Mistress Arrangements. Helen Bianchin

vibrant life, each individual skin-cell an ambivalent entity craving his touch.

      Carly snatched the top sheet and pulled it up to her chin in a defensive gesture. ‘Get away from me!’

      His eyes speared hers, darkly mesmeric as she forced herself not to look away.

      ‘You’re as nervous as a kitten,’ he drawled musingly. ‘Why, when we’ve known each other in the most intimate sense?’

      Reaching out, he brushed gentle fingers down the length of her cheek to the edge of her mouth, then traced the curving contour with a stray forefinger. ‘What are you afraid of, cara?’

      ‘Nothing,’ Carly responded carefully. ‘Absolutely nothing at all.’

      Liar, she derided silently. No matter how hard she tried she was unable to still the fast-beating pulse that hummed through her veins, seducing every nerve and fibre until she felt incredibly alive.

      His smile was wholly cynical, and his eyes held a gleam of mockery as they conducted a deliberately slow appraisal of her expressive features, lingering over-long on the visible pulsebeat at the base of her throat before travelling up to meet her gaze.

      ‘Goodnight, Carly,’ he bade her lazily. ‘Sleep well.’

      She mutinously refused to comment, and she watched as he turned and walked from the room. Damn him, she cursed silently. She wouldn’t sleep in this bed, this room!

      Anger fuelled her resolve, and she flung aside the covers, grabbed hold of her robe, then retreated quietly to an empty suite near by.

      It held a double bed—made up in readiness, she discovered—and she slid beneath the covers, then switched off the bedside lamp.

      Quite what Stefano’s reaction would be when he found her missing wasn’t something she gave much thought to for a while. She was too consumed with numerous vengeful machinations, all designed to cause him harm.

      By the time she focused on what he might do, she was drifting off to sleep, too comfortable and too tired to care.

      At some stage during the night she came sharply awake as a light snapped on, and she blinked against its brightness, disorientated by her surroundings for one brief second before realisation dawned. Except that by then it was too late to do anything but struggle as hard hands lifted her unceremoniously to her feet.

      The face above her own was set in frightening lines, jaw clenched, mouth compressed into a savagely thin line, and eyes as dark as obsidian slate burning with controlled anger.

      ‘You can walk,’ Stefano drawled with dangerous softness. ‘Or I can carry you.’ His eyes hardened with chilling intensity, and Carly felt immensely afraid. ‘The choice is yours.’

      He resembled a dark brooding force—lethal, she acknowledged shakily, noting a leashed quality in his stance that boded ill should she dare consider rebellion.

      ‘I won’t share the same bedroom with you,’ she ventured with a brave attempt at defiance, and saw his eyes narrow for an instant before they began a deliberately slow raking appraisal of her slim curves.

      It was terrifying, for her skin flamed as if he’d actually trailed his fingers along the same path, and her eyes filled with futile rage. Her fingers curled into her palms, the knuckles showing white as she restrained herself from lashing out at him.

      ‘We agreed to a reconciliation,’ he reminded her with icy detachment. ‘For Ann-Marie’s benefit.’ His dark gaze seared hers, then struck at her heart. ‘I think we each realise our daughter is sufficiently intelligent to know that happily reconciled parents don’t maintain separate bedrooms.’ He knew just how to twist the knife, and he did it without hesitation. ‘Are you prepared for the questions she’ll pose?’

      Carly’s slim form shook with anger, and her eyes blazed with it as she held his gaze. ‘If you so much as touch me,’ she warned as she collected her wrap and slipped it on, ‘I’ll fight you all the way down to hell.’

      It took only seconds to reach the master suite, and only a few more to discard her wrap and slip into one of the two beds dominating the large room. With determination she turned on to her side and closed her eyes, uncaring whether he followed her or not.

      She heard him enter the room and the soft decisive snap as the door closed, followed by the faint rustle of clothes being discarded, then the room was plunged into darkness, and she lay still, her body tense, until sheer exhaustion triumphed and she fell asleep.

      Monday rapidly shaped up to be one of those days where Murphy’s Law prevailed, Carly decided grimly, for whatever could go wrong did, from a ladder in her tights to a traffic jam en route to the city.

      On reaching the office, there appeared to be little improvement. She didn’t even manage coffee mid-morning, and lunch was a salad sandwich she sent out for and washed down quickly with apple juice as she checked and double-checked details required urgently for an eminent client.

      Given normal circumstances she excelled under pressure, regarding it as a challenge rather than nerve-destroying, and it was with mixed feelings that she tidied her desk, took leave of her colleagues and drove to collect Ann-Marie from school.

      They arrived at Stefano’s elegant mansion—Carly refused to call it home—shortly after three to find a silver-grey BMW standing in the driveway.

      ‘For you,’ Joe Bardini informed Carly as he emerged from the house to greet them. ‘Mr Alessi had it delivered this morning.’

      Had he, indeed! ‘It’s very nice, Joe,’ she accorded quietly, and she veiled her eyes so that he wouldn’t see the anger evident.

      ‘Mr Alessi suggested you might like to take it for a test drive.’

      She managed a warm smile, and indicated her briefcase. ‘I think I’ll get changed first.’

      ‘It’s really hot,’ Ann-Marie declared as she followed Carly indoors. ‘Can we go for a swim?’

      Ten minutes later they were laughing and splashing together in the shallow end of the pool, and after half an hour Carly persuaded her daughter to emerge on the pretext of having a cool drink.

      ‘Look,’ Ann-Marie alerted her from the pool’s edge. ‘Daddy’s home.’ The name slid so easily, so naturally off the little girl’s tongue, with no hesitation or reservation whatsoever, and Carly felt her stomach clench with pain.

      She was suddenly supremely conscious of the simply styled maillot, and, although it was perfectly respectable when dry, wet, it clung lovingly to soft curves. Much too lovingly, she saw with dismay, conscious of the way it hugged her breasts.

      Slowly she turned to face him, a faint false smile pulling at the edges of her mouth as she wound a towel around Ann-Marie’s small frame, then she quickly reached for another, draping it over one shoulder in the hope that it would provide some sort of temporary cover.

      Her action amused him, and she met his gaze with equanimity, heighteningly aware of his studied appraisal and her own damning reaction.

      It was difficult to keep the smile in place, but she managed—just. If she’d been alone she would have slapped his face.

      It was perhaps as well that he turned his attention to his daughter, whose wide, solemn eyes switched from one parent to the other as she assessed his show of affection and her mother’s reaction.

      Consequently Carly presented a relaxed façade, deliberately injecting some warmth as she enquired as to his day, and commented on his early return.

      ‘I thought we might drive out to one of the beaches for a barbecue,’ Stefano suggested, and was immediately rewarded with Ann-Marie’s enthusiastic response.

      ‘Can we go in the new car?’

      His answering smile was her reward. ‘I don’t see why not.’

      There was no way Carly could demur, and with a few words