The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
her unaccountably angry.
She wanted to move away, yet such an action was impossible, and it took all her acting ability to sit still as he brushed gentle fingers across her collarbone then slid them down her arm to thread through her own. The look in his eyes was explicitly seducing, and to any interested observer it was only too apparent that he couldn’t wait to get her home and into bed.
Well, two could play at that game, and she gently dug the tips of her nails into the tendons of his hand, then pressed hard. ‘Whenever you are,’ she acquiesced lightly, casting him a soft winsome smile that was deceptively false. She would have liked to kill him, or at least render some measure of physical harm, yet in a room full of people she could only smile. As soon as they were alone, she’d verbally slay him.
He knew, for his eyes assumed a mocking gleam that hid latent amusement, almost in silent acceptance of an imminent battle.
With an indolent movement he rose to his feet, and Carly followed his actions, adding her appreciation with genuine politeness as they thanked their hosts and bade Charles and Kathy-Lee goodbye.
‘So early, Stefano?’ Angelica queried, effectively masking her displeasure.
‘My wife is tired.’
It was nothing less than the truth, but she resented the implication.
Angelica’s eyes narrowed, then assumed speculative amusement as she proffered Carly a commiserating smile. ‘Can’t stand the pace?’
‘Quite the contrary,’ Carly demurred sweetly. ‘Stefano is merely providing a clichéd excuse.’
The resentment was simmering just beneath the surface of her control, and she contained it until the Mercedes had swept from the driveway.
‘You enjoyed setting me among the pigeons, didn’t you?’ she demanded in a low, furious tone.
‘Was it so bad?’
To be honest, it hadn’t been. Yet she was loath to agree with him—on anything. ‘On a scale of one to ten in the curiosity stakes, our reconciliation has to rate at least a nine,’ she declared drily as he sent the opulent vehicle speeding smoothly through the darkened streets.
‘You more than held your own, cara,’ he said with drawled humour.
Inside she felt like screaming, aware that it would take several weeks before the speculative looks, the gossip abated and eventually died. In the meantime she had to run the gauntlet, and she felt uncommonly resentful.
‘Nothing has changed,’ Carly voiced with a trace of bitterness, and incurred his swift scrutiny.
‘In what respect?’
‘You have to be kidding,’ she declared vengefully. ‘Angelica would have liked to eat you alive.’ She was so incensed that she wasn’t aware of the passion evident in her voice, or the pain.
Turning her attention to the darkened city streets, she watched the numerous vehicles traversing the well-defined lanes with a detached fascination. The bright neon signs provided a brilliant splash of colour that vied with the red amber and green of traffic-lights controlling each intersection.
Transferring her attention beyond the windscreen, she looked sightlessly into the night, aware that Stefano handled the car with the skilled ease of long practice.
The same ease with which he handled a woman: knowledgeable, experienced, and always one step ahead. Just once she’d like to be able to best him, catch him off guard.
Yet even as the resentment festered she knew instinctively that he’d never allow her to win. A solitary battle, possibly, in their ongoing private war, as a musing concession to her feminine beliefs. But never the war itself.
It was twenty minutes before the Mercedes drew to a halt inside the garage, and Carly made her way upstairs to the main suite.
She was in the process of removing her make-up when Stefano entered the room, and her eyes assumed a faint wariness as she completed the task.
It required only a few steps to move into the bedroom, a few more to reach the bed. Yet she was loath to take them, knowing what awaited her once she slipped between the cool percale sheets.
Fool she derided silently. It’s not as if you lack enjoyment in the marital bed.
The knowledge of her exultant abandon in Stefano’s arms merely strengthened her resolve to provide delaying tactics, and she plucked the pins from the elaborate knot restraining her hair, only to catch hold of her brush and stroke it vigorously through the length of tumbled auburn-streaked curls.
It was mad to want more, insane to build an emotional wall between them. A tiny logical voice rationalised that she should be content. She had a beautiful home, and a husband whose business interests ensured they were among the denizens of the upper social echelon.
Many women were confined in marriages of mutual convenience, happy to bury themselves in active social existences as their husbands’ hostesses, in return for the trappings of success: the jewellery, exotic luxury cars, trips abroad.
Carly knew she’d trade it all willingly to erase the past seven years, to go back magically in time to the days when love was an irrepressible joy.
Now it was an empty shell, their sexual coupling merely an expression of physical lust untouched by any emotion from the heart.
Perhaps she was too honest, with too much personal integrity to survive within the constraints of such a marriage. Yet she was trapped, impossibly bound to Stefano by Ann-Marie. To remove her daughter from her father and return to their former existence would cause emotional scarring of such magnitude that the end result would be worthless.
‘If you continue much longer, you’ll end up with a headache.’
Carly’s hand stilled at the sound of that deep drawling voice, and she stood motionless as Stefano moved to stand behind her.
‘I have nothing to say to you,’ she managed in stilted tones, watching him warily.
He was close, much too close for her peace of mind, and all her fine body hairs quivered in anticipation of his touch.
‘We seem to manage very well without words,’ he said with a degree of irony, and she lashed out verbally at his implication.
‘Sex isn’t the answer to everything, damn you!’
Her eyes unconsciously met his in the mirror, large and impossibly dark as she took in the image her body projected against the backdrop of his own.
Without the benefit of shoes, the tip of her head was level with his throat, and his breadth of shoulder had a dwarfing effect, making her appear small and incredibly vulnerable.
‘No?’ he queried softly, and she was damningly aware of the subtle pull of her senses as she fought his irresistible magnetism.
Her gaze remained locked with his, their darkness magnifying as he slowly lifted a hand and swept a heavy swath of her hair aside, baring the edge of her neck. His head slowly lowered as his mouth sought the pulsing cord in that sensitive curve, and she was powerless to prevent the sweet spiralling sensation that coursed through her body at his touch.
Carly was conscious of his hands as they shifted to her shoulders, then slid slowly down her arms to rest at her waist, before slipping up to cup the swollen fullness of her breasts.
She wanted to close her eyes and pretend the seduction was real, and for a few minutes she succumbed to temptation.
His fingers created a tactile magic, sensitising the engorged peaks until she moved restlessly against him, craving more than this subtle pleasuring. A hollow groan whispered from her throat as his hands slid to her shoulders, slipping the thin straps of her nightgown down over her arms, so that the thin silk slithered in a heap at her feet.
He didn’t move, and she slowly opened her eyes to focus reluctantly on their mirrored image, watching