The Helen Bianchin Collection. HELEN BIANCHINЧитать онлайн книгу.
that seemed to bring him too close for comfort.
She kept her gaze steady, noticing the tiny lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, before travelling down to encompass the set of his mouth, the firm line of his lips, the edge of his jaw.
He exuded an electric stillness that reminded her of a predator about to pounce. Go, a tiny voice prompted. Except she was primed to fight, and viewed escape as a negative option.
‘I don’t owe you an explanation,’ Katrina cautioned, and watched the subtle flex of sinew and muscle as he thrust one hand into his trouser pocket.
‘On that we differ.’
‘Go to hell.’ She turned to ascend the stairs, only to have Nicos spin her round to face him.
‘Don’t push it,’ he warned with deadly softness.
His grip on her arm was deceptive, and she knew it would tighten measurably if she attempted to wrench free of him.
Katrina looked pointedly at her arm, then shifted her gaze to meet his. ‘Forcible restraint, Nicos?’
‘You want all out war?’
Apprehension slithered down the length of her spine. ‘Polite harmony would be preferable.’
‘Then, I suggest you work towards it.’ His voice sounded like silk being rased by razor-sharp steel.
‘Same goes.’
He released her arm, and she moved quickly upstairs, aware that he watched her ascent. Her bedroom resembled a sanctuary, and she closed the door, then crossed to sink down onto the bed.
With deft ease she activated her cellphone, replayed the recorded messages, then she rang her mother.
Dear, sweet Harry, who was contracted to redecorate two adjoining townhouses she’d recently bought as an investment.
‘Colours, darling. We need to talk. You simply cannot have blue.’
So she’d ring him from the office, they’d argue, she’d relent and agree to his choice. Their token wrangling was viewed with the fondness of long friendship.
Enrique was something else. Arrogant, persistent, desperate. A dangerous combination, she perceived as she stripped off her clothes and made for the shower.
Later she lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling. A few days down, with three hundred and sixty-two to go. How in heaven would she last the distance?
Katrina woke late with a headache, missed breakfast in her rush to get to the office on time, and from there on it was downhill all the way through the day.
Whatever could go wrong, did. She dealt with complaints in areas that usually ran smoothly, mediated and lost to a tyrannical subcontractor who bore an elephant-sized grudge, and was terse to the point of rudeness when Enrique insisted he take five minutes of her time.
Lunch was a non-event, and at two she sent out for sandwiches which she ate at her desk. At four o’clock she took a call from Kevin’s lawyer informing Enrique intended to contest the will on the grounds he was entitled to a share of the estate.
Enrique’s protest was merely a nuisance factor, but it was the lawyer’s duty to apprise her of the development.
The headache, for which she’d taken painkillers mid-morning and mid-afternoon, settled into a throbbing ache that left her feeling physically depleted.
It was almost six when she garaged her car and entered the house. All she wanted to do was indulge in a leisurely spa bath, take more painkillers, pull the shutters closed in her room, slip beneath the cool percale sheets, and shut out the rest of the world for as long as it took to lose the headache and regain her composure.
She almost made it. Would have, if she hadn’t had to go downstairs to search for more painkillers, as all she had left was an empty blister pack.
Nicos found her in the kitchen, looking a whiter shade of pale, her slender form wrapped in a towelling robe, and her hair tumbling down her back.
‘What in hell—?’
The words were barely audible, and quickly checked as he subjected her to an encompassing appraisal.
Katrina closed her eyes against the sight of him. The last thing she needed was a verbal inquisition.
‘Hell works for me,’ she said wearily. ‘Where do you keep your supply of painkillers?’
He crossed to an expanse of inbuilt cupboards, opened one, and extracted a packet, then he filled a glass with water and handed both to her.
‘Headache?’
‘Yes.’ She freed two tablets and swallowed them down with water.
She was hardly aware that he had moved to hook out a chair until he gently pushed her into it.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Bed, all she wanted was to lie down and wait for the pain to go away.
He ignored her protest as he discarded his jacket, loosened his tie, and turned back the cuffs of his shirt.
‘Be quiet, and relax.’
She opened her mouth, then closed it again as his hands began working the tense muscles at her neck, then her shoulders.
Oh, dear heaven, that felt good. So good. She let her lashes drift down, and just went with the flow as his fingers worked their magic.
No one had been this kind to her in a while. Not hands-on kind. Not since Kevin had fallen ill.
Unbidden, withheld emotions rose to the surface, and the tears welled then trickled silently down each cheek.
Nicos felt a plop of warm moisture hit his fingers as he used both thumbs to massage her neck, and he swore softly, then with simple expediency he lifted her from the chair and pulled her close in against him.
If he had said one word, she’d have jerked free, but the comfort he offered was too great, and for the first time since Kevin’s death she quietly sobbed her heart out.
She was hardly aware that he rested his cheek against the top of her head, or that her arms crept round his waist as she held onto him.
After a while he swept an arm beneath her knees and carried her upstairs to her room. He turned back the covers, then lay down on the bed with her, all too aware that any minute she’d realise where she was and who was with her, and push him away.
Except she didn’t. The shudders shaking her slender frame gradually lessened, and she fell still. Her breathing evened out and slipped to a steady beat as she slid into sleep.
Holding her reawakened a host of memories, each of them a torture to his libido, and after a while he attempted to slowly ease himself away, only to have her murmur in protest.
So he stayed. Aware he was all kinds of a fool. For enjoying the feel of her in his arms, her scent, the soft silkiness of her hair beneath his lips.
The evening air cooled, and he toed off his shoes, pulled up the covers, and eventually slept.
Katrina surfaced through the layers of wakefulness to an awareness that, while she was definitely in bed, she wasn’t alone.
Not only not alone, but her head was cushioned against a male chest, a muscular arm kept her there, and her own arm lay linked around his waist.
Nicos. Realisation hit, and her first instinct was to scramble out of the bed and away from him.
Then several things registered. She was in her own room, Nicos was fully dressed, and she had instant memory recall.
Maybe if she slowly removed her arm… She attempted to dislodge it, only to have Nicos tighten his hold.
He slept like a cat, aware of her slightest move, and he’d sensed the moment she’d woken, had felt the change in her breathing, the instant tension. He could almost hear her