An Awakening Desire

by Helen Bianchin

  'Very fortunate,' Emma concurred, almost resigned at having been manoeuvred into an evening at the theatre with Nick. Circumstances seemed to contrive against her where he was concerned, and she entertained no doubts that he utilised every available one to his own advantage.

  The tranquility of the villa after the city's bustling streets acted like a soothing balm, and a shower did wonders to restore Emma's energy.

  Electing to wear the new pale lemon-yellow skirt and matching top Emma added a silver belt to her waist and fastened a wide silver bracelet over her wrist. Make-up came next, and she applied eyeshadow and mascara with skilful ease, then added blusher and coloured her lips with a soft, clear pink.

  Emerging downstairs she entered the lounge to find Nick deep in conversation with Enzo.

  Impeccable tailoring merely accentuated his tautly muscled frame, and she noted the proud angle of his head, the strength apparent in the powerful set of his shoulders.

  Her pulse leapt, then quickened as a thousand tiny nerve-endings surged into pulsating life, and she fought off the treacherous ache that began somewhere in the region of her stomach. It was maddening the way her body was reacting, she decided dispassionately as she moved further into the room.

  At that moment he turned, and she was held an unwilling prisoner by the sudden brilliance in his eyes, the latent passion, and she felt immeasurably afraid.

  'Emma, my dear,' Enzo greeted her effusively, 'Do have a drink. What can I get you?

  'A mineral water, please,' she requested, offering him a gentle smile before glancing towards Nick, whose dark eyes pinned hers, their gleaming depths alive with cynical amusement.

  'The need for a clear head, Emma?'

  She directed him a quick glance that was remarkably steady. 'Not at all.'

  'Here you are,' Enzo proferred a slim crystal goblet filled with clear, sparkling liquid. 'Salute,' he bade genially, watching as she sipped the refreshing mineral water. 'I gather you enjoyed your day exploring the various fashion houses with Rosa?'

  'Yes,' Emma declared sincerely. 'The clothes are fabulous.'

  'And what of tonight, Emma?' Nick parried smoothly. 'Are you looking forward to my company with equal pleasure?'

  'But of course,' she responded evenly. 'I'm quite sure you can be guaranteed to entertain me with gentlemanly decorum.' Her sweet smile looked utterly genuine, and from the corner of her eyes she glimpsed Enzo's benevolent observance of their exchange.

  'Emma, Nick—please excuse the delay in joining you,' Rosa offered apologetically as she moved towards them. 'A telephone call. Not important, but one which proved difficult to terminate. Caro,' she murmured gratefully as Enzo placed a glass of wine in her hand. 'Where is Annalisa?'

  'Asleep,' Nick revealed with a slow smile. 'We played several games of tennis, followed by more than an hour in the pool. Then we took a picnic lunch and drove until my daughter discovered a grassy slope deemed suitably picturesque on which to spread a blanket and eat our simple fare.' His shoulders lifted in a negligible shrug as he slanted them each a musing glance. The combination of sunshine, exercise and food, without the benefit of an afternoon siesta, took their toll, I'm afraid.'

  'Poor piccina,' Rosa sympathised warmly.

  'If you will excuse us, we will leave, Nick intimated, placing his empty tumbler down on to a nearby table.

  'Enjoy yourselves,' said Rosa with a gentle smile. 'We will look forward to seeing you both at breakfast.'

  Emma permitted Nick to lead her out to where the Ferrari was parked, and she slid into the passenger seat and fastened the safety-belt with quick sure movements, aware of a sense of misgiving at spending several hours in his company.

  A dozen times in as many minutes she summoned the words to begin some meaningless conversational gambit, then she discarded them as being completely inane.

  'Don't look so serious. The play has received good reviews. I'm sure you'll enjoy it.'

  'Good heavens,' Emma protested mildly, 'I'm not difficult to please.'

  Nick's glance was swift and infinitely mocking. Indeed?'

  A faint tinge of colour rose to her cheeks at his implication, and the look she flung him would have felled a lesser man. 'If I remain in your presence for much longer I'm liable to hit you!'

  'You rise to the bait so beautifully,' Nick declared. 'Like a miniature virago.'

  'Be careful I don't decide to erupt!' She was so angry the emotion seemed to consume her, and its magnitude was quite frightening.

  'I am sure I can handle such an event—and its aftermath,' Nick declared silkily, leaving her in little doubt as to how he would deal with it.

  She shivered as icy fingers scudded stealthily down her spine, for the mere thought of being subdued by him shook her composure and tore it to shreds. Faced with imagining Nick in the role of lover made her sick with apprehension. He was no insecure beginner, unsure and unaware how to please.

  'Do you derive satisfaction from taunting me?' Her voice sounded alien to her ears, and almost afraid.

  He shot her a quick, discerning glance, then stifled a savage oath. 'What do you think I intend, for the love of God?'

  'I don't know—I don't care,' Emma flung incautiously as she drew a shaky breath. 'I'm tired of being manipulated—by everyone?

  'Me, especially.'

  'Yes, damn you!' Stupid, angry tears welled up and teetered precariously, ready to spill.

  'I could shake you, do you know that?' Nick threatened with dangerous softness, and she retaliated swiftly, 'Why don't you? You've done everything else.'

  There was a mesmeric silence, intensifying until she became conscious of every breath she took.

  'On the contrary, I haven't put a hand out of place.'

  'I wouldn't let you!'

  'My dear Emma,' he drawled silkily. 'Do you really think you could stop me?'

  'I'd have a damn good try!'

  His expression lightened fractionally, and a glint of cynical amusement lit his darkened gaze. 'Yes, I do believe you would.'

  'And don't call me your dear Emma,' she snapped furiously.

  'Why, cara?' The cynicism became vaguely mocking. 'Does it bother you so much?'

  'I'll never be your—anything,' she assured emotionally.

  'We have arrived,' Nick drawled, and Emma realised with a start of surprise that the car was stationary.

  'Shall we aim for disarmed neutrality?'

  'I doubt that's possible,' she muttered, unable to believe they could spend an hour without being at cross-purposes—let alone several.

  Nick slid out from behind the wheel, locked his door, then he crossed round to her side of the car. Taking her elbow, he led the way towards a sprawling piazza.

  'Nevertheless, we shall try, hmm?'

  They walked several blocks in companionable silence, and gradually Emma began to relax, dismissing most of her former anxiety as rational logic rose to the surface. Maybe she was over-reacting, having become too aware of her own vulnerability.

  Having gained the theatre foyer they were led to a small table with an excellent view of the stage, and in a moment of recklessness Emma ordered a Galliano cocktail, then when it came she sipped it and was dismayed at its potency.

  'Have you always lived with your parents?'

  She almost choked at the unexpectedness of his query, and took several seconds to form her reply. 'Yes. Apart from the week I was married to Marc.'

  Nick's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and his voice was deceptively bland as he bade, 'Tell me about him.'

  Emma had the greatest difficulty in swallowing the lump in her throat, and her voice held a trace of bitterness. 'I'm sure Rosa has told you everything you want to know.'

  'Not the things I want to hear.'

  She forced her eyes to remain steady beneath his intent gaze, hating him for placing her in such an invidious position. What could she say? Why should she say anything?

  Nick was silent for what seemed an age, then he ventured with soft deliberation. 'You
have an untouched quality—almost as if the heights and depths of passionate ecstasy still remain an elusive mystery.'

  A cold anger began to burn inside her, and she threw him a baleful glare. 'Are you implying that I didn't love Marc?'

  His hard, intent stare played havoc with her equilibrium. 'Love takes many forms.'

  'And you're an expert, of course,' Her scepticism was clearly evident, and his mouth moved to form a sardonic smile.

  'My experience has to be considerably more vast than yours.'

  'I wouldn't doubt it!' The look she flung him conveyed disparagement, and his answering chuckle came out low and husky, and full of indolent humour.

  'Has anyone told you how beautiful you are when you're angry?'

  'I've never been sufficiently incensed for anyone to tell me,' she hissed furiously.

  'The play is about to begin,' he declared urbanely, and Emma was reduced to impotent silence as the lights dimmed and the music heralded the onset of the evening's performance.

  On reflection the play was a good one, an innovative slant on an old classic, and perhaps it was as well she required total concentration to comprehend the fast-paced Italian dialogue, for it meant she could temporarily forget the forceful man at her side.

  'Would you like to visit a nearby bar for an espresso coffee or cappuccino?' Nick queried as they emerged from the theatre a few hours later.

  The thought of spending a further hour in his company merely flared her nerve-endings into frightening life. 'I'm rather tired,' she evinced evenly, directing her attention to the vicinity of his black bow-tie. 'And it will be an hour before we reach the villa.'

  'Then we will go home.'

  His voice was bland, but Emma wasn't deceived by his amenability for a minute.

  Once seated in the car she leaned her head against the cushioned head-rest and watched as Nick crossed round and slid in behind the wheel, then he fired the engine and eased the powerful vehicle into the stream of traffic.

  He made no effort to converse, and she concentrated her attention on the passing night scene, fascinated by the bright splashes of neon above lit shop windows, the evidence of people strolling the pavements, the number of ristorantes with tables and chairs placed outside for patrons to sit at in relaxed enjoyment.

  After a while she closed her eyes, lulled by the smooth purr of the engine and the lateness of the hour.

  Emma woke with a start, unsure for a brief second what had disturbed her and equally unsure where she was. Then reality surfaced, and she became aware the Ferrari was stationary inside the garage. Was it a figment of her imagination, or had something brushed her temple?

  Of their own volition her lashes swept upward and she met Nick's inimical gaze. Light reflected from the ceiling filtered into the car's interior and lent angles to his strong features, making it difficult to judge anything from his expression.

  A tiny pulse quickened at the base of her throat and began to hammer in palpable confusion as he made no move to vacate his seat, and she wanted to run as fast as she could, yet stay. As crazy as it seemed, she wanted, needed to feel the strength of his arms, the touch of his mouth on hers, to be swept high on a tide of sensation that would ease the deep, aching void within.

  It would take only the slightest gesture on her part, and there would be no turning back. She could see it in his eyes, sense it in the coiled tenseness of his body, the intent watchfulness apparent.

  Even as she hesitated, a feeling of self-disgust washed over her, and she reached for the door handle, then slipped out from the car to stand waiting as he secured the garage.

  Tension filled the air until it assumed a highly volatile quality, and her stomach muscles clenched in painful reaction as he crossed to her side.

  A quick glance was all that was needed to witness Nick's narrowed scrutiny and the latent anger evident, and Emma felt a surge of blazing rage at her own stupidity in permitting him to get beneath her skin. The private battle she'd been waging for days against recognition of her emotions rose damnably to the surface, bringing guilt and self-loathing to a degree where she wanted to lash out at the one person responsible—hurt him as much as she was hurting.

  'Leave me alone!' The words emerged as an anguished whisper the instant he caught hold of her elbow, and he swore briefly, explicitly, as his gaze raked her slender frame. 'I'm not a child in need of a restraining hand!'

  'I was merely offering gentlemanly assistance,' Nick drawled, and her answering laugh came out sounding slightly off-key.

  'Is that what you call it? Why, then, do I feel positively shackled?

  All of a sudden his presence was a definite threat in the semi-darkness, and she was supremely conscious of their surroundings, the dimly lit path leading through the garden and the lateness of the hour.

  'Were you such a shrew with Marc?'

  The query threw her off balance, and she looked at him with pain-filled eyes. 'No,' she denied unsteadily. 'We never argued.'

  One eyebrow rose in sardonic cynicism. 'My dear Emma, never? His eyes gleamed darkly with latent amusement. 'No outbursts that were healed with the sweetness of making up?'

  'What would you have me do? Invent some arguments just for your satisfaction?' she vented, endeavouring to control her temper. 'Marc was kind and thoughtful, and willing to do anything to please.'

  He regarded her solemnly for several long seconds, then he remarked quietly, 'You argue with me.'

  'Because you rub me up the wrong way!' she cried, sorely tried.

  'Have you given a thought to why?'

  'Yes, damn you!'

  'And you don't like it,' he drawled imperturbably, his eyes watchfully intent.

  'You're damned right, I don't!' Her anger had whipped itself into such a fine fury that her eyes sparkled with brilliant fire, making them appear like crystallised topaz.

  'Such vehemence,' Nick mocked as he conducted a slow, encompassing appraisal, lingering on the agitated pulse-beat at the base of her throat, the deepness of her eyes and their dilation, the soft, trembling mouth. He lifted a hand and let his fingers trail down her left cheek. 'Why not take it one day at a time,' he suggested tolerantly, 'without attempting to analyse and pin down every provoking emotion?'

  Her chin lifted fractionally. 'Is a degree in psychology one of your attributes?'

  'What a delightful mixture you are,' he accorded musingly 'One minute a termagant, the next a polite child.'

  Resentment flared, sharpening her tongue. 'You bring out the worst in me,' she retorted, and became incensed when he laughed.

  Without thought her hand flew in a swift arc towards his face, and the resounding slap sounded loud in the silence of the garden.

  There was a brief glimpse of terrible anger in his eyes, and for a few timeless seconds she thought he meant to strike her back.

  Shock kept her immobile, and as the consequences of her actions slowly penetrated her brain she became filled with a terrible sense of shame. Never in her life had she been so moved to anger, nor had there been a moment when her normally sunny nature digressed to such an extent she'd felt impelled to hit anyone.

  An apology, any words she could utter in excuse seemed pointless, yet convention demanded she extend them.

  'I'm sorry.'

  'No, you're not,' Nick opined drily, and she raised startled eyes to meet his hooded expression.

  A muscle tensed along his powerful jaw, and she suddenly felt as if she was about to tread on broken glass. One false move and she would be consumed with pain. Looking at him, there was no doubt as to what form it would take.

  'Please—don't,' she implored shakily, held motionless in mesmerised fascination as he leant out a hand and caught hold of her chin.

  Another slid beneath the swathe of her hair to capture her nape, and her lips parted in silent protest, her eyes widening into huge pools, mirroring despair as his head lowered down to hers.

  A silent moan became locked in her throat as her lips were taken, possessed, in a manner th
at was punishingly cruel, and he plundered the sweet softness of her mouth in a kiss that became a total invasion of her senses. Her jaw ached, and her tongue felt numb and swollen as he exacted retribution. Just as she thought she could stand no more, he tore his mouth away in a gesture of self-disgust.

  Emma almost swayed at the sudden movement, and she clutched for the only solid entity within reach to prevent herself from falling; then realisation of the strong, muscled arms beneath her hands made her lift them away as if they'd been scorched by flame.

  Her eyes seemed locked with his, their expression trapped and filled with pain, and her lips began to tremble, their movement totally beyond her control.

  Without conscious thought she lifted unsteady fingers to her mouth.

  A husky string of epithets assailed her ears, and she cried out as hard hands drew her close, their grip bruising the delicate bones of her shoulders as his head bent towards hers, and she closed her eyes against a further onslaught, her hands fluttering uselessly to her side as his lips brushed against her temple, then slid across first one eyelid, then the other before trailing down to rest at the edge of her mouth.

  His touch was curiously gentle as he traced the swollen outline with evocative slowness, savouring the faint saltiness before dispensing it with his tongue, then with infinite care he teased her lower lip apart and she gave an incoherent groan at such flagrant seduction.

  A slow warmth entered her veins as his lips travelled down the pulsing cord at the edge of her neck to begin an erotic discovery of the hollows beneath her throat, and it was only when he moved lower towards the gentle swell of her breasts that reason surfaced and with it a stark horror at what she might be inviting.

  Even as she struggled, he raised his head, and Emma stood frozen, almost afraid to move. She began to tremble as she instinctively crossed her arms across her breasts, hugging them tightly in an effort to still the deep shudders that shook her slim frame.

  'Why do you look at me as if I intend rape, or worse?' A muscle tautened along the edge of his jaw, and his eyes darkened with smouldering bleakness. 'Cristo!' His voice held a dangerous softness that sent icy shivers scudding down her spine, and she was powerless to resist the pressure of his hand as he grasped hold of her chin and forced her to look at him. 'I won't deny a need to have you in my bed,' he stated with brutal frankness. 'But when it happens it will be me you want, my possession you crave.' He paused deliberately, the leashed savagery in his voice flicking over her with the stinging rawness of a whip. 'Not someone to act as a shadowy substitute for Marc.'