The Helen Bianchin Collection. Helen Bianchin

it, cara.’

      ‘I am not your darling.’

      His mouth curved with amusement, and she poked him several times in the chest.

      ‘Don’t you dare laugh!’

      He curled his hands over her shoulders and held her still. ‘What would you have me do? Kiss you? Haul you across one knee and spank your deliciously soft derrière?’

      ‘Soft?’ She worked out, and while her butt might be curved, it was tight

      ‘If you keep opposing me, I’ll be driven to effect one or the other.’

      ‘Lay a hand on me, and I’ll—’

      He was much too swift, and any further words she might have uttered were lost as his mouth closed over hers in a deep, punishing kiss which took hold of her anger and turned it into passion.

      Aysha wasn’t conscious when it changed, only that it did, and the fists she lashed him with gradually uncurled and crept up to his nape to cling as emotion wrought havoc and fragmented all her senses.

      Carlo slowly eased the heat, and his mouth softened as he gently caressed the swollen contours of her lips, then pressed light butterfly kisses along the tender curve to one corner and back again.

      When he lifted his head she could only look at him with drenched eyes, and he traced a forefinger down the slope of her nose.

      ‘Now that I have your full attention... A weekend at the Coast will remove us from all the madness. No pressures, no demands, no social engagements.’

      And no chance of accidentally bumping into Nina.

      ‘Last call, Aysha,’ Carlo indicated with a touch of mockery. ‘Stay, or go. Which is it to be?’

      It wasn’t the time for deliberation. ‘Go,’ she said decisively, and heard his husky laughter.

      They made the flight with ten minutes to spare, and touched down at Coolangatta Airport just over an hour later. It was almost ten when they checked into the hotel, and within minutes of entering into their suite Aysha crossed to the floor-to-ceiling glass window fronting the Broadwater, and released the sliding door.

      She could hear the muted sound of traffic, voices drifting up from the pool area. Adjacent was an enclosed man-made beach with a secluded cave and waterfall.

      In the distance she could see the architecturally designed roof resembling a collection of sails atop an exclusive shopping centre fronting a marina and connected by a walkway bridge to an exclusive ocean-front hotel.

      A few minutes later she sensed rather than heard him move to stand behind her.

      ‘Peaceful.’

      It was, and she said so. ‘Yes.’

      His arms curved round her waist and he pulled her close. ‘What do you want to do with the day?’

      There was a desperate need to get out of the hotel suite, and lose herself among the crowds. ‘A theme park?’ She said the first one that came into her head. ‘Dreamworld.’

      He hid a wry smile. ‘I’ll organise it.’

      ‘Just like that?’

      ‘We can hire a car and drive into the mountains, take any one of several cruises.’ His shoulders shifted as he effected a lazy shrug. ‘You get to choose.’

      ‘For today?’

      ‘All weekend,’ he said solemnly.

      ‘Give me too much power, and it might go to my head,’ Aysha teased, suddenly feeling more in control.

      ‘I doubt it.’

      He knew her too well. ‘After dinner we go to the Casino, then tomorrow we do Movieworld.’ Crowds, lots of people. Which left only the hours between midnight or later and dawn spent in this beautiful suite, with its very large, prominently positioned bed.

      Dreamworld was fun. They played tourist and took a bus there, went on several rides, ate hot dogs and chips as they wandered among the crowd. Aysha laughed at the white tigers’ antics, viewed the Tower of Terror and voiced an emphatic no to Carlo’s suggestion they take the ride.

      It was almost six when the bus deposited them outside the hotel.

      ‘I’ll have first take on the shower,’ Aysha indicated as they rode the lift to their designated floor.

      ‘We could share.’

      ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she said evenly. Just remembering how many showers they’d shared and their inevitable outcome set all her fine body hairs on edge.

      The lift slid to a stop and she turned in the direction of their suite.

      Inside, she collected fresh underwear and entered the large bathroom. The water was warm and she adjusted the dial, undressed, then stepped into the tiled stall.

      Seconds later the door slid open and her eyes widened as Carlo joined her.

      ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

      ‘Sharing a shower isn’t necessarily an invitation to have sex,’ he said calmly, and took the soap from her nerveless fingers.

      He was too close, but there was no further room to move.

      ‘Want me to shampoo your hair?’

      ‘I can do it,’ she managed in a muffled voice, and she missed his slight smile as he uncapped the courtesy bottle and slowly worked the gel into her hair.

      His fingers began a gentle massage, and she closed her eyes, taking care to stifle a despairing groan as he rinsed off the foam.

      Not content, he palmed the soap and proceeded to smooth it over her back, her buttocks, thighs, before tending to her breasts, then her stomach.

      ‘Don’t,’ Aysha begged as he travelled lower, and she shook her head in mute denial when he placed the soap in her hand, then guided it over his chest.

      Her fingers scraped the curling hair there, and she felt the tautness of his stomach, then consciously held her breath as he’d traversed lower.

      His arousal was a potent force, and she began to shake with the need for his possession. It would be so easy to let the soap slip from her hand and reach for him. To lift her face to his, and invite his mouth down to hers.

      Then he turned and his voice emerged as a silky drawl. ‘Do my back, cara.’

      She thrust the soap onto its stand, and slid open the door. ‘Do it yourself.’

      Aysha escaped, only because he let her, she was sure, and she caught up a towel, clutched hold of her underwear, and moved into the bedroom.

      It was galling to discover her hands were trembling, and she quickly towelled herself dry, then wound the towel turban-wise round her head.

      By the time Carlo emerged she was dressed, and she re-entered the bathroom to utilise the hairdrier, then tend to her make-up.

      White silk evening trousers, a gold-patterned white top, minimum jewellery, and white strapped heeled pumps made for a matching outfit.

      Black trousers and a white chambray shirt emphasised his dark hair and tanned skin. He’d shaved, and his cologne teased her nostrils, creating a havoc all its own with her senses.

      ‘Ready?’

      They caught a taxi to the Casino, enjoyed a leisurely meal, then entered the gambling area.

      Aysha’s luck ran fickle, while Carlo’s held, but she refused to use his accumulated winnings, choosing instead to watch him at the blackjack table. Each selection was calculated, his expression impossible to read. Much like the man himself, she acknowledged silently.

      It was after one when they returned to the hotel. Aysha felt pleasantly tired, and in their suite she