The Marriage Bed: An Ideal Marriage? / The Marriage Campaign / The Bridal Bed. HELEN BIANCHINЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘Then don’t laugh. I was serious.’
Benedict took a long swallow of champagne and placed his flute down on a nearby pedestal. ‘Why in hell would I consider divorcing a sassy young woman who delights in challenging me on every level in favour of someone like Annaliese?’ He removed her champagne flute and lowered it to join his own. Then he pulled her into his arms.
Gabbi didn’t have a chance to answer before his mouth closed over hers, and she drank in the taste of him mingled with the sweet tang of vintage French champagne, generously giving everything he asked, more than he demanded, until mutual need spiralled to the edge of their control.
‘I could take you here, now,’ Benedict groaned huskily as his lips grazed a path down her throat, and she arched her head to allow him easy access to the sensitive hollow at its base, the swell of her breasts as he trailed lower.
A soft laugh choked in her throat as he freed one tender globe and took a liberty with its peak. Then she cried out as he lifted her over one shoulder and began striding from the room.
‘Caveman tactics,’ she accused as he ascended the stairs.
He gained the upper floor, then headed for the main suite. When he reached it, he released her to stand within the circle of his arms.
‘Want to undress me?’
Her eyes sparkled with wicked humour. ‘Might be quicker if you did it yourself.’
‘That bad, huh?’
‘Yes,’ she said with honest simplicity, her own fingers as busy as his as clothes layered the carpet.
Their loving was all heat and hunger the first time round, followed by a long, sweet after-play that led to the slow slaking of mutual need.
Afterwards she lay with her head pillowed against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.
‘I don’t think I could bear to lose you,’ Gabbi said, on the edge of sleep, and wasn’t sure whether she heard or dreamed his response.
‘What makes you think you will?’
QUEENSLAND’S Gold Coast lay little more than an hour’s flight north of Sydney, and the Stanton-Nicols’ Lear jet ensured private airport access, luxurious cabin space and personalised service.
Cleared for take-off, the streamlined jet cruised the runway and achieved a rapid ascent before levelling out.
‘No laptop?’ Gabbi quizzed as she loosened her seat belt. ‘No papers in your briefcase?’
Benedict sank back in his chair and regarded her with indolent amusement. ‘Each within easy access.’
‘Are you going to work during the flight?’
‘Would you prefer me to?’
‘No.’ Her eyes assumed a mischievous gleam. ‘It’s not often I get one hour of your undivided attention.’ She saw one eyebrow slant, and quickly qualified this. ‘Alone. Out of the bedroom,’ she added, then spread her hands in helpless acceptance at having stepped into a verbal quagmire. ‘I’ll give up while I’m ahead.’
‘Wise.’
‘Coffee, Mr Nicols? Juice, Mrs Nicols?’
‘Thanks, Melanie.’
The cabin stewardess’s intrusion was timely. Her smile was professional as she unloaded the tray, then poured coffee and juice. ‘I’ll be in the cockpit. Buzz me if you need anything.’
Gabbi leaned forward, picked up the glass of fresh orange juice and took an appreciative sip. ‘Tell me about the deal you and James are involved in with Gibson Electronics.’
He proceeded to do so, answering her queries as she debated various points.
‘It’s tight, but fair,’ she conceded after a lengthy discussion. ‘Think we’ll pull it off?’
‘Gibson needs Stanton-Nicols’ proven reputation with the Asian market.’
‘And in return we gain a slice of Gibson Electronics.’
Business. The common factor that forged the link between them. Without it, she doubted she’d be Benedict Nicols’ wife. A chilling thought, and one she chose not to dwell on.
The ‘fasten seat belt’ sign flashed on as the jet began its descent towards Coolangatta airport.
A car was waiting for them, and it took only a few minutes to transfer the minimal luggage into the boot. Benedict signalled to the pilot and had a brief word with the driver while Gabbi took the passenger seat, then he strode round and slid in behind the wheel.
The Gold Coast was Australia’s major tourist mecca. Long, sweeping beaches, surf, golden sands, towering high-rise buildings, modem shopping complexes and a subtropical climate all combined to make it a highly sought-after holiday destination. Theme parks, a casino, hotels, cruise boats, canal developments and luxurious prestige housing estates promoted a lifestyle that belonged in part to the rich and famous.
Gabbi loved the casual atmosphere, the spacious residential sprawl. A city with few disadvantages, she mused as Benedict joined the north-bound traffic.
High-rise apartment buildings lined the foreshore, their names varying from the prosaic to the exotic. Warm temperatures, sunshine, azure-blue sky, palm fronds swaying beneath a gentle breeze.
A smile curved her generous mouth, and her eyes filled with latent laughter. Paradise. And Benedict. They were hers for two days.
Conrad and Diandra Nicols had purchased a beach-front block of land and built a three-level vacation home in the days before prestigious real estate lining Mermaid Beach’s Hedges Avenue had gained multi-million-dollar price-tags.
Benedict had chosen to retain it as an investment, persuaded from time to time to lease it short-term to visiting dignitaries who desired the privacy of a personal residence instead of a hotel suite or apartment block. Gabbi loved its location, its direct access onto the beach and the open-plan design.
A sigh of pure pleasure left her lips as Benedict drew the car to a halt before the electronically controlled gates, depressed the modem that released them and keyed in a code to operate the garage doors.
The three-car garage was backed by a games-room that led out to a terraced swimming pool. The first level comprised an office, lounge, kitchen and dining-room, with a master suite, three guest bedrooms and two bathrooms on the upper floor.
Each level was connected by a wide curved staircase leading onto a semi-circular, balustraded landing, providing a circular central space highlighted by a magnificent chandelier suspended from the top-level ceiling and reaching down to almost touching distance from the ground-level entertainment room. Lit up at night, it was a spectacular sight.
‘You sound like a student let out of school,’ Benedict commented as they ascended the stairs to the uppermost floor.
‘I love it here,’ she said simply as she swung round to face him.
‘What do you suggest we do with the day?’
‘Oh, my, what a responsibility.’ Her eyes danced with impish humour, and she pretended to deliberate. ‘I could drag you off to visit a theme park. We could hire a boat and cruise the broadwater. Do a bit of sunworshipping by the pool. Or take in a movie at the cinema.’ Her mouth curved into a winsome smile. ‘On the other hand, I could be an understanding wife and tell you to go set up a game of golf... something you’d enjoy.’
Benedict reached out a hand and brushed light fingers across her cheek. ‘And in return?’
‘I get to choose where we have dinner.’
‘Done.’