A Passionate Surrender. Helen Bianchin
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thirty-six hours of which had resulted in unreturned calls from voice-mail and text messages left on her cellphone.
Her father, upon confrontation, swore she wasn’t answering his messages either, and he had every reason not to lie.
Rebekah, her younger sister and business partner, also disavowed any knowledge of Ana’s whereabouts, other than to cite a holiday resort on the Gold Coast, from which enquiries revealed Ana had checked out within a few days of registering.
Hence Luc had no hesitation in engaging the services of a private detective, whose verbal updates were now detailed in a faxed report.
Ana’s actions merely confirmed Luc’s suspicions. A newly leased apartment and employment weren’t conducive to a temporary break.
However, he could deal with that, and numerous scenarios of just how he’d deal with it occupied his mind. Foremost of which was the intention to haul her over his shoulder and bring her home.
Something, he decided grimly, he should have done within a day or two of her leaving, instead of allowing her the distance, time and space she’d vowed so desperately to need. Yet she’d done the unexpected by attempting to cover her tracks…without success.
Surely she couldn’t believe he’d let her separation bid drag on for long?
The inter-office phone rang, and he crossed to the desk to take the call.
‘The pilot is on standby, and your car is out front.’
Smooth efficiency came with a high-priced salary.
‘Petros will have a bag packed by the time you reach the house.’
‘Thanks.’
An hour later Luc boarded the private jet, sank into one of four plush armchairs, and prepared for take-off.
‘Go take a lunch break.’
Ana attached the ribbon, tied a deft bow, utilised the slim edge of the scissors to curl the ribbon ends, then set the bouquet of roses to one side.
It was her third day as an assistant at a florist shop in the trendy suburb of Main Beach. She’d entered the shop on a whim, bought flowers to brighten her newly acquired apartment, and, noticing the owner’s harassed expression, she’d jokingly asked if the owner required help, citing her experience as a florist. What she didn’t impart was that she co-owned her own business in an upmarket Sydney suburb.
Incredible as it seemed, acquiring a job had been as simple as being in the right place at the right time.
Fate, it seemed, had taken a hand, although eventually she’d have to address her sojourn from Sydney, her marriage.
A hollow laugh escaped her throat as she caught up her shoulder bag and walked out onto the pavement.
It was a beautiful early summer day, the sun was warm, and there was a slight breeze drifting in from the ocean.
The usual lunch crowd filled the many cafés lining Tedder Avenue, and she crossed the street, selected an empty table and sank into a seat.
Efficient service ensured almost immediate attention, and she gave her order, then sipped chilled bottled water as she flipped through the pages of a magazine.
An article caught her eye, and she read the print with genuine interest, only to put it to one side as the waitress delivered a steaming bowl of vegetable risotto. There was also a fresh bread roll, and she picked up a fork and began eating the delectable food.
The chatter from patrons seated at adjoining tables provided a pleasant background, combining with the faint purr of vehicles slowly cruising the main street in search of an elusive parking space.
Expensive cars, wealthy owners who strolled the trendy street to one of several outdoor cafés where lunch with friends was more about being seen than satisfying a need for food.
Ana liked the ambience, enjoyed being a part of it, and the similarity to equally trendy areas in Sydney didn’t escape her.
It was relatively easy to tamp down any longing for the city where she’d been born and raised. Not so easy to dismiss the man she’d married a little more than a year ago.
Luc Dimitriades possessed the height, breadth of shoulder and attractive good looks to turn any woman’s head. Add sophisticated charm, an aura of power, and the result was devastating.
Australian-born of Greek parents, he’d chosen academia and entered the field of merchant banking, rising rapidly through the ranks to assume a position that involved directorial decision-making.
Inherited wealth combined with astute business acumen ensured he numbered high among the country’s rich and famous.
For Ana, all it had taken was one look at him and the attraction was instant, cataclysmic. Sheer sexual chemistry, potent and electric. Yet it was more than that…much more. He affected her as no man ever had, and she fell deeply, irretrievably in love with him.
It was the reason she accepted his marriage proposal, and she convinced herself it was enough he vowed his fidelity and promised to honour and care for her.
THE CATCH OF THE DECADE one national newspaper had captioned when Luc Dimitriades had taken Ana Stanford as his bride.
Maybe, given time, his affection for her would become love, and a year into the marriage she was content. She had an attentive husband, the sex was to die for, and life had assumed a pleasant routine.
Until Celine, always the temptress, re-entered the scene, newly divorced, and hunting…with Luc as her prey.
Subtle destruction, carefully orchestrated to diminish Ana’s confidence. The divorcee was very clever in aiming her verbal barbs out of Luc’s hearing. Implying an affair, citing dates and times when Luc was absent on business or when he’d extended a business meeting to include dinner with colleagues. Merely excuses given in order to be with Celine.
Doubt and suspicion, coupled with anger and jealousy built over a period of weeks.
Even now, the thought of Celine’s recent contretemps made Ana grit her teeth. Despite Luc’s denial, where there was smoke, there were embers just waiting to be fanned into flame. And infidelity was something she refused to condone.
Angry words had led to a full-scale argument, and afterwards Ana had simply made a few phone calls, packed a bag and taken the midday flight to the Gold Coast.
Apart from the note she’d left him, her only attempt at contact was a recorded message she’d left on Luc’s answer-machine, and she doubted it would appease him for long.
‘Ana.’
The voice was all too familiar, its inflexion deep and tinged with a degree of mocking cynicism.
There had been no instinctive sixth sense that might have alerted her to his presence. Nothing to warn of the unexpected.
Ana slowly raised her head and met her husband’s steady gaze. Unwanted reaction kicked in, and she banked it down, aware on a base level of the damning effect he had on her senses.
She felt vulnerable, exposed, and way too needy. It wasn’t a feeling she coveted, at least not now, not here, when she’d vowed to think with her head, not her heart.
Fat chance. All it took was one look, a few seconds in his presence, and her emotions went every which way but loose!
How was it possible to love, yet hate someone with equal measure?
She could think of any number of reasons to justify the way she felt… Ambivalence, out-of-whack hormones. The desire to hurt, as she hurt.
Why, then, did she possess this crazy urge to feel the sanctuary of his arms and the brush of his mouth on her own? The heat of his body…
A silent screeching cry rose from somewhere deep inside. Don’t go there.
Instead, she forced herself to subject him to an analytical appraisal, deliberately