An Awakening Desire

by Helen Bianchin

There was a measurable silence, during which she fought to regain her composure, and she viewed the waiter's appearance with relief, glad to have something to do with her hands as she picked up her fork and began to eat.

  'You speak English with very little accent at all,' Emma commented, more as an observation that from the need to determine the reason why.

  'The result of a comprehensive education,' Nick told her lazily. 'I studied at universities in Milan and London.'

  That would account for it, she allowed silently. 'I see.'

  'Do you, Emma?' His smile held an element of mockery, and she looked at him carefully.

  'What do you want me to say?' she replied quietly, hating his verbal thrust and parry.

  'My business interests take me all over the world,' he enlightened her with a certain wryness. 'Despite the rapid advancement of electronic technology in assessing and relaying relevant data, there remains the necessity for personal negotiation.'

  'And while you are flitting from one continent to another, ,Annalisa is well cared for in an educational institution during semesters and she has Silvana to fall back on in between.'

  'You don't approve?'

  He had finished his pasta and was leaning back in his chair with indolent ease as he sipped his wine.

  'It isn't my business to approve or disapprove,' Emma declared evenly, biting into a slice of delicious garlic bread and following it with some chinotto.

  'You do, however, show some interest in my daughter's welfare.'

  She met his gaze with equanimity. 'Are you seeking my opinion, or simply stating an assumption?'

  The arrival of the waiter precluded an immediate answer, and she watched with detached interest as their plates were removed.

  'You find it surprising that I might seek your opinion?' Nick drawled, and Emma's stomach gave a slight lurch as she recognised the faint cynicism apparent in his voice.

  'If you genuinely want it,' she offered calmly, and watched as his mouth curved into a sardonic smile.

  'Now why should you suppose otherwise?' His eyes became faintly hooded, and she could sense their brooding assessment.

  It was difficult enough simply sharing his company, without being subjected to an analytical appraisal!

  'Because I think you're playing a game,' she responded levelly. 'One in which you intend to amuse yourself at my expense.'

  'You're sure of that?' The silkiness evident in his voice set her nerve-ends vibrating in instinctive alarm, despite his apparent indolence.

  'Will you deny it?' she countered as she fearlessly met and held his gaze. Her fingers smoothed the napkin on her lap, unconsciously examining the stitched edge before curling into a tight ball.

  'The summer holidays are long,' he reflected deliberately. 'During which I arrange to have several weeks free to spend with my daughter. Silvana accords that the process of learning is an ongoing occurrence, no matter how briefly or in what manner the lesson. Hence the adherence to a daily study period prior to my arrival in Rome. Once Silvana departs on her vacation I ensure Annalisa enjoys a relaxing break, and we spend most of the daylight hours together.' One eyebrow rose quizzically, and he queried tolerantly, 'Perhaps we should declare a truce, and begin again?'

  'Or you could take me back to the villa.'

  'And spoil what promises to be an enjoyable evening?'

  'You might take pleasure in baiting me, but I find it distasteful.' She didn't really care if he took umbrage; he had no right to treat her as an interesting specimen and attempt a dissection.

  Hidden laughter gleamed from the depths of his eyes, and she became so incensed she was tempted to hit him.

  'Silence?'

  He was amused, and she seethed inwardly as the waiter appeared with her salad and Nick's veal dish. The atmosphere between them must have been apparent, for the waiter looked momentarily startled as he set both plates down on to the table before he made an unobtrusive but hasty retreat.

  The salad looked fresh and inviting, but if she ate one mouthful she would choke! Yet if she pushed it to one side the action would be tantamount to an admission of sorts, and she was darned if she'd give him that satisfaction. Instead she stabbed her fork into the crisp curl of lettuce, fervently wishing that it was Nick Castelli.

  Studiously she avoided sparing him so much as a glance, although half-way through her salad she found the temptation unbearable and risked a covert peek beneath long, fringed lashes. To witness, even so briefly, his obvious enjoyment of his meal was sufficient to enrage her further, and at that moment he sensed her regard and levelled a glittering glance that left her in little doubt of his amusement at her antipathy.

  Her eyes widened infinitesimally, then warred openly with his own, and it took considerable effort not to pick up her glass and toss the contents in his face.

  As if aware of her train of thought, he held her gaze, deliberately daring her to carry out her silent threat, yet managing to project just what form his retribution would take if she did.

  A sudden chill invaded her veins, slipping like ice through her body and cooling her temper. God, what was the matter with her? She had to be mad to even contemplate tangling with him. He seemed curiously intent on unsettling her, arousing anger and a latent animosity she had never even known she possessed.

  With a trembling hand she pushed her plate to one side and pretended an interest in their fellow patrons, hearing the quick, fluid chatter, the muted laughter, yet barely registering it as she let her gaze rove sightlessly from table to table.

  For one wild moment she considered getting to her feet and walking away, hailing the first taxi that came along and instructing the driver to take her back to the villa. However, such an action would be childish, and she doubted Nick Castelli would permit her such an easy escape. In any case, the evening was still young, and how would she explain to Rosa that she'd chosen to return alone?

  It took all her will-power to remain seated in her chair and continue evincing a preoccupation with her surroundings. A lump rose up in her throat, and she swallowed it painfully. It isn't fair, she raged silently. He's not being fair. Yet how could she expect a man like Nick Castelli to play by her rules? He was a force unto himself; indomitable and obdurate. If he wanted something, he'd permit no obstacle to stand in his way. Yet what did he want? Her companionship for Annalisa in the absence of Silvana? Somehow that answer appeared too simple.

  The nerves in her stomach activated themselves and twisted into a palpable knot, pulling cruelly as her emotions began to shred and the pain became a harsh reality that was impossible to ignore.

  'Coffee?'

  The sound of Nick's voice made her jump, and she missed his narrowed gaze as she kept her head averted.

  'No, thank you,' She'd never be able to hold the cup, let alone drink its contents!

  The evening dusk had slowly diminished, leaving a velvet sky studded with minuscule far-away stars. Coloured lights suspended at regular intervals provided adequate illumination, and candles flickered inside their ballooned-glass containers on each table.

  The long, light, evening hours were difficult to assimilate, together with the continental habit of dining late. The numerous restaurants and bars probably didn't close until three or four each morning!

  Emma's thoughts wandered idly to her parents, and she wondered if they were missing her as much as she missed them. The past twelve months had been harmonious, yet at twenty-four she could hardly expect to remain living at home indefinitely. It had been a refuge, a sanctuary where she'd voluntarily given herself into their protective custody, grateful to be shielded from the harsh aftermath of Marc's tragic accident Perhaps when she returned to Sydney she should think seriously about getting her own apartment.

  'Tell me about yourself.'

  The soft query startled her, and it took considerable effort to look at him. Only a modicum of good manners was responsible for an attempt at civility, although the words emerged stilted and husky.

  'I imagine Rosa and Enzo
have already supplied you with a number of pertinent details.'

  She saw his eyes darken fractionally, then assume inscrutability.

  'Don't be so defensive. It isn't my intention to elicit information you are not prepared to divulge freely.'

  'No?' Oh, this was impossible! Here she was, ready to put a cynical connotation on every word he uttered. Drawing a deep breath, she expelled it slowly, then began with contrived politeness, 'I grew up in Sydney, attended private schools, took dancing and music lessons, played tennis in summer and netball in winter. During my mid-teens I developed an interest in co-ordinating fashion accessories with designer garments, and eventually made it my career.'

  Nick regarded her silently for several long seconds. 'You have never travelled before?'

  'My parents presented me with a return air ticket to London for my twentieth birthday. It was a gift to mark the end of my education, and, they insisted, for being a model daughter.'

  A faint gleam of amusement lightened his dark gaze. 'I see. Despite auburn tresses, there were no teenage tantrums, no rebellion against parental authority?'

  'We had a few differences of opinion,' Emma allowed. 'But the ground rules were fair, and I saw no reason to thwart them,'

  'No boyfriends other than Marc?'

  Perhaps she should have been prepared for it, but the query temporarily robbed her of breath, and her lashes fluttered, then lowered, creating a protective shield from his scrutiny.

  'When we were young, he was the brother I never had.

  'We did everything together,' she revealed slowly, hating his imperturbable probing.

  'And fell in love.'

  Her eyes closed with momentary pain. 'Yes.'

  There was a long silence, one that became increasingly difficult to break. Perhaps she should ask a few questions of her own, create an about-face and re-open a few of his wounds.

  'What of your wife?' She had wanted to hurt as she'd been hurt, but there was no relish in her statement, no demand for his explanation.

  'Anna died from a complication associated with Annalisa's birth. She never left the hospital.'

  He'd had nine years to recover from the loss, and there was the living bonus of his daughter. Emma had nothing.

  'You've never sought to provide Annalisa with a mother?'

  He took his time answering, and for a few minutes she thought he wasn't going to; then a wry smile tugged the edge of his mouth.

  'One must first find the right woman to marry,' he declared with thinly veiled mockery, and she held his gaze without any difficulty at all.

  'Somewhere among the countless number of eligible females beating a path to your door there must be a sincere soul who will love you for yourself and not your worldly possessions.'

  'I'm working on it,' Nick drawled, and she effected a faint grimace.

  'And enjoying the process of elimination.'

  'Are you suggesting I should not?'

  His cynicism struck an antagonistic chord, causing her to employ unaccustomed flippancy. 'I hope you've assured whichever young woman I've supplanted this evening that your position as my escort is merely an obligatory duty.'

  For a brief second Emma thought she glimpsed anger in the momentary hardening of his eyes, then it was gone, and he leaned well back in his chair to regard her with deceptive indolence.

  'I am answerable to no woman.' The words were soft, yet beneath the silk was tensile steel.

  Naturally, she agreed silently. There probably wasn't a woman alive who could tame him.

  'Perhaps if you've finished your coffee, we could go home,' Emma ventured quietly. 'We've enjoyed a pleasant meal, but it's quite late, and—'

  'You need your beauty sleep,' Nick intervened imperturbably.

  'Yes.'

  'As well as a number of hours in which to fortify yourself against my presence tomorrow,' he added sardonically, and she offered him a brilliant smile.

  'Ah, but Annalisa will be with us.'

  His eyes gleamed with hidden laughter as he collected the bill and extracted his wallet. 'And her company is infinitely preferable to mine, hmm?'

  'I won't answer that.'

  He got to his feet and beckoned the waiter, handing over a generous tip—if the man's almost obsequious gratitude was any indication. Then he lightly clasped her elbow and escorted her out to the car.

  The drive home was achieved in less than fifteen minutes, and once within the electronically controlled gates he negotiated the driveway and slid the car into the garage situated at the rear of the villa, taking the furthermost bay from a gleaming Alfa Romeo, a Porsche and a functional Fiat.

  There was a path leading to a side entrance into the villa through a rose garden, and Emma made her way towards it as Nick secured the garage doors.

  Electric lanterns provided a soft, illuminating glow, and the trees lining the boundary seemed to loom incredibly tall in the enshrouding darkness.

  A faint prickle of apprehension shivered through her slender frame at the almost eerie stillness, and she wondered if there were spirits of a past civilisation haunting the grounds. Fanciful thinking, she dismissed in self-admonition.

  A touch on her arm caused her to jump imperceptibly, and she offered little resistance as Nick fell into step at her side. His nearness was protective, yet she was supremely conscious of him, aware of the faint aroma of his aftershave in the clear evening air, his sheer masculinity and the threat he posed to her equilibrium.

  The walk was an incredibly short one, and she released an inaudible sigh as he reached out and unlocked the door.

  'Would you care for a nightcap?' he queried as they reached the main hallway. The wall sconces were all alight, but she couldn't detect any sound. 'I doubt Rosa and Enzo will have retired.'

  'I'd prefer to go straight to bed,' she declined, unwilling to prolong the evening any further. 'Thank you for taking me to dinner.'

  He reached out a hand and trailed his forefinger down the length of her nose. 'Spoken like a well behaved child.'

  To stand here like this was madness, and she took a backwards step as he bent his head to bestow a fleeting kiss to her lips; light as the brush of a butterfly's wing, yet it released a flood of warmth that slowly swept through her entire body.

  'Ah, there you are! We were about to go upstairs,' Rosa's voice intruded, and Emma looked stricken, her eyes widening with a mixture of guilt and remorse.

  For a few timeless seconds she'd been enmeshed in an irresistable pull of the senses, without thought to anything except the moment.

  'We have just this minute arrived,' Nick announced smoothly, turning slightly so that his frame provided a partial shield.

  Emma took a deep, calming breath and attempted to present a relaxed, smiling facade as she stepped forward. 'It was a lovely meal,' she imparted quietly. 'Nick was right, the food was delicious.' She spared him a quick glance, then she moved forward to touch her lips lightly to the older woman's cheek. 'Goodnight, I'll see you at breakfast in the morning.'

  She moved quickly towards the stairs, and had to refrain from running up them as if a hundred demons were chasing at her heels.

  It wasn't until she was safely in her room with the door closed behind her that she slumped in a heap on to the bed and buried her face in her hands.

  She couldn't be susceptible to Nick Castelli! It was simply a natural feminine reaction to a very attractive man. Even as the thought surfaced, a hollow laugh rose and choked in her throat. There had to be a logical reason for the way she was feeling, yet the only one she recognised had its roots buried in the most base of human needs. Up until now she had thought sex and love went hand in hand; inseparable entities that became entwined in the sexual act itself.

  Perhaps, she decided with a sense of desperation, the deep, aching void she experienced could be attributed indirectly to a need for what she had tragically lost.

  However, it wasn't Marc's face that clouded her vision, and that seemed to be the ultimate sin.

  In a da
ze she rose to her feet and crossed to the dressing-table. The drawer slid out smoothly, and she extracted a framed photograph. The laughing, boyish face stared back at her, the wide-spaced, bright eyes so alive, his mouth parted in an affectionate, teasing smile.

  It was only an image on celluloid. Marc belonged in the past, where perfection ruled, and the present was part of a horrid nightmare.

  With careful fingers she placed the frame on the pedestal beside her bed, then she discarded her clothes and slipped between cool percale sheets to lie staring at the ceiling until sedative-induced sleep lulled her into merciful oblivion.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  During the following days, Emma didn't know whether to be pleased or irritated by the number of sightseeing excursions suggested by Annalisa and indulgently fostered by Nick. Certainly she was grateful for their company and factual knowledge as they visited the Sistine Chapel, the Vatican Museum, the Roman Forum and the Colosseum. All were steeped in history, and there was a natural awe in treading such hallowed ground.

  There were also scenic trips by car which inevitably included a picnic lunch or a meal eaten at a convenient trattoria en route.

  Annalisa was a delight, her laughter warm and infectious, regarding everything with such natural enthusiasm it proved to be increasingly difficult for Emma to refuse Nick's continued hospitality. Even Rosa unknowingly aided Annalisa's collusion by developing a mild virus which kept her indoors and thus delayed her own plans to escort Emma to a number of fashionable boutiques.

  As for Nick, he was the perfect host and companion; amusing, informal, and Emma found him increasingly impossible to ignore. No matter how she tried to convince herself she was immune to his particular brand of masculinity, each passing day brought an elevated awareness that was positively maddening.

  That he knew, angered her unbearably, and it was almost the final straw when, at the conclusion of. one breakfast in the second week of her stay, Annalisa excused herself from the table and went in search of a clutch of brochures from which to plot out the day's outing.

  'I really can't continue to impose on you like this,' Emma ventured, and incurred his dark, steady glance before he picked up his cup and drained what remained of his coffee.