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Serg’s announcement coincided with Gabbi’s expectation and, excusing herself from conversation, she moved forward to greet her father.
‘James.’ She brushed his cheek with her lips and accepted the firm clasp on her shoulder in return before turning towards her stepmother to accept the salutatory air-kiss. ‘Monique.’ Her smile was without fault as she acknowledged the stunning young woman at Monique’s side. ‘Annaliese. How nice to see you.’
Benedict joined her, the light touch of his hand at the back of her waist a disturbing sensation that provided subtle reassurance and a hidden warning. That it also succeeded in sharpening her senses and made her incredibly aware of him was entirely a secondary consideration.
His greeting echoed her own, his voice assuming a subtle inflection that held genuine warmth with her father, utter charm with her stepmother, and an easy tolerance with Annaliese.
Monique’s sweet smile in response was faultless. Annaliese, however, was pure feline and adept in the art of flirtation. A skill she seemed to delight in practising on any male past the age of twenty, with scant respect for his marital status.
‘Benedict.’ With just one word Annaliese managed to convey a wealth of meaning that set Gabbi’s teeth on edge.
The pressure of Benedict’s fingers increased, and Gabbi gave him a stunning smile, totally ignoring the warning flare in the depths of those dark eyes.
Dinner was a success. It would have been difficult for even the most discerning gourmand’s palate to find fault with the serving of fine food beautifully cooked, superbly presented, and complemented by excellent wine.
Benedict was an exemplary host, and his inherent ability to absorb facts and figures combined with an almost photographic memory ensured conversation was varied and interesting. Men sought and valued his opinion on a business level, and envied him his appeal with women. Women, on the other hand, sought his attention and coveted Gabbi’s position as his wife.
A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN, the tabloids had announced at the time. THE WEDDING OF THE DECADE, a number of women’s magazines had headlined, depicting a variety of photographs to endorse the projected image.
Only the romantically inclined accepted the media coverage as portrayed, while the city‘s—indeed, the entire country’s—upper social echelons recognised the facts beneath the fairy floss.
The marriage of Benedict Nicols and Gabrielle Stanton had occurred as a direct result of the manipulative strategy by James Stanton to cement the Stanton-Nicols financial empire and forge it into another generation.
The reason for Benedict’s participation was clear... he stood to gain total control of Stanton-Nicols. The bonus was a personable young woman eminently eligible to sire the necessary progeny.
Gabbi’s compliance had been motivated in part by a desire to please her father and the realistic recognition that, given his enormous wealth, there would be very few men, if any, who would discount the financial and social advantage of being James Stanton’s son-in-law.
‘Shall we adjourn to the lounge for coffee?’
The smooth words caught Gabbi’s attention, and she took Benedict’s cue by summoning a gracious smile and rising to her feet. ‘I’m sure Marie has it ready.’
‘Treasure of a chef’, ‘wonderful meal’, ‘delightful evening’. Words echoed in polite praise, and she inclined her head in acknowledgement. ‘Thank you. I’ll pass on your compliments to Marie. She’ll be pleased.’ Which was true. Marie valued the high salary and separate live-in accommodation that formed part of the employment package, and her gratitude was reflected in her culinary efforts.
‘You were rather quiet at dinner, darling.’
Gabbi heard Monique’s softly toned voice, and turned towards her. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Annaliese is a little hurt, I think.’ The reproach was accompanied by a wistful smile, and Gabbi allowed her eyes to widen slightly.
‘Oh, dear,’ she managed with credible regret. ‘She gave such a convincing display of enjoying herself.’
Monique’s eyes assumed a mistiness Gabbi knew to be contrived. How did she do that? Her stepmother had missed her vocation; as an actress she would have excelled.
‘Annaliese has always regarded you as an elder sister.’
There was nothing familial about Annaliese’s regard—for Gabbi. Benedict, however, fell into an entirely different category.
‘I’m deeply flattered,’ Gabbi acknowledged gently, and incurred Monique’s sharp glance. They had lingered slightly behind the guests exiting the dining-room and were temporarily out of their earshot.
‘She’s very fond of you.’
Doubtful. Gabbi had always been regarded as a rival, and Annaliese was her. mother’s daughter. Perfectly groomed, beautifully dressed, perfumed...and on a mission. To tease and tantalise, and enjoy the challenge of the chase until she caught the right man.
Gabbi was saved from making a response as they entered the lounge, and she accepted coffee from Marie, choosing to take it black, strong and sweet.
With a calm that was contrived she lifted her cup and took a sip of the strong, aromatic brew. ‘If you’ll excuse me? I really must have a word with James.’
It was almost midnight when the last guest departed, a time deemed neither too early nor too late for a mid-week dinner party to end.
Gabbi slid off her heeled sandals as she crossed the foyer to the lounge. Her head felt impossibly heavy, a knot of tension twisting a painful.path from her right temple down to the edge of her nape.
Sophie had cleared the remaining coffee cups and liqueur glasses, and in the morning Marie would ensure the lounge was restored to its usual immaculate state.
‘A successful evening, wouldn’t you agree?’
Benedict’s lazy drawl stirred the embers of resentment she’d kept carefully banked over the past few hours.
‘How could it not be?’ she countered as she turned to face him.
‘You want to orchestrate a post-mortem?’ he queried with deceptive mildness, and she glimpsed the tightly coiled strength beneath the indolent facade.
‘Not particularly.’
He conducted a brief, encompassing appraisal of her features. ‘Then I suggest you go upstairs to bed.’
Her chin tilted fractionally, and she met his dark gaze with equanimity. ‘And prepare myself to accommodate you?’
There was a flicker of something dangerous in the depths of his eyes, then it was gone, and his movements as he closed the distance between them held a smooth, panther-like grace.
‘Accommodate?‘ he stressed silkily.
He was too close, his height and broad frame an intimidating entity that invaded her space. The clean, male smell of him combined with his exclusive brand of cologne weakened her defences and lodged an attack against the very core of her femininity.
He had no need to touch her, and it irked her unbearably that he knew it.
‘Your sexual appetite is...’ Gabbi paused, then added delicately, ‘Consistent.’ Her eyes flared slightly, the blue depths pure crystalline sapphire.
He lifted a hand and caught hold of her chin, lifting it so she had little option but to retain his gaze. ‘It’s a woman’s prerogative to decline.’
She looked at him carefully, noting the fine lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, the deep vertical crease slashing each cheek, and the firm, sensual lines of his mouth.
The tug of sexual awareness intensified at the thought of the havoc that mouth could wreak when it possessed her own, the pleasure as it explored the soft curves of her body.
‘And a man’s inclination to employ unfair persuasion,’ Gabbi offered, damning the slight catch of her breath as the pad of his thumb traced an evocative pattern along the edge of her jaw, then slid down the pulsing cord to the hollow at the curve of her neck, cupping it while he loosened the pins holding her hair in place.
They fell to the carpet as his fingers combed the blonde length free, then his head lowered and she closed her eyes as his lips brushed her temple, then feathered a path to the edge of her mouth, teasing its outline as he tested the soft fullness and sensed the faint trembling as she tried for control.
She should stop him now, plead tiredness, the existence of a headache...say she didn’t want to have to try to cope with the aftermath of his lovemaking. The futility of experiencing utter joy and knowing physical lust was an unsatisfactory substitute for love.
His body moved in close against her own, its hard length a potent force she fought hard to ignore. Without success, for she had little defence against the firm pressure of his lips as he angled her mouth and possessed it, gently at first, then with an increasing depth of passion which demanded her capitulation.
She didn’t care when she felt his hands slide the length of her skirt up over her thighs, and she cared even less when he shaped her buttocks and lifted her up against him.
There was a sense of exultant pleasure as she curved her legs around his hips and tangled her arms together behind his neck, the movement of his body an exciting enticement as he ascended the stairs to their bedroom.
She was on fire, aching for the feel of his skin against her own, and her fingers feverishly freed his tie and attacked the buttons on his shirt, not satisfied until they found the silken whorls of hair covering his taut, muscled chest.
Her mouth slid down the firm column of his throat, savoured the hollow at its base, then sought a tantalising path along one collarbone.
At some stage she became dimly aware she was standing, her clothes, and his, no longer a barrier, and she gave a soft cry as he pulled her down onto the bed.
Now, hard and fast. No preliminaries. And afterwards he could take all the time he wanted.
His deep, husky laugh brought faint colour to her cheeks. A colour that deepened at the comprehension that she’d inadvertently said the words out loud.
He sank into her, watching her expressive features as she accepted him, the fleeting changes as she stretched and the slight gasp as he buried his shaft deep inside her.
He stayed still for endlessly long seconds, and she felt him swell, then he began to withdraw, slowly, before plunging even more deeply, repeating the action and the tempo of his rhythm until she went up in flames.
The long, slow after-play, his expertise, the wicked treachery of skilful fingers, the erotic mouth, combined to bring her to the brink and hold her there until she begged for release—and she was unsure at the peak of ecstasy whether she loved or hated him for what he could do to her.
Good sex. Very good sex. That’s all it was, she reflected sadly as she slid through the veils of sleep.
CHAPTER TWO
‘VOGEL on line two.’
Gabbi’s office was located high in an inner city architectural masterpiece and offered a panoramic view beyond the smoke-tinted glass exterior.
It was a beautiful summer morning, the sky a clear azure, with the sun’s rays providing a dappled effect on the harbour. A Manly-bound ferry cleaved a smooth path several kilometres out from the city terminal and vied with small pleasure craft of varying sizes, all of which were eclipsed by a huge tanker heading slowly into port.
With a small degree of reluctance Gabbi turned back to her desk and picked up the receiver to deal with the call.
Five minutes later she replaced it, convinced no woman should have to cross verbal swords with an arrogant, sexist male whose sole purpose in life was to undermine a female contemporary.
Coffee, hot, sweet and strong, seemed like a good idea, and she rose to her feet, intent on fetching it herself rather than have her secretary do it for her. There were several files she needed to check, and she extracted the pertinent folders and laid them on her desk.
The private line beeped, and she reached for the receiver, expecting to hear James’s or Benedict’s voice. A lesser possibility was Marie and—even more remote—Monique.
‘Gabbi.’ The soft, feminine, breathy sound was unmistakable.
‘Annaliese,’ she acknowledged with a sinking feeling.
‘Care to do lunch?’
Delaying the invitation would do no good at all, and she spared her appointment diary a quick glance. ‘I can meet you at one.’ She named an exclusive restaurant close by. ‘Will you make the reservation, or shall I?’
‘You do it, Gabbi,’ Annaliese replied in a bored drawl. ‘I have a meeting with my agent. I could be late.’
‘I have to be back in my office at two-thirty,’ Gabbi warned.
‘In that case, give me ten minutes’ grace, then go ahead and order.’
Gabbi replaced the receiver, had her secretary make the necessary reservation, fetched her coffee, then gave work her undivided attention until it was time to freshen up before leaving the building.
The powder-room mirror reflected an elegant image. Soft cream designer-label suit in a lightweight, uncrushable linen mix, and a silk camisole in matching tones. Her French pleat didn’t need attention, and she added a touch of powder, a re-application of lipstick, then she was ready.
Ten minutes later Gabbi entered the restaurant foyer where she was greeted warmly by the maître d’ and personally escorted to a table. She ordered mineral water and went through the motions of perusing the menu, opting for a Caesar salad with fresh fruit to follow.
Three-quarters of an hour after the appointed time Annaliese joined her in a waft of exclusive perfume. A slinky slither of red silk accentuated her model-slender curves. She was tall, with long slim legs, and her skilfully applied make-up enhanced her exotic features, emphasised by dark hair styled into a sleek bob.
No apology was offered, and Gabbi watched in silence as Annaliese ordered iced water, a garden salad and fresh fruit.
‘When is your next assignment?’
A feline smile tilted the edges of her red mouth, and the dark eyes turned to liquid chocolate. ‘So keen to see me gone?’
‘A polite enquiry,’ she responded with gentle mockery.
‘Followed by an equally polite query regarding my career?’
Gabbi knew precisely how her stepsister’s modelling career was progressing. Monique never failed to relay, in intricate detail, the events monitoring Annaliese’s rise and rise on the world’s catwalks.
‘It was you who initiated lunch.’ She picked up her glass and took a deliberate sip, then replaced it down on the table, her eyes remarkably level as she met those of her stepsister.
Annaliese’s gaze narrowed with speculative contemplation. ‘We’ve never been friends.’
In private, the younger girl had proven herself to be a vindictive vixen. ‘You worked hard to demolish any bond.’
One shoulder lifted with careless elegance. ‘I wanted centre stage in our shared family, darling. Numero uno.’ One long, red-lacquered nail tapped a careless tattoo against the stem of her glass.
Gabbi speared the last portion of cantaloupe on her plate. ‘Suppose you cut to the chase and explain your purpose?’
Annaliese’s eyes held a calculated gleam. ‘Monique informed me James is becoming increasingly anxious for you to complete the deal.’
The fresh melon was succulent, but it had suddenly lost its taste. ‘Which deal are we discussing?’
‘The necessary Stanton-Nicols heir.’
Gabbi’s gaze was carefully level as she rested the fork down onto her plate. ‘You’re way out of line, Annaliese.’
‘Experiencing problems, darling?’ The barb was intentional.
‘Only with your intense interest in something that is none of your business.’
‘It’s family business,’ Annaliese responded with deliberate emphasis.
Respect for the restaurant’s fellow patrons prevented Gabbi from tipping a glass of iced water into her stepsister’s lap.
