her palm, observing the way her eyes darkened in dilation. Her lips trembled slightly, and for one infinitesimal second she looked acutely vulnerable.
‘You resemble a piece of fragile glass on the point of shattering,’ Miguel said gently. ‘Home, I think.’
Her chin tilted fractionally. ‘I’m really very resilient.’ She summoned a smile. ‘Besides, there’s music, and we should dance.’
They did, for a while, moving to the funky beat, then when it changed to something slower Miguel pulled her into his arms and held her close.
It was heaven. She could almost forget where they were, the time, the place, everything except the man and the emotions he was able to arouse.
She felt his lips brush the top of her head, then linger at her temple, and she made a sound in her throat as they settled just beneath one earlobe.
They fitted together so well, and this close she could feel his powerful thigh muscles, the strength of his arousal.
‘I think we should go home.’
His soft laughter feathered sensation over the surface of her skin, and heat unfurled within, warming her body to fever pitch.
‘Do you need to return to the table?’
She shook her head, and together they made their way towards the ballroom exit, pausing from time to time to speak to acquaintances. They were about to pass through the large double doors when they came face to face with Camille.
‘You’re not leaving?’
Hannah offered a polite smile. ‘We both have an early start tomorrow.’
‘Tired, darling?’ Her expression was deliberately bland. ‘Miguel must find your lack of stamina a little—’ she paused slightly ‘—tiresome.’
‘Perhaps tired is just a polite euphemism,’ Hannah ventured sweetly, and almost held her breath at the sheer venom evident in Camille’s gaze before it was quickly masked. ‘Goodnight, Camille.’
There was little the striking brunette could do other than make a graceful retreat. However there was the promise—no, threat, Hannah amended as she walked at Miguel’s side to the lift, that this was only the beginning of Camille’s campaign.
She sat in silence as Miguel eased the car through the city streets, lost in contemplative thought.
Media speculation had run rife at the time of her engagement to Miguel, and the caption above their wedding photos had given allusion to it being an arranged union. Something that aroused public conjecture, and added fuel to the social gossip columns.
However, more than a year down the track, the conjecture had lessened, they’d settled easily into the pattern of marriage, work and social commitments.
‘You’re quiet.’
Hannah glanced at Miguel and could determine little from his expression in the car’s dim interior.
‘How perceptive,’ she afforded wryly, and incurred his brief glance.
‘Camille bothers you?’
‘Clever, too.’
He waited a beat. ‘And Luc?’
She didn’t even have to think. ‘Is ancient history.’
‘Not from where I was standing.’
Hannah took a deep breath, then released it slowly. ‘You should have stood closer.’ She bit back a humourless laugh. ‘Then you would have heard me tell him to go get a life and stay out of mine.’
‘That was the extent of your conversation?’ They reached Toorak and turned into a select residential avenue.
‘Oh, there’s just one other detail,’ she revealed as he took another turn and slowed before the impressive set of gates guarding the entrance to their home. ‘He revealed Camille has you firmly in her sights, and she’ll go to any lengths to get you.’ She watched as Miguel activated the remote, opening the gates, and the car eased forward onto the wide sweeping drive. The garage doors slid up automatically at the touch of another remote, then closed seconds later when he cut the engine.
Hannah slid out and walked to the door leading into the house, waited while Miguel tended to the lock, then she moved through to the foyer.
‘Indeed?’ he drawled with ill-disguised mockery. He paused at the foot of the beautiful staircase and subjected her to a searching appraisal. ‘Is his role that of accomplice in Camille’s diabolical scheme?’
‘Yes.’
‘Be careful, querida,’ he warned silkily. ‘He hurt you once. I won’t tolerate him hurting you again.’
‘You won’t tolerate it?’ She strove to conquer a complex mix of emotions. ‘There’s no need to play the jealous husband!’
‘I prefer…protective.’
He didn’t move, but she had the impression his body tensed, and apprehension slithered over the surface of her skin.
‘Luc—’
‘Occupied a small part of your life before you committed to me,’ Miguel drawled in a dangerously quiet voice.
Just as several women undoubtedly occupied his. A hollow feeling settled low in her stomach and radiated towards her heart. Dear heaven, just thinking about who they were and how many there might have been made her feel ill.
Hannah held his gaze for several long seconds, then she brushed past him and moved quickly up the stairs.
A hollow feeling settled round her heart as she traversed the gallery to their room, and inside she began removing her ear-studs, then she reached for the catch on her necklace.
Miguel entered the room and shrugged off his dinner jacket, loosened his shoes, and discarded his socks. The bow-tie came next, then he undid and removed his shirt.
Dammit, what was the matter with the catch? She cursed it beneath her breath, and followed it with another as Miguel crossed to her side.
‘Stand still.’
She was incredibly aware of him, the raw primitive aura combined with the subtle scent of his skin and the sensual warmth of his body. There was a part of her that wanted to sink in against him and lift her face for his kiss, while another part wanted to pummel his chest with her fists.
Didn’t he know how vulnerable she felt? How much of a threat she knew Camille to be? As to Luc…she wouldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.
Miguel freed the catch in a second, and he dropped the chain into her hand before placing a thumb and forefinger on her chin, lifting it so she had no choice but to look at him.
‘Por Dios.’ His eyes darkened, and a muscle bunched at the edge of his jaw. ‘You think I cannot see what Camille is?’ He traced a thumb along her jaw, then slid a hand to capture her nape. ‘Credit me with some intelligence, mi mujer.’
