LITMIR.BIZ

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thought disappeared as her febrile brain pondered the quality of his lovemaking, and whether it would be any different now from what it had been seven years ago.

      In that moment she realised how much she was at his mercy, and that the essence of Stefano Alessi the man now was inevitably different from the lover she had once known.

      At some stage she must have fallen into a blissful state of oblivion, for she gradually drifted into wakefulness through various layers of consciousness, aware initially in those few seconds before comprehension dawned that something was different. Then her lashes slowly flickered open, and she saw why.

      In sleep she had turned to lie facing the bed opposite her own, and her eyes widened as she encountered Stefano’s steady gaze. Reclining on his side, head propped in one hand, he regarded her with unsmiling appraisal.

      Carly’s first instinct was to leap out from the bed, and perhaps something in her expression gave her intention away, for one of his eyebrows arched in silent musing cynicism.

      The gesture acted as a challenge, and she forced herself to remain where she was. ‘What’s the time?’ she asked with deliberate sleepiness, as if this were just another morning in a series of mornings she woke to find herself sharing a room.

      ‘Early. Not long after six.’ His eyes slid lazily down to her mouth, then slipped lower to pause deliberately on the soft swell of her breast. ‘No need to rush into starting the day.’

      Carly’s fingers reached automatically for the edge of the sheet and pulled it higher, aware of a tell-tale warmth tingeing her cheeks, and her eyes instantly sparked with fire. ‘If you think I’m going to indulge in an exchange of pleasantries, you’re mistaken!’

      ‘Define pleasantries,’ Stefano drawled, and she froze, her eyes widening into huge pools of uncertainty in features that had suddenly become pale. There wasn’t a shred of softness in his voice, and she was frighteningly aware of her own vulnerability in the face of his superior strength.

      ‘Afraid, Carly?’

      ‘Of a display of raging male hormones?’ she managed with a calmness she was far from feeling. He looked dangerous, like a sleek panther contemplating a helpless prey, and it was impossible not to feel apprehensive.

      Her lashes flicked wide as his gaze travelled to the base of her throat, then his eyes captured hers with an indolent intensity, and she dredged up all her resources in an attempt to portray some measure of ease.

      ‘Is that all you imagine it will be?’ he queried silkily.

      ‘Sex simply to satisfy a base animal need?’

      ‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you,’ he said in a voice that was deadly soft.

      ‘I’ve learnt to survive,’ she returned with innate dignity. ‘Without benefit of anyone other than myself.’

      Stefano looked at her for what seemed an age, his gaze dark and inscrutable. ‘Until now.’

      ‘Payback time, Stefano?’ She forced herself to study him, noting the almost indecently broad shoulders, the firm, sculptured features that embodied an inherent strength of will. ‘Are you implying I should slip into your bed and allow you to score the first instalment?’

      ‘With you playing the role of reluctant martyr?’ He paused, and his voice hardened slightly. ‘I think not, my little cat. I don’t feel inclined to give you that satisfaction.’

      Her stomach lurched, then appeared to settle. It was only a game, a by-play of words designed to attack her composure. Well, she would prove she was a worthy opponent.

      ‘What a relief to know I don’t have to fake it,’ she told him sweetly. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to discuss before I hit the shower?’

      There was lurking humour evident in those dark eyes, and a measure of respect. ‘Last week I extended an invitation to Charles and his wife to dine here this evening. They flew in from the States yesterday.’

      The thought of having to act the part of gracious hostess in his home, while appearing capable and serene, was a hurdle she wasn’t sure she was ready to surmount—yet. However, Charles Winslow the Third was a valued colleague, who, the last time she’d dined in his presence, had been in the throes of divorcing one wife in favour of wedding another.

      ‘What time had you planned for them to arrive?’ she queried cautiously, unwilling to commit herself.

      ‘Eight. Sylvana will prepare and serve the meal.’

      She had to ask. ‘Are they the only guests?’

      ‘Charles’s daughter, Georgeanne.’

      Seven years ago Georgeanne had been a precocious teenager. Time could only have turned her into a stunning beauty. ‘Another conquest, Stefano?’ she queried with musing mockery.

      ‘I don’t consciously set out to charm every female I come into contact with,’ he drawled, and she gave a soundless laugh.

      ‘You don’t have to. Your potent brand of sexual chemistry does it for you.’

      ‘An admission, Carly?’

      ‘A statement from one who has sampled a dose and escaped unscathed,’ she corrected gravely, and glimpsed the faint edge of humour curve his generous mouth.

      ‘And tonight?’

      She looked at him carefully. ‘What if I refuse?’

      ‘Out of sheer perversity, or a disinclination to mix and mingle socially?’

      ‘Oh, both,’ she disclaimed drily. ‘I just love the idea of being a subject of conjecture and gossip.’

      ‘Charles is a very good friend of long standing,’ Stefano reminded her.

      ‘In that case, I’ll endeavour to shine as your hostess,’ Carly conceded. ‘What of my friends?’ she pursued.

      ‘Sarah?’

      ‘Yes.’ And James. She would mention it when she phoned Sarah this afternoon.

      ‘Feel free to issue an invitation whenever you please.’

      Stefano watched with indolent amusement as she slid from the bed, slipped her arms into a towelling wrap, then escaped to the adjoining en suite.

      Breakfast was a shared meal eaten out on the terrace, after which Stefano withdrew upstairs only to re-emerge ten minutes later, immaculately attired in a dark business suit.

      He looked every inch the directorial businessman that he was, and arrestingly physical in a way that set Carly’s pulse racing in an accelerated beat. She watched with detached interest as he crossed to the table and brushed gentle fingers to Ann-Marie’s cheek.

      Somehow she managed to force her features into a stunning smile when his gaze assumed musing indolence as it rested on her mobile mouth.

      ‘Bye. Don’t work too hard.’ The words sounded light and faintly teasing, but there was nothing light in the glance she spared him beneath dark-fringed lashes.

      Minutes later there was the muted sound of a car engine as the Mercedes traversed the long curving driveway.

      Ann-Marie’s appointment with the neuro-surgeon was at ten, and afterwards Carly drove home in a state of suspended shock as she attempted to absorb Ann-Marie’s proposed admission into hospital the following day, with surgery scheduled for late Wednesday afternoon.

      So soon, she agonised, in no doubt that Stefano’s influence had added sufficient weight to the surgeon’s decision to operate without delay.

      It was impossible not to suffer through an entire gamut of emotions, not the least of which was very real fear. Even the neuro-surgeon’s assurance that the success-rate for such operations was high did little to alleviate her anxiety.

      Stefano arrived home shortly after

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