LITMIR.BIZ

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a command, not a request, and Hannah held her breath for a few seconds before slowly releasing it. ‘I can try,’ she said evenly. ‘However, everything here is limited edition stock.’

      Camille gave her a long considering look. ‘Make the call. I want it.’

      Hannah viewed her carefully, then threw politeness out the window. ‘You can’t always have what you want.’

      There was no mistaking her meaning.

      The Frenchwoman examined her perfectly manicured nails, then seared Hannah with a vindictive glare.

      ‘You’re wrong, chérie. I always get what I want.’

      ‘Really?’ Her cynicism was marked. ‘Maybe it’s time you didn’t.’

      Camille resembled a hissing cat about to strike. ‘So you intend to fight?’

      This could rapidly digress into something feral. ‘I won’t gift-wrap Miguel and hand him to you on a platter.’

      ‘Why, chérie. I don’t need for you to gift me anything. I reach out and take what I want.’

      She could feel her fingers curling in against each palm, and it was all she could do to stay calm. ‘Even if it doesn’t belong to you?’

      ‘The fact it doesn’t belong to me merely adds to the attraction. Marriage? What is it?’ Camille emphasised the point with a Gallic shrug. ‘Merely a piece of paper.’

      ‘Try sacred vows citing fidelity, trust and honour,’ Hannah cited, and heard the Frenchwoman’s pitying laughter.

      ‘Poor enfant,’ Camille chided. ‘So naive and caught up with ideals.’

      Ideals, huh? She was as well versed in reality as the next person. More so, because she’d grown up very aware there were those who would adopt any façade if they thought it would work to their advantage. Luc was the only one who’d managed to pull the wool over her eyes.

      ‘What if Miguel won’t play your game?’ Hannah queried deliberately.

      Camille broke into disbelieving laughter and shot her a pitying look. ‘That is not an option.’

      ‘You’re so sure of yourself?’

      ‘Sure of my—’ she paused fractionally ‘—ability, darling.’

      ‘Singular?’ Hannah posed with wry cynicism, determined not to concede this verbal match in any way.

      ‘Perhaps we should agree to confer a week from now. You might not be so confident.’ With that parting shot, Camille swept out of the boutique and soon disappeared from sight.

      Phew! She might not have won that round, but she hadn’t exactly lost.

      It was after five when she left the boutique, and she drove to the hospital, visited a slightly wan Cindy, then headed home.

      Miguel had showered and was in the process of dressing when Hannah entered the bedroom.

      His taut, steel-muscled body projected an enviable aura of power. A strength that was also of the mind and spirit, and she would have given anything to be able to go to him, have him enfold her close, and make the world go away.

      Well, maybe the world was asking too much. All she wanted was for Camille Dalfour to be gone.

      ‘Bad day?’

      She lifted her head and threw him a wry look as she shrugged out of her jacket and began unbuttoning her blouse. ‘Tomorrow has to be better.’

      He reached for his shirt and pulled it on. ‘Want to cancel out tonight?’

      What she wanted was to relax in the spa-bath for as long as it took for her tense muscles to unknot, then indulge in a long, sweet loving.

      ‘No. The movie received good reviews overseas,’ she said evenly.

      Miguel’s hands stilled at the faint catch in her voice, and he cast her a discerning look, saw the soft shadows beneath her eyes, cheeks that were devoid of colour, and he covered the distance between them in a few easy steps.

      He cupped her chin, lifting it so she had no recourse but to meet his gaze. ‘Something bothers you?’

      Yes, it bothers me like hell. ‘As I said,’ she prevaricated as both of his thumbs smoothed a soothing pattern along the edge of her jaw, ‘a bad day.’

      ‘Hannah.’ His voice was a silky drawl. ‘Don’t take me for a fool. Honesty, remember?’

      Well, this was it. There wasn’t going to be a better time. ‘Camille wants you.’

      His eyes darkened, although his expression didn’t change. ‘She has told you this?’ The query held an icy softness. ‘When?’

      She held his gaze without difficulty. ‘Yesterday, and today.’ She attempted a smile, and failed miserably. ‘You’re a marked man.’

      ‘Indeed?’ His voice was a cynical drawl.

      This time the smile was bright, too bright. ‘She’s convincing.’

      ‘I’m sure she is.’

      ‘I assured her I possess a few advantages.’ She lifted a hand and began counting off her fingers. ‘Minor things like a hefty inheritance, a convenient and compatible marriage. You.’ She cast him a measured look. ‘Did I get those in the right order?’

      His eyes darkened and became obsidian shards. ‘I could shake you.’

      ‘Please don’t,’ she protested slowly. ‘I might shatter.’

      Nevertheless he did, gently. ‘You sweet fool,’ he growled in husky chastisement. ‘I am not interested in extra-marital games.’ He traced her lower lip with the pad of his thumb, then released her. ‘Comprende?’

      ‘Words, Miguel?’ she queried with a hint of sadness. ‘Don’t insult me by uttering them meaninglessly.’

      ‘Why would I risk our marriage?’

      ‘Exactly.’ Something inside her died at the way he obviously regarded their alliance. ‘Why would you?’

      ‘Hannah.’ The silky warning was evident, but she chose to ignore it.

      ‘To Camille, you’re a challenge.’

      ‘Women of Camille’s ilk,’ Miguel evinced hardly, ‘are known to have their own agenda.’

      Hannah’s eyes sparked with blue fire. ‘Well, she can take her agenda and go shove it.’

      Amusement lifted the corners of his mouth, and his eyes assumed a humorous gleam. ‘At daggers drawn, querida?’

      ‘Yes.’

      His gaze narrowed slightly. ‘You’re not in her league.’

      ‘I hope that’s a compliment?’

      ‘Without doubt.’ He leant down and brushed his lips to her temple. ‘Go have your shower.’

      Hannah caught up fresh underwear, a wrap, and entered the en suite, emerging fifteen minutes later to discover Miguel had already gone downstairs.

      She pulled on smart jeans and a rib-knit top, twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head, then she joined Miguel in the dining room.

      Sofia had excelled herself with the meal, and an accompanying light white wine provided a relaxing effect.

      It took only minutes to clear the table and stack the dishwasher before returning upstairs to change.

      Hannah selected an evening trouser suit in brilliant sapphire, brushed her hair loose, and tended to her make-up before adding a knee-length sheer silk evening jacket patterned in green and blue peacock hues. A beaded evening purse completed the outfit.

      ‘Exquisita,’ Miguel complimented, and she gave him an impish

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