A Convenient Bridegroom. HELEN BIANCHIN

weeks, cara,’ Carlo reminded her.

      It was a lifetime. One she wasn’t sure she’d survive intact.

      She should have moved out of home into an apartment of her own. Would have, if Teresa hadn’t dismissed the idea as ridiculous when she had a wing in the house all to herself, complete with gym, sauna and entertainment lounge. She had her own car, her own garage, and technically she could come and go as she pleased.

      Aysha picked up her fork, deftly wound on a portion of pasta and savoured it. Ambrosia. The sauce was perfecto.

      ‘Good?’

      She wound on another portion and held it to his lips. ‘Try some.’ She hadn’t intended it to be an intimate gesture, and her eyes flared slightly as he placed his fingers over hers, guided the fork, and then held her gaze as he slid the pasta into his mouth.

      Her stomach jolted, then settled, and she was willing to swear she could hear her own heartbeat thudding in her ears.

      He didn’t even have to try, and she became caught up with the alchemy that was his alone.

      A warm smile curved his lips as he dipped a spoon into his minestrone and lifted it invitingly towards her own. ‘Want to try mine?’

      She took a small mouthful, then shook her head when he offered her another. Did he realise just how difficult it was for her to retain a measure of sangfroid at moments like these?

      ‘We have a rehearsal at the church tomorrow evening,’ Carlo reminded her, and saw her eyes darken.

      Aysha replaced her fork, her appetite temporarily diminished. ‘Six-thirty,’ she concurred evenly. ‘After which the wedding party dine together.’

      Both sets of parents, the bride and groom to-be, the bridesmaids and their attendants, the flower girls and page boys and their parents.

      Followed the next day by a bridal shower. Hardly a casual affair, with just very close friends, a few nibblies and champagne. The guest list numbered fifty, it was being catered, and Teresa had arranged entertainment.

      To add to her stress levels, she’d stubbornly refused to begin six weeks’ leave of absence from work until a fortnight before the wedding.

      On the positive side, it kept her busy, her mind occupied, and minimised the growing tension with her mother. The negative was hours early morning and evening spent at the breathtaking harbourside mansion Carlo had built, overseeing installation of carpets, drapes, selecting furniture, co-ordinating colours. And doing battle with Teresa when their tastes didn’t match and Teresa overstretched her advisory capacity. Something which happened fairly frequently.

      ‘Penny for them.’

      Aysha glanced across the table and caught Carlo’s teasing smile.

      ‘I was thinking about the house.’ That much was true. ‘It’s all coming together very well.’

      ‘You’re happy with it?’

      ‘How could I not be?’ she countered simply, visualising the modern architectural design with its five sound-proofed self-contained wings converging onto a central courtyard. The interior was designed for light and space, with a suspended art gallery, a small theatre and games room. A sunken area featured spa and sauna, and a jet pool.

      It was a showcase, a place to entertain guests and business associates. Aysha planned to make it a home.

      The wine waiter appeared and refilled each goblet, followed closely by the young waiter, who removed their plates prior to serving the main course.

      Carlo ate with the enjoyment of a man who consumed nourishment wisely but well, his use of cutlery decisive.

      He was the consummate male, sophisticated, dynamic, and possessed of a primitive sensuality that drew women to him like a magnet. Men envied his ruthlessness and charm, and knew the combination to be lethal.

      Aysha recognised each and every one of his qualities, and wondered if she was woman enough to hold him.

      ‘Would you care to order dessert, Miss Benini?’

      The young waiter’s desire to please was almost embarrassing, and she offered him a gentle smile. ‘No, thanks, I’ll settle for coffee.’

      ‘You’ve made a conquest,’ Carlo drawled as the waiter retreated from their table.

      Her eyes danced with latent mischief. ‘Ah, you say the nicest things.’

      ‘Should I appear jealous, do you think?’

      She wanted to say, only if you are. And since that was unlikely, it became easy to play the game.

      ‘Well, he is young, and good-looking.’ She pretended to consider. ‘Probably a university student working nights to pay for his education. Which would indicate he has potential.’ She held Carlo’s dark gleaming gaze and offered him a brilliant smile. ‘Do you think he’d give up the room he probably rents, sell his wheels... a Vespa scooter at a guess... and be a kept toy-boy?’

      His soft laughter sent shivers over the surface of her skin, raising fine body hairs as all her nerve-endings went haywire.

      ‘I think I should take you home.’

      ‘I came in my own car, remember?’ she reminded him, and saw his eyes darken, the gleam intensify.

      ‘A bid for independence, or an indication you’re not going to share my bed tonight?’

      She summoned a winsome smile, and her eyes shone with wicked humour. ‘Teresa is of the opinion catering to your physical needs should definitely be my priority.’

      ‘And Teresa knows best?’ His voice was silky-smooth, and she wasn’t deceived for a second.

      ‘My mother believes in covering all the bases,’ Aysha relayed lightly.

      His gaze didn’t shift, and she was almost willing to swear he could read her mind. ‘As you do?’

      Her expression sobered. ‘I don’t have a hidden agenda.’ Did he know she was in love with him? Had loved him for as long as she could remember? She hoped not, for it would afford him an unfair advantage.

      ‘Finish your coffee,’ Carlo bade gently. ‘Then we’ll leave.’ He lifted a hand in silent summons, and the waiter appeared with the bill.

      Aysha watched as Carlo signed the slip and added a generous tip, then he leaned back in his chair and surveyed her thoughtfully.

      She was tense, but covered it well. His eyes narrowed faintly. ‘Do we have anything planned next weekend?’

      ‘Mother has something scheduled for every day until the wedding,’ she declared with unaccustomed cynicism.

      ‘Have Teresa reorganise her diary.’

      Aysha looked at him with interest. ‘And if she won’t?’

      ‘Tell her I’ve surprised you with airline tickets and accommodation for a weekend on the Gold Coast.’

      ‘Have you?’

      His smile held humour. ‘I’ll make the call the minute we reach my apartment.’

      Her eyes shone, and she broke into light laughter. ‘My knight in shining armour.’

      Carlo’s voice was low, husky, and held amusement. ‘Escape,’ he accorded. ‘Albeit brief.’ He stood to his feet and reached out a hand to take hold of hers. His gleaming gaze seared right through to her heart. ‘You can thank me later.’

      Together they made their way through the room to the front desk.

      The maître d’ was courteously solicitous. ‘I’ll arrange with the concierge to have your cars brought to the front entrance.’

      Both vehicles were waiting when they reached the lobby. Carlo saw her seated behind the wheel of her Porsche, then he crossed to