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.

Her mirrored image revealed a confident young woman whose clothes and jewellery bore the exclusivity of wealth. There was a coolness to her composure, a serenity she was far from feeling.

Which proved just how deceptive one’s appearance could be, she decided wryly as she slid her feet into the elegant sandals.

‘Is the colour choice deliberate?’

‘Why do you ask?’ Gabbi countered as she met Benedict’s indolent gaze.

‘I get the impression you’re bent on making a statement,’ he drawled, and she directed a deceptively sweet smile at him.

‘How perceptive of you.’

He looked the epitome of male sophistication, the dark evening suit a stark contrast to the white cotton shirt and black bow tie.

It was almost a sin, she reflected, for any one man to exude such a degree of sexual chemistry. The strong angles and planes of his facial features bore the stamp of his character. The unwavering eyes were hard and inflexible in the boardroom, yet they filled with brooding passion in the bedroom. And the promise of his mouth was to die for, she concluded, all too aware of the havoc it could cause.

He possessed the aura of a predator, arresting and potentially dangerous. Compelling, she added silently.

A tiny thrill of excitement quivered deep inside her at the thought of the pleasure it would give her to pull his tie free and help discard his clothes. And have him remove her own.

‘Why the faint smile?’

The desire to shock deepened the smile and lent her eyes a tantalising sparkle. ‘Anticipation,’ she enlightened him wickedly.

‘Of Leon’s exhibition?’

She doubted he was fooled in the slightest, for he seemed to find her achingly transparent. ‘Naturally.’

‘We could always arrive late,’ Benedict suggested in dry, mocking tones, and the edges of her mouth formed a delicious curve.

‘Leon would be disappointed.’ Not to mention Annaliese, she added silently, mentally weighing up which might be the worst offence.

‘I could always placate him by making an exorbitant purchase.’

She gave it consideration, then shook her head with apparent reluctance.

‘Teasing incurs a penalty,’ Benedict declared with soft emphasis.

‘I am suitably chastened.’

‘That compounds with every hour,’ he completed silkily, and saw the momentary flicker of uncertainty cloud those beautiful eyes. It made him want to reach out and touch his hand to her cheek, see the uncertainty fade as he bent his head to claim her mouth. He succumbed to the first but passed on the latter.

Gabbi collected her clutch-purse and preceded him from the room, and, seated inside the Jaguar, she remained silent, aware that the latent power of the sports car equalled that of the man seated behind the wheel.

To attempt to play a game with him, even an innocuous one, was foolish, she perceived as the car purred along the suburban streets. For even when she won she really lost. It didn’t seem quite fair that he held such an enormous advantage. Yet the likelihood of tipping the scales in her favour seemed incredibly remote.

‘How did James react to your proposal?’ Business was always a safe subject.

Benedict turned his head slightly and directed a brief glance at her before focusing his attention on the road. ‘Small talk, Gabbi?’

‘I can ask James,’ she responded steadily.

‘I fly to Melbourne in a couple of weeks.’

I, not we, she thought dully. ‘How long will you be away?’

“Three, maybe four days.’

She should have been used to his frequent trips interstate and overseas. Yet she felt each absence more keenly than the last, intensely aware of her own vulnerability, and, dammit, incredibly insecure emotionally.

Gabbi wanted to say she’d miss him, but that would be tantamount to an admission she wasn’t prepared to make. Instead, she focused her attention on the scene beyond the windscreen, noting the soft haze that had settled over the city, the azure, pink-fringed sky as the sun sank beyond the horizon. Summer daylight-time delayed the onset of dusk, but soon numerous street-lamps would provide a fairy tracery of light, and the city would be lit with flashing neon.

The views were magnificent: numerous coves and inlets, the grandeur of the Opera House against the backdrop of Harbour Bridge. It was a vista she took for granted every day as she drove to work, and now she examined it carefully, aware that the plaudits acclaiming it one of the most attractive harbours in the world were well deserved.

Traffic at this hour was relatively minimal, and they reached Double Bay without delay. There was private parking adjacent to the gallery, and Benedict brought the Jaguar to a smooth halt in an empty bay.

Gabbi released the door-latch and slid out of the passenger seat, resisting the urge to smooth suddenly nervous fingers over the length of her hair. It was merely another evening in which she was required to smile and converse and pretend that everything was as it appeared to be.

She’d had a lot of practice, she assured herself silently as she walked at Benedict’s side to the entrance.

The gallery held an interesting mix of patrons, Gabbi could see as she preceded Benedict into the elegant foyer.

Their presence elicited an ebullient greeting from the gallery owner, whose flamboyant dress style and extravagant jewellery were as much an act as was his effusive manner. A decade devoted to creating an image and fostering clientele had paid off, for his ‘invitation only’ soirées were considered de rigueur by the city’s social élite.

‘Darlings, how are we, ça va?’

Gabbi accepted the salutatory kiss on each cheek and smiled at the shrewd pair of eyes regarding her with affection.

‘Leon,’ she responded quietly, aware that the Italian-born Leo had acknowledged his French roots after discovering his ancestors had fled France during the French Revolution. ‘Well, merci.’

‘That is good.’ He caught hold of Benedict’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. ‘There are some wonderful pieces. At least one I’m sure will be of immense interest. I shall show it to you personally. But first some champagne, out?’ He beckoned a hovering waiter and plucked two flutes from the tray, then commanded a uniformed waitress to bring forth a selection of hors d‘oeuvres. ‘Beluga, smoked salmon, anchovy.’

Gabbi selected a thin wafer artfully decorated with smoked salmon topped with a cream cheese and caper dressing. ‘Delicious,’ she complimented. ‘Franz has excelled himself.’

‘Thank you, darling,’ Leon said gently. ‘Now, do mingle. You already know almost everyone. I’ll be back with you later.’

She moved forward, conscious of the interest their presence aroused. It was definitely smile-time, and she greeted one fellow guest after another with innate charm, pausing to indulge in idle chatter before moving on.

How long would it be before James made an entrance with Monique on one arm and Annaliese on the other? Ten, fifteen minutes?

Twenty, Gabbi acknowledged when she caught sight of her father, caught his smile and returned it as he threaded his way through the throng of guests.

‘Hello, darling.’ He squeezed her hand, then turned to greet his son-in-law. ‘Benedict.’

‘Monique.’ Gabbi went through with the air-kiss routine. ‘Annaliese.’

Her stepsister’s perfume was subtle. Her dress, however, was not. Black, it fitted Annaliese’s slender curves like a glove, the hemline revealing an almost obscene length of long, smooth thigh and highlighting the absence of a bra.

There wasn’t a red-blooded man in the room whose eyes didn’t momentarily gleam with appreciation. Nor was there a woman in doubt of her man who didn’t fail to still the slither of alarm at the sight of this feline female on the prowl.

Gabbi could have assured each and every one of them that their fears were unfounded. Benedict was the target, she the victim.

‘Have you seen anything you like?’

To anyone overhearing the enquiry, it sounded remarkably genuine. Gabbi, infinitely more sensitive, recognised the innuendo in Annaliese’s voice and searched for it in Benedict’s reply.

‘Yes. One or two pieces have caught my interest.’

‘Are you going to buy?’ asked Monique, intrigued, yet able to portray dispassionate detachment.

Gabbi doubted if James was aware of his stepdaughter’s machinations, or her collusion with his wife.

‘Possibly,’ Benedict enlightened her smoothly.

‘You must point them out to me,’ Annaliese purred in a voice filled with seductive promise.

Gabbi wanted to hit her. For a wild second she envisaged the scene and drew satisfaction from a mental victory.

‘Numbers five and thirty-seven,’ Benedict was informing Annaliese.

‘Gabbi, why don’t you take Monique and Annaliese on a tour of the exhibits?’ James suggested. ‘I have something I’d like to discuss with Benedict.’

Oh, my. Did her father realise he’d just thrown her to the lions?

‘The girls can go,’ Monique said sweetly. ‘I’ll have a word with Bertrice Osterman.’

How opportune for one of the society doyennes to be within close proximity. Gabbi offered Annaliese a faint smile. ‘Shall we begin?’

It took two minutes and something like twenty paces to reach Benedict’s first choice. ‘It leans towards the avant garde,’ Gabbi declared. ‘But it will brighten up one of the office walls.’

‘Cut the spiel, Gabbi,’ Annaliese said in bored tones. ‘These art exhibitions are the pits.’

‘But socially stimulating, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Monique came along to be seen, and—’

‘So did you,’ Gabbi intercede quietly.

‘By Benedict.’

She felt the breath catch in her throat, and willed her expression not to change.

‘Surely you didn’t doubt it, darling?’

‘I expected nothing less,’ she managed civilly.

‘Then we understand each other.’

Gabbi extended a hand towards a row of paintings. ‘Shall we pretend to look at the other exhibits?’ She even managed a credible smile. ‘It will provide you with a topic of conversation.’

Annaliese was, Gabbi conceded, a consummate actress. No one in the room would guess there was no love lost between the two stepsisters. And Gabbi hated participating in the facade.

For fifteen minutes they wandered, paused and examined, before rejoining James and Benedict. Monique was nowhere in sight.

‘Wonderful choice, Benedict,’ Annaliese said in a deliberately throaty tone. ‘There’s a sculpture that would look incredible in the corner of your office. You must come and see it.’ She turned towards Gabbi. ‘It is quite spectacular, isn’t it, darling?’

‘Spectacular,’ Gabbi conceded, taking a fresh flute of champagne from the tray proffered by a waiter. She lifted the glass to her lips and took a pensive sip, then dared to raise her eyes to meet those of her husband. They were dark and faintly brooding, with just a tinge of latent humour. He was amused, damn him!

‘Then I shall have to take a look.’

‘Talk to James, darling, while I drag Benedict away.’

It was a beautiful manoeuvre, Gabbi applauded silently as Annaliese drew Benedict across the room.

‘She’s grown into a very attractive girl,’ James said quietly, and Gabbi inclined her head.

‘Very attractive,’ she agreed solemnly.

‘Incredibly successful, too.’

‘Yes.’ She took a careful sip of champagne and steeled herself not to glance towards where Annaliese held Benedict’s attention.

‘I looked at those figures you submitted. They’re excellent.’

‘Thank you,’ she accepted, pleased at his praise.

‘You possess your mother’s integrity, her sense of style,’ he said gently. ‘I’m very proud of you, Gabbi. And of what you’ve achieved.’

She brushed a quick kiss over his cheek. ‘I love you too.’

‘James.’

Gabbi turned at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, smiled, and stood quietly as her father completed an introduction. A business associate who seemed intent on discussing the effects of an upcoming state election. With a murmured excuse, she left the two men to converse and began threading her way towards the opposite side of the room.

There were quite a few people present whom she knew, and she paused to exchange greetings.

A painting had caught her eye shortly after they’d arrived, and she wanted to take another look at it.

‘Gabbi.’

‘Francesca!’ Her smile was genuinely warm as she embraced the tall, svelte auburn-haired model. ‘It seems ages since I last saw you.’

‘Too long,’ Francesca agreed. ‘The catwalks were exhausting, and—’ she paused fractionally ‘—the family daunting.’

‘Do we get to talk about this over lunch?’

Francesca’s smile was infectious. ‘Tomorrow?’

‘Love to,’ Gabbi agreed, and named a fashionable restaurant a short distance from the office. ‘Twelve-thirty?’

‘Done.’ Francesca took hold of her arm. ‘Do you particularly want to watch Annaliese’s attempt to snare Benedict?’

‘No.’

‘Then let’s do the unexpected and examine the art exhibits for any hidden talent!’ An eyebrow arched in a sardonic gesture as she cast a glance at a nearby sculpture. ‘There has to be some, surely?’

‘It’s a case of beauty being in the eye of the beholder,’ Gabbi vouchsafed solemnly as they moved from one painting to another.

‘The prices are scandalous,’ Francesca opined in a quiet aside. ‘Does anyone actually make a purchase?’

‘You’d be surprised.’

‘Utterly.’

‘Some of the city’s rich and famous are known to buy on a whim, then years later make a killing when the artist becomes well-known.’

‘And if the artist doesn’t?’

Gabbi smiled. ‘They place it in the foyer of their office and pretend its obscure origin makes it a curiosity piece. The added advantage being the item then becomes a legitimate tax deduction.’

‘Oh, my,’ Francesca breathed. ‘When did you become so cynical?’

‘I grew up.’ It shouldn’t hurt so much. But it did.

‘And Benedict?’

She hesitated a moment too long. ‘We understand each other.’

‘That’s a loaded statement, darling. I rather imagined he was your knight in shining armour.’

‘That myth belongs in a story book.’

‘Not always,’ Francesca disagreed gently. ‘I experienced a brief taste of it.’

Too brief. Francesca’s marriage to a world-famous Italian racing-car driver had lasted six months. A freak accident three years ago on a tight turn had claimed his life and that of another driver, the horrific scene captured for ever on news-film.

Gabbi had flown to Monaco to attend the funeral, and hadn’t been able to express adequate words then, any more than she could now.

‘It’s OK,’ Francesca said quietly, almost as if she knew. ‘I’m learning to deal with it.’

Gabbi had witnessed the magic, seen for herself the rare depth of their shared love, and wondered if it was possible to cope with such a loss.

‘Mario was—’

‘One of a kind,’ Francesca interrupted gently. ‘For a while he was mine. At least I have that.’ She pointed out a glaring canvas whose colours shrieked with vivid, bold strokes. ‘Was that a kindergarten tot let loose with brush and palette, do you suppose? Or is there some mysterious but meaningful symmetry that momentarily escapes the scope of my imagination?’

‘It’s an abstract,’ an amused male voice revealed. ‘And you’re looking at the kindergarten tot who took an afternoon to slash the canvas with paint in the hope someone might pay for the privilege of putting bread on my table.’

‘Expensive bread,’ Francesca remarked without missing a beat. ‘The artist favours hand-stitched shoes, a Hermes tie and wears a Rolex.’

‘They could be fake,’ he declared.

‘No,’ Francesca asserted with the certainty of one who knew designer apparel.

Gabbi watched the interplay between her friend and the tall, broad-framed man whose dark eyes held a piercing brilliance.

‘Next you’ll tell me where I live and what car I drive.’

‘Not what people would expect of an artist,’ Francesca considered with scarcely a thought. ‘Northern suburbs, overlooking water, trees in the garden, a detached studio and a BMW in the garage.’

Gabbi sensed Benedict’s presence an instant before she felt the touch of firm fingers at the edge of her waist, and she summoned a dazzling smile as she turned slightly towards him.

The eyes that lanced hers were dark and impossible to fathom so she didn’t even try.

‘Benedict,’ Francesca greeted him warmly. ‘It’s been a while.’

‘Indeed,’ he agreed urbanely. ‘You’ve met Dominic?’

‘We haven’t been formally introduced.’ Francesca’s smile was deliberately warm as she turned her head towards the man at her side.

‘Dominic Andrea. Entrepreneur and part-time artist,’ Benedict informed her. ‘Francesca Angeletti.’

‘How opportune. The designer luggage won’t require a change of initials.’

Gabbi registered Dominic’s words and heard Francesca’s almost inaudible gasp one second ahead of Benedict’s husky chuckle.

‘You must come to dinner,’ Dominic insisted. ‘Bring Francesca.’

‘Gabbi?’ Benedict deferred, and she caught her breath that the decision should be hers.

‘Thank you, we’d love to.’

‘No,’ the glamorous widow declined.

‘I have yet to nominate a night,’ Dominic said in mild remonstrance. ‘And with Benedict and Gabbi present you’ll be quite safe.’ His smile was dangerously soft and filled with latent charm. ‘Aren’t you in the least curious to see if you’re right?’

Gabbi watched Francesca’s eyes narrow and heard her voice chill to ice. ‘Where you live doesn’t interest me.’

‘Tomorrow,’ he insisted gently. ‘Six-thirty.’ He turned and threaded his way to the opposite side of the gallery.

‘What a preposterous man,’ Francesca hissed disdainfully the moment he was out of earshot.

‘A very rich and successful one,’ Benedict added mildly. ‘Who dabbles in art and donates his work to worthwhile charities.’

‘He’s a friend of yours?’

‘We occasionally do business together. He spends a lot of time overseas. New York, Athens, Rome,’ Benedict enlightened her.

‘Champagne, caviare and camaraderie aren’t my style,’ Francesca dismissed.

‘You share something in common,’ Benedict informed her with a degree of cynical amusement.

‘Then why the dinner invitation?’

‘He admires your charming wit,’ Benedict responded wryly, and his mouth curved to form an amused smile.

‘An attempt to charm wasn’t my intention,’ Francesca declared with an expressive lift of one eyebrow.

‘Perhaps he is sufficiently intrigued to want to discover why not?’ Benedict ventured in a dry undertone.

‘I presume women rarely refuse him.’

A low chuckle escaped Benedict’s throat. ‘Rarely.’

Gabbi witnessed the faint sparkle evident in her friend’s eyes, and was unable to repress a winsome smile. ‘So you’ll accept?’

‘It’s a long time since I’ve been offered such an interesting evening,’ Francesca conceded. ‘I’ll let you know at lunch tomorrow.’

Benedict drew their attention to an intricate steel sculpture that was garnering a great deal of notice, and after a few minutes Francesca indicated her intention to leave.

‘Do you want to stay for Leon’s party?’ Benedict queried minutes later, and Gabbi cast him a studied glance.

‘I imagine you’ve already presented him with a sizeable cheque, sufficient to appease any regret he might express at our absence?’ The words were lightly voiced and brought a faint smile to his lips.

‘Exhibits five and thirty-seven, plus the sculpture Annaliese admired.’

A knife twisted inside her stomach.

‘A gift for James,’ he added with gentle mockery.

She held his gaze with difficulty, unsure what interpretation to place on his words, or if there was any hidden innuendo in them. ‘I’m sure he’ll be most appreciative,’ she said after a measurable silence.

‘You didn’t answer my question,’ Benedict reminded her gently.

‘James, Monique and Annaliese have yet to leave.’ It was amazing that her voice sounded so calm, equally surprising that she was able to project an outward serenity. But then she’d had plenty of practice at conveying both.

Humour tugged at the edges of his mouth. ‘I was unaware that their presence, or absence, dictated our own,’ he countered with deceptive mildness.

It didn’t, but she hadn’t quite forgiven him for being so easily led away by Annaliese or for being caught so long in conversation.

She effected a slight shrug he could interpret any way he chose. ‘If you want to leave—’

‘You’re not going?’ Monique intervened, her voice tinged with mild reproach, and Gabbi wondered if lipreading was one of her stepmother’s acquired skills. ‘Leon will be most upset if you miss his party.’

‘A headache,’ Benedict invented smoothly.

Monique spared Gabbi a penetrating look. ‘Oh darling, really?’ Her eyes sharpened suspiciously.

Annaliese’s mouth formed a pretty pout. ‘What a shame to end the evening so early.’ She turned sultry eyes towards Benedict ‘Perhaps Gabbi won’t mind if you drop her home and come back for the party?’

Benedict’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I’m the one who is suffering,’ he informed her, subjecting Gabbi to a deliberate appraisal that left no one in any doubt that his suffering was of a sexual nature.

Monique’s expression didn’t change and James’s features remained deliberately bland, although Gabbi thought she glimpsed a fleeting humorous twinkle in his eyes. Annaliese, however, shot her a brief, malevolent glare before masking it with a faint smile.

‘Have fun,’ Annaliese murmured, pressing her scarlet-tipped fingers to Benedict’s arm in a light caress.

Gabbi prayed that the soft flood of warmth to her cheeks wasn’t accompanied by a telling tide of pink as Benedict smoothly uttered the few necessary words in farewell, and her fingers clenched against his in silent retaliation as he caught hold of her hand and began threading his way across the room to where Leon was holding court with a captive audience.

‘Oh, darlings, you’re leaving?’

‘You don’t mind?’

‘I’m so pleased you were able to attend.’ Leon’s smile was beatific, courtesy of Benedict’s cheque in his wallet.

Gabbi waited until Benedict had steered the Jaguar clear of the car park before launching into a verbal attack.

‘That was unforgivable!’

‘What, precisely, did you find unforgivable?’ Benedict drawled in amusement as he joined the traffic travelling eastward along the New South Head road.

She wanted to rage at him, physically hit him. Instead she chose to remain silent for the time it took him to reach Vaucluse, garage the car and enter the house.

‘Coffee?’ Benedict enquired as he turned from resetting the alarm system.

‘No,’ she refused tightly, raising stormy eyes to meet his as he closed the distance between them.

He made no attempt to touch her, and she stood firmly resolute, hating him for a variety of reasons that were too numerous to mention.

‘So much anger,’ he observed indolently.

‘What did you expect?’

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