Latin Lovers. Helen Bianchin

      Carlo was silent for several seconds, then he ventured silkily, ‘I’ve never been indiscriminate with the few women who’ve shared my bed. Believe me, Nina didn’t number among them.’ He took her cup and placed it together with his own on a nearby table. ‘Shall we leave?’

      He was angry, but then so was she, and she swept him a glittering look from beneath mascaraed lashes. ‘Let’s do that.’

      Their passage to the car wasn’t swift as they paused momentarily to chat to fellow patrons whom they knew or were acquainted with.

      ‘Your silence is ominous,’ Carlo remarked with droll humour as he eased the Mercedes into the flow of traffic.

      ‘I’m going with the saying... if you can’t find anything nice to say, it’s better to say nothing at all.’

      ‘I see.’

      No, you don’t. You couldn’t possibly know how terrified I am of not being able to hold your interest. Petrified that one day you’ll find someone else, and I’ll be left a broken shell of my former self.

      The drive from the city to Rose Bay was achieved in a relatively short space of time, and Carlo cleared security at his apartment underground car park, then manoeuvred the car into his allotted space.

      Aysha released the door-clasp, slid to her feet, closed the door, and moved the few steps to her car.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘I would have thought that was obvious. I’m going home.’

      ‘Your keys are in the apartment,’ Carlo said mildly.

      Dammit, so they were. ‘In that case, I’ll go get them.’

      She turned and stalked towards the bank of lifts, stabbed the call button, and barely contained her impatience as she waited for it to arrive.

      ‘Don’t you think you’re overreacting?’

      There was something in his voice she failed to recognise, although some deep, inner sixth sense did and sent out a red alert. ‘Not really.’

      The doors slid open and she stepped into the cubicle, jabbed the top panel button, and stood in icy silence as they were transported to the uppermost floor.

      Carlo unlocked the apartment door, and she swept in ahead of him, located the keys where she’d put them on a table in the foyer, and collected them.

      ‘Your parents aren’t expecting you back tonight.’

      It didn’t help that he was right. ‘So I’ll ring them.’

      He noted the proud tilt of her chin, the firm set of her mouth. ‘Stay.’

      Her eyes flared. ‘I’d prefer to go home.’ Nina’s vitriolic words had provided too vivid an image to easily dispel.

      ‘I’ll drive you.’

      The inflexibility evident in his voice sent chills scudding down the length of her spine. ‘The hell you will.’

      His features hardened, and a muscle tensed at the side of his jaw. ‘Try to walk out of this apartment, and see how far you get.’

      Aysha allowed her gaze to travel the length of his body, and back again. He had the height, the sheer strength to overcome any evasive tactics she might employ.

      ‘Brute force, Carlo? Isn’t that a little drastic?’

      ‘Not when your well-being and safety are at stake.’

      Her chin tilted in a gesture of defiance. ‘Somehow that doesn’t quite add up, does it?’ She held up her hand as he began to speak. ‘Don’t.’ Her eyes held a brilliant sheen that was a mixture of anger, pride, and pain. ‘At least let there be honesty between us.’

      ‘I have never been dishonest with you.’

      She felt sick inside, a dreadful gnawing emptiness that ripped away any illusions she might have had that affection and caring on his part were enough.

      Without a further word she turned and walked towards the front door, released the locking mechanism, then took the few steps necessary to reach the bank of lifts.

      Please, please let there be one waiting, she silently begged as she depressed the call button.

      The following twenty seconds were among the longest in her life, and she gave an audible sigh of relief when the heavy stainless steel doors slid open.

      Aysha stepped inside and turned to jab the appropriate floor panel, only to gasp with outraged indignation as Carlo stepped into the cubicle.

      ‘Get out’

      Dark eyes lanced hers, mercilessly hard and resolute. ‘I can drive you, or follow behind in my car.’ The ruthlessness intensified. ‘Choose.’

      The lift doors slid closed, and the cubicle moved swiftly down towards the car park.

      ‘Go to hell.’

      His smile held little humour. ‘That wasn’t an option.’

      ‘Unfortunately.’

      The flippant response served to tighten his expression into a grim mask, and his anger was a palpable entity.

      ‘Believe you wouldn’t want me to take you there.’ His drawl held a silky threat that sent shivers scudding down the length of her spine.

      The doors whispered open, and without a word she preceded him into the huge concrete cavern. Her car was parked next to his, and she widened the distance between them, conscious of her heels clicking against the concrete floor.

      Carlo crossed to the Mercedes, unlocked the passenger door, and held it open. ‘Get in.’

      Damned if she’d obey his dictum. ‘I’ll need my car in the morning.’

      His expression remained unchanged. ‘I’ll collect you.’

      Aysha felt like stamping her foot. ‘Or I can have Teresa drop me, or take a cab, or any one of a few other options.’ Her eyes were fiery with rebellion. ‘Don’t patronise me, dammit!’

      It had been a long night, fraught with moments of sheer anger, disillusionment, and introspective rationalisation. None of which had done much to ease the heartache or the sense of betrayal. Each of which she’d examined in detail, only to silently castigate herself for having too high an expectation of a union based solely in reality.

      Worse, for allowing Nina’s deviousness to undermine her own ambivalent emotions. Nina’s success focused on Aysha’s insecurity, and it irked unbearably.

      Carlo watched the fleeting emotions chase across her expressive features and divined each and every one of them.

      ‘Get in the car, cara.’

      His gentle tone was almost her undoing, and she fought against the sudden prick of tears. Damn him. She wanted to maintain her anger. Lash out, verbally and physically, until the rage was spent.

      Conversely, she needed his touch, the soothing quality of those strong hands softly brushing her skin, the feel of his mouth on hers as the sensual magic wove its own spell.

      She wanted to re-enter the lift and have it transport them back to his apartment. Most of all, she wanted to lose herself in his loving, then fall asleep in his arms with the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.

      Yet pride prevented her from taking that essential step, just as it locked the voice in her throat. She felt raw, and emotionally at odds.

      Did most brides suffer this awful ambivalence? Get real, a tiny voice reminded her. You don’t represent most brides, and while you have the groom’s affection, it’s doubtful he’ll ever gift you his unconditional love.

      With a gesture indicating silent acquiescence she slid into the passenger seat, reached for the safety belt as Carlo closed the door, and fastened it