Mistress Arrangements. Helen Bianchin
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.
The invasion of her mouth didn’t lessen, and she felt absorbed, overwhelmed, possessed by a man who would refuse anything other than her complete capitulation.
Something snapped inside her, swamping her with anger and a need for retribution. She began to struggle more fiercely, managing to free one hand, which she balled into a fist to flail against his back. She clenched her jaw against the considerable force of his, and gained a minor victory when she managed to capture his tongue with her teeth.
Not enough to inflict any damage, but sufficient to cause him to still fractionally, then he was free, but only momentarily, for he lifted her effortlessly over one shoulder and strode from the room.
‘You bastard,’ Carly hissed vehemently as she pummelled her fists against the hard muscles of his back. ‘Put me down, damn you!’
She fought so hard that she lost all sense of direction, and it wasn’t until he began to ascend the central staircase that she began to feel afraid. Her struggles intensified, without success, and several seconds later she heard the solid clunking sound of the bedroom door as it closed behind them, then without ceremony she was lowered down to her feet.
Defiance blazed from her expressive features as she met his hardened gaze, and despite their compelling intensity she refused to bow down to fear. Her mouth felt violated, her tongue sore, the delicate tissues grazed and swollen. Even her throat ached, and her jaw.
‘If it weren’t for Ann-Marie…’ She trailed to a halt, too incensed to continue.
‘Precisely,’ Stefano agreed succinctly. His implication was intentional, and she burst into voluble speech.
‘You’re so damned ruthless,’ Carly accused vengefully. ‘You dominate everything, everyone. I can’t wait to be free of you.’
He went completely still, and she was vividly reminded of a superb jungle animal she’d viewed on a television documentary; of the encapsulated moment when every muscle in his body had tensed prior to the fatal spring that captured and annihilated his prey. Stefano looked just as dangerous, portraying the same degree of leashed violence.
‘You believe our reconciliation to be temporary?’ he queried in a voice that sounded like the finest silk being torn asunder.
She drew in a deep breath, then slowly released it. ‘When Ann-Marie is completely recovered, I intend to file for divorce.’
His eyes lanced hers, killing in their intensity. ‘You honestly believe I’d allow you to attempt to take her away from me?’
‘Dear lord in heaven,’ Carly breathed shakily. ‘Who do you think you are? God?’
He was silent for so long that she thought he didn’t mean to answer, then he drawled with deliberate softness, ‘I have the power to hound you through every lawcourt in the country for whatever reason I choose to nominate.’
She felt sickened, and raw with immeasurable pain. ‘Are you so bent on revenge that you’d punish yourself as well as me?’
His eyes raked her slim frame. ‘Punish? Aren’t you being overly fanciful?’
‘Angelica Agnelli. I imagine she still—’ She paused fractionally, then continued with deliberate emphasis, ‘Liaises with you?’
His voice was tensile steel, and just as dangerous. ‘In a professional capacity—yes.’
‘And is she still based in Perth?’ Carly pursued unrepentantly. ‘Or has she also moved to Sydney?’
‘Sydney.’
‘I see,’ she said dully, and wondered at her own stupidity in querying if the relationship between Stefano and Angelica still existed. It hadn’t ceased and probably never would.
‘Do you?’ Stefano queried, and she smiled with infinite sadness, all the fight in her suddenly gone.
‘Oh, yes,’ she assented wearily. ‘I was way out of my league right from the beginning.’
‘You should have stayed and fought the battle.’ He sounded impossibly cynical, and it rankled unbearably.
‘I tried.’ Dear lord, how she’d tried. But one battle didn’t win the war, as she had discovered to her cost. Carly tilted her head at a proud angle. ‘Being figuratively savaged by a female predator held no appeal. I much preferred to retreat with dignity.’ Her eyes were remarkably clear. ‘Besides, it’s impossible to lose what you never had.’
‘I willingly slid a ring on your finger, and pledged my devotion.’ His voice held a soft drawling quality that sent shivers scudding down the length of her spine. ‘Was your faith in me so lacking that there was no room for trust?’
The entire conversation had undergone a remarkable change, and she wasn’t comfortable with its passage. ‘That was a long time ago,’ she responded slowly, aware of the tug at her heartstrings, the ecstasy as much as the agony of having loved him. ‘Your concept of marriage was different from mine.’
‘You’re so sure of that?’
A lump rose unbidden in her throat—she doubted her voice could surmount it—and a great weariness settled down on to her young shoulders, making her feel suddenly tired.
‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to shower and go to bed.’
‘Enjoy your solitude, cara,’ Stefano told her with soft mockery. ‘I have a few international calls to make.’ His expression was veiled, making it impossible to detect his mood, and she watched as he walked to the door, then he turned towards her.
‘Incidentally, I’ve located a reputable breeder who will deliver Ann-Marie’s poodle late tomorrow afternoon.’ He paused, a faint smile tugging his lips at her surprise. ‘A house-trained young female, black, with impeccable manners, who answers to Françoise. I’ll see that I’m home to ensure she has a proper introduction to Prince.’
He opened the door, then closed it quietly behind him before Carly had a chance to say so much as a word.
He was an enigma, she decided as she became caught up in a maelstrom of contrary emotions. There was a sense of unresolved hostility, an inner need that bordered on obsession, to get beneath his skin and test the strength of his anger.
Or his passion, her subconscious mind taunted mercilessly. Wasn’t that what she really wanted?
No. The silent scream rose in her throat, threatening, agonising in its intensity, and she gazed sightlessly around the room for several seconds as she attempted to focus on something—anything—that would rationalise her feelings.
All she could see were the two pieces of furniture that totally dominated the large room. Two queensize beds, each expensively quilted in delicately muted matching colours that complemented the suite’s elegant furnishings.
A leisurely shower would surely ease some of her emotional tension, she rationalised as she stripped off her outer clothes, wound the length of her hair into a knot atop her head, and stepped beneath the therapeutic warm spray.
Ten minutes later she stood before the mirror clad in a towelling robe, her hair brushed and confined into a single braid. Her features were too pale, she decided, and with a slight shrug she transferred her gaze to the opulence of her surroundings.
It provided an all too vivid reminder of another house, in another city, and another time. Then, she’d followed her heart, so totally enthralled with the man she had married that every hour apart from him was an agonising torment.
In those days she’d behaved like a love-crazed fool, she reflected a trifle grimly. So young, so incredibly naïve, aching all day for the evening hours she could spend in his arms.
Beautiful, soul-shaking hours filled with