The Helen Bianchin Collection - HELEN BIANCHIN

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think she had so much power over this man. It was a quality she intended to treat with the utmost respect and care.

      ‘I have something for you.’

      ‘I don’t need anything,’ Carlo assured her. ‘Except you.’

      She kissed him briefly. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ What she sought reposed within easy reach, and she took the few steps necessary to extract the white envelope, then she turned and placed it in his hand.

      ‘Cara? What is this?’

      A telephone call, specific instructions, a lecture on the necessity to protect her interests, and time out in a very hectic schedule to attach her signature in the presence of her legal advisor.

      ‘Open and read it.’

      Carlo’s eyes sharpened as he extracted the neatly pinned papers, and as he unfolded and began to scan the affidavit it became apparent what she’d done.

      He lowered the papers and regarded her carefully. ‘Aysha—’

      ‘I love you. I always have, for as long as I can remember.’ She thought she might die from the intensity of it. ‘I always will.’

      It was a gift beyond price. ‘I know.’ Carlo’s voice was incredibly gentle. Just as his love for her would endure. It was something he intended to reinforce every day for the rest of his life.

      ‘Come here,’ he bade softly, extending his arms, and she went into them gladly, wrapping her own round his waist as he enfolded her close.

      The papers fluttered to the floor as his lips covered hers, and she gave herself up to the sensual magic that was theirs alone.

      Heaven didn’t get much better than this, Aysha mused dreamily as he swept an arm beneath her knees and strode towards the stairs.

      ‘Ti amo,’ she whispered. ‘Ti amo.’

      Carlo paused and took possession of her mouth with his own in a kiss that held so much promise she almost wept. ‘In eterno.’ Eternity, and beyond.

       In the Spaniard’s Bed

      Helen Bianchin

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘I’M ON my way.’ Cassandra released the intercom, caught up her evening purse, keys, exited her apartment and took the lift down to the foyer where her brother was waiting.

      At twenty-nine he was two years her senior, and he shared her blond hair, fair skin and blue eyes. Average height in comparison to her petite frame.

      ‘Wow,’ Cameron complimented with genuine admiration, and she responded with an affectionate smile.

      ‘Brotherly love, huh?’

      The ice-pink gown moulded her slender curves, its spaghetti straps showing silky skin to an advantage, and the diagonal ruffled split to mid-thigh showcased beautifully proportioned legs. A gossamer wrap in matching ice-pink completed the outfit, and her jewellery was understated.

      ‘Seriously cool.’

      She tilted her head to one side as she tucked a hand through his arm. ‘Let’s go slay the masses.’

      Tonight’s fundraiser was a prestigious event whose guests numbered among Sydney’s social élite. Held in the ballroom of a prominent city hotel, it was one of several annual soirées Cassandra and her brother attended on their father’s behalf after a heart attack and stroke two years ago forced him into early retirement.

      Guests were mingling in the large foyer when they arrived, and she summoned a practised smile as she acknowledged a few acquaintances, pausing to exchange a greeting with one friend or another as she selected iced water from a hovering drinks waiter.

      Observing the social niceties was something she did well. Private schooling and a finishing year in France had added polish and panache. The Preston-Villers family held a certain social standing of which her father was justly proud.

      While Cameron had been groomed to enter the Preston-Villers conglomerate from an early age, Cassandra chose to pursue gemmology and jewellery design, added the necessary degree, studied with a well-known jeweller and she was now beginning to gain a reputation for her work.

      Mixing and mingling was part of the social game, and she did it well.

      Committee members conferred and worked the room in a bid to ensure the evening’s success. The hotel ballroom was geared to seat a thousand guests, and it was rumoured there had been a waiting list for last-minute ticket cancellations.

      ‘There’s something I need to discuss with you.’

      Cassandra met Cameron’s gaze, examined his expression, and restrained a faint frown as she glimpsed the slight edginess apparent.

      ‘Here, now?’ she queried lightly, and waited for his usual carefree smile.

      ‘Later.’

      It couldn’t be anything serious, she dismissed, otherwise he would have mentioned it during the drive in to the city.

      ‘Darling, how are you?’

      The soft feminine purr evoked a warm smile as she turned to greet the tall, slender model. ‘Siobhan.’ Her eyes sparkled. They’d attended the same school, shared much, and were firm friends. ‘I’m fine, and you?’

      ‘Flying out to Rome tomorrow, then it’s Milan followed by Paris.’

      Cassandra uttered a subdued chuckle in amusement. ‘It’s a hard life.’

      Siobhan grinned. ‘But an interesting one,’ she conceded. ‘I have a date with an Italian count in Rome.’

      ‘Ah.’

      ‘Old money, and divine.’

      The musing twinkle in those gorgeous green eyes brought forth a husky laugh as Cassandra shook her head. ‘You’re wicked.’

      ‘This time it’s serious,’ Siobhan declared as Cassandra’s smile widened.

      ‘It always is.’

      ‘Got to go. The parents are in tow.’

      ‘Have fun.’

      ‘I shall. In Italy.’ She leaned forward and pressed her cheek against Cassandra’s in a gesture of affection.

      ‘Take care.’

      ‘Always.’

      Soon the ballroom doors would be open, and guests would be called to take their seats. There would be the introductory and explanatory speeches, the wine stewards would do their thing, and the first course served.

      Speaking of which, she was hungry. Lunch had been yoghurt and fruit snatched between the usual weekend chores.

      Cameron appeared deep in conversation with a man she presumed to be a business associate, and she sipped chilled water from her glass as she debated whether to join him.

      At that moment she felt the warning prickle of awareness as her senses went on alert, and she let her gaze skim the guests.

      There was only one man who had this particular effect on her equilibrium.

      Innate instinct? An elusive knowledge based on the inexplicable?

      Whatever, it was crazy. Maddening.

      Maybe this time she had it wrong. Although all it took was one glance at that familiar dark head to determine her instinct was right on target.

      Diego del Santo. Successful entrepreneur, one of the city’s nouveau riche…and her personal nemesis.

      Born

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