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

‘No, but thanks anyway.’

A few minutes later there was a break in the music and they returned to the table.

Gabbi collected her evening bag and with a murmured excuse she moved towards the foyer with the intention of freshening her make-up in an adjacent powder room.

There was a queue, and it was some time before she was able to find free space at the mirror to effect repairs.

A number of people had escaped the ballroom to smoke in the adjoining foyer, and Gabbi exchanged a greeting with one guest, then another, before turning to re-enter the ballroom.

‘Ah, there you are, darling.’ Annaliese projected a high-voltage smile. ‘I was sent on a rescue mission.’

‘By whom?’

Annaliese’s eyes widened in artful surprise. ‘Why, Benedict. Who else?’

‘An absence of ten minutes hardly constitutes theneed for a search party,’ Gabbi said evenly.

Annaliese examined the perfection of her manicured nails.

‘Benedict likes to guard his possessions.’

Attack was the best form of defence, yet Gabbi opted for a tactical sidestep. ‘Yes.’

‘Doesn’t it bother you?’

‘What, precisely?’

‘Being regarded as an expensive ornament in a wealthy man’s collection.’

This could get nasty without any effort at all. ‘A trophy wife?’ Gabbi arched one eyebrow and proffered a winsome smile. ‘Did it ever occur to you to examine the reverse situation? In Benedict I have an attentive husband who indulges my slightest whim.’ She ticked off the advantages one by one. ‘He’s attractive, socially eminent and he’s good in bed.’ She allowed the smile to widen. ‘I consider I made the perfect choice.’

A flash of fury was clearly evident before Annaliese managed to conquer it. ‘You seem a little peaky, darling. Pre-menstrual tension?’

‘Sibling aggravation,’ Gabbi corrected her, resisting the temptation to add more fuel to her stepsister’s fire. ‘Shall we return to the ballroom?’

‘I intend to use the powder room.’

‘In that case...’ She paused, and effected a faint lift of her shoulder. ‘See you back at the table.’

The minor victory was sweet, but she entertained no doubt that the war was far from over. However, a weekend away would provide a welcome break from the battlefield. The thought was enough to lighten her expression and bring a smile to her lips.

Benedict was deep in conversation with Dominic, Aaron and Monique were conducting animated small talk and James seemed content being an observer. Gabbi took the vacant seat beside her father.

‘Would you like some more coffee?’

She shook her head. ‘You could ask me to dance.’

A smile slanted his mouth. ‘Dear, sweet Gabbi. I’m honoured.’ He rose to his feet and held out his hand. ‘Shall we?’

‘Enjoying yourself?’

Gabbi considered his question as they circled the dance floor, and opted to counter it. ‘Are you?’

‘Monique assures me such occasions are a social advantage.’

‘I suspect she considers you need a welcome break from wheeling and dealing,’ she teased lightly, and incurred his soft laughter.

‘More likely a woman’s ploy to justify spending a small fortune on a new gown and half the day being pampered by a beautician and hairdresser.’

‘Which men are content to allow, in the knowledge that said social occasions provide equal opportunity for proposing or cementing a business deal.’

He spared her a thoughtful glance. ‘Do I detect a note of cynicism?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Benedict adores you.’

She could accept respect and affection, but wasn’t adore a little over the top? Fortunately with James there was no need to perpetuate the myth. ‘He’s very good to me.’

‘I would never have sanctioned the marriage if I hadn’t been convinced that he would take care of you.’

The music wound down for a break between numbers, and Gabbi preceded her father to their table.

Annaliese had taken an empty seat next to Benedict, Monique was conversing with Dominic and Aaron was nowhere in sight. Musical chairs, Gabbi decided with a touch of black humour as she slid into a vacant one.

Guests were slowly beginning to dissipate. In half an hour the bar would close and the DJ would shut down for the night Any time soon they could begin drifting towards the foyer, take the lift to the main entrance and have the doorman summon their car.

Benedict lifted his head at that moment and cast her a searching glance, raised one eyebrow a fraction, then smoothly extricated himself from Annaliese’s clutches. Literally, as the scarlet-tipped fingers of one hand trailed a persuasive path down the fabric sheathing his forearm, followed by a coy smile and an upward sweep of mascaraed eyelashes in a deliberate attempt at flirtation.

Gabbi tried to assure herself that it didn’t matter. But it did.

She smiled graciously all the way to the main entrance, completed the air-kiss routine with Monique and Annaliese, brushed lips over her father’s cheek, bade Dominic and Aaron goodnight, then slipped into the passenger seat of the Bentley.

Benedict eased the car towards the busy main street, paused until he gained clear passage into the flow of traffic then quickly increased speed.

Gabbi leaned her head back and focused her attention on the view of the city. Bright flashing neon signs and illuminated shop windows soon gave way to inner-city suburban streets and shuttered windows, some dark, others showing a glimmer of muted electricity. And, as they began to ascend the New South Head road, they gained a view of the harbour, its waters darkened by night and tipped with ribbons of reflected light.

‘You’re very quiet.’

She turned her head and examined Benedict’s shadowed profile. ‘I was enjoying the peaceful silence after several hours of music and noisy chatter.’ It was true, but she doubted he was fooled by her explanation. ‘If there’s something you want to discuss...’ She trailed off, and gave a slight shrug.

‘Annaliese.’

No doubt about it, he aimed straight for the main target. But two could play at that game.

The Bentley turned into their street, slowed as they reached the electronically controlled gates guarding their property, swept along the curved driveway and came to a halt inside the garage.

Gabbi released the seat belt, unfastened the door-clasp and slid out of the car, aware that Benedict was mirroring her actions. He attended to the house alarm and followed her indoors, keyed in the re-set code then drew her into the lounge.

‘Would you like a drink?’

She looked at him carefully, and chose a light-hearted response. ‘Champagne.’

He crossed to the bar, removed a bottle from the fridge, opened it, filled two flutes then retraced his steps.

Gabbi took one flute and raised it in a silent salute, then sipped the contents. ‘What particular aspect of my stepsister’s character do you want to discuss?’

She could read nothing in his expression, and she had no idea whether he intended to damn her with faint praise or offer a compliment on her remarkable restraint.

‘Annaliese’s determination to cause trouble.’

Gabbi allowed her eyes to widen measurably, and she placed a hand over her heart. ‘Oh, my goodness. I hadn’t noticed.’

‘Don’t be facetious.’

‘It’s obvious?’

‘Stop it, Gabbi,’ Benedict warned.

‘Why? I’m on a roll.’

‘Quit while you’re ahead.’

‘OK. Pick a scenario. Annaliese wants you, you want her. Annaliese wants you, you don’t want her.’

‘The latter.’

She hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath, and she released it slowly. ‘Well, now, that’s a relief. I can kiss goodbye visions of throwing out monogrammed towels, ruining your hand-stitched shoes and cutting up every one of your suits.’ She gave him a hard smile that didn’t quite match the vulnerability apparent in her eyes. ‘I had intentions of being quite vicious if you decided on divorce.’

Humour gleamed in those dark eyes, and a deep chuckle emerged from his throat.

‘It’s not funny.’

‘No.’

‘Then don’t laugh. I was serious.’

Benedict took a long swallow of champagne and placed his flute down on a nearby pedestal. ‘Why in hell would I consider divorcing a sassy young woman who delights in challenging me on every level in favour of someone like Annaliese?’ He removed her champagne flute and lowered it to join his own. Then he pulled her into his arms.

Gabbi didn’t have a chance to answer before his mouth closed over hers, and she drank in the taste of him mingled with the sweet tang of vintage French champagne, generously giving everything he asked, more than he demanded, until mutual need spiralled to the edge of their control.

‘I could take you here, now,’ Benedict groaned huskily as his lips grazed a path down her throat, and she arched her head to allow him easy access to the sensitive hollow at its base, the swell of her breasts as he trailed lower.

A soft laugh choked in her throat as he freed one tender globe and took a liberty with its peak. Then she cried out as he lifted her over one shoulder and began striding from the room.

‘Caveman tactics,’ she accused as he ascended the stairs.

He gained the upper floor, then headed for the main suite. When he reached it, he released her to stand within the circle of his arms.

‘Want to undress me?’

Her eyes sparkled with wicked humour. ‘Might be quicker if you did it yourself.’

‘That bad, huh?’

‘Yes,’ she said with honest simplicity, her own fingers as busy as his as clothes layered the carpet.

Their loving was all heat and hunger the first time round, followed by a long, sweet after-play that led to the slow slaking of mutual need.

Afterwards she lay with her head pillowed against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.

‘I don’t think I could bear to lose you,’ Gabbi said, on the edge of sleep, and wasn’t sure whether she heard or dreamed his response.

‘What makes you think you will?’

CHAPTER SEVEN

QUEENSLAND’S Gold Coast lay little more than an hour’s flight north of Sydney, and the Stanton-Nicols’ Lear jet ensured private airport access, luxurious cabin space and personalised service.

Cleared for take-off, the streamlined jet cruised the runway and achieved a rapid ascent before levelling out.

‘No laptop?’ Gabbi quizzed as she loosened her seat belt. ‘No papers in your briefcase?’

Benedict sank back in his chair and regarded her with indolent amusement. ‘Each within easy access.’

‘Are you going to work during the flight?’

‘Would you prefer me to?’

‘No.’ Her eyes assumed a mischievous gleam. ‘It’s not often I get one hour of your undivided attention.’ She saw one eyebrow slant, and quickly qualified this. ‘Alone. Out of the bedroom,’ she added, then spread her hands in helpless acceptance at having stepped into a verbal quagmire. ‘I’ll give up while I’m ahead.’

‘Wise.’

‘Coffee, Mr Nicols? Juice, Mrs Nicols?’

‘Thanks, Melanie.’

The cabin stewardess’s intrusion was timely. Her smile was professional as she unloaded the tray, then poured coffee and juice. ‘I’ll be in the cockpit. Buzz me if you need anything.’

Gabbi leaned forward, picked up the glass of fresh orange juice and took an appreciative sip. ‘Tell me about the deal you and James are involved in with Gibson Electronics.’

He proceeded to do so, answering her queries as she debated various points.

‘It’s tight, but fair,’ she conceded after a lengthy discussion. ‘Think we’ll pull it off?’

‘Gibson needs Stanton-Nicols’ proven reputation with the Asian market.’

‘And in return we gain a slice of Gibson Electronics.’

Business. The common factor that forged the link between them. Without it, she doubted she’d be Benedict Nicols’ wife. A chilling thought, and one she chose not to dwell on.

The ‘fasten seat belt’ sign flashed on as the jet began its descent towards Coolangatta airport.

A car was waiting for them, and it took only a few minutes to transfer the minimal luggage into the boot. Benedict signalled to the pilot and had a brief word with the driver while Gabbi took the passenger seat, then he strode round and slid in behind the wheel.

The Gold Coast was Australia’s major tourist mecca. Long, sweeping beaches, surf, golden sands, towering high-rise buildings, modem shopping complexes and a subtropical climate all combined to make it a highly sought-after holiday destination. Theme parks, a casino, hotels, cruise boats, canal developments and luxurious prestige housing estates promoted a lifestyle that belonged in part to the rich and famous.

Gabbi loved the casual atmosphere, the spacious residential sprawl. A city with few disadvantages, she mused as Benedict joined the north-bound traffic.

High-rise apartment buildings lined the foreshore, their names varying from the prosaic to the exotic. Warm temperatures, sunshine, azure-blue sky, palm fronds swaying beneath a gentle breeze.

A smile curved her generous mouth, and her eyes filled with latent laughter. Paradise. And Benedict. They were hers for two days.

Conrad and Diandra Nicols had purchased a beach-front block of land and built a three-level vacation home in the days before prestigious real estate lining Mermaid Beach’s Hedges Avenue had gained multi-million-dollar price-tags.

Benedict had chosen to retain it as an investment, persuaded from time to time to lease it short-term to visiting dignitaries who desired the privacy of a personal residence instead of a hotel suite or apartment block. Gabbi loved its location, its direct access onto the beach and the open-plan design.

A sigh of pure pleasure left her lips as Benedict drew the car to a halt before the electronically controlled gates, depressed the modem that released them and keyed in a code to operate the garage doors.

The three-car garage was backed by a games-room that led out to a terraced swimming pool. The first level comprised an office, lounge, kitchen and dining-room, with a master suite, three guest bedrooms and two bathrooms on the upper floor.

Each level was connected by a wide curved staircase leading onto a semi-circular, balustraded landing, providing a circular central space highlighted by a magnificent chandelier suspended from the top-level ceiling and reaching down to almost touching distance from the ground-level entertainment room. Lit up at night, it was a spectacular sight.

‘You sound like a student let out of school,’ Benedict commented as they ascended the stairs to the uppermost floor.

‘I love it here,’ she said simply as she swung round to face him.

‘What do you suggest we do with the day?’

‘Oh, my, what a responsibility.’ Her eyes danced with impish humour, and she pretended to deliberate. ‘I could drag you off to visit a theme park. We could hire a boat and cruise the broadwater. Do a bit of sunworshipping by the pool. Or take in a movie at the cinema.’ Her mouth curved into a winsome smile. ‘On the other hand, I could be an understanding wife and tell you to go set up a game of golf... something you’d enjoy.’

Benedict reached out a hand and brushed light fingers across her cheek. ‘And in return?’

‘I get to choose where we have dinner.’

‘Done.’ He bent down and gave her a brief, hard kiss. ‘We’ll go on to a show or the movies.’

‘You ring the golf course while I unpack.’ She had a plan, and she put it into action. ‘Do you want to take the four-wheel drive or the sedan?’

‘The four-wheel drive.’

Half an hour later she backed the sedan out of the garage and headed for the nearest major shopping complex. It was fun to browse the boutiques, sip a cappuccino, before getting down to the serious business of shopping.

She had a list, and she entered the food hall, selected a trolley and began.

It was almost midday when she re-entered the house with no less than five carrier bags, the contents of which were systematically stored in the refrigerator and pantry.

The menu was basic. The accompanying sauces would be anything but. Wine, French breadsticks. A delicious tiramisu for dessert. Liqueur coffee. And she had hired a video.

At five she set the table with fine linen and lace, silver cutlery and china. Then she checked the kitchen and went upstairs to shower. After selecting fresh underwear, she donned elegant blue silk evening trousers and a matching top, then groomed her hair into a smooth knot on top of her head. She then tended to her make-up, which was understated, with just a hint of blusher, soft eyeshadow and a touch of clear rose-pink lip-gloss.

It was after six when the security system beeped, alerting her to the fact that the gates were being released, followed by the garage doors. She heard a refined clunk as the vehicle door closed, then Benedict came into view.

Gabbi stilled the nervous fluttering inside her stomach as she moved out onto the landing to greet him.

He looked magnificent. Dark hair teased by a faint breeze. Broad shoulders and superb musculature emphasised by a navy open-necked polo shirt. Strong facial features, tanned a deeper shade by several hours spent in the sun.

‘Hi. How was the game?’

He looked intensely male, emanating a slight air of aggressive goodwill that spoke of achievement and satisfaction at having pitted his skill against a rival and won.

He reached the landing and moved towards her, pausing to bestow a brief, evocative kiss. ‘I’ll hit the shower.’

‘Don’t bother dressing.’

One eyebrow lifted and his lips twisted to form a humorous smile. ‘My dear Gabbi. You want me to be arrested?’

‘We’re eating in.’ Now that she’d taken the decision upon herself, she was unsure of his reaction. ‘I’ve made dinner.’

He looked at her carefully, noting the slight uncertainty, the faint nervousness apparent, and her effort to camouflage it. ‘Give me ten minutes.’

He rejoined her in nine. Freshly shaven, showered, and dressed in casual trousers and a short-sleeved shirt.

‘Would you like a drink?’

Gabbi shook her head. ‘You have one. I’ll wait until we eat.’

He followed her into the kitchen, caught sight of numerous saucepans washed and stacked to drain. ‘Looks professional. Smells delicious. Hidden talents, Gabbi?’

She wrinkled her nose at him, then swatted his hand as he reached forward to sample the sauce. ‘No advance tasting, no peeking. Open the wine. It needs to breathe.’

She served the starter. Delicate stuffed mushrooms that melted in the mouth. French bread heated to crunchy perfection.

The main course was an exquisite filet mignon so tender that the flesh parted at the slightest pressure of the knife. With it they had asparagus with hollandaise sauce, baby potatoes in their jackets split and anointed with garlic butter and glazed baby carrots.

When they’d finished, Benedict touched his glass to hers in a silent salute. ‘I haven’t tasted better in any restaurant.’

‘To the French, food is a passion. The meals I shared with Jacques’s family were gastronomical feasts, visual works of art.’ Her eyes sparkled with remembered pleasure. ‘I made a deal with his mother,’ she said solemnly.

‘You kept your hands off her son, and she taught you to cook?’

Gabbi began to laugh. ‘Close.’

‘One look at you and any mother would fear for her son’s emotional sanity,’ Benedict drawled.

She met his gaze and held it. What about his emotional sanity? Was it so controlled that no woman could disturb it?

‘I’ll get dessert.’ She rose to her feet and stacked his plate and cutlery with her own, then took them through to the kitchen.

Two wide individual crystal bowls held the creamy ambrosia of liqueur-soaked sponge, cream and shaved chocolate that was tiramisu.

It was good; she’d even have said delicious.

Benedict sat back in his chair and discarded his napkin. ‘Superb, Gabbi.’

She lifted one shoulder in a negligible shrug. ‘We dine out so often, I thought it would make a change to stay home.’

‘I’ll help with the dishes.’

‘All done,’ she assured lightly. ‘I’ll make coffee. There’s a video in the VCR.’

When the coffee had filtered, she poured it, added liqueur and topped it with cream, then took both stemmed glasses through to the lounge.

Benedict had chosen one of three double-seater leather settees, and he indicated the empty space beside him.

The movie was a comedy, loosely adapted from the original La cage aux folies. It was amusing, well acted and entertaining.

Gabbi sipped her coffee slowly, then, when she had finished, Benedict took the glass and placed it together with his on a side table.

She relaxed and leaned her head back against the cushioned rest. Being here like this was magical. No guests, no intrusions.

An arm curved round her shoulders and drew her close. She felt his breath stir her hair. And she made no protest as he used a modem to switch off the lights.

The only illumination came from the television screen, and the electric candles reflected from the chandelier. Which he dimmed.

Awareness flared as his fingers brushed against her breast and stayed. His lips lingered at her temple.

She let her hand rest on his thigh, and didn’t explore.

Occasionally his fingers would move in an absent pattern that quickened her pulse and triggered the heat deep inside her.

It was a delightful, leisurely prelude to a rhapsody that would gather momentum and crest in a passionate climax.

Gabbi wasn’t disappointed. Just when she thought there were no more paths she could travel, Benedict took her along another, gently coaxing, pacing his pleasure to match her own before tipping her over the edge.

Close to sleep, she whispered, Je t‘aime, mon amour, to the measured heartbeat beneath her lips. And wondered if he heard, if he knew.

They rose early and took a leisurely walk along the beach, then stripped down to swimwear and ventured into the ocean.

The water was cool and calm, the waves tame, and afterwards they sprinted back to the house and rinsed the sea from their skin and hair, donned casual clothes and ate a hearty breakfast out on the terrace.

‘How do you feel about a drive to the mountains?’

Gabbi took a sip of coffee, then rested the cup between both hands. Visions of a picnic lunch and panoramic views were enticing. ‘What of the call you’re expecting?’

Benedict subjected her to a measured appraisal, then moved his shoulders in an indolent gesture. ‘Divert the house phone to my mobile, sling the briefcase and laptop onto the rear seat.’

It wasn’t often he took an entire weekend off. All too frequently his time was spent in the study in front of the computer, surfing various global financial sites on the Internet. Leisure was relegated to social occasions, and even then business was inevitably an ongoing topic of discussion.

Hesitation wasn’t an option. ‘Let’s do it.’ She replaced her cup on the table and rose to her feet. ‘I’ll make sandwiches.’

He put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘We’ll pick up something along the way.’

The phone rang, and Gabbi froze as Benedict crossed into the house to take the call. The day’s pleasure disappeared as she heard the curt tone of his voice, saw him make notes on paper then fold the sheet into his shirt pocket.

Nice plans, she thought with wistful regret as she cleared their breakfast dishes onto a tray and carried them through to the kitchen. Pity they had to be abandoned.

She was determined not to show her disappointment. ‘Shall I take more coffee through to the study?’

He shot her a sharp look. ‘I need an hour, maybe less. Then we’ll leave.’

‘Can I help?’

He gave a brief nod of assent, and she followed him to the study.

The fax machine held paper, and Benedict collected it en route to the desk. Within seconds the laptop was up and running.