An Awakening Desire

by Helen Bianchin

  A decision to confirm her return flight to Sydney strengthened her resolve to leave Rome at the soonest opportunity, otherwise she was seriously in danger of losing the tenuous hold she had on her own sanity. To stay any longer was cruel, not only to herself, but to Annalisa, for there was little doubt that the young girl had become very fond of her Australian relative.

  The arrival of a waiter with their order proved a welcome distraction, and Emma picked up a wedge of deliciously aromatic pizza and bit into it with relish, laughing when she was urged by Annalisa to take another piece.

  It was half an hour before they made their way back to the car, contentedly replete, and ready for the last leg of coastal road to Salerno where they would pick up the autostrada direct to Rome.

  Small villages dotted the landscape, charming, and so quiet they could have belonged to a former century, Emma decided as the Ferrari purred along the smooth ribbon of winding bitumen. Some of the houses bore the evidence of time, heightened by vivid splashes of colour portrayed by flowering plants in innumerable clay pots. It was too late to see young children at play, but there were fishing vessels anchored in one of the bays and yards of netting spread wide to dry.

  Perhaps it was the food, or the numerous hours of travel, but Emma felt her eyelids begin to droop as weariness descended. Annalisa had become strangely quiet, and a glance towards the rear seat ascertained the young girl had fallen asleep.

  It would be wonderful to give in to the weight of somnolence, and doze. Dared she? Nick wouldn't mind, in fact, he'd probably appreciate being able to concentrate solely on driving instead of keeping up a commentary on passing points of interest.

  Gently lowering her lashes, she allowed herself a masked peep at his profile, admiring the strength in repose, a relaxation she could never hope to emulate. He looked totally in control, his movements at the wheel merely an extension of the vehicle as he negotiated the road.

  Emma sensed his sudden alertness an instant before the vehicle braked, then swerved sharply to the right. It happened so quickly there was no time to prepare for the sickening thud as the Ferrari lurched into a concrete post.

  A variety of sounds reverberated inside her head all at once; Annalisa's shocked cry, Nick's muffled oath, the horrendous screech of car brakes.

  'Emma? Annalisa? Are you hurt?'

  Nick's voice penetrated her stunned brain, and she added her own assurance to that of his daughter. The impact had left her more shaken than anything, and she bore his swift, analytical scrutiny in silence before he turned to check Annalisa.

  Emma was aware that he had slipped out from behind the wheel, and she heard his deep voice, clipped and chillingly quiet, amid a stream of voluble Italian. She could see two pretty girls and two brash young men standing beside an expensive sports car. On their way to a party, and the driver presumably out to impress his passengers with a burst of speed round a hairpin bend.

  'I was asleep,' Annalisa professed, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and excitement, and Emma fought down the feeling of nausea that threatened to engulf her by taking several deep breaths in an effort to restore calm to her shattered nerves. 'Are you all right, Emma? You look white.'

  She lifted a hand and ran shaky fingers through her hair. 'I'm fine, really.' Somehow she had to dampen this terrible sense of fear, precipitating memories of another accident, thus providing a terrifying feeling of deja vu. Haunting and all too vivid was the crash scene in which Marc had been killed, and for a few petrifying minutes she was back there, reliving every painful detail in her mind.

  It seemed an age before Nick returned to the car, time which she'd filled by recounting the day's events with Annalisa; and gradually the enormity of what could have been had begun to fade.

  'I'll call the police, then arrange for a tow-truck,' Nick announced as he slid behind the wheel, and reached for the mobile telephone set into the centre console.

  'Won't we be able to drive back to Rome, Papa?'

  'Not tonight piccina,' he pressed the final digit, then spoke relevant information.

  Why hadn't it occurred to her that they would be unable to continue their journey? Emma queried silently. Damage to the Ferrari precluded travelling so much as one kilometre, let alone a few hundred!

  With smooth efficiency Nick arranged for the car to be towed to a garage in the nearby village of Vietri Mare, then he organised accommodation, rang Rosa to inform her of their delay, and finally, what was to prove the highlight of the evening for Annalisa—a lift into Vietri Mare in the police car when all the details had been completed.

  The pensions was small, and the suite they were given immaculately neat and clean. Situated on the second floor it comprised two bedrooms, each of which led off from a central lounge. There was a functional bathroom and facilities to make tea or coffee. Breakfast, Nick told them, would be served in their suite at eight the following morning.

  'We will have to sleep in our underwear,' Annalisa declared, apparently delighted by the novelty of it all, and she burst into undisguised laughter at her father's wry smile.

  'Fortunately the signora who runs this humble establishment prepares for any emergency. She has been able to supply an assortment of toiletries, and extra towels. I am sure we'll manage.'

  Emma managed a faint smile. 'How extensive is the Ferrari's damage?'

  'It requires some basic repair work to make it roadworthy.' He raked a hand through his hair. 'I'll get the panel work done once we get back to Rome.'

  'Will it take long, Papa?'

  'Much depends on whether the local Ferrari agent has the necessary parts,' Nick declared. 'If not, he will have to send to Salerno.' He effected an imperceptible shrug. 'With luck, we should be able to leave late tomorrow.'

  'Otherwise we get to stay another night,' Annalisa stated solemnly. 'We might have to buy more clothes.' An irrepressible grin appeared, and her eyes sparkled mischievously. 'I will have an adventure to tell everyone when I get back to school. What fun!'

  Emma privately thought she could do without just such an adventure! What it was to have the uncomplicated vision of the young, she decided with envy, Annalisa was extremely fortunate in having a father with sufficient power and wealth at his command to ensure maximum service was accomplished in the swiftest possible time.

  It was quite late, well after eleven o'clock, and she glimpsed Annalisa's stifled yawn and offered a sympathetic smile. It's been a long day,' she pointed out gently. 'Do you want to go to bed?'

  The young girl appeared a trifle reluctant, then she relented with a rueful grin. 'I think so.' Her eyes brightened considerably. 'You will share with me, won't you, Emma?' She looked askance at her father. 'You don't mind, do you, Papa?'

  'Not unless Emma would prefer a room to herself,' Nick stipulated, and Emma felt her heart lurch, then begin a rapid beat as his gaze rested overlong on her slightly flustered features.

  There was faint mockery evident in those dark depths that upset her composure and did strange things to her breathing. With considerable effort she dragged her eyes away from his and turned towards Annalisa. 'I don't mind sharing with you,' she said quietly. 'I'm feeling tired, too. Shall we both say goodnight to your father now?'

  'Yes. We can talk for a while, can't we, like sisters do,' the young girl declared happily, and reaching out she caught hold of Emma's hand, then she stretched up and planted a generous kiss to her father's cheek.

  'Goodnight, piccina. Sleep well,' Nick bade, lifting his head.

  'Do you want to kiss Emma, too, Papa?'

  Innocence, or calculated guile? Emma pondered in a haze of embarrassment as she deliberately kept her eyes fixed on the hollow at the base of his throat, and she prayed fervently he would dismiss bestowing such a gesture.

  'Why not?'

  She heard his smooth query, then she stood completely still as he leant forward and kissed her softly parted mouth with considerable thoroughness.

  'Goodnight, Emma.'

  It took every ounce of will-po
wer to retain a hold on her temper. How dared he subject her to such a display in front of Annalisa? Expose her to something that could so easily be misconstrued?

  Emma didn't deign to look at him, and without a further word she turned and made her way with Annalisa to the bedroom they had elected to occupy for the night.

  'Are you cross with me because I asked Papa to kiss you?' the young girl queried hesitantly as soon as the door closed behind them.

  Emma was about to say yes, when she caught sight of the wretched uncertainty mirrored in Annalisa's expression, and she softened her rebuke with a slight smile. 'Not really.' With your father, she added silently, for taking unfair advantage of the situation.

  'You do like him, don't you?'

  What could she say? Any answer at all was potentially dangerous.

  'I've enjoyed sharing his company with you,' she said carefully.

  'Do you think you would like to—live in Italy?'

  Oh lord, this was getting worse by the minute! She could see the wistful hope in Annalisa's hazel eyes, a fervent, childish wish to play matchmaker to two adults, one of whom she adored and wanted more than anything to provide her with a mother.

  'My home is in Australia,' she answered gently. 'I have parents who would miss me dreadfully if I moved away.'

  Annalisa was silent for several minutes, then her eyes misted with unshed tears. 'You think I am being silly, don't you?'

  'Sweetheart, no!. Never silly,' she answered swiftly, and she gathered the young girl's slight figure close against her own, feeling her throat constrict as small arms curled round her waist.

  'I like you so much,' Annalisa vowed with muffled fervour. 'I wish you could stay for ever.'

  'My boss would give me the sack,' Emma joked in an attempt at lightness. 'Then what would I do?'

  'Papa could find you a job. I know he could.'

  She felt the faint tremor that shook Annalisa's body, and she cursed Nick afresh for being instrument in fostering a young child's romantic dreams.

  'We've had a lovely time together, haven't we?' she queried gently.

  'Just like a real family.'

  'We all indulge in pretend games, Annalisa,' she began quietly, stroking the silky hair with soothing movements. 'Even adults. Sadly, it isn't always possible to change make-believe into reality.'

  'But I want it so badly.'

  'I'm sure your father does everything he can to see that you are well cared for and content.' She took hold of Annalisa's chin and lifted it a little. 'Would you want him to be unhappy? He must have loved your mother very much—perhaps too much to think of allowing anyone to take her place.'

  'I never knew her,' Annalisa owned wretchedly, and Emma's heart tightened painfully, feeling the young girl's hurt as if it were her own.

  The photographs you showed me of her were lovely. She was very beautiful.' A lump rose up in her throat as the celluloid vision of a laughing attractive young woman sprang readily to mind. Anna Castelli had held the world in her hands by virtue of being Nick Castelli's wife. Her eyes had glowed with it, and Emma experienced a shaft of pure, unadulterated jealousy slice through to her very soul. 'Just as you will be in a few short years,' she added unsteadily.

  'Do you think so?' Annalisa queried doubtfully. 'Do I really look like my mother?'

  'Really,' Emma declared softly. 'Now, shall we undress and get into bed ? You use the bathroom first, while I turn down the covers, then I'll have a shower.'

  Within minutes of slipping between the sheets Annalisa was asleep, her measured breathing indicative of a swift passage into blissful slumber. Not so Emma, who found it increasingly impossible to fall asleep. Even counting sheep didn't help, nor did any one of several relaxing techniques. In the end she simply gave up and resigned herself to laying awake until sheer weariness provided its own release.

  Somehow she must have dozed without being aware of it, for she came sharply awake, still in the grip of a fearful nightmare, where it was dark and damp and the sound of her own screams mingled with those of several wailing sirens. She was in the car, and she was hurting, and there was a male body slumped grotesquely over the wheel beside her.

  It was so vivid, so real, she could smell the spilt petrol, hear the voices of the men who dragged her clear, then the terrifying whoosh as the car ignited into flames.

  God, oh dear God, no! Silent tears trickled down her cheeks unchecked as she stared sightlessly into the darkness.

  It's all right, a tiny voice soothed, it's all right, it's just a bad dream. It's over, you're here, safe and alive. Just breathe deeply. But Marc is dead, she longed to scream.

  Except she didn't, and gradually reality overtook the insanity of re-lived memory.

  With shaking movements she brushed the wetness from her face, then she lay still, recalling all the pleasant events in her life with cold-hearted determination.

  CHAPTER NINE

  An hour later Emma was still staring at the ceiling, and the faint niggle at each temple had become a throbbing headache. A silent curse whispered in the darkness of the room. Now there was no hope of sleep, only the promise of enervating pain unless she took something to alleviate it. There were some tablets in her bag, and gingerly she slid out of bed and quietly wound one of the huge bathtowels sarong-wise round her body.

  Sleeping au naturel wasn't something she normally indulged in, but there was little choice if she wanted to don fresh underwear in the morning. The light, wispy nylon would dry in a few hours, spread over a towel in her room, and she felt their slight dampness now, then shook her head. What did it matter? She was adequately covered, and besides, Nick was behind a closed door on the opposite side of the lounge. It would take only a few minutes to get some water from the bathroom and wash down two tablets.

  Extracting the strip of foil from her bag, she quietly made her way from the room and crossed the lounge to the bathroom. Once there she switched on the light, then turned the faucet and half filled a glass with water.

  She had just replaced it on the pedestal beside the white porcelain basin when she felt the hairs prickle at the back of her neck, and she moved her head in seemingly slow motion, half fearful whether some sixth sense had alerted her to the presence of another human or whether it was a figment of her imagination.

  The last person she expected to see was Nick. No, she corrected dazedly—he was the last person she'd hoped to see.

  'Unable to sleep?'

  His voice was quiet, and she blinked, finding it difficult to focus on his features, for razing pain had seeped behind her eyes.

  'I'm sorry if I disturbed you.' Her hand fluttered to the tucked edge of her towel, supremely conscious of her attire.

  He moved further forward into the light, and she saw he too wore a towel, although his was knotted carelessly at his waist and reached his knees. The result was an expanse of muscular chest whorled with dark hair, broad shoulders, and an overall portrayal of silent, deadly strength.

  'I was still awake.' He gave an imperceptible shrug as he shortened the distance between them. 'What is it? A headache?'

  'Yes.' Her monosyllabic answer was scarcely more than a whisper, and she glimpsed his slight frown, the faint narrowing of his eyes, then her chin was taken between firm fingers and lifted so that she had little option but to bear his scrutiny.

  'Where?' He gently probed one temple, then the other. There?'

  'Yes,' she whispered, incapable of uttering another word, and of their own volition each eyelid drifted down in unison, hiding the pain and anguish from his view.

  'What did you take? Prescribed medication?'

  The action of his fingers was incredibly soothing, a tactile massage she could have borne indefinitely.

  'Emma?'

  She wanted to lay her head into the curve of his shoulder and absorb his strength, pretend for a short space of time that she was infinitely precious and possessed the right to expect his comfort;

  'Cara—'

  It was the endearment that did it
, the careless affectionate inflection in his voice. Her eyes pricked with hot hears, then welled and spilled to trickle in slow twin rivulets down to her chin.

  'Sweet Mother of God,' he muttered huskily. 'I was desperately afraid tonight's accident might revive that ill-fated crash.'

  She didn't care any more, she just wanted solace to expiate a haunting memory, and she offered no resistance as he drew her into his arms.

  It was like coming home: to warmth, security, and something much, much more. She could feel the faint stir of his breath against her hair, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.

  With a featherlight touch Nick brushed his lips across one exposed temple, then trailed down to the sensitive cord at the edge of her neck. He created a slow, leisurely path along a pulsing hollow, caressing it with his tongue, teasing the delicate pulse that began to quicken beneath his touch, urging the beat to a thudding crescendo before lifting her head so that he could possess her mouth.

  Slowly, with incredible sensitivity, he sought a response she was desperately afraid to give. There was a wealth of seduction in his touch that was impossible to ignore, and she gave a silent gasp as he caught hold of her lower lip between his teeth, nibbling at the full curve as he traced its outline with the tip of his tongue.

  It was hopelessly erotic, transcending mere pleasure, and she moved restlessly in his arms, unconsciously wanting more.

  A slow ache began in the region of her stomach, spreading in an ever-increasing circle, until her entire body seemed to radiate with passionate desire.

  Emma closed her eyes, drowning in sheer sensation as his lips moved down to the edge of her towel, which somehow no longer provided any restriction. She cried out as his mouth took possession of one roseate peak, rolling it gently with his tongue before catching it between his teeth and applying sufficient pressure to place her on a knife-edge between intense pleasure and the threat of pain.