Married For Convenience: Forgotten Husband / The Marriage Arrangement / The Husband Test
These Marriages Were… Forgotten Arranged TestedThey said Alejandro Santanas was her husband… But Elise didn't feel married. Nor did she feel pregnant… An accident had destroyed all memory of the last few months for her and she couldn't remember pledging her heart and soul to this rich, gorgeous, formidably sophisticated stranger!Hannah's marriage to Miguel Santanas had given her a glamorous life. She ran her own business by day, and shared her bed with a passionate, sexy husband by night. Miguel was everything a woman could want, but love hadn’t been part of the deal!For months, Katrina has tried to forget she's still married to Nicos! She was convinced her sexy, property tycoon husband had an affair. Now Katrina can only gain control of the family business if she's reconciled with Nicos – for one, whole year!
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Married for Convenience
Forgotten Husband
The Marriage Arrangement
The Husband Test
Helen Bianchin
HELEN BIANCHIN was born in New Zealand and travelled to Australia before marrying her Italian-born husband. After three years they moved, returned to New Zealand with their daughter, had two sons and then resettled in Australia.
Encouraged by friends to recount anecdotes of her years as a tobacco sharefarmer’s wife living in an Italian community, Helen began setting words on paper and her first novel was published in 1975.
Currently Helen resides in Queensland, the three children now married with children of their own. An animal lover, Helen says her two beautiful Birman cats regard her study as much theirs as hers, choosing to leap onto her desk every afternoon to sit upright between the computer monitor and keyboard as a reminder they need to be fed … like right now!
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SHE didn’t want to open her eyes. Not yet. For when she did, he would be there.
The man they said was her husband, seated in a chair to one side of the bed where she’d been told he had maintained an almost constant vigil for days after her admission.
For the past week he had confined his visits to three each day—early morning, mid-afternoon, and evening.
The nurses had commented on it when they thought she was asleep…and relayed it in informative, faintly envious tones when she was awake. Together with the added news, her initial admission had caused a furore. It appeared that within an hour of being transported unconscious by ambulance from the accident scene to a nearby public hospital all hell had broken loose, and she had been transferred post-haste to this exclusive and very expensive private establishment with its coterie of consultant specialists.
‘Elise.’
The voice was a deep, faintly inflected drawl, and its timbre succeeded in tripping her pulse into an accelerated beat.
Damn. Now she would have no recourse but to acknowledge his presence. Her lashes trembled fractionally, then fluttered slowly upwards.
His physical impact was such that it took considerable effort not to close her eyes again in an attempt to shut out the sight of him.
A tall man, whose impressive breadth of shoulder and impressive frame, even in relaxed repose, was intimidating. Broad, sculptured facial features were harshly chiselled, all angles and planes as if etched from stone, and his eyes were so dark that they appeared black—almost as black as his wellgroomed hair.
Beneath the cool mantle of his sophisticated façade he bore the look of a hunter, as untamed as a savage jungle beast and just as dangerous.
Alejandro Santanas. Even his name was unusual, and the relayed information she had been given was merely statistical, rather than enlightening.
He was in his late thirties and he headed a financial empire whose very name was regarded with due reverence in the business sector.
A very wealthy man, one of the nurses had revealed, whose entrepreneurial skill ranked him high among the upper echelon of the country’s rich and famous.
Elise didn’t find it surprising, for there was an inherent degree of power, a ruthlessness lurking beneath the surface, which she found vaguely frightening.
The knowledge that she was his wife had initially shocked and dismayed her, for each individual nerve-end had screamed out in denial that she could be bound to him in any way.
Dammit, she didn’t feel married, she agonised silently.
Nor did she feel pregnant. Yet there was an ultrasound picture as proof that the seven-week foetus in her womb had suffered no harm.
His child.
Never in a million years could she imagine that she’d fallen in love with him…or he with her.
Yet there were wedding-photos taken six months previously to prove their legal alliance, and not once during the many times she’d examined them had she been able to detect anything other than pleasure in her captured smile.
Depicted on celluloid, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, lending her slender frame a visual fragility. Honey-blonde hair worn in a shoulder-length bob framed a finely boned face, and her eyes were wide-spaced, her mouth a generous curve.
Yet when she looked in the mirror she saw a stranger, with pale symmetrical features and topaz-flecked green eyes.
Losing one’s memory, even temporarily, was akin to standing in front of a door to which there was no key, she thought in silent anguish. The answers lay out of reach on the other side.
Amnesia after such an accident was not uncommon, and in her case the condition was temporary. With no indication of
