A frequent occurrence, Hannah noticed, as she was meant to. It all became a bit much, and in a bid to escape she excused herself and headed towards the powder room.
Big mistake, she realised minutes later as Camille quickly joined her. A queue was inevitable, given the number of stalls, and Hannah stood stiffly as she waited for Camille to strike.
She wasn’t disappointed. ‘Don’t imagine you can hide behind a bodyguard. I suppose you think you’re very clever.’
Hannah turned slightly to look at the Frenchwoman. ‘Not at all,’ she responded lightly. ‘And the bodyguard is there at Miguel’s instigation.’
Camille’s expression became an icy mask. ‘Protecting his business investment.’
‘Of course.’ It was the truth, so why deny it?
‘But there is a bonus,’ Hannah continued quietly. ‘I get to share his bed, his life, and bear his children.’
She took a shallow breath and released it. ‘Admit you failed, Camille, and go look for another rich man who’s not averse to your game-playing.’ She paused fractionally. ‘And take Luc with you.’
‘He’s a practised lover,’ the Frenchwoman intimated with deliberate maliciousness.
‘Do you think so?’ Hannah contrived a slight frown. ‘I found his foreplay technique reasonable, but his application needed work.’ She managed a careless shrug. ‘Maybe he’s improved.’
Camille swung her hand in a vicious arc, except this time Hannah was prepared, and she took a quick sidestep so the slap didn’t connect.
Hannah was aware of a few surprised gasps, then Renee was there, her normally composed features fierce with anger.
‘You’ve said quite enough, Camille! Now get out of here at once. There is another set of facilities if you must use them.’ She turned towards her daughter. ‘Darling, are you all right?’
‘Yes. Thanks,’ she added, and couldn’t help wondering if Miguel had sent Renee to her rescue.
‘Come, let’s go back to—’
‘The table?’ She shook her head. ‘I really do need to freshen up. Tell Miguel I’ll go straight to our seats.’
‘I’ll stay,’ Renee said firmly.
‘Then we’ll have both our men sending out a search party.’ She could almost see the humour in the situation. ‘Really, I’m fine.’
‘Well,’ her mother said doubtfully. ‘If you’re sure?’
A stall became vacant, and Hannah moved into it. Minutes later she paused in front of the long mirror to freshen her lipstick, then she emerged into the foyer.
She hadn’t taken two steps when Miguel fell in beside her, and she shot him a steady look as he caught hold of her arm. ‘First Renee, now you?’
‘Another minute, and I’d have fetched you personally.’
‘Entered a known women’s domain? How brave.’
‘Don’t push it, querida,’ he warned in sibilant anger.
They weren’t moving in the direction of the auditorium. ‘We’re going the wrong way.’
‘I’m taking you home.’
‘The hell you are!’ She resolutely refused to move. Her eyes sparked blue fire as she confronted him. ‘I’m not missing the rest of the play.’ She balled one hand into a fist and connected with his ribs. ‘The only way you’ll get me away from here is to toss me over your shoulder and carry me out!’
He was caught between laughter and voluble anger. ‘Don’t tempt me,’ he bit back with a husky growl.
Hannah wrenched her arm from his grasp and marched, as well as four-inch stiletto heels would allow, towards the auditorium.
By the time she reached a set of double doors he was beside her, and together they entered the dimmed theatre, located their seats, and slid into them.
Almost immediately the curtain rose and the next act commenced.
Hannah focused on the actors and their lines in a determined effort to forget Camille, Luc, and her inimitable husband. She succeeded, almost, rising from her seat with the audience to applaud the playwright, the cast, and the producer.
The exodus of patrons took a little while, and it was almost eleven when Miguel eased the Jaguar through the city streets. A shower of rain wet the bitumen, and she watched the automated swish of the windscreen wipers as the car turned into Toorak Road.
The headache that had niggled away at her temple for the past hour seemed to intensify, and as soon as he brought the car to a halt inside the garage she slid from her seat and preceded him into the house.
They reached the foyer, and his gaze sharpened as he took in her pale features. ‘Take something for that headache, and go to bed.’
‘Don’t tell me what to do.’
‘Querida,’ Miguel drawled. ‘You want to fight?’
‘Yes, damn you!’
‘There’s a punch bag in the downstairs gym. Why don’t you go try it out?’
He was amused, damn him. She threw him a dark glare. ‘I might do that!’
‘Just one thing,’ he ventured indolently. ‘Go and change first.’
She didn’t even pause to think, she just bent one knee, pulled off a heeled shoe and threw it at him.
Miguel palmed it neatly, placed it carefully down onto a nearby side-table, and turned back towards her.
‘Want to try again?’
This time it was her evening purse that flew through the air, and she cried out with rage as he scooped her into his arms and carried her upstairs.
Hannah hit out at his shoulders, his arms, anywhere she could connect, and groaned with angry frustration when she didn’t seem to make any impression at all.
He reached the bedroom and entered it, kicking the door shut behind him, then he released her down onto the floor.
‘Okay,’ he growled huskily. ‘That’s enough.’
‘Do you know how I feel?’ she demanded vengefully.
‘I’d say it’s mutual.’ He caught hold of her shoulders and held her still. ‘Stop it.’
‘Right at this moment, I think I hate you.’
‘For being a target for some woman’s warped mind?’
‘I want to go to bed. Alone.’ Fool, a tiny voice derided. You’re taking your anger out on the wrong person. Except
