A Convenient Bridegroom. Helen Bianchin

an open-mouthed kiss to the edge of her throat, teased the tender skin with his teeth, then trailed a path to the gentle swell of her breast.

      ‘I aim to please.’

      Oh, yes, he did that. She retained a very vivid memory of just how well he’d managed to please her. Not that it had been entirely one-sided … She’d managed to take him further towards the edge than before. One of these days … nights, she amended, she planned to tip him over and watch him free-fall.

      ‘Naturally, your mind is more on food than me at this point, hmm?’

      Go much lower, and I won’t get to the food. ‘Of course,’ she offered demurely. ‘I’m going to need stamina to make it through the day.’

      ‘The bridal shower,’ he mused. His eyes met hers, and she regarded him solemnly.

      ‘Teresa wants the occasion to be memorable.’

      Carlo sank down onto the bed. ‘There’s orange juice, and caffeine to kick-start the day.’

      Together with toast, croissants, fruit preserve, cheese, wafer-thin slices of salami and prosciutto. A veritable feast.

      Aysha slid up in the bed, paying careful attention to keep the sheet tucked beneath her arms, and took the glass of juice from Carlo’s extended hand. Next came the coffee, then a croissant with preserve, followed by a piece of toast folded in half over a layer of cheese and prosciutto.

      ‘More coffee?’

      She hesitated, checked the time, then shook her head. ‘I said I’d be home around nine.’

      Carlo stood to his feet and collected the tray. ‘I’ll take this downstairs.’

      Ten minutes later she had showered, dressed and was ready to face the day. Light blue jeans sheathed her slim legs, hugged her hips, and she wore a fitted top that accentuated the delicate curve of her breasts.

      She skirted the servery, reached up and planted a light kiss against the edge of his jaw. ‘Thanks for breakfast.’

      He caught her close and slanted his mouth over hers with a possession that wreaked havoc with her equilibrium. Then he eased the pressure and brushed his lips over the swollen contours of her own, lingered at one corner, then gently released her.

      ‘I consider myself thanked.’

      Her eyes felt too large, and she quickly blinked in an effort to clear her vision. That had been … ‘cataclysmic’ was a word that came immediately to mind. And passionate, definitely passionate.

      Maybe she was beginning to scratch the surface of his control after all.

      That thought stayed with her as she took the lift down to the underground car park, and during the few kilometres to her parents’ home.