The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  The following days settled into a relatively normal routine. The nights were something else as Carly fought a silent battle with herself and invariably lost.

  Their lovemaking scaled hitherto unreached heights, transcending mere pleasure, and it was almost as if some inner song were demanding to be heard, yet the music was indistinct, the words just beyond her reach.

  Introspection became an increasing trap in which she found herself caught, in the insidious recognition that love was inextricably interwoven with physical desire—which inevitably led to the agonising question of Angelica, and the degree of Stefano’s personal involvement. Were they still on intimate terms? Had they ever been? Dear God, could she have been wrong all these years?

  One day in particular she couldn’t bear the tension any more, and she moved restlessly through the house, unsure how to fill the few hours until it was time to visit Ann-Marie.

  Making a split-second decision, she changed clothes, stroked a clear gloss over her lips, then caught up her sunglasses and bag, and made her way down to the car, intent on spending a few more hours in the city looking for suitable Christmas gifts. She might even do lunch.

  Two hours later Carly wasn’t sure shopping was such a good idea. It was hot, there were crowds of people all intent on doing the same thing, and it took ages to be served. All she’d achieved was a bottle of Sarah’s favourite French perfume, a book and an educational game for Ann-Marie, and nothing for Stefano. What did you buy a man who had everything? she queried with scepticism. Another silk tie? A silk shirt? Something as mundane as aftershave, when she didn’t even recognise what brand he preferred?

  A glance at her watch revealed that it was after one. Something to eat and a cool drink would provide a welcome break, and ten minutes later she was seated in a pleasant air-conditioned restaurant eating a succulent chicken salad.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’

  Carly glanced up and endeavoured to contain her surprise. Coincidence was a fine thing, and the chance of choosing the same restaurant as Angelica Agnelli had to run at a thousand to one. ‘If you must,’ she responded with bare civility. The restaurant was crowded, after all, and short of being rude there wasn’t much she could do except accept the situation with as much grace as possible.

  ‘Shopping?’ Angelica queried, arching an elegantly shaped eyebrow as she caught sight of the brightly designed bags.

  ‘Yes.’ As if an explanation was needed, she added, ‘Christmas.’

  ‘Stefano is caught up in a conference, so I came on ahead.’ She allowed the information to sink in, then added with deadly timing, ‘This is a charmingly secluded place, don’t you agree?’ For furtive assignations. The implication was there for anyone but the most obtuse, but just in case there was any doubt she added smoothly, ‘You don’t normally lunch here, do you?’

  ‘No. I preferred to eat a packed lunch at my desk,’ Carly explained with considerable calm, and tempered the words with a seemingly sweet smile.

  Angelica deliberately allowed her eyes to widen. ‘Rather clever of you to present Stefano with a child conveniently the right age to be his own.’ Her mouth curled fractionally. ‘I almost advised him to insist on a DNA test.’ She lifted a hand and appeared to study her immaculately manicured nails. ‘But of course, I wouldn’t presume to interfere in his…’ She trailed off deliberately, then added with barbed innuendo, ‘Private affairs.’

  ‘You’ve obviously changed your strategy,’ Carly returned with considerable fortitude, when inside she felt like screaming.

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  Carly had quite suddenly had enough. ‘You had no such compunction about interfering in his private life seven years ago. You deliberately set out to destroy me. Like a fool, I ran.’ Her eyes sparked gold-flecked fire that caused the other woman’s expression to narrow. ‘I realise your association with Stefano goes back a long time, but perhaps you should understand it was he who did the chasing in our relationship, and he who insisted on a reconciliation.’ She drew in a deep breath, then released it slowly. ‘Stefano has had seven years to instigate divorce proceedings.’ Her voice assumed a quietly fierce intensity. ‘I would suggest you ask yourself why he never did.’

  ‘Brava,’ a deep voice drawled quietly from behind, and Carly closed her eyes in vexation, only to open them again.

  Stefano stood indolently at ease, his expression strangely watchful as he took in Carly’s pale features. All of her pent-up emotion was visible in the expressive brilliance of her eyes, their gold-flecked depths ringed in black.

  ‘Stefano.’ Angelica’s tone held a conciliatory purr, yet his eyes never moved from Carly’s features.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me?’ She had to get out of here before she erupted with volatile rage—with Angelica for being a bitch, and Stefano simply because he was here.

  Rising to her feet, she collected her bag and assorted carriers. ‘Enjoy your lunch.’

  His hand closed on her arm, bringing her to a halt, and she just looked at him, then her lashes swept down in a bid to hide the pain that gnawed deep inside.

  ‘Please. Let me go.’ Her voice was softly pitched, yet filled with aching intensity, and there was nothing she could do to prevent the descent of his mouth or the brief, hard open-mouthed kiss he bestowed.

  Then he released her, and it took all her reserve of strength to walk calmly from the restaurant.

  By the time she reached the street her lips were quivering with pent-up emotion, and she fumbled for her sunglasses, glad of their protective lenses as they hid the well of tears that blurred her vision.

  Tonight there would be no respite, for Sarah and James were coming to dinner. To present anything approaching a normal façade would take every ounce of acting ability, and Carly wished fervently for the day to be done, and the night.

  Only a matter of weeks ago everything had seemed so uncomplicated. Ann-Marie and work had been the total focus of her life. Now she was in turmoil, her emotions as wild and uncontrollable as a storm-tossed sea.

  At the hospital, Ann-Marie’s exuberant greeting, the loving hug and beautiful smile acted to diffuse Carly’s inner tension, and she listened to her daughter’s excited chatter about a new patient who had been admitted that morning.

  As Carly left the hospital and drove home she couldn’t help wishing her life were clear-cut, and there were no tensions, no subtle game-playing that ate at the heartstrings and destroyed one’s self-esteem.

  Perhaps she should stop fighting this conflict within herself and just accept the status quo, be content with her existence as Stefano’s wife, and condone the pleasure they shared each night. To hunger for anything more was madness.

  After garaging the car, Carly consulted with Sylvana, made suitably appreciative comments, then opted to cool off with a leisurely swim in the pool.

  Stefano arrived home as Carly was putting the finishing touches to her make-up, and she turned as he entered their suite, her expression deliberately bland as she registered his tall, dark-suited frame before lifting her head to meet his gaze.

  His eyes were dark, probing hers, and after a fleeting glance her own skittered towards the vicinity of his left shoulder. The last thing she needed was a confrontation. Not with Sarah and James due within minutes.

  ‘I’ll go down and check with Sylvana,’ Carly said evenly. ‘I’ll wait for you in the lounge.’

  It was a relief to escape his presence, and she was grateful for Sarah’s punctuality, immensely glad of her friend’s warm personality.

  The meal was a gourmet’s delight, and although conversation flowed with ease Carly merely operated on automatic pilot as she forked food intermittently into her mouth, then toyed with the remainder on her plate.

  She laughed, genuinely enjoying Sarah’s anecdotes intermingled with those of James, but all the while she felt like a disembodied spectator.

  It was almost ten when they rose from the table.

  ‘I’ll make the coffee,’ Carly declared, and smil
ed when Sarah rose to her feet.

  ‘I’ll help you.’

  Sylvana had set everything ready in the kitchen, so that all Carly had to do was percolate the coffee.

  ‘How are things going—?’ Carly broke off with a laugh in the realisation that Sarah was asking the same question simultaneously with her own. ‘You go first,’ she bade her, shooting her friend a smiling glance.

  ‘Where shall I start?’ Sarah returned with a grin as she crossed to the servery, and cast the stylish kitchen an appreciative glance. ‘Lucky you,’ she smiled without a trace of envy. ‘All this, and Stefano, too.’

  ‘Sarah…’ Carly warned with a low growl, and Sarah grinned unrepentantly.

  ‘James and Stefano seem to have a lot in common,’ Sarah offered innocuously, her eyes sparkling as Carly shot her a speaking glance. ‘James is nice,’ she admitted quietly. ‘I like him.’

  ‘And?’ Carly prompted.

  ‘Sometimes I think I could get used to the idea of a relationship with him, then I’m not sure I want to make that sort of change to my life.’ Her eyes sought Carly’s, and her voice softened. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Ann-Marie is improving daily.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I asked,’ Sarah admonished teasingly, and Carly’s expression became faintly pensive.

  ‘I seem to swing like a pendulum between resentment and acceptance.’

  ‘You look…’ Sarah paused, her eyes narrowing with thoughtful speculation. ‘Pregnant. Are you?’

  Carly opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it again as her mind rapidly calculated dates. Her eyes became an expressive host to a number of varying fleeting emotions.

  ‘You have that certain look a woman possesses in the initial few weeks,’ Sarah observed gently. ‘A subtle tiredness as the body refocuses its energy. You had the same look the day we met moving into neighbouring apartments,’ she added softly.

  ‘It could be stress from juggling twice-daily hospital visits, marriage,’ Carly offered in strangled tones as the implications of a possible pregnancy began to sink in. She couldn’t be, surely? Yet the symptoms were all there, added to facts she’d been too busy to notice.

  She lifted a shaking hand, then let it fall again, and for one heartfelt second her eyes filled with naked pain before she successfully masked their expression.

  ‘The coffee is perking,’ Sarah reminded gently, and Carly crossed to turn down the heat, then when it was ready she placed it on the tray.

  The men were deep in conversation when Carly and Sarah re-entered the lounge, and if either detected that the girls’ smiles were a little too bright they gave no sign.

  It was almost eleven when Sarah indicated the need to leave, explaining, ‘I’m due to go on duty tomorrow morning at seven.’ She rose to her feet, thanked both Stefano and Carly for a delightful evening, and at the door she gave Carly a quick hug in farewell. ‘Ring me when you can.’

  Carly turned back towards the lobby the instant the car headlights disappeared down the drive, moving into the lounge to collect coffee-cups together prior to carrying them through to the kitchen.

  ‘Leave them,’ Stefano instructed as he saw what she was doing. ‘Sylvana can take care of it in the morning.’

  ‘It will only take a minute.’ In the kitchen, she rinsed and stacked them in the dishwasher, then turned to find him leaning against the edge of the table, watching her with narrowed scrutiny.

  She stood perfectly still, despite every nerve-end screaming at fever pitch, and her chin lifted fractionally as he took the necessary steps towards her.

  ‘What now, Stefano?’ Carly queried with a touch of defiance. ‘A post-mortem on lunch?’

  One eyebrow slanted in mocking query. ‘What part of lunch would you particularly like to refer to?’

  ‘I disliked being publicly labelled as your possession,’ she insisted, stung by his cynicism.

  ‘Yet you are,’ he declared silkily. ‘My feelings where you’re concerned verge on the primitive.’

  A tiny pulse quickened at the base of her throat, then began to hammer in palpable confusion as she absorbed the essence of his words. ‘Is that meant to frighten me?’

  Tension filled the air, lending a highly volatile quality that was impossible to ignore. ‘Only if you choose to allow it,’ he mocked, and she stood perfectly still as he conducted a slow, all-encompassing appraisal, lingering on the deepness of her eyes, and her soft, trembling mouth.

  He lifted a hand to brush gentle fingers across her cheek, and she reared back as if from a lick of flame.

  ‘Don’t touch me.’

  ‘Whyever not, cara?’

  ‘Because that’s where it starts and ends,’ she asserted with a mixture of despair and wretchedness.

  ‘You find my lovemaking so distasteful?’

  His musing indulgence was the living end, and she lashed out at him with expressive anger. ‘Lust, damn you!’ she corrected heatedly, so incensed that she balled both hands into fists and punched him, uncaring that she connected with the hard, muscular wall of his chest.

  ‘Lust is a bartered commodity. What would you like me to give you?’ His voice was a low-pitched drawl that cut right through to the heart. ‘An item of jewellery, perhaps?’

  For several long seconds she just looked at him, filled with an aching pain so acute that it took all her effort to breathe evenly. What was the use, she agonised silently, of aiming for something that didn’t exist?

  ‘In return for which I reward you in bed?’ The words were out before she had time to give them much thought, and afterwards it was too late to retract them.

  His dark brooding glance narrowed fractionally, then his mouth curved in mocking amusement. ‘Ah, cara,’ he taunted softly. ‘You reward me so well.’

  The need to get away from him, even temporarily, was paramount, and she turned towards the door, only to be brought to a halt as hard hands caught hold of each shoulder and spun her round.

  Her eyes blazed with anger through a mist of tears as she tilted her head in silent apathy, hating him more at that precise moment than she thought it possible to hate anyone.

  ‘Stop making fun of me! I won’t have it, do you hear?’ Angry, frustrated tears filled her eyes as he restrained her with galling ease, and she shook her head helplessly as he drew her inextricably close.

  ‘Don’t—’ Carly begged, feeling the familiar pull of her senses. It would be so easy to succumb, simply to close her eyes and become transported by the special magic of their shared sexual alchemy.

  ‘When have I ever made fun of you?’ he teased gently, and she shivered slightly as one hand slid down over the soft roundness of her bottom, pressing her close against the unmistakable force of his arousal, while the other slid up to cup her nape.

  ‘Every time I oppose you,’ she began shakily, then, gathering the scattered threads of her courage, she continued with strengthened resolve. ‘You resolve it by sweeeping me off to bed.’ Lifting her hands, she attempted to put some distance between them, only to fail miserably.

  ‘Am I to be damned forever for finding you desirable?’

  The thread of amusement in his voice hurt unbearably. ‘I’m not a sex object you can use merely to satisfy a need for revenge.’

  His eyes searched hers, dark and unfathomable as he held her immobile.

  ‘Let me go, damn you!’

  He looked at her in silence for what seemed an age, his eyes darkening until they resembled the deepest slate—hard and equally obdurate.

  ‘Does it feel like revenge every time I take you in my arms?’ he queried with dangerous silkiness.

  It was heaven and the entire universe rolled into one, ecstasy at its zenith. She looked at him for what seemed an age, unable to utter so much as a word.

  Dared she take the chance? All the pent-up anger, her so-called resentment, dissipated as if it had never existed.

  ‘No,’ Carly voiced quietly, and he shook her gently, sliding his hands from her shoulders up to cup h
er face.

  ‘From the moment I first met you I wanted to lock you in a gilded prison and throw away the key. Except such a primitive action wouldn’t have been condoned in this day and age.’ His eyes were level, and she was unable to drag her own away from the darkness or the pain evident. ‘You were a prime target…young, and incredibly susceptible,’ he enlightened her softly.

  ‘If I had been able to get my hands on you during those first few weeks after you left Perth I think I would have strangled you,’ he continued slowly. ‘Your mother disavowed any knowledge of your whereabouts, and I soon realised you had no intention of contacting me.’ His voice hardened measurably, and assumed a degree of cynicism. ‘The letter dispatched from your solicitor merely confirmed it.’

  He was silent for so long that she wondered if he intended to continue.

  ‘A marriage has no foundation without trust, and as you professed to have lost your trust in me I let you go. Fully expecting,’ he added with a trace of mockery, ‘to be officially notified of an impending divorce.’

  He hadn’t been able to instigate such proceedings any more than she had. Her heart set up a quickened beat.

  ‘Not long after shifting base to Sydney I attended an accounting seminar with a fellow associate at which Clive Mathorpe was a guest speaker. I was impressed. Sufficiently so to utilise his services.’ He proffered a faint smile. ‘Coincidence, fate perhaps, that Carly Taylor Alessi should be a respected member of his firm. The night I met you at Clive’s home I was intrigued by your maturity and self-determination. And very much aware that the intense sexual magic we once shared was still in evidence.’ His eyes held hers, and his voice was deliberate as he continued, ‘For both of us.’

  Carly looked at him carefully, seeing his innate strength, the power in evidence, and knew that she would never willingly want to be apart from him. It was always easy, with hindsight, to rationalise—to indulge in a series of ‘what if’s, and ‘if only’s. Maturity had taught her there could only be now.

  ‘Angelica’s ammunition was pretty powerful,’ she offered quietly. ‘I found it emotionally damaging at the time.’