The Marriage Bed

CHAPTER FIVE

THE sun’s rays were hot after the controlled coolness of the building’s air-conditioning, and Gabbi felt the heat come up from the pavement combined with the jostle of midday city staff anxious to make the most of their lunch hour, elderly matrons en route from one shopping mall to another and mothers with young children in tow.

Sydney was a vibrant city alive with people from different cultures, and Gabbi witnessed a vivid kaleidoscope of couture and grunge as she walked the block and a half to meet Francesca.

The restaurant was filled with patrons, but she’d rung ahead for a reservation, and the maître d’ offered an effusive greeting and ushered her to a table.

There was barely time to order iced water before Francesca slid into the opposite seat in a soft cloud of Hermes Calèche perfume.

‘The traffic was every bit as bad as I expected,’ Francesca commented as she ordered the same drink as Gabbi. ‘And securing a parking space was worse.’

Gabbi smiled in commiseration. ‘City commuting is the pits.’ She picked up the menu. ‘Shall we order?’

‘Good idea. I’m starving,’ Francesca admitted with relish, selecting the soupe du jour followed by a Greek salad and fresh fruit.

Gabbi also selected her friend’s choice, but opted for linguini instead of soup as a starter.

‘How long will you be Sydney-based?’ Her smile was warm, her interest genuine.

Ice-cubes chinked as Francesca picked up her glass. ‘Not long. A few weeks, then I’ll head back to Europe.’

True friendship was rare, and with it came the benefit of dispensing with the niceties of idle conversation. ‘So, tell me about Rome.’

Francesca’s expression became pensive. ‘Mario’s mother was diagnosed with inoperable cancer.’

Gabbi’s heart constricted with pain, and she reached out and covered her friend’s hand with her own. ‘Francesca, I’m so sorry.’

‘We had a few short weeks together before she was hospitalised, and after that it was only a matter of days.’ Francesca’s eyes darkened with repressed emotion. ‘She bequeathed me everything.’

‘Mario was her only child,’ Gabbi reminded her gently.

‘Nevertheless, it was—’ she paused fractionally ‘—unexpected.’

The waiter’s appearance with their starters provided an interruption.

‘What’s new with the family?’ Francesca asked as soon as he was out of earshot.

‘Not a thing.’

‘Benedict is to die for, Monique superficially gracious, Annaliese a bitch and James remains oblivious?’

The assessment was so accurate, Gabbi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Selectively oblivious,’ she qualified.

‘A clever man, your father.’

‘And yours, Francesca?’

‘Consumed with business in order to keep my dear stepmama in the incredible style she insists is important.’ She managed a tight smile. ‘While Mother continues to flit from one man to the next with time out in between for the requisite nip and tuck.’

They finished the starters and began on the salads.

‘Dominic Andrea,’ Francesca ventured speculatively. ‘Greek?’

‘Second generation. His mother is Australian.’

‘Irritating man.’

Dominic was many things, but irritating wasn’t one of them. ‘Do you think so?’

‘And arrogant.’

Perhaps. Although Gabbi would have substituted self-assured. ‘You want to opt out of dinner tonight?’

Francesca forked the last mouthful of salad, took her time with it, then replaced the utensil onto her plate. ‘No,’ she said thoughtfully, her gaze startlingly direct. ‘Why deny myself an interesting evening?’

Gabbi’s mouth curved with humour. ‘A clash between two Titans?’

Francesca’s eyes assumed a speculative gleam. ‘It will be an intriguing challenge to beat the man at his own game.’

Indeed, Gabbi accorded silently. Although she wasn’t sure that Francesca would win.

The waiter brought a fruit platter and they ordered coffee.

‘Shall I give you Dominic’s address?’ Gabbi queried as she picked up the bill, quelling Francesca’s protest. ‘Or will we collect you?’

‘I’ll meet you there.’ She extracted a pen and paper from her handbag and took down the address. ‘Six-thirty?’

‘Yes,’ Gabbi confirmed as they emerged out onto the pavement. She accepted Francesca’s light kiss on each cheek, and touched her hand as they parted. ‘It’s been great to catch up. Take care.’

‘Always,’ Francesca promised. ‘See you tonight.’

There were several messages on Gabbi’s desk when she returned, and she dealt with each, dictated several letters and worked on streamlining overheads in a subsidiary company. Systematic checking was required to discover alternative suppliers who, she was convinced, could provide an equal service for a more competitive price. She made a list of relevant numbers to call.

The intercom buzzed, and Gabbi depressed the button. ‘Yes, Halle?’

‘There’s a parcel in Reception for you. Shall I bring it down?’

She eased her shoulders and pushed a stray tendril of hair behind one ear. ‘Please.’

A minute later her secretary appeared carrying a flat rectangular parcel wrapped in brown paper. ‘There’s an envelope. Want me to open it?’

It couldn’t be...could it? Gabbi rose to her feet and crossed round to the front of her desk. ‘No, I’ll take care of it. Thanks, Halle.’

She placed the attached envelope on her desk, then undid the wrapping, pleasure lighting up her features as she revealed the painting she’d admired at Leon’s gallery.

It was perfect for the southern wall of her office.

The card held a simple message: ‘For you.’ It was signed ‘Benedict.’

Gabbi reached for the private phone and punched in Benedict’s coded number.

He answered on the second ring. ‘Nicols.’

‘You noticed my interest in the painting,’ she said with evident warmth. ‘I love it. Thanks.’

‘Why don’t you take a walk to my office and thank me in person?’ The lazy drawl held mild amusement, and a soft laugh emerged from her throat.

‘A momentary diversion?’

‘Very momentary,’ Benedict agreed with light humour. ‘An associate is waiting in my private lounge.’

‘In that case, you shouldn’t delay seeing him,’ she chastised him sweetly, and heard his husky chuckle in response.

‘Tonight, Gabbi.’

She heard the faint click as he replaced the receiver.

The rest of the afternoon went quickly, and at five she shut down the computer, signed the completed letters then collected her briefcase and took the lift down to the car park.

Benedict’s four-wheel drive was in the garage when she arrived home, and as they were to dine out she bypassed the kitchen and made for the stairs.

It would be nice to strip off and relax in the Jacuzzi, she thought longingly as she entered the master suite, but there wasn’t time. Twenty-five minutes in which to shower, dress, apply make-up and style her hair didn’t allow for a leisurely approach.

The sound of an electric razor in action could be heard from the bathroom and she quickly shed her clothes, pulled on a silk robe and pushed open the door.

Benedict was standing in front of the wide mirror dispensing with a day’s growth of beard, a towel hitched at his waist. It was evident from his damp hair that he hadn’t long emerged from the shower.

‘Hi.’ It irked her that her voice sounded vaguely breathless. Maybe in another twenty years she would be able to view his partly naked form and not feel so completely consumed by the sight of him.

If, that far down the track, she was still part of his life. The thought that she might not be brought a stab of unbearable pain.

He looked up from his task and met her eyes in the mirror. ‘Hi, yourself.’

His appraisal was warm and lingered a little too long on the soft curve of her mouth. With determined effort she reached into the shower-stall, turned on the water, slipped off her robe and stepped beneath the warm jet-spray. When she emerged it was to find she had sole occupancy of the bathroom.

Ten minutes later her hair was swept into a sleek pleat, her make-up complete. In the bedroom she crossed to the walk-in closet and selected silk evening trousers in delicate ivory, added a beaded camisole and slid her arms into a matching silk jacket. Gold jewellery and elegant evening sandals completed the outfit, and she took time to dab her favourite perfume to a few exposed pulse-points before catching up an evening purse.

‘Ready?’

With a few minutes to spare. She directed a cool glance at him. ‘Yes. Shall we leave?’

Dominic’s home was a brilliant example of architectural design in suburban Beauty Point overlooking the middle harbour.

Dominic greeted them at the door and drew them into the lounge.

High ceilings and floor-to-ceiling glass lent the room spaciousness and light, with folding white-painted wooden shutters and deep-cushioned furniture providing a hint of the Caribbean.

There was no sign of Francesca, and Gabbi wondered if she was deliberately planning her arrival to be a fashionable, but excusable, five minutes late.

Ten, Gabbi noted, as the bell-chimes pealed when she was partway through a delicious fruit cocktail. Dominic allowed his housekeeper to answer the door.

It would seem that if Francesca had a strategy Dominic had elected to choose one of his own.

Stunning was an apt description of Francesca’s appearance, Gabbi silently applauded as she greeted her friend. Francesca’s expression was carefully bland, but there was a wicked twinkle apparent in those dark eyes for one infinitesimal second before she turned towards her host.

‘Please accept my apologies.’

‘Accepted,’ drawled Dominic. ‘You’ll join us in a drink?’

‘Chilled water,’ Francesca requested with a singularly sweet smile. ‘With ice.’

‘Bottled? Sparkling or still?’

‘Still, if you have it.’

Gabbi hid a faint smile and took another sip of her cocktail.

Francesca had dressed to kill in black, designed perhaps to emphasise her widowed state? She looked every inch the successful international model. The length of her auburn hair was swept into a careless knot, with a few wispy tendrils allowed to escape to frame her face. The make-up was perfection, although Gabbi doubted it had taken Fran more than ten minutes to apply. The perfume was her preferred Hermes Calèche, and there was little doubt that the gown was an Italian designer original bought or bargained for at an outrageously discounted price.

Gabbi wondered how long it would take Dominic to dig beneath Francesca’s protective shell and reveal her true nature. Or if Francesca would permit him to try.

Dinner was a convivial meal, the courses varied and many, and while exquisitely presented on the finest bone china they were the antithesis of designer food.

There was, however, an artistically displayed platter of salads adorned with avocado, mango and sprinkled with pine nuts. A subtle concession to what Dominic suspected was a model’s necessity to diet? Gabbi wondered.

Francesca, Gabbi knew, ate wisely and well, with little need to watch her intake of food. Tonight, however, she forked dainty portions from each course, declined dessert and opted for herbal tea instead of the ruinously strong black coffee she preferred.

‘Northern suburbs, overlooking water and trees in the garden,’ Francesca mocked lightly as she met Dominic’s level gaze over the rim of her delicate teacup.

‘Three out of five,’ he conceded in a voice that was tinged with humour. ‘Are you sufficiently curious to discover if you’re right about the remaining two?’

Her eyes were cool. ‘The detached studio and a BMW in the garage?’

‘Yes.’

One eyebrow lifted. ‘A subtle invitation to admire your etchings?’

‘I paint in the studio and confine lovemaking to the bedroom.’

Gabbi had to admire Francesca’s panache, for there was no artifice in the long, considering look she cast him.

‘How—prosaic.’

Give it up, Francesca, Gabbi beseeched silently. You’re playing with dynamite. Besides, the ‘BMW’ is a Lexus and although the studio is detached it’s above the treble garage and linked to the house via a glass-enclosed walkway.

‘More tea?’ Dominic enquired with urbanity.

‘Thank you, no.’

Benedict rose to his feet in one smooth movement, his eyes enigmatic as they met those of his wife. ‘If you’ll excuse us, Dominic?’ His smile was warm, and tinged with humour. ‘Dinner was superb. Do give our compliments to Louise.’

‘It’s been a lovely evening,’ Gabbi said gently, collecting her purse. She spared Francesca a brief, enquiring glance and could determine little from her friend’s expression. Their imminent departure provided an excellent excuse for Francesca to leave, and Gabbi’s interest intensified when her friend failed to express that intention.

Perhaps, Gabbi speculated, Francesca was determined not to cut and run at the flimsiest excuse to avoid being alone with Dominic.

‘Francesca is quite able to handle herself,’ Benedict assured her as he eased the car through the electronically controlled gates and turned onto the street.

‘So is Dominic,’ Gabbi reminded him as she spared him a frowning glance.

‘That worries you?’

. ‘Yes,’ she answered starkly. ‘I wouldn’t like to see Francesca hurt.’

‘I failed to see any hint of coercion on Dominic’s part,’ Benedict returned tolerantly. ‘And she chose not to take the opportunity to leave when we did.’ He brought the car to a halt at a traffic-controlled intersection.

‘Next you’ll predict we’ll dance at their wedding,’ Gabbi declared with a degree of acerbity, and heard his subdued splutter of laughter.

‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’

‘Mario—’

‘Is dead,’ Benedict stated gently. ‘And Francesca is a beautiful young woman who deserves to be happy.’

The lights changed and the car picked up speed. Gabbi turned her attention to the tracery of electric lights on the opposite side of the harbour. It was a picture-postcard scene, and one she’d admired on many occasions in the past. Tonight, however, it failed to hold any attraction.

‘You don’t think she could fall in love again?’

Gabbi was silent for several long seconds. ‘Not the way she loved Mario,’ she decided at last.

‘Affection, stability and security can be a satisfactory substitute.’

She felt something clench deep inside her, and she caught her breath at the sudden pain. Was that what he thought about their marriage? The fire and the passion... were they solely hers?

The car traversed the Harbour Bridge, then turned left towards the eastern suburbs. Soon they would be home. And, like the nights that had preceded this one, she would go to sleep in his arms. After the loving.

To deny him was to deny herself. Yet tonight she wanted to, for the sake of sheer perversity.

Gabbi made for the stairs as soon as they entered the house. ‘I’ll go change.’ And slip into the Jacuzzi, she decided as she gained the upper floor. The pulsating jets would ease the tension in her body and help relax her mind.

It didn’t, at least not to any satisfactory degree. The doubts that were ever-present in her subconscious rose to the surface with damning ease.

One by one she examined them. Benedict wanted her in his bed, but did he need her? Only her? Probably not, she admitted sadly, all too aware that there were a hundred women who would rush to take her place. With or without marriage.

One couldn’t deny the security factor...for each of them. In her, Benedict had a wife who one day would inherit a share of a billion-dollar corporation, thereby doubling his share. Yet, conversely, she also stood to gain.

And stability would be cemented with the addition of children. Why, then, did she continue to take precautions to avoid conception?

Gabbi closed her eyes as images swirled in her mind. The shared joy of early pregnancy, her body swollen with Benedict’s child, and afterwards the newborn suckling at her breast.

But it was more than that. Much more. The newborn would develop and grow into a child who became aware of its surroundings, its parents. Financial security would not be an issue. But emotional security?

Divorce had a traumatic effect, and having to accept a stepparent in the place of a loved one was infinitely worse.

Fiercely protective, she wanted desperately for her child to grow up in a happy home with two emotionally committed parents. A marriage based on a business merger lacked the one ingredient essential for a mutually successful long-term relationship: love.

A one-sided love wasn’t nearly enough.

Damn. Introspection didn’t help at all.

‘Sleeping in a Jacuzzi isn’t a good idea.’

Gabbi didn’t open her eyes. ‘I wasn’t sleeping.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it. Do you intend staying there long?’

‘A while.’

He didn’t comment, and she sensed rather than heard him leave. Perhaps he’d go downstairs and peruse the latest financial bulletin faxed through from London, New York and Tokyo.

Somehow she doubted he’d simply undress and slide between the sheets, for he was a man who could maintain maximum energy on six hours’ sleep in any given twenty-four.

The warm, pulsating water had a soporific effect, and she allowed her thoughts to drift. To her childhood, early treasured memories of her mother, and James. After James followed Monique, and—

Gabbi’s eyes flew open as a foot brushed her own. Her startled gaze met a pair of dark brown, almost black eyes heavy with slumberous, vaguely mocking humour.

‘What are you doing here?’ Why did she sound so—shocked? It was hardly the first time they’d shared the Jacuzzi.

‘Is my presence such an unwelcome intrusion?’

‘Yes.’ Except that wasn’t strictly true. ‘No,’ she amended, unable to tear her eyes away from the strong features within touching distance of her own. Broad cheekbones, a well-defined jaw and the sensual curve of his mouth.

The mouth tilted slightly, and she caught sight of strong white teeth. ‘You sound unsure.’

Her gaze didn’t waver. ‘Perhaps because I am.’

Sinews moved beneath the smooth skin sheathing the powerful breadth of his chest as he extended a hand to trail a gentle pattern across her cheek.

The faint aroma of his cologne had a tantalising effect on her equilibrium, and her pupils dilated as one finger traced the outline of her lower lip.

Please, she begged silently. Don’t do this to me.

Slowly, with infinite patience, he began to erode her defences, breaking them down one by one with the brush of his fingers against the pulse at the base of her throat where it beat in an increasingly visible tattoo.

Those same fingers trailed the contours of each breast, cupped and weighed them in his palm, then teased each tender nub.

Her lips parted and her eyelids drooped low.

No one person should have this much emotional control over another, she thought. There should be some in-built mechanism in one’s psyche to prevent such an invasion.

Possession, she substituted as her bones began to liquefy.

Strong hands settled at her waist, and with no effort at all he turned her round to sit in front of him. She felt caged by the strength of his shoulders, the muscled arms that curved beneath her own.

There was warmth, a heat that had nothing to do with the temperature of the water, and when his lips grazed the delicate hollow at the edge of her neck Gabbi sighed in unspoken acceptance.

He had the touch, she mused dreamily, and the knowledge to arouse a woman to the brink of madness. And the control to hold her on the edge until she almost wept for release.

It was a sensual journey that traversed many paths, along which Gabbi had no desire to travel with anyone but him. She knew she’d give up her fortune, her life, everything... if only he felt the same.

His hands slid to her shoulders, shifting her so that she faced him, and his mouth took possession of her own.

Her arms lifted to encircle his neck, her fingers burying themselves in the thickness of his hair as she held him close.

There was passion as he tasted and took his fill, and she met his raw energy with matching ardour, then let her mouth soften beneath the teasing influence of his, savouring the lingering sweetness, all too aware of the leashed power as he traced the full curve with the tip of his tongue.

She wanted to tease him, test the level of his control. And see if she could break it.

Gabbi let her arms drift down, trailing her fingers over the muscled cord of his neck, taking time to explore the hard ridges, the strong sinews stretching down to each shoulder.

Dark, springy hair covered his chest, and she played with the short curls, twisting them round her fingers, pulling gently, only to release them as she moved to capture a few more.

She lowered her head and touched her lips to his shoulder, then gently trailed a path inch by inch to his ear, using the tip of her tongue with wicked delight on the hollow beneath the lobe before nuzzling and nipping at the sensitive flesh.