An Awakening Desire

by Helen Bianchin

  'Tell me,' she ventured evenly, lifting her head to look at him, then she immediately wished she hadn't for his face was far too close. Another inch, and her lips would brush his. 'Is this necessary?'

  A faint gleam of amusement entered his eyes, and she could cheerfully have hit him. 'I won't be used,' she declared tightly.

  She felt him stiffen, then he murmured with deceptive calm, 'You imagine I am deliberately attempting to establish you as my latest—conquest, shall we say?'

  She had the oddest feeling he'd like to shake her until she begged for mercy, and a tiny shiver shook her slim frame.

  'Thus making it painfully clear to Danielle that my interest lies elsewhere, and she should give up the foolish notion of pursuing me,' he inclined with dangerous softness. 'Is that what you think?'

  'The possibility did occur.'

  His teeth gleamed white in the subdued lighting, and she suppressed the urge to slap the wry amusement from his face.

  'Danielle has a burning ambition to lure me into her manipulative net, and attempting to ensnare me has become something of an unenviable obsession.' His voice assumed mocking cynicism. 'The ironic part of it all is that if she succeeded the excitement would end, and I would be discarded without further thought.'

  'I'm filled with compassion,' Emma remarked drily, and a soft, husky laugh emerged from his throat.

  'Really?' he derided quietly.

  She threw him a dark glance as she corrected sweetly, 'For Danielle. All that time wasted on a man who couldn't care less.'

  'You make me sound like an inveterate rake.'

  'And you're not?'

  'There is one woman for whom I care very much.'

  Her heart gave an imperceptible jolt, then steadied and resumed its normal beat. 'If she has an ounce of sense,' she declared lightly, 'she'll keep you dangling on a string to the very end.'

  One eyebrow quirked in silent amusement, and Emma reiterated without humour, 'I don't imagine you've reached your thirties without being aware of the devastating effect you have on the female sex.'

  'You being the exception, hmm?'

  'I'm not interested in forming a liaison with any man.'

  'Would you deny yourself another man's love— children?' His breath stirred her hair and she gave a sudden start as his lips brushed against her temple.

  He sounded serious—too serious, and the breath caught in her throat as she endeavoured to control the way her pulse leapt out of control and began to thud visibly in the hollow at the base of her neck. He was treading dangerous ground, and she lifted her head and met his dark gaze. Not only met it, but she managed to hold it long enough to see the faint narrowing evident.

  'Shall we go back and join Danielle and Vince?'

  If looks could kill, she would be dead, Emma decided when they reached the table, for Danielle's glittery gaze was full of thin veiled animosity.

  'Really, Nick,' the model remonstrated in a soft, purring voice. 'You cannot, be permitted to monopolise Signora Martinero in such a manner.'

  'Emma is a valued guest,' Nick drawled silkily, and Emma took the utmost pleasure in turning slightly towards him as she offered a deliberately sweet smile.

  'As a long-standing friend, Danielle has every right to feel neglected.'

  It was impossible to read anything from his expression, apart from an initial flaring of something indefinable in the depths of his eyes, and she watched in mesmerised fascination as he reached out and caught hold of her hand.

  'If you will excuse us?' He let his gaze encompass Danielle and Vince, and without waiting for their response he collected Emma's wrap.

  For a moment she was tempted to resist, just for the sheer hell of it, then common sense overrode obstinacy as she made her farewell while Nick settled the bill.

  'There is no need for you to take the role of my companion so seriously,' she declared as they reached the pavement. 'I won't be held responsible for inhibiting your social life.'

  'Hasn't it occurred to you that I might prefer your company?'

  She shot him a searching glance. 'Why?'

  'Why not?' Nick parried blandly, taking hold of her arm as they began strolling along the piazza in search of a taxi.

  'We rarely agree on anything.'

  'Perhaps I see you as a refreshing change from most women of my acquaintance.'

  'Who elect to hang on to your every word,' Emma opined drily, and heard his faint chuckle.

  'Their motive is transparent at best.'

  She nodded in mute agreement. 'Ah, yes! You must be quite a catch.'

  'Don't be facetious,' he chided musingly. 'It doesn't suit you.'

  'Why deny the truth?' Some demoniacal imp was urging her on, when every sane cell in her body cautioned she should desist. 'You're the embodiment of every quality attributed to the Italian male.' She subjected his lengthy frame to a deliberate, assessing appraisal. 'Tall, attractive. Attentive, pleasant, and eminently successful.' She pretended contemplation. There's a touch of arrogance apparent and a trend towards chauvinism, but aside from that I guess there's not much to detract from the image.'

  'It's as well I don't beat young women or children,' Nick drawled with hateful cynicism, and she affected a stunning smile.

  'Why, Nick,' she chastised softly, 'I could never attribute you with an act of violence.'

  'Whereas you, sweet Emma, seem hellbent on treading a path towards provoking it.'

  'Is that a threat?'

  'The choice of interpretation is entirely yours.'

  What on earth was the matter with her? It was as if she'd taken a stick and was intent on prodding a sleeping tiger. To what end? His retribution would be swift and deadly, and inevitably cause her pain of a kind she'd be wise to avoid.

  She lapsed into silence, and was grateful when he successfully hailed a passing taxi. Maintaining silence, she stared beyond the windscreen and emerged when they reached the parked Ferrari.

  Within minutes she slid into the passenger seat and watched with idle fascination as he fired the engine prior to sending the sleek vehicle into the flow of late-evening traffic.

  His movements were smooth and sure, and Emma felt the soft hammering of her pulse in sheer reaction to his close proximity. He possessed a potent animalistic sense of power that succeeded in making her feel unaccountably cross and at odds with herself—worse, in the knowledge that some dark, swirling emotion was beginning to take root that had no basis in her existence. At least, not one of which she wanted any part. Impossible to define precisely what it was that bothered her. An expression, the intensity of his gaze; the sureness with which he was invading her life—even contriving to fashion it to his own advantage.

  His daughter was a charming child, so earnest and caring, and whose affection for a remote Australian relative-by-marriage was daily becoming increasingly more obvious. In a way it wasn't fair to kindle such fondness, yet to discourage it was beyond Emma's capability.

  'You're very quiet.'

  She turned slowly to look at him in the darkness of the car's interior, and glimpsed the strong angles and planes of his profile in the reflection of light from a passing car.

  'I thought you'd prefer to give illuminating conversation a miss and concentrate on driving.'

  'How considerate,' he mocked softly. 'I was convinced you had chosen to disregard me.'

  'Not at all,' she disclaimed, and missed the faint gleam in his eyes as she returned her attention to the passing night-time scenery.

  Her eyelids began to feel heavy, and she wasn't aware she had slipped into a fitful doze until she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  'Emma.'

  She opened her eyes, and nothing looked familiar. 'Where are we?'

  'The Villa d'Este,' Nick informed, 'A spectacular vista at night with the fountains lit—definitely a sight worth seeing.' He leaned across and unlatched her door. 'Come, we will walk through the gardens.'

  His arm brushed the curve of her breast, and she was powerless to still the friss
on of fear that began somewhere deep inside and intensified at his accidental touch.

  Without a word she slipped out from the car and stood waiting as he crossed to her side.

  'Five hundred fountains,' Nick revealed quietly. 'Aren't they magnificent?'

  It was a magical fairyland with cascading water creating a multitude of pulsating dance sequences that varied and delighted with every movement.

  'They're beautiful,' Emma breathed, spellbound. Her eyes were alive, her lips parted in receptive pleasure.

  'Yes.'

  Something in the tone of his voice alerted her attention, and she turned towards him in seeming slow motion as his hands settled on her shoulders.

  'Please—don't,' she whispered as he impelled her forward, and at once the butterflies in her stomach began an erratic tattoo, making her frighteningly aware of the electric awareness between them.

  Emma felt herself begin to tremble, and when she attempted to extricate herself from the enforced intimacy of his arms he lowered his head and touched his lips briefly against her temple.

  'Nick—' She didn't care if she beseeched him, she was even prepared to beg—anything, for if he kissed her, nothing would ever be the same again.

  The appeal was useless, and a further protest became lost as his mouth slid down to cover hers in a kiss that was tantalising, tender, yet with a hint of controlled passion and fleetingly brief.

  To her utter chagrin it left her feeling vaguely bereft and wanting more. Then reaction set in, and with it came anger. 'How dare you!'

  Nick was silent for several seconds, then he slowly shook his head. 'Oh, I dare, Emma,' he mocked gently.

  'Let me go,' she whispered furiously.

  'Really, cara,' he reproved in a hateful drawl, 'I fail to comprehend a reason for such anger.'

  'Next you'll tell me your intentions are strictly honourable, I suppose?' She was so consumed with antipathy that her whole body was beginning to shake with it.

  'Are you so sure they are not?'

  Her eyes widened, dilating with confusion and, conscious of the painful thudding of her heart, she forced herself to breathe slowly in an effort to gain some measure of control.

  'If this is a game,' she indicated unsteadily, 'I don't want to play.'

  'Afraid I might win?'

  'After which I go my way, you go yours, and thanks for the memory?' she spat out with unaccustomed bitterness. The thought of attempting further conversation with him tonight was almost more than she could bear, and she desperately needed to get away from him.

  'Please take me back to the villa.'

  'So you can be alone, to cry ?' His eyes were dark, their expression unfathomable. 'All the tears in the world won't bring Marc back.'

  The stark cruelty of his words brought a shocked gasp from her lips. 'How dare you speak to me like that?' she whispered, her face ashen.

  'Someone should.'

  Resentment began to rise to the surface at his apparent callousness, and she momentarily closed her eyes in an attempt to regain her composure.

  'And you've elected yourself, I suppose?'

  He regarded her silently for what seemed an age, then the edge of his mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. 'I consider I have a vested interest.'

  Helpless anger flared, and her eyes assumed a golden brilliance as she swept his broad frame with a wrathful, encompassing glare. 'Oh? What comes next?' She tipped her head back to meet his impenetrable scrutiny. 'Some misguided homily about wanting to help me?'

  He looked at her in silence and, defeated, she let her lashes slowly flicker down to blot out his forceful image.

  Then her eyes flew wide as his hands cupped her face, and surprise kept her transfixed as his head lowered until his mouth was on hers, brushing the outline of her lips in a slow, evocative movement that made her gasp.

  She stood still, shocked into immobility as his kiss became warm and probing, his touch disruptively sensual as he brought her close against him, holding her fast without any effort at all. Then, with unhurried ease, he sought the soft, inner sweetness of her mouth.

  A silent moan rose in her throat, then died, as he savoured the inner recesses with an infinite degree of sensuality, and when she attempted to close her teeth he caught hold of her lower lip and gently pulled it between his own.

  Outraged indignation rose to the fore, and without thought she relaxed her jaw, only to groan impotently at her own folly as his mouth moved on hers, effecting a deliberately flagrant exploration; teasing, tantalising in a manner that promised much but delivered little, pacing with unlimited patience in an attempt to evoke her initial response.

  She wouldn't kiss him back, she wouldn't! Yet slowly her resolve began to dissipate, and just as she thought she could stand it no longer he lifted his head and she stood immobile, her face devoid of colour and her eyes wide, deep pools mirroring pain and a degree of self-humiliation.

  Without a word he lifted a hand and trailed his fingers gently down her cheek, then moved to trace the curve of her lower lip. 'Don't look like that,' he berated softly.

  Emma wasn't able to utter a sound, and tears welled in her eyes, shimmering, then spilled over to run slowly down in twin rivulets to rest against the corners of her mouth.

  'You sweet fool,' Nick cursed huskily, his eyes dark and unfathomable as he witnessed her desolation.

  She felt infinitely fragile, vulnerable, and possessed of a strange complexity of sensibilities that had no part of her past.

  'I'd like you to take me home.' Was that her voice? It sounded so bleak and forlorn.

  Without a word he took hold of her arm and led the way back to the car.

  They seemed to reach the villa in a very short time, and immediately the car slid to a halt inside the garage she slipped out and stood waiting while he locked up.

  Indoors, she preceded him to the base of the curving staircase. Before she could ascend he reached out and caught hold of her arm and pulled her close.

  She could feel his intent scrutiny, and was overcome with an inexplicable apprehension. It was almost as if he was deliberately adopting an urbane facade in an attempt to put her at ease, and she felt decidely wary. One false word or move and she'd be catapulted into an explosive situation.

  'Don't—'

  Her remonstrance was lost as his mouth closed over hers in a brief, passionate kiss, then she was free.

  'Goodnight, cara.'

  Without a backward glance he turned and moved up the stairs, and Emma watched his broad back disappear with a composite of shock and indignation. How dared he kiss her like that! Dear lord, she couldn't remember being so consumed with anger.

  Something deep within seemed to be urging her towards a confrontation, tempting her to taunt in a manner that was the antithesis of her nature. She'd never lost her temper with Marc, nor felt the need to offer a differing opinion, let alone argue. Yet with Nick Castelli she experienced a whole gamut of emotions, the least desirable of all being a growing awareness of her own sensuality. Perhaps that was why she disliked him so much, she reflected, as she made her way to the sanctuary of her room.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Rosa proved to be an amusing companion, informative and seemingly untiring as she strolled with Emma through the city's streets, frequenting several boutiques where a number of garments took their eye and a selected few were purchased.

  Giorgio Armani had created a delightful range, and Emma gazed enviously at a silk-beaded gown by Karl Lagerfeld, seriously tempted, although after much thought she reluctantly decided against it. From a fashion viewpoint, Lagerfeld's theme was body-hugging and only for the very slender figure.

  'What it is to be young,' Rosa murmured with a warm smile as they viewed a further selection. 'So many of the designs appear so extreme.'

  'I'd hate to be a buyer,' Emma responded quietly. 'Working a season ahead, gauging consumer appeal and taking responsibility for such a huge financial outlay.' A faint smile curved her generous mouth. 'After all, there's no
fashion if a projected line doesn't catch on, and viewing various designer collections is accorded such glamour it would be difficult not to be swayed at the time.'

  'You enjoy your job, don't you?'

  'Yes,' Emma accorded simply. 'Coordinating accessories with a garment can be tremendously inspiring. I like to study the client—her mannerisms, her choice of make-up and hairstyle, and most important of all, the image she wants to project. I assemble the basics, shoes, belts, even tights. Then I move on to jewellery, preferring to view her own before suggesting a new purchase.' A faint, mischievous smile lightened her features. 'Although few clients object to spending their husband's money!'

  'Especially if the clientele are wealthy,' Rosa declared, and Emma's smile widened, then assumed a certain wryness.

  'Yes. Some will simply buy a name label just for the sake of being able to claim ownership, regardless of whether or not it suits them.'

  'Cynical, but all too accurate,' Rosa agreed. 'One sees the result on frequent occasions, and shudders at their appalling lack of taste.'

  They were carrying a number of assorted packages in various carrier-bags which were beginning to prove cumbersome.

  'Shall we leave?' Rosa suggested as they completed yet another purchase from a particularly exclusive boutique. 'By the time Carlo attempts to brave the traffic, it will be at least eight before we reach the villa.'

  'I think so. We've done very well.'

  Rosa turned to the manageress and requested the use of her telephone to summon Carlo with the car, and they waited patiently until the large silver sedan slid in to the kerb, then they seated themselves in the cool, air-conditioned interior while the chauffeur deftly stowed their purchases into the capacious boot.

  'What a lovely day it's been,' the older woman enthused with genuine warmth as the car purred its way out of the city. 'I adore your new ensemble. You must wear it to the theatre tonight.' She placed a hand over one of Emma's and patted it gently. 'So very fortunate a colleague of Enzo's gave us two spare tickets, although the poor man was not to know Enzo and I had already seen the play.'