The Helen Bianchin Collection. HELEN BIANCHIN

      Nina avidly examined Aysha’s features, then fastened on the object of her obsession. She pressed exquisitely lacquered nails against the sleeve of Carlo’s jacket. ‘Trouble in paradise, caro?’

      ‘What makes you think there might be?’ His voice was pleasant, but there was no mistaking the icy hardness in his eyes as he removed Nina’s hand from his arm.

      Her pout was contrived to portray a sultry sexiness. ‘Body language, darling.’

      ‘Really?’ The smile that curved his lips was a mere facsimile. ‘In that case I would suggest your expertise is sadly lacking.’

      Oh, my, Aysha applauded silently. If she could detach herself emotionally, the verbal parrying was shaping into an interesting bout.

      ‘You know that isn’t true.’

      ‘Only by reputation. Not by personal experience.’

      His voice was silk-encased steel, tempered to a dangerous edge. Only a fool would fail to recognise the folly of besting him.

      ‘Darling, really. Your memory is so short?’

      ‘We’ve frequented the same functions, sat at the same table. That’s all.’

      Nina spared Aysha a cursory glance. ‘If you say so.’ She gave a soft laugh and shook her head in telltale disbelief. ‘The question is... will Aysha believe you?’

      Aysha glimpsed the vindictive smile, registered the malevolence apparent in Nina’s sweeping glance, before she turned back towards Carlo.

      ‘Ciao, darlings. Have a happy life.’

      Aysha watched Nina’s sylph-like frame execute a deliberately evocative sway as she walked across the terrace.

      ‘I think I need some fresh air.’ And another glass of champagne. It might help dull the edges, and diminish the ugliness she’d just been witness to.

      Strong fingers closed over her wrist. ‘I’ll come with you.’

      ‘I’d rather go alone.’

      ‘And add to Nina’s satisfaction?’

      Bright lights lit the garden paths, and there were guests mingling around the pool area. Music filtered through a speaker system, and there was the sound of muted laughter.

      ‘Believe me, Nina’s satisfaction is the last thing I want to think about.’

      His grip on her hand tightened fractionally. ‘I’ve never had occasion to lie to you, cara.’ His eyes speared hers, fixing them mercilessly.

      ‘There’s always a first time for everything.’

      Carlo was silent for several long seconds. ‘I refuse to allow Nina’s malicious machinations to destroy our relationship.’

      The deadly softness of his voice should have warned her, but she was beyond analysing any nuances.

      ‘Relationship?’ Aysha challenged. ‘Let’s not delude ourselves our proposed union is anything other than a mutually beneficial business partnership.’ She was on a roll, the words tripping easily, fatalistically, from her tongue. ‘Cemented by holy matrimony in a bid to preserve a highly successful business empire for the next generation.’ Her smile was far too bright, her voice so brittle she scarcely recognised it as her own.

      Carlo’s appraisal was swift, and she was totally unprepared as he lifted her slender frame over one shoulder.

      An outraged gasp left her throat. ‘What in hell do you think you’re doing?’

      ‘Taking you home.’

      ‘Put me down.’

      His silence was uncompromising, and she beat a fist against his ribcage in sheer frustration. With little effect, for he didn’t release her until they reached the car.

      ‘You fiend!’ Aysha vented, uncaring of his ruthless expression as he unlocked the passenger door.

      ‘Get in the car,’ Carlo said hardily.

      Her eyes sparked furiously alive. ‘Don’t you dare give me orders.’

      He bit off a husky oath and pulled her in against him, then his head lowered and his mouth took punishing possession of her own.

      Aysha struggled fruitlessly for several seconds, then whimpered as he held fast her head. His tongue was an invasive force, and she hated her traitorous body for the way it began to respond.

      The hands which beat against each shoulder stilled and crept to link together at his nape. Her mouth softened, and she leaned in to him, uncaring that only seconds before anger had been her sole emotion.

      She sensed the slight shudder that ran through his large body, felt the hardening of his desire, and experienced the magnetising pulse of hunger in response.

      Aysha felt as if she was drowning, and she temporarily lost any sense of time or where they were until Carlo gradually loosened his hold.

      His lips trailed to the sensitive hollow at the edge of her neck and caressed it gently, then he lifted his head and bestowed a light, lingering kiss to her softly swollen mouth.

      Sensation spiralled through her body, aching, poignant, making her aware of every nerve-centre, each pleasure spot.

      Aysha didn’t feel capable of doing anything but subsiding into the car, and she stared sightlessly out of the window as Carlo crossed to the driver’s side and slid in behind the wheel.

      She didn’t offer a word for much of the time it took to reach Clontarf, for what could she say that wouldn’t seem superfluous? The few occasions Carlo broached a query, her answer was monosyllabic.

      Nina’s image rose like a spectre in her mind, just as her voice echoed as the words replayed again and again.

       CHAPTER NINE

      THE Mercedes pulled off the main street and eased into a parking space. Carlo switched off the engine and undid his seatbelt.

      Aysha looked at him askance. ‘Why have you stopped?’

      He reached sideways and unclasped her seatbelt. ‘You didn’t eat dinner, remember?’

      The thought of food made her feel ill. ‘I don’t feel hungry.’

      ‘Then we’ll just have coffee.’

      She looked at him in exasperation, and met the firm resolve apparent in his stance, the angle of his jaw.

      ‘Do I get to have any say in this? Or will you employ strong-arm tactics?’

      ‘You’ve dropped an essential kilo or two, you’re pale, and you have dark circles beneath your eyes.’

      ‘And I thought I was doing just fine,’ Aysha declared silkily.

      ‘It’s here, or we raid the kitchen fridge at home.’

      That meant him entering the house, making himself at home in the kitchen, and afterwards... She didn’t want to contemplate afterwards. Having him stay was akin to condoning...

      Oh, damn, she cursed wretchedly, and reached for the door-clasp.

      The restaurant was well-patronised, and they were led to a centre table at the back of the room. Aysha heard the music, muted Mediterranean melancholy plucked from a boujouki, and the sound tugged something deep inside.

      Carlo ordered coffee, and she declined. Greek coffee was ruinously strong.

      ‘Tea. Very weak,’ she added, and rolled her eyes when Carlo ordered moussaka from the menu. ‘I don’t want anything to eat.’

      Moussaka was one of her favoured dishes, and when it arrived she spared it a lingering glance, let the aroma tease her nostrils.