The Marriage Bed. Helen BianchinЧитать онлайн книгу.
decree. Something,’ she continued after a deliberate silence, ‘Monique could easily persuade James to initiate.’
Oh, my. Now why didn’t that devious plan surprise her? ‘James’s will is watertight. Monique inherits the principal residence, art and jewellery, plus a generous annuity. Shares in Stanton-Nicols come directly to me.’
One delicate brow arched high. ‘You think I don’t know that?’ She lifted a fork and picked at her salad. ‘You’ve missed the point.’
No, she hadn’t. ‘Benedict.’
Annaliese’s eyes assumed an avaricious gleam. ‘Clever of you, darling.’
‘You want to be his mistress.’
Her soft, tinkling laugh held no humour. ‘His wife.’ ‘You aim high.’
‘The top, sweetheart.’
Iced water or hot coffee? Either was at her disposal, and she was sorely tempted to initiate an embarrassing incident. ‘There’s just one problem. He’s already taken.’
‘But so easily freed,’ her stepsister purred.
‘You sound very sure.’ How was it possible to sound so calm, when inside she was a molten mass of fury?
‘A wealthy man wants an exemplary hostess in the lounge and a whore in his bedroom.’ Annaliese examined her perfectly lacquered nails, then shot Gabbi a direct look. ‘I can’t imagine passion being your forte, or adventure your sexual preference.’
Gabbi didn’t blink so much as an eyelash. ‘I’m a quick study.’
‘Really, darling? I wonder why I don’t believe you?’
Gabbi summoned the waiter, requested the bill, and signed the credit slip. Then she rose to her feet and slid the strap of her bag over her shoulder.
‘Shall we agree not to do this again?’
‘Darling,’ the young model almost purred. ‘I’m between seasons, and where better to take in some rest and relaxation than one’s home city?’ Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. ‘As family, we’re bound to see quite a lot of each other. The social scene is so interesting.’
‘And you intend being included in every invitation,’ Gabbi responded with soft mockery.
‘Of course.’
There wasn’t a single word she wanted to add. A contradiction—there were several...not one of which was in the least ladylike, and therefore unutterable in a public arena. It was easier to leave in dignified silence.
Three messages were waiting for her on her return. Two were business-oriented and she dealt with each, then logged the necessary notations into the computer before crossing to the private phone.
There was a strange curling sensation in the pit of her stomach as she waited for Benedict to answer.
‘Nicols.’
His voice was deep and retained a slight American drawl that seemed more noticeable over the phone. The sound of it caused her pulse to accelerate to a faster beat.
‘You rang while I was out.’
She had a mental image of him easing his lengthy frame in the high-backed leather chair. ‘How was lunch?’
Her fingers gripped the receiver more tightly. ‘Is there anything you don’t know?’
‘Annaliese requested your extension number.’ He relayed the information with imperturbable calm.
Any excuse to have contact with Benedict; Gabbi silently derided her stepsister.
‘You didn’t answer my question.’ His voice held a tinge of cynicism and prompted a terse response.
‘Lunch was fine.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Is that why you rang?’
‘No. To let you know I won’t be home for dinner. A Taiwanese associate wants to invest in property, and has requested I recommend a reputable agent. It would be impolite not to effect the introduction over dinner.’
‘Very impolite,’ she agreed solemnly. ‘I won’t wait up.’
‘I’ll take pleasure in waking you,’ he mocked gently, ending the call.
A tiny shiver slithered the length of her spine as she recalled numerous occasions when the touch of his lips had woken her from the depths of sleep, and how she’d instinctively welcomed him, luxuriating in the agility of his hands as they traversed a tactile path over the slender curves of her body.
With concentrated effort she replaced the receiver down onto the handset, then focused her attention on work for what remained of the afternoon.
It was almost five-thirty when she left the building, and although traffic was heavy through the inner city it had begun to ease when she reached Rushcutter’s Bay, resulting in a relatively clear run to Vaucluse.
The sun’s rays were hot, the humidity level high. Too high, Gabbi reflected as she garaged the car and entered the house.
A long, cool drink, followed by a few lengths in the pool, would ease the strain of the day, she decided as she slipped off her jacket and made her way towards the kitchen.
Marie was putting the finishing touches to a cold platter, and her smile was warm as she watched Gabbi extract a glass and cross to the large refrigerator.
‘Are you sure all you want is salad?’
Gabbi pushed the ice-maker lever, filled the glass with apple juice, then crossed to perch on one of four buffet stools lining the wide servery.
‘Sure,’ Gabbi confirmed as she leaned forward and filched a slice of fresh mango from the tastefully decorated bed of cos lettuce, avocado, nuts, and capsicum. ‘Lovely,’ she sighed blissfully.
Marie cast her an affectionate glance. ‘There’s fresh fruit and gelato to follow.’
Gabbi took a long swallow of iced juice, and felt the strain of the day begin to ebb. ‘I think I’ll change and have a swim.’ The thought of a few laps in the pool followed by half an hour basking in the warm sunshine held definite appeal. ‘Why don’t you finish up here? There’s no need for you to stay on just to rinse a few plates and stack them in the dishwasher.’
‘Thanks.’ The housekeeper’s pleasure was evident, and Gabbi reciprocated with an impish grin.
It wasn’t the first evening she’d spent alone, and was unlikely to be the last. ‘Go,’ she instructed. ‘I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning.’
Marie removed her apron and folded it neatly. ‘Serg and I’ll be in the flat, if you need us.’
‘I know,’ Gabbi said gently, grateful for the older woman’s solicitous care.
Minutes later she drained the contents of her glass, then went upstairs to change, discarding her clothes in favour of a black bikini. Out of habit she removed her make-up, applied sunscreen cream, then she caught up a multi-patterned silk sarong and a towel and made her way down to the terraced pool.
Its free-form design was totally enclosed by nonreflective smoke-tinted glass, ensuring total privacy, and there were several loungers and cushioned chairs positioned on the tiled perimeters.
Gabbi dropped the sarong and towel onto a nearby chair, then performed a racing dive into the sparkling water. Seconds later she emerged to the surface, cleared excess moisture from her face, then began the first of several leisurely laps before slipping deftly onto her back to idle aimlessly for a while, enjoying the solitude and the quietness.
It was a wonderful way to relax, she mused, both mentally and physically. The cares of the day seemed to diminish to their correct perspective. Even lunch with Annaliese.
No, she amended with a faint grimace. That was taking things a bit too far. Calculating her stepsister’s