Latin Lovers. Helen Bianchin
increased. ‘We spent hours selecting each individual item. Now nothing matches.’
‘Mother.’ Mother was bad. Its use forewarned of frazzled nerves, and a temper stretched close to breaking point. ‘Calm down.’ One look at Teresa’s face was sufficient to tell a verbal explosion was imminent, and she took a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘I’m just as disappointed as you are, but we have to be practical.’ Assertiveness probably wasn’t a good option at this precise moment. ‘I’ve already chosen something I’m happy with and they’ve guaranteed delivery within days.’
‘I’ll check it out in the morning.’
‘There’s no need to do that.’
‘Of course there is, Aysha.’ Teresa was adamant. ‘We’ve put a great deal of business their way.’
If she stayed another minute, she’d spit the dummy and they’d have a full-scale row. ‘I haven’t got time to discuss it now. I have to shower and change, and meet Carlo in less than an hour.’
It was a cop-out, albeit a diplomatic one, she decided as she quickly ascended the stairs. Differences of opinion were one thing. All-out war was another. Teresa was Teresa, and she was unlikely to change.
Damn Nina and her Mission. She was a bitch of the first order. Desperate, and dangerous.
The worst kind, Aysha determined viciously as she stripped off her clothes and stepped beneath the cascade of water.
Five minutes later she emerged, wound a towel around her slender curves and crossed into the bedroom bent on selecting something mind-blowing to wear.
Dressed to kill. What a marvellous analogy, she decided. One look at her mirrored reflection revealed a slender young woman in a black beaded gown that was strapless, backless, with a hemline that fell to her ankles. A long chiffon scarf lay sprawled across the bed and she draped it round her neck so both ends trailed down her back.
Make-up was, she determined, a little overstated. Somehow it seemed appropriate. Warriors painted themselves before they went into battle, didn’t they? And there would be a battle fought before the night was over. She could personally guarantee it.
Teresa was setting the table in the dining room. ‘Mamma, I’m on my way.’
Was it something in her voice that caused her mother to cast her a sharp glance? When it came to maternal instincts, Teresa’s were second to none. ‘Have a good time.’
That was entirely debatable. Dinner à deux followed by an evening at the ballet had definitely lost its appeal. ‘Thanks.’
Fifteen minutes later she garaged her car in the underground car park, then rode the lift to Carlo’s apartment. The envelope containing the photographs was in her hand, and the portrayed images on celluloid almost scorched her fingers.
He opened the door within seconds, and she saw his pupils widen in gleaming male appreciation. A shaft of intense satisfaction flared, and she took in the immaculate cut of his dark suit, the startling white cotton shirt, the splendid tie.
The perfectly groomed, wildly attractive fiancé. Loving, too, she added a trifle viciously as he drew her close and nuzzled the sensitive curve of her neck.
The right touch, the expert moves. It was almost too much to expect him to be faithful as well. His love, she knew, would never be hers to have. But fidelity... That was something she intended to insist on.
‘What’s wrong?’
Add intuitive, Aysha accorded. At least some of his senses were on track. She moved back a step, away from the traitorous temptation of his arms. It would be far too easy to lean in against him and offer her mouth for his kiss. But then she’d kiss him back, and that wouldn’t do at all.
‘What makes you think that?’ she queried with deliberate calm, and saw his eyes narrow.
‘We’ve never played guessing games, and we’re not going to start now.’
Games, subterfuge, deception. They were one and the same thing. ‘Really?’
His expression sharpened, accentuating the broad facial bone structure with its strong angles and planes. ‘Spit it out, Aysha. I’m listening.’
Aysha rang the tip of one fingernail along the edge of the envelope. Eyes like crystallised smoke burned with a fiery heat as she thrust the envelope at him. ‘You’ve got it wrong. You talk. I get to listen.’
He caught the envelope, and a puzzled frown creased his forehead. ‘What the hell is this about?’
‘Hell is a pretty good description. Open the damned thing. I think you’ll get the picture.’ She certainly had!
His fingers freed the flap and she watched him carefully as he extracted the sheaf of photos and examined them one by one.
His expression barely altered, and she had to hand it to him... He had tremendous control. Somehow his icy discipline had more effect than anger.
‘Illuminating, wouldn’t you agree?’
His gaze speared hers, dark, dangerous and as hard as granite. ‘Very.’
Her eyes held his fearlessly. ‘I think I deserve an explanation.’
‘I stayed in that hotel, and, yes, Nina was there. But without any prior knowledge or invitation on my part.’
How could she believe him when Nina continued to drip poison at every turn?
‘That’s it?’ She was so cool it was a wonder the blood didn’t freeze in her veins.
‘As far as I’m concerned.’
‘I guess Nina just happened to be standing outside your room?’ She swept his features mercilessly. ‘I don’t buy it.’
‘It happens to be the truth.’ His voice was inflexible, and Aysha’s eyes were fearless as she met his.
‘I’m fully aware our impending marriage has its base in mutual convenience,’ she stated with restrained anger. ‘But I insist on your fidelity.’
Carlo’s eyes narrowed and became chillingly calm. There was a leashed stillness apparent she knew she’d be wise to heed.
Except she was past wisdom, beyond any form of rationale. Did he have any conception of what she’d felt like when she’d sighted those photos? It was as if the tip of a sword pierced her heart, poised there, then thrust in to the hilt.
‘My fidelity isn’t in question.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘Would you care to rephrase that?’
‘Why?’ Aysha countered baldly. ‘What part didn’t you understand?’
‘I heard the words. It’s the motive I find difficult to comprehend.’
With admirable detachment she raked his large frame from head to toe, and back again. ‘It’s simple. In this marriage, there’s only room for two of us.’ She was so angry, she felt she might self-destruct. ‘There’s no way I’ll turn a blind eye to you having a mistress on the side.’
‘Why would I want a mistress?’ Carlo queried with icy calm.
Her eyes flashed, a brilliant translucent grey that had the clarity and purity of a rare pearl. ‘To complement my presence in the marital bed?’
His gaze didn’t waver, and she fought against being trapped by the depth, the intensity. It was almost hypnotic, and she had the most uncanny sensation he was intent on dispensing with the layers that guarded her soul, like a surgeon using a scalpel with delicate precision.
‘Nina has done a hatchet job, hasn’t she?’ Carlo offered in a voice that sounded like silk being razed by tempered steel. ‘Sufficiently damaging, that any assurance I give you to the contrary will be viewed with scepticism?’ He reached out a hand and caught