Stormy Possession

by Helen Bianchin

  'Sally! Mon dìeu!' Claude exclaimed with surprise. 'What are you doing here?'

  'Am I not welcome?' she couldn't resist teasing, and saw his smile.

  'Of course, of course. It is just that I did not expect to see you,' he reassured. 'All is well?' He skinned several onions and chopped them with deft precision. 'You are perhaps shopping?'

  'Yes and no,' she laughed. 'I've just seen my mother off at the airport, my husband is away, and I have several hours on my hands with very little to do. I thought I'd call in and see a few friends. Do you mind?'

  'If you stay here for very long I shall forget you no longer work for me, and enlist your talents.'

  'Someone is away?' she queried idly, and he nodded. 'I'll stay for a few hours—the whole day, if you need me,' she added with sudden inspiration. It was just what she needed to occupy the empty hours and keep her from constantly thinking of Luke. There was nothing at home that she could do, apart from cooking, and as it was Carlo's evening off it seemed ridiculous to prepare a three-course meal for just one person.

  It was well after eleven o'clock that night before she fell into bed, feeling pleasantly tired after the first hard day's work she had completed since marrying Luke, and she slept soundly until the alarm clock roused her at eight the following morning.

  Today Luke was coming home. Already her stomach was behaving peculiarly, with butterfly wings beating a nervous tattoo, and she hadn't had breakfast yet. What would she be like by this afternoon?

  Even Carlo noticed her lack of appetite, and commented on it as he removed plates whose contents had hardly been touched.

  'There is something else you would prefer?' Sally cast him an apologetic smile. 'No, thank you. I'm just not hungry. Do you—do you know what time Luke is expected home?' Ridiculous—if she didn't know, how would Carlo be expected to know?

  'He invariably rings from the airport on arrival. I imagine he will be home for dinner. Do you wish to prepare it?'

  'Would you mind? It will keep me busy.'

  Carlo gave her an understanding grin. 'And that is all-important, is it not?'

  'Yes.' Her mind flew over the menu—something special, with candles and wine, and afterwards—Oh God, why did she have to fall in love with him? He hadn't professed any love for her—what was more, he wasn't likely to! She was just an instrument by which he could beget a much-wanted son. There were times when she almost thought he cared, but passion and love were not the same and she was too inexperienced to tell the difference.

  How she managed to get through the remainder of the day was a small miracle, for each hour seemed to drag by with impossible slowness.

  At eight o'clock Sally served dinner for herself and Carlo, declining to use the dining-room and an elaborate setting. The kitchen was more friendly, and after the dishes had been cleared away and dealt with, she wandered into the salotto with the intention of watching television.

  At ten she crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a mild-tasting semi-sweet sherry. Confidence, she assured herself as she sipped the amber-coloured liquid. Twenty minutes later she refilled her glass with a deliberate sense of calm. She felt warm inside, and just the slightest bit floaty. It was a feeling she wanted to cultivate—anything was better than the tension that had been tearing her nerves to pieces for most of the day.

  Luke—what was he thinking at this precise moment? Preparing to do battle with an argumentative wife, most probably, Sally thought with a faint grimace. Their relationship had been anything but smooth —except in bed. How long could she go on hating herself for loving him—because she did love him, quite shamelessly. Such a confession would surely bring a smile of amusement to his lips! There was no doubt he lusted after her—but loved? How could he, when she had assured him at every turn how much she hated him?

  Oh God, where was he? An hour had passed, bringing worry and a degree of anxiety. Perhaps he wasn't coming home at all. That was a chilling thought, and one she dismissed almost at once. Something could have happened, an accident——

  'While you are there, pour one for me.'

  Sally almost dropped her glass. She hadn't heard a sound—although the television was on, and would have muffled much of the noise associated with Luke's arrival home. Slowly she turned to face him.

  'You startled me!' Her eyes ran over his broad frame, then settled with a strange sense of hunger on his face. He looked curiously refreshed, and she queried tentatively, 'Is it raining outside?'

  Luke ran a hand over his hair, a smile tugging at his lips. 'I had a puncture on the way home from the airport,' he explained dryly. 'Tyre-changing at night is not the smooth operation afforded by daylight—I needed a shower and a change of clothes.'

  Surprise showed in her expression. 'You've been home for a while?'

  'Fifteen minutes or so.' He crossed to her side and poured himself a drink. 'More?' He held the decanter out towards her glass, but she covered it with her hand.

  His slightly raised eyebrow had her explaining, 'This is my third.'

  'Really, cara sposa—you need courage to greet me?' His voice was a sardonic drawl. 'I expected you to be in bed.'

  Sally turned away, unable to face the cynicism in his eyes. 'I was worried,' she intimated unsteadily.

  'Ah, I see,' he mocked. 'You imagined an accident, eh? No doubt you have been waiting with bated breath for confirmation of my injuries—or worse, hmm?' His laugh held no pretence to humour. 'Tell me, my darling wife, would you have shed any tears over my demise?'

  Sally didn't answer—she couldn't. Her voice had somehow become enmeshed in the constriction squeezing her throat, and the ache in her heart was a tangible pain. All she wanted to do was to escape from this hateful man whose subtle sarcasm had the power to hurt her unbearably.

  'Lost for words?'

  Sally placed her glass down on to a nearby table, then she began walking quickly towards the door.

  'Sally.'

  At the sound of his voice she began to run, blind panic lending wings to her feet as she fled towards the stairs.

  Seconds later hands grasped hold of her shoulders, successfully bringing her to a standstill, and there was nothing she could do to escape. A tiny shiver ran the length of her body as he firmly turned her round to face him.

  An imprecation that was little more than a husky murmur left his lips, and he tilted her chin, holding it fast as he gazed down at the pitiful trembling of her mouth, the blue eyes huge and drowning in tears.

  After what seemed an age he leant out a hand and gently touched each of the twin rivulets trickling silently down her cheeks.

  'All this——' he paused fractionally, his voice incredibly soft as a slow smile lifted his lips, 'for little more than an hour's tardiness in arriving home?'

  She flung wretchedly, 'You didn't even tell me you were taking Carmela——' A hand covered her mouth, effectively silencing her.

  'My sweet idiot,' he berated gently, 'I did not take Carmela to Adelaide. Not only did we travel on separate days, we stayed in separate hotels. Her presence was necessary for business reasons—nothing more.'

  Rather shakily she attempted to brush the tears from her cheeks, but her hands were caught and held.

  'Cara?'

  'Don't call me that! I'm not your darling—I never was, and I never will be!'

  'Are you not, mia?' he queried softy, pulling her close against him. 'You are the other half of me, carina, do you not know that?' His hands moved caressingly over her spine, moulding her slim body to the hardening contours of his own as his lips began a tantalising trail over her cheekbones, then he gently cradled her face. 'I love you—so very much,' he declared deeply, then a shadow of pain altered his expression. 'The torMent I have endured over the unbridled display of passion I subjected you to on our wedding night— Cristo, to discover you were untouched!' His face paled and became incredibly bleak.

  Sally wanted to cry out at the pain evident in those dark eyes, but no sound came, and she reached up to touch his c
heek, her eyes widening as he caught and held her hand, pressing it to his lips.

  'How you have fought me—with words, and in such a manner I would not have tolerated from anyone else! Never before has any woman had the power to make me pulsate with desire one minute, then blaze with anger the next!' He smiled down at her, teasing a little. 'There were times when I could quite cheerfully have wrung your slender neck.'

  Sally declared a trifle shakily, 'You weren't exactly the required model of all the husbandly virtues.' She felt rather dazed, and unable to fully comprehend that he loved her. 'You were a rake, and an arrogant one at that! You seemed to delight in teasing me—rather like a superior cat playing with a timid mouse. It is any wonder that I retaliated?'

  His eyes glowed with a deep smouldering passion, and he continued to gaze down at her upturned face with such warmth that her heart turned over and her bones seemed to melt

  'I love you.' The admission came as a shaky, tremulous whisper that he had to bend low to catch. 'Oh, Luke, I've been fighting it for so long,' she declared achingly.

  'You cannot imagine how much I have wanted to hear you admit that,' he groaned gently as his lips sought the sensitive pulse at the base of her throat, then travelled slowly down to the soft curve of her breasts.

  'There's something I'd like to do,' Sally began hesitantly, and he lifted his head to regard her attentively.

  'Will it keep until tomorrow?' His eyes lit with wicked humour. 'I have definite plans for what remains of the night.' He chuckled softy as a vivid blush coloured her cheeks. 'Why, cara?' he queried tolerantly. 'What is it that you would like to do?'

  Confusion lent a sparkle to her eyes, and her lips curved witchingly. 'Could we please get married?'

  Luke's eyebrows arched quizzically. 'I was of the impression that we are—especially as I have in my possession a slip of paper proving the legality of our relationship.'

  'I mean—could we do it again,' Sally explained care- fully. 'In church. Not with any guests,' she decried in a rush. 'Just the two of us. If we must have anyone there, Daddy or Carlo—no one else.' There was little she could tell from his expression, and he looked up at him anxiously. 'Would you mind very much?'

  Luke's eyes gentled, and he touched her lips with his own. 'If that is what you want, it shall be done just as soon as I can make the necessary arrangements,' he promised quietly.

  'Of course,' she began with an impish smile, 'being married already does have its advantages.' She put her, head to one side and her eyes sparkled with humour. 'You won't have to sleep elsewhere in the meantime.'

  For that observation she was kissed nearly breathless.

  'Six lonely nights without you, cara,' he husked softly as he swung her up into his arms. 'Dio, how I have missed you!'

  Sally buried her face against his throat, loving the possessive tightening of the arms that held her. 'I don't think I could bear to spend any more time apart from you,' she whispered shakily. 'To wake in the dark and find only an empty space beside me was just —awful.'

  'From now on, you will accompany me wherever I go,' Luke vowed firmly, and Sally lifted her head so that she could see his expression.

  'Even when I'm pregnant?' she queried teasingly.

  'Minx,' he accused fondly as he lowered her down to stand in front of him a few feet from the bed. 'Especially when you are with child.'

  'That will cramp your style, won't it?' She pondered thoughtfully, 'A doting papa to two or three little bambini, with one very pregnant wife in tow. Ah, whatever will Carmela, Chantrelle, and all the—ouch!' She yelped as his hand made sharp contact with her bottom. 'That hurt!'

  'It was meant to,' Luke mocked quizzically. 'You know very well that Carmela, and others like her, ceased to exist for me from the first moment I set eyes on you.'

  'I can't think why,' Sally puzzled with complete lack of guile. 'My face isn't classical—my nose is too small, and my mouth too large. Even my hair can't make up its mind whether to grow straight or to curl. I can cook, though,' she concluded modestly, and her eyes widened as his mouth curved into a gentle smile. 'I will never let you go, cara,' he vowed softy. 'Without you, I am only half alive.' His lips sought hers, and it was several minutes before he raised his head.

  A sudden irrelevant thought occurred to her, and she asked shakily, 'Have you had dinner? I didn't think to ask. You must be hungry.'

  Luke gave a soft laugh as his hands reached for the zip fastener at the back of her dress. 'Only for you, mia sposa—mia innamorata.'

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