Latin Lovers. Helen BianchinЧитать онлайн книгу.
every curve like a well-fitting glove.
Bruno leant down and said close to Aysha’s ear, ‘Shall we go break it up?’
‘Let’s do that.’ The smile she proffered didn’t reach her eyes, and her heart hammered a little in her chest as she drew close.
Nina’s tapered red-lacquered nails rested on Carlo’s forearm, and Aysha watched those nails conduct a gentle caressing movement back and forth over a small area of his tailored jacket.
Nina’s make-up was superb, her mouth a perfect glossy red bow.
‘Want me to charm her?’ Bruno murmured, and Aysha responded equally quietly.
‘Thanks, but I can fight my own battles.’
‘Take care, cara. You’re dealing with a dangerous cat.’ He paused as they reached Carlo’s side. ‘Your most precious possession,’ Bruno said lightly, and inclined his head with deliberate mockery, ‘Nina.’ Then he smiled, and moved through the crowd.
Wise man, Aysha accorded silently, wishing she could do the same.
‘Darling, do get me a drink. You know what I like.’
Aysha began a mental countdown the moment Carlo left to find a waitress.
‘I imagine you’ve checked the photographs?’ Nina raised one eyebrow and raked Aysha’s slender frame. ‘Caused a little grief, did they?’
‘Wasn’t that your purpose?’ Aysha was cold, despite the warmth of the summer evening.
‘How clever of you,’ Nina approved. ‘Have you decided to condone his transgressions? I do hope so.’ Her smile was seductively sultry. ‘I would hate to have to give him up.’
Her heart felt as if it was encased in ice. ‘You’ve missed your vocation,’ she said steadily.
‘What makes you say that, darling?’
She needed the might of a sword, but a verbal punch-line was better than nothing. ‘You should have been an actress.’ A smile cost her almost every resource she had, but she managed one beautifully, then she turned and threaded her way towards one of Bruno’s sculptures.
‘Who won?’
Bruno could always be counted on, and she cast him a wry smile. ‘You noticed.’
‘Ah, but I was looking out for you.’ He curved an arm around the back of her waist. ‘Now, tell me what you think about this piece.’
She examined it carefully. ‘Interesting,’ she conceded. ‘If I say it resembles my idea of an African fertility god, would it offend you?’
‘Not at all, because that’s exactly what it is.’
‘You’re just saying that to make me feel good.’
He placed a hand over his heart. ‘I swear.’
She began to laugh, and he smiled down at her. ‘Why not me, cara?’ he queried softly, and hugged her close. ‘I’d treat you like the finest porcelain.’
‘I know,’ she said gently, and with a degree of very real regret.
‘You love him, don’t you?’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘Only to me,’ he assured her quietly. ‘I just hope Carlo knows how fortunate he is to have you.’
‘He does.’
Aysha heard that deep musing drawl, glimpsed the latent darkness in his eyes, and gently extricated herself from Bruno’s grasp. ‘I was admiring Bruno’s sculpture.’
Carlo cast her a glittering look that set her nerves on edge. How dared he look at her like that when he’d been playing up close and personal with Nina?
‘Don’t play games, cara,’ Carlo warned as soon as Bruno was out of earshot.
‘Practise what you preach, darling,’ she said sweetly. ‘And please get me a drink. It’ll give Nina another opportunity to waylay you.’
He bit off a husky oath. ‘We can leave peaceably, or not,’ he said with deceptive quietness. ‘Your choice.’ He meant every word.
‘Bruno will be disappointed.’
‘He’ll get over it.’
‘I could make a scene,’ Aysha threatened, and his expression hardened.
‘It wouldn’t make any difference.’
It would, however, give Nina the utmost pleasure to witness their dissension. ‘I guess we get to say goodnight,’ she capitulated with minimum grace.
Ten minutes later she was seated in the Mercedes as it purred across the Harbour Bridge towards suburban Clontarf.
She didn’t utter a word during the drive, and she reached for the door-clasp the instant Carlo drew the car to a halt. It would be fruitless to tell him not to follow her indoors, so she didn’t even try.
‘Bruno is a friend A good friend,’ she qualified, enraged at his high-handedness. ‘Which is more than I can say for Nina.’
‘Neither Bruno nor Nina are an issue.’
Her chin tilted as she glared up at him. ‘Then what the hell is the issue?’
‘We are,’ he vouchsafed succinctly.
‘Well, now,’ Aysha declared. ‘There’s the thing. Nina is quite happy for you to marry me, just as long as she gets to remain your mistress.’
His eyes filled with chilling intensity. ‘Nina has one hell of an imagination.’
She’d had enough. ‘Go home, Carlo.’ Her eyes blazed with fury. ‘If you don’t, I’ll be tempted to do something I might regret.’
She wasn’t prepared for the restrained savagery evident as his mouth fastened on hers, forcing it open and controlling it as his tongue pillaged the inner sweetness. It was a deliberate ravishment of her senses. Claim-staking, punishing. She lost all sensation of time as one hand slid through her hair to hold fast her head, while the other curved low down her back.
Then the pressure eased, and the punishing quality changed to passion, gradually dissipating to a sensuous gentleness that curled round her inner core and tugged at her emotions, seducing until she was weak-willed and malleable.
From somewhere deep inside she dredged sufficient strength to tear her mouth free, and her body trembled as he traced the edge of his thumb across the swollen contours of her lips.
‘Nina is nothing to me, do you understand? She never has been. Never will be.’
She didn’t say a word. She just looked at him, glimpsed the faint edge of regret, and was incapable of moving.
He pulled her close and buried her head in the curve of his shoulder, then he pressed his lips to her hair.
Aysha could feel the power in that large body, the strength, and she felt strangely ambivalent. ‘I don’t want you to stay.’
‘Because you’ll only hate me in the morning?’
She drew a shaky breath. ‘I’ll hate myself even more.’
All he had to do was kiss her, and she’d change her mind. Part of her wanted him so much it was an impossible ache. Yet if she succumbed she’d be lost, and that wouldn’t achieve a thing.
He held her for what seemed an age, then he turned her face to his and brushed his lips across her own, lingered at one corner and angled his mouth into hers in a kiss that was so incredibly evocative it dispensed with almost all her doubts.
Almost, but not quite. He sensed die faint barrier, and gently put her at arm’s length.
‘I’ll pick you up at seven, OK?’