brushed his thumb over the generous curve of her mouth. ‘No.’
Her palms itched with the urge to slap him.
‘Don’t.’ The warning was silky soft and curled round her nerve-ends.
Without a word she turned and made her way back to the boutique, aware of an explosive electric force field that surrounded them.
Hannah was startlingly aware of him, his proximity, the faint aroma of his aftershave, the clean smell of his clothes. His grasp on her elbow would tighten in a heartbeat if she attempted to pull free.
Four shop fronts, a matter of mere metres, and they reached the boutique. She didn’t even question his intention to enter, for it was clearly evident he meant to.
She paused, her features strained, her eyes too dark. ‘Is there a purpose to this?’
‘Yes.’
Hannah extended her hand to open the door, only to have it swing inward.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Renee declared, her features carefully schooled. ‘There was one phone call, which I dealt with.’
Hannah looked from one to the other, and settled on Miguel, suspicion uppermost. ‘You set this up.’ She turned towards her mother. ‘Didn’t you?’
‘Guilty.’
‘Why?’ Hannah demanded, sorely tried.
‘Go get your bag,’ Miguel instructed. ‘We’re leaving.’
‘I’ll stay and close the boutique,’ Renee informed before her daughter had a chance to protest.
‘No.’ Hannah threw Miguel a vengeful glare. ‘And if you try any macho tactics, I’ll call the police.’
‘Call them.’ It took two seconds to sweep an arm beneath her knees and lift her against his chest.
Renee crossed quickly to the desk, opened a cupboard, retrieved Hannah’s bag, and handed it to Miguel.
‘I’ll never forgive you for this,’ Hannah vented as she closed her fingers into a fist and set a bruising punch to his shoulder.
He turned and walked out the door, traversed the pavement to where his car was parked, unlocked the door, then he thrust her into the passenger seat.
The next instant he crossed round to the driver’s side, then slid in behind the wheel.
The engine fired and settled into a soft purr as he eased the car out of its parking space and into the flow of traffic along Toorak Road.
Hannah didn’t trust herself to speak. There was too much anger to bother with meaningless words.
Instead, she looked beyond the windscreen, noting the traffic, people walking, children, mothers laughing, scolding. Movement, life. Outside, the world continued to evolve, along with people’s lives.
From inside, somehow it didn’t seem real. She might as well have been viewing the scene on television.
Familiar streets, familiar locale. She passed by here five days out of seven.
But not quite this far, she suddenly realised.
‘You’ve missed the turn.’
‘We’re not going home.’ Miguel’s voice was a faintly inflected drawl, and she looked at him carefully, seeing the strength and sense of purpose evident.
‘Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me exactly where we are going?’
He slanted her a quick glance. ‘Wait and see.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Hannah dismissed angrily, and refrained from offering so much as another word.
The flow of traffic intensified as they neared the city, and she contained her surprise as Miguel swung the car into the entrance of one of the inner city’s most exclusive hotels.
The porter opened her door, leaving her little recourse but to slip out from the passenger seat.
What on earth were they doing here? In a hotel, for God’s sake, when they had a beautiful luxurious home less than fifteen minutes distant? It was crazy. Even more puzzling was the fact Miguel had apparently checked in, for he led the way to the bank of lifts adjacent the foyer.
Hannah spared him a level glance as they rode the lift to a high floor, and within minutes Miguel ushered her into a spacious, elegantly appointed suite.
She crossed to the wide plate-glass window and parted the filmy day curtains to look at the view, then she slowly turned back to face him.
He had removed his jacket, and was in the process of loosening his tie.
‘You owe me an explanation.’
Miguel discarded the tie, undid the top few buttons of his shirt, removed cuff-links from each sleeve, then he crossed to the bar-fridge.
‘What would you like to drink?’
She was angry and on edge. ‘Stop playing the gentleman.’
He paused, and she had the impression of harnessed strength and immeasurable control. For some reason it made her feel apprehensive.
His eyes held an expression she didn’t care to define. ‘What would you have me play, amante?’
She was reminded of silk being razed by steel, and she crossed her arms, hugging them against her midriff in a unconscious protective gesture.
‘The savage?’ he posed. ‘A husband who is moved to such anger, it is all he can do not to strangle his beautiful wife’s neck?’ He extracted bottled water, unscrewed the cap, filled a glass and handed it to her, then he took out a can of cola, pulled the tab, and drained some of the contents.
‘Or perhaps I should beat you.’ He lifted the can and took a long swallow. ‘Believe I am sorely tempted to do both.’
‘Try it,’ Hannah said tightly.
He cast her a long dark look that sent shivers scudding down the length of her spine. ‘Don’t push me.’
Without thinking she threw the contents of her glass in his face, watching with a sense of mesmerised disbelief as the cold water splashed from his broad features down onto his shirt, leaving a huge wet patch that was impossible to ignore.
She didn’t move, despite a terrible sense of panic that urged her to run as far and as fast as she could.
Instead, she stood glaring at him in silent defiance.
His eyes didn’t leave hers as he set the can aside, then in seeming slow motion he pulled the shirt free from his trousers, undid the buttons, then he shrugged it off and draped it over a nearby chair before turning to face her.
With deliberate movements he reached for a neatly folded towel displayed in plain sight and removed
