The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
was scheduled for midmorning, and after lunch she settled down to leaf through a supply of the latest glossy magazines.
Tall, perfectly proportioned young women modelling beautiful clothes, she perceived as she flipped idly through the fashion pages.
One model in particular caught her eye, and she wondered at her instinctive fascination with a longhaired brunette with classical features and cool dark eyes.
Without any warning those same features seemed to come alive, and it was like watching a re-run of part of a film depicting an isolated incident in her life, Elise decided, momentarily freezing as images crowded her brain. So clear, so hauntingly vivid.
Alejandro, Elise and Savannah seated together at a table, aiding one of several charities Alejandro was known to support.
Savannah. The hauntingly beautiful model who had been Alejandro’s close companion for several years before Elise had been thrust into the limelight as his latest conquest.
Now Savannah seemed intent on proving she still held Alejandro’s interest by indulging in a little game of subtle flirting, a fact which was not lost on Elise.
It was extremely difficult to maintain the semblance of a smile as she spooned morsels of delectable fruit from the elaborately presented dessert.
Jealousy was a terrible emotion, she conceded, as she picked up her fork and speared a segment of orange with more force than necessary. With little provocation, she could have killed Savannah for her blatant attempt to capture Alejandro’s attention. As for Alejandro…She would have liked to do temporary harm to a vulnerable part of his anatomy.
Perhaps he sensed her antipathy, for he turned his head and his eyes gleamed with mild amusement as he met her calculated smile.
Without a word he reached for her hand and carried it to his lips, kissing each finger in turn as she seethed with silent anger.
How dared he? She wanted to walk out and take a taxi home. As it was, she barely managed to preserve a calm front for the remainder of the evening, and the instant Alejandro brought the Bentley to a halt inside the garage she burst into angry speech.
‘In future you can choose whether you partner Savannah or your wife,’ Elise railed in fury.
‘You expect me to display ill manners by ignoring a friend I have known for several years?’
‘Heaven forbid,’ Elise said sarcastically.
‘You have no reason to be jealous.’
She slid from the car as he moved out from behind the wheel, and it gave her the utmost satisfaction to slam the door.
‘I am not jealous. I simply refuse to be part of a ménage-à-trois.’
Alejandro began to chuckle, and the husky sounds of his amusement acted like flame placed too close to combustible octane.
Elise threw her evening bag at him, and followed it with one evening sandal, then the other, each of which he neatly fielded and slid into the pockets of his jacket.
‘So you want to play?’
He reached her far too easily, before she had gone more than a few steps, and she gasped in outrage as he lifted her effortlessly over one shoulder and carried her indoors.
‘Put me down!’
He walked through the foyer to the stairs, gaining the upper floor with galling ease, seemingly uncaring as she beat her hands against the broad expanse of his back.
In the bedroom he tumbled her down on to the bed, discarded his jacket, then captured her wildly scrambling form by the simple expedient of covering it with his own.
‘Damn you,’ Elise vented as she struggled impotently against his superior strength. ‘I hate you.’
‘I love the way you hate, mi mujer.’
‘Sex. Lust,’ she qualified. ‘Bought and paid for.’
He went curiously still. ‘I suggest you retract that vilifying statement.’
‘Why? Does the truth penetrate your conscience, Alejandro?’ she taunted, only to cry out in shocked surprise as his mouth closed over hers with punishing force.
What followed was a form of retribution he actively encouraged her to share, their mingling anger resulting in wild, untamed sex that gave no quarter…for either of them.
‘Elise?’
The sound of Ana’s voice seemed to come from far away, and Elise dragged her mind back to the present. Her heart pounded inside her chest, and her skin was damp with the fine sheen of sweat.
‘I have just made tea. Would you like some?’
Somehow she managed a suitable response.
Dear God. This was the most explicit span she’d experienced. The memory of it was so vivid, the act so primitively savage that it was all she could do to prevent herself from being physically ill.
I don’t want to remember any more. Not if total recall means a revival of anger and dissension.
The friendship, the special closeness which she and Alejandro had shared at Palm Beach seemed part of a distant fantasy.
Instinct warned her that she was teetering on the edge of reality, and a chill feathered over her skin, raising all her fine body-hairs in protective defence.
IT RAINED most of the weekend, squally wind-driven showers that beat against the windows, bringing much-needed water to the city’s depleted dams and providing relief against the seasonal threat of bushfires.
Alejandro taught Elise the basic skills of chess, checkmating her so many times that she declined to allow him further victory as she opted to trounce him at cards. That too was a disaster, for, although she won twice, she suspected that it was only because he deliberately set out to lose.
Monday dawned bright and clear. The Bentley went in for repair, and Alejandro took the Porsche into the city.
Elise attended physiotherapy after lunch, then José drove her across town for her appointment with the obstetrician. They arrived early, and she opted to check in rather than wait in the car.
The senior nurse greeted her warmly. ‘Doctor has a patient with him, Mrs Santanas. He won’t be long.’ Elise took a seat, selected a magazine, and began leafing through the pages. An article caught her eye, and she read it with interest.
Minutes later she glanced absently at another, and froze. Two frames featuring Savannah adorned facing pages, and with a tiny gasp of shock everything suddenly fell into place, almost as if someone had depressed a camera shutter, then released it to reveal a moving photograph to view.
With horrified fascination she watched it all unfold.
Dear heaven, no. No. The negation seemed to thunder inside her brain over and over as she desperately sought to stop the images appearing one after the other like a rolling reel of Technicolor film.
It wasn’t true. None of it. There was some terrible mistake. A shocking joke played by a devilish hand.
If she sat still, perfectly still, the images would disappear, and she could walk out of here without becoming an emotional wreck.
Her stomach churned as the impact of recurring memory took effect, and she only just made it to the powder-room in time.
Afterwards, she leaned her head against the cool tiles for several minutes as she stared sightlessly at the beautifully appointed bathroom.
She didn’t feel like facing anyone, much less a skilfully perceptive medical professional who would doubtless take one look at her pale features, note her elevated pulse-rate, and begin a line of questioning