a magazine for her to read, then moved towards Reception to greet the next client.
It was almost four when Elise emerged, another half-hour before she brought the Mercedes to a halt beside the main entrance of Alejandro’s Point Piper home.
She could hear the shower running as she entered their suite, and she stripped down to briefs and bra, collected a silk robe and slipped it on, then she crossed to the dressing-table to attend to her make-up.
Alejandro entered the bedroom, with a towel hitched low on his hips, as she applied the finishing touches, and she watched in mesmerised fascination as he moved to her side and bestowed a lingering kiss on the soft curve of her neck.
His touch sent warmth tingling through her veins, and her expression held a faint wistfulness as he stood behind her and viewed their mirrored reflections.
‘What time do you want to leave?’ she queried, unable to tear her gaze away.
‘Fifteen minutes. The traffic will be heavy.’ His hands rested on her shoulders, then slowly slid down the front edges of her robe to slip beneath the silk and gently tease the softness of her breasts. With tantalising care he began to brush the pad of his thumb over each sensitive peak.
Elise felt them swell and harden, and she gave a soundless gasp as his fingers slid to unfasten her bra.
‘Alejandro——’
‘Humour me,’ he said huskily. His eyes held hers captive, their depths alive with leashed passion. ‘I have thought of little else all day. The intoxicating texture of your skin, its delicate perfume, the way your beautiful eyes soften when I touch you.’
Sensation spiralled from her feminine core as intense sexual awareness swept through her body. All he had to do was pull her into his arms and she would be lost.
‘Shouldn’t we get ready?’ she asked in a strangled voice, and glimpsed the edge of his mouth twist in a gesture of wry self-mockery.
‘Indeed.’ His hands lingered, then slowly withdrew to settle briefly on her shoulders. ‘If I kiss you, we’ll never leave this room.’
‘In that case, perhaps you’d better get changed and let me finish my make-up,’ she suggested shakily, and he laughed, a deep, soft, husky sound that sent goose-bumps over the surface of her skin.
‘Eventually we will return home, mi mujer, and then we shall resume where we have left off.’
‘If I’m not too tired.’ It was a tame attempt at denial, and didn’t fool him in the least.
‘I promise to do all the work, querida.’ His lips brushed her temple, then slid down to nibble an earlobe.
Not all, she promised silently as he moved away and selected underwear, a dress-shirt and black trousers that formed parts of a sophisticated shield for the primitive strength of his body. Socks, shoes came next, and when he reached for the immaculate bow tie she hurriedly transferred her attention and picked up a shiny gold tube with which to stroke pastel colour on to her lips.
Her choice of perfume was her favourite, Evelyn, a subtle rose fragrance that imbued the skin with immense delicacy.
Five minutes later she slipped into the gown, and she stood perfectly still as Alejandro slid the zip-fastener into place.
‘You look beautiful,’ he complimented as she stepped into the elegant evening shoes.
Collecting her evening bag, she turned towards him and proffered a faint smile. ‘The women will vie with each other for your attention,’ she anticipated lightly.
‘I have no control over inherited genes,’ he responded in an amused drawl. ‘And the only woman I am interested in is you.’
For now, Elise added silently, wishing she could believe him. It would be incredible to feel truly secure in a man’s love, to know without any element of doubt that you were adored, and that even if he displayed visual appreciation for another no other woman had a chance of capturing his heart.
Such a hope belonged in the realms of fantasy, she decided ruefully, as the Bentley became part of the flow of traffic entering the inner-city perimeter.
Reality was a combination of harsh facts and formidable statistics which existed as irrefutable proof that love did not always last forever. The first heady bloom often flared brilliantly, only to diminish all too frequently to a state of prosaic affection.
The car slid to a halt, and Elise’s eyes widened with the realisation that they were stationary. The car park was brightly lit, and there were sounds and movement as guests vacated their cars.
Alejandro caught her elbow in a light clasp and led her towards the main entrance. Inside, several guests mingled in small groups, and there were several smartly uniformed waiters and waitresses proffering drinks and bite-sized food.
Almost at once Alejandro was greeted by the gallery owner and engaged in conversation, and Elise found herself drawn into a civilised debate on the advantages of free artistic expression over the confines of conformity.
‘Do you enjoy Alejandro’s artistic taste?’
Oh, hell, she wasn’t even sure which artists he favoured. The paintings hanging on the walls at Point Piper and Palm Beach were visually pleasing, although a few were a little too modern for her own enjoyment.
‘Mostly,’ she agreed. ‘Although he has a Pro Hart of which I’m not particularly fond.’
‘My wife is a traditionalist,’ Alejandro relayed smoothly. ‘Her taste runs to Max Boyd.’
‘Oh, my dear. Hart is quite brilliant.’
‘So are a number of other noted Australian artists,’ she offered firmly. ‘It’s very much a personal choice, don’t you think?’
‘There’s an excellent piece you really must see. Expensive, but worthy of investment.’ He riffled through the catalogue pages and brought the item to Alejandro’s notice, then made his excuses as someone else demanded his attention.
‘I happen to like Max Boyd,’ Elise protested as Alejandro’s amused gaze rested on her expressive features.
‘So do I,’ he assured her, and, placing an arm round her waist, he directed her towards a display. ‘Shall we begin viewing?’
Some paintings verged on the bizarre, others resembled caricatures of design over brilliant slashes of colour. One in particular looked as if a child at kindergarten level had indulged in a totally wild battle with numerous pots of multi-coloured paint.
‘What do you think?’
Elise turned towards Alejandro and endeavoured to present a considered viewpoint. After several seconds she voiced with restraint, ‘I’d prefer not to answer on the grounds that anything I say could be overheard, taken into account, and held against me.’
‘A remarkable nonconformist piece,’ Alejandro drawled knowledgeably, and her eyes danced as she nodded in silent agreement. ‘Shall we move on?’
‘Please.’
There
