The Marriage Bed: An Ideal Marriage? / The Marriage Campaign / The Bridal Bed

‘Naturally you have offered them use of the private jet, which will earn you kudos with the Taiwanese associate, who in turn will recommend you to his contemporaries,’ she concluded dryly, and his lips formed a twisted smile.

‘It’s called taking care of business.’

‘And business is all-important.’

‘Is that a statement or a complaint?’

Her eyes were remarkably steady as she held his gaze. ‘It’s a well-known fact that profits have soared beyond projected estimates in the past few years. Much of Stanton-Nicols’ continuing success is directly attributed to your dedicated efforts.’

‘You didn’t answer the question.’ The words held a dangerous softness that sent a tiny shiver down her spine, and her eyes clashed with his for a few immeasurable seconds before she summoned a credible smile.

‘Why would I complain?’ she queried evenly, supremely conscious of the quickening pulse at the base of her throat.

‘Why, indeed?’ he lightly mocked. ‘You have a vested interest in the family firm.’

‘In more ways than one.’

His eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘Elaborate.’

Gabbi didn’t hedge. ‘The delay in providing James with a grandchild seems to be the subject of family conjecture.’

For a brief millisecond she caught a glimpse of something that resembled anger, then it was lost beneath an impenetrable mask. ‘A fact which Annaliese felt compelled to bring to your attention?’

One finger came to rest against the corner of her mouth, while his thumb traced the heavy, pulsing cord at the side of her throat.

‘Yes.’

His hand trailed lower to the firm swell of her breast, teased a path along the edge of her bikini top, then brushed against the aroused peak before dropping back to his side.

‘We agreed birth control should be your prerogative,’ Benedict declared with unruffled ease, and she swallowed painfully, hating the way her body reacted to his touch.

‘Your stepsister is too self-focused not to take any opportunity to initiate a verbal game of thrust and parry. Who won?’

‘We each retired with superficial wounds,’ Gabbi declared solemnly.

‘Dare I ask when the game is to continue?’

‘Who can tell?’

‘And the weapon?’

She managed a smile. ‘Why—Annaliese herself. With you as the prize. Her formal adoption by James would make her a Stanton. Our divorce is a mere formality in order to change Stanton to Nicols.’

He lifted a hand and brushed light fingers across her cheek. ‘Am I to understand you are not impressed with that scenario?’

No. For a moment she thought she’d screamed the negative out loud, and she stood in mesmerised silence for several seconds, totally unaware that her expressive features were more explicit than any words.

‘Do you believe,’ Benedict began quietly, ‘I deliberately chose you as my wife with the future of Stanton-Nicols foremost in mind?’

Straight for the jugular. Gabbi had expected no less. Her chin tilted slightly. ‘Suitable marriages are manipulated among the wealthy for numerous reasons,’ she said fearlessly. ‘Love isn’t a necessary prerequisite.’

His expression didn’t change, but she sensed a degree of anger and felt chilled by it.

‘And what we share in bed? How would you define that?’

A lump rose in her throat, and she swallowed it. ‘Skilled expertise.’

Something dark momentarily hardened the depths of his gaze, then it was gone. ‘You’d relegate me to the position of stud?’

Oh, God. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘No. No,’ she reiterated, stricken by his deliberate interpretation.

‘I should be thankful for that small mercy.’

He was angry. Icily so. And it hurt, terribly.

Yet what had she expected? A heartfelt declaration that she was too important in his life for him to consider anyone taking her place?

Gabbi felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes were trapped by his, her body transfixed as though in a state of suspended animation.

‘The coffee has finished filtering.’

His voice held that familiar cynicism, and with an effort she focused her attention on pouring coffee into both cups, then added sugar.

Benedict picked up one. ‘I’ll take this through to the study.’

Her eyes settled on his broad back as he walked from the kitchen, her expression pensive.

Damn Annaliese, Gabbi cursed silently as she discarded her coffee down the sink. With automatic movements she rinsed the cup and stacked it in the dishwasher, then she switched off the coffee-maker and doused the lights before making her way upstairs.

Reaching the bedroom, she walked through to the en suite, stripped off her bikini, turned on the water and stepped into the shower.

It didn’t take long to shampoo her hair, and fifteen minutes with the blow-drier restored it to its usual silky state.

In bed, she reached for a book and read a chapter before switching off the lamp.

She had no idea what time Benedict slid in beside her, nor did she sense him leave the bed in the early- . morning hours, for when she woke she was alone and the only signs of his occupation were a dented pillow and the imprint of his body against the sheet.

CHAPTER THREE

GABBI glanced at the bedside clock and gave an inaudible groan. Seven-thirty. Time to rise and shine, hit the shower, breakfast, and join the queue of traffic heading into the city.

Thank heavens today was Friday and the weekend lay ahead.

Benedict had accepted an invitation to attend a tennis evening which Chris Evington, head partner in the accountancy firm Stanton-Nicols employed, had arranged at his home. Tomorrow evening they had tickets to the Australian première . performance at the Sydney Entertainment Centre.

The possibility of Annaliese discovering their plans for tonight was remote, Gabbi decided as she slid in behind the wheel of her car. And it was doubtful even Monique would be able to arrange an extra seat for the première performance at such short notice.

It was a beautiful day, the sky clear of cloud, and at this early-morning hour free from pollution haze.

Gabbi was greeted by Security as she entered the car park, acknowledged at Reception en route to her office, and welcomed by her secretary who brought coffee in one hand and a notebook in the other.

As the morning progressed Gabbi fought against giving last night’s scene too much thought, and failed. During the afternoon she overlooked a miscalculation and lost valuable time in cross-checking. Consequently, it was a relief to slip behind the wheel of her car and head home.

Benedict’s vehicle was already parked in the garage when she arrived, and she felt her stomach clench with unbidden nerves as she entered the house.

Gabbi checked with Marie, then went upstairs to change.

Benedict was in the process of discarding his tie when she reached the bedroom.

‘You’re home early.’ As a greeting it lacked originality, but it was better than silence.

She met his dark gaze with equanimity, her eyes lingering on the hard planes of his face, and settling briefly on his mouth. Which was a mistake.

‘Dinner will be ready at six.’

‘So Marie informed me.’ He began unbuttoning his shirt, and her eyes trailed the movement, paused, then returned to scan his features.

Nothing there to determine his mood. Damn. She hated friction. With Monique and Annaliese it was unavoidable—but Benedict was something else.

‘I should apologise.’ There, it wasn’t hard at all. Did he know she’d summoned the courage, wrestled with the need to do so, for most of the day?

A faint smile tugged at the edges of his mouth, and the expression in his eyes was wholly cynical. ‘Good manners, Gabbi?’

He shrugged off the business shirt, reached for a dark-coloured open-necked polo shirt and tugged it over his head.

Honesty was the only way to go. ‘Genuine remorse.’

He removed his trousers and donned a casual cotton pair.

He looked up, and she caught the dark intensity of his gaze. ‘Apology accepted.’

Her nervous tension dissolved, and the breath she’d unconsciously been holding slipped silently free. ‘Thank you.’

Retreat seemed a viable option and she crossed to the capacious walk-in wardrobe, selected tennis gear, then extracted casual linen trousers and a blouse.

The buzz of the electric shaver sounded from the en suite bathroom, and he emerged as she finished changing.

Gabbi felt the familiar flood of warmth, and fought against it ‘What time do you want to leave?’ It was amazing that her voice sounded so calm.

‘Seven-fifteen.’

They descended the stairs together, and ate the delectable chicken salad Marie had prepared, washed it down with mineral water, then picked from a selection of fresh fruit. A light meal which would be supplemented by supper after the last game of tennis.

Conversation was confined to business and the proposed agenda at the next board meeting.

Chris and Leanne Evington resided at Woollahra in a large, rambling old home which had been lovingly restored. Neat lawns, beautiful gardens, precisely clipped hedges and shrubbed topiary lent an air of a past era. The immaculate grassed tennis court merely added to the impression.

A few cars lined the circular forecourt, and Gabbi slid from the Bentley as Benedict retrieved their sports bags from the boot.

Social tennis took on rules of its own, according to the host’s inclination and the number of participating guests.

The best of seven games would ensure a relatively quick turn-around on the court, Chris and Leanne determined. Partners were selected by personal choice, and it was accepted that two rounds of mixed doubles would precede two rounds of women’s doubles and conclude with two rounds of men’s doubles.

Gabbi and Benedict were nominated first on the court, opposing a couple whom Gabbi hadn’t previously met. All four were good players, although Benedict had the height, strength and skill to put the ball where he chose, and they emerged victorious at the end of the game with a five-two lead.

Chris and Leanne’s son Todd had nominated himself umpire for the evening. A prominent athlete and law student, he had any number of pretty girls beating a path to his door. That there wasn’t one in evidence this evening came as something of a surprise.

Until Annaliese arrived on the scene, looking sensational in designer tennis wear.

‘Sorry I’m late.’ Annaliese offered a winning smile.

‘Mixed has just finished,’ Leanne informed her. ‘The girls are on next.’

Annaliese turned towards Gabbi. ‘Will you be my partner? It’ll be just like the old days.’

What old days? Gabbi queried silently. Surely Annaliese wasn’t referring to an occasional mismatch during school holidays?

Leanne allocated the pair to the second round, and Gabbi accepted a cool drink from a proffered tray.

The guests reassembled as Todd directed play from the umpire’s seat. The men gravitated into two groups, and in no time at all Annaliese had managed to gain Gabbi’s attention.

‘I had a wonderful afternoon phoning friends and catching up on all their news.’

‘One of whom just happened to mention the Evington tennis party?’ Gabbi queried dryly.

‘Why, yes:

‘Who better to know the guest list than Todd?’

‘He’s a sweet boy.’

‘And easily flattered.’

Annaliese’s smile was pure feline. ‘Aren’t most men?’

‘Shall we join the others?’

It was thirty minutes before they took their position on the court, and evenly matched opponents ensured a tight score. Deuce was called three times in the final game before Annaliese took an advantage to winning point by serving an ace.

An elaborate seafood supper was provided at the close of the final game, followed by coffee and a selection of delicious petits fours.

Gabbi expected Annaliese to commandeer Benedict’s attention. What she didn’t anticipate was an elbow jolting her arm.

It happened so quickly that she was powerless to do anything but watch in dismayed silence as coffee spilled onto the tiled floor.

‘I’m fine,’ Gabbi assured Benedict as he reached her side. She bore his swift appraisal with a determined smile.

Only a splash of hot liquid was splattered on her tennis shoes, and a cloth took care of the spillage.

‘You could have been burnt,’ Annaliese declared with apparent concern.

‘Fortunately, I wasn’t.’

‘Are you sure you’re OK, Gabbi?’ Leanne queried. ‘Can I get you some more coffee?’ Her eyes took on a tinge of humour. ‘Something stronger?’

She was tempted, but not for the reason her hostess imagined. A ready smile curved her mouth and she shook her head. ‘Thanks all the same.’

It was almost midnight when she slid into the passenger seat of the Bentley. Benedict slipped in behind the wheel and activated the ignition.

‘What happened in there?’

The car wheels crunched on the pebbled driveway, and Gabbi waited until they gained the road before responding.

‘Could you be specific?’

He shot her a quick glance that lost much of its intensity in the darkness. ‘You’re not given to clumsiness.’

‘Ah, support.’

‘Annaliese?’

Tiredness settled like a mantle around her slim shoulders. Indecision forced a truthful answer. ‘I don’t know.’

‘She was standing beside you.’

‘I’d rather not discuss it.’

Gabbi was first indoors while Benedict garaged the car, and she went upstairs, stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower-stall.

A few minutes later Benedict joined her, and she spared him a brief glance before continuing her actions with the soap. They each finished at the same time, emerged together and reached for individual towels.

Ignoring Benedict, especially a naked Benedict, was impossible, and there was nothing she could do to slow the quickened beat of her heart or prevent the warmth that crept through her body as she conducted her familiar nightly ritual.

A hand closed over her arm as she turned towards the door, and she didn’t utter a word as he pulled her round to face him.

Eyes that were dark and impossibly slumberous held her own and she bore his scrutiny in silence, hating her inner fragility as she damned her inability to hide it.

More than anything she wanted the comfort of his arms, the satisfaction of his mouth on her own. Slowly she lifted a hand and traced the vertical indentation slashing his cheek,. then pressed her fingers to the edge of his lips.

Her eyes flared as he took her fingers into his mouth, and heat unfurled deep inside her as he gently bit the tip of each finger in turn.

Unbidden, she reached for him, drawing him close, exulting in the feel of his body, his warm, musky scent, and she opened her mouth in generous acceptance of his in a deep, evocative kiss that hardened in irrefutable possession, wiping out any vestige of conscious thought.

Gabbi gave a husky purr of pleasure as he drew her into the bedroom and pulled her down onto the bed, lost in the sensual magic only he could evoke.

If business commitments didn’t intrude, Benedict elected to spend Saturdays on the golf course, while Gabbi preferred to set the day aside to catch up on a variety of things a working week allowed little time for.

Occasionally she took in a matinée movie, or had lunch with friends.

Today she chose to add a few purchases to her wardrobe and keep an appointment with a beautician and her hairdresser.

Consequently it was almost six when she turned into their residential street and followed Benedict’s four-wheel drive down the driveway.

He was waiting for her as she brought the car to a halt.

‘Great day?’ Gabbi asked teasingly as she emerged from behind the wheel.

‘Indeed. And you?’

‘I flashed plastic in a few too many boutiques,’ she said ruefully, indicating several brightly assorted carrier bags on the rear seat.

He looked relaxed, his height and breadth accentuated by the casual open-necked shirt that fitted snugly over his well-honed muscles.

His potent masculinity ignited a familiar response deep within her as he reached past her and gathered the purchases together.

Maybe one day he wouldn’t have quite this heightened effect on her equilibrium, she thought wryly as she followed him indoors. Then a silent laugh rose and died in her throat. Perhaps in another lifetime!

It was after seven when they left for the Entertainment Centre to witness the New Jersey-born son of a menswear storekeeper, who was known to mesmerise an audience with any one of the two hundred and fifty magic illusions in his repertoire.

Gabbi adored the show. Pure escapism that numbed the logical mind with wizardry and chilled the spine.

The fact that Annaliese was nowhere in sight added to her pleasure—a feeling that was compounded the next day when Gabbi and Benedict joined friends on a luxury cruiser.

Monday promised to be busier than most, Gabbi realised within minutes of arriving at the office and liaising with her secretary.

The morning hours sped by swiftly as she fed data into the computer. Concentration was required in order to maintain a high level of accuracy, and she didn’t break at all when coffee was placed on her desk.

It was after midday when Gabbi sank back against the cushioned chair and flexed her shoulders as she surveyed the computer screen. The figures were keyed in, all she had to do was run a check on them after lunch.

A working lunch, she decided, fired with determination to meet a personal deadline. James had requested the information by one o’clock tomorrow. She intended that he would have it this afternoon.

Gabbi rose from her desk, extracted the chicken salad sandwich her secretary had placed in the concealed bar fridge an hour earlier, selected a bottle of apple juice and returned to her seat.

The bread was fresh, the chicken soft on a bed of crisp salad topped with a tangy mayonnaise dressing. Washed down with juice, it replenished her energy store.

The phone rang and she hurriedly plucked free a few tissues from the box on her desk, then reached for the receiver.

‘Francesca Angeletti on line one.’

Surprise was quickly followed by pleasure. ‘Put her through.’ Two seconds ticked by. ‘Francesca. Where are you?’

‘Home. I flew in from Rome yesterday morning.’

‘When are we going to get together?’ There was no question that they wouldn’t. They had shared the same boarding-school, the same classes, and each had a stepmother. It was a common bond that had drawn them together and fostered a friendship which had extended beyond school years.

Francesca’s laugh sounded faintly husky. ‘Tonight, if you and Benedict are attending Leon’s exhibition.’

‘Leon’s soirees are high on our social calendar,’ she acknowledged with an answering chuckle.

‘James will be there with Monique?’

‘And Annaliese,’ Gabbi added dryly, and one eyebrow lifted at Francesca’s forthright response. ‘Nice girls don’t swear,’ she teased in admonition.

‘This one does,’ came the swift reply. ‘How long has your dear stepsister been disturbing your home turf?’

‘A week.’

‘She is fond of playing the diva,’ Francesca commented. ‘I had the misfortune to share a few of the same catwalks with her in Italy.’

‘Fun.’

‘Not the kind that makes you laugh. Gabbi, I have to dash. We’ll catch up tonight, OK?’

‘I’ll really look forward to it,’ Gabbi assured her, and replaced the receiver.

For the space of a few minutes she allowed her mind to skim the years, highlighting the most vivid of shared memories: school holidays abroad together, guest of honour at each other’s engagement party, bridesmaid at each other’s wedding.

The automatic back-up flashed on the computer screen, and succeeded in returning her attention to the task at hand. With determination she drew her chair forward, reached for the sheaf of papers, and systematically began checking figure columns.

An hour later she printed out, collated, then had her secretary deliver copies to James and Benedict. She was well pleased with the result. The reduction of a percentage point gained by successful negotiations with the leasing firm for Stanton-Nicols’ company car fleet could be used to boost the existing employee incentive package. At no extra cost to Stanton-Nicols, and no loss of tax advantage.

It was after five when she rode the lift down to the car park and almost six when she entered the house.

‘Benedict just called,’ Marie informed Gabbi when she appeared in the kitchen. ‘He’ll be another twenty minutes.’

Time for her to shower and wash and dry her hair. ‘Smells delicious,’ she complimented as she watched Marie deftly stir the contents of one saucepan, then tend to another.

‘Asparagus in a hollandaise sauce, beef Wellington with vegetables and lemon tart for dessert.’

Gabbi grabbed a glass and crossed to the refrigerator for some iced water.

‘A few invitations arrived in the mail. They’re in the study.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, smiling.

A few minutes later she ran lightly up the stairs, and in the bedroom she quickly discarded her clothes then made for the shower.

Afterwards she donned fresh underwear, pulled on fitted jeans and a loose top, then twisted her damp hair into a knot on top of her head. A quick application of moisturiser, a light touch of colour to her lips and she was ready.

Benedict entered the bedroom as she emerged from the en suite, and she met his mocking smile with a deliberate slant of one eyebrow.

‘A delayed meeting?’

‘Two phone calls and a traffic snarl,’ he elaborated as he shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie.

She moved towards the door. ‘Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.’

The gleam in those dark eyes was wholly sensual. ‘I had hoped to share your shower.’

Something tugged at her deep inside, flared, then spread throughout her body. ‘Too late,’ she declared lightly as she drew level with him.

His smile widened, accentuating the vertical lines slashing each cheek. ‘Shame.’

Her breath rose unsteadily in her throat as she attempted to still the rapid beat of her pulse. Did he take pleasure in deliberately teasing her?

‘A cool shower might help.’

‘So might this.’ He reached for her, angling his mouth down over hers in a kiss that held the promise of passion and the control to keep it at bay.

Gabbi felt her composure waver, then splinter and fragment as he drew deeply, taking yet giving, until she surrendered herself to the evocative pleasure only he could provide.

A tiny moan sounded low in her throat as he slowly raised his head, and she swayed slightly, her eyes wide, luminous pools as she surveyed his features. Her breathing was rapid, her skin warm, and her mouth trembled as she drew back from his grasp.

‘You don’t play fair,’ she accused him shakily, and stood still as he brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek.

His lips curved, the corners lifting in a semblance of lazy humour. ‘Go check with Marie,’ he bade her gently. ‘I’ll be down soon.’

Dinner was superb, the asparagus tender, the beef succulent and the lemon tart an excellent finale.

‘Coffee?’ Marie asked as she packed dishes onto a trolley.

Gabbi spared her watch a quick glance. It would take thirty minutes to dress, apply make-up and style her hair. ‘Not for me.’

‘Thanks, Marie. Black,’ Benedict requested as Gabbi rose from the table.

CHAPTER FOUR

GABBI chose red silk evening trousers, matching camisole and beaded jacket. It was a striking outfit, complete with matching evening sandals and clutch-purse. The colour enhanced her delicate honey-coloured skin, and provided an attractive contrast for her blonde hair.

With extreme care she put the finishing touches to her make-up, donned the trousers and camisole, then brushed her hair. Loose, she decided, after sweeping it high and discarding the customary French pleat.