The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise Allen
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couldn’t, dared not faint. The humiliation would be too incredible and totally beyond conceivable explanation.
With conscious effort she willed herself to breathe slowly, deeply, in an attempt to retain some measure of composure as every single nerve-end went into a state of wild panic.
Stefano Alessi. Australian-born of Italian parents, he was a proven successor to his father’s financial empire and a noted entrepreneur, having gained accolades and enjoyed essential prestige among his peers. In his late thirties, he was known to head vast multinational corporations, and owned residences in several European cities.
It was seven years since she’d last seen him. Seven years in which she’d endeavoured to forget the cataclysmic effect he’d had on her life.
Even now he had the power to liquefy her bones, and she watched with a sense of dreaded fascination as he glanced with seeming casualness round the room, almost as if an acutely developed sixth sense had somehow alerted him to her presence.
Carly mentally steeled herself for the moment of recognition, mesmerised by the sheer physical force of the man who had nurtured her innocent emotions and stoked them into a raging fire.
His facial features were just as dynamically arresting as she remembered, distinctive by their assemblage of broad-sculpted bone-structure, his wide-spaced, piercing grey eyes able to assess, dissect and categorise with definitive accuracy.
Dark brown, almost black hair moulded his head with well-groomed perfection, and he looked older—harder, she perceived, aware of the indomitable air of power evident that set him aside from every other man in the room.
She shivered, hating the way her body reacted to his presence, and there was nothing she could do to prevent the blood coursing through her veins as it brought all her senses tingling into vibrant life. Even her skin betrayed her, the soft surface hairs rising in silent recognition, attuned to a memory so intense, so incredibly acute, that she felt it must be clearly apparent to anyone who happened to look at her.
In seeming slow motion he captured her gaze, and the breath caught in her throat as his eyes clashed with hers for an infinitesimal second, searing with laser precision through every protective barrier to her soul, only to withdraw and continue an encompassing appraisal of the room’s occupants.
‘Our guest of honour is an attractive man, don’t you think?’
Carly heard Bradley’s voice as if from an immense distance, and she attempted a non-committal rejoinder that choked in her throat.
‘I doubt there’s a woman present who isn’t wondering if he performs as well in the bedroom as he does in the boardroom,’ he assessed with wry amusement.
All Carly wanted to do was escape the room, the house. Yet even as she gathered her scattered wits together she experienced a distinct feeling of dread with the knowledge that any form of retreat was impossible.
It became immediately apparent that Clive Mathorpe intended to effect an introduction to key personnel, and every passing second assumed the magnitude of several minutes as the two men moved slowly round the room.
Consequently, she was almost at screaming point when Clive Mathorpe eventually reached her side.
‘Bradley Williamson, one of my junior partners.’
The lines fanning out from Clive Mathorpe’s astute blue eyes deepened in silent appreciation of Carly’s fashion departure from studious employee. ‘Carly Taylor, an extremely efficient young woman who gives one hundred per cent to anything she undertakes.’ He paused, then added with a degree of reverent emphasis, ‘Stefano Alessi.’
It was a name which had gained much notice in the business section of a variety of newspapers over the past few months. Twice his photograph had been emblazoned in the tabloid Press accompanied by a journalistic report lauding the cementing of yet another lucrative deal. Even in the starkness of black and white newsprint, his portrayed persona had emanated an electrifying magnetism that Carly found difficult to dispel.
She held little doubt that the passage of seven years had seen a marked escalation of his investment portfolio. On a personal level, she couldn’t help wondering whether Angelica Agnelli was still sharing his bed.
An ache started up in the region of her heart with a physicality so intense it became a tangible pain. Even now she could still hurt, and she drew on all her reserves of strength to present a cool, unaffected façade.
Cool grey eyes deliberately raked her slender frame, pausing imperceptibly on the slight fullness of her breasts before lifting to linger briefly on the generous curve of her mouth.
It was worse, much worse, than if he’d actually touched her. Equally mortifying was her body’s instant recognition of the effect he had on all its sensual pleasure spots, and there was nothing she could do to still the betraying pulse at the edge of her throat as it quickened into a palpably visible beat.
Rage flared deep within, licking every nerve-fibre until it threatened to engulf her in overwhelming flame. How dared he subject her to such a sexist scrutiny? Almost as if she was an available conquest he was affording due contemplation.
Then his eyes met hers, and she almost died at the ruthlessness apparent, aware that his slight smile was a mere facsimile as he inclined his head in greeting.
‘Miss Taylor.’ His voice was a barely inflected drawl, each word given an imperceptible mocking emphasis.
‘Mr Alessi,’ Carly managed in polite response, although there was nothing she could do about the erratic beat of her heart in reaction to his proximity.
Something flared deep within her, a stirring that was entirely sexual—unwarranted and totally unwanted, yet there none the less—and it said much for her acquired measure of control that she managed to return his gaze with apparent equanimity.
His eyes darkened measurably, then without a further word he moved the necessary few steps to greet the next employee awaiting introduction.
Carly’s mind reeled as several conflicting emotions warred in silent turmoil. Was his presence here tonight sheer coincidence, or did he have an ulterior motive?
She’d covered her tracks so well. She had even consulted a solicitor within days of arrival in Sydney, instructing that a letter be dispatched requesting any formalities to be handled by their individual legal representatives.
In seven years there had been no contact whatsoever.
It seemed incredibly ironic that Stefano should reappear at a time when she’d been forced to accept that he was the last ace in her pack should she have to raise more money for Ann-Marie’s medical expenses.
Where her daughter’s well-being was concerned there was no contest. Even it if meant sublimating her own personal reservations, and effecting a confrontation. His power and accumulated wealth could move figurative mountains, and if it was necessary she wouldn’t hesitate to beg.
Carly caught the lower edge of her lip between two sharp teeth, then winced in silent pain as she unconsciously drew blood.
The desire to make some excuse and leave was strong. Yet only cowards cut and ran. This time she had to stay, even if the effort almost killed her.
Carly found each minute dragged interminably, and more than once her eyes strayed across the room to where Stefano Alessi stood conversing with Clive Mathorpe and two senior partners.
In his presence, all other men faded into insignificance. There was an exigent force apparent, which, combined with power and sexual magnetism, drew the attention of women like bees to a honeypot.
It was doubtful there was one female present whose pulse hadn’t quickened at the sight of him, or whose imagination wasn’t stirred by the thought of being able to captivate his interest.
Carly waited ten minutes after Stefano left before she crossed the room to exchange a few polite pleasantries with Clive Mathorpe and his wife, then she slipped quietly from the house