Читать книгу Mistress Arrangements: Passion's Mistress / Desert Mistress / Mistress by Arrangement - HELEN BIANCHIN, Helen Bianchin - Страница 12

CHARLES WINSLOW THE THIRD was a friendly, gregarious gentleman whose daughter was of a similar age to his second wife.

If appearances were anything to go by, each young woman had worked hard to outdo the other in the fashion stakes, for each wore a designer label that resembled creations by Dior and Ungaro.

Carly felt her own dress paled by comparison, for although the classic style was elegant it was hardly new.

Within seconds of entering the lounge Charles took hold of Carly’s hand and raised it, Southern-style, to his lips.

‘I’m delighted the two of you are together again,’ he intoned solemnly. ‘You’re too beautiful to remain unattached, and Stefano was a fool to let you escape.’

Carly caught Stefano’s faintly lifted eyebrow and was unable to prevent the slight quiver at the edge of her mouth. Without blinking an eyelid, she sent Charles her most dazzling smile. ‘Charles,’ she greeted with equal solemnity. ‘You haven’t changed.’

His faintly wolfish smile was no mean complement to his sparkling brown eyes. ‘My wife tells me I become more irascible with every year, and Georgeanne only tags along because I pay her bills.’

‘Ignore him,’ Kathy-Lee advised with a light smile.

‘Stefano…’ Georgeanne purred, offering Carly a sharp assessing glance before focusing her attention on her father’s business associate. ‘It’s wonderful to see you again.’

‘Wonderful’ was a pretty fine superlative to describe Charles’s daughter, Carly mused, for the young woman was all grown up and pure feline.

Kathy-Lee, at least, opted to observe the conventions and set out to charm superficially while choosing to ignore the machinations of her stepdaughter. Which, Carly noted circumspectly, grew more bold with every passing hour. Perhaps it was merely a game, she perceived as they leisurely dispensed with one delectable course after another.

Whatever the reason, Carly refused to rise to the bait, and instead drew Charles into a lengthy and highly technical discourse on the intricacies of computer programming. As he owed much of his fortune to creating specialised programs, his knowledge was unequalled.

Stefano, to give him his due, did nothing to encourage Georgeanne’s attention, but Carly detected an implied intimacy that hurt unbearably. It clouded her beautiful eyes, leaving them faintly pensive, and, although her smile flashed with necessary brilliance throughout the evening, her hands betrayed their nervousness on one occasion, incurring Stefano’s narrowed glance as she swiftly averted spilling the contents of her wine glass.

Carly told herself she couldn’t care less about her husband’s past indiscretions, but deep within her resentment flared, and mingled with a certain degree of pain.

Outwardly, Stefano was the perfect host, his attention faultless, and only she knew that the implied intimacy of his smile merely depicted a contrived image for the benefit of their guests.

It was almost eleven when Charles indicated that they must leave.

‘It’s so early,’ Georgeanne protested with a pretty pout. ‘I thought we might go on to a nightclub.’

‘Honey,’ Charles chided with a slow sloping smile before directing Carly a wicked wink, ‘I have no doubt Stefano and Carly have a different kind of socialising in mind.’

His daughter effected a faint moue, then sent Stefano a luscious smile. ‘Don’t be crude, Daddy. I’m sure Stefano has the stamina for both.’

Charles gave Kathy-Lee the sort of look that made Carly’s toes curl before switching his attention to his daughter. ‘It’s no contest, darlin’,’ he drawled.

Georgeanne evinced her disappointment, then effected a light shrugging gesture. ‘If you say so.’ She moved a step closer to Stefano and placed scarlet-tipped nails against his jacket-encased arm. ‘Ciao, caro.’ She reached up and brushed her lips against his cheek—only because he turned his head and she missed his mouth. Her smile was pure celluloid, and there was a faint malicious gleam as she turned towards Carly. ‘You look—tired, sweetie.’

Without blinking, Carly met the other girl’s sultry stare, and issued softly, ‘Stefano doesn’t allow me much time to sleep.’

Charles’s eyes danced with ill-concealed humour. ‘Give it up, Georgeanne.’ With old-fashioned charm he took hold of Carly’s hand and squeezed it gently. ‘You must be our guests for dinner before we fly back to the States.’

Carly simply smiled, and walked at Stefano’s side to the foyer. Minutes later Charles, Kathy-Lee and Georgeanne were seated in their hired car, and almost as soon as the rear lights disappeared through the gates Carly moved upstairs to check on Ann-Marie and Françoise.

A tiny black head lifted from the sleeping-box to regard her solemnly, then nestled back against the blanket.

‘I’ll take her outside for a few minutes, then she should be all right until morning.’

Carly turned slowly at the sound of Stefano’s voice, and she nodded in silent acquiescence. Ann-Marie was lost in sleep, her features relaxed and cherubic in the dull reflected glow of her night-light, the covers in place, and her favourite doll and teddy bear vying for affection on either side of her small frame.

Carly felt the sudden prick of tears, and blinked rapidly to dispel them. Her daughter was so small, so dependent—so damned vulnerable.

She was hardly aware of Stefano’s return, and it took only seconds to settle the poodle comfortably among its blankets.

Once inside their own suite, Carly stepped directly through to the bathroom and removed her make-up with slightly shaking fingers. Her nerves felt as if they were shredding into a thousand pieces, and she needed a second attempt at replacing the lid on the jar of cleanser.

When she re-entered the bedroom Stefano was propped up in bed, stroking notes into a leatherbound book, and her stomach executed a series of flips at his breadth of shoulder, the hard-muscled chest with its liberal whorls of dark hair tapering down to a firm waist.

The pale-coloured sheet merely highlighted the natural olive colour of his skin, and as if sensing her appraisal he looked up and pinned her gaze, only to chuckle softly as she quickly averted her eyes.

‘Shy, Carly?’ he drawled, and she hated the faint flood of pink that warmed her cheeks as she moved towards her bed.

He possessed all the attributes of a superb jungle animal, resplendent, resting, yet totally focused on his prey.

An arrow of pain arched up from the centre of her being in the knowledge that seven years ago she would have laughed with him, tantalisingly slid the nightgown from her shoulders—if she’d even opted to wear one—and walked towards him, sure of his waiting arms, the rapture that would take them far into the night.

Now, she fingered the decorative frill on the pillowslip, and made a play of plumping the pillow, feeling oddly reluctant to skip into bed, yet longing for the relaxing effect of several hours’ sleep.

‘How delightful, cara,’ Stefano teased mercilessly. ‘You can still blush.’

Carly lifted her head and her eyes sparked with latent fire. ‘If you wanted a playmate for the evening, you should have gone nightclubbing with Georgeanne.’

One eyebrow slanted in silent mockery. ‘Why—when I have my very own playmate at home?’

Anger mingled with the fire, and produced a golden-flecked flame within the brilliant darkness of her gaze. ‘Because I don’t like playing games, and I particularly don’t want to play them with you!’

‘Georgeanne is—’

‘I know perfectly well what Georgeanne is!’ she vented quietly, hating his level gaze. She was angry, without any clear reason why.

‘—the daughter of a very good friend of mine,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘who delights in practising her feminine witchery.’ His eyes hardened fractionally. ‘Charles should have disciplined her precociousness at a young age.’

‘Oh—fiddlesticks,’ Carly responded, unwilling to agree with him. ‘Georgeanne suffers from acute boredom, and views any attractive man as a contest. If he’s married, that presents even more of a challenge.’

Stefano’s eyes speared hers, and his expression assumed a lazy indolence. ‘Jealous, cara?’

‘Stop calling me that!’

‘You’re expending so much nervous energy,’ he drawled imperturbably. ‘You’ll never be able to relax sufficiently to sleep.’

Without thinking she picked up the pillow and threw it at him, then gasped as he fielded it with one hand and moved with lightning speed to trap her before she had the chance to move. She wrenched her arm in an effort to be free of him, then she cried out as he tightened his grip and pulled her down on to the bed.

There wasn’t a chance she could escape, yet to lie quiescent was impossible, and she flailed at him with her free arm, then groaned with despair as he caught it and held her immobile.

His mouth was inches above her own, and she just looked at him, unable to focus her gaze on anything except his strong, chiselled features and the darkness of his eyes.

Time became suspended as she lay still, mesmerised by the look of him, imprisoned in a spellbinding thrall of all her senses. This close, the warmth of his breath skimmed her mouth, and she could smell the faint musky tones of his aftershave, the clean body smell emanating from his skin, and the essential maleness that was his alone. An answering awareness unfurled deep within her, flaring into vibrant life as it coursed through her body with the intensity of flame.

She could see the knowledge of it reflected in his eyes, the waiting expectancy evident as every cell, every nerve-end flowered into a sexual bloom so vivid, so hauntingly warm that she caught his faint intake of breath an instant before his head slowly lowered to claim her mouth in a teasingly gentle kiss that was so incredibly evocative that she was powerless to still the faint prick of tears.

His lips trailed to the sensitive cord at the edge of her neck, nuzzling the sweet hollows, before continuing a slow descent to a highly sensitised nub peaking at her breast.

The anticipation was almost more than she could bear, and she murmured indistinctly, craving the exquisite pleasure of his touch, exulting when he took the tender peak into his mouth and began teasing it with the edge of his teeth.

A deep shooting pain arrowed through her body, and she slid her hands up over his shoulders in a tactile voyage of discovery until her fingers reached the dark curling hair at his nape.

An ache began at the junction of her thighs, and she arched her body against his in unbidden invitation, then she gave a pleasurable sigh as his fingers slid to caress the aroused orifice to a peak of exquisite pleasure, his movements deftly skilled, until nothing less than total possession was enough.

She became mindless, caught in the thrall of a passion so intense that she began to beg, pleading with him in wanton abandon, until with sure movements he plunged deep inside, stilling as she gasped at his level of penetration.

Then slowly he began to withdraw, only to repeat the initial thrust again and again, increasing in rapidity until her body caught hold of his rhythm and then paced it in unison until the momentum tipped them both over the edge into an explosion of ecstasy so tumultuous that she began to shake uncontrollably as the tremors radiated through her body, incandescent, shattering, primitive, the most primal of all the emotions, subsiding gradually to assume a piercing sweetness that stayed with her long after he curled her close in against him and his breathing steadied with her own into the slow, measured pattern of sleep.

Carly retained very little memory of the ensuing few days, for one seemed to run into the other as she spent all her waking hours at the hospital.

‘I want to stay with her,’ she said quietly to the sister on duty shortly after Ann-Marie was admitted.

‘My dear, I understand your concern, but we’ve found a young child tends to become distraught if the mother rooms in with the child. It really is much more practical if you visit frequently for short periods. Quality time is much better than quantity. Besides,’ she continued briskly, ‘it allows the medical staff to do their job more efficiently.’

It made sense, but it didn’t aid Carly’s natural anxiety, for she had hardly slept the night prior to Ann-Marie’s surgery, and was a nervous wreck all through the following day, choosing to sit in silent vigil well into the evening, despite being advised to go home and rest.

Stefano came and fetched her, his voice quietly insistent, and she was too mentally and emotionally exhausted to give more than a token protest as he led her out to the car. At home he heated milk, added a strong measure of brandy, and made sure she drank it all.

One day seemed to run into another without Carly having any clear recollection of each, for Ann-Marie was her entire focus from the time of waking until she fell wearily into bed at night.

From Intensive Care, Ann-Marie was released into a suite of her own, and designated a model patient as she began the slow path towards recuperation.

Carly, however, became increasingly tense, for there were still tests to be run, and by the fifth evening she was powerless to prevent the silent flow of tears long after she’d crept into bed.

Reaction, she decided wearily, to all the tension, the anxiety, and insufficient sleep. Yet she couldn’t stop, and after a while she slid soundlessly to her feet, gathered up a wrap and walked silently down the hall.

Ann-Marie’s bedroom door was closed, and she opened it, her breath catching as she saw the night-light burning and two bright button eyes as Françoise lifted her head to examine the intruder.

A lump rose in her throat as she crossed to the sleeping-box and scooped the curly-haired black bundle into her arms.

The poodle’s nose was cool and damp, and Carly hugged her close. A small, wet pink tongue emerged to lick her cheek, then began to lap in earnest at the taste of salty tears. After several long minutes she restored the poodle into its sleeping-box, then slowly crossed to the window.

The curtains were closed, and she opened them fractionally, looking out at the moonlit grounds in detached contemplation.

The small shrubs appeared large with their looming shadows, and everything seemed so still, almost lifeless. Pin-pricks of electric light glittered across the harbour, merging with splashes of flashing neon advertisements gracing several city buildings. By night it resembled a tracery of fairy-lights, remote, yet symbolising activity and pulsing life.

She had no idea how long she remained motionless, for there was no awareness of the passage of time, just a slide into introspection that took her back over six years to the day her daughter was born, and the joy, the tears and the laughter that had followed through a few childhood illnesses, the guilt of having to leave her in child care while she worked, Ann-Marie’s first day at kindergarten, her first visit to the zoo, and the day she had started school. She was a quiet, obedient child, but with a mind of her own.

‘Unable to sleep?’ The query was quietly voiced, and Carly turned slowly to face the man standing in the aperture.

For an age she just looked at him, her eyes large and unblinking in a face that was pale and shadowed, then she turned back to the scene beyond the window. ‘I wish it was all over and she was home,’ she managed in an emotion-charged voice, and felt rather than heard him move to stand behind her.

‘Likewise,’ Stefano muttered in agreement.

No power on earth could speed up time, and she closed her eyes in an effort to gain some measure of inner strength. She had to be strong, she had to be, she resolved silently.

Hard, muscular arms slid around her waist from behind and pulled her gently back against a solid male frame.

For a moment she resisted, stiffening slightly, then she became prey to the protective shelter he offered, and she relaxed, allowing his strength to flow through her body.

It was like coming home, and the sadness of what they’d once shared, then lost, overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes tightly against the threat of tears, feeling them burn as she fought for control.

For all of a minute she managed to keep them at bay, then they squeezed through to spill in warm rivulets down each cheek to fall one after the other from her chin.

Firm hands slid up to her shoulders and turned her into his embrace, one hand slipping through the thickness of her hair while the other slid to anchor the base of her spine.

It felt so good, so right, so safe, and after a long time she slid her hands round his waist, linking them together behind his back.

The strong, measured beat of his heart sounded loud against her ear, and she rested against him for a long time, drawing comfort from his large frame, until at last she stirred and began to pull free of him.

Without a word he loosened his hold, and, slipping one arm about her waist, he led her back to their suite. Both beds bore evidence of their occupation, and she viewed each, feeling strangely loath to leave the sanctuary of his embrace, yet to go tacitly to his bed would reveal an unspoken willingness for something she was as yet unprepared to give.

For what seemed an age he stood in silence, watching the expressive play of emotions chase across her features, then he leant forward and brushed his lips against her cheek, trailing gently up to her temple before tracing slowly down to the edge of her mouth.

It was an evocative caress, his lips gently tracing her own with such a heightened degree of sensitivity, it was almost more than she could bear.

It would be so easy to allow him to continue, to follow a conflagrating path to total possession and its resultant euphoria. Except that it would only be a merging born out of sexual desire, not the meeting of two minds, two souls, the sharing of something so beautiful, so exquisite, that the senses coalesced and became one.

She went still, lowering her hands slowly down to her side, and Stefano lifted his head slightly, viewing the soft mouth, the faint smudges beneath her shimmering eyes, and his expression became watchful, intent, as she sought to swallow the sudden lump that had risen in her throat.

Carly wanted to cry out, yet no sound emerged, and she willed herself to breathe slowly, evenly, as he drew her down on to his bed and pulled her gently into the circle of his arms.

His quietly voiced, ‘Sleep easy, cara,’ sent goose-bumps scudding in numerous directions to places they had no right to invade. She lay there, unable to make so much as a sound, and within minutes she became aware of the steady pattern of his breathing. Then slowly she began to relax, and gradually sheer emotional exhaustion provided a welcome escape into somnolence.