The Helen Bianchin Collection. HELEN BIANCHINЧитать онлайн книгу.
commanded respect, and produced a desire to pander to any whim with such obsequious effusiveness that it was almost obscene.
Elise reached for one of several thick glossy magazines and began flipping through the pages, noting the elegant models, the beautiful clothes, designer make-up, articles written in stylish prose, a feature profile on one of Australia’s social doyennes, another profile on a top designer, and the usual society pages with a run-down on recent events with accompanying photographs.
She skimmed over them without interest, only to be riveted by a frame depicting Alejandro with Savannah at his side.
Her stomach gave a painful lurch, and she took a deep breath as she willed herself to check the magazine’s date of issue. The event highlighted was a dinner organised specifically to raise money for a well-known charity.
Oh, hell. Why did she have to pick that particular magazine? She could have remained in ignorance. Besides, she silently attempted to reassure herself, the photograph was probably the result of coincidence, taken when Savannah just happened to be standing at his side.
And pigs might fly, she added mentally. There was nothing innocent in any one of Savannah’s actions. The way Savannah was gazing at him in open adoration was positively sickening.
‘Elise. How are you, darling? Sorry to keep you waiting.’
She closed the magazine and rose to her feet with a ready smile. ‘Raphael.’
An extrovert, he delighted in the portrayal of exaggerated mannerisms, creating an erroneous image that was in direct contrast to his true personality. White harem-style trousers and a fine white muslin artist’s shirt with numerous tiny pleats fanning out from a deep yoke gave the illusion of adding to his lean frame. A diamond stud adorned one ear, he wore a diamond signet ring on his left hand, and a religious medallion suspended from a thick chain hung low against his chest. Long black hair was sleekly plastered against his scalp and caught together at his nape to form a ponytail.
‘Your hand? It is still giving you pain?’ He drew her towards the far end of the salon and seated her at a basin.
‘It aches a little.’
Raphael’s personal attention was rare, and Elise, by virtue of being Alejandro’s wife, appeared to be one of the favoured few.
She wrinkled her nose as he sluiced water over her hair and applied shampoo, rinsed and repeated the process with conditioner, then towelled it dry before leading her to a mirrored cubicle.
‘You are able to drive again?’
‘The specialist says I can. Alejandro would prefer José to continue in the role of chauffeur. Although he has compromised and bought me another car.’
‘He is being protective, hmm?’
‘You could say that,’ she agreed with suitable dryness.
Raphael picked up his scissors and comb, and went to work. ‘Don’t knock it, darling,’ he cautioned wryly. ‘Men are not usually protective unless they care.’
Alejandro’s brand of caring was linked to their unborn child. She was merely a secondary consideration.
Or was she? From the beginning his lovemaking had generated a desire for her pleasure as much as his own, and there had never been an occasion when she had felt—used.
When had she fallen in love with him? Sadly, Elise couldn’t pinpoint a single moment when the revelation had hit. She was aware only of its stealthy possession, and the agonising knowledge that her life would never be the same without him.
‘Tonight is the exhibition of fine art held in one of the Woollahra Galleries,’ Raphael informed her. ‘You are attending, of course.’
Alejandro was a known patron of the arts, and he had a reputation for adding one or two paintings each year to his collection of works by Australian artists.
The evening’s event included cocktails and horsd’oeuvres, and attendance was strictly by invitation.
‘Yes.’
‘A notable occasion,’ Raphael proffered as his scissors moved with crafted expertise.
Without doubt, she agreed mentally. The social glitterati would be present, together with members of the Press, and several photographers, each attempting to outdo the other.
She had even bought a new black gown. Sleeveless, its simple slim-fitting style was enhanced with intricate silver embroidery on the bodice. A high scooped neckline precluded jewellery, and there were matching shoes and evening bag.
Raphael reached for several fat rollers and positioned them in place, collected a magazine for her to read, then moved towards Reception to greet the next client.
It was almost four when Elise emerged, another half-hour before she brought the Mercedes to a halt beside the main entrance of Alejandro’s Point Piper home.
She could hear the shower running as she entered their suite, and she stripped down to briefs and bra, collected a silk robe and slipped it on, then she crossed to the dressing-table to attend to her make-up.
Alejandro entered the bedroom, with a towel hitched low on his hips, as she applied the finishing touches, and she watched in mesmerised fascination as he moved to her side and bestowed a lingering kiss on the soft curve of her neck.
His touch sent warmth tingling through her veins, and her expression held a faint wistfulness as he stood behind her and viewed their mirrored reflections.
‘What time do you want to leave?’ she queried, unable to tear her gaze away.
‘Fifteen minutes. The traffic will be heavy.’ His hands rested on her shoulders, then slowly slid down the front edges of her robe to slip beneath the silk and gently tease the softness of her breasts. With tantalising care he began to brush the pad of his thumb over each sensitive peak.
Elise felt them swell and harden, and she gave a soundless gasp as his fingers slid to unfasten her bra.
‘Alejandro——’
‘Humour me,’ he said huskily. His eyes held hers captive, their depths alive with leashed passion. ‘I have thought of little else all day. The intoxicating texture of your skin, its delicate perfume, the way your beautiful eyes soften when I touch you.’
Sensation spiralled from her feminine core as intense sexual awareness swept through her body. All he had to do was pull her into his arms and she would be lost.
‘Shouldn’t we get ready?’ she asked in a strangled voice, and glimpsed the edge of his mouth twist in a gesture of wry self-mockery.
‘Indeed.’ His hands lingered, then slowly withdrew to settle briefly on her shoulders. ‘If I kiss you, we’ll never leave this room.’
‘In that case, perhaps you’d better get changed and let me finish my make-up,’ she suggested shakily, and he laughed, a deep, soft, husky sound that sent goose-bumps over the surface of her skin.
‘Eventually we will return home, mi mujer, and then we shall resume where we have left off.’
‘If I’m not too tired.’ It was a tame attempt at denial, and didn’t fool him in the least.
‘I promise to do all the work, querida.’ His lips brushed her temple, then slid down to nibble an earlobe.
Not all, she promised silently as he moved away and selected underwear, a dress-shirt and black trousers that formed parts of a sophisticated shield for the primitive strength of his body. Socks, shoes came next, and when he reached for the immaculate bow tie she hurriedly transferred her attention and picked up a shiny gold tube with which to stroke pastel colour on to her lips.
Her choice of perfume was her favourite, Evelyn, a subtle rose fragrance that imbued the skin with immense delicacy.
Five minutes later she slipped into the gown, and she stood perfectly still as Alejandro