Helen Bianchin - Latin Lovers

Make-up was, she determined, a little overstated. Somehow it seemed appropriate. Warriors painted themselves before they went into battle, didn’t they? And there would be a battle fought before the night was over. She could personally guarantee it.

Teresa was setting the table in the dining room. ‘Mamma, I’m on my way.’

Was it something in her voice that caused her mother to cast her a sharp glance? When it came to maternal instincts, Teresa’s were second to none. ‘Have a good time.’

That was entirely debatable. Dinner à deux followed by an evening at the ballet had definitely lost its appeal. ‘Thanks.’

Fifteen minutes later she garaged her car in the underground car park, then rode the lift to Carlo’s apartment. The envelope containing the photographs was in her hand, and the portrayed images on celluloid almost scorched her fingers.

He opened the door within seconds, and she saw his pupils widen in gleaming male appreciation. A shaft of intense satisfaction flared, and she took in the immaculate cut of his dark suit, the startling white cotton shirt, the splendid tie.

The perfectly groomed, wildly attractive fiancé. Loving, too, she added a trifle viciously as he drew her close and nuzzled the sensitive curve of her neck.

The right touch, the expert moves. It was almost too much to expect him to be faithful as well. His love, she knew, would never be hers to have. But fidelity... That was something she intended to insist on.

‘What’s wrong?’

Add intuitive, Aysha accorded. At least some of his senses were on track. She moved back a step, away from the traitorous temptation of his arms. It would be far too easy to lean in against him and offer her mouth for his kiss. But then she’d kiss him back, and that wouldn’t do at all.

‘What makes you think that?’ she queried with deliberate calm, and saw his eyes narrow.

‘We’ve never played guessing games, and we’re not going to start now.’

Games, subterfuge, deception. They were one and the same thing. ‘Really?’

His expression sharpened, accentuating the broad facial bone structure with its strong angles and planes. ‘Spit it out, Aysha. I’m listening.’

Aysha rang the tip of one fingernail along the edge of the envelope. Eyes like crystallised smoke burned with a fiery heat as she thrust the envelope at him. ‘You’ve got it wrong. You talk. I get to listen.’

He caught the envelope, and a puzzled frown creased his forehead. ‘What the hell is this about?’

‘Hell is a pretty good description. Open the damned thing. I think you’ll get the picture.’ She certainly had!

His fingers freed the flap and she watched him carefully as he extracted the sheaf of photos and examined them one by one.

His expression barely altered, and she had to hand it to him... He had tremendous control. Somehow his icy discipline had more effect than anger.

‘Illuminating, wouldn’t you agree?’

His gaze speared hers, dark, dangerous and as hard as granite. ‘Very.’

Her eyes held his fearlessly. ‘I think I deserve an explanation.’

‘I stayed in that hotel, and, yes, Nina was there. But without any prior knowledge or invitation on my part.’

How could she believe him when Nina continued to drip poison at every turn?

‘That’s it?’ She was so cool it was a wonder the blood didn’t freeze in her veins.

‘As far as I’m concerned.’

‘I guess Nina just happened to be standing outside your room?’ She swept his features mercilessly. ‘I don’t buy it.’

‘It happens to be the truth.’ His voice was inflexible, and Aysha’s eyes were fearless as she met his.

‘I’m fully aware our impending marriage has its base in mutual convenience,’ she stated with restrained anger. ‘But I insist on your fidelity.’

Carlo’s eyes narrowed and became chillingly calm. There was a leashed stillness apparent she knew she’d be wise to heed.

Except she was past wisdom, beyond any form of rationale. Did he have any conception of what she’d felt like when she’d sighted those photos? It was as if the tip of a sword pierced her heart, poised there, then thrust in to the hilt.

‘My fidelity isn’t in question.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘Would you care to rephrase that?’

‘Why?’ Aysha countered baldly. ‘What part didn’t you understand?’

‘I heard the words. It’s the motive I find difficult to comprehend.’

With admirable detachment she raked his large frame from head to toe, and back again. ‘It’s simple. In this marriage, there’s only room for two of us.’ She was so angry, she felt she might self-destruct. ‘There’s no way I’ll turn a blind eye to you having a mistress on the side.’

‘Why would I want a mistress?’ Carlo queried with icy calm.

Her eyes flashed, a brilliant translucent grey that had the clarity and purity of a rare pearl. ‘To complement my presence in the marital bed?’

His gaze didn’t waver, and she fought against being trapped by the depth, the intensity. It was almost hypnotic, and she had the most uncanny sensation he was intent on dispensing with the layers that guarded her soul, like a surgeon using a scalpel with delicate precision.

‘Nina has done a hatchet job, hasn’t she?’ Carlo offered in a voice that sounded like silk being razed by tempered steel. ‘Sufficiently damaging, that any assurance I give you to the contrary will be viewed with scepticism?’ He reached out a hand and caught hold of her chin between thumb and forefinger. ‘What we share together,’ he prompted. ‘What would you call that?’

She was breaking up inside, slowly shattering into a thousand pieces. Special, a tiny voice taunted. So special, the mere thought of him sharing his body with someone else caused her physical pain.

‘Good sex?’ Carlo persisted dangerously.

Her stance altered slightly, and her eyes assumed a new depth and intensity. ‘Presumably not good enough.’ she declared bravely.

It was possible to see the anger build, and she watched with detached fascination as the fingers of each hand clenched into fists, watched the muscles bunch at the edge of his jaw, the slight flaring of nostrils, and the darkening of his eyes.

He uttered a husky oath, and she said with deliberate facetiousness, ‘Flattery isn’t appropriate.’

Something moved in the depths of his eyes. An emotion she didn’t care to define.

‘Nina,’ Carlo vented emotively, ‘has a lot to answer for.’

Didn’t she just! ‘On that, at least, we agree.’

‘Let’s get this quite clear,’ he said with dangerous quietness. ‘You have my vow of fidelity, just as I have yours. Understood?’

She wanted to lash out, then pick up something and smash it. The satisfaction would be immensely gratifying.

‘Aysha?’ he prompted with deadly quietness, and she forced herself to respond.

‘Even given that Nina is a first-class bitch, I find it a bit too much of a coincidence for you both to be in Melbourne at the same time, staying in the same hotel, the same floor.’ Aysha drew in a deep breath. ‘Photographic proof bears considerable weight, don’t you think?’

He could have shaken her within an inch of her life. For having so little faith in him. So little trust.

‘Did it not occur to you to consider it strange that a photographer just happened to be in the hotel lobby at the time Nina and I entered it... coincidentally together? Or that her suite and mine were very conveniently sited opposite each other?’ It hadn’t taken much pressure to discover Nina had bribed the booking receptionist to reshuffle bookings. ‘Perhaps a little too convenient the same photographer was perfectly positioned to take a shot Nina had very carefully orchestrated?’