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.
It was perhaps as well that he turned his attention to his daughter, whose wide, solemn eyes switched from one parent to the other as she assessed his show of affection and her mother’s reaction.
Consequently Carly presented a relaxed façade, deliberately injecting some warmth as she enquired as to his day, and commented on his early return.
‘I thought we might drive out to one of the beaches for a barbecue,’ Stefano suggested, and was immediately rewarded with Ann-Marie’s enthusiastic response.
‘Can we go in the new car?’
His answering smile was her reward. ‘I don’t see why not.’
There was no way Carly could demur, and with a few words and a fixed smile she directed her daughter upstairs to shower and change.
It was after five when Stefano drove the BMW out of the driveway and headed towards one of the northern beaches, where he played chef, cooking steak and sausages to perfection while Carly busied herself setting out a variety of salads, sliced a freshly baked French breadstick, and enjoyed a light wine spritzer.
The air was fresh and clean, slightly tangy with the smell of the sea. A faint warm breeze drifted in from the ocean, teasing the length of her hair, and she gazed out to the horizon, seeing deep blue merge with clear azure, aware in that moment of a profound feeling of awe for the magnitude and greatness of nature. There was a sense of timelessness, almost an awareness that life was extremely tenuous, gifted by some powerful deity, and that each day, each hour, should be seized for the enjoyment of its beauty.
Tears welled at the backs of her eyes and threatened to spill. Dear God, what would she do if anything happened to Ann-Marie? How could she cope?
‘Mummy, what’s wrong?’
Carly caught her scattered thoughts together and summoned a smile. ‘I’m admiring the view,’ she explained, and, reaching down, she lifted Ann-Marie into her arms and directed her attention out over the ocean. ‘Look, isn’t that a ship in the distance?’
They ate sausages tasting faintly of smoke, tender steak, and the two adults washed it all down with a light fruity wine, then they packed everything back into the boot of the car and walked along the foreshore.
Ann-Marie chattered happily, pausing every now and then to inspect and collect seashells, which she presented for Carly’s inspection, then when she grew tired Stefano lifted her high to sit astride his shoulders, and they made their way slowly back to the car.
A gentle breeze tugged at Carly’s long cotton skirt and teased the length of her hair. The sun’s warmth was beginning to cool as the giant orb sank lower in the sky, its colour flaring brilliantly as it changed from yellow to gold to orange, then to a deep rose before sinking below the horizon. The keening seagulls quietened, and took their last sweeping flight before seeking shelter for the night.
There was a sense of peace and tranquillity, almost a feeling of harmony with the man walking at her side, and for a moment she wondered if their marriage could have worked… Then she dismissed it in the knowledge that there were too many ‘if only’s. There was only now.
‘You take the wheel,’ Stefano instructed as they reached the car, and Carly shook her head, unwilling to familiarise herself with a new vehicle while he sat in the passenger seat. ‘I insist,’ he added quietly, and in Ann-Marie’s presence she had little option but to accede.
It was almost nine when they arrived home, and Ann-Marie was so tired that she fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘COFFEE?’ STEFANO queried as they descended the staircase, and Carly nodded her head in silent acquiescence.
In the kitchen she filled the percolator with water, selected a fresh filter, spooned in a measure of freshly ground coffee-beans, then activated the machine before reaching for two cups and saucers, sugar.
‘From now on, use the BMW.’
Resentment flared in his mocking command. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my car,’ she retaliated at once. ‘It’s roadworthy and reliable.’
His gaze trapped hers and she felt every single hair on her body prickle with inexplicable foreboding. ‘When was it last fully serviced?’
Too long ago, Carly admitted silently, all too aware that over the past few months all her money had gone on expensive medical bills.
‘You don’t like the BMW?’ Stefano queried with deceptive mildness, and she summoned a false smile.
‘I presume it’s the “in” vehicle that wives of wealthy corporate directors are driving this year.’
His eyes narrowed fractionally, and the edges of his mouth curved with cynicism. ‘That wasn’t the reason I chose it.’
‘No?’ Her faint smile was tinged with mockery. ‘It does, however, fit the required image.’
‘And what is that, Carly?’ Stefano pursued with dangerous softness.
‘You’re a very successful man,’ she returned solemnly, ‘who has to be seen to surround himself with the trappings of success.’ She lifted an expressive hand and effected an encompassing gesture. ‘This house, the cars. Even the women who grace a part of your life.’
His eyes locked with hers, and she suppressed a faint shivery sensation at the dark implacability evident.
‘You know nothing of the women in my life.’
It was like a knife twisting deep inside her heart, and she fought visibly to contain the pain. She even managed to dredge up a smile as his eyes seared hers, dark, brooding, and infinitely hard.
Carly felt as if she couldn’t breathe, and the beat of her heart seemed to thud right through her chest, fast-paced and deafening in its intensity. She wanted to escape—from the room, the man, the house. Except that she had to stay. For a while, at least. Until Ann-Marie was fully recovered. Then…
‘The coffee is ready.’
His voice intruded, and she turned blindly towards the coffee-machine. Dear God, she doubted her ability to walk the few paces necessary and calmly pour the brew into cups, let alone drink from one. She’d probably scald her mouth, or drop the cup. Maybe both.
‘I no longer feel like any,’ she managed in a voice that sounded indistinct and far removed from her own.
‘Add a dash of brandy, and cream,’ Stefano ordered steadily. ‘It will help you sleep.’
She opened her mouth to respond, only to have him pursue with dangerous softness, ‘Don’t argue.’
‘I’m not arguing!’
‘Then stop wasting
energy on being so stubbornly determined to oppose me.’
‘You must know how much I hate being here,’ she flung with restrained anger. She was so infuriated that it took every ounce of control not to lash out at him.
‘Almost as much as you hate me,’ Stefano drawled imperturbably as he moved to pour the coffee, then he added brandy and cream to both cups.
‘You have no intention of making things easy for me, do you?’ Carly demanded bitterly.
His eyes assumed a chilling bleakness, his features assembling into a hard, inflexible mask. ‘You’re treading a mental tightrope.’ He lifted a hand and caught hold of her chin, his fingers firm and faintly cruel. ‘And I’m in no mood to play verbal games.’
‘Then stop treating me like a fractious child.’ It was a cry from within, heartfelt, and more revealing than she intended.
‘Start behaving like a woman and I’ll respond accordingly,’ he said hardly, and flecks of fiery topaz lightened the darkness of her eyes.
‘Close my mind and open my legs?’ Rage bubbled to the surface and erupted without thought to the consequence. ‘Sorry, Stefano. I’m not that desperate.’
For a moment she thought he meant to strike her, and she was powerless to escape him as hard hands curled round her arms and pulled her close.
‘This time,’ he ground out grimly, ‘you push me too far.’
He possessed sufficient strength to do her grievous bodily harm, yet she stood defiant, unwilling to retract or apologise for so much as a single word.
With slow deliberation he caught both her hands together, then slid one hand beneath her head, tilting it as he impelled her forward, then his mouth was on hers, hard and possessively demanding.
A silent scream rose and died in her throat, and she began to struggle, hating him with all her heart as he exerted sufficient pressure to force open her mouth, then his tongue became a pillaging destructive force that had her silently begging him to stop.
His stance altered, and one hand splayed down over the gentle swell of her bottom, pressing her close in against him so that the heat of his arousal was a potent virile force that was impossible to ignore.
Passion's Mistress Page 7