A Convenient Bridegroom. Helen Bianchin

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      ‘Finish your coffee,’ Carlo bade gently. ‘Then we’ll leave.’ He lifted a hand in silent summons, and the waiter appeared with the bill.

      Aysha watched as Carlo signed the slip and added a generous tip, then he leaned back in his chair and surveyed her thoughtfully.

      She was tense, but covered it well. His eyes narrowed faintly. ‘Do we have anything planned next weekend?’

      ‘Mother has something scheduled for every day until the wedding,’ she declared with unaccustomed cynicism.

      ‘Have Teresa reorganise her diary.’

      Aysha looked at him with interest. ‘And if she won’t?’

      ‘Tell her I’ve surprised you with airline tickets and accommodation for a weekend on the Gold Coast.’

      ‘Have you?’

      His smile held humour. ‘I’ll make the call the minute we reach my apartment.’

      Her eyes shone, and she broke into light laughter. ‘My knight in shining armour.’

      Carlo’s voice was low, husky, and held amusement. ‘Escape,’ he accorded. ‘Albeit brief.’ He stood to his feet and reached out a hand to take hold of hers. His gleaming gaze seared right through to her heart. ‘You can thank me later.’

      Together they made their way through the room to the front desk.

      The maître d’ was courteously solicitous. ‘I’ll arrange with the concierge to have your cars brought to the front entrance.’

      Both vehicles were waiting when they reached the lobby. Carlo saw her seated behind the wheel of her Porsche, then he crossed to his Mercedes to fire the engine within seconds and ease into the line of traffic.

      Aysha followed, sticking close behind him as he traversed the inner city streets heading east towards Rose Bay and his penthouse apartment.

      When they reached it she drove down into the underground car park, took the space adjoining his private bay, then walked at his side towards the bank of lifts in companionable silence.

      They didn’t need a house, she determined minutes later as she stepped into the plush apartment lobby.

      The drapes weren’t drawn, and the view out over the harbour was magnificent. Fairy lights, she mused as she crossed the lounge to the floor-to-ceiling glass stretching across one entire wall.

      City buildings, street lights, brightly coloured neon vying with tall concrete spires and an indigo sky.

      Aysha heard him pick up the phone, followed by the sound of his voice as he arranged flights and accommodation for the following weekend.

      ‘We could have easily lived here,’ she murmured as he came to stand behind her.

      ‘So we could.’ He put his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him.

      She felt his chin rest on the top of her head, sensed the warmth of his breath as it teased her hair, and was unable to prevent the slight shiver as his lips sought the vulnerable hollow beneath the lobe of one ear.

      She almost closed her eyes and pretended it was real. That love not lust, and need not want, was Carlo’s motivation.

      A silent groan rose and died in her throat as his mouth travelled to the edge of her neck and nuzzled, his tongue, his lips erotic instruments as he tantalised the rapidly beating pulse.

      His hands moved, one to her breast as he sought a sensitive peak, while the other splayed low over her stomach.

      She wanted to urge him to quicken the pace, to dispense with her clothes while she feverishly tore every barrier from his body until there was nothing between them.

      She wanted to be lifted high in his arms and sink down onto him, then clutch hold of him as he took her for the ride of her life.

      Everything about him was too controlled. Even in bed he never lost that control completely, as she did.

      There were times when she wanted to cry out that while she could accept Bianca as an important part of his past, she was his future. Except she never said the words. Perhaps because she was afraid of his response.

      Now she turned in his arms and reached for him, her mouth seeking his as she gave herself up completely to the heat of passion.

      He caught her urgency and effortlessly swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

      Aysha’s fingers worked on his shirt buttons, unfastened the buckle on his belt, then pulled his shirt free.

      His nipples were hard, and she savoured each one in turn, then used her teeth to tease, aware that Carlo had deftly removed most of her clothes.

      She heard his intake of breath seconds ahead of the soft thud as he discarded one shoe and the other, then dispensed with his trousers.

      ‘Wait.’ His voice was low and slightly husky, and she ran her hands over his ribcage, searched the hard plane of his stomach and reached for him.

      ‘So you want to play, hmm?’

      CHAPTER TWO

      CARLO caught hold of her arms and let his hands slide up to cup her shoulders as he buried his mouth in the vulnerable hollow at the edge of her neck.

      Her subtle perfume teased his senses, and he nuzzled the sensitive skin, tasted it, nipped ever so gently with his teeth, and felt the slight spasm of her body’s reaction to his touch.

      She was a generous lover. Passionate, with a sense of adventure and fun he found endearing.

      He trailed his lips down the slope of her breast and suckled one tender peak, savoured, then moved to render a similar supplication to its twin.

      Did he know what he did to her? Aysha felt a stab of pain at the thought that his lovemaking might be contrived. A practised set of moves that pushed all the right buttons.

      Once, just once she wanted to feel the tremors of need shake his body … for her, only her. To know that she could make him so crazy with desire that he had no restraint.

      Was it asking too much to want love? She wore his ring. Soon she would bear his name. It should be enough.

      She wanted to mean so much more to him than just a satisfactory bed partner, a charming hostess.

      Take what he’s prepared to give, and be grateful, a tiny voice prompted. A cup half-full is better than one that is empty.

      Her hands linked at his nape and she drew his head down to hers, exulting in the feel of his mouth as he shaped her own.

      She let her tongue slide against his, then conducted a slow, sweeping circle before initiating a probing dance that was almost as evocative as the sexual act itself.

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