A Convenient Bridegroom. HELEN BIANCHIN

seconds and ease into the line of traffic.

      Aysha followed, sticking close behind him as he traversed the inner city streets heading east towards Rose Bay and his penthouse apartment.

      When they reached it she drove down into the underground car park, took the space adjoining his private bay, then walked at his side towards the bank of lifts in companionable silence.

      They didn’t need a house, she determined minutes later as she stepped into the plush apartment lobby.

      The drapes weren’t drawn, and the view out over the harbour was magnificent. Fairy lights, she mused as she crossed the lounge to the floor-to-ceiling glass stretching across one entire wall.

      City buildings, street lights, brightly coloured neon vying with tall concrete spires and an indigo sky.

      Aysha heard him pick up the phone, followed by the sound of his voice as he arranged flights and accommodation for the following weekend.

      ‘We could have easily lived here,’ she murmured as he came to stand behind her.

      ‘So we could.’ He put his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him.

      She felt his chin rest on the top of her head, sensed the warmth of his breath as it teased her hair, and was unable to prevent the slight shiver as his lips sought the vulnerable hollow beneath the lobe of one ear.

      She almost closed her eyes and pretended it was real. That love not lust, and need not want, was Carlo’s motivation.

      A silent groan rose and died in her throat as his mouth travelled to the edge of her neck and nuzzled, his tongue, his lips erotic instruments as he tantalised the rapidly beating pulse.

      His hands moved, one to her breast as he sought a sensitive peak, while the other splayed low over her stomach.

      She wanted to urge him to quicken the pace, to dispense with her clothes while she feverishly tore every barrier from his body until there was nothing between them.

      She wanted to be lifted high in his arms and sink down onto him, then clutch hold of him as he took her for the ride of her life.

      Everything about him was too controlled. Even in bed he never lost that control completely, as she did.

      There were times when she wanted to cry out that while she could accept Bianca as an important part of his past, she was his future. Except she never said the words. Perhaps because she was afraid of his response.

      Now she turned in his arms and reached for him, her mouth seeking his as she gave herself up completely to the heat of passion.

      He caught her urgency and effortlessly swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

      Aysha’s fingers worked on his shirt buttons, unfastened the buckle on his belt, then pulled his shirt free.

      His nipples were hard, and she savoured each one in turn, then used her teeth to tease, aware that Carlo had deftly removed most of her clothes.

      She heard his intake of breath seconds ahead of the soft thud as he discarded one shoe and the other, then dispensed with his trousers.

      ‘Wait.’ His voice was low and slightly husky, and she ran her hands over his ribcage, searched the hard plane of his stomach and reached for him.

      ‘So you want to play, hmm?’

      CHAPTER TWO

      CARLO caught hold of her arms and let his hands slide up to cup her shoulders as he buried his mouth in the vulnerable hollow at the edge of her neck.

      Her subtle perfume teased his senses, and he nuzzled the sensitive skin, tasted it, nipped ever so gently with his teeth, and felt the slight spasm of her body’s reaction to his touch.

      She was a generous lover. Passionate, with a sense of adventure and fun he found endearing.

      He trailed his lips down the slope of her breast and suckled one tender peak, savoured, then moved to render a similar supplication to its twin.

      Did he know what he did to her? Aysha felt a stab of pain at the thought that his lovemaking might be contrived. A practised set of moves that pushed all the right buttons.

      Once, just once she wanted to feel the tremors of need shake his body... for her, only her. To know that she could make him so crazy with desire that he had no restraint.

      Was it asking too much to want love? She wore his ring. Soon she would bear his name. It should be enough.

      She wanted to mean so much more to him than just a satisfactory bed partner, a charming hostess.

      Take what he’s prepared to give, and be grateful, a tiny voice prompted. A cup half-full is better than one that is empty.

      Her hands linked at his nape and she drew his head down to hers, exulting in the feel of his mouth as he shaped her own.

      She let her tongue slide against his, then conducted a slow, sweeping circle before initiating a probing dance that was almost as evocative as the sexual act itself.

      His hand shaped her nape and held fast her head, while the other slipped low over one hip, cupped her bottom and drew her close in against him.

      She wanted him now, hard and fast, without any preliminaries. To be able to feel the power, the strength, without caution or care. As if he couldn’t bear to wait a second longer to effect possession.

      The familiar slide of his fingers, the gentle probing exploration as he sought the warm moistness of her feminine core brought a gasping sigh from her lips.

      Followed by a despairing groan as he began an evocative stimulation. It wasn’t fair that he should have such intimate knowledge and be aware precisely how to wield it to drive a woman wild.

      His mouth hardened, and his jaw took control of hers, moving it in rhythm with his own.

      She clutched hold of his shoulders and held on as his fingers probed deeper, and just as she thought she could bear it no longer he shifted position.

      A cry rose and died in her throat as he slid into her in one long, thrusting movement.

      Dear God, that felt good. So good. She murmured her pleasure, then gave a startled gasp as he tumbled her down onto the bed and withdrew.

      His mouth left hers, and began a seeking trail down her throat, tasting the vulnerable hollows at the base of her neck, the soft, quivering flesh of each breast, the indentation of her navel.

      She knew his intention, and felt the flame lick along every nerve-end, consuming every sensitised nerve-cell until she was close to conflagration.

      Her head tossed from one side to the other as sensation took hold of her whole body. Part of her wanted to tell him to stop before it became unbearable, but the husky admonition sounded so low in her throat as to be indistinguishable.

      He was skilled, so very highly skilled in giving a woman pleasure. The slight graze of his teeth, the erotic laving of his tongue. He knew just where to touch to urge her towards the edge. And how to hold her there, until she begged for release.

      Aysha thought she cried out, and she bit down hard as Carlo feathered light kisses over her quivering stomach, then paused to suckle at her breast,

      His mouth closed on hers, and she arched up against him as he entered her in one surging movement, stretching delicate tissues to their utmost capacity.

      He began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing depth and strength as she became consumed with the feel of him.

      His skin, her own, was warm and slick with sweat, and the blood ran through her veins like quicksilver.

      It was more than a physical joining, for she gifted him her heart, her soul, everything. She was his. Only his. At that moment she would have died for him, so complete was her involvement.

      Frightening, shattering, she reflected a long time later