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Aysha’s blood pressure moved up a notch. ‘Are you seducing me?’
His soft laughter sounded deep and husky close to her ear. ‘Am I succeeding?’
‘I’ll let you know,’ she promised with wicked intent. ‘In about an hour from now.’
‘An hour?’
‘The quality of the massage will govern your reward,’ Aysha informed him solemnly, and he laughed as he swept her into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom.
To lay prone on towels as Carlo slowly smoothed aromatic oil over every inch of her body was sensual torture of the sweetest kind.
Whatever had made her think she’d last an hour? After thirty minutes the pleasure was so intense, it was all she could do not to roll onto her back and beg him to take her.
‘I think,’ she said between gritted teeth, ‘that’s enough.’
His fingertips smoothed up her thighs and lingered a hair’s breadth away from the apex, then shaped each buttock before settling at her waist.
‘You said an hour,’ Carlo reminded her, and gently rolled her onto her back.
Aysha looked at him from beneath long-fringed lashes. ‘I’ll make you pay,’ she promised as liquid heat spilled through her veins.
He leaned down and took her mouth in a brief hard kiss. ‘I’m counting on it.’
The sweet sorcery of his touch nearly sent her mad, and afterwards it was she who drove him to the brink, aware of those dark eyes watching her with an almost predatory alertness that gradually shifted and changed as she tried to break his control.
Desire, raw and primitive, tore through her body, and she felt bare, exposed, as her own fragile control shredded into a thousand pieces.
Aysha had no recollection of the tears that slowly spilled down each cheek until Carlo cupped her face and erased them with a single movement of his thumb.
His lips brushed hers, gently, back and forth, then angled in sensual possession.
Afterwards he simply held her until her breathing slowed and steadied into a regular beat, then he gently eased her to lie beside him and held her close through the night.
She barely stirred when he rose at eight, and he showered in a spare bathroom, then dressed and made breakfast.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee stirred Aysha’s senses, and she fought through the final mists of sleep into wakefulness.
‘The tousled look suits you,’ Carlo teased as he placed the tray down onto the bedside pedestal. Her cheeks were softly flushed, her eyes slumberous, the dilated pupils making them seem too large for her face.
‘Hi.’ She made an attempt to pull the sheet a little higher, and incurred his husky laughter.
‘Your modesty is adorable, cara.’
‘Breakfast in bed,’ she murmured appreciatively. ‘You’ve excelled yourself.’
He lowered his head and bestowed an open-mouthed kiss to the edge of her throat, teased the tender skin with his teeth, then trailed a path to the gentle swell of her breast.
‘I aim to please.’
Oh, yes, he did that. She retained a very vivid memory of just how well he’d managed to please her. Not that it had been entirely one-sided … She’d managed to take him further towards the edge than before. One of these days … nights, she amended, she planned to tip him over and watch him free-fall.
‘Naturally, your mind is more on food than me at this point, hmm?’
Go much lower, and I won’t get to the food. ‘Of course,’ she offered demurely. ‘I’m going to need stamina to make it through the day.’
‘The bridal shower,’ he mused. His eyes met hers, and she regarded him solemnly.
‘Teresa wants the occasion to be memorable.’
Carlo sank down onto the bed. ‘There’s orange juice, and caffeine to kick-start the day.’
Together with toast, croissants, fruit preserve, cheese, wafer-thin slices of salami and prosciutto. A veritable feast.
Aysha slid up in the bed, paying careful attention to keep the sheet tucked beneath her arms, and took the glass of juice from Carlo’s extended hand. Next came the coffee, then a croissant with preserve, followed by a piece of toast folded in half over a layer of cheese and prosciutto.
‘More coffee?’
She hesitated, checked the time, then shook her head. ‘I said I’d be home around nine.’
Carlo stood to his feet and collected the tray. ‘I’ll take this downstairs.’
Ten minutes later she had showered, dressed and was ready to face the day. Light blue jeans sheathed her slim legs, hugged her hips, and she wore a fitted top that accentuated the delicate curve of her breasts.
She skirted the servery, reached up and planted a light kiss against the edge of his jaw. ‘Thanks for breakfast.’
He caught her close and slanted his mouth over hers with a possession that wreaked havoc with her equilibrium. Then he eased the pressure and brushed his lips over the swollen contours of her own, lingered at one corner, then gently released her.
‘I consider myself thanked.’
Her eyes felt too large, and she quickly blinked in an effort to clear her vision. That had been … ‘cataclysmic’ was a word that came immediately to mind. And passionate, definitely passionate.
Maybe she was beginning to scratch the surface of his control after all.
That thought stayed with her as she took the lift down to the underground car park, and during the few kilometres to her parents’ home.
CHAPTER THREE
AYSHA’S four bridesmaids were the first to arrive, followed by Gianna and a few of Teresa’s friends. Two aunts, three cousins, and a number of close friends.
There were beautifully wrapped gifts, much laughter, a little wine, some champagne, and the exchange of numerous anecdotes. Entertainment was provided by a gifted magician whose expertise in pulling at least a hundred scarves from his hat and jacket pockets had to be seen to be believed.
Coffee was served at three-thirty, and at four Teresa was summoned to the front door to accept the arrival of an unexpected guest.
The speed with which Lianna, Aysha’ chief bridesmaid, joined Teresa aroused suspicion, and there was much laughter as a good-looking young man entered the lounge.
‘You didn’t—’ Aysha began, and one look at Lianna, Arianne, Suzanne and Tessa was sufficient to determine that her four bridesmaids were as guilty as sin.
A portable tape-recorder was set on a coffee table, and when the music began he went into a series of choreographed movements as he began to strip.
It was a tastefully orchestrated act, as such acts went. The young man certainly had the frame, the body, the muscles to execute the traditional bump-and-grind routine.
‘You refused to let us give you a ladies’ night out, so we had to do something,’ Lianna confided with an impish grin as everyone began to leave.
‘Fiend,’ Aysha chastised with affectionate remonstrance. ‘Wait until it’s your turn.’
‘What’ll you do to top it, Aysha? Hire a group of male strippers?’
‘Don’t put thoughts into my head,’ she threatened direly.
The caterers tidied and cleaned up, then left fifteen minutes later, and Aysha crossed to the table where a selection of gifts were on display.
From the intensely practical to the highly decorative, they were all beautiful and reflected the giver’s personality. A smile curved her lips. Lianna’s gift of a male stripper had been the wackiest.
‘You had no idea of Lianna’s surprise?’ Teresa queried as she crossed to her side.
‘None,’ Aysha answered truthfully, and curved an arm around her mother’s waist. ‘Thanks, Mamma, for a lovely afternoon.’
‘My pleasure.’
Aysha grinned unashamedly. ‘Even the stripper?’ she teased, and glimpsed the faint pink colour in her mother’s cheeks.
‘No comment.’
She began to laugh. ‘All right, let’s change the subject. What shall we do with these gifts?’
They set them on a table in one of the rooms Teresa had organised for displaying the wedding presents, and when that was done Aysha went upstairs and changed into tailored trousers and matching silk top.
It was after six when she entered Carlo’s penthouse apartment, and she crossed directly into the kitchen to deposit the carry-sack containing a selection of Chinese takeaways she’d collected en route from home.
‘Let me guess. Chinese, Thai, Malaysian?’ Carlo drawled as he entered the kitchen, and she directed him a winsome smile.
‘Chinese. And I picked up some videos.’
‘You have plans to spend a quiet night?’
She opened cupboards and extracted two plates, then collected cutlery. ‘I think I’ve had enough excitement for the day.’ And through last night.
‘Care to elaborate on the afternoon?’
Her eyes sparkled with hidden devilry. ‘Lianna ordered a male stripper.’ She decided to tease him a little. ‘He was young, built, and gorgeous.’ She wrinkled her nose at him. ‘Ask Gianna; she was there.’
‘Indeed?’ His eyes speared hers. ‘Perhaps I need to hear more about this gorgeous hunk.’
Carlo had her heart, her soul. It never ceased to hurt that she didn’t have his.
‘Well …’ She deliberated. ‘There was the body to die for.’ She ticked off each attribute with teasing relish. ‘Longish hair, tied in this cute little ponytail, and when he let it free … wow, so sexy. No apparent body hair.’ Her eyes sparkled with devilish humour. ‘Waxing must be a pain … literally. And he had the cutest butt.’
Carlo’s eyes narrowed fractionally, and she gave him an irrepressible grin. ‘He stripped down to a thong bikini brief.’
‘I imagine Teresa and Gianna were relieved.’
She tried hard not to laugh, and failed as a chuckle emerged. ‘They appeared to enjoy the show.’
His lips twitched. ‘An unexpected show, unless I’m mistaken.’
‘Totally,’ she agreed, and viewed the various cartons she’d deposited on the servery. ‘Let’s be really decadent,’ she suggested lightly. ‘And watch a video while we eat.’
The first was a thriller, the acting sufficiently superb to bring an audience to the edge of their seats, and the second was a comedy about a wedding where everything that could go wrong, did. It was funny, slapstick, and over the top, but in amongst the frivolity was a degree of reality Aysha could identify with.
In between videos she’d tidied cartons and rinsed plates, made coffee, and now she carried the cups through to the kitchen.
She felt pleasantly tired as she ascended the stairs to the main bedroom, and after a quick shower she slid between the sheets to curl comfortably in the circle of Carlo’s arms with her head pillowed against his chest.
Within minutes she fell asleep, and she was unaware of the light touch as Carlo’s lips brushed the top of her head, or the feather-light trail of his fingers as they smoothed a path over the surface of her skin.
They woke late, lingered over breakfast, then took Giuseppe’s cabin cruiser for a day trip up the Hawkesbury River. They returned as the sun set in a glorious flare of fading colour and the cityscape sprang to life with a myriad of pin-prick lights.
Magic, Aysha reflected, as the wonder of nature and manmade technology overwhelmed her.
Tomorrow the shopping would begin in earnest as Teresa initiated the first of her many lists of Things to Do.
‘Mamma, is this really necessary?’
As shopping went, it had been a profitable day with regard to acquisitions. Teresa, it appeared, was bent on spending money … Serious money.
‘You’re the only child I have,’ Teresa said simply. ‘Don’t deny me the pleasure of giving my daughter the best wedding I can provide.’
Aysha tucked her hand through her mother’s arm and hugged it close. ‘Don’t rain on my parade, huh?’
‘Exactly.’
‘OK. The dress, if you insist. But …’ She paused, and cast Teresa a stern look. ‘That’s it,’ she admonished.
‘For today.’
They joined the exodus of traffic battling to exit choked city streets, and made it to Vaucluse at five-thirty, leaving very little time to shower, change and be ready to leave the house at six thirty.
‘You go on ahead,’ Teresa suggested. ‘I’ll put these in the room next to yours. We can sort through them tomorrow.’
Aysha raced upstairs to her bedroom, then discarded her clothes and made for the shower. Minutes later she wound a towel round her slim curves, removed the excess moisture from her hair and wielded the hairdrier to good effect.
Basic make-up followed, then she crossed to the walk-in robe, cast a quick discerning eye over the carefully co-ordinated contents, and extracted a figure-hugging gown in black.
The hemline rested at mid-thigh, the overall length extended slightly by a wide border of scalloped lace. The design was sleeveless, backless, and cunningly styled to show a modest amount of cleavage. Thin shoulder straps ensured the gown stayed in place.
Sheer black pantyhose? Or should she settle for bare legs and almost non-existent thong bikini briefs? And very high stiletto-heeled pumps?
Minimum jewellery, she decided, and she’d sweep her hair into a casual knot atop her head.
