Passion's Mistress

by Helen Bianchin

  Her eyes widened as she watched the effect he had on the texture of her skin, the tightening of her breasts, each tumescent peak aroused in anticipation of his possession.

  It was almost as if he was forcing her to recognise something her conscious mind refused to acknowledge, and she gazed in mesmeric wonder as her body reacted to the light brush of his fingers as he trailed them across the curve of her waist, then slid to trace the soft mound of her stomach before allowing his fingers to splay into the soft curls protecting the central core of her femininity.

  Of their own volition, her lower limbs swayed into the curve of his hand as they sought closer contact, and she was totally unprepared for the soft dreaminess evident in her eyes, the faint sheen on her parted lips.

  She looked…incandescently bewitched, held in thrall by passionate desire, and in that moment she felt she hated him for making her see a side of herself she preferred to keep well-hidden. Especially from him.

  Yet it was too late, and even as she arched away he turned her fully into his arms, his mouth successfully covering hers in a manner that left her no hope of uttering so much as a word.

  Her initial struggle was merely a token gesture, as was her determination to prevent his open-mouthed kiss. Seconds later she cried out as one long arm curved down the length of her back in a seeking quest for the tell-tale dewing at the aroused nub of her femininity.

  Every nerve in her body seemed acutely sensitised, the internal tissues still faintly bruised from the previous night’s loving, so much so that she tensed involuntarily against his touch.

  Without a word he placed an arm beneath her knees and lifted her high against his chest to carry her to his bed, sinking down on to the mattress in one fluid movement as he cradled her gently into the curve of his body.

  His lips trailed a path to her mouth, soothing her slight protest, before tracing a path down her neck. Slowly, with infinite care, he traversed each pleasure pulse, anointing the tender peak of each breast with delicate eroticism.

  Her stomach quivered in betrayal beneath the seductive passage of his mouth, and when he reached the junction between her thighs she gave a beseeching moan, an entreaty to end the consuming madness that flared through her body, igniting it with flame.

  Carly consoled herself that nothing mattered except this wonderful slaking of sensual pleasure in a slow, gentle loving that touched her soul. But in her subconscious mind she knew she lied, and she drifted into sleep wondering if there could ever be a resolution between the dictates of her brain and the wayward path of her emotions.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘I HAVE TO attend a meeting on the Central Coast,’ Stefano declared as he rose from the breakfast table. ‘I doubt I’ll be home before seven.’

  ‘Angelica is naturally one of the associates accompanying you.’ It wasn’t a question, and he shot her a dark encompassing glance.

  ‘She is on the board of a number of family companies,’ he informed coolly. ‘And a dedicated businesswoman.’

  ‘Very dedicated,’ Carly mocked, and was unable to resist adding, ‘Have fun.’

  After he left she finished her coffee, then moved quickly upstairs to change into a white cotton button-through dress, slipped her feet into flat sandals, then collected the keys to the BMW, informed Sylvana she’d be home in the late afternoon, and drove into the city.

  There were a few things she wanted to pick up for Ann-Marie, and she’d fill in time between hospital visits by browsing the shops in the hope of gaining some inspiration for Christmas gifts.

  Carly returned home at five, and after a leisurely shower she changed into a cool sage-green silk shift, wound her hair up into a casually contrived knot, then went downstairs to check on dinner with Sylvana.

  The portable television was on in the kitchen, and highlighted on the screen was an area of dense bush-covered gorge and a hovering rescue helicopter. The presenter’s modulated voice was relaying information regarding a light plane crash just south of the Central Coast. There were no survivors, and names had not yet been released of the pilot and two passengers.

  Carly went cold. It was as if her limbs were frozen, for she couldn’t move, and she gazed sightlessly at the flashing screen without comprehending a single thing.

  Then she began to shake, and she clutched her arms together in an effort to contain her trembling limbs.

  It couldn’t be the plane carrying Stefano and Angelica—could it? A silent agonised scream rose in her throat. Dear God—no.

  The thought of his strong body lying broken and burned in dense undergrowth almost destroyed her. His image was a vivid entity, and she saw his strongly etched features, the dark gleaming eyes, almost as if he were in the same room.

  The phone rang, but the sound barely registered, nor did Sylvana’s voice as she answered the call, until it seemed to change in tone and Carly realised that Sylvana was attempting to gain her attention.

  ‘Stefano rang to say he’ll be home in twenty minutes.’

  The words penetrated her brain, barely registering in those initial few seconds, then she turned slowly, her eyes impossibly large. ‘What did you say?’

  Sylvana repeated the message, then added in puzzlement, ‘Are you all right?’

  Carly inclined her head, then murmured something indistinguishable as her stomach began to churn, and she only just made it upstairs to the main suite before she was violently ill.

  Afterwards she clenched her teeth, then she sluiced warm water over her face in an effort to dispel the chilled feeling that seemed to invade her bones.

  Attempting to repair the ravages with make-up moved her to despair, for she looked incredibly vulnerable—haunted, she amended silently as she examined her mirrored image with critical deliberation.

  How could you love someone you professed to hate? Yet an inner voice taunted that love and hate were intense emotions and closely entwined. Legend had it that they were inseparable.

  Stefano’s arrival home was afforded a restrained greeting. If she’d listened to her heart she would have flown into his arms and expressed a profound relief that he was alive. Yet then he couldn’t fail to be aware of her true feelings, and that would never do.

  Consequently dinner was strained, and Carly failed to do any justice to Sylvana’s beautifully prepared food, and throughout the meal she was conscious of his veiled scrutiny, so much so that she felt close to screaming with angry vexation.

  ‘Did it bother you that it might have been my body lying lifeless in some rocky gorge?’

  The blood drained from her face at his drawled query, and she got to her feet, wanting only to get away from his ill-disguised mockery.

  She hadn’t moved more than two paces when hard hands closed over her shoulders, and she struggled in vain, hot, angry tears clouding her eyes as she fought to be free of him.

  One hand slid to hold her nape fast, tilting her head, and her lashes swept down to form a protective veil, only to fly open as his mouth closed over hers in a hard open-mouthed kiss that was impossibly, erotically demanding.

  It seemed to go on forever, and when it was over she lifted shaking fingers to her lips.

  His eyes were dark with brooding savagery, their depths filled with latent passion and an emotion she didn’t even attempt to define. Carly glanced past him and fixed her eyes on a distant wall in an attempt to regain her composure. If she looked at him she knew she’d disgrace herself with stupid ignominious tears.

  ‘I rang through the instant we touched base,’ he enlightened quietly. ‘Our helicopter pilot sighted the crash, radioed for help, then circled the area until a rescue unit arrived.’ He raised a hand and trailed gentle fingers along the edge of her cheek.

  She lifted her shoulders in a faint shrugging gesture. Somehow she had to inject an element of normality, otherwise she was doomed. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

  A forefinger probed the softness of her swollen lower lip, then conducted a leisurely tracery of its outline. ‘I’d like you,’
Stefano drawled in mocking tones, and watched the expressive play of emotions chase each other across her mobile features.

  ‘It’s early,’ she stalled, hating the way her body was reacting to the proximity of his.

  ‘Since when did time have anything to do with making love?’ His head lowered and he touched his mouth to the thudding pulse at the edge of her neck, then traced a path to her temple. His lips pressed closed one eyelid, then the other, and his hands shifted as he caught her up in his arms.

  ‘What are you doing?’ The cry was torn from her lips as he calmly strode from the room, and headed for the stairs.

  ‘Taking you to bed,’ Stefano declared in a husky undertone, ‘in an attempt to remove the look of shadowed anguish lurking in your beautiful eyes.’

  She struggled in helplessness against him, aware of an elemental quality that was infinitely awesome. No one man deserved so much power, or quite such a degree of latent sensuality.

  ‘Must you be so—physical?’ she protested as he entered their suite and closed the door.

  He lowered her down to stand within the circle of his arms, and her limbs seemed weightless as he caught her close. Then he kissed her, slowly and with such evocative mastery that she didn’t have the energy to voice any further protest as he carefully removed her clothes, then released the pins holding her hair before beginning on his own.

  ‘Tell me to stop,’ he murmured seconds before his mouth closed over hers, and the flame that burned deep within them flared into vibrant life, consuming them both in a passionate storm that lasted far into the night.

  * * *

  The following days settled into a relatively normal routine. The nights were something else as Carly fought a silent battle with herself and invariably lost.

  Their lovemaking scaled hitherto unreached heights, transcending mere pleasure, and it was almost as if some inner song were demanding to be heard, yet the music was indistinct, the words just beyond her reach.

  Introspection became an increasing trap in which she found herself caught, in the insidious recognition that love was inextricably interwoven with physical desire—which inevitably led to the agonising question of Angelica, and the degree of Stefano’s personal involvement. Were they still on intimate terms? Had they ever been? Dear God, could she have been wrong all these years?

  One day in particular she couldn’t bear the tension any more, and she moved restlessly through the house, unsure how to fill the few hours until it was time to visit Ann-Marie.

  Making a split-second decision, she changed clothes, stroked a clear gloss over her lips, then caught up her sunglasses and bag, and made her way down to the car, intent on spending a few more hours in the city looking for suitable Christmas gifts. She might even do lunch.

  Two hours later Carly wasn’t sure shopping was such a good idea. It was hot, there were crowds of people all intent on doing the same thing, and it took ages to be served. All she’d achieved was a bottle of Sarah’s favourite French perfume, a book and an educational game for Ann-Marie, and nothing for Stefano. What did you buy a man who had everything? she queried with scepticism. Another silk tie? A silk shirt? Something as mundane as aftershave, when she didn’t even recognise what brand he preferred?

  A glance at her watch revealed that it was after one. Something to eat and a cool drink would provide a welcome break, and ten minutes later she was seated in a pleasant air-conditioned restaurant eating a succulent chicken salad.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’

  Carly glanced up and endeavoured to contain her surprise. Coincidence was a fine thing, and the chance of choosing the same restaurant as Angelica Agnelli had to run at a thousand to one. ‘If you must,’ she responded with bare civility. The restaurant was crowded, after all, and short of being rude there wasn’t much she could do except accept the situation with as much grace as possible.

  ‘Shopping?’ Angelica queried, arching an elegantly shaped eyebrow as she caught sight of the brightly designed bags.

  ‘Yes.’ As if an explanation was needed, she added, ‘Christmas.’

  ‘Stefano is caught up in a conference, so I came on ahead.’ She allowed the information to sink in, then added with deadly timing, ‘This is a charmingly secluded place, don’t you agree?’ For furtive assignations. The implication was there for anyone but the most obtuse, but just in case there was any doubt she added smoothly, ‘You don’t normally lunch here, do you?’

  ‘No. I preferred to eat a packed lunch at my desk,’ Carly explained with considerable calm, and tempered the words with a seemingly sweet smile.

  Angelica deliberately allowed her eyes to widen. ‘Rather clever of you to present Stefano with a child conveniently the right age to be his own.’ Her mouth curled fractionally. ‘I almost advised him to insist on a DNA test.’ She lifted a hand and appeared to study her immaculately manicured nails. ‘But of course, I wouldn’t presume to interfere in his…’ She trailed off deliberately, then added with barbed innuendo, ‘Private affairs.’

  ‘You’ve obviously changed your strategy,’ Carly returned with considerable fortitude, when inside she felt like screaming.

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  Carly had quite suddenly had enough. ‘You had no such compunction about interfering in his private life seven years ago. You deliberately set out to destroy me. Like a fool, I ran.’ Her eyes sparked gold-flecked fire that caused the other woman’s expression to narrow. ‘I realise your association with Stefano goes back a long time, but perhaps you should understand it was he who did the chasing in our relationship, and he who insisted on a reconciliation.’ She drew in a deep breath, then released it slowly. ‘Stefano has had seven years to instigate divorce proceedings.’ Her voice assumed a quietly fierce intensity. ‘I would suggest you ask yourself why he never did.’

  ‘Brava,’ a deep voice drawled quietly from behind, and Carly closed her eyes in vexation, only to open them again.

  Stefano stood indolently at ease, his expression strangely watchful as he took in Carly’s pale features. All of her pent-up emotion was visible in the expressive brilliance of her eyes, their gold-flecked depths ringed in black.

  ‘Stefano.’ Angelica’s tone held a conciliatory purr, yet his eyes never moved from Carly’s features.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me?’ She had to get out of here before she erupted with volatile rage—with Angelica for being a bitch, and Stefano simply because he was here.

  Rising to her feet, she collected her bag and assorted carriers. ‘Enjoy your lunch.’

  His hand closed on her arm, bringing her to a halt, and she just looked at him, then her lashes swept down in a bid to hide the pain that gnawed deep inside.

  ‘Please. Let me go.’ Her voice was softly pitched, yet filled with aching intensity, and there was nothing she could do to prevent the descent of his mouth or the brief, hard open-mouthed kiss he bestowed.

  Then he released her, and it took all her reserve of strength to walk calmly from the restaurant.

  By the time she reached the street her lips were quivering with pent-up emotion, and she fumbled for her sunglasses, glad of their protective lenses as they hid the well of tears that blurred her vision.

  Tonight there would be no respite, for Sarah and James were coming to dinner. To present anything approaching a normal façade would take every ounce of acting ability, and Carly wished fervently for the day to be done, and the night.

  Only a matter of weeks ago everything had seemed so uncomplicated. Ann-Marie and work had been the total focus of her life. Now she was in turmoil, her emotions as wild and uncontrollable as a storm-tossed sea.

  At the hospital, Ann-Marie’s exuberant greeting, the loving hug and beautiful smile acted to diffuse Carly’s inner tension, and she listened to her daughter’s excited chatter about a new patient who had been admitted that morning.

  As Carly left the hospital and drove home she couldn’t help wishing her life were clear-cut, and there were no tensions, no subtle game-playin
g that ate at the heartstrings and destroyed one’s self-esteem.

  Perhaps she should stop fighting this conflict within herself and just accept the status quo, be content with her existence as Stefano’s wife, and condone the pleasure they shared each night. To hunger for anything more was madness.

  After garaging the car, Carly consulted with Sylvana, made suitably appreciative comments, then opted to cool off with a leisurely swim in the pool.

  Stefano arrived home as Carly was putting the finishing touches to her make-up, and she turned as he entered their suite, her expression deliberately bland as she registered his tall, dark-suited frame before lifting her head to meet his gaze.

  His eyes were dark, probing hers, and after a fleeting glance her own skittered towards the vicinity of his left shoulder. The last thing she needed was a confrontation. Not with Sarah and James due within minutes.

  ‘I’ll go down and check with Sylvana,’ Carly said evenly. ‘I’ll wait for you in the lounge.’

  It was a relief to escape his presence, and she was grateful for Sarah’s punctuality, immensely glad of her friend’s warm personality.

  The meal was a gourmet’s delight, and although conversation flowed with ease Carly merely operated on automatic pilot as she forked food intermittently into her mouth, then toyed with the remainder on her plate.

  She laughed, genuinely enjoying Sarah’s anecdotes intermingled with those of James, but all the while she felt like a disembodied spectator.

  It was almost ten when they rose from the table.

  ‘I’ll make the coffee,’ Carly declared, and smiled when Sarah rose to her feet.

  ‘I’ll help you.’

  Sylvana had set everything ready in the kitchen, so that all Carly had to do was percolate the coffee.

  ‘How are things going—?’ Carly broke off with a laugh in the realisation that Sarah was asking the same question simultaneously with her own. ‘You go first,’ she bade her, shooting her friend a smiling glance.

  ‘Where shall I start?’ Sarah returned with a grin as she crossed to the servery, and cast the stylish kitchen an appreciative glance. ‘Lucky you,’ she smiled without a trace of envy. ‘All this, and Stefano, too.’