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‘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 (#ulink_b4396819-886d-5c3f-9fef-026ab1b7495a)
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 with it came the benefit of dispensing with the niceties of idle conversation. ‘So, tell me about Rome.’
Francesca’s expression became pensive. ‘Mario’s mother was diagnosed with inoperable cancer.’
Gabbi’s heart constricted with pain, and she reached out and covered her friend’s hand with her own. ‘Francesca, I’m so sorry.’
‘We had a few short weeks together before she was hospitalised, and after that it was only a matter of days.’ Francesca’s eyes darkened with repressed emotion. ‘She bequeathed me everything.’
‘Mario was her only child,’ Gabbi reminded her gently.
‘Nevertheless, it was—’ she paused fractionally ‘—unexpected.’
The waiter’s appearance with their starters provided an interruption.
‘What’s new with the family?’ Francesca asked as soon as he was out of earshot.
‘Not a thing.’
‘Benedict is to die for, Monique superficially gracious, Annaliese a bitch and James remains oblivious?’
The assessment was so accurate, Gabbi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Selectively oblivious,’ she qualified.
‘A clever man, your father.’
‘And yours, Francesca?’
‘Consumed with business in order to keep my dear stepmama in the incredible style she insists is important.’ She managed a tight smile. ‘While Mother continues to flit from one man to the next with time out in between for the requisite nip and tuck.’
They finished the starters and began on the salads.
‘Dominic Andrea,’ Francesca ventured speculatively. ‘Greek?’
‘Second generation. His mother is Australian.’
‘Irritating man.’
Dominic was many things, but irritating wasn’t one of them. ‘Do you think so?’
‘And arrogant.’
Perhaps. Although Gabbi would have substituted self-assured. ‘You want to opt out of dinner tonight?’
Francesca forked the last mouthful of salad, took her time with it, then replaced the utensil onto her plate. ‘No,’ she said thoughtfully, her gaze startlingly direct. ‘Why deny myself an interesting evening?’
Gabbi’s mouth curved with humour. ‘A clash between two Titans?’
Francesca’s eyes assumed a speculative gleam. ‘It will be an intriguing challenge to beat the man at his own game.’
Indeed, Gabbi accorded silently. Although she wasn’t sure that Francesca would win.
The waiter brought a fruit platter and they ordered coffee.
‘Shall I give you Dominic’s address?’ Gabbi queried as she picked up the bill, quelling Francesca’s protest. ‘Or will we collect you?’
‘I’ll meet you there.’ She extracted a pen and paper from her handbag and took down the address. ‘Six-thirty?’
‘Yes,’ Gabbi confirmed as they emerged out onto the pavement. She accepted Francesca’s light kiss on each cheek, and touched her hand as they parted. ‘It’s been great to catch up. Take care.’
‘Always,’ Francesca promised. ‘See you tonight.’
There were several messages on Gabbi’s desk when she returned, and she dealt with each, dictated several letters and worked on streamlining overheads in a subsidiary company. Systematic checking was required to discover alternative suppliers who, she was convinced, could provide an equal service for a more competitive price. She made a list of relevant numbers to call.
The intercom buzzed, and Gabbi depressed the button. ‘Yes, Halle?’
‘There’s a parcel in Reception for you. Shall I bring it down?’
She eased her shoulders and pushed a stray tendril of hair behind one ear. ‘Please.’
A minute later her secretary appeared carrying a flat rectangular parcel wrapped in brown paper. ‘There’s an envelope. Want me to open it?’
It couldn’t be...could it? Gabbi rose to her feet and crossed round to the front of her desk. ‘No, I’ll take care of it. Thanks, Halle.’
She placed the attached envelope on her desk, then undid the wrapping, pleasure lighting up her features as she revealed the painting she’d admired at Leon’s gallery.
It was perfect for the southern wall of her office.
The card held a simple message: ‘For you.’ It was signed ‘Benedict.’
Gabbi reached for the private phone and punched in Benedict’s coded number.
He answered on the second ring. ‘Nicols.’
‘You noticed my interest in the painting,’ she said with evident warmth. ‘I love it. Thanks.’
‘Why don’t you take a walk to my office and thank me in person?’ The lazy drawl held mild amusement, and a soft laugh emerged from her throat.
‘A momentary diversion?’
‘Very momentary,’ Benedict agreed with light humour. ‘An associate is waiting in my private lounge.’
‘In that case, you shouldn’t delay seeing him,’ she chastised him sweetly, and heard his husky chuckle in response.
‘Tonight, Gabbi.’
She heard the faint click as he replaced the receiver.
The rest of the afternoon went quickly, and at five she shut down the computer, signed the completed letters then collected her briefcase and took the lift down to the car park.
Benedict’s four-wheel drive was in the garage when she arrived home, and as they were to dine out she bypassed the kitchen and made for the stairs.
It would be nice to strip off and relax in the Jacuzzi, she thought longingly as she entered the master suite, but there wasn’t time. Twenty-five minutes in which to shower, dress, apply make-up and style her hair didn’t allow for a leisurely approach.
The sound of an electric razor in action could be heard from the bathroom and she quickly shed her clothes, pulled on a silk robe and pushed open the door.
Benedict was standing in front of the wide mirror dispensing with a day’s growth of beard, a towel hitched at his waist. It was evident from his damp hair that he hadn’t long emerged from the shower.
‘Hi.’ It irked her that her voice sounded vaguely breathless. Maybe in another twenty years she would be able to view his partly naked form and not feel so completely consumed by the sight of him.
If, that far down the track, she was still part of his life. The thought that she might not be brought a stab of unbearable pain.
