An Awakening Desire

by Helen Bianchin

  'Now, Emma.' He was smiling, but there was an inflexible quality in his voice that commanded compliance. 'You should realise I am quite capable of carrying out the task myself, if you refuse.'

  Stupid, mutinous tears brimmed to the surface and threatened to spill over and run down her cheeks.

  'Sweet Mother of God, don't cry,' he berated huskily.

  'I'm not. I just can't handle you any more.' One solitary tear escaped and trickled slowly down to rest at the edge of her mouth. 'At least, not tonight.'

  Something darkened in the depths of those obsidian eyes for a brief second before vanishing beneath a mask of inscrutability. 'Will it make you feel better if I retreat into the hallway for the necessary few minutes it takes you to change?'

  'I'm not a child you need to check up on,' she voiced, immeasurably hurt.

  'Indulge me, cara.'

  Without a further word he stood to his feet and vacated the room, and Emma gingerly slid off the bed, then reached beneath her pillow for the thin slither of nylon and lace that comprised her nightwear.

  It took two minutes to slip out of her wrap and remove her slip and panties; a further three to don her nightgown and scrub her face free from any traces of make-up.

  She emerged from the bathroom just as Nick re-entered the bedroom, and she stood still, frozen into immobility beneath his swift, raking appraisal.

  'Get into bed,' he bade gently. Then I'll leave.'

  Her eyes were held and captured by his, and she couldn't have looked away if her life had depended on it. The tenuous hold she had on her temper strengthened with every passing second, and her tawny eyes turned liquid gold in visible defiance at his high-handedness.

  'Don't, he warned in a voice that sounded vaguely like silk being cut by razor-sharp steel, 'even think about it'

  Without looking at him she crossed to the bed and slid in between the sheets. 'Satisfied?' It was a taunt she couldn't resist, and his eyes glittered with sardonic cynicism.

  'No.'

  For a brief, horrifying second she thought she'd pushed him too far, and she watched in mesmerised fascination as he crossed to the bed.

  Bending low, he leaned forward and grazed his lips against her own. 'Sweet Emma, how lovely you are.' His smile was gentle, softening his rugged features and dispelling much of the compelling formidability apparent.

  Stay with me, she wanted to beg. Supplant Marc's ghost with a living entity, and ease this terrible need. Yet even as the words whispered silently through her brain, her body began to recoil in rejection, and she shivered, hating her traitorous flesh for craving Nick's possession.

  It was almost as if every sane, sensible thought had fled, the moral convictions she'd held in such high esteem dismissed as if they were of no consequence.

  Like someone emerging from a dream, she became aware of the warm sensuality of his fingers as they traced the outline of her mouth.

  'Nick—' She broke off, her eyes huge golden pools as she silently implored him to leave.

  'Shh, be quiet,' he remonstrated softly as he caressed her mouth with his own, tantalising with an evocative sensuality she found almost impossible to resist. Then he raised his head with obvious reluctance, and his eyes were warm with an infinite degree of intimacy as he got to his feet.

  'Goodnight, Emma. Sleep well.'

  She watched him cross the room and reach for the doorknob, then he was gone, and she released her breath slowly, hardly conscious that she'd been holding it. Oh, God! She closed her eyes against his forceful features, hating the turmoil he was able to evoke without any seeming effort at all.

  No matter how hard she tried, she failed to bring Marc's image easily to mind. Another vied for supremacy, his strong, masculine features an arresting, primitive force that could not be easily cast to one side.

  Emotions she'd never thought to experience rose damnably to the surface, demanding recognition. Passion, in its most dangerous form. Tormenting, torturing—a bittersweet agony of the flesh. Somehow she'd identified love as encompassing that volatile emotion. Now she knew they could be separate, without any linking connection.

  'If fate has been a tangible entity, she could have raged against it, she decided vengefully as she fought sleep and lost, slipping into a deep medication-induced somnolence that imprisoned her until well into the. following morning.

  Emma rose feeling refreshed, all traces of her headache gone, and she emerged downstairs to discover from Rosa that Nick was ensconced in Enzo's study prior to the imminent arrival of an associate from London, whose fleeting visit to Rome would require much of Nick's time over the next forty-eight hours.

  It was a relief to be free of his disturbing presence, and when, the following morning, Rosa suggested they should spend the day shopping, Emma agreed with alacrity, for there were a few gifts she wanted to buy for her parents and friends. Together with Annalisa they set off early, in an attempt to beat the worst of the heat.

  By the end of the day they were pleasantly weary and only too glad to slip into the waiting car and be driven back to the villa by Carlo.

  Showered and rested they met in the salone for a relaxing aperitif before adjourning to the sala for dinner.

  Nick was unable to join them, due, Enzo revealed almost apologetically, to a business appointment which would encompass dinner and most of the evening.

  Emma wondered darkly if a feminine companion formed any part of his plans, and assured herself that she didn't care if his dinner was a bona fide business engagement or otherwise.

  However, even imagining him sharing an intimate evening with another woman brought forth a gamut of unenviable feelings, not the least of which she was reluctant to admit as being jealousy.

  To successfully alleviate the wayward trend of her thoughts she threw herself into a bright divertissement regarding the merits of several different designers, discovering some hours later, to her utter surprise, that they had progressed through dinner, partaken coffee, and were comfortably seated in the salone without her being aware of the passage of time.

  'It's quite late,' Emma declared with a degree of disbelief as Rosa stood to her feet.

  'Indeed it is, my dear. I think we should retire.' Her eyes kindled with affection as they took in Emma's slightly flushed features. Tomorrow you drive to Naples, and Nick will doubtless want to make an early start in the morning.'

  Of course! She had temporarily put it to the back of her mind, although Annalisa had mentioned the trip several times during the day, ecstatic that Emma had agreed to accompany them, after all.

  Together they walked towards the foyer and mounted the staircase, bade each other goodnight at its head, then they moved in opposite directions towards their own suites.

  Emma undressed and slid into bed, to lie staring sightlessly at the room's darkness for what seemed hours before slipping into a restless doze from which she woke to discover that the luminous hands of her bedside clock pointed to the witching hour of midnight instead of nearly dawn, as she had hoped.

  Damn! She'd never felt less like sleep in her life. Perhaps if she went down to the kitchen and heated some milk it might help. Without further thought she slid out of bed, pulled on a silk wrap, then made her way quietly downstairs.

  The kitchen was large and equipped with every modern appliance available, and it took a few scant minutes to pour milk into a saucepan and heat it while she spooned sugar into a pottery mug. Filling it with milk, she carried it to a nearby table and sank into a chair.

  Sipping the steaming contents with evident enjoyment she picked up a magazine and browsed through its pages, skimming over the captions until she discovered something of interest to read.

  A slight sound alerted her attention and she turned slowly to see Nick standing a few feet distant.

  'I can't imagine you to be waiting up for me?'

  He sounded incredibly cynical, and she met his gleaming gaze steadily, despite the faint stirring of resentment deep within.

  'I couldn't sleep,' she e
xplained carefully. 'Can I get you anything?'

  'Grazie, but no.' He lifted a hand and raked fingers through his hair, ruffling it into attractive disorder. 'I saw the light and thought it advisable to check.'

  He looked tired, almost jaded, and Emma suppressed the impossible urge to smooth the tension from his forehead, loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt and bid him relax into a comfortable chair.

  'How was your business dinner?'

  'You sound like a wife,' he drawled, and she felt her heart constrict with pain.

  Without a word she slid to her feet and crossed to the sink with her mug, then she moved towards the door.

  'Emma.' He reached out and caught hold of her arm, halting her progress, and she pulled away from him, wincing slightly as the pressure increased with steel-like intensity.

  'What do you want?'

  'Would you believe—you.'

  Her eyes glittered with brilliant golden fire as a complexity of primitive emotions fought valiantly for control. 'Do you get a kick out of trying to wear down my resistance? Is that it?'

  She shivered, despite the warm evening temperature, and just looking at him she was made frighteningly aware that the chemistry between them had somehow combined to form a perilous, combustible force.

  In seeming slow motion she saw his head descend, then his mouth closed over hers in a kiss that made anything she had experienced before pale into insignificance. There was a wealth of seductive mastery in his touch, a sensuality that transcended mere feeling and scaled the heights.

  Emma felt as if she was slowly drowning in a deep, translucent pool where sheer sensation ruled. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she let her arms creep up to clasp behind his neck as she unconsciously moved close against him.

  His mouth coaxed hers, seeking a possession she was afraid to give, and his tongue became an erotic instrument in subtle persuasion as one hand held her nape, while the other slid up to cup one burgeoning breast, teasing its swollen peak into tantalising awareness.

  It would be so easy to agree to sexual fulfillment, and for a moment she was almost tempted. Out of curiosity, a sheer need to discover if his sensual expertise extended to dispensing with her frigidity. Would this pulsing ache deep within dissipate and leave her feeling disappointed and somehow deprived? Or would it flare and explode into something glorious; be equally an orgasmic attuning of the flesh as well as of the mind?

  A feeling of self-loathing rose to the fore, and with it came guilt and a sense of disloyalty. How could she think like this, let alone consider…

  With a whimper of distress she pulled away from him, shaken by the depth of her arousal and the ease with which he was able to achieve it.

  Slowly she lifted her eyes to his, glimpsing little more than a keen scrutiny in his expression.

  'I shall have to plead temporary insanity,' she said at last. 'Anything else would be impossible.'

  A muscle tautened along his jaw, making his features appear harsh and forbidding. 'Would it?' His wry smile was not in the least kind, and her lips pursed slightly, then began to tremble at the thought of his ability to look into her soul.

  'I'm going back to bed,' she declared, wanting only to get away from him.

  'What a shame you insist it must be alone.'

  'Would you believe I prefer it that way?'

  'No,' said Nick with dangerous softness. 'Not if the way you react to me is any indication.'

  Such a damning accusation was almost her undoing, and she felt a flood of colour heat her cheeks; then they went white, almost ashen. 'I hate you,' she breathed bitterly. 'My God, you can't know how much!'

  Without a further word she stepped round him and made her way upstairs to her room, uncaring whether he followed or not.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The panoramic vista of Naples, its beautiful, picturesque bay with the Isles of Ischia and Capri at its entrance, was a scenic delight. Vineyards and citrus groves dotted the hillside on the Bay's eastern shore, and the many houses with their multi-coloured roof-tiles, dulled and aged by the years, provided a pleasant contrast.

  Emma had elected to wear a light cotton skirt with a blouse in spearmint green. The shade suited her colouring and looked both cool and fresh. Nick had stipulated casual attire, and he looked incredibly fit and virile in cream cotton Levis and a matching short-sleeved shirt. Annalisa chattered virtually non-stop during the drive down, and Emma was grateful for the young girl's presence. It made it easier to project a facade of normality; temporarily to forget what had transpired the previous evening.

  From Sorrento they boarded the hydrofoil out to Capri, the fabled green isle of the Parthenopean Gulf, where they stopped at the Blue Grotto. The limestone sea cave was truly spectacular, with water reflections casting an eerily beautiful iridescence, a translucence that resembled a rare silk-encased jewel.

  After a late lunch, eaten at one of Sorrento's colourful restaurants, Nick headed the Ferrari along the rugged coast road. Negotiating the twisting hairpin bends of Amalfi Drive took all his concentration, and Emma was unable to dampen her acute apprehension at the dramatically steep hillsides of the magnificent ravine which plunged down to the sea.

  It was impossible not to be alarmed, and seated closest to the perilous drop made it all the worse. Perhaps if she closed her eyes… Damn! Assuring herself that Nick was an expert driver did little to aid her rapidly shredding nerves! Positano, with its pink, white and yellow houses perched precipitously against the perpendicular hillsides, was a revelation, and masses of bougainvillaea provided a colourful splash in contrast to the wide expanse of aquamarine sea.

  By the time they reached Amalfi, Emma was a quivering wreck, and she viewed Nick's suggestion to stop for refreshments with immense relief.

  'Can we have pizza, Papa?'

  'Of course, if that is what you want.' He paused at a junction, then drove until he was able to park close to a ristorante. This should do.' He turned slightly and smiled, and Emma summoned every ounce of acting ability in an effort to appear relaxed.

  'Wasn't that exciting?' Annalisa demanded as she slipped out from the car. 'I loved all the olive and lemon groves and the scent of orange blossom, the steep hills and all the twists and bends in the road. Didn't you, Emma?'

  How could she say no, when the scenery was exquisite? Or spoil the young girl's pleasure by explaining that since being involved in a car accident a year ago she had developed a morbid fear of travelling as a passenger in any vehicle, no matter how competent the driver ? It was a natural fear, her doctor had assured her, that would gradually lessen with time.

  'It was beautiful,' she agreed, and started visibly when Nick caught hold of her elbow.

  His eyes narrowed, and she bore his intent scrutiny with equanimity. 'You have become very pale. Are you feeling unwell?'

  Oh, lord, Emma deplored silently. She'd have to get a grip on herself. I'm fine,' she assured him steadily, summoning a faint smile as she diverted her attention to Annalisa. 'Thirsty for something long and cool. Aren't you?'

  'Yes,' the young girl enthused with an impish grin. 'In a tall glass, and icy!' She looked up at her father. 'Can we sit outside, Papa? I think watching people is fun, don't you?'

  'I can see I am outnumbered,' Nick declared with mock resignation as he led them to an unoccupied table. Then, when they were comfortably seated, he sought their opinion on which type of pizza they should order.

  'Seafood, with lots of cheese, capsicum and everything,' his daughter announced ravenously. 'Do say you like seafood, Emma,' she went on to implore. 'We love it, don't we, Papa?'

  Nick let his gaze rest with affection on his daughter's shining head, then shifted a gleaming glance to Emma. 'Don't be unduly influenced,' he drawled musingly. 'It is possible to order pizza in a variety of sizes. You must have what you want.'

  'Seafood will be fine. It's a favourite of mine.'

  'We never have pizza at school, and Teresa refuses to make it for me more than once when I am home,' Annalisa d
eclared.

  'My housekeeper,' Nick explained drolly, 'is a woman who considers her culinary talents exceed the demands of pizza.'

  'That is why Papa indulges me during the holidays,' Annalisa enlightened, throwing her father a beauteous smile, to which he responded with a gentle brush of his fingers to her cheek.

  Emma felt something tighten with pain deep within that was difficult to explain. A sense of loss; envy, perhaps, of the genuine loving and caring that father and daughter shared. They represented a complete unit that was seemingly without need of a wife and mother. Why not, when there were a string of attractive women waiting discreetly in the wings to satisfy Nick's sexual appetite, and Annalisa was adequately cared for between Silvana, boarding school and her father? Emma knew she would be sad to relinquish their friendship when she left Italy. Sharing their company had proved a welcome salve to her own wounds, yet it had succeeded in opening the deepest and most hurtful of them all; the recognition that love possessed many facets, of which Marc had commanded only one.

  The startling clarity of this discovery should have caused surprise. Instead, she was filled with a sense of release, almost freedom.

  'Emma? I thought you were thirsty.'

  For one split second she felt completely disorientated as she dragged her mind back from the past, and she proffered an apologetic smile across the table. 'I'm sorry, I was miles away.' She included Nick by sweeping a glance in his direction, then felt her eyes widen beneath his steady gaze, aware to her considerable chagrin that he knew just where her thoughts had been centred and their ultimate conclusion.

  Dear lord in heaven—was she so transparent? It wasn't fair that he possessed the ability to read her mind, when his was a mystery. She knew he regarded her with affection, but affection affiliated to what? Was she simply a pretty diversion to fill his holiday, a companion for his daughter on their numerous excursions? If that were true, why had he kissed her with such dreamy sweetness and wrought havoc to her tender emotions? She frequently swung like a pendulum between agony and ecstasy, stricken by an angry helplessness at her awakening desire, yet rendered intensely vulnerable by her own fragility where he was concerned.