The Helen Bianchin Collection. HELEN BIANCHIN
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hour later they sat down to soup, and followed it with grilled steak and salad, electing to watch television until Alejandro deemed it time to retire to bed.
Elise had little option but to accept his assistance, and she stood, head bent, lower lip caught between her teeth, as he began freeing her clothes.
There was something incredibly sensual in having him tend to the buttons on her blouse, the fleeting touch of his warm fingers as they brushed her sensitised flesh. To have him unclip her bra and feel his light touch against each breast.
Last night should have prepared her for the protracted intimacy of standing part-naked in front of him. Yet, try as she might, she was unable to control the shallowness of her breathing, or prevent the faint colour heightening her cheekbones.
It was a relief to escape into the en suite bathroom and shower alone, and she took as long as she dared before emerging to find Alejandro waiting to towel her dry.
She wanted to say she could manage, and for a moment she almost did, but one look at his dark, brooding features was sufficient for her to realise that such an action would be the height of foolishness.
The instant her nightgown was safely in place she made to turn away, only to have her movement stalled as her chin was caught between a firm thumb and forefinger.
‘Don’t,’ Alejandro began in cautionary remonstrance, ‘erect obstacles where none exist.’
The soft drawl matched the faint mockery evident in those dark eyes, and a lump rose in her throat that made it difficult for her to swallow.
Her mouth trembled, and she felt the ache of unshed tears as she searched the strong masculine features, noting the grooves that slashed his cheeks, and the tiny lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes.
‘How can you say that?’ she queried in strangled tones, feeling at a loss to cope with the force of his compelling masculinity.
He lifted a hand and traced a finger down the slope of her nose, then traversed the tip to settle on the curve of her lip.
‘Easily,’ Alejandro assured her as he lightly stroked the soft fullness of the lower contour before exploring the generous line above.
His touch was provocative, light, and sent warning flares to each separate nerve-ending as a deliciously warm sensation slowly radiated through her whole body.
I could close my eyes and become lost, thought Elise, swayed by emotion and held in its invasive thrall. There was a part of her that hungered for the touch of his hands, his mouth, and she had the most insane desire to plead with him to turn the erotic images into reality.
A soft moan whispered from her throat as his mouth closed over hers, teasing, tasting, in a gentle exploration that brought her body close to his in an involuntary movement as he carefully deepened the kiss.
It was heaven, she decided hazily, filled with such agonising sweetness that she felt as if she were melting, boneless. His.
She wanted more than the mere fusing of their mouths. Much more. It was almost as if some secret part of her was privy to a knowledge that eluded her conscious mind, and she gave a tiny despairing moan as his tongue slowed its masterful stroking dance with her own as a prelude to retreat.
As he lifted his head her eyes clung to his, wide and almost trance-like, for several long seconds before his features swam into focus.
Elise glimpsed the passion held severely in check, the deep slumbering emotion that darkened his gaze, and something else she couldn’t quite define.
Her lips were swollen and the inside of her mouth so acutely sensitised that she wondered if she was capable of uttering so much as a word.
Never had she felt so hauntingly vulnerable, or so fragile. A pulse thudded visibly at the edge of her throat as the blood drummed through her veins, and she lifted her left hand, only to let it fall helplessly to her side.
‘Bed, I think,’ Alejandro decreed, his eyes narrowing as he glimpsed the effort it cost her to retain some measure of control.
His hand cupped her left shoulder, then slid to her breast, slipping beneath the silk to shape the tumescent mound with exquisite care.
She felt it swell beneath his touch, the peak tautening in sensitive arousal, then his mouth assumed a wry humorous twist as he lifted both hands to frame her face.
‘Television, or would you prefer to read?’
It took considerable effort to summon a faint smile as she allowed him to lead her towards the bed. ‘Television,’ she declared unevenly. ‘Providing I get to choose the programme.’
‘Brave words, querida,’ he teased lightly. ‘You will probably be asleep by the time I have shaved and showered.’
She was unable to still the faint fluttering of butterfly wings inside her stomach, and her gaze became pensive as he stripped down to his briefs, then crossed to the en suite bathroom.
He was an enigma, Elise decided thoughtfully as she endeavoured to concentrate on the images flickering across the screen.
Darkly intense, almost frightening. Yet he could be gentle and considerate. A difficult mixture to comprehend, she accepted silently, wondering if there had ever been a time when she had understood him.
Thinking about it made her tired, and her lashes drifted down as she lapsed into dreamless oblivion.
THE days ran one into the other, each following a similar pattern to the one preceding it. They rose early, dressed, and went for a walk along the deserted beach, then returned to eat a simple breakfast out on the covered terrace, after which Alejandro would disappear into the study for an hour.
It was his only concession to maintaining a check on business interests, and although there was a phone in the car, and a mobile cellular unit tucked into the pocket of his shorts whenever they moved away from the house, only once did either ring. His instructions on each occasion had been chillingly brief.
Occasionally he would pack a picnic lunch and drive to one of the neighbouring beaches, or a designated park. Sometimes they stayed at home and watched videos. Late each afternoon they embarked on a leisurely walk along the beach.
With every passing day the pain in Elise’s hand lessened, the bruising faded, and she was soon able to don and shed her clothes without help, something she considered to be a milestone.
Alejandro appeared to be attuned to her every mood, watchful that she didn’t become tired, and able to coax her into laughter with very little effort at all, until gradually she began to relax and regard him with hesitant affection.
She became accustomed to the light brush of his fingers across her skin, the touch of his hand on her arm, cupping her shoulder, resting at the small of her back or curved round her waist. The light touch of his mouth against her own was something else, and more than once she was barely able to suppress a tide of sensation as he instigated a teasing kiss. At night she no longer felt uneasy when he joined her in bed, nor did she attempt to pull her hand away when he threaded his fingers through her own.
Yet all the time she was aware of his restraint, the latent passion just beneath the surface of his control. Occasionally she glimpsed evidence of it in the darkening of his eyes, felt it in the sudden quickening of his pulse.
The knowledge made her nervous, tugging at something hidden deep inside her. It generated a waiting expectancy that sent tiny flares of fire surging through her veins, set her fine body-hair on edge, and curled insidiously at the core of her femininity.
The weekend came and went, with a series of scattered showers which kept them indoors. Monday dawned fresh and clear, with not a cloud in sight.
‘I thought we’d pack some food in the car and head