The Helen Bianchin Collection. HELEN BIANCHINЧитать онлайн книгу.
Monopoly with his kingdom, sitting on his knee, absorbing every business fact he’d imparted. During school holidays she’d accompanied him to building sites, had had her own hard hat, and had been able to cuss as well as any hardened labourer—mentally. For if Kevin had caught even a whisper of such language falling from her lips he’d never have allowed her on any site again.
Something that would have hurt far more than a paternal slap, for she’d inherited his love of creating something magnificent from bricks and mortar. Of siting the land, envisaging architectural design, selecting the materials, the glass, seeing it rise from the ground to finish as a masterpiece. Houses, buildings, office towers. In later years Kevin Macbride had delegated, but everything that bore his stamp had received his personal touch. It had been his Irish pride, and her own, to see that it was done.
To imagine conceding any of it to Nicos Kasoulis was unconscionable. She couldn’t, wouldn’t do it. Macbride belonged to a Macbride.
‘You refuse?’
The lawyer’s smooth tones intruded, and she lifted her chin in a gesture of defiance. ‘Nicos Kasoulis will not gain sole control of Macbride.’
Her eyes were the green of the fields of her father’s homeland. Brilliant, lush. Emphasised by the pale cream texture of her skin, the deep auburn hair that fell in a river of dark red-gold silky curls down her back.
For all that Kevin Macbride had been a big man, his only child had inherited her mother’s petite frame and slender curves, the hair and eyes from her paternal grandmother, and a temper to match.
Too much woman for many a man, the lawyer mused, who’d long been intrigued by the private life of one of the city’s icons whose business interests had commanded large legal fees over the years.
‘You will, therefore, adhere to your father’s wishes as set out in his will?’
Live with Nicos Kasoulis? Share a home, her life, with him for one year? ‘If that’s what it takes,’ Katrina vowed solemnly, and he was willing to swear he caught a hint of tensile steel that boded ill for any man hoping to bend her will.
Was Nicos Kasoulis that man? He would have thought so, given the look of him. Yet, despite the marriage, they’d separated after a few brief months, and rumour rarely held much basis for fact.
His business was to ensure Kevin Macbride’s wishes were legally maintained. Not to wonder at the man’s private life, nor that of his only child.
‘I shall despatch formal notification of your willingness to comply.’
Katrina lifted one eyebrow, and her voice was dry and totally lacking in humour. ‘Did my father specify a date for this reconciliation?’
‘Within seven days of his passing.’
Kevin Macbride had never been one to waste time, but a week was over-zealous, surely?
She looked around the sumptuous furnishings, the expensive prints adorning the walls, the heavy plate-glass and caught the view out over the harbour.
Suddenly she wanted out of here, away from officialdom and legalities. She needed to feel the fresh air on her face, to put the top down on her Porsche and drive, let the breeze toss her hair and bring colour to her cheeks. To be free to think, before she had to deal with Nicos.
With determined resolve she rose to her feet. ‘I imagine we’ll be in touch again before long.’ There would be documents to sign, the due process of winding up a deceased’s estate. She extended her hand in a formal gesture that concluded the appointment, murmured a few polite words in parting, then she moved into the corridor leading to Reception.
The lawyer walked at her side, then stood as she passed through the double glass doors and stepped towards the lift.
There was no doubt Katrina Kasoulis was a beautiful young woman. Something about the way she held herself, her grace of movement, and that hair…
He hid a faint sigh, for she burned as a bright flame, and a man could get singed just from looking.
Katrina rode the lift down to the ground floor, crossed the street to the adjacent car park, located the relevant floor, and slid in behind the wheel of her car.
It was almost five, the day’s office hours reaching a close, and she eased the Porsche onto street level, then entered the stream of city traffic.
Katrina drove, negotiating the choked roadways until she’d covered distance and the traffic dissipated. Then she moved into a higher gear, heard the muted response of the finely tuned engine, and revelled in the speed.
It was almost six when she pulled to a halt on the grassy bank overlooking the beach. There was a tanker on the horizon, easing slowly down towards the inner harbour, and a few children frolicked in the shallows beneath the watchful eye of their parents.
Gulls crested low over the water, dipped, skidded along the surface and settled, only to move their wings in a graceful arc to skim onto the sand.
It was a peaceful scene, one she desperately needed to ease the ache of recent loss. There had been so much to organise, family to deal with.
And now there was Nicos.
It was over, done with. And she’d healed.
Liar.
She only had to think of him to remember how it had been between them. Not a day went past that her subconscious didn’t force a memory. He invaded her mind, possessed her dreams, and became her worst nightmare.
All too frequently she woke in a sweat, his hands, his mouth on her so real she could almost swear he’d been there with her.
Yet she’d always be alone, the security system intact, and she’d spend what remained of the night reading or watching a late movie on television in an attempt to dispel his haunting image.
Occasionally she bumped into him at social gatherings around the city, professional soirées where her presence was de rigueur. Then they greeted each other, exchanged polite conversation…and moved on. Except she was acutely conscious of him, his steady gaze, the latent power he exuded, and his sensual heat.
Even now her pulse quickened to a faster beat, and her skin warmed, the soft body hairs raising in awareness. Sensation unfurled deep inside, and spread through her body like a lick of flame, activating each pleasure pulse, every erotic zone.
This was crazy. She took a deep, steadying breath and held onto it, then slowly exhaled. Two, three times over.
Focus, she bade silently. Remember why you walked out on him.
Dear Lord, how could she forget Nicos’s ex-mistress relaying news of a confirmed pregnancy and naming Nicos as the father of her unborn child?
Georgia Burton, a model whose slender beauty graced several magazine covers, had delighted in informing a conception date coinciding with a time when Nicos had been out of town on business.
Georgia’s assurance her affair with Nicos hadn’t ended with his marriage was something Katrina couldn’t condone, despite Nicos’s adamant denial, and after one argument too many she’d simply packed up her things and moved into temporary accommodation.
Even now, several months later, the memory, the pain, was just as intense as it had been the day she had left him.
The peal of her cell phone sounded loud in the silence, interrupting the solitude, and she checked the caller ID, saw it was her mother, and took the call.
‘Siobhan?’
‘Darling, have you forgotten you’re joining me for dinner and the theatre tonight?’
Katrina closed her eyes and stifled a curse. ‘Can we skip dinner? I’ll collect you at seven-thirty.’ She could just about make it if she edged over the speed limit, took the quickest shower on record, and dressed.
‘Seven forty-five. I have tickets, and valet parking will eliminate several minutes.’
She