Latin Lovers: A Convenient Bridegroom / In the Spaniard's Bed / The Martinez Marriage Revenge. HELEN BIANCHIN

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      ‘Do get me a drink, caro,’ Nina commanded lightly. ‘You know what I like.’

      Oh, my, Aysha determined as Carlo excused himself and made his way to the bar. This could turn into one hell of an evening.

      ‘I hope you don’t expect fidelity, darling,’ Nina warned quietly. ‘Carlo has...’ she paused fractionally ‘... certain needs not every woman would be happy to fulfil.’

      Cut straight to the chase, a tiny voice prompted. ‘Really, Nina? I’ll broach that with him.’

      ‘What will you broach, and with whom?’

      Speak of the devil... Aysha turned towards him as he handed Nina a slim flute of champagne.

      Quite deliberately she tilted her chin and gazed into his dark gleaming eyes with amused serenity. She’d had plenty of smile practice, and she proffered one of pseudo-sincerity. ‘Nina expressed her concern regarding my ability to fulfil your needs.’

      Carlo’s expression didn’t change, and Aysha dimly registered that as a poker player he would be almost without equal.

      ‘Really?’

      It seemed difficult to comprehend a single word could hold such a wealth of meaning. Or the quiet tone convey such a degree of cold anger.

      The tension was evident, although Carlo hadn’t moved so much as a muscle. Anyone viewing the scene would assume the three of them were engaged in pleasant conversation.

      ‘Perhaps Nina and I should get together and compare notes,’ Aysha declared with wicked humour.

      Nina lifted the flute to her lips and took a delicate sip. ‘What for, darling? My notes are bound to be far more extensive than yours.’

      Wasn’t that the truth? She caught a glimpse of aqua silk and saw Teresa and Giuseppe enter the room, and wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed at their appearance.

      Her mother would assess Nina’s presence in an instant, and seek to break up their happy little threesome.

      Aysha began a silent countdown... Three minutes to greet their hosts, another three to acknowledge a few friends.

      ‘There you are, darling.’

      Right on cue. Aysha turned towards her mother and proffered an affectionate smile. ‘Mamma. You weren’t held up too long, after all.’ She indicated the tall brunette. ‘You remember Nina?’

      Teresa eyes sharpened, although her features bore a charming smile. ‘Of course. How nice to see you again.’

      A lie, if ever there was one. Polite society, Aysha mused. Good manners hid a multitude of sins. If she were to obey her base instincts, she’d tell Nina precisely where to go and how to complete the journey.

      There was an inherent need to show her claws, but this wasn’t the time or place.

      ‘Shall we go in to dinner?’

      A respite, Aysha determined with a sense of relief. Unless their hostess had chosen unwisely and placed Nina in close proximity.

      The dining room was large, the focal point being the perfectly set table positioned beneath a sparkling crystal chandelier of exquisite design.

      The scene resembled a photograph lifted out of the social pages of a glossy magazine. It seemed almost a sacrilege for guests to spoil the splendid placement precision.

      Although there were, she noted, a waiter and waitress present to serve allotted food portions at prearranged intervals. Likewise the imported wine would flow, but not at a rate that was considered too free.

      Respectability, decorum, an adherence to exemplary good manners, with carefully orchestrated conversational topics guaranteed to stimulate the guests’ interest.

      Aysha caught Nina’s gleam of silent mockery, and had an insane desire to disrupt it. A little, just a little.

      Nothing overt, she decided as she selected a spoon and dipped it into the part-filled bowl of mushroom soup.

      The antipasto offered a superb selection, and the serving of linguini with its delicate cream and mushroom sauce couldn’t be faulted.

      ‘Could you have the waiter pour me some wine, darling?’ Aysha cast Carlo a stunning smile. She rarely drank alcohol, and he knew it. However, she figured she had sufficient food in her stomach to filter the effect if she sipped it slowly.

      Her request resulted in a slanted eyebrow, and she offered him the sweetest smile. ‘Please.’

      If he hesitated, or attempted to censure her in any way, she’d kill him.

      A glance was all it took for the waiter to fill her glass, and seconds later she lifted the crystal flute to her lips and savoured the superb Chablis.

      Giuseppe smiled, and lifted his own glass in a silent salute.

      A few glasses of fine wine, good food, pleasant company. It took little to please her father. He was a man of simple tastes. He had worked hard all his life, achieved more than most men; he owned a beautiful home, had chosen a good woman as his wife, and together they had raised a wonderful daughter who was soon to be married to the son of his best friend and business partner. His life was good. Very good.

      Dear Papà, Aysha thought fondly as the wine began to have a mellowing effect. He was everything a father should be, and more. A man who had managed to blend the best of the Old Country with the best of the new. The result was a miscible blend of wisdom and warmth tempered with pride and passion.

      The main course was served... tender breast of chicken in a delicate basil sauce with an assortment of vegetables.

      Her elbow touched Carlo’s arm, and she lowered her hand to her lap as she unconsciously toyed with her napkin. His thigh was close to her own. Very close.

      Slowly, very slowly, she moved her leg until it rested against his. It would be so easy to glide her foot over his. With extreme care, she cautioned silently. Stiletto heels as fine as hers should almost be registered as a dangerous weapon. The idea was to arouse his attention, not cause him an injury.

      Gently she positioned the toe of her shoe against his ankle, then inched it slowly back and forth without moving her heel, thereby making it impossible for anyone to detect what she was doing.

      This could be fun, she determined as she let her fingers slide towards his thigh. A butterfly touch, fleeting.

      Should she be more daring? Perhaps run the tip of her manicured fingernail down the outer seam of the trousered leg so close to her own? Maybe even...

      Ah, that brought a reaction. Slight, but evident, nonetheless. And the slight but warning squeeze of his fingers as they caught hold of her own.

      Aysha met his gaze fearlessly as he turned towards her, and she glimpsed the musing indolence apparent beneath the gleaming warmth of those dark brown depths.

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