Mistress Arrangements. Helen Bianchin

      James was beginning to sound more astute by the minute.

      ‘He’s asked me out to dinner next Saturday evening,’ Sarah informed her quietly, and Carly applauded his perception in taking things slowly.

      ‘He sounds nice.’

      ‘I get the feeling he’s streets ahead of me,’ Sarah owned. ‘Almost as if he knows what I’m thinking and how I’ll react. It’s—uncanny.’

      Carly sipped her coffee and attempted to ignore her headache. It would take at least ten minutes before the pain began to ease, maybe another ten before it retreated to a dull heaviness that would only be alleviated by rest. After she dropped Ann-Marie at Susy’s house, she’d come back and rest for an hour.

      Sarah left a short while later, and Carly headed for a long leisurely shower, choosing to slip into tailored cotton trousers and a sleeveless top in eau-de-Nil silk. The pale colour looked cool and refreshing, and accentuated the deep auburn highlights of her hair and the clear honey of her skin.

      Lunch was a light meal, for Ann-Marie was too excited to eat much in view of all the prospective fare available at Susy’s party.

      ‘Ready, darling?’

      Ann-Marie’s small features creased into an expression of excited anticipation, and Carly felt a tug on her heartstrings.

      ‘Checklist time,’ she bade lightly with a smile. ‘Handkerchief? No last-minute need to visit the bathroom?’

      ‘Yes,’ Ann-Marie answered, retrieving a white linen square from the pocket of her dress. ‘And I just did. Can we go now?’

      ‘After you,’ Carly grinned, sweeping her arm in the direction of the front door.

      The drive was a relatively short one, for Susy lived in a neighbouring suburb, and in no time at all Carly brought the car to a halt behind a neat row of several parked cars.

      ‘We’re cutting the cake at three,’ Susy’s mother bade with an expressive smile. ‘And I’m planning a reviving afternoon tea for the mothers at three-thirty while Susy opens her presents. I’d love you to be here if you can.’

      Carly accepted the invitation, wished Susy ‘Happy Birthday’, then bent down to kiss Ann-Marie goodbye.

      On returning home she garaged the car in its allotted space, sparing its slightly dusty paintwork a faint grimace as she closed and locked the door. Perhaps she could leave early and detour via a carwash.

      The apartment seemed strangely empty, and she drifted into the kitchen to retrieve a cool drink from the refrigerator.

      The buzz of the doorbell sounded loud in the silence of the apartment, and Carly frowned in momentary perplexity as she crossed the lounge. Sarah?

      Instead, a tall, broad-shouldered, disturbingly familiar male frame filled the doorway.

      The few seconds between recognition and comprehension seemed uncommonly long as she registered his dominating presence.

      ‘What are you doing here?’

      ‘Whatever happened to hello?’ Stefano drawled, and his dry mocking tones sent an icy shiver down the length of her spine.

      Her eyes sparked with visible anger, dark depths of sheer mahogany, and it irked her unbearably that she’d discarded her heeled sandals on entering the apartment, for it put her at a distinct disadvantage.

      Impossibly tall, he towered head and shoulders above her, his impeccably tailored suit seeming incredibly formal on a day that was usually given to informality and relaxation.

      Three nights ago his presence had shocked and dismayed her. Yesterday, she’d been momentarily numbed, grateful for the impartiality of his office. Now, there was no visible shield, no barrier, and she felt inordinately wary.

      ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’

      He projected a dramatic mesh of elemental ruthlessness and primitive power, an intrinsic physical magnetism that teased her senses and rendered them intensely vulnerable.

      Her chin lifted fractionally, her eyes locking with his, and she caught the lurking cynicism evident, almost as if he guessed the path her thoughts had taken and was silently amused by their passage.

      ‘What if I refuse?’ Brave words, given his sheer strength and indomitable will.

      ‘Would you prefer an amicable discussion, or have me channel everything through my lawyers?’

      His voice was deadly quiet, and she felt the cold clutch of fear.

      ‘This isn’t a convenient time.’ She was mad, insane to thwart him continually, yet she was damned if she’d meekly stand aside and allow him entry into the privacy of her apartment.

      His expression hardened, the assemblage of muscle and bone tautening into a chilling mask depicting controlled anger. ‘You’ve just returned from delivering our daughter to a birthday party. How long before you need to collect her? An hour? Two?’

      Sheer rage rushed to the surface, destroying any semblance of restraint. ‘You’ve had me watched—followed?’ Words momentarily failed her. ‘You bastard,’ she flung at last, sorely tempted to slam the door in his face, yet even as the thought occurred to her she negated the action as not only foolish but extremely dangerous.

      For one infinitesimal second his eyes leapt with icy anger, then sharpened and became infinitely compelling as he raked her slender frame.

      A shivery sensation feathered its way down the length of her spine as she fought against the intrinsic pull of his innate sexuality, and of its own volition her body seemed to flare into life as if ignited by some hidden combustible flame.

      Seven years ago she’d gone willingly into his arms, his bed, and tasted every sensual delight in a sexual discovery that had set her on fire, enraptured by an ecstasy so acute that it hadn’t seemed possible such pleasure existed. A passionate lover, he’d teasingly dispensed with each and every one of her inhibitions, and taught her to become so in tune with her own sensual being that each time they made love it was a total conflagration of the senses.

      To deny him access to her apartment would gain absolutely nothing, and, drawing in a deep breath, she gathered her scattered emotions together as she aimed for contrived politeness.

      ‘Please,’ Carly indicated as she gestured towards two sofas and a chair in the small lounge. ‘Sit down.’

      Stefano chose to ignore the directive, and moved slowly across the room to examine a large frame containing a montage of small snapshots showing Ann-Marie in various stages of development from birth to as recently as a month ago.

      A palpable silence filled the room until it enveloped everything. A silence so incredibly damning that it was almost tangible.

      At long last he turned towards her, his eyes so remarkably dark that it was impossible to discern anything from his expression. ‘Why did you choose not to tell me you were pregnant?’ he began with deceptive softness.

      Her throat felt impossibly dry, and so constricted that she doubted if her larynx could cope with emitting so much as a sound. ‘If I had, you would have hauled me back to Perth,’ she said at last.

      ‘Indeed,’ Stefano agreed. ‘And I wouldn’t now brand you a thief for stealing from me the first six years of my daughter’s life.’

      ‘If you’d had sufficient respect for our marriage, I wouldn’t have felt compelled to leave,’ she managed carefully. There was an inherent integrity apparent, a strength that came from deep within. ‘And rehashing the past has no relevance to Ann-Marie’s future.’

      She could feel his anger emanating through the pores of his skin, and all her fine body hairs rose in protective self-defence. He could have shaken her to within an inch of her life, and taken extreme pleasure in her pain. It was there in his eyes, the tautly bunched muscles as he held