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The waiter arrived with the menu, and because he was new, and very young, they listened in silence as he explained the intricacies of each dish, gave his considered recommendations, then very solicitously noted their order before retreating with due deference to relay it to the kitchen.
Aysha lifted her glass and took a sip of chilled water, then regarded the man seated opposite over the rim of the stemmed goblet.
‘How seriously would you consider an elopement?’
Carlo swirled the wine in his goblet, then lifted it to his lips and savoured the delicate full-bodied flavour.
‘Is there any particular reason why you’d want to incur Teresa’s wrath by wrecking the social event of the year?’
‘It would never do,’ she agreed solemnly. ‘Although I’m almost inclined to plug for sanity and suffer the wrath.’
One eyebrow slanted, and his dark eyes assumed a quizzical gleam.
The waiter delivered their starters; minestrone and a superb linguini with seafood sauce.
‘Two weeks, cara,’ Carlo reminded her.
It was a lifetime. One she wasn’t sure she’d survive intact.
She should have moved out of home into an apartment of her own. Would have, if Teresa hadn’t dismissed the idea as ridiculous when she had a wing in the house all to herself, complete with gym, sauna and entertainment lounge. She had her own car, her own garage, and technically she could come and go as she pleased.
Aysha picked up her fork, deftly wound on a portion of pasta and savoured it. Ambrosia. The sauce was perfecto.
‘Good?’
She wound on another portion and held it to his lips. ‘Try some.’ She hadn’t intended it to be an intimate gesture, and her eyes flared slightly as he placed his fingers over hers, guided the fork, and then held her gaze as he slid the pasta into his mouth.
Her stomach jolted, then settled, and she was willing to swear she could hear her own heartbeat thudding in her ears.
He didn’t even have to try, and she became caught up with the alchemy that was his alone.
A warm smile curved his lips as he dipped a spoon into his minestrone and lifted it invitingly towards her own. ‘Want to try mine?’
She took a small mouthful, then shook her head when he offered her another. Did he realise just how difficult it was for her to retain a measure of sangfroid at moments like these?
‘We have a rehearsal at the church tomorrow evening,’ Carlo reminded her, and saw her eyes darken.
Aysha replaced her fork, her appetite temporarily diminished. ‘Six-thirty,’ she concurred evenly. ‘After which the wedding party dine together.’
Both sets of parents, the bride and groom to-be, the bridesmaids and their attendants, the flower girls and page boys and their parents.
Followed the next day by a bridal shower. Hardly a casual affair, with just very close friends, a few nibblies and champagne. The guest list numbered fifty, it was being catered, and Teresa had arranged entertainment.
To add to her stress levels, she’d stubbornly refused to begin six weeks’ leave of absence from work until a fortnight before the wedding.
On the positive side, it kept her busy, her mind occupied, and minimised the growing tension with her mother. The negative was hours early morning and evening spent at the breathtaking harbourside mansion Carlo had built, overseeing installation of carpets, drapes, selecting furniture, co-ordinating colours. And doing battle with Teresa when their tastes didn’t match and Teresa overstretched her advisory capacity. Something which happened fairly frequently.
‘Penny for them.’
Aysha glanced across the table and caught Carlo’s teasing smile.
‘I was thinking about the house.’ That much was true. ‘It’s all coming together very well.’
‘You’re happy with it?’
‘How could I not be?’ she countered simply, visualising the modern architectural design with its five sound-proofed self-contained wings converging onto a central courtyard. The interior was designed for light and space, with a suspended art gallery, a small theatre and games room. A sunken area featured spa and sauna, and a jet pool.
It was a showcase, a place to entertain guests and business associates. Aysha planned to make it a home.
The wine waiter appeared and refilled each goblet, followed closely by the young waiter, who removed their plates prior to serving the main course.
Carlo ate with the enjoyment of a man who consumed nourishment wisely but well, his use of cutlery decisive.
He was the consummate male, sophisticated, dynamic, and possessed of a primitive sensuality that drew women to him like a magnet. Men envied his ruthlessness and charm, and knew the combination to be lethal.
Aysha recognised each and every one of his qualities, and wondered if she was woman enough to hold him.
‘Would you care to order dessert, Miss Benini?’
The young waiter’s desire to please was almost embarrassing, and she offered him a gentle smile. ‘No, thanks, I’ll settle for coffee.’
‘You’ve made a conquest,’ Carlo drawled as the waiter retreated from their table.
Her eyes danced with latent mischief. ‘Ah, you say the nicest things.’
‘Should I appear jealous, do you think?’
She wanted to say, only if you are. And since that was unlikely, it became easy to play the game.
‘Well, he is young, and good-looking.’ She pretended to consider. ‘Probably a university student working nights to pay for his education. Which would indicate he has potential.’ She held Carlo’s dark gleaming gaze and offered him a brilliant smile. ‘Do you think he’d give up the room he probably rents, sell his wheels... a Vespa scooter at a guess... and be a kept toy-boy?’
His soft laughter sent shivers over the surface of her skin, raising fine body hairs as all her nerve-endings went haywire.
‘I think I should take you home.’
‘I came in my own car, remember?’ she reminded him, and saw his eyes darken, the gleam intensify.
‘A bid for independence, or an indication you’re not going to share my bed tonight?’
She summoned a winsome smile, and her eyes shone with wicked humour. ‘Teresa is of the opinion catering to your physical needs should definitely be my priority.’
‘And Teresa knows best?’ His voice was silky-smooth, and she wasn’t deceived for a second.
‘My mother believes in covering all the bases,’ Aysha relayed lightly.
His gaze didn’t shift, and she was almost willing to swear he could read her mind. ‘As you do?’
Her expression sobered. ‘I don’t have a hidden agenda.’ Did he know she was in love with him? Had loved him for as long as she could remember? She hoped not, for it would afford him an unfair advantage.
‘Finish your coffee,’ Carlo bade gently. ‘Then we’ll leave.’ He lifted a hand in silent summons, and the waiter appeared with the bill.
Aysha watched as Carlo signed the slip and added a generous tip, then he leaned back in his chair and surveyed her thoughtfully.
She was tense, but covered it well. His eyes narrowed faintly. ‘Do we have anything planned next weekend?’
‘Mother has something scheduled for every day until the wedding,’ she declared with unaccustomed cynicism.
‘Have Teresa reorganise her diary.’
Aysha looked at him with interest. ‘And if she won’t?’
‘Tell her I’ve surprised you with airline tickets and accommodation for a weekend on the Gold Coast.’
‘Have you?’
His smile held humour. ‘I’ll make the call the minute we reach my apartment.’
Her eyes shone, and she broke into light laughter. ‘My knight in shining armour.’
Carlo’s voice was low, husky, and held amusement. ‘Escape,’ he accorded. ‘Albeit brief.’ He stood to his feet and reached out a hand to take hold of hers. His gleaming gaze seared right through to her heart. ‘You can thank me later.’
Together they made their way through the room to the front desk.
The maître d’ was courteously solicitous. ‘I’ll arrange with the concierge to have your cars brought to the front entrance.’
Both vehicles were waiting when they reached the lobby. Carlo saw her seated behind the wheel of her Porsche, then he crossed to his Mercedes to fire the engine within seconds and ease into the line of traffic.
Aysha followed, sticking close behind him as he traversed the inner city streets heading east towards Rose Bay and his penthouse apartment.
When they reached it she drove down into the underground car park, took the space adjoining his private bay, then walked at his side towards the bank of lifts in companionable silence.
They didn’t need a house, she determined minutes later as she stepped into the plush apartment lobby.
The drapes weren’t drawn, and the view out over the harbour was magnificent. Fairy lights, she mused as she crossed the lounge to the floor-to-ceiling glass stretching across one entire wall.
City buildings, street lights, brightly coloured neon vying with tall concrete spires and an indigo sky.
Aysha heard him pick up the phone, followed by the sound of his voice as he arranged flights and accommodation for the following weekend.
‘We could have easily lived here,’ she murmured as he came to stand behind her.
‘So we could.’ He put his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him.
She felt his chin rest on the top of her head, sensed the warmth of his breath as it teased her hair, and was unable to prevent the slight shiver as his lips sought the vulnerable hollow beneath the lobe of one ear.
She almost closed her eyes and pretended it was real. That love not lust, and need not want, was Carlo’s motivation.
A silent groan rose and died in her throat as his mouth travelled to the edge of her neck and nuzzled, his tongue, his lips erotic instruments as he tantalised the rapidly beating pulse.
His hands moved, one to her breast as he sought a sensitive peak, while the other splayed low over her stomach.
She wanted to urge him to quicken the pace, to dispense with her clothes while she feverishly tore every barrier from his body until there was nothing between them.
She wanted to be lifted high in his arms and sink down onto him, then clutch hold of him as he took her for the ride of her life.
Everything about him was too controlled. Even in bed he never lost that control completely, as she did.
There were times when she wanted to cry out that while she could accept Bianca as an important part of his past, she was his future. Except she never said the words. Perhaps because she was afraid of his response.
Now she turned in his arms and reached for him, her mouth seeking his as she gave herself up completely to the heat of passion.
He caught her urgency and effortlessly swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.
Aysha’s fingers worked on his shirt buttons, unfastened the buckle on his belt, then pulled his shirt free.
His nipples were hard, and she savoured each one in turn, then used her teeth to tease, aware that Carlo had deftly removed most of her clothes.
She heard his intake of breath seconds ahead of the soft thud as he discarded one shoe and the other, then dispensed with his trousers.
‘Wait.’ His voice was low and slightly husky, and she ran her hands over his ribcage, searched the hard plane of his stomach and reached for him.
‘So you want to play, hmm?’
CHAPTER TWO
CARLO caught hold of her arms and let his hands slide up to cup her shoulders as he buried his mouth in the vulnerable hollow at the edge of her neck.
Her subtle perfume teased his senses, and he nuzzled the sensitive skin, tasted it, nipped ever so gently with his teeth, and felt the slight spasm of her body’s reaction to his touch.
She was a generous lover. Passionate, with a sense of adventure and fun he found endearing.
He trailed his lips down the slope of her breast and suckled one tender peak, savoured, then moved to render a similar supplication to its twin.
Did he know what he did to her? Aysha felt a stab of pain at the thought that his lovemaking might be contrived. A practised set of moves that pushed all the right buttons.
Once, just once she wanted to feel the tremors of need shake his body... for her, only her. To know that she could make him so crazy with desire that he had no restraint.
Was it asking too much to want love? She wore his ring. Soon she would bear his name. It should be enough.
She wanted to mean so much more to him than just a satisfactory bed partner, a charming hostess.
Take what he’s prepared to give, and be grateful, a tiny voice prompted. A cup half-full is better than one that is empty.
Her hands linked at his nape and she drew his head down to hers, exulting in the feel of his mouth as he shaped her own.
She let her tongue slide against his, then conducted a slow, sweeping circle before initiating a probing dance that was almost as evocative as the sexual act itself.
His hand shaped her nape and held fast her head, while the other slipped low over one hip, cupped her bottom and drew her close in against him.
