The Helen Bianchin Collection. Helen Bianchin

questions,’ he said with quizzical amusement.

      She felt the slide of his hand as he reached beneath her top and sought her breast. The familiar kick of sensation speared from her feminine core, and she groaned emotively as his skilled fingers worked magic with the delicate peak.

      She turned in his arms and reached for him, pulling his head down to hers as she sought his mouth with her own in a kiss that wreaked havoc with her tenuous control.

      Aysha was almost shaking when he gently disengaged her, and her lips felt faintly swollen, her senses completely swamped with the feel, the taste of him.

      ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Carlo directed huskily as he caught hold of her hand and led her towards his car.

      ‘Where are we going?’

      ‘I’ve booked us into a hotel suite for the night. Dinner at the restaurant. Champagne.’

      ‘Why?’ she queried simply. ‘When everything we need is right here?’

      ‘I want the night to be memorable.’

      ‘It will be.’ Without a doubt, she promised silently.

      ‘You don’t want the luxurious suite, a leisurely meal with champagne?’ he teased.

      ‘I want you. Only you,’ Aysha vowed with heartfelt sincerity. ‘Saturday we get to go through the formalities. ’ The elegant bridal gown, the limousines, the church service, the extravagant reception, she mused silently. Followed by the hotel bridal suite, and the flight out the next morning to their honeymoon destination.

      A bewitching smile curved her generous mouth, and her eyes sparkled with latent humour. ‘Tonight we can please ourselves.’

      Carlo pressed a light kiss to the edge of her lips. ‘Starting now?’

      ‘Here?’ she countered wickedly. ‘And shock the neighbours?’

      He swept an arm beneath her knees and carried her into the house. He traversed the stairs without changing stride, and in the main bedroom he lowered her down to stand in front of him.

      Slowly, with infinite care, he released her zip. Warm fingers slid each strap over her shoulders, then shaped the soft slip down over her hips, her thighs, to her feet. Only her briefs and bra remained, and he dispensed with those.

      She ached for his touch, his possession, and she closed her eyes, then opened them again as he lightly brushed his fingers across her sensitised skin.

      He followed each movement with his lips, each single touch becoming a torture until she reached for him, her fingers urgent as they released shirt buttons and tugged the expensive cotton from his muscular frame.

      His eyes dilated as she undid the buckle of his belt, and he caught his breath as she worked the zip fastening.

      ‘Not quite in control, huh?’ she offered with a faintly wicked smile, only to gasp as his mouth sought a vulnerable hollow at the edge of her neck.

      He had the touch, the skill to evoke an instant response, and she trembled as his tongue wrought renewed havoc.

      His hands closed over hers, completing the task, and she clutched hold of his waist as he dispensed with the remainder of his clothes.

      The scent of his skin, the slight muskiness of man intermingled with the elusive tones of soap and cologne. Tantalising, erotic, infinitely tempting, and inviting her to savour and taste.

      Aysha felt sensation burgeon until it encompassed every nerve-cell. The depth, the magnitude overwhelmed her. Two souls melding, seamlessly forging a bond that could never be broken.

      She lifted her arms and wound them round his neck as he lowered her down onto the bed and followed her, protecting her from the full impact of his weight.

      His mouth closed over hers, devastatingly sensual, in a kiss that drugged her mind, her senses, until she hardly recognised the guttural pleas as her own.

      She was on fire, the flames of desire burning deep within until there was no reason, no sensation of anything other than the man and the havoc he was causing as he led her through pleasure to ecstasy and beyond.

      Now, she wanted him now. The feel of him inside her, surging again and again, deeper and deeper, until she absorbed all of him, and their rhythm became as one, in tune and in perfect accord as they soared together, clung momentarily to the sexual pinnacle, then reached the ultimate state of nirvana.

      Did she say the words? She had no idea whether they found voice or not. There was only the journey, the sensation of spiralling ecstasy, the scent of sexual essence, and the damp sheen on his skin.

      She was conscious of her own response, his, the shudder raking that large body as he spilled his seed, and she exulted in the moment.

      The sex between them had always been good. Better than good, she accorded dimly as she clung to him. But this, this was more. Intoxicating, exquisite, wild. And there was love. That essential quality that transcended physical expertise or skill.

      There was no contest, Aysha acknowledged with lazy warmth a long time later as she lay curled against a hard male body.

      Neither had had the will to indulge in leisurely lovemaking the first time round. It had been hard and fast, each one of them driven by a primal urge so intense it had been electrifying, wanton, and totally impassioned.

      Afterwards they had shared the Jacuzzi, then towelled dry, they’d returned to bed for a lingering aftermath of touching, tasting... a loving that had had no equal in anything they’d previously shared.

      ‘Are we going to tell our parents?’

      Carlo brushed his chin against the top of her head. ‘Let a slight change in wording to reaffirmation of vows do it for us on the day.’

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      AYSHA woke to the sound of rain, and she took a moment to stretch her limbs, then she checked the bedside clock. A few minutes past seven.

      Any time soon Teresa would knock on her door, and the day would begin.

      If she was fortunate, she had an hour, maybe two, before Teresa began checking on everything from the expected delivery time of flowers... to the house, the church, the reception. Followed by a litany of reminders that would initiate various supervisors to recheck arrangements with their minions. The wedding co-ordinator was doubtless on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

      Aysha slid out from the bed and padded barefoot across the carpet to the draped window. A touch to the remote control module activated the mechanism that swept the drapes open, and she stifled a groan at the sight of heavy rain drenching the lawn.

      Her mother, she knew, would consider it an omen, and probably not a propitious one.

      Aysha selected shorts and a top, discarded her nightshirt, then quickly dressed. With a bit of celestial help she might make it downstairs to the dining room—

      Her mobile phone rang, and she reached for it.

      ‘Carlo?’

      ‘Who else were you expecting?’

      His deep voice did strange things to her senses, and the temptation to tease him a little was difficult to resist ‘Any one of my four bridesmaids, your mother, Nonna Benini, phoning from Treviso to wish me buona fortuna, Sister Maria Teresa...’ she trailed off, and was unable to suppress a light laugh. ‘Is there any particular reason you called?’

      ‘Remind me to exact retribution, cara,’ he mocked in husky promise.

      The thought of precisely how he would achieve it curled round her central core, and set her heart beating at a quickened pace.

      ‘You weren’t there when I reached out in the night,’ Carlo said gently. ‘There was no scent of you on my sheets, no drift of perfume to lend assurance