The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (47 page)

Read The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) Online

Authors: Helen Bianchin

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Erotica, #Collections & Anthologies, #Contemporary Women, #General

BOOK: The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections)
12.43Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
They caught the early evening-flight out of Coolangatta Airport, and arrived in Sydney after
nine. Carlo collected the car, then headed towards the city.
For one brief moment Aysha was tempted to choose the apartment, except Carlo pre-empted any decision by driving to Clontarf.
She told herself fiercely that she wasn't disappointed as he checked the house and re-set the alarm.
His kiss was brief, a soft butterfly caress that left her aching for more. Then he turned and retraced his steps to the car.
Half an hour later Carlo crossed to the phone and punched in a series of digits, within minutes of entering his apartment.
Samuel Sloane, a legal eagle of some note, picked up on the seventh ring, and almost winced at the grim tone of the man who'd chosen to call him at such an hour on a Sunday evening at home. He listened, counselled and advised, and wasn't in the least surprised when he was ignored.
‘I don't give a damn for the what-if's and maybes protecting my investments, my interests. I'm not consulting you for advice. I'm instructing you what to do. Draw up that document. I'll be in your office just before five tomorrow. Now, do we understand each other?'
The impulse to slam the receiver down onto the handset was uppermost, and Carlo barely avoided the temptation to do so.
 
Aysha spent the morning organising the final soft furnishing items she'd ordered several weeks previously. A message alerting her of their arrival had
been on her answering machine when she'd checked it on her return from the Coast.
At midday she stood back and surveyed the results, and was well pleased with the effect. It was perfect, and just as she'd envisaged the overall look.
It was amazing how a few cushions, draped pelmets in matching fabric really set the final touch to a room.
All it needed, she decided with a critical eye, was a superbly fashioned terracotta urn in one corner to complete the image she wanted. Maybe she'd have time to locate the urn before she was due to meet Teresa at one.
Aysha made it with minutes to spare, and together they spent the next few hours with the dressmaker, checked a few minor details with the wedding organiser, then took time to relax over coffee.
‘You haven't forgotten we're dining with Gianna and Luigi tonight?'
Aysha uttered a silent scream in sheer frustration. She didn't want to play the part of soon-to-be-married adoring fiancée. Nor did she want to dine beneath the watchful eyes of their respective parents.
When she arrived at the house she checked the answering machine and discovered a message from Carlo indicating he'd collect her at six. An identical message was recorded on her mobile phone.
Her fingers hovered over the telephone handset as she contemplated returning his call and cancelling out, only to retreat in the knowledge that she had no choice but to see the evening through.
A shower did little to ease the tension, and she
deliberately chose black silk evening trousers and matching halter-necked top, added stiletto pumps, twisted her hair into a simple knot atop her head, and kept make-up to a minimum.
She was ready when security alerted her that the front gate had been activated, and she opened the front door seconds ahead of Carlo's arrival.
He was a superb male animal, she conceded as she caught her first glimpse of him. Tall, broad frame, honed musculature, and he exuded a primitive alchemy that was positively lethal.
Expensively tailored black trousers, dark blue shirt left unbuttoned at the neck, and a black jacket lent a sophistication she could only admire. ‘Shall we leave?' Aysha asked coolly, and saw those dark eyes narrow.
‘Not yet'
Her stomach executed a slow somersault, and she tensed involuntarily. ‘We don't want to be late.'
He was standing too close, and she suppressed the need to take a backward step. She didn't need him close. It just made it more difficult to maintain a mental distance. And she needed to, badly.
He brushed his fingers across one cheek and pressed a thumb to the corner of her mouth. ‘You're pale.'
She almost swayed towards him, drawn as if by a magnetic force. Dammit, how could she love him, yet hate him at the same time? It was almost as if her body was detached from the dictates of her brain.
‘A headache,' she responded evenly, and his expression became intensely watchful.
‘I'll ring and cancel.'
It was easier to handle him when he was angry. At least then she could rage in return. Now, she merely felt helpless, and it irked her that he knew.
‘That isn't an option, and you know it,' she refuted, and lifted a hand in expressive negation.
‘You've taken something for it?'
‘Yes.'
‘Povera piccola,'
he declared gently as he lowered his head and brushed his lips against her temple.
Sensation curled inside her stomach as his mouth trailed down to the edge of her mouth, and she turned her head slightly, her lips parting in denial, only to have his mouth close over hers.
He caught her head between both hands, and his tongue explored the inner tissues at will, savouring the sweetness with such erotic sensuousness that all rational thought temporarily fled.
His touch was sheer magic, exotic, intoxicating, and left her wanting more. Much more.
It's just a kiss, she assured herself mentally, and knew she was wrong. This was seductive claim-staking at its most dangerous.
Aysha pushed against his shoulders and tore her mouth from his, her eyes wide and luminous as they caught the darkness reflected in his. Her mouth tingled, and her lips felt slightly swollen.
‘Let's go.' Was that her voice? It sounded husky, and her mouth shook slightly as she moved away from him and caught up her evening bag.
In the car she leaned her head back against the
cushioned rest, and stared sightlessly out of the window.
Summer daylight saving meant warm sunshine at six in the evening, and peak-hour traffic crossing the Harbour Bridge had diminished, ensuring a relatively smooth drive to suburban Vaucluse.
Aysha didn't offer anything by way of conversation, and she was somewhat relieved when Carlo brought the Mercedes to a halt behind Teresa and Giuseppe's car in the driveway of his parents' home.
‘Showtime.'
‘Don't overdo it,
cara
,' he warned quizzically, and she offered him a particularly direct look.
Did he know just how much she hurt deep inside? Somehow she doubted it. ‘Don't patronise me.'
She saw one eyebrow lift. ‘Not guilty,' Carlo responded, then added drily, ‘on any count.'
Now there was a
double entendre
if ever there was one. ‘You underestimate yourself.'
His eyes hardened fractionally. ‘Take care, Aysha.'
She reached for the door-clasp. ‘If we stay here much longer, our parents will think we're arguing.'
‘And we're not?'
‘Now you're being facetious.' She opened the door and stood to her feet, then summoned a warm smile as he crossed to her side.
Gianna Santangelo's affectionate greeting did much to soothe Aysha's unsettled nerves. This was
family
, although she was under no illusions, and knew that both mothers were attuned to the slightest nuance that might give hint to any dissension.
Dinner was an informal meal, although Gianna had gone to considerable trouble, preparing
gnocchi
in a delicious sauce, followed by chicken pieces roasted in wine with rosemary herbs and accompanied by a variety of vegetables.
Gianna was a superb cook, with many speciality dishes in her culinary repertoire. Even Teresa had the grace to offer a genuine compliment.
‘
Buona
, Gianna. You have a flair for
gnocchi
that is unsurpassed by anyone I know.'
‘
Grazie.
I shall give Aysha the recipe.'
Ah, now there was the thing. Teresa's recipe versus that of Gianna. Tricky, Aysha concluded. Very tricky. She'd have to vary the sauce accordingly whenever either or both sets of parents came to dinner. Or perhaps not serve it at all? Maybe she could initiate a whole new range of Italian cuisine? Or select a provincial dish that differed from Trevisian specialities?
‘I won't have time for much preparation except at the weekends.' She knew it was a foolish statement the moment the words left her mouth, as both Teresa and Gianna's heads rose in unison, although it was her mother who voiced the query.
‘Why ever not,
cara
?'
Aysha took a sip of wine, then replaced her glass down onto the table. ‘Because I'll be at work, Mamma.'
‘But you have finished work.'
‘I'm taking a six-week break, then I'll be going back.'
‘Part-time, of course.'
‘Full-time.'
Teresa stated the obvious. ‘There is no need for you to work at all. What happens when you fall pregnant?'
‘I don't plan on having children for a few years.'
Teresa turned towards Carlo. ‘You agree with this?'
It could have been a major scandal they were discussing, not a personal decision belonging to two people.
‘It's Aysha's choice.' He turned to look at her, his smile infinitely warm and sensual as he took hold of her hand and brushed his lips to each finger in turn. His eyes gleamed with sensual promise. ‘We both want a large family.'
Bastard,
she fumed silently. He'd really set the cat among the pigeons now. Teresa wouldn't be able to leave it alone, and she'd receive endless lectures about caring for a husband's needs, maintaining an immaculate house, an excellent table.
Aysha leaned forward, and traced the vertical crease slashing Carlo's cheek. His eyes flared, but she ignored the warning gleam. ‘Cute, plump little dark-haired boys,' she teased as her own eyes danced with silent laughter. ‘I've seen your baby pictures, remember?'
‘Don't forget I babysat you and changed your nappies,
cara
.'
Her first memory of Carlo was herself as a four-year-old being carried round on his shoulders, laughing and squealing as she gripped hold of his hair for
dear life. She'd loved him then with the innocence of a child.
Adoration, admiration, respect had undergone a subtle change in those early teenage years, as raging female hormones had labelled intense desire as sexual attraction, infatuation, lust.
He'd been her best friend, confidant, big brother, all rolled into one. Then he'd become another girl's husband, and it had broken her heart.
Now she was going to marry him, have his children, and to all intents and purposes live the fairy tale dream of happy-ever-after.
Except she didn't have his heart. That belonged to Bianca, who lay buried beneath an elaborate bed of marble high on a hill outside the country town in which she'd been born.
Aysha had wanted to hate her, but she couldn't, for Bianca had been one of those rare human beings who was so genuinely kind, so
nice
, she was impossible to dislike.
Carlo caught each fleeting expression and correctly divined every one of them. His mouth softened as he leant forward and brushed his lips to her temple.
She blinked rapidly, and forced herself to smile. ‘Hands-on practice, huh? You do know you're going to have to help with the diapering?'
‘I wouldn't miss it for the world.'
Aysha almost believed him.
‘I'll serve the
cannoli
,' Gianna declared. ‘And afterwards we have coffee.'
‘You women have the
cannoli
,' Luigi dismissed with the wave of one hand. ‘Giuseppe, come with
me. We'll have a brandy. With the coffee, we'll have
grappa
.' He turned towards his son. ‘Carlo?'
Women had their work to do, and it was work which didn't involve men. Old traditions died hard, and the further they lived away from the Old Country, Aysha recognised ruefully, the longer it took those traditions to die.
Carlo rose to his feet and followed the two older men from the room.
Aysha braced herself for the moment Teresa would pounce. Gianna, she knew, would be more circumspect.
‘You cannot be serious about returning to work after the honeymoon.'
Ten seconds. She knew, because she'd counted them off. ‘I enjoy working, Mamma. I'm very good at what I do.'
‘Indeed,' Gianna complimented her. ‘You've done a wonderful job with the house.'

Other books

Hung: A Badboy Romance by Cruise, Carolyn
The Figures of Beauty by David Macfarlane
The Cold Spot by Tom Piccirilli
Lost Light by Michael Connelly
China Blues by David Donnell
War Weapons by Craig Sargent