A Passionate Surrender. Helen Bianchin
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Angry words had led to a full-scale argument, and afterwards Ana had simply made a few phone calls, packed a bag and taken the midday flight to the Gold Coast.
Apart from the note she’d left him, her only attempt at contact was a recorded message she’d left on Luc’s answer-machine, and she doubted it would appease him for long.
‘Ana.’
The voice was all too familiar, its inflexion deep and tinged with a degree of mocking cynicism.
There had been no instinctive sixth sense that might have alerted her to his presence. Nothing to warn of the unexpected.
Ana slowly raised her head and met her husband’s steady gaze. Unwanted reaction kicked in, and she banked it down, aware on a base level of the damning effect he had on her senses.
She felt vulnerable, exposed, and way too needy. It wasn’t a feeling she coveted, at least not now, not here, when she’d vowed to think with her head, not her heart.
Fat chance. All it took was one look, a few seconds in his presence, and her emotions went every which way but loose!
How was it possible to love, yet hate someone with equal measure?
She could think of any number of reasons to justify the way she felt… Ambivalence, out-of-whack hormones. The desire to hurt, as she hurt.
Why, then, did she possess this crazy urge to feel the sanctuary of his arms and the brush of his mouth on her own? The heat of his body…
A silent screeching cry rose from somewhere deep inside. Don’t go there.
Instead, she forced herself to subject him to an analytical appraisal, deliberately noting the broad facial bone structure which lent his features a chiselled look that was enhanced by piercing dark eyes, a firm muscled jaw, and a mouth to die for.
Well-groomed hair as dark as sin grew thick on his head, and he wore it slightly longer than was currently in vogue.
Attired in a three-piece business suit, deep blue shirt and impeccably knotted silk tie, he exuded an aura of invincible power.
Tall, dark and dangerous was an apt descriptive phrase, she perceived, sensing the ruthlessness hovering just beneath the surface of his control.
‘Mind if I join you?’
‘What if I say no?’
He offered a faint smile, and wondered if she knew how well he could read her. ‘It wasn’t a rhetorical question.’
Ana held his gaze. ‘Then why ask?’
Luc took the seat opposite, ordered black coffee from a hovering waitress, then focused his attention on his wife.
She looked pale, and she’d lost a few essential kilos from her petite frame. There were faint shadows evident, as if she hadn’t been sleeping well, and her eyes were dark with fatigue. Instead of its usual attractive style, her honey-blonde hair was pulled back into a pony-tail.
His silent appraisal irked her unbearably. ‘Are you done?’ Her voice sounded tense even to her own ears.
He resembled a sleekly powerful predator deceptively at ease. Except his seemingly relaxed façade didn’t fool her in the slightest. There wasn’t any doubt he’d pounce…merely a matter of when.
‘No,’ Luc intimated as she pushed the bowl of partly eaten food to one side.
‘Eat,’ Luc bade quietly, and she threw him a baleful glare.
‘I’ve lost my appetite.’
‘Order something else.’
She barely resisted the temptation to throw something at him. ‘Should I ask how you discovered my whereabouts?’
His gaze didn’t waver, and his eyes were cool, fathomless. ‘I would have thought the answer self-explanatory.’
‘You hired a private detective.’ Her voice rose a fraction. ‘And had me followed?’
‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’
Hadn’t this scenario haunted her for the past few days? Invading her sleep, unsettling her nerves?
The waitress delivered his coffee, and he requested the bill.
‘I’ll pay for my own meal.’
He shot her a hard glance. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
She checked her watch. ‘What do you want, Luc? I suggest you cut to the chase. I’m due back at work in ten minutes.’
Luc selected a paper tube of sugar and emptied it into his cup. ‘No, you’re not,’ he declared silkily.
Her gaze locked with his. ‘What do you mean…no?’
‘You no longer have a job, and your apartment lease has been terminated.’
She felt as if all the breath had suddenly left her body. Angry consternation darkened her eyes, and faint pink coloured her cheeks. ‘You have no right—’
‘Yes.’ His voice was deadly quiet. ‘I do.’
She badly wanted to hit him, and almost did. ‘No, you don’t,’ she reiterated fiercely.
‘We can argue this back and forth, but the end result will be the same.’
‘If you think I’ll calmly go back to Sydney with you,’ she began heatedly, ‘you can think again!’
His gaze seared hers. ‘This afternoon, tonight, tomorrow. It hardly matters when.’
Ana rose to her feet, only to have his hand close over her arm, halting her intention to leave.
Without pausing for thought she picked up the sugar container and hurled it at him, watching with a sense of horrified fascination as he fielded it neatly and replaced it on the table, then calmly gathered up the scattered tubes.
‘I intend to file for divorce.’ Dear heaven, where had that come from? Until now it had been a hazy choice she’d considered and discounted a hundred times during the sleepless night hours since fleeing Sydney.
His gaze seared hers. ‘Divorce isn’t an option.’
She stood trapped as the silence stretched between them, a haunting entity that became more significant with every passing second, and there was little she could do but comply as he exerted sufficient pressure to ensure she sank down onto the chair.
‘Don’t you have something to tell me?’ Luc prompted with deceptive mildness, and glimpsed her apprehension before she successfully masked it.
‘Go away and leave me alone?’ Ana taunted in return.
‘Try