A Convenient Bridegroom. HELEN BIANCHIN

deliberate,’ Aysha said a trifle ruefully as they rode the lift down to the underground car park, and caught his musing smile.

      ‘Guilty.’

      He’d slowed her galloping pace down to a relaxed trot, and she offered a smile in silent thanks as they left the lift and crossed to the Mercedes.

      ‘How was your day?’ she queried as she slid into the passenger seat and fastened her belt.

      ‘Assembling quotes, checking computer print-outs, checking a building site. Numerous phone calls.’

      ‘All hands-on stuff, huh?’

      The large car sprang into instant life the moment he turned the key, and he spared her a wry smile as they gained street level.

      ‘That about encapsulates it.’

      The church was a beautiful old stone building set back from the road among well-tended lawns and gardens. Symmetrically planted trees and their spreading branches added to the portrayed seclusion.

      There was an air of peace and grace apparent, meshing with the mystique of blessed holy ground.

      Aysha drew a deep breath as she saw the several cars lining the curved driveway. Everyone was here.

      Attending someone else’s wedding, watching the ceremony on film or television, was a bit different from participating in one’s own, albeit this was merely a rehearsal of the real thing.

      ‘I want to carry the basket,’ Emily, the youngest flower girl, insisted, and tried to wrest it from Samantha’s grasp.

      ‘I don’t want to hold a pillow. It looks sissy,’ Jonathon, the eldest page boy declared.

      Oh, my. If he thought carrying a small satin lace-edged pillow demeaned his boyhood, then just wait until he had to get dressed in a miniature suit, satin waistcoat, buttoned shirt and bow-tie.

      ‘Sissy,’ the youngest page boy endorsed.

      ‘You have to,’ Emily insisted importantly.

      ‘Don’t.’

      ‘Do so.’

      Aysha didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘What if Samantha carries the basket of rose petals, and Emily carries the pillow?’

      It was almost possible to see the ensuing mental tussle as each little girl weighed the importance of each task.

      ‘I want the pillow,’ Samantha decided. Rings held more value than rose-petals to be strewn over the carpeted aisle.

      ‘You can have the basket.’ Emily, too, had done her own calculations.

      Teresa rolled her eyes, the girls’ respective mothers attempted to pacify, and when that failed they tried bribery.

      The four bridesmaids looked tense, for they’d each been assigned a child to care for during the formal ceremony.

      - ‘OK.’ Aysha lifted both hands in a gesture of expressive defeat ‘This is how it’s going to be. Two baskets, so Emily and Samantha get to carry one each.’ She cast both boys a stern look. ‘Two pillows.’ ‘Two?’ Teresa queried incredulously, and Aysha inclined her head.

      ‘Two.’

      The little girls beamed, and both boys bent their heads in sulky disagreement.

      Maybe it would have been wiser not to give the children a rehearsal at all, and simply tell them what to do on the day and hope they’d concentrate so hard there wouldn’t be the opportunity for error.

      Celestial assistance was obviously going to be needed, Aysha mused as she listened to the priest’s instructions.

      An hour later they were all seated at a long table in a restaurant nominated as children-friendly. The food was good, the wine did much to relax fraught nerves, and Aysha enjoyed the informality of it all as she leaned back against Carlo’s supporting arm.

      ‘Tired?’

      She lifted her face to his, and her eyes sparkled with latent intimacy. ‘It’s been a long day.’

      He leaned in close and brushed his lips to her temple. ‘You can sleep in in the morning.’

      ‘Generous of you. But I need to be home early to help Teresa with preparations for the bridal shower. Remember?’

      It was almost eleven when everyone began to make a move, and a further half-hour before Aysha and Carlo were able to leave, for the bridesmaids lingered and Teresa had last-minute instructions to impart.

      The witching hour of midnight struck as she preceded Carlo into the penthouse, and she slipped off her shoes, took the clip from her hair and shook it loose, then she padded through to the kitchen.

      ‘Coffee?’

      Aysha sensed rather than heard him move behind her, and she murmured her approval as his hands kneaded tense shoulder muscles.

      ‘Good?’

      Oh, yes. So good, she was prepared to beg him to continue. ‘Please. Don’t stop.’ It was bliss, almost heaven, and she closed her eyes as his fingers worked a magic all on their own.

      ‘Any ideas for tomorrow night?’

      She heard the lazy quality in his voice and smiled. ‘You mean we have a free evening?’

      ‘I can book dinner.’

      ‘Don’t,’ she said at once. ‘I’ll pick up something.’

      ‘I could do this much better if you lay down on the bed.’

      Her senses were heightened, and her pulse began to quicken. ‘That might prove dangerous.’

      ‘Eventually,’ Carlo agreed lazily. ‘But there are advantages to a full body massage.’

      Aysha’s blood pressure moved up a notch. ‘Are you seducing me?’

      His soft laughter sounded deep and husky close to her ear. ‘Am I succeeding?’

      ‘I’ll let you know,’ she promised with wicked intent. ‘In about an hour from now.’

      ‘An hour?’

      ‘The quality of the massage will govern your reward,’ Aysha informed him solemnly, and he laughed as he swept her into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom.

      To lay prone on towels as Carlo slowly smoothed aromatic oil over every inch of her body was sensual torture of the sweetest kind.

      Whatever had made her think she’d last an hour? After thirty minutes the pleasure was so intense, it was all she could do not to roll onto her back and beg him to take her.

      ‘I think,’ she said between gritted teeth, ‘that’s enough.’

      His fingertips smoothed up her thighs and lingered a hair’s breadth away from the apex, then shaped each buttock before settling at her waist.

      ‘You said an hour,’ Carlo reminded her, and gently rolled her onto her back.

      Aysha looked at him from beneath long-fringed lashes. ‘I’ll make you pay,’ she promised as liquid heat spilled through her veins.

      He leaned down and took her mouth in a brief hard kiss. ‘I’m counting on it.’

      The sweet sorcery of his touch nearly sent her mad, and afterwards it was she who drove him to the brink, aware of those dark eyes watching her with an almost predatory alertness that gradually shifted and changed as she tried to break his control.

      Desire, raw and primitive, tore through her body, and she felt bare, exposed, as her own fragile control shredded into a thousand pieces.

      Aysha had no recollection of the tears that slowly spilled down each cheek until Carlo cupped her face and erased them with a single movement of his thumb.

      His lips brushed hers, gently, back