The Helen Bianchin Collection. HELEN BIANCHIN

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      He let her go, then followed her into the house. He crossed to the kitchen, extracted a cool drink from the refrigerator and popped the can, then he prowled around the large entertainment area, too restless to stand or sit in one place for long.

      There were added touches he hadn’t noticed before. Extra cushions on the chairs and sofas, prints hanging on the walls. The lines were clean and muted, but the room had a comfortable feeling; it was a place where it would be possible to relax.

      Carlo checked his watch, and saw that only five minutes had passed. It would take her at least another thirty to wash and dry her hair, dress and apply make-up.

      Forty-five, he accorded when she re-entered the room.

      The slip dress in soft shell-pink with a chiffon overlay and a wide lace border on the hemline heightened her lightly tanned skin, emphasised her dark blonde hair, and clever use of mascara and shadow deepened the smoky grey of her eyes.

      She’d twisted her hair into a knot atop her head, and teased free a tendril that curled down to the edge of her jaw.

      Aysha found it easy to return his gaze with a level one of her own. Not so easy was the ability to slow the sudden hammering of her heart as she drew close.

      ‘Shall we leave?’ Her voice was even, composed, and at total variance to the rapid beat of her pulse.

      ‘Before we do, there’s something I want you to read.’ Carlo reached for the flat manila envelope resting on the nearby table and handed it to her.

      The warm and wonderful girl of a week ago no longer existed. Except in an acted portrayal in the presence of others.

      Alone, the spontaneity was missing from her laughter, and her eyes were solemn in their regard. Absent too was the generous warmth in her smile.

      The scene he’d initiated with Nina earlier in the day had been damaging, but he didn’t give a damn. The woman’s eagerness to accept his invitation to lunch had sickened him, and he hadn’t wasted any time informing her exactly what he planned to do should she ever cause Aysha a moment’s concern.

      He’d gone to extraordinary lengths in an attempt to remove Aysha’s doubts. Now he needed to tell her, show her.

      ‘Read it, Aysha.’

      ‘Can’t it wait until later?’

      He thrust a hand into a trouser pocket, and felt the tension twist inside his gut ‘No.’

      There was a compelling quality evident in those dark eyes, and she glimpsed the tense muscle at the edge of his jaw.

      She was familiar with every one of his features. The broad cheekbones, the crease that slashed each cheek, the wide-spaced large eyes that could melt her bones from just a glance. His mouth with its sensually moulded lips was to die for, and the firm jaw-line hinted at more than just strength of character.

      ‘Please. Just read it.’

      Aysha turned the envelope over, and her fingers sought the flap, dealt with it, then slid out the contents.

      The first was a single page, sworn and signed with a name she didn’t recognise. Identification of the witness required no qualification, for Samuel Sloane’s prominence among the city’s legal fraternity was legend.

      Her eyes skimmed the print, then steadied into a slower pace as she took in the sworn affidavit testifying Nina di Salvo had engaged the photographic services of William Baker with specific instructions to capture Carlo Santangelo and herself in compromising positions, previously discussed and outlined, for the agreed sum of five hundred dollars per negative.

      Aysha mentally added up the photographic prints Nina had shown her, and had her own suspicions confirmed. Carlo had been the target; Nina the arrow.

      Her eyes swept up to meet his. ‘I didn’t think she’d go to these lengths.’

      Carlo’s eyes hardened as he thought of Nina’s vitriolic behaviour. ‘It’s doubtful she’ll bother either of us again.’ He’d personally seen to it.

      ‘Damage control,’ Aysha declared, and saw his eyes darken with latent anger.

      ‘Yes.’

      It was remarkable how a single word could have more impact than a dozen or so. ‘I see.’

      She was beginning to. But there was still a way to go. ‘Read the second document.’

      Aysha carefully slipped the affidavit to one side. There were several pages, each one scripted in legalese phrased to confuse rather than clarify. However, there was no doubt of Carlo’s instruction.

      Any assets in whatever form, inherited from either parents’ estates, were to remain solely in her name for her sole use. At such future time, Carlo Santangelo would assume financial responsibility for Benini-Santangelo.

      There was only one question. ‘Why?’

      ‘Because I love you.’

      Aysha heard the words, and her whole body froze. The stillness in the room seemed to magnify until it became a tangible entity.

      Somehow she managed to dredge up her voice, only to have it emerge as a sibilant whisper. ‘If this is a trick, you can turn around and walk out of here.’

      Her eyes became stricken with an emotion she couldn’t hide, and his expression softened to something she would willingly give her life for.

      He caught both her hands together with one hand, then lifted the other to capture her nape.

      ‘I love you. Love,’ he emphasised emotively. ‘The heart and soul that is you.’ He moved his thumb against the edge of her jaw, then slowly swept it up to encompass her cheekbone. His eyes deepened, and his voice lowered to an impassioned murmur. ‘I thought the love Bianca and I shared was irreplaceable. But I was wrong.’ He lowered his forehead down to rest against hers. ‘There was you. Always you. Affection, from the moment you were born. Respect, as you grew from child to woman. Admiration, for carving out your own future.’

      His hands moved to her shoulders, then curved down her back to pull her close in against him.

      It would be all too easy to lean in and lift her mouth to meet his. As she had in the past. This time she wanted sanity unclouded by emotion or passion.

      Aysha lifted her hands to his chest and tried to put some distance between them. Without success. ‘I can’t think when you hold me.’

      Those dark eyes above her own were so deeply expressive, she thought she might drown in them.

      ‘Is it so important that you think?’ he queried gently, and she swallowed compulsively.

      ‘Yes.’ She was conscious of every breath she took, every beat of her heart.

      Carlo let his hands drop, and his features took on a quizzical warmth.

      What she wanted, she hardly dared hope for, and she looked at him in silence as the seconds ticked by.

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