The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Her eyes grew large, expressing a mixture of shock and anger, yet she refused to be subjugated to him in any way. ‘Rape, even between husband and wife,’ she reminded stiltedly, ‘is a criminal offence.’

  Something flickered in the depths of his eyes, then it was successfully masked. ‘You know me well enough to understand that rape would never be a consideration.’

  No, she thought shakily. He was too skilled a lover to harm his partner with any form of physical pain. His revenge would be infinitely more subtle.

  As it had been on one previous occasion, when she’d driven him to anger with a heated accusation she’d refused to retract or explain, and he had simply hauled her unceremoniously over his shoulder and carried her into the bedroom where he had conducted a deliberate leisurely assault on her senses until she was on fire with a desire so intense that she had possessed no reason, no sanity, only base animal need and a wild driven hunger for the release that only he could give. Except that he had taken pleasure in making her wait until she was reduced to begging unashamedly like a craven wanton caught in the throes of some primeval force, and then, only then, had he taken her with a merciless mastery that knew no bounds in a totally erotic plundering of her senses. With no energy left to move, she’d drifted into sleep, only to waken in the early morning hours, where self-loathing had surfaced, and a degree of shame. It had been the catalyst that had motivated her to leave.

  Carly shivered suddenly, hating him more than she thought it was possible to hate anyone, and she watched in silence as he crossed to a concealed wall-safe, activated the mechanism, then removed a small jeweller’s box before covering the distance between with calm, leisurely steps.

  ‘Your rings,’ Stefano declared, extracting the exquisite square-cut diamond with its baguette-cut diamond mounting, and its matching band.

  Surprise momentarily widened her eyes as she recalled tearing both from her finger in a fit of angry rage. ‘You kept them?’

  His gaze was remarkably steady. ‘What did you expect me to do with them?’

  She was lost for words, her mobile features hauntingly expressive for a few seconds before she schooled them into restrained reserve, unable in the few ensuing seconds to make any protest as he took hold of her left hand and slid both rings in place.

  Of their own volition her fingers sought the large stone, twisting it back and forth in a gesture that betrayed an inner nervousness.

  His proximity disturbed her more than she was prepared to admit, and she was aware of a watchful quality in his stance, an intentness so overpowering that she felt almost afraid.

  Her whole body stirred, caught up in a web of sensuality so acute that it seemed as if every vein, every nerve cell in her body flamed in electrifying recognition of his, which was totally opposite to the dictates of her brain.

  To continue standing here like this was madness, and without a further word she turned away from him, crossing to her luggage to begin the chore of unpacking.

  Carly’s movements were steady and unhurried as she placed clothes on hangers in a capacious walk-in wardrobe, and she was aware of the instant he turned and left the room.

  Dinner was a simple meal comprising minestrone followed by pasta, and afterwards Sylvana served coffee in the informal lounge.

  Settling Ann-Marie to bed was achieved without fuss, and Stefano willingly agreed to his daughter’s request to listen to a bedtime story.

  A novelty, Carly assured herself as she chose the opposite side of Ann-Marie’s bed, conscious that she was the focus of two pair of eyes—one pair loving and direct, the other musing and faintly speculative.

  Forget he’s there, a tiny voice prompted as she picked up the book and began to read. Who do you think you’re kidding? another derided.

  Somehow Carly managed to inject her voice with its customary warmth and enthusiasm, and she had almost finished when Ann-Marie’s eyes fluttered down.

  Minutes later Stefano rose quietly to his feet and waited at the door for Carly to precede him from the room.

  ‘Does she usually wake in the night?’ he queried as they neared the head of the stairs, and Carly shook her head.

  ‘Very rarely.’ She was a nervous wreck, she had a headache, and all she wanted to do was have a long leisurely shower, then slip into bed. She said as much, adding, ‘I’ll drop Ann-Marie at school in the morning, then go into the office for a few hours.’

  ‘Clive Mathorpe isn’t expecting you,’ Stefano drawled, and she felt a frisson of alarm at his long hard glance. ‘I’ve already enlightened him that his highly regarded Carly Taylor is Carly Taylor Alessi.’

  Anger surged to the surface at his high-handedness. ‘How dare you?’ she vented in softly voiced fury. ‘I am quite capable of telling him myself!’

  ‘As my wife, there’s no necessity for you to work. Your first priority lies with Ann-Marie.’ The velvet smoothness in his voice should have been sufficient warning, but she was too stubborn to take any heed.

  ‘I agree,’ she conceded, determined to win points against him. ‘However, as she’ll be at school from eight forty-five until two-thirty, I don’t see why I shouldn’t spend those hours delegating work to whoever will take my place over the next few weeks.’

  ‘I’ll allow you tomorrow,’ Stefano agreed hardly. ‘But that’s all.’

  ‘Don’t begin dictating what I can and can’t do!’ Carly said fiercely. She felt defensive, and very, very angry. ‘And don’t you dare imply that I’m an irresponsible mother! What sort of father will you be?’ she demanded. ‘It isn’t nearly enough to provide a child with a beautiful home and numerous possessions. The novelty soon wears off when you can’t be present at the school fête, or attend the end-of-year play.’ Her eyes flashed with fiery topaz as her anger deepened. ‘What happens next week, the week after that, and all the long months ahead?’ she queried fiercely. ‘You’ll be too busy jetting off to God knows where, cementing yet another multi-million-dollar deal. When you are home, you’ll probably leave in the morning before she wakes, and return long after she’s given up any hope of catching a glimpse of you. How am I going to explain that your liaison with fatherhood will be conducted by remote control?’

  His eyes were dark and unfathomable, and she was aware of a degree of anger apparent. ‘Why are you so sure it will be?’

  ‘Because you lead such a high-profile existence,’ she flung in cautiously. ‘It can’t be any other way, damn you!’

  He looked at her in silence for what seemed an age, and it was all she could do to hold his gaze. Yet she wouldn’t subvert her own beliefs in deference to a man whose credo was different from her own.

  ‘Tell me, are you staging a fight as a matter of principle, or merely as an attempt to vent some of your rage?’

  ‘Both!’

  ‘With any clear thought to the consequences?’ Stefano pursued, his eyes never leaving hers for a second.

  ‘Don’t you dare threaten me!’

  One dark eyebrow rose in cynical query. ‘If you imagine I’ll take any invective you choose to throw in my direction without retaliation, you’re mistaken,’ he warned silkily.

  Carly felt as if she was on a rollercoaster leading all the way down to hell. ‘I’m damned if I’ll play happy families at a flick of your fingers!’

  ‘I doubt you’ll do or say anything to upset Ann-Marie.’

  He was right. She wouldn’t. Yet she desperately wanted to hit out at him for invading her life and turning it upside-down.

  ‘Do you enjoy the power it gives you to use my daughter as an excuse to blackmail me?’

  ‘Are you making an allegation?’ Stefano countered in a voice that would have quelled an adversary.

  For a few fateful seconds they seemed locked in silent battle, and she felt as if she was shattering into a thousand pieces. ‘It’s the truth!’

  He stood regarding her in silence, his eyes darkly inscrutable, yet there was an air of leashed anger apparent, a sense of control that was almost frightening.r />
  ‘Quit while you’re ahead, Carly.’

  She felt the need to be free of him, and preferably alone. For a few hours at least. ‘I’m going to take a shower and watch television for a while.’

  One eyebrow rose fractionally. ‘A desire for solitude?’

  ‘I’m off duty,’ she declared, uncaring of his reaction.

  ‘Careful with your claws, my little cat,’ Stefano warned softly. ‘Or I may choose to unsheathe my own.’

  There was nothing she could add, so she didn’t even try. Instead, she turned and walked towards their suite, and once inside she carefully closed the door.

  He didn’t follow, and she moved into the en suite and shed her clothes, then took a long shower, and, towelled dry, she pulled on a thin cotton shift and emerged into the bedroom, to stand hesitantly, unsure which of the two beds she should occupy.

  Dammit, she swore softly. With her luck, she’d choose the wrong one, and then Stefano would be cynically amused by her mistake.

  There was only one solution, and she caught up a towelling robe and slid it on, then walked through to the sitting-room, activated the television, and sank into a comfortable chair.

  If necessary, she determined vengefully, she’d sleep here, rather than slip into the wrong bed!

  Sunday evening television offered the choice of three movies, an intellectual book review, or a play spoken entirely in Hungarian. A karate-kickboxer epic wasn’t her preferred viewing, nor was a terminator blockbuster, and she wasn’t in the mood for a chilling thriller. After switching channels several times, she simply selected one for the sake of it and allowed her attention to wander.

  At some stage she must have dozed, for she was aware of a strange sense of weightlessness, a desire to sink more comfortably into arms that seemed terribly familiar.

  A small sigh escaped her lips, and she burrowed her face into the curve of a hard, muscular shoulder, then lifted her hands to encircle a male neck.

  It felt so good, so right, and she murmured her appreciation. Her lips touched against warm skin, moving involuntarily as they savoured a texture and scent her subconscious recognised—not only recognised, but delighted in the discovery.

  Except that she wanted more, and the tip of her tongue ventured out in a tentative exploratory tasting, edging up a deeply pulsing cord in search of a mouth she instinctively knew could bestow pleasure.

  Then the barriers between unconsciousness and awareness began to disperse, bringing a horrifying knowledge that, although the arms that held her belonged to the right man, it was the wrong time, the wrong room, and her dream-like state owed nothing to the reality!

  For a moment her eyes retained a warm luminescence, a musing witchery, then they clouded with pain before being hidden by two thickly lashed veils as she struggled to be free of him.

  ‘Put me down!’

  ‘I was about to,’ Stefano drawled as he placed her between fragrantly clean sheets, and her lashes swept up to reveal intense anger.

  His touch was impersonal, yet she felt as if she was on fire, with every separate nerve-end quivering into vibrant life, each individual skin-cell an ambivalent entity craving his touch.

  Carly snatched the top sheet and pulled it up to her chin in a defensive gesture. ‘Get away from me!’

  His eyes speared hers, darkly mesmeric as she forced herself not to look away.

  ‘You’re as nervous as a kitten,’ he drawled musingly. ‘Why, when we’ve known each other in the most intimate sense?’

  Reaching out, he brushed gentle fingers down the length of her cheek to the edge of her mouth, then traced the curving contour with a stray forefinger. ‘What are you afraid of, cara?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Carly responded carefully. ‘Absolutely nothing at all.’

  Liar, she derided silently. No matter how hard she tried she was unable to still the fast-beating pulse that hummed through her veins, seducing every nerve and fibre until she felt incredibly alive.

  His smile was wholly cynical, and his eyes held a gleam of mockery as they conducted a deliberately slow appraisal of her expressive features, lingering over-long on the visible pulsebeat at the base of her throat before travelling up to meet her gaze.

  ‘Goodnight, Carly,’ he bade her lazily. ‘Sleep well.’

  She mutinously refused to comment, and she watched as he turned and walked from the room. Damn him, she cursed silently. She wouldn’t sleep in this bed, this room!

  Anger fuelled her resolve, and she flung aside the covers, grabbed hold of her robe, then retreated quietly to an empty suite near by.

  It held a double bed—made up in readiness, she discovered—and she slid beneath the covers, then switched off the bedside lamp.

  Quite what Stefano’s reaction would be when he found her missing wasn’t something she gave much thought to for a while. She was too consumed with numerous vengeful machinations, all designed to cause him harm.

  By the time she focused on what he might do, she was drifting off to sleep, too comfortable and too tired to care.

  At some stage during the night she came sharply awake as a light snapped on, and she blinked against its brightness, disorientated by her surroundings for one brief second before realisation dawned. Except that by then it was too late to do anything but struggle as hard hands lifted her unceremoniously to her feet.

  The face above her own was set in frightening lines, jaw clenched, mouth compressed into a savagely thin line, and eyes as dark as obsidian slate burning with controlled anger.

  ‘You can walk,’ Stefano drawled with dangerous softness. ‘Or I can carry you.’ His eyes hardened with chilling intensity, and Carly felt immensely afraid. ‘The choice is yours.’

  He resembled a dark brooding force—lethal, she acknowledged shakily, noting a leashed quality in his stance that boded ill should she dare consider rebellion.

  ‘I won’t share the same bedroom with you,’ she ventured with a brave attempt at defiance, and saw his eyes narrow for an instant before they began a deliberately slow raking appraisal of her slim curves.

  It was terrifying, for her skin flamed as if he’d actually trailed his fingers along the same path, and her eyes filled with futile rage. Her fingers curled into her palms, the knuckles showing white as she restrained herself from lashing out at him.

  ‘We agreed to a reconciliation,’ he reminded her with icy detachment. ‘For Ann-Marie’s benefit.’ His dark gaze seared hers, then struck at her heart. ‘I think we each realise our daughter is sufficiently intelligent to know that happily reconciled parents don’t maintain separate bedrooms.’ He knew just how to twist the knife, and he did it without hesitation. ‘Are you prepared for the questions she’ll pose?’

  Carly’s slim form shook with anger, and her eyes blazed with it as she held his gaze. ‘If you so much as touch me,’ she warned as she collected her wrap and slipped it on, ‘I’ll fight you all the way down to hell.’

  It took only seconds to reach the master suite, and only a few more to discard her wrap and slip into one of the two beds dominating the large room. With determination she turned on to her side and closed her eyes, uncaring whether he followed her or not.

  She heard him enter the room and the soft decisive snap as the door closed, followed by the faint rustle of clothes being discarded, then the room was plunged into darkness, and she lay still, her body tense, until sheer exhaustion triumphed and she fell asleep.

  Monday rapidly shaped up to be one of those days where Murphy’s Law prevailed, Carly decided grimly, for whatever could go wrong did, from a ladder in her tights to a traffic jam en route to the city.

  On reaching the office, there appeared to be little improvement. She didn’t even manage coffee mid-morning, and lunch was a salad sandwich she sent out for and washed down quickly with apple juice as she checked and double-checked details required urgently for an eminent client.

  Given normal circumstances she excelled under pressure, regarding it as a challenge rather than nerve-destroying
, and it was with mixed feelings that she tidied her desk, took leave of her colleagues and drove to collect Ann-Marie from school.

  They arrived at Stefano’s elegant mansion—Carly refused to call it home—shortly after three to find a silver-grey BMW standing in the driveway.

  ‘For you,’ Joe Bardini informed Carly as he emerged from the house to greet them. ‘Mr Alessi had it delivered this morning.’

  Had he, indeed! ‘It’s very nice, Joe,’ she accorded quietly, and she veiled her eyes so that he wouldn’t see the anger evident.

  ‘Mr Alessi suggested you might like to take it for a test drive.’

  She managed a warm smile, and indicated her briefcase. ‘I think I’ll get changed first.’

  ‘It’s really hot,’ Ann-Marie declared as she followed Carly indoors. ‘Can we go for a swim?’

  Ten minutes later they were laughing and splashing together in the shallow end of the pool, and after half an hour Carly persuaded her daughter to emerge on the pretext of having a cool drink.

  ‘Look,’ Ann-Marie alerted her from the pool’s edge. ‘Daddy’s home.’ The name slid so easily, so naturally off the little girl’s tongue, with no hesitation or reservation whatsoever, and Carly felt her stomach clench with pain.

  She was suddenly supremely conscious of the simply styled maillot, and, although it was perfectly respectable when dry, wet, it clung lovingly to soft curves. Much too lovingly, she saw with dismay, conscious of the way it hugged her breasts.

  Slowly she turned to face him, a faint false smile pulling at the edges of her mouth as she wound a towel around Ann-Marie’s small frame, then she quickly reached for another, draping it over one shoulder in the hope that it would provide some sort of temporary cover.

  Her action amused him, and she met his gaze with equanimity, heighteningly aware of his studied appraisal and her own damning reaction.

  It was difficult to keep the smile in place, but she managed—just. If she’d been alone she would have slapped his face.