The Marriage Bed. Helen Bianchin

‘I was unaware that their presence, or absence, dictated our own,’ he countered with deceptive mildness.

      It didn’t, but she hadn’t quite forgiven him for being so easily led away by Annaliese or for being caught so long in conversation.

      She effected a slight shrug he could interpret any way he chose. ‘If you want to leave—’

      ‘You’re not going?’ Monique intervened, her voice tinged with mild reproach, and Gabbi wondered if lipreading was one of her stepmother’s acquired skills. ‘Leon will be most upset if you miss his party.’

      ‘A headache,’ Benedict invented smoothly.

      Monique spared Gabbi a penetrating look. ‘Oh darling, really?’ Her eyes sharpened suspiciously.

      Annaliese’s mouth formed a pretty pout. ‘What a shame to end the evening so early.’ She turned sultry eyes towards Benedict ‘Perhaps Gabbi won’t mind if you drop her home and come back for the party?’

      Benedict’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I’m the one who is suffering,’ he informed her, subjecting Gabbi to a deliberate appraisal that left no one in any doubt that his suffering was of a sexual nature.

      Monique’s expression didn’t change and James’s features remained deliberately bland, although Gabbi thought she glimpsed a fleeting humorous twinkle in his eyes. Annaliese, however, shot her a brief, malevolent glare before masking it with a faint smile.

      ‘Have fun,’ Annaliese murmured, pressing her scarlet-tipped fingers to Benedict’s arm in a light caress.

      Gabbi prayed that the soft flood of warmth to her cheeks wasn’t accompanied by a telling tide of pink as Benedict smoothly uttered the few necessary words in farewell, and her fingers clenched against his in silent retaliation as he caught hold of her hand and began threading his way across the room to where Leon was holding court with a captive audience.

      ‘Oh, darlings, you’re leaving?’

      ‘You don’t mind?’

      ‘I’m so pleased you were able to attend.’ Leon’s smile was beatific, courtesy of Benedict’s cheque in his wallet.

      Gabbi waited until Benedict had steered the Jaguar clear of the car park before launching into a verbal attack.

      ‘That was unforgivable!’

      ‘What, precisely, did you find unforgivable?’ Benedict drawled in amusement as he joined the traffic travelling eastward along the New South Head road.

      She wanted to rage at him, physically hit him. Instead she chose to remain silent for the time it took him to reach Vaucluse, garage the car and enter the house.

      ‘Coffee?’ Benedict enquired as he turned from resetting the alarm system.

      ‘No,’ she refused tightly, raising stormy eyes to meet his as he closed the distance between them.

      He made no attempt to touch her, and she stood firmly resolute, hating him for a variety of reasons that were too numerous to mention.

      ‘So much anger,’ he observed indolently.

      ‘What did you expect?’

      ‘A little gratitude, perhaps, for initiating a premature escape?’

      Words warred with each other in her mind as she fought for control. More than anything she wanted to lash out and hit him, and only the silent warning apparent in those dark features stopped her.

      ‘You take exception to the fact I want to make love with you?’ he queried silkily. Lifting a hand, he slid it beneath the curtain of her hair.

      ‘I didn’t expect a clichéd announcement of your intention,’ she threw at him angrily, gasping as he cupped her nape and angled his head down to hers. ‘Don’t.’

      The plea went unheeded as his mouth closed over hers, and she strained against the strength of his arm as it curved down her back and held her to him.

      Slowly, insidiously, warmth coursed through her veins until her whole body was one aching mass, craving his touch, and she opened her mouth to accept the possession of his own.

      Passion replaced anger, and a tiny part of her brain registered the transition and wondered at the traitorous dictates of her own heart.

      It wasn’t fair that he should have quite this effect on her, or that she should have so little control. Sex motivated by lust wasn’t undesired, but love was the ultimate prize.

      She wanted to protest when he swept an arm beneath her knees and lifted her against his chest. She knew she should as he climbed the stairs to the upper floor. And when he entered their bedroom and let her slip down to her feet she stood, quiescent, as he gently removed her beaded jacket and tossed it over a nearby chair.

      The soft light from twin lamps reflected against the mirror and she caught a momentary glimpse of two figures—one tall and dark, the other slender in red, then she became lost in the heat of Benedict’s impassioned gaze, her fingers as dexterous as his in their quest to remove each layer of clothing.

      Yet there was care apparent, almost a teasing quality as they each dealt with buttons and zip-fastenings, the slide of his hands on her exposed flesh increasing the steady spiral of excitement.

      He wasn’t unmoved by her ministrations either, and she exulted in the feel of tightening sinews as she caressed his muscled chest, the taut waist and the thrust of his powerful thighs.

      His heartbeat quickened in tempo with her own as he pulled her down onto the bed and she rose up above him, every nerve, every cell alive with anticipation. She sought to give as much pleasure as she knew she’d receive, taking the path to climactic nirvana with deliberate slowness, enjoying and enhancing each step of the emotional journey until there was no sense of the individual, only the merging of two souls so in tune with each other that they became one.

      And afterwards they lay, arms and legs entwined, exchanging the soft caress of fingers against warm flesh, the light, lingering brush of lips, in an after-play that held great tenderness and care, until sleep claimed them both.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      THE sun’s rays were hot after the controlled coolness of the building’s air-conditioning, and Gabbi felt the heat come up from the pavement combined with the jostle of midday city staff anxious to make the most of their lunch hour, elderly matrons en route from one shopping mall to another and mothers with young children in tow.

      Sydney was a vibrant city alive with people from different cultures, and Gabbi witnessed a vivid kaleidoscope of couture and grunge as she walked the block and a half to meet Francesca.

      The restaurant was filled with patrons, but she’d rung ahead for a reservation, and the maître d’ offered an effusive greeting and ushered her to a table.

      There was barely time to order iced water before Francesca slid into the opposite seat in a soft cloud of Hermes Calèche perfume.

      ‘The traffic was every bit as bad as I expected,’ Francesca commented as she ordered the same drink as Gabbi. ‘And securing a parking space was worse.’

      Gabbi smiled in commiseration. ‘City commuting is the pits.’ She picked up the menu. ‘Shall we order?’

      ‘Good idea. I’m starving,’ Francesca admitted with relish, selecting the soupe du jour followed by a Greek salad and fresh fruit.

      Gabbi also selected her friend’s choice, but opted for linguini instead of soup as a starter.

      ‘How long will you be Sydney-based?’ Her smile was warm, her interest genuine.

      Ice-cubes chinked as Francesca picked up her glass. ‘Not long. A few weeks, then I’ll head back to Europe.’

      True friendship was rare, and