The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘double income, no kids’ set.
Harry’s eyes sharpened. ‘A terrace house?’
‘Three, actually.’
‘Solid structure?’ He fired off a number of questions, then requested the address. ‘I’ll go check them out, and get back to you.’
He would, she knew, make them a priority, and as she drove back into the city she wondered if his vision would match her own.
Three terrace houses might be a bit ambitious, but they were in a block of six, situated in a prime position, and formed part of a deceased estate which the family wanted sold.
The afternoon was busy. She left the office late, and went directly to meet Siobhan at the small, trendy restaurant a friend had recommended. New owners, a fresh decor and an appealing menu provided an excellent meal.
The film Katrina chose was a slick Spanish comedy with English subtitles, containing wry, often black humour, and afterwards they shared coffee.
Her mother was great company, with an infectious wit, and very much her daughter’s friend, for they shared an equality that dispensed with any generation gap.
‘Are you coping okay?’ Siobhan queried gently as she reached forward and caught hold of Katrina’s hands, the touch warm, brief.
‘Now, there’s an ambiguous question.’ She managed a smile. ‘Care to define it?’
‘Living with Nicos.’
The term held connotations Katrina didn’t want to think about. ‘Separate rooms, separate lives.’
A succinct summary that didn’t come close to describing the electric tension apparent. It was a latent force, a constant reminder of what they’d once shared, and she rode an emotional see-saw trying to deal with it.
Siobhan wisely kept her own counsel. She knew her daughter well. Enough not to pursue a sensitive subject. ‘More coffee, darling?’
Katrina shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’ She spared her watch a glance and saw that it was close to midnight. ‘I really should get—’ she faltered on the verge of saying home. ‘Back.’
Nicos’s Mercedes was in the garage when she drove in, and lights glowed in the house.
He appeared from the direction of the study as she entered the lobby. He’d discarded his jacket and tie, had loosened the two top shirt buttons, and had rolled up his sleeve cuffs.
‘Interesting evening?’
She could prevaricate and almost did, except something in those dark eyes warned against defiance. ‘Dinner and a movie with Siobhan,’ she elucidated. ‘We lingered over coffee.’ If he could question her whereabouts, she could query his. ‘Yours?’
‘Dinner with a client.’
‘Who won?’ It was a facetious query, and one that brought a faint, humorous twist to the edge of his mouth.
‘I achieved a narrow winning margin.’
Of course. Nicos didn’t play to lose. ‘Congratulations.’
He inclined his head. ‘A business colleague has issued a dinner invitation for tomorrow evening.’
‘How nice for you.’
‘Naturally I expect you to accompany me.’
Naturally. ‘What if I choose not to?’
‘I thought we’d agreed to present a united front?’
‘In that case, you won’t object accompanying me to the ballet next Monday evening?’ Katrina countered with a sweet smile. Nicos enjoyed the arts, but that did not include classical dance.
His gaze narrowed. ‘You have tickets?’
‘Of course.’ A visiting Russian troupe had ensured a bookings sell-out, and she’d intended to invite a friend. Now she hastily revised her plans to include Nicos.
Her smile broadened. ‘It’s called negotiation. A term you’re very familiar with.’
‘Done.’
‘In that case,’ she said sweetly. ‘I’ll say goodnight.’ Without a further word she turned and ascended the stairs.
KATRINA dressed with care, choosing an elegant, fitted gown in cream ecru. The intricate small crystal and pearl beading made the top a work of art, extending to the hipline, where the beads fell in measured, loose strings to the hem to swing slightly with every move she made.
Tonight she sought a sophisticated image, and she pinned her hair into a sleek French twist, took time with her make-up, and added a diamond tennis bracelet with matching pendant and ear studs. Stiletto heels lent her added height.
She had wined and dined with some of the country’s social élite, and could converse knowledgeably on any number of subjects.
So why should she be nervous about sharing an evening with a few of Nicos’s associates and their wives?
Because what the tabloid press hadn’t revealed, gossip and innuendo would have filled in the blanks…in spades.
The interest would be circumspect, the conversation polite. But without doubt, Nicos and Katrina Kasoulis would be the focus of attention.
‘Ready?’
She turned and spared him a level glance, noting the black evening suit—Armani? Cerruti? He favoured the impeccable tailoring of both designers. His white shirt was of the finest cotton, the silk tie faultless.
However, it was the man wearing the clothes who stirred her senses. The broad facial features, dark piercing eyes, a mouth she had only to look at to remember how it felt on her own.
He possessed a dangerous sensuality that drew women like bees to a honey pot. Inherent charm and an awareness of some indefinable primitiveness beneath a sophisticated façade. Add wealth and power, and the combination was lethal.
She could understand how a woman would fight for him.
As Georgia had?
Could she have gone to such lengths to have his child and wreck a marriage?
Katrina mentally shook her head. A fair fight was one thing. Employing devious underhand means was something else.
‘Have I suddenly acquired a few grey hairs?’
She registered Nicos’s drawled query, and managed a quizzical response. ‘Not to my knowledge.’
‘Then, shall we leave?’
Their hosts resided in Woollahra, a gracious old home set back from the road with a magnificent view.
Cars lined the illuminated driveway, and inside guests mingled in a large formal lounge. Muted music emitted from speakers, providing a pleasant background as Katrina moved at Nicos’s side while their host performed introductions.
Nicos’s hand rested against the small of her back. A proprietorial gesture, or reassurance?
Katrina accepted a flute of champagne and sipped the chilled liquid.
‘I imagine we’re supposed to project solidarity?’ she inclined lightly, and caught the hint of amusement evident in the look he cast her.
‘Advisable, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Just don’t expect me to display adoring affection.’
His mouth curved into a warm smile. ‘I’m disappointed. Adoring affection would make a pleasant change.’
‘I’ll save the animosity for when we’re alone.’
‘For