Passion's Mistress (17 page)

felt rather than heard his soft husky laughter when she shook her head in

silent negation.

'Then go to sleep,
cara bella.'
Stefano bade her gently.

And she did, drifting easily into dreamless oblivion, unaware that he

carefully disengaged her and curled her into the curve of his body before

reaching for the sheet to cover their nakedness.

CARLY put the final touches to her hair, then stood back and surveyed her

reflection. The deep jacaranda-blue gown was classically styled, comprising

a figure-hugging skirt and a camisole top with twin shoestring straps that

emphasised her slim curves and pale honey-gold skin. Make-up was

understated, with emphasis on her eyes, and a clear peach lipstick coloured

her generous mouth. Her only jewellery was a slim gold chain at her neck

and small gold hoops at her ears. With the length of her hair confined in an

elaborate knot atop her head, she looked... passable, she decided. Or at least

able to feel sufficiently confident among guests at a dinner to be held in one

of Stefano's business associate's home in nearby Seaforth.

'Stunning,' a deep voice drawled, and she turned slowly to see Stefano

standing a few feet distant, looking the epitome of sophistication in an

impeccably tailored dark suit, white silk shirt and dark silk tie.

Carly proffered a slight smile and let her eyes slide to a point just beyond his

left shoulder. 'Thank you.' Turning, she collected a black beaded evening

bag, slipped in a lipstick and compact, then drew in a deep breath as she

preceded him from the room to the head of the staircase.

Several minutes later she was seated in the Mercedes as it purred down the

driveway towards the street.

When they reached the hospital Ann-Marie was sitting up in bed, together

with the doll Stefano had given her, a favoured book, and a teddy bear

slightly the worse for wear from which she refused to be parted because, she

assured her mother, he was as old as she was, and watched over her as she

slept.

She looked, Carly decided with maternal love, as bright as a proverbial

button, although there were still slight smudges beneath the beautiful dark

eyes, and her skin was transparently pale—visible effects of the aftermath of

extensive surgery, the specialist had assured.

Soon she would be able to come home. By the start of the new school year in

February, she would be able to resume her classes. Except for the short curly

hair, no one would ever know she'd undergone extensive neuro-surgery.

Stefano was wonderful with her, gently teasing, warm, ensuring that

Ann-Marie's initial wariness was a thing of the past.

'You look tired, Mummy. Didn't you sleep well last night?'

The words brought a faint smile to Carly's lips. Out of the mouths of babes!

'I stayed up too late,' she relayed gently. 'And woke early.' Was woken up,

she amended silently, and persuaded to share a spa-bath, then put back into

bed and brought fresh orange juice, toast and coffee on a tray.

'You should rest, like me,' Ann-Marie advised with the ingenuousness of the

very young, and Stefano lifted a hand to ruffle her curls.

'I shall ensure she does.'

It was eight when they left, and Carly turned slightly towards him as he

eased the car on to the main road.

'How many people will be there tonight?' Her features assumed a faint

pensive expression. 'Perhaps you should fill me in with a few background

details of key associates.'

'Relax, Carly. This is mainly a social occasion.'

'Yet the men will inevitably gravitate together and discuss business,' she said

a trifle drily, and incurred a long probing look as he paused through an

intersection.

'Nervous?'

'Should I be?' she countered with remarkable steadiness, considering the

faint fluttering of butterfly wings already apparent in her stomach.

'I have no doubt you'll cope admirably.'

She sat in silence during the drive, and glanced out of the window with

interest as he turned the Mercedes into a suburban street bordered on each

side by tall, wide-branched trees. Seconds later the car turned into a curved

driveway lined with late- model cars.

The butterflies in her stomach set up an increasing beat as she slid out from

the passenger seat and moved to his side, unprepared within seconds to have

him thread his fingers through hers as they walked towards the main

entrance. The pressure of his clasp was light, yet she had the distinct feeling

he wouldn't allow her to pull free from him. They were almost the last to

arrive, and after a series of introductions Carly accepted a glass of mineral

water and attempted to relax.

It wasn't a large group, sixteen at most, she decided as she cast a circumspect

glance around the elegantly furnished lounge.

Stefano possessed a magnetic attraction that wasn't contrived, and Carly

couldn't help but be aware of the attention he drew from most of the women

present.

Seven years ago she'd lacked essential
savoir-faire
to cope with the socially

elite among Stefano's fellow associates. Nervous and unsure of herself, she'd

chosen to cling to his side and smile, whereas now she was well able to stand

on her own feet. It had to make a difference in her ability to cope with his

lifestyle.

Canapes and hors-d'oeuvres were proffered at intervals over the next

half-hour, and it was almost nine when Charles and Kathy-Lee Winslow

arrived with Georgeanne.

'We were held up,' Charles declared with droll humour as he steered his wife

to where Carly stood at Stefano's side.

'By a taxi driver who decided to take advantage of the obvious fact we

weren't residents, and drove us via a few scenic routes that lost us twenty

minutes and gained him twenty extra dollars,' Georgeanne declared in

explanation.

'Stop complaining,' Charles chastised with a broad smile. 'We enjoyed a

pleasant ride, we're here, and I doubt anyone has missed us.'

'I need a drink,' his daughter vowed, her eyes settling deliberately on

Stefano. 'Would you mind?'

The smile she bestowed was nothing short of total bewitchment. 'I'm thirsty.'

Not just for a drink, Carly surmised wryly, for Georgeanne's behaviour fell

just short of being blatant, and she watched with faint bemusement as

Stefano elicited Georgeanne's preference.

'Why, there's Angelica,' Charles's daughter announced, and her eyes flew

towards Carly with a very good imitation of expressed concern. 'Oh, dear,

how—awkward.'

This could, Carly decided, become one of those evenings where Murphy's

Law prevailed, and she wondered what on earth she could have done to

upset some mythical evil spirit who clearly felt impelled to provide her with

such an emotional minefield.

With detached fascination she watched Angelica locate Stefano's tall frame

at the bar, then cross leisurely to join him. She saw the beautiful brunette lift

a manicured hand and touch his arm, saw him turn, and caught his smile in

greeting. Angelica's expression was revealingly warm.
Loving
, Carly added,

feeling as if she'd just been kicked in the stomach.

A confrontation was inevitable, and when they were seated for dinner Carly

cursed the unkind hand of fate as she saw Georgeanne opposite at the large

dining-table, with Angelica slightly to Georgeanne's right.

Wonderful
, she groaned silently as she sipped a small quantity of white wine

in the hope that it would provide a measure of necessary courage with which

to get through the evening.

Their hosts provided a sumptuous meal comprising no fewer than five

courses if one counted the fresh fruit and cheeseboard that followed dessert.

The presentation of the food was impressive, and Carly dutifully forked

morsels into her mouth without tasting a thing.

Conversation flowed, and she was aware of an increasing tension as she

waited for the moment Angelica would unsheathe her claws.

'How is
your
daughter?'

Again, the faint emphasis didn't go unnoticed, and Carly turned slightly to

meet the brunette's seemingly innocent gaze as she summoned a polite

smile. 'Ann-Marie is improving steadily.' She aimed for a subtle emphasis of

her own. '
We're
hopeful it won't be long before she's released from hospital.'

Angelica picked up her wine glass and fingered the long crystal stem with

studied deliberation. 'Stefano appears to delight in playing the role of

devoted
Papa'

Carly effected a negligible shrug. 'You, more than anyone, should appreciate

that Italian men are renowned for their love of family.'

Carefully shaped eyebrows rose a fraction in unison with the faint moue of

evinced surprise that was quickly camouflaged with a smile. 'Proud of their

sons, protective of their daughters.'

Carly couldn't resist the dig. 'And their wives.'

'Well, of course.' The voice resembled a husky purr, infinitely feline. 'And

their mistresses.' Her eyes assumed a warm intimacy that was deliberate.

'What female of any age could resist Stefano?'

Carly felt like screaming, but she forced her mouth to curve into a soft smile,

and her beautiful eyes assumed a misty expression that was deliberately

contrived as she lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrugging gesture that she

tempered with a light musing laugh. 'None, I imagine.'

Stefano, damn him, was seemingly engrossed in conversation with Charles,

and appeared oblivious to the content of her conversation with Angelica.

What on earth did he imagine they had to discuss, for heaven's sake? The

weather? The state of the nation?

It seemed forever before their host suggested adjourning to the lounge for

coffee, and she felt strangely vulnerable as the men gravitated together on

the pretext of sharing an after-dinner port while the women sought

comfortable chairs at the opposite end of the large room—with the

exception of Angelica, who stood at Stefano's side, a blatant disparity

among men, yet totally at ease with their conversation. It was carrying

feminism and equality among the sexes a little too far, surely? Carly couldn't

help wondering if the men felt entirely comfortable. Yet she knew Angelica

didn't give a fig what her male colleagues thought. Her main motivation in

joining the men was to clarify the contrast between two women—herself

and Stefano's wife.

The difference was quite marked in every way, from physical appearance to

business qualifications. Seven years ago it had seemed important, the chasm

too wide for Carly to imagine she would ever bridge. Except that in her own

way she had, for there was now a diploma, experience and added

qualifications in her field, as well as respect from her peers. There wasn't a

thing she needed to prove, and if she so chose she could join Stefano's

associates and discuss any topic relating to corporate accounting and tax

legislation.

The coffee was liquid ambrosia, and Carly sipped it appreciatively,

wondering just how long it would be before they left.

'You must visit when Stefano brings you to the states.'

Carly smiled, then thanked Charles's wife for the invitation. 'It's quite a few

years since I was last there.'

'The house is large,' Kathy-Lee pursued. 'We'd be delighted if you'd stay. We

love having guests.'

Carly could only admire Kathy-Lee for keeping pace with Charles's

high-flying existence,
and
playing stepmother—a masterly feat in keeping

the peace, for Charles adored his precocious daughter.

'I'll leave the decision to Stefano,' she said gently, indulging in

inconsequential conversation for almost thirty minutes before Kathy-Lee

had her cup refilled and was drawn by their hostess to join another guest

who had professed an interest in Kathy-Lee's preoccupation with interior

design.

Carly let her gaze wander round the room, settling on the broad frame of her

husband as he stood indolently at ease and deep in conversation with two of

his associates—one of whom was Angelica.

Carly forced herself to study them with impartial eyes—difficult when she

wanted physically to tear Stefano and Angelica apart.

Angelica was a seductive temptress beneath the designer gown, leaning

imperceptibly towards Stefano, her eyes, hands,
body
receptive to the man at

her side, whereas Stefano stood totally at ease, his stance relaying relaxed

confidence, an assurance that wasn't contrived. And, try as she might, Carly

could find no visible sign of any implied intimacy—on his part.

Almost as if he was aware of her scrutiny, he turned slightly and met her

gaze. For a moment everything else faded into obscurity, and she watched in