Kitabı oku: «Mistress Arrangements»

Mistress Arrangements
Passion’s Mistress
Desert Mistress
Mistress by Arrangement
Helen Bianchin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Passion’s Mistress

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Desert Mistress

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mistress by Arrangement

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Copyright

Passion’s Mistress

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS ONE of those beautiful southern hemispheric summer evenings with a soft balmy breeze drifting in from the sea.

An evening more suited to casual entertainment outdoors than a formal gathering, Carly mused as she stepped into a classically designed black gown and slid the zip in place. Beautifully cut, the style emphasised her slim curves and provided a perfect foil for her fine-textured skin.

A quick glance in the mirror revealed an attractive young woman of average height, whose natural attributes were enhanced by a glorious riot of auburn-streaked dark brown curls cascading halfway down her back.

The contrast was dramatic and far removed from the elegant chignon and classically tailored clothes she chose to wear to the office.

Indecision momentarily clouded her expression as she viewed her pale, delicately boned features. Too pale, she decided, and in a moment of utter recklessness she applied more blusher, then added another touch of eyeshadow to give extra emphasis to her eyes.

There, that would have to do, she decided as she viewed her image with critical appraisal, reflecting a trifle wryly that it was ages since she’d attended a social function—although tonight’s soirée was entirely business, arranged for the express purpose of affording a valuable new client introduction to key personnel, and only her employer’s insistence had been instrumental in persuading her to join other staff members at his house.

‘All done,’ she said lightly as she turned towards the small pyjama-clad girl sitting cross-legged on the bed: a beautiful child whose fragility tore at Carly’s maternal heartstrings and caused her to curse silently the implicit necessity to attend tonight’s party.

‘You look pretty.’ The voice held wistful admiration, and a wealth of unreserved love shone from wide, expressive dark eyes.

‘Thank you,’ Carly accepted gently as she leant forward and trailed slightly shaky fingers down the length of her daughter’s dark, silky curls.

Tomorrow the waiting would be over. In a way, it would be a relief to know the medical reason why Ann-Marie’s health had become so precarious in the past few months. The round of referrals from general practitioner to paediatrician, to one specialist and then another, the seemingly endless number of tests and X-rays had proven emotionally and financially draining.

If Ann-Marie required the skills of a surgeon and private hospital care…

Silent anguish gnawed at her stomach, then with a concentrated effort Carly dampened her anxiety and forced her wide, mobile mouth into a warm smile as she clasped Ann-Marie’s hand in her own.

‘Sarah has the telephone number if she needs to contact me,’ she relayed gently as she led the way towards the lounge.

Leaving Ann-Marie, even with someone as competent as Sarah, was a tremendous wrench. Especially tonight, when apprehension heightened her sense of guilt and warred violently with any need for divided loyalty. Yet her work was important, the money earned essential. Critical, she added silently.

Besides, Ann-Marie couldn’t be in better hands than with Sarah, who, as a nursing sister at the Royal Children’s Hospital, was well qualified to cope with any untoward eventuality.

‘The dress is perfect.’

Carly smiled in silent acknowledgement of the warmly voiced compliment. ‘It’s kind of you to lend it to me.’

The attractive blonde rose from the sofa with unselfconscious grace. ‘Your hair looks great. You should wear it like that more often.’

‘Yes,’ Ann-Marie agreed, and, tilting her head to one side, she viewed her mother with the solemn simplicity of the very young. ‘It makes you look different.’

‘Sophisticated,’ Sarah added with a teasing laugh as she collected a book from the coffee-table. It was a popular children’s story, with beautiful illustrations. ‘Ann-Marie and I have some serious reading to do.’

Carly blessed Sarah’s intuitive ability to distract Ann-Marie’s attention—and her own, if only momentarily.

Their friendship went back seven years to the day they’d moved into neighbouring apartments—each fleeing her own home town for differing reasons, and each desperate for a new beginning.

‘I won’t be away any longer than I have to,’ she assured quietly, then she gave Ann-Marie a hug, and quickly left.

In the lobby, Carly crossed to the lift and stabbed the call-button, hearing an answering electronic hum as the lift rose swiftly to the third floor, then just as swiftly transported her down to the basement.

The apartment block comprised three levels, and was one of several lining the northern suburban street, sharing a uniformity of pale brick, tiled roof, and basement car park, the only visual difference being a variation in the grassed verges and gardens, dependent on the generosity of any caring tenant who possessed both the time and inclination to beautify his or her immediate environment.

Carly unlocked her sedan, slid in behind the wheel and urged the aged Ford on to street level, taking the main arterial route leading into the city. It was almost seven-thirty, and unless there were any delays with traffic she should arrive at the requested time.

Clive Mathorpe owned an exclusive harbourside residence in Rose Bay, and a slight frown creased her forehead as she attempted to recall a previous occasion when her employer had organised a social event in his home for the benefit of a client—even the directorial scion of a vast entrepreneurial empire.

Acquiring Consolidated Enterprises had been quite a coup, for Mathorpe and Partners bore neither the size nor standing of any one of the three instantly recognisable internationally affiliated accounting firms.

Carly’s speculation faded as she caught a glimpse of towering multi-level concrete and glass spires vying for supremacy in a city skyline, followed within minutes by an uninterrupted view of the unique architectural masterpiece of the Opera House.

It was a familiar scene she’d come to appreciate, for it was here in this city that she had developed a sense of self-achievement, together with an inner satisfaction at having strived hard against difficult odds and won. Not handsomely, she admitted a trifle wryly, aware of the leasing fee on her apartment and the loan on her car.

Negotiating inner-city evening traffic demanded total concentration, and Carly gave a silent sigh of relief when she reached Rose Bay.

Locating her employer’s address presented no problem, and she slid the car to a halt outside an imposing set of wrought-iron gates.

Minutes later she took a curving path towards the main entrance, and within seconds of pressing the doorbell she was greeted by name and ushered indoors.

It was crazy suddenly to be stricken with an attack of nerves; mad to consider herself a social alien among people she knew and worked with.

Soft muted music vied with the chatter of variously toned voices, and Carly cast the large lounge and its occupants an idle sweeping glance. Without exception the men all wore black dinner-suits, white silk shirts and black bow-ties, while the women had each chosen stylish gowns in a concerted effort to impress.

Within minutes she was offered a drink, and she managed a slight smile as Bradley Williamson moved to her side. He was a pleasant man in his early thirties and considered to be one of Mathorpe and Partners’ rising young executives.

His roving appraisal was brief, and his eyes assumed an appreciative sparkle as he met her steady gaze. ‘Carly, you look sensational.’

‘Bradley,’ she acknowledged, then queried idly, ‘Has Clive’s honoured guest arrived yet?’

His voice took on an unaccustomed dryness. ‘You’re hoping he’ll appear soon and let you off the figurative hook.’

It was a statement she didn’t refute. ‘Maybe he won’t come,’ she proffered absently, and caught Bradley’s negative shake of the head.

‘Doubtful. Mathorpe revealed that the director favours a personal touch in all his business dealings. “Involvement on every level” were his exact words.’

‘Which explains why the company has achieved such success.’

Bradley spared her a quizzical smile that broadened his pleasant features into moderate attractiveness. ‘Been doing your homework?’

Her answering response was without guile. ‘Of course.’ Figures, projections, past successes had been readily available. Yet mystery surrounded Consolidated Enterprises’ top man, inviting intense speculation with regard to his identity.

‘Such dedication,’ he teased. ‘The way you’re heading, you’ll be the first woman partner in the firm.’

‘I very much doubt it.’

His interest quickened. ‘You can’t possibly be considering resigning in favour of working elsewhere.’

‘No,’ Carly disclaimed. ‘I merely expressed the observation that Clive Mathorpe has tunnel vision, and, while an accountant of the feminine gender is quite acceptable in the workforce, taking one on as a partner is beyond his personal inclination.’ A faint smile tugged the corners of her generously moulded mouth. ‘Besides, I’m comfortable with things as they are.’

He absorbed her words and effected a philosophical shrug. ‘Can I get you another drink?’

‘Thank you. Something long, cool and mildly alcoholic.’ She smiled at his expression, then added teasingly, ‘Surprise me.’

Carly watched Bradley’s departing back with an odd feeling of restlessness, aware of a time when her slightest need had been anticipated with unerring accuracy, almost as if the man in her life possessed an ability to see beyond the windows of her mind right to the very depths of her soul. Those were the days of love and laughter, when life itself had seemed as exotic and ebullient as the bubbles set free in a flute of the finest champagne.

Entrapped by introspection, Carly fought against the emergence of a vision so vivid, so shockingly compelling, that it was almost as if the image had manifested itself into reality.

Seven years hadn’t dimmed her memory by the slightest degree. If anything the passage of those years had only served to magnify the qualities of a man she doubted she would ever be able to forget.

Their attraction had been instantaneous, a combustible force fired by electric fusion, and everything, everyone, from that moment on, had faded into insignificance. At twenty, she hadn’t stood a chance against his devastating sexual alchemy, and within weeks he’d slipped a brilliant diamond on to her finger, charmed her widowed mother into planning an early wedding, and succeeded in sweeping Carly into the depths of passionate oblivion.

For the first three months of her marriage she had been blissfully, heavenly happy. Then the demands of her husband’s business interests had begun to intrude into their personal life. Initially she hadn’t queried the few occasions he rang to cancel dinner; nor had she thought to doubt that his overnight business trips were anything other than legitimate. Their reunions had always been filled with such a degree of sexual urgency that it never occurred to her that there could be anyone else.

Yet the rumours had begun, persistently connecting her husband with Angelica Agnelli. The two families had been linked together in various business interests for more than a generation, and Angelica, with qualifications in business management to her credit, held a seat on the board of directors of numerous companies.

Tall, slim, soignée, Angelica was the visual image of an assertive, high-powered businesswoman with her eye firmly set on the main chance. And that had included the man at the top of the directorial board. The fact that he had been legally and morally unavailable was considered of little or no consequence, his wife merely a minor obstacle that could easily be dismissed.

Carly’s husband was possessed of an entrepreneurial flair that was the envy of his contemporaries, and his generosity to numerous charities was well known, thus ensuring his presence at prominent social events in and around Perth.

Carly reflected bitterly that it hadn’t taken long for the gossip to take seed and germinate. Nor for the arguments to begin, and to continue unresolved until ultimately a devastating confrontation had finally supplied the will for her to escape.

Throughout her flight east she had been besieged by the machinations of her own imagination as it provided a litany of possible scenarios, and during those first few weeks in Sydney she’d lived on a knife-edge of nervous tension, fearful that her whereabouts might be discovered.

The bitter irony of having figuratively burned her bridges soon had become apparent with the knowledge she was pregnant.

The solution was something she’d chosen to face alone, and even in the depths of her own dilemma it had never occurred to her to consider abortion as the easy way out. Nor in those first few months of her pregnancy had she enlightened her widowed mother, and afterwards it was too late when emergency surgery resulted in her mother’s death.

That initial year after Ann-Marie’s birth had been difficult, caring for a child while juggling study and attempting a career. However, she’d managed…thanks to a private day-care centre and Sarah’s help.

It was a source of pride that not only had she achieved success in her chosen field of accountancy, she’d also added a string of qualifications to her name that had earned respect from her peers.

‘Sorry I took so long.’

Carly was brought sharply back to the present at the sound of Bradley’s voice, and her lashes swept down to form a protective veil as she struggled to shut out the past.

‘Your drink. I hope you like it.’

She accepted the glass with a slight smile, and murmured her thanks.

It was relief when several minutes later one of the firm’s partners joined them and the conversation shifted entirely to business. A recent change in tax legislation had come into effect, and Carly entered into a lengthy debate with both men over the far-reaching implications on various of their clients’ affairs.

Carly became so involved that at first she didn’t notice a change in the background noise until a slight touch on her arm alerted her to examine the source of everyone’s attention.

Clive Mathorpe’s bulky frame was instantly recognisable. The man at his side stood at ease, his height and breadth a commanding entity. Even from this distance there was sufficient familiarity evident to send her heart thudding into an accelerated beat.

A dozen times over the past seven years she’d been shocked into immobility by the sight of a tall, broad-framed, dark-haired man, only to collapse with relief on discovering that the likeness was merely superficial.

Now, Carly stood perfectly still as logic vied with the possibility of coincidental chance, and even as she dismissed the latter there was a subtle shift in his stance so that his profile was revealed, eliminating any doubt as to his identity.

For one horrifying second Carly sensed the dark void of oblivion welling up and threatening to engulf her.

She couldn’t, dared not faint. The humiliation would be too incredible and totally beyond conceivable explanation.

With conscious effort she willed herself to breathe slowly, deeply, in an attempt to retain some measure of composure as every single nerve-end went into a state of wild panic.

Stefano Alessi. Australian-born of Italian parents, he was a proven successor to his father’s financial empire and a noted entrepreneur, having gained accolades and enjoyed essential prestige among his peers. In his late thirties, he was known to head vast multinational corporations, and owned residences in several European cities.

It was seven years since she’d last seen him. Seven years in which she’d endeavoured to forget the cataclysmic effect he’d had on her life.

Even now he had the power to liquefy her bones, and she watched with a sense of dreaded fascination as he glanced with seeming casualness round the room, almost as if an acutely developed sixth sense had somehow alerted him to her presence.

Carly mentally steeled herself for the moment of recognition, mesmerised by the sheer physical force of the man who had nurtured her innocent emotions and stoked them into a raging fire.

His facial features were just as dynamically arresting as she remembered, distinctive by their assemblage of broad-sculpted bone-structure, his wide-spaced, piercing grey eyes able to assess, dissect and categorise with definitive accuracy.

Dark brown, almost black hair moulded his head with well-groomed perfection, and he looked older—harder, she perceived, aware of the indomitable air of power evident that set him aside from every other man in the room.

She shivered, hating the way her body reacted to his presence, and there was nothing she could do to prevent the blood coursing through her veins as it brought all her senses tingling into vibrant life. Even her skin betrayed her, the soft surface hairs rising in silent recognition, attuned to a memory so intense, so incredibly acute, that she felt it must be clearly apparent to anyone who happened to look at her.

In seeming slow motion he captured her gaze, and the breath caught in her throat as his eyes clashed with hers for an infinitesimal second, searing with laser precision through every protective barrier to her soul, only to withdraw and continue an encompassing appraisal of the room’s occupants.

‘Our guest of honour is an attractive man, don’t you think?’

Carly heard Bradley’s voice as if from an immense distance, and she attempted a non-committal rejoinder that choked in her throat.

‘I doubt there’s a woman present who isn’t wondering if he performs as well in the bedroom as he does in the boardroom,’ he assessed with wry amusement.

All Carly wanted to do was escape the room, the house. Yet even as she gathered her scattered wits together she experienced a distinct feeling of dread with the knowledge that any form of retreat was impossible.

It became immediately apparent that Clive Mathorpe intended to effect an introduction to key personnel, and every passing second assumed the magnitude of several minutes as the two men moved slowly round the room.

Consequently, she was almost at screaming point when Clive Mathorpe eventually reached her side.

‘Bradley Williamson, one of my junior partners.’

The lines fanning out from Clive Mathorpe’s astute blue eyes deepened in silent appreciation of Carly’s fashion departure from studious employee. ‘Carly Taylor, an extremely efficient young woman who gives one hundred per cent to anything she undertakes.’ He paused, then added with a degree of reverent emphasis, ‘Stefano Alessi.’

It was a name which had gained much notice in the business section of a variety of newspapers over the past few months. Twice his photograph had been emblazoned in the tabloid Press accompanied by a journalistic report lauding the cementing of yet another lucrative deal. Even in the starkness of black and white newsprint, his portrayed persona had emanated an electrifying magnetism that Carly found difficult to dispel.

She held little doubt that the passage of seven years had seen a marked escalation of his investment portfolio. On a personal level, she couldn’t help wondering whether Angelica Agnelli was still sharing his bed.

An ache started up in the region of her heart with a physicality so intense it became a tangible pain. Even now she could still hurt, and she drew on all her reserves of strength to present a cool, unaffected façade.

Cool grey eyes deliberately raked her slender frame, pausing imperceptibly on the slight fullness of her breasts before lifting to linger briefly on the generous curve of her mouth.

It was worse, much worse, than if he’d actually touched her. Equally mortifying was her body’s instant recognition of the effect he had on all its sensual pleasure spots, and there was nothing she could do to still the betraying pulse at the edge of her throat as it quickened into a palpably visible beat.

Rage flared deep within, licking every nerve-fibre until it threatened to engulf her in overwhelming flame. How dared he subject her to such a sexist scrutiny? Almost as if she was an available conquest he was affording due contemplation.

Then his eyes met hers, and she almost died at the ruthlessness apparent, aware that his slight smile was a mere facsimile as he inclined his head in greeting.

‘Miss Taylor.’ His voice was a barely inflected drawl, each word given an imperceptible mocking emphasis.

‘Mr Alessi,’ Carly managed in polite response, although there was nothing she could do about the erratic beat of her heart in reaction to his proximity.

Something flared deep within her, a stirring that was entirely sexual—unwarranted and totally unwanted, yet there none the less—and it said much for her acquired measure of control that she managed to return his gaze with apparent equanimity.

His eyes darkened measurably, then without a further word he moved the necessary few steps to greet the next employee awaiting introduction.

Carly’s mind reeled as several conflicting emotions warred in silent turmoil. Was his presence here tonight sheer coincidence, or did he have an ulterior motive?

She’d covered her tracks so well. She had even consulted a solicitor within days of arrival in Sydney, instructing that a letter be dispatched requesting any formalities to be handled by their individual legal representatives.

In seven years there had been no contact whatsoever.

It seemed incredibly ironic that Stefano should reappear at a time when she’d been forced to accept that he was the last ace in her pack should she have to raise more money for Ann-Marie’s medical expenses.

Where her daughter’s well-being was concerned there was no contest. Even it if meant sublimating her own personal reservations, and effecting a confrontation. His power and accumulated wealth could move figurative mountains, and if it was necessary she wouldn’t hesitate to beg.

Carly caught the lower edge of her lip between two sharp teeth, then winced in silent pain as she unconsciously drew blood.

The desire to make some excuse and leave was strong. Yet only cowards cut and ran. This time she had to stay, even if the effort almost killed her.

Carly found each minute dragged interminably, and more than once her eyes strayed across the room to where Stefano Alessi stood conversing with Clive Mathorpe and two senior partners.

In his presence, all other men faded into insignificance. There was an exigent force apparent, which, combined with power and sexual magnetism, drew the attention of women like bees to a honeypot.

It was doubtful there was one female present whose pulse hadn’t quickened at the sight of him, or whose imagination wasn’t stirred by the thought of being able to captivate his interest.

Carly waited ten minutes after Stefano left before she crossed the room to exchange a few polite pleasantries with Clive Mathorpe and his wife, then she slipped quietly from the house and walked quickly down the driveway to her car.

Safely behind the wheel, she activated the ignition and eased the car forward. A quick glance at the illuminated dashboard revealed it was nine-thirty. One hour, she reflected with disbelief. For some reason it had seemed half a lifetime.

Stefano Alessi’s disturbing image rose up to taunt her, and she shivered despite the evening’s warmth. He represented everything she had come to loathe in a man.

For one brief milli-second she closed her eyes, then opened them to issue a silent prayer that fate wouldn’t be so unkind as to throw her beneath his path again.

It was a relief to reach the sanctuary of her apartment building, and after garaging the car she rode the lift to the third floor.

‘Hi,’ Sarah greeted quietly as Carly entered the lounge. ‘Ann-Marie’s fine. How was the evening?’

I met Ann-Marie’s father, she longed to confide.

Yet the words stayed locked in her throat, and she managed to relay an informative account as they shared coffee together, then when Sarah left she checked Ann-Marie before entering her own bedroom, where she mechanically removed her make-up and undressed ready for bed.

Sleep had never seemed more distant, and she tossed restlessly from one side to the other in a bid to dispel a flood of returning memories.

Haunting, invasive, they refused to be denied as one by one she began to recall the angry words she’d exchanged in bitter argument with a man she’d chosen to condemn.

CHAPTER TWO

CARLY SLEPT BADLY, haunted by numerous dream sequences that tore at her subconscious mind with such vivid clarity that she woke shaking, shattered by their stark reality.

A warning, perhaps? Or simply the manifestation of a fear so real that it threatened to consume her?

Tossing aside the covers, she resolutely went through the motions entailed in her early morning weekday routine, listening to Ann-Marie’s excited chatter over breakfast as she recounted events from the previous evening.

When pressed to reveal just how her evening had turned out, Carly brushed it off lightly with a smile and a brief but satisfactory description.

It was eight-thirty when Carly deposited Ann-Marie outside the school gates, and almost nine when she entered the reception area of Mathorpe and Partners.

There were several files on her desk demanding attention, and she worked steadily, methodically checking figures with determined dedication until mid-morning when she reached for the phone and punched out a series of digits.

The specialist’s receptionist was extremely polite, but firm. Ann-Marie’s results could not be given over the phone. An appointment had been set aside this afternoon for four o’clock.

It sounded ominous, and Carly’s voice shook as she confirmed the time.

The remainder of the day was a blur as anxiety played havoc with her nervous system, and in the specialist’s consulting-rooms it was all she could do to contain it.

Consequently, it was almost an anticlimax when she was shown into his office, and as soon as she was comfortably seated he leaned back in his chair, his expression mirroring a degree of sympathetic understanding.

‘Ann-Marie has a tumour derived from the supporting tissue of the nerve-cells,’ he informed her quietly. ‘The astrocytoma varies widely in malignancy and rate of growth. Surgery is essential, and I recommend it be carried out as soon as possible.’

Carly’s features froze with shock at the professionally spoken words, and her mind immediately went into overdrive with a host of implications, the foremost of which was money.

‘I can refer you to a neuro-surgeon, someone I consider to be the best in his field.’ His practised pause held a silent query. ‘I’ll have my nurse arrange an appointment, shall I?’

The public hospital system was excellent, but the waiting list for elective surgery was long. Too long to gamble with her daughter’s life. Carly didn’t hesitate. ‘Please.’

It took only minutes for the appointment to be confirmed; a few more to exchange pleasantries before the receptionist ushered Carly from his rooms.

She walked in a daze to her car, then slid in behind the wheel. A sick feeling of despair welled up inside as innate fear overruled rational thought, for no matter how hard she tried it was impossible to dispel the terrible image of Ann-Marie lying still and helpless in an operating theatre, her life reliant on the skill of a surgeon’s scalpel.

It will be all right, Carly determined as she switched on the ignition, then eased her car on to the street. One way or another, she’d make sure of it.

The flow of traffic was swift, and on a few occasions it took two light changes to clear an intersection. Taxis were in demand, their drivers competent as they manoeuvred their vehicles from one lane to another, ready to take the first opportunity ahead of city commuters.

The cars in front began to slow, and Carly eased her sedan to a halt. Almost absently her gaze shifted slightly to the right, drawn as if by some elusive magnet to a top-of-the-range black Mercedes that had pulled up beside her in the adjacent lane.

Her eyes grazed towards the driver in idle, almost speculative curiosity, only to have them widen in dawning horror as she recognised the sculpted male features of none other than Stefano Alessi behind the wheel.

Her initial reaction was to look away, except she hesitated too long, and in seeming slow motion she saw him turn towards her.

With a sense of fatalism she saw his strong features harden, and she almost died beneath the intensity of his gaze.

Then a horn blast provided a startling intrusion, and Carly forced her attention to the slow-moving traffic directly ahead. In her hurry she crashed the gears and let the clutch out too quickly for her aged sedan’s liking, causing it to stall in retaliatory protest.

Damn. The curse fell silently from her lips, and she twisted the ignition key, offering soothing words in the hope that the engine would fire.

An audible protest sounded from immediately behind, quickly followed by another, then a surge of power shook the small sedan and she eased it forward, picking up speed as she joined the river of cars vacating the city.

It wasn’t until she’d cleared the intersection that she realised how tight a grip she retained on the wheel. A light film of moisture beaded her upper lip in visible evidence of her inner tension, and she forced herself to relax, angry that the mere sight of a man she professed to hate could affect her so deeply.

It took almost an hour to reach Manly, yet it felt as if she’d been battling traffic for twice that long by the time she garaged the car.

Upstairs, Sarah opened the door, her eyes softening with concern at the sight of Carly’s pale features.

‘Sarah helped me draw some pictures.’

Carly leant forward and hugged her daughter close. Her eyes were suspiciously damp as Ann-Marie’s small arms fastened round her neck in loving reciprocation.

‘I’ll make coffee,’ Sarah suggested, and Carly shot her friend a regretful smile.

‘I can’t stay.’ Her eyes assumed a haunting vulnerability. ‘I’ll ring you.’ She paused, then attempted a shaky smile. ‘After eight?’

Entering her own apartment, Carly moved through to the kitchen and prepared their evening meal, then when the dishes had been dealt with she organised Ann-Marie’s bath, made the little girl a hot milky drink, then tucked her into bed.

It was early, and she crossed to the phone to dial directory service, praying they could supply the number she needed.

Minutes later she learned there was no listing for Stefano Alessi, and the only number available was ex-directory. Damn.

Carly queried Consolidated Enterprises, and was given two numbers, neither of which responded at this hour of the night. There was no after-hours number listed, nor anything connected to a mobile net.

Carly cursed softly beneath her breath. She had no recourse but to wait until tomorrow. Unless she rang Clive Mathorpe at home and asked for his coveted client’s private telephone number.

Even as the thought occurred, it was instantly dismissed. What could she offer as the reason for such an unorthodox request? Her esteemed boss would probably suffer an instant apoplectic attack if she were to say, ‘Oh, by the way, Clive, I forgot to mention that Stefano Alessi is my estranged husband.’

Tomorrow, she determined with grim purpose. Even if she had to utilise devious means to obtain her objective.

A leisurely shower did little to soothe her fractured nerves, nor did an attempt to view television.

Long after she’d switched off the bedside lamp Stefano’s image rose to taunt her, and even in dreams he refused to disappear, her subconscious mind forcing recognition of his existence, so that in consequence she spent another restless night fighting off several demons in numerous guises.

The next morning Carly dropped Ann-Marie at school then drove into the city, and on reaching her office she quietly closed her door so that she could make the necessary phone call in private.

It was crazy, but her nerves felt as if they were shredding to pieces as she waited for the call to connect, and only Ann-Marie’s plight provided the courage needed to overcome the instinctive desire to replace the receiver.

Several minutes later, however, she had to concede that Stefano was virtually inaccessible to anyone but a chosen few. The majority were requested to supply verbal credentials and leave a contact telephone number.

The thought of waiting all day for him to return the call, even supposing he chose to, brought her out in a cold sweat. There was only one method left open to her whereby she retained some small measure of power, and she used it mercilessly.

‘Stefano Alessi,’ she directed coolly as soon as the receptionist answered, and, hardly giving the girl a chance to draw breath, she informed her, ‘Tell his secretary his wife is on the line.’ That should bring some response.

It did, and Carly derived some satisfaction from the girl’s barely audible surprise. Within seconds the call was transferred, and another female voice requested verification.

Stefano’s personal staff were hand-picked to handle any eventuality with unruffled calm—and even a call from someone purporting to be the director’s wife failed to faze his secretary in the slightest.

‘Mr Alessi isn’t in the office. Can I have him call you?’

Damn. She could hardly ask for his mobile number, for it would automatically be assumed that she already had it. ‘What time do you expect him in?’

‘This afternoon. He has an appointment at three, followed by another at four.’

Assertiveness was the key, and Carly didn’t hesitate. ‘Thank you. I’ll be there at four-thirty.’ She hung up, then quickly made two further calls—one to Sarah asking if she could collect Ann-Marie from school, and another to Ann-Marie’s teacher confirming the change in routine.

The day loomed ahead, once again without benefit of a lunch-hour, and Carly worked diligently in an effort to recoup lost time.

At precisely four-fifteen Carly entered the lobby of a towering glass-faced edifice housing the offices of Consolidated Enterprises, stabbed the call-button to summon one of four lifts, then when it arrived stepped into the cubicle and pressed the designated disk.

The nerves she had striven to keep at bay surfaced with painful intensity, and she mentally steeled herself for the moment she had to walk into Reception and identify herself.

By now Stefano’s secretary would have informed him of her call. What if he 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.

‘Ann-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.

His expression was impossible to read, and as the seconds dragged silently by she felt like screaming—anything to get some reaction.

‘Tell me,’ Stefano began in a voice that was satin-smooth and dangerous, ‘was I to be forever kept in ignorance of her existence?’

Oh, dear lord, how could she answer that? Should she even dare, when she wasn’t sure of the answer herself? ‘Maybe when she was older I would have offered her the opportunity to get in touch with you,’ she admitted with hesitant honesty.

‘Grazie.’ His voice was as chilling as an ice floe in an arctic wasteland. ‘And how, precisely, did you intend to achieve that? By having her turn up on my doorstep, ten, fifteen years from now, with a briefly penned note of explanation in her hand?’

He was furiously angry; the whiplash of his words tore at her defences, ripping them to shreds. ‘Damn you,’ he swore softly. ‘Damn you to hell.’

He looked capable of anything, and she took an involuntary step backwards from the sheer forcefield of his rage. ‘Right at this moment, it would give me the utmost pleasure to wring your slender neck.’ He appeared to rein in his temper with visible effort. ‘What surgical procedure?’ he demanded grimly. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

With a voice that shook slightly she relayed the details, watching with detached fascination as he scrawled a series of letters and numbers with firm, swift strokes on to a notepad.

‘Your address and telephone number.’ The underlying threat of anger was almost a palpable force. She could sense it, almost feel its intensity, and she felt impossibly afraid.

It took considerable effort to maintain an aura of calm, but she managed it. ‘Your assurance that Ann-Marie’s medical expenses will be met is all that’s necessary.’

His eyes caught hers and held them captive, and she shivered at the ruthlessness apparent in their depths. ‘You can’t believe I’ll hand over a cheque and let you walk out of here?’ he said with deadly softness, and a cold hand suddenly clutched at her heart and squeezed hard.

‘I’ll make every attempt to pay you back,’ Carly ventured stiffly, and saw his eyes harden.

‘I intend that you shall.’ His voice was velvet-encased steel, and caused the blood in her veins to chill.

A knock at the door provided an unexpected intrusion, and Carly cast him a startled glance as his secretary entered the room and placed a laden tray down on to the coffee-table. It said much for the secretary’s demeanour that she gave no visible indication of having seen the deposed picture frame or the glass that lay scattered on the carpet.

Carly watched the woman’s movements as she poured aromatic coffee from a steaming pot into two cups and removed clear plastic film from a plate of delectable sandwiches.

‘Contact Bryan Thorpe, Renate,’ Stefano instructed smoothly. ‘Extend my apologies and reschedule our meeting for Monday.’

Renate didn’t blink. ‘Yes, of course.’ She straightened from her task, her smile practised and polite as she turned and left the room.

Carly eyed the sandwiches with longing, aware that the last meal she’d eaten was breakfast. The coffee was tempting, and she lifted the cup to her lips with both hands, took a savouring sip, then shakily replaced it down on to the saucer.

The need to escape this room was almost as imperative as her desire to escape the man who occupied it, for despite her resolve his presence had an alarming effect on her equilibrium, stirring alive an entire gamut of emotions, the foremost of which was fear. The feeling was so intense that all her senses seemed elevated, heightened to a degree where she felt her entire body was a finely tuned instrument awaiting the maestro’s touch. Which was crazy—insane.

‘There’s no need to cancel your appointment,’ she told him with more courage than she felt, and she collected her bag and slid the strap over one shoulder in a silent indication of her intention to leave.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Stefano said in a deadly soft voice, and she looked at him carefully, aware of the aura of strength, the indomitable power apparent, and experienced a stirring of alarm.

‘Home.’

‘I intend to see her.’

The words threw her off balance, and she went suddenly still. ‘No,’ she denied, stricken by the image of father and daughter meeting for the first time, the effect it would have on Ann-Marie. ‘I don’t want the disruption your presence will have on her life,’ she offered shakily.

‘Or yours,’ he declared with uncanny perception. His eyes were hard, his expression inexorable. ‘Yet you must have known that once I was aware of the facts there could be no way I’d allow you to escape unscathed?’

A shiver shook her slim frame; she was all too aware that she was dealing with a man whose power was both extensive and far-reaching. Only a fool would underestimate him, and right now he looked as if he’d like to shake her until she begged for mercy.

‘There is nothing you can do to prevent me from walking out of here,’ she said stiltedly.

‘I want my daughter, Carly,’ he declared in a voice that was implacable, emotionless, and totally without pity. ‘Either we effect a reconciliation and resume our marriage, or I’ll seek legal custody through court action. The decision is yours.’

A well of anger rose to the surface at his temerity. ‘You have no right,’ Carly retaliated fiercely. ‘No—’

‘You have until tomorrow to make up your mind.’ He stroked a series of digits on to paper, tore it from its block, and handed it to her. ‘You can reach me on this number.’

‘Blackmail is a criminal offence!’

‘I have stated my intention and given you a choice,’ he said hardly, and her eyes glittered with rage.

‘I refuse to consider a mockery of a marriage, with a husband who divides his time between a wife and a mistress!’

His eyes narrowed, and Carly met his gaze with fearless disregard. ‘Don’t bother attempting to deny it,’ she advised with deep-seated bitterness. ‘There was a succession of so-called friends and social acquaintances who took delight in ensuring I heard the latest gossip. One, in particular, had access to a Pressclipping service, and never failed to ensure that I received conclusive proof of your infidelity.’

‘Your obsession with innuendo and supposition hasn’t diminished,’ Stefano dismissed with deadly softness.

‘Nor has my hatred of you! ‘

His smile was a mere facsimile, and she was held immobile by the dangerous glitter in his eyes, the peculiar stillness of his stance. ‘It says something for your maternal devotion that you managed to overcome it sufficiently to confront me.’

Angry, futile tears diminished her vision, and she blinked furiously to dispel them. ‘Only because there was no other option!’

Without a word she turned and walked to the door, uncaring whether he attempted to stop her or not.

He didn’t move, and she walked down the carpeted hallway to Reception, her head held high, pride forcing a faint smile as she inclined a slight nod to the girl manning the switchboard before sweeping out to the foyer.

A lift arrived within seconds of being summoned, and it wasn’t until she reached ground level that reaction began to set in.