The Marriage Bed. Helen Bianchin
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a long-running television series.
A heartthrob and a hunk, Gabbi acknowledged in feminine appreciation of a near-perfect male specimen. Pity he had an inflated ego and a reputation for changing his dates as often as his socks!
As a couple, Annaliese and Aaron were guaranteed to have their photo prominently displayed on the society page in tomorrow’s newspaper. Perhaps that was the purpose of their date? Be nice, Gabbi silently chided in self-admonishment as she sipped her wine.
Soon the DJ would increase the volume of the music and invite guests to take to the dance floor. It would be a signal for everyone to mix and mingle, dance and provide an opportunity for the society doyennes to flaunt their latest designer gowns.
‘More wine?’
Gabbi turned slightly and met Benedict’s warm gaze. ‘No, thanks. I’d prefer water.’
One eyebrow lifted in silent enquiry, and she offered him a brilliant smile. ‘I thought you might like me to drive home.’
‘Considerate of you.’ His quiet drawl held a degree of musing cynicism, aware as she was that he rarely took more than one glass of wine with an evening meal and that therefore the offer was unnecessary.
‘Yes, isn’t it?’
‘Benedict.’
Monique’s intrusion commanded his attention. ‘I’ve managed to get a few tickets to Phantom of the Opera, Wednesday evening. You and Gabrielle will join us, won’t you?’
Was it coincidence that Monique had tickets for the same night that Gabbi and Benedict had invited Francesca and Dominic to make up a foursome?
‘Thank you, Monique. I already have tickets.’
‘Perhaps we could arrange to meet afterwards for supper?’
Familial togetherness was a fine thing, Gabbi acknowledged. But Monique’s stage-managing was becoming a little overt.
‘Unfortunately we’ve made other arrangements.’
‘Annaliese and Gabrielle are so close, and see so little of each other.’ Monique injected just the right amount of regret into her voice then moved in for the figurative kill. ‘It seems such a shame not to take advantage of every opportunity to get together while Annaliese is home.’
Oh, my, her stepmother was good. Gabbi almost held her breath, waiting for Benedict’s response.
‘Another time, Monique.’
‘You must come to dinner. Just family. Monday, Tuesday? Either evening is free.’
Persistence, thy name is Monique!
‘Gabbi?’
That’s right, she thought wryly; pass the buck. Avoiding the dinner was impossible, therefore decisiveness was the only way to go. ‘Monday. We’ll look forward to it.’ Were polite lies considered real lies? If so, she’d be damned in hell. Yet she felt justified in telling them for her father’s sake.
‘Shall we dance?’
Now there was a question. Dancing with Benedict inevitably became a dangerous pleasure. ‘Thank you, darling.’ She rose to her feet and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.
The Celine Dion number was perfect, the lyrics revealing a certain poignancy that echoed most women’s hopes and dreams.
Gabbi’s body fitted the contours of his with easy familiarity, and she had the crazy desire to discard her conventional hold and wind her arms round his neck.
Did he sense how she felt? He was the very air that she breathed. Everything she wanted, all she would ever need. In a way it was frightening. What if she ever lost him?
‘Cold?’
She lifted her head and looked at him for a few seconds without comprehension.
‘You shivered,’ Benedict enlightened her gently. Get a grip, Gabbi, she chided herself. She summoned a smile and dismissed it lightly. ‘Old ghosts.’
‘Want to go back to the table?’
‘You think I need to conserve my strength?’ she queried solemnly as he led her to the edge of the dance floor.
‘Tomorrow’s Saturday.’
She shot him a sparkling smile. ‘An hour of morning decadence before enjoying a late breakfast on the terrace?’
‘Early-morning decadence, breakfast on the terrace, followed by a drive to the airport.’
‘We’re escaping?’ Gabbi looked at him with due reverence. ‘Alone? Where? No, don’t tell me. Someone might overhear.’
‘Witch,’ he murmured close to her ear.
Dessert was served as they resumed their seats, followed by coffee and after-dinner mints.
Annaliese drifted onto the dance floor with Aaron, then paused and posed for a vigilant photographer.
‘May I?’
Gabbi glanced at Dominic and rose to her feet. Benedict broke his conversation with James and cast her a quick smile.
‘Benedict is selective with men who want to partner his wife.’
Gabbi cast Dominic a startled glance as he led her towards the dance floor and pulled her gently into his arms.
‘Don’t you believe me?’
How did she respond to that? Her light, amused laugh seemed relatively noncommittal.
They circled the floor, twice, then Dominic stepped to one side as Aaron and Annaliese suggested an exchange in partners.
Gabbi smiled as she moved into Aaron’s clasp, then winced as he pulled her close. Too close.
‘Watch my show?’ The query was smooth, and she felt reluctant to enter the game he expected every female to play.
‘No, I don’t.’ She tried to sound vaguely regretful, but it didn’t quite come off.
‘You don’t watch television?’
The temptation to take him down was difficult to resist. ‘Of course. Mainly news and documentaries.’
‘You’re a brain.’
Gabbi wasn’t sure it was a compliment. ‘We all have one.’
‘In my business you have to look after the body. It’s the visual thing, you know? Nutrition, gym, beauty therapist, manicurist, hair stylist. Waxing’s the worst.’
‘Painful,’ she agreed.
‘Oh, yeah,’ he conceded with a realistic shudder. ‘I’m jetting out to LA next week. Been offered a part in a film. Could be the big break.’
She attempted enthusiasm. ‘Good luck.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Mind if I cut in?’
Gabbi heard the quiet, drawling tone and detected the faint edge to her husband’s voice.
‘Sure.’ Aaron relinquished her without argument.
‘You interrupted an interesting conversation,’ she said mildly as Benedict drew her close.
‘Define interesting.’
‘Waxing body hair. His.’
‘Up front and personal, hmm?’
She stifled a bubble of laughter. ‘Oh, yeah,’ she agreed in wicked imitation.
As they circled the floor she wondered how he would react if she said she hungered to feel his skin next to her own, his mouth in possession of hers in the slow dance towards sexual fulfilment.
‘Darling Gabrielle. Isn’t it about time I danced with my brother-in-law?’