‘Smells delicious,’ she complimented as she watched Marie deftly stir the contents of one saucepan, then tend to another.

      ‘Asparagus in a hollandaise sauce, beef Wellington with vegetables and lemon tart for dessert.’

      Gabbi grabbed a glass and crossed to the refrigerator for some iced water.

      ‘A few invitations arrived in the mail. They’re in the study.’

      ‘Thanks,’ she said, smiling.

      A few minutes later she ran lightly up the stairs, and in the bedroom she quickly discarded her clothes then made for the shower.

      Afterwards she donned fresh underwear, pulled on fitted jeans and a loose top, then twisted her damp hair into a knot on top of her head. A quick application of moisturiser, a light touch of colour to her lips and she was ready.

      Benedict entered the bedroom as she emerged from the en suite, and she met his mocking smile with a deliberate slant of one eyebrow.

      ‘A delayed meeting?’

      ‘Two phone calls and a traffic snarl,’ he elaborated as he shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie.

      She moved towards the door. ‘Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.’

      The gleam in those dark eyes was wholly sensual. ‘I had hoped to share your shower.’

      Something tugged at her deep inside, flared, then spread throughout her body. ‘Too late,’ she declared lightly as she drew level with him.

      His smile widened, accentuating the vertical lines slashing each cheek. ‘Shame.’

      Her breath rose unsteadily in her throat as she attempted to still the rapid beat of her pulse. Did he take pleasure in deliberately teasing her?

      ‘A cool shower might help.’

      ‘So might this.’ He reached for her, angling his mouth down over hers in a kiss that held the promise of passion and the control to keep it at bay.

      Gabbi felt her composure waver, then splinter and fragment as he drew deeply, taking yet giving, until she surrendered herself to the evocative pleasure only he could provide.

      A tiny moan sounded low