Passion's Mistress (14 page)

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.

* * *

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.

ANN-MARIE continued to improve with each passing day, and there was

immense relief at the week's end to receive the neuro-surgeon's voiced

confidence of a complete recovery. It balanced the shock of seeing the

bandages removed for the first time, and evidence of a vivid surgical scar.

Carly was so elated on leaving the hospital that she decided against phoning

Stefano, and opted to tell him the news in person. Consequently it was

almost four when she entered the towering modern city block and rode the

lift to Reception.

There was a sense of
deja vu
on stepping into the luxuriously furnished

foyer, although this time there was the advantage of needing no

introduction. Carly entertained little doubt that an expurgated version of her

previous visit had filtered through the office grapevine, and she kept her

eyes steady with a friendly smile pinned in place as the receptionist rang

through to Stefano's personal secretary.

Renate appeared almost immediately, her features schooled to express

warmth and a degree of apologetic charm. 'Stefano is in conference with a

colleague,' she enlightened Carly as she ushered her into his private lounge.

'I've let him know you're here, and he said he'll be with you in a matter of

minutes.' The smile deepened. 'Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea?

Something cool?'

'I'd like to use the rest-room first, if I may?' Carly returned the woman's

smile with one of her own. 'And something cool would be great.'

As she was about to re-enter the lounge several minutes later a door opened

several feet in front of her to reveal a tall, attractive brunette whose stunning

features were permanently etched in Carly's mind.

Recognition was instantaneous, and Carly's whole body went cold as she

watched Angelica Agnelli turn back to the man immediately behind her and

bestow on him a lingering kiss.

Carly felt as if the scene was momentarily frozen in her brain, like the

delayed shutter of a camera, then the figures began to move, and she

watched as Stefano stood back a pace and let his hands fall from Angelica's

shoulders.

His expression held warm affection, and stabbed at Carly's heart. At the

same moment he lifted his head, and Carly watched with a sort of detached

fascination as they each became aware of her presence.

It was rather like viewing a play, she decided as she glimpsed the darkness in

Stefano's eyes an instant before he masked it, and she was prepared to go on

record that the dismay evident in Angelica's expression was deliberate, for

the faint smile of contrition failed to reach her eyes.

'Carly,' Angelica greeted her with apparent warmth. 'Stefano told me you

were back.' Her expression pooled into one of apparent concern. 'How is

your daughter?'

The faint emphasis on 'your' wasn't missed, and Carly marshalled innate

dignity as a weapon in her mythical arsenal. 'Ann-Marie is fine, thank you,'

she responded steadily. Her eyes lifted to meet Stefano's slightly narrowed

gaze, and she summoned a deliberately sweet smile. 'Renate is fetching me a

cool drink. I'll wait in the lounge while you see Angelica out.' She placed

imperceptible stress on the last word, then softened it with a studied smile as

she turned towards the beautifully attired young woman whose

haute-couture
clothes hugged a perfect figure. 'Goodbye, Angelica. I'm sure

we'll run into each other again.' Not if I see you first, she added silently as

she turned into the private lounge.

With extreme care Carly closed the door behind her, then crossed towards

the bar where an iced pitcher of orange juice stood beside a tall frosted glass.

Pouring herself a generous measure, she sipped at it abstractly and told

herself she felt no pain. Dammit, she swore softly. There had to be

subversive psychic elements at play somewhere in the vicinity, for each time

she entered Stefano's private lounge she was moved to blinding rage.

However,
this
time she'd be calm. Another voluble, visible display of temper

would have the staff labelling her a shrew. Yet she defied even the most

placid woman not to be driven to anger when she was faced with evidence of

her husband's
affaire de coeur.

It was five minutes before Stefano joined her, and she turned quietly to face

him as he entered the room. His expression was inscrutable, his eyes faintly

hooded, and he made no attempt at any explanation.

He looked the epitome of a successful businessman, his three-piece suit dark

and impeccably tailored, the pale blue shirt made of the finest silk, and his

shoes hand-stitched imported leather.

She was reminded of the saying that 'clothes made the man'. Yet her

indomitable husband could have worn torn cut-off jeans and a sweatshirt,