His proximity put her at an immediate disadvantage, for she was extremely aware of the clean smell of his clothes, the faint aroma of soap intermingling with his chosen aftershave, an exclusive mixture of spices combined with muted musk that seemed to heighten the essence of the man himself.
Within minutes his associates followed his actions in joining their wives, and Carly wasn’t sure which she preferred…being alone with a clutch of curious women, or having to contend with Stefano’s calculated attention.
‘Almost ready to leave, cara?’
His voice was a soft caress, and if anyone was in any doubt as to his affection for his wife he lifted a hand and swept back a swath of curls that had fallen forward, letting his fingers rest far too long at the edge of her throat.
There was a degree of deliberation in his movement, almost as if he was attempting to set a precedent, and it made her unaccountably angry.
She wanted to move away, yet such an action was impossible, and it took all her acting ability to sit still as he brushed gentle fingers across her collarbone then slid them down her arm to thread through her own. The look in his eyes was explicitly seducing, and to any interested observer it was only too apparent that he couldn’t wait to get her home and into bed.
Well, two could play at that game, and she gently dug the tips of her nails into the tendons of his hand, then pressed hard. ‘Whenever you are,’ she acquiesced lightly, casting him a soft winsome smile that was deceptively false. She would have liked to kill him, or at least render some measure of physical harm, yet in a room full of people she could only smile. As soon as they were alone, she’d verbally slay him.
He knew, for his eyes assumed a mocking gleam that hid latent amusement, almost in silent acceptance of an imminent battle.
With an indolent movement he rose to his feet, and Carly followed his actions, adding her appreciation with genuine politeness as they thanked their hosts and bade Charles and Kathy-Lee goodbye.
‘So early, Stefano?’ Angelica queried, effectively masking her displeasure.
‘My wife is tired.’
It was nothing less than the truth, but she resented the implication.
Angelica’s eyes narrowed, then assumed speculative amusement as she proffered Carly a commiserating smile. ‘Can’t stand the pace?’
‘Quite the contrary,’ Carly demurred sweetly. ‘Stefano is merely providing a clichéd excuse.’
The resentment was simmering just beneath the surface of her control, and she contained it until the Mercedes had swept from the driveway.
‘You enjoyed setting me among the pigeons, didn’t you?’ she demanded in a low, furious tone.
‘Was it so bad?’
To be honest, it hadn’t been. Yet she was loath to agree with him—on anything. ‘On a scale of one to ten in the curiosity stakes, our reconciliation has to rate at least a nine,’ she declared drily as he sent the opulent vehicle speeding smoothly through the darkened streets.
‘You more than held your own, cara,’ he said with drawled humour.
Inside she felt like screaming, aware that it would take several weeks before the speculative looks, the gossip abated and eventually died. In the meantime she had to run the gauntlet, and she felt uncommonly resentful.
‘Nothing has changed,’ Carly voiced with a trace of bitterness, and incurred his swift scrutiny.
‘In what respect?’
‘You have to be kidding,’ she declared vengefully. ‘Angelica would have liked to eat you alive.’ She was so incensed that she wasn’t aware of the passion evident in her voice, or the pain.
Turning her attention to the darkened city streets, she watched the numerous vehicles traversing the well-defined lanes with a detached fascination. The bright neon signs provided a brilliant splash of colour that vied with the red amber and green of traffic-lights controlling each intersection.
Transferring her attention beyond the windscreen, she looked sightlessly into the night, aware that Stefano handled the car with the skilled ease of long practice.
The same ease with which he handled a woman: knowledgeable, experienced, and always one step ahead. Just once she’d like to be able to best him, catch him off guard.
Yet even as the resentment festered she knew instinctively that he’d never allow her to win. A solitary battle, possibly, in their ongoing private war, as a musing concession to her feminine beliefs. But never the war itself.
It was twenty minutes before the Mercedes drew to a halt inside the garage, and Carly made her way upstairs to the main suite.
She was in the process of removing her make-up when Stefano entered the room, and her eyes assumed a faint wariness as she completed the task.
It required only a few steps to move into the bedroom, a few more to reach the bed. Yet she was loath to take them, knowing what awaited her once she slipped between the cool percale sheets.
Fool she derided silently. It’s not as if you lack enjoyment in the marital bed.
The knowledge of her exultant abandon in Stefano’s arms merely strengthened her resolve to provide delaying tactics, and she plucked the pins from the elaborate knot restraining her hair, only to catch hold of her brush and stroke it vigorously through the length of tumbled auburn-streaked curls.
It was mad to want more, insane to build an emotional wall between them. A tiny logical voice rationalised that she should be content. She had a beautiful home, and a husband whose business interests ensured they were among the denizens of the upper social echelon.
Many women were confined in marriages of mutual convenience, happy to bury themselves in active social existences as their husbands’ hostesses, in return for the trappings of success: the jewellery, exotic luxury cars, trips abroad.
Carly knew she’d trade it all willingly to erase the past seven years, to go back magically in time to the days when love was an irrepressible joy.
Now it was an empty shell, their sexual coupling merely an expression of physical lust untouched by any emotion from the heart.
Perhaps she was too honest, with too much personal integrity to survive within the constraints of such a marriage. Yet she was trapped, impossibly bound to Stefano by Ann-Marie. To remove her daughter from her father and return to their former existence would cause emotional scarring of such magnitude that the end result would be worthless.
‘If you continue much longer, you’ll end up with a headache.’
Carly’s hand stilled at the sound of that deep drawling voice, and she stood motionless as Stefano moved to stand behind her.
‘I have nothing to say to you,’ she managed in stilted tones, watching him warily.
He was close, much too close for her peace of mind, and all her fine body hairs quivered in anticipation of his touch.
‘We seem to manage very well without words,’ he said with a degree of irony, and she lashed out verbally at his implication.
‘Sex isn’t the answer to everything, damn you!’
Her eyes unconsciously met his in the mirror, large and impossibly dark as she took in the image her body projected against the backdrop of his own.
Without the benefit of shoes, the tip of her head was level with his throat, and his breadth of shoulder had a dwarfing effect, making her appear small and incredibly vulnerable.
‘No?’ he queried softly, and she was damningly aware of the subtle pull of her senses as she fought his irresistible magnetism.
Her gaze remained locked with his, their darkness magnifying as he slowly lifted a hand and swept a heavy swath of her hair aside, baring the edge of her neck. His head slowly lowered as his mouth sought the pulsing cord in that sensitive curve, and she was powerless to prevent the sweet spiralling sensation that coursed through her body at his touch.
Carly was conscious of his hands as they shifted to her shoulders, then slid slowly down her arms to rest at her waist, before slipping up to cup the swollen fullness of her breasts.
She wanted to close her eyes and pretend the seducti
on was real, and for a few minutes she succumbed to temptation.
His fingers created a tactile magic, sensitising the engorged peaks until she moved restlessly against him, craving more than this subtle pleasuring. A hollow groan whispered from her throat as his hands slid to her shoulders, slipping the thin straps of her nightgown down over her arms, so that the thin silk slithered in a heap at her feet.
He didn’t move, and she slowly opened her eyes to focus reluctantly on their mirrored image, watching in mesmerised fascination as his hands slid round her waist and pressed her back against him.
Her eyes widened as she watched the effect he had on the texture of her skin, the tightening of her breasts, each tumescent peak aroused in anticipation of his possession.
It was almost as if he was forcing her to recognise something her conscious mind refused to acknowledge, and she gazed in mesmeric wonder as her body reacted to the light brush of his fingers as he trailed them across the curve of her waist, then slid to trace the soft mound of her stomach before allowing his fingers to splay into the soft curls protecting the central core of her femininity.
Of their own volition, her lower limbs swayed into the curve of his hand as they sought closer contact, and she was totally unprepared for the soft dreaminess evident in her eyes, the faint sheen on her parted lips.
She looked…incandescently bewitched, held in thrall by passionate desire, and in that moment she felt she hated him for making her see a side of herself she preferred to keep well-hidden. Especially from him.
Yet it was too late, and even as she arched away he turned her fully into his arms, his mouth successfully covering hers in a manner that left her no hope of uttering so much as a word.
Her initial struggle was merely a token gesture, as was her determination to prevent his open-mouthed kiss. Seconds later she cried out as one long arm curved down the length of her back in a seeking quest for the tell-tale dewing at the aroused nub of her femininity.
Every nerve in her body seemed acutely sensitised, the internal tissues still faintly bruised from the previous night’s loving, so much so that she tensed involuntarily against his touch.
Without a word he placed an arm beneath her knees and lifted her high against his chest to carry her to his bed, sinking down on to the mattress in one fluid movement as he cradled her gently into the curve of his body.
His lips trailed a path to her mouth, soothing her slight protest, before tracing a path down her neck. Slowly, with infinite care, he traversed each pleasure pulse, anointing the tender peak of each breast with delicate eroticism.
Her stomach quivered in betrayal beneath the seductive passage of his mouth, and when he reached the junction between her thighs she gave a beseeching moan, an entreaty to end the consuming madness that flared through her body, igniting it with flame.
Carly consoled herself that nothing mattered except this wonderful slaking of sensual pleasure in a slow, gentle loving that touched her soul. But in her subconscious mind she knew she lied, and she drifted into sleep wondering if there could ever be a resolution between the dictates of her brain and the wayward path of her emotions.
CHAPTER NINE
‘I HAVE TO attend a meeting on the Central Coast,’ Stefano declared as he rose from the breakfast table. ‘I doubt I’ll be home before seven.’
‘Angelica is naturally one of the associates accompanying you.’ It wasn’t a question, and he shot her a dark encompassing glance.
‘She is on the board of a number of family companies,’ he informed coolly. ‘And a dedicated businesswoman.’
‘Very dedicated,’ Carly mocked, and was unable to resist adding, ‘Have fun.’
After he left she finished her coffee, then moved quickly upstairs to change into a white cotton button-through dress, slipped her feet into flat sandals, then collected the keys to the BMW, informed Sylvana she’d be home in the late afternoon, and drove into the city.
There were a few things she wanted to pick up for Ann-Marie, and she’d fill in time between hospital visits by browsing the shops in the hope of gaining some inspiration for Christmas gifts.
Carly returned home at five, and after a leisurely shower she changed into a cool sage-green silk shift, wound her hair up into a casually contrived knot, then went downstairs to check on dinner with Sylvana.
The portable television was on in the kitchen, and highlighted on the screen was an area of dense bush-covered gorge and a hovering rescue helicopter. The presenter’s modulated voice was relaying information regarding a light plane crash just south of the Central Coast. There were no survivors, and names had not yet been released of the pilot and two passengers.
Carly went cold. It was as if her limbs were frozen, for she couldn’t move, and she gazed sightlessly at the flashing screen without comprehending a single thing.
Then she began to shake, and she clutched her arms together in an effort to contain her trembling limbs.
It couldn’t be the plane carrying Stefano and Angelica—could it? A silent agonised scream rose in her throat. Dear God—no.
The thought of his strong body lying broken and burned in dense undergrowth almost destroyed her. His image was a vivid entity, and she saw his strongly etched features, the dark gleaming eyes, almost as if he were in the same room.
The phone rang, but the sound barely registered, nor did Sylvana’s voice as she answered the call, until it seemed to change in tone and Carly realised that Sylvana was attempting to gain her attention.
‘Stefano rang to say he’ll be home in twenty minutes.’
The words penetrated her brain, barely registering in those initial few seconds, then she turned slowly, her eyes impossibly large. ‘What did you say?’
Sylvana repeated the message, then added in puzzlement, ‘Are you all right?’
Carly inclined her head, then murmured something indistinguishable as her stomach began to churn, and she only just made it upstairs to the main suite before she was violently ill.
Afterwards she clenched her teeth, then she sluiced warm water over her face in an effort to dispel the chilled feeling that seemed to invade her bones.
Attempting to repair the ravages with make-up moved her to despair, for she looked incredibly vulnerable—haunted, she amended silently as she examined her mirrored image with critical deliberation.
How could you love someone you professed to hate? Yet an inner voice taunted that love and hate were intense emotions and closely entwined. Legend had it that they were inseparable.
Stefano’s arrival home was afforded a restrained greeting. If she’d listened to her heart she would have flown into his arms and expressed a profound relief that he was alive. Yet then he couldn’t fail to be aware of her true feelings, and that would never do.
Consequently dinner was strained, and Carly failed to do any justice to Sylvana’s beautifully prepared food, and throughout the meal she was conscious of his veiled scrutiny, so much so that she felt close to screaming with angry vexation.
‘Did it bother you that it might have been my body lying lifeless in some rocky gorge?’
The blood drained from her face at his drawled query, and she got to her feet, wanting only to get away from his ill-disguised mockery.
She hadn’t moved more than two paces when hard hands closed over her shoulders, and she struggled in vain, hot, angry tears clouding her eyes as she fought to be free of him.
One hand slid to hold her nape fast, tilting her head, and her lashes swept down to form a protective veil, only to fly open as his mouth closed over hers in a hard open-mouthed kiss that was impossibly, erotically demanding.
It seemed to go on forever, and when it was over she lifted shaking fingers to her lips.
His eyes were dark with brooding savagery, their depths filled with latent passion and an emotion she didn’t even attempt to define. Carly glanced past him and fixed her eyes on a distant wall in an attempt to regain her composure. If she looked at him she knew she’d disgrace herself with
stupid ignominious tears.
‘I rang through the instant we touched base,’ he enlightened quietly. ‘Our helicopter pilot sighted the crash, radioed for help, then circled the area until a rescue unit arrived.’ He raised a hand and trailed gentle fingers along the edge of her cheek.
She lifted her shoulders in a faint shrugging gesture. Somehow she had to inject an element of normality, otherwise she was doomed. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
A forefinger probed the softness of her swollen lower lip, then conducted a leisurely tracery of its outline. ‘I’d like you,’ Stefano drawled in mocking tones, and watched the expressive play of emotions chase each other across her mobile features.
‘It’s early,’ she stalled, hating the way her body was reacting to the proximity of his.
‘Since when did time have anything to do with making love?’ His head lowered and he touched his mouth to the thudding pulse at the edge of her neck, then traced a path to her temple. His lips pressed closed one eyelid, then the other, and his hands shifted as he caught her up in his arms.
‘What are you doing?’ The cry was torn from her lips as he calmly strode from the room, and headed for the stairs.
‘Taking you to bed,’ Stefano declared in a husky undertone, ‘in an attempt to remove the look of shadowed anguish lurking in your beautiful eyes.’
She struggled in helplessness against him, aware of an elemental quality that was infinitely awesome. No one man deserved so much power, or quite such a degree of latent sensuality.
‘Must you be so—physical?’ she protested as he entered their suite and closed the door.
He lowered her down to stand within the circle of his arms, and her limbs seemed weightless as he caught her close. Then he kissed her, slowly and with such evocative mastery that she didn’t have the energy to voice any further protest as he carefully removed her clothes, then released the pins holding her hair before beginning on his own.
‘Tell me to stop,’ he murmured seconds before his mouth closed over hers, and the flame that burned deep within them flared into vibrant life, consuming them both in a passionate storm that lasted far into the night.
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 94
