The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (86 page)

Ann-Marie's gaze didn't waver, and it seemed an age before she spoke. ‘And you don't not like him any more?'

She hid a sad smile at Ann-Marie's phraseology, and prayed the good lord would forgive her for the fabrication. ‘No.'

‘Now he wants to meet me,' Ann-Marie said with childish intuition, and Carly nodded her head in silent agreement, then endorsed,

‘Yes, he does. Very much.'

‘Is he angry with you for not telling him about me?'

‘A little,' she admitted gently.

Ann-Marie's expression became comically fierce, and her chin jutted forward. ‘If he's nasty to you, I'll hit him.'

The mental picture of a delicate, curly-haired six-year-old lashing out at a six-feet-plus male frame brought a slight smile to Carly's lips. ‘That would be very rude, don't you think? Especially when he's a very kind man.' Not to her, never to her. However, she had no doubt he would be kind to his daughter.

‘Does he want us to live together and be a family?'

Her answer had to be direct and without hesitation. ‘Yes,' she said simply.

‘Do
you
want us to live with him?' Ann-Marie persisted, and Carly felt as if she was caught in a trap with no way out.

‘Yes.' Two untruths in the space of two minutes. If she wasn't careful, it could become a habit. ‘Let's go and freshen up, shall we? He'll be here soon.'

‘What do I call him?' Ann-Marie asked several minutes later as she stood quietly while Carly tidied her hair and redid her ribbons.

Carly had a terrible feeling the questions could only get worse! ‘What would you like to call him?'

Ann-Marie appeared to deliberate, her eyes pensive as a slight frown creased her small brow. ‘Daddy, I guess.' Her eyes moved to meet those of her mother in the mirror. ‘Will I like him?'

She forced her mouth to widen into a warm smile, then she bent down to brush her lips against her daughter's temple. ‘I'm sure that once you get to know him you'll like him very much,' she assured her quietly.

Ann-Marie looked at her mother's mirrored reflection and queried with puzzlement, ‘Aren't you going to put some lipstick on?'

Carly didn't feel inclined to do anything to enhance her appearance, although she reached automatically for a slim plastic tube and outlined her mouth in clear red.

The sound of the doorbell heralded Stefano's arrival, and, catching hold of Ann-Marie's hand, she summoned a bright smile. ‘Shall we answer that?'

I don't want to do this, a voice screamed silently
from within, aware that the moment she opened the door her life would change irrevocably.

Carly schooled her features into an expression of welcome, and although she registered his physical presence she felt akin to a disembodied spectator.

Except that this was no nightmarish dream. Stefano Alessi represented reality, and she issued a greeting, aware that he had exchanged the formal business suit worn a few hours earlier for casual dark trousers and an open-necked shirt.

Carly barely hid a gasp of surprise as he reached out and threaded his fingers through hers, tightening them imperceptibly as she attempted to pull away from his grasp.

She registered a silent protest by digging the tips of her nails into hard bone and sinew. Not that it did any good, for he didn't even blink, and she watched in silence as his mouth curved into a warm smile.

Supremely conscious of Ann-Marie's intent gaze, she managed to return it, and she glimpsed the faint narrowing of his eyes, the silent warning evident an instant before they swept down to encompass his daughter.

‘Hello, Ann-Marie.'

He made no attempt to touch her, and Ann-Marie looked at him solemnly for several long seconds, her eyes round and unwavering before they shifted to her mother, then back again to the man at her side.

‘Hello,' she answered politely.

Carly felt as if her heart would tear in two, and she held her breath, supremely conscious of the man and the child, one so much a part of the other, both
aware of their connection, yet each unsure quite how to proceed.

In a strange way, it allowed her to see a different side of the man, a hint of vulnerability evident that she doubted anyone else had ever witnessed. It surprised her, and made her wonder for one very brief minute how different things might have been if she'd stayed in the marriage, and if he would have given up Angelica Agnelli and assumed the role of devoted father.

A knife twisted deep within her, and the pain became intense at the thought of Stefano taking delight in all the changing facets of her pregnancy, the miracle of the birth itself, and the shared joy of their newborn child.

She'd denied him that, had felt justified in doing so, and if it hadn't been for Ann-Marie's illness she doubted that she'd ever have allowed him to become aware of his daughter's existence.

His fingers tightened around her own, almost as if he could read her thoughts, and she summoned the effort to move into the lounge, indicating one of two chairs.

‘Please, take a seat.' Her voice sounded strange, not her own at all, and she extricated her hand from his, aware that it was only because he allowed her to do so.

‘I hope you like chicken,' Stefano said, holding out a large carrier bag suitably emblazoned with an exclusive delicatessen logo. ‘There's a variety of salads, some fresh bread rolls, cheese. And a bottle of wine.'

‘Thank you,' Carly acknowledged with contrived warmth, and preceded him into the kitchen.

They ate at six, and Carly was aware of an inner
tension that almost totally destroyed her appetite. There was no lull in conversation, and although Ann-Marie displayed initial reservation it wasn't long before she was chatting happily about school, her friends, Sarah, and how much she'd love to own a dog.

‘I have a dog,' Stefano revealed, and Carly stifled a mental groan in the knowledge that he had just won a massive slice of Ann-Marie's interest, for the ‘no animals allowed' rule enforced by the apartment managers ensured that tenants couldn't have pets.

Ann-Marie could barely hide her excitement. ‘What sort of dog?'

Carly waited with bated breath, and had her worst fears confirmed with Stefano enlightened her. ‘A Dobermann pinscher.'

‘Mummy said that one day when we live in a house we can have a poodle.'

Stefano cast Carly a musing glance at her choice before turning his attention back to his daughter. ‘In that case, we'll have to see about getting you one.'

It was bribery, pure and simple, and Carly hated him for it.

By the time Ann-Marie was settled happily in bed and asleep, it was clear that Stefano had succeeded in winning a place in his daughter's affections.

‘I have to congratulate you,' Carly said quietly as she handed him some freshly made coffee. Then she crossed the small lounge and selected a chair as far distant from his as possible.

His gaze was startlingly level. ‘On developing an empathy with my daughter?'

She met his eyes and held their gaze with all the
force of her maternal instincts. ‘If you do anything to hurt her—
ever
,' she emphasised softly, ‘I'll kill you.'

He didn't speak for several long seconds, and Carly felt close to screaming point. ‘You wanted for her to hate me?'

‘
No.
No,' she repeated shakily, knowing that it wasn't true.

‘Yet you decry the speed with which she has gifted me a measure of her affection,' Stefano pursued.

She refused to admit it, and stirred her coffee instead, wanting only for the evening to end so that she could be free of his disturbing presence.

‘Gaining her trust won't be achieved overnight,' he discounted drily, adding, ‘And love has to be earned.'

‘Why agree to gift her a poodle?'

‘I said
we
would have to see about getting her one,' he responded evenly, and she instantly flared,

‘A Dobermann and a poodle both on the same property?'

‘Prince is a well-trained guard dog who is exceptionally obedient. I doubt there will be a problem.'

‘And it matters little to you that I might have a problem moving into your home?'

His eyes were hard, with no hint of any softness. ‘I'm sure you'll manage to overcome it.'

Suddenly she'd had enough, and she replaced her cup down on the coffee-table, then rose to her feet. ‘I'm tired and I'd like you to leave.'

He followed her movements with a lithe indolence, then covered the distance to the front door. ‘Be packed and ready at midday. I'll collect you.'

She wanted to hit him, and she lifted her hand, only to have it caught in a merciless grip.

‘Don't even think about it,' Stefano warned silkily. ‘This time I won't be so generous.'

There could be little doubt about the veiled threat, and she looked at him in helpless anger, wanting so much to strike out in temper, yet forced to contain it out of consideration to a sleeping child who, should she wake and perchance witness such a scene, would be both puzzled and frightened, and unable to comprehend the cause.

Stefano released her hand, then he opened the door and moved out into the foyer without so much as a backward glance.

C
ARLY EXPERIENCED A
sense of acute nervousness as she caught sight of Stefano's imposing double-storeyed French-château-style home. Situated in the exclusive suburb of Clontarf and constructed of grey stone, it sat well back from the road in beautifully kept grounds.

A spreading jacaranda tree in full bloom with its carpet of lilac flowers provided a fitting backdrop to an assortment of precision-clipped shrubs, and symmetrical borders filled with a variety of colourful flowers that were predominantly red, pink, white and yellow.

Dear lord, what had she
done
? The enormity of it all settled like a tremendous weight on her slim shoulders. In the space of fifteen hours she had packed, cleaned the apartment, notified the leasing agent, and confided in Sarah.
And
tossed and turned for the short time she'd permitted herself to sleep. Now she had to face reality.

The car drew to a halt adjacent to the main entrance, and no sooner had Stefano slid out from behind the wheel than a short, well-built man of middle years emerged from the house to retrieve several suitcases from the capacious boot.

‘Joe Bardini,' Stefano told them as Carly and Ann-Marie slid from the car. ‘Joe and his wife Sylvana look after the house and grounds.'

The man's smile was warm, and his voice when he spoke held the barest trace of an Italian accent. ‘Sylvana is in the kitchen preparing lunch. I will tell her you have arrived.'

Some of Carly's tension transmitted itself to her daughter, for Ann-Marie's fingers tightened measurably within her own as Stefano led the way indoors.

The foyer was spacious, with cream-streaked marble tiles and delicate archways either side of a magnificent double staircase leading to the upper floor. The focal point was a beautiful crystal chandelier, spectacular in design by day. Carly could only wonder at its luminescence by night.

‘Would you prefer to explore the house before or after lunch?'

‘Can we now?' Ann-Marie begged before Carly had a chance to utter so much as a word, and Stefano cast his daughter a musing glance.

‘Why not? Shall we begin upstairs?'

‘Yes, please.'

They ascended one side of the curving staircase, and on reaching the upper floor he directed them left to two guest rooms and a delightful bedroom suite with a connecting bathroom.

‘Is this where I'm going to sleep?' Ann-Marie asked as she looked at the softly toned bedcovers.

‘Do you like it?' Stefano asked gently, and she nodded.

‘It's very pretty. Can Sarah come visit sometimes?'

‘Of course,' he answered solemnly.

‘Sarah lives in the apartment next door,' Ann-Marie explained carefully. ‘She is our very best friend.'

To the right of the central staircase Stefano opened a door leading into the main suite, and Carly's eyes flew to two queensize beds separated by a double pedestal. A spacious
en suite
was visible, and there was an adjoining sitting-room complete with soft leather chairs, a television console, and escritoire.

‘We'll use this suite,' Stefano indicated, and Carly refrained from comment, choosing instead to shoot him a telling glance as she preceded him to the head of the stairs.

If he thought she'd share the same bedroom with him, he had another think coming!

Once downstairs he led them into a formal lounge containing items of delicate antique furniture, deep-seated sofas and single chairs, employing a visually pleasing mix of cream, beige and soft sage-green. Oil-paintings graced the walls, a sparkling crystal chandelier hung suspended from a beautiful filigree-plastered ceiling, and wide floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors opened out on to a covered terrace.

Even at a glance it was possible to see the blue-tiled swimming-pool beyond the terrace, and catch a glimpse of the magnificent view out over the harbour.

The formal dining-room was equally impressive, and his study held an awesome arsenal of high-tech equipment as well as a large mahogany desk, and wall-to-wall bookshelves.

The southern wing comprised an informal family room, dining-room and an enormous kitchen any chef would kill for.

A pleasantly plump middle-aged woman turned as they entered, and her kindly face creased into a warm welcoming smile as Stefano effected introductions.

‘Lunch will be ready in ten minutes,' Sylvana declared.

‘Is Prince outside? Can I see him?' Ann-Marie asked, and she made no objection when Stefano reached forward and caught hold of her hand.

‘Come and be properly introduced.'

The dog was huge, and looked incredibly fearsome, yet beneath Stefano's guidance he became a docile lamb, his eyes large and soulful, his whimpering enthusiasm as close to canine communication as it was possible to get.

‘After lunch we'll take him for a walk round the grounds, and you can watch him go through his paces.'

Lunch was served in the informal dining-room, and Ann-Marie did justice to the tender roast chicken with accompanying vegetables, as well as the delicious crème caramel dessert.

The excellent glass of white wine Carly sipped through lunch helped soothe her fractured nerves, and afterwards she walked quietly with Ann-Marie as Stefano led the Dobermann through a series of commands.

It was very warm outdoors, and Carly glimpsed a few tell-tale signs of her daughter's tiredness. The symptoms of her condition could descend with little warning, and it was essential that her reserves of strength were not overtaxed.

‘Shall we go upstairs?' Carly suggested, catching hold of Ann-Marie's hand. ‘You can lie down while I unpack your clothes.'

Stefano shot her a quick glance, his expression pensive as Ann-Marie stumbled slightly.

‘Can I see Prince again before dinner?'

‘Of course. You can watch Joe feed him.'

Carly lifted her into her arms, and Ann-Marie nestled her head into the curve of her mother's shoulder, her small hands lifting to link together around Carly's neck.

‘Let me take her,' Stefano bade quietly, and Carly made to demure, barely able to control her surprise as Ann-Marie allowed Stefano to transfer her into his arms without protest.

Ann-Marie fought against encroaching lassitude as they made their way indoors, and by the time Stefano deposited her gently down on to the bed she was asleep.

His eyes were dark and slightly hooded as he watched Carly deftly remove the little girl's shoes then draw up a light cover before crossing to the window to close the curtains.

‘She just needs to rest,' she said quietly. ‘She'll be all right in an hour or two.'

Carly turned and walked from the room, supremely conscious of a distinct prickling sensation feathering her spine as he followed close behind.

It was damnable to be so aware of him, and in the hallway she quickened her step towards the main suite. ‘I'll begin unpacking.' Her voice sounded incredibly stilted and polite, almost dismissing, for he had the power to ruffle her composure more than she was prepared to admit.

Their combined luggage was stacked neatly on the floor, and her eyes swept the room, hating the invidious
position in which she'd been placed and the man who deliberately sought to put her there.

‘Afraid, Carly?' a deep voice drawled from behind, and she turned slowly to face him, her eyes steady.

‘You intend me to be,' she said with hesitation, aware of an inner resentment. ‘This is part of a diabolical game, isn't it?' she flared, on a verbal rollercoaster. ‘Separate beds, but having to share the same room. An
en suite
with no lock, ensuring you can invade my privacy any time you choose.' A degree of bitterness made itself apparent. ‘And you will choose, won't you, Stefano? Just for the hell of it.' Her eyes darkened measurably, the gold flecks appearing like chips of topaz against brown velvet. ‘Don't ever mistake your bed for mine,' she warned with deadly softness. ‘I'd mark you for life.'

His gaze raked hers, harsh and unrelenting. ‘Be grateful I've allowed you a separate bed,' he drawled smoothly. ‘It wasn't my original intention.'

Her heart lurched, then missed a beat as sensation unfurled deep within her, the pain so acute that she almost gasped at its intensity. For one horrifying moment she held a clear vision of their bodies locked in lovemaking, aware that if he chose to take her now it would be a violation motivated by revenge.

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?'