The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
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. And she didn’t argue when Carlo forked a portion and proffered a tempting sample.
It was delicious, and she picked up a spare fork and helped herself. Precisely as he’d anticipated she would do, she conceded wryly.
There was hot crusty bread, and she accepted a small glass of light red wine which she sipped throughout the meal.
‘Better?’
It wasn’t difficult to smile, and she could almost feel the relaxing effect of the wine releasing the knots of tension that curled tightly around her nerve-ends. ‘Yes.’
‘More tea?’
Aysha shook her head.
‘Do you want to stay for a while, or shall we leave?’
She looked at him carefully, and was unable to define anything from his expression. There was a waiting, watchful quality apparent, a depth to his eyes that was impossible to interpret.
She spared a glance to the dance floor, and the few couples sharing it. Part of her wanted the contact, the closeness of his embrace. Yet there was another part that was truly torn.
Nina’s accusations were too fresh in her mind, the image too vivid for it not to cloud her perspective.
Everything was wedding-related. And right now, the last thing she wanted to think about, let alone discuss, was the wedding.
‘I adore the music. It’s so poignant.’
Was she aware just how wistful she sounded? Or the degree of fragility she projected? Carlo wanted to smite a fist onto the table, or preferably close his hands around Nina’s neck.
More than anything, he wanted to take Aysha to bed and make love with her until every last shred of doubt was removed. Yet he doubted she’d give him the opportunity. At least, not tonight.
Now, he had to be content to play the waiting game. Tomorrow, he assured himself grimly, he’d have everything he needed. And damned if he was going to wait another day.
He leaned across the table and caught hold of her hand, then lifted it to his lips.
It was an evocative gesture, and sent spirals of sensation radiating through her body. Her eyes dilated, and her lips shook slightly as he kissed each finger in turn.
‘Dance with me.’
The shaking seemed to intensify, and she couldn’t believe it was evident. Dear God, dared she walk willingly into his arms?
And afterwards? What then? Let him lead her into the house, and into bed? That wouldn’t resolve anything. Worse, the lack of a resolution would only condone her acquiescence to the status quo.
‘Is dancing with me such a problem?’ Carlo queried gently, and watched her eyes dilate to their fullest extent.
‘It’s what happens when I do.’
His eyes acquired a faint gleam, and the edges of his mouth tilted. ‘Believe it’s mutual.’
Aysha held his gaze without any difficulty at all. An hour ago she’d been furious with him. And Nina. Especially Nina.
‘Pheromones,’ she accorded sagely, and he uttered a soft laugh as he stood and drew her gently to her feet.
‘The recognition by one animal of a chemical substance secreted by another,’ Aysha informed him.
‘You think so?’
She could feel her whole body begin to soften, from the inside out. A melting sensation that intensified as he brushed his lips against her temple.
‘Yes.’
Would it always be like this? A smile, the touch of his mouth soothing the surface of her skin? Is it enough? a tiny voice taunted. Affection and sexual satisfaction, without love.
Many women settled for less. Much less.
He led her onto the dance floor and into his arms, and she didn’t think about anything except the moment and the haunting, witching quality of the music as