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The Helen Bianchin Collection. Helen Bianchin
Читать онлайн.Название The Helen Bianchin Collection
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781474050036
Автор произведения Helen Bianchin
Серия Mills & Boon e-Book Collections
Издательство HarperCollins
‘You think so?’
‘That sort of action would get you long service, perhaps even life, in gaol.’
‘Not for the sort of death I have in mind.’ His features assumed a pitiless mask.
He had the power, the influence, to financially ruin an adversary. And he would do it without the slightest qualm.
A light shivery sensation feathered over the surface of her skin. She needed time out from all the madness that surrounded her. Somewhere she could gain solitude in which to think. A place where she had an element of choice.
‘I’m going to move into the house for a few days.’ The words emerged almost of their own accord, and she saw his eyes narrow fractionally.
‘It’s the house, or a hotel,’ Aysha insisted, meaning every word.
He wanted to shake her. Paramount was the desire to wring Nina’s neck. Anger, frustration, irritation... each rose to the fore, and he banked them all down in an effort to conciliate.
‘If that’s what it takes.’
‘Thank you.’
She was so icily polite, so remote. Pain twisted his gut, and he swore beneath his breath.
‘We’re due at the ballet in an hour.’
‘Go alone, or don’t go at all, Carlo. I really don’t care.’
Aysha walked into the bedroom and caught up a few essentials from drawers, the wardrobe, aware that Carlo stood watching her every move from the doorway.
For one tragic second she felt adrift, homeless. Which was ridiculous. The thought made her angry, and she closed the holdall, then slung the strap over one shoulder.
‘Aysha.’
She’d taken only a token assortment of clothing. That fact should have been reassuring, yet he’d never felt less assured in his life.
Clear grey eyes met his, unwavering in their clarity. ‘Right now, there isn’t a word you can say that will make a difference.’
She walked to the doorway, stepped past him, and made her way through the apartment to the front door. She half expected him to stop her, but he didn’t.
The lift arrived swiftly, and she rode it down to the car park, unlocked her car, then drove it up onto the road.
Carlo leaned his back against the wall and stared sightlessly out of the wide plate-glass window. After a few tense minutes, he picked up the receiver, keyed in a series of digits, then waited for it to connect.
The private detective was one of the best, and with modern technology he should have the answer Carlo needed within days.
He made three more calls, offered an obscene amount of money to ensure that his requests... orders, he amended with grim cynicism, were met within a specified time-frame.
Now, he had to wait. And continue to endure Aysha’s farcical pretence for a few days. Then there would be no more room for confusion.
He moved away from the wall, prowled the lounge, then in a restless movement he lifted a hand and raked fingers through his hair.
Yet strength wasn’t the answer. Only proof, irrefutable proof.
In business, it was essential to cover all the bases, and provide back-up. He saw no reason why it wouldn’t work in his personal life.
AYSHA was hardly aware of the night, the flash of headlights from nearby vehicles, as she traversed the streets and negotiated the Harbour Bridge. She handled the car with the movements of an automaton, and it was something of a minor miracle she reached suburban Clontarf.
Celestial guidance, she decided wryly as she activated the wrought-iron gates guarding. entrance to the architectural masterpiece Carlo had built
Remote-controlled lights sprang on as she reached the garage doors, and she checked the alarm system before entering the house.
It was so quiet, so still, and she crossed into the lounge to switch on the television, then cast a glance around the perfectly furnished room.
Beautiful home, luxuriously appointed, every detail perfect, she reflected; except for the relationship of the man and woman who were to due to inhabit it.
A weary sigh escaped her lips. Was she being foolish seeking a temporary escape? What, after all, was it going to achieve?
Damn. Damn Nina and the seeds she’d deliberately planted.
A slight shiver shook her slender frame, and she resolutely made her way to the linen closet. It was late, she was tired, and all she had to do was fetch fresh linen, make up the bed, and slip between the sheets.
She looked at the array of linen in their neat piles, and her fingers hovered, then shifted to a nearby stack.
Not the main bedroom. The bed was too large, and she couldn’t face the thought of sleeping in it alone.
A guest bedroom? Heaven knew there were enough of them! She determinedly made her way towards the first of four, and within minutes she’d completed the task.
In a bid to court sleep she opted for a leisurely warm shower. Towelled dry, she caught up a cotton nightshirt and slid into bed to lie staring into the darkness as her mind swayed every which way but loose.
Carlo. Was he in bed, unable to sleep? Or had he opted to attend the ballet, after all?
What if Nina was also there? The wretched woman would be in her element when she discovered Carlo alone. Oh, for heaven’s sake! Be sensible.
Except she didn’t feel sensible. And sleep was never more distant.
Perhaps she did fall into a fitful doze, although it seemed as if she’d been awake all night when dawn filtered through the drapes and gradually lightened the room.
She lifted her left wrist and checked the time. A few minutes past six. There was no reason for her to rise this early, but she couldn’t just lie in bed.
Aysha thrust aside the covers and padded barefoot to the kitchen. The refrigerator held a half-empty bottle of fruit juice, a partly eaten sandwich, and an apple.
Not exactly required sustenance to jump-start the day, she decided wryly. So, she’d go shopping, stop off at a café for breakfast, then come back, change, and prepare to meet Teresa at ten. Meantime she’d try out the pool.
It was almost seven when she emerged, and she blotted off the excess moisture, then wrapped the towel sarong-wise and re-entered the house.
Within minutes the phone rang, and she reached for it automatically.
‘You slept well?’
Aysha drew in a deep breath at the sound of that familiar voice. ‘Did you expect me not to?’
There was a faint pause. ‘Don’t push it too far, cara,’ Carlo drawled in husky warning.
‘I’m trembling,’ she evinced sweetly.
‘So you should be.’ His voice tightened, and acquired a depth that sent goosebumps scudding over the surface of her skin.
‘Intimidation isn’t on my list.’
‘Nor is false accusation on mine.’
With just the slightest lack of care, this could easily digress into something they both might regret.
With considerable effort she banked down the anger, and aimed for politeness. ‘Is there a purpose to your call, other than to enquire if I got any sleep?’ She thought she managed quite well. ‘I have a host of things to do.’
‘Grazie.’