Passion's Mistress (4 page)

refused to see her?

Positive, think
positive
, an inner voice urged.

The lift paused, the doors opened, and Carly had little option but to step into

the luxuriously appointed foyer.

Reception lay through a set of wide glass doors, and, acting a part, she

stepped forward and gave her name. Her eyes were clear and level, and her

smile projected just the right degree of assurance.

The receptionist's reaction was polite, her greeting civil, and it was

impossible for Carly to tell anything from her expression as she lifted a

handset and spoke quietly into the receiver.

'Mr Alessi is still in conference,' the receptionist relayed. 'His secretary will

escort you to his private lounge where you can wait in comfort.'

At least she'd passed the first stage, Carly sighed with silent relief as she

followed an elegantly attired woman to a room whose interior design

employed a mix of soft creams, beige and camel, offset by opulently

cushioned sofas in plush chocolate- brown.

There were several current glossy magazines to attract her interest, an

excellent view of the inner city if she chose to observe it through the wide

expanse of plate-glass window. Even television, if she were so inclined, and

a well-stocked drinks cabinet, which Carly found tempting—except that

even the mildest measure of alcohol on an empty stomach would probably

have the opposite effect on her nerves.

Coffee would be wonderful, and her hand hovered over the telephone

console, only to return seconds later to her side. What if the connection went

straight through to Stefano's office, instead of to his secretary?

Minutes passed, and she began to wonder if he wasn't playing some

diabolical game.

Dear lord, he must know how difficult it was for her to approach him. Surely

she'd suffered enough, without this latest insult?

The thought of seeing him again, alone, without benefit of others present to

diffuse the devastating effect on her senses, made her feel ill.

Her stomach began to clench in painful spasms, and a cold sweat broke over

her skin.

What was taking him so long? A quick glance at her watch determined that

ten minutes had passed. How much longer before he deigned to make an

appearance?

At that precise moment the door opened, and Carly's eyes flew to the tall

masculine frame outlined in the aperture.

Unbidden, she rose to her feet, and her heart gave a sudden jolt, disturbed

beyond measure by the lick of flame that swept through her veins. It was

mad, utterly crazy that he could still have this effect, and she forced herself

to breathe slowly in an attempt to slow the rapid beat of her pulse.

Attired in a dark grey business suit, blue silk shirt and tie, he appeared even

more formidable than she'd expected, his height an intimidating factor as he

entered the room.

The door closed behind him with a faint decisive snap, and for one

electrifying second she felt trapped. Imprisoned, she amended, verging

towards silent hysteria as her eyes lifted towards his in a gesture of contrived

courage.

His harshly assembled features bore an inscrutability that was disquieting,

and she viewed him warily as he crossed to stand within touching distance.

He embodied a dramatic mesh of blatant masculinity and elemental

ruthlessness, his stance that of a superior jungle cat about to stalk a

vulnerable prey, assessing the moment he would choose to pounce and kill.

Dammit, she derided silently. She was being too fanciful for words! A tiny

voice taunted that he had no need for violence when he possessed the ability

verbally to reduce even the most worthy opponent to a state of mute

insecurity in seconds.

The silence between them was so acute that Carly was almost afraid to

breathe, and she became intensely conscious of the measured rise and fall of

her breasts, the painful beat of her heart as it seemed to leap through her

ribcage. Her eyes widened fractionally as he thrust a hand into his trouser

pocket with an indolent gesture, and she tilted her head, forcing herself to

retain his gaze.

'Shall we dispense with polite inanities and go straight to the reason why

you're here?' Stefano queried hardily.

There was an element of tensile steel beneath the sophisticated veneer, a

sense of purpose that was daunting. She was aware of an elevated nervous

tension, and it took every ounce of courage to speak calmly. 'I wasn't sure

you'd see me.'

The eyes that speared hers were deliberately cool, and an icy chill feathered

across the surface of her skin.

'Curiosity, perhaps?' His voice was a hateful drawl, and her eyes gleamed

with latent anger, their depths flecked with tawny gold.She wanted to
hit

him, to disturb his tightly held control. Yet such an action was impossible,

for she couldn't afford to indulge in a display of temper. She needed

him—or, more importantly, Ann-Marie needed the sort of help his money

could bring.

'Coffee?'

She was tempted to refuse, and for a moment she almost did, then she

inclined her head in silent acquiescence. 'Please.'

Dark grey eyes raked her slim form, then returned to stab her pale features

with relentless scrutiny. Without a word he crossed to the telephone console

and lifted the handset, then issued a request for coffee and sandwiches

before turning back to face her.

His expression became chillingly cynical, assuming an inscrutability that

reflected inflexible strength of will. 'How much, Carly?' .

Her head lifted of its own volition, her eyes wide and clear as she fought to

utter a civil response.

One eyebrow slanted in a gesture of deliberate mockery. 'I gather that is why

you're here?'

She had already calculated the cost and added a fraction more in case of

emergency. Now she doubled it. 'Twenty thousand dollars.'

He directed her a swift calculated appraisal, and when he spoke his voice

was dangerously soft. 'That's expensive elective surgery.'

Carly's eyes widened into huge pools of incredulity as comprehension

dawned, and for one brief second her eyes filled with incredible pain. Then a

surge of anger rose to the surface, palpable, inimical, and beyond control.

Without conscious thought she reached for the nearest object at hand,

uncaring of the injury she could inflict or any damage she might cause.

Stefano shifted slightly, and the rock-crystal ashtray missed its target by

inches and crashed into a framed print positioned on the wall directly behind

his shoulder.

The sound was explosive, and in seeming slow motion Carly saw the glass

shatter, the framed print spring from its fixed hook and fall to the carpet. The

ashtray followed its path, intact, to bounce and roll drunkenly to a halt in the

centre of the room.

Time became a suspended entity, the silence so intense that she could hear

the ragged measure of her breathing and feel the pounding beat of her heart.

She didn't move,
couldn't
, for the muscles activating each limb appeared

suspended and beyond any direction from her brain.

It was impossible to gauge his reaction, for the only visible sign of anger

apparent was revealed in the hard line of his jaw, the icy chill evident in the

storm-grey darkness of his eyes.

The strident ring of the phone made her jump, its shrill sound diffusing the

electric tension, and Carly watched in mesmerised fascination as Stefano

crossed to the console and picked up the handset.

He listened for a few seconds, then spoke reassuringly to whoever was on

the other end of the line.

More than anything, she wanted to storm out of the room, the building,
his

life.
Yet she couldn't. Not yet.

Stefano slowly replaced the receiver, then he straightened, his expression an

inscrutable mask.

'So,' he intoned silkily. 'Am I to assume from that emotive reaction that you

aren't carrying the seed of another man's child, and are therefore not in need

of an abortion?'

I carried yours
, she longed to cry out. With determined effort she attempted

to gather together the threads of her shattered nerves. 'Don't presume to

judge me by the numerous women you bed,' she retorted in an oddly taut

voice.

His eyes darkened until they resembled shards of obsidian slate. 'You have

no foundation on which to base such an accusation.'

Carly closed her eyes, then slowly opened them again. 'It goes beyond my

credulity to imagine you've remained celibate for seven years.'
As I have,
she

added silently.

'You're here to put me on trial for supposed sexual misdemeanours during

the years of our enforced separation?'

His voice was a hatefully musing drawl that made her palms itch with the

need to resort to a display of physical anger.

'If you could sleep with Angelica during our marriage, I can't even
begin
to

imagine what you might have done after I left!' Carly hurled with the

pent-up bitterness of
years.

There was a curious bleakness apparent, then his features assumed an

expressionless mask as he cast his watch a deliberate glance. 'State your

case, Carly,' he inclined with chilling disregard. 'In nine minutes I have an

appointment with a valued colleague.'

It was hardly propitious to her cause continually to thwart him, and her chin

tilted fractionally as she held his gaze. 'I already thought I had.'

'Knowing how much you despise me,' Stefano drawled softly, 'I can only be

intrigued by the degree of desperation that forces you to confront me with a

request for money.'

Her eyes were remarkably steady, and she did her best to keep the intense

emotion from her voice. 'Someone I care for very much needs an operation,'

she said quietly. It was true, even if it was truth by partial omission.

'Specialist care, a private hospital.'

One eyebrow lifted with mocking cynicism. 'A man?'

She curled her fingers into a tight ball and thrust her hands behind her back.

'No,' she denied in a curiously flat voice.

'Then who, Carly?' he queried silkily. His eyes raked hers, compelling,

inexorable, and inescapable.

'A child.'

'Am I permitted to know
whose
child?'

He wouldn't give in until she presented him with all the details, and she

suddenly hated him, with an intensity that was vaguely shocking, for all the

pain, the anger and the futility, for having dared, herself, to love him

unreservedly, only to have that love thrown back in her face.

Seven years ago she'd hurled one accusation after another at the man who

had steadfastly refused to confirm, deny or explain his actions. As a result,

she'd frequently given vent to angry recrimination which rarely succeeded in

provoking his retaliation. Except once. Then he'd castigated her as the child

he considered her to be, and when she'd hit him he'd unceremoniously

hauled her back into their bed and subjected her to a lesson she was never

likely to forget.

The following morning she'd packed a bag, and driven steadily east until

hunger and exhaustion had forced her to stop. Then she'd rung her mother,

offered the briefest of explanations and assured her she'd be in touch.

That had been the last personal contact she'd had with the man she had

married. Until now.

'My daughter,' she enlightened starkly, and watched his features reassemble,

the broad facial bones seeming more pronounced, the jaw clearly defined

beneath the taut musculature bonding fibre to bone. The composite picture

portrayed a harsh ruthlessness she found infinitely frightening.

'I suggest,' he began in a voice pitched so low that it sounded like silk being

razed by steel, 'you contact the child's father.'

Carly visibly shivered. His icy anger was almost a tangible entity, cooling

the room, and there was a finality in his words, an inexorability she knew

she'd never be able to circumvent unless she told the absolute truth—now.

'Ami-Marie was born exactly seven months and three weeks after I left

Perth.' There were papers in her bag. A birth certificate, blood-group

records—hers, Ann-Marie's, a copy of
his.
Photos. Several of them, showing

Ann-Marie as a babe in arms, a toddler, then on each consecutive birthday,

all showing an acute similarity to the man who had fathered her: the same

colouring, dark, thick, silky hair, and grey eyes.

Carly retrieved them, thrusting one after the other into Stefano's hands as

irrefutable proof. 'She's your daughter, Stefano.
Yours.'

The atmosphere in the lounge was so highly charged that Carly almost

expected it to ignite into incendiary flame.