‘You know that isn’t true.’
‘Only by reputation. Not by personal experience.’
His voice was silk-encased steel, tempered to a dangerous edge. Only a fool would fail to recognise the folly of besting him.
‘Darling, really. Your memory is so short?’
‘We’ve frequented the same functions, sat at the same table. That’s all.’
Nina spared Aysha a cursory glance. ‘If you say so.’ She gave a soft laugh and shook her head in telltale disbelief. ‘The question is... will Aysha believe you?’
Aysha glimpsed the vindictive smile, registered the malevolence apparent in Nina’s sweeping glance, before she turned back towards Carlo.
‘Ciao, darlings. Have a happy life.’
Aysha watched Nina’s sylph-like frame execute a deliberately evocative sway as she walked across the terrace.
‘I think I need some fresh air.’ And another glass of champagne. It might help dull the edges, and diminish the ugliness she’d just been witness to.
Strong fingers closed over her wrist. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘I’d rather go alone.’
‘And add to Nina’s satisfaction?’
Bright lights lit the garden paths, and there were guests mingling around the pool area. Music filtered through a speaker system, and there was the sound of muted laughter.
‘Believe me, Nina’s satisfaction is the last thing I want to think about.’
His grip on her hand tightened fractionally. ‘I’ve never had occasion to lie to you, cara.’ His eyes speared hers, fixing them mercilessly.
‘There’s always a first time for everything.’
Carlo was silent for several long seconds. ‘I refuse to allow Nina’s malicious machinations to destroy our relationship.’
The deadly softness of his voice should have warned her, but she was beyond analysing any nuances.
‘Relationship?’ Aysha challenged. ‘Let’s not delude ourselves our proposed union is anything other than a mutually beneficial business partnership.’ She was on a roll, the words tripping easily, fatalistically, from her tongue. ‘Cemented by holy matrimony in a bid to preserve a highly successful business empire for the next generation.’ Her smile was far too bright, her voice so brittle she scarcely recognised it as her own.
Carlo’s appraisal was swift, and she was totally unprepared as he lifted her slender frame over one shoulder.
An outraged gasp left her throat. ‘What in hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘Taking you home.’
‘Put me down.’
His silence was uncompromising, and she beat a fist against his ribcage in sheer frustration. With little effect, for he didn’t release her until they reached the car.
‘You fiend!’ Aysha vented, uncaring of his ruthless expression as he unlocked the passenger door.
‘Get in the car,’ Carlo said hardily.
Her eyes sparked furiously alive. ‘Don’t you dare give me orders.’
He bit off a husky oath and pulled her in against him, then his head lowered and his mouth took punishing possession of her own.
Aysha struggled fruitlessly for several seconds, then whimpered as he held fast her head. His tongue was an invasive force, and she hated her traitorous body for the way it began to respond.
The hands which beat against each shoulder stilled and crept to link together at his nape. Her mouth softened, and she leaned in to him, uncaring that only seconds before anger had been her sole emotion.
She sensed the slight shudder that ran through his large body, felt the hardening of his desire, and experienced the magnetising pulse of hunger in response.
Aysha felt as if she was drowning, and she temporarily lost any sense of time or where they were until Carlo gradually loosened his hold.
His lips trailed to the sensitive hollow at the edge of her neck and caressed it gently, then he lifted his head and bestowed a light, lingering kiss to her softly swollen mouth.
Sensation spiralled through her body, aching, poignant, making her aware of every nerve-centre, each pleasure spot.
Aysha didn’t feel capable of doing anything but subsiding into the car, and she stared sightlessly out of the window as Carlo crossed to the driver’s side and slid in behind the wheel.
She didn’t offer a word for much of the time it took to reach Clontarf, for what could she say that wouldn’t seem superfluous? The few occasions Carlo broached a query, her answer was monosyllabic.
Nina’s image rose like a spectre in her mind, just as her voice echoed as the words replayed again and again.
CHAPTER NINE
THE Mercedes pulled off the main street and eased into a parking space. Carlo switched off the engine and undid his seatbelt.
Aysha looked at him askance. ‘Why have you stopped?’
He reached sideways and unclasped her seatbelt. ‘You didn’t eat dinner, remember?’
The thought of food made her feel ill. ‘I don’t feel hungry.’
‘Then we’ll just have coffee.’
She looked at him in exasperation, and met the firm resolve apparent in his stance, the angle of his jaw.
‘Do I get to have any say in this? Or will you employ strong-arm tactics?’
‘You’ve dropped an essential kilo or two, you’re pale, and you have dark circles beneath your eyes.’
‘And I thought I was doing just fine,’ Aysha declared silkily.
‘It’s here, or we raid the kitchen fridge at home.’
That meant him entering the house, making himself at home in the kitchen, and afterwards... She didn’t want to contemplate afterwards. Having him stay was akin to condoning...
Oh, damn, she cursed wretchedly, and reached for the door-clasp.
The restaurant was well-patronised, and they were led to a centre table at the back of the room. Aysha heard the music, muted Mediterranean melancholy plucked from a boujouki, and the sound tugged something deep inside.
Carlo ordered coffee, and she declined. Greek coffee was ruinously strong.
‘Tea. Very weak,’ she added, and rolled her eyes when Carlo ordered moussaka from the menu. ‘I don’t want anything to eat.’
Moussaka was one of her favoured dishes, and when it arrived she spared it a lingering glance, let the aroma tease her nostrils. And she didn’t argue when Carlo forked a portion and proffered a tempting sample.
It was delicious, and she picked up a spare fork and helped herself. Precisely as he’d anticipated she would do, she conceded wryly.
There was hot crusty bread, and she accepted a small glass of light red wine which she sipped throughout the meal.
‘Better?’
It wasn’t difficult to smile, and she could almost feel the relaxing effect of the wine releasing the knots of tension that curled tightly around her nerve-ends. ‘Yes.’
‘More tea?’
Aysha shook her head.
‘Do you want to stay for a while, or shall we leave?’
She looked at him carefully, and was unable to define anything from his expression. There was a waiting, watchful quality apparent, a depth to his eyes that was impossible to interpret.
She spared a glance to the dance floor, and the few couples sharing it. Part of her wanted the contact, the closeness of his embrace. Yet there was another part that was truly torn.
Nina’s accusations were too fresh in her mind, the image too vivid for it not to cloud her perspective.
Everything was wedding-related. And right now, the last thing she wanted to think about, let alone discuss, was the wedding.
‘I adore the music. It’s so poignant.’
Was she aware just how wistful she sounded? Or the degree of fragility she projected? Carlo wanted to smite a fist onto the table, or preferably close his hands around Nina’s neck.
More than anything, he wanted to take Aysha to bed and make love with her until every last shred of doubt was removed. Yet he doubted she’d give him the opportunity. At l
east, not tonight.
Now, he had to be content to play the waiting game. Tomorrow, he assured himself grimly, he’d have everything he needed. And damned if he was going to wait another day.
He leaned across the table and caught hold of her hand, then lifted it to his lips.
It was an evocative gesture, and sent spirals of sensation radiating through her body. Her eyes dilated, and her lips shook slightly as he kissed each finger in turn.
‘Dance with me.’
The shaking seemed to intensify, and she couldn’t believe it was evident. Dear God, dared she walk willingly into his arms?
And afterwards? What then? Let him lead her into the house, and into bed? That wouldn’t resolve anything. Worse, the lack of a resolution would only condone her acquiescence to the status quo.
‘Is dancing with me such a problem?’ Carlo queried gently, and watched her eyes dilate to their fullest extent.
‘It’s what happens when I do.’
His eyes acquired a faint gleam, and the edges of his mouth tilted. ‘Believe it’s mutual.’
Aysha held his gaze without any difficulty at all. An hour ago she’d been furious with him. And Nina. Especially Nina.
‘Pheromones,’ she accorded sagely, and he uttered a soft laugh as he stood and drew her gently to her feet.
‘The recognition by one animal of a chemical substance secreted by another,’ Aysha informed him.
‘You think so?’
She could feel her whole body begin to soften, from the inside out. A melting sensation that intensified as he brushed his lips against her temple.
‘Yes.’
Would it always be like this? A smile, the touch of his mouth soothing the surface of her skin? Is it enough? a tiny voice taunted. Affection and sexual satisfaction, without love.
Many women settled for less. Much less.
He led her onto the dance floor and into his arms, and she didn’t think about anything except the moment and the haunting, witching quality of the music as it stirred her senses and quickened the pace of her pulse.
Aysha wanted to close her eyes and think of nothing but the man and the moment.
For the space of a few minutes it was almost magic, then the music ceased as the band took a break, and she preceded Carlo back to the table.
‘Another drink?’
‘No, thanks,’ she refused.
He picked up the account slip, summoned the waitress, paid, then led the way out to the car.
It didn’t take long to reach Clontarf, and within minutes Carlo activated the gates, then drew the Mercedes to a halt outside the main entrance.
Aysha reached for the door-clasp as he released his seatbelt and opened the car door.
‘There’s no need—’
He shot her a glance that lost much of its intensity under cover of night. ‘Don’t argue,’ he directed, and slid out from the car.
Indoors she turned to face him, and felt the sexual tension apparent. There was a slumberous quality in the depths of his eyes that curled all her nerve-ends, and she looked at him, assessing the leashed sensuality and matching it with her own,
‘All you have to do is ask me to stay,’ Carlo said quietly, and she looked at him with incredibly sad eyes.
It would be so easy. Just hold out her hand and follow wherever he chose to lead.
For a moment she almost wavered. To deny him was to deny herself. Yet there were words she needed to say, and she wasn’t sure she could make them sound right.
‘I know.’
He lifted a hand and brushed his knuckles gently across her cheekbone. ‘Go to bed, cara. Tomorrow is another day.’
Then he released her hand and turned towards the door.
Seconds later she heard the refined purr of the engine, and saw the bright red tail-lights disappear into the night.
He’d gone, when she’d expected him to employ unfair persuasion to share her bed. There was an ache deep inside she refused to acknowledge as disappointment.
If he’d pressed to stay, she’d have told him to leave. So why did she feel cheated?
Oh, for heaven’s sake, this was ridiculous!
With a mental shake she locked the door and activated security, then she set the alarm and climbed the stairs to her room. ‘Mamma,’ Aysha protested. ‘I don’t need any more lingerie.’
‘Nonsense, darling,’ Teresa declared firmly. ‘Nonna Benini sent money with specific instructions for you to buy lingerie.’
Aysha spared a glance at the exquisite bras, briefs and slips displayed in the exclusive lingerie boutique. Pure silk, French lace, and each costing enough money to feed an average family for a week.
After a sleepless night spent tossing and turning in her lonely bed, which had seen her wake with a headache, the last thing she needed was a confrontational argument with her mother.
‘Then I guess we shouldn’t disappoint her.’
Each garment had to be tried on for fit and size, and it was an hour before Aysha walked out of the boutique with bras and briefs in ivory, peach and black. Ditto slips, cobweb-fine pantyhose, and, the pièce de resistance, a matching nightgown and negligee.
‘Superfluous,’ she’d assured her mother when Teresa had insisted on the nightgown, and had stifled a sigh at her insistent glance.
Now, she tucked a hand beneath Teresa’s arm and led her in the direction of the nearest café. ‘Let’s take five, Mamma, and share a cappuccino.’
‘And we’ll revise our list.’
Aysha thought if she heard the word list again, she’d scream. ‘I can’t think of a single thing.’
‘Perfume. Something really special,’ Teresa enthused. ‘To wear on the day.’
‘I already have—’
‘I know. And it suits you so well.’
They entered the café, ordered, then chose a table near the window.
‘But you should wear something subtly different, that you’ll always associate with the most wonderful day of your life.’
‘Mamma,’ she protested, and was stalled in any further attempt as Teresa caught hold of her hands.
‘A mother dreams of her child’s wedding day from the moment she gives birth. Especially a daughter. I want yours to be perfect, as perfect as it can be in every way.’ Her eyes shimmered, and Aysha witnessed her conscious effort to control her emotions. ‘With Carlo you’ll have a wonderful life, enjoying the love you share together.’
A one-sided love, Aysha corrected silently. Many a successful marriage had been built on less. Was she foolish to wish for more? To want to be secure in the knowledge that Carlo had eyes only for her? That she was the only one he wanted, and no one else would do?
Chasing rainbows could be dangerous. If you did catch hold of one, there was no guarantee of finding the elusive pot of gold.
‘Your father and I had a small wedding by choice,’ Teresa continued. ‘Our parents offered us money to use however we chose, and it was more important to use it towards the business.’
Aysha squeezed her mother’s hand. ‘I know, Mamma. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.’ Their love for each other wasn’t in question, although she’d give almost anything to be able to break through the parent-child barrier and have Teresa be her friend, her equal.
However, Teresa was steeped in a different tradition, and the best she could hope for was that one day the balance of scales would become more even.
It was after eleven when they emerged into the arcade. Inevitably, Teresa’s list had been updated to include perfume and a complete range of cosmetics and toiletries.
Aysha simply went with the flow, picked at a chicken salad when they paused for lunch, took two painkillers for her headache, and tried to evince interest in Teresa’s summary of the wedding gifts which were beginning to arrive at her parents’ home.
At three her mobile phone rang, and when she answered she heard Carlo’s deep drawl at the other end of the line.
‘Good day?’
Her heart m
oved up a beat. ‘We’re just about done.’
‘I’ll be at the house around seven.’
She was conscious of Teresa’s interest, and she contrived to inject her tone with necessary warmth. ‘Shall I cook something?’
‘No, we’ll eat out.’
‘OK. Ciao.’ She cut the connection and replaced the unit into her bag.
‘Carlo,’ Teresa deduced correctly, and Aysha inclined her head. ‘He’s a good man. You’re very fortunate.’
There was only one answer she could give. ‘I know.’
It was almost five when they parted, slipped into separate cars, and entered the busy stream of traffic, making it easy for Aysha to hang back at an intersection, then diverge onto a different road artery.
If Teresa discovered her daughter and prospective son-in-law were temporarily occupying separate residences, it would only arouse an entire host of questions Aysha had no inclination to answer.
The house was quiet, and she made her way upstairs, deposited a collection of brightly-coloured carry-bags in the bedroom, then discarded her clothes, donned a bikini and retraced her steps to the lower floor.
The pool looked inviting, and she angled her arms and dived into its cool depths, emerging to the surface to stroke several lengths before turning onto her back and lazily drifting.
Long minutes later she executed sufficient backstrokes to bring her to the pool’s edge, then she levered herself onto the ledge and caught up a towel. Standing to her feet, she blotted excess moisture from her body, then she crossed to a nearby lounger and sank back against its cushioned depth.
The view out over the harbour was sheer magic, for at this hour the sea was a dark blue, deepening almost to indigo as it merged in the distance with the ocean.
There were three huge tankers drawing close to the main harbour entrance, and in the immediate periphery of her vision hundreds of small craft lay anchored at moorings.
It was a peaceful scene, and she closed her eyes against the strength of the sun’s warmth. It had a soporific effect, and she could feel herself drifting into a light doze.
It was there that Carlo found her more than an hour later, after several minutes of increasing anxiety when he’d failed to locate her anywhere indoors.
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 52
