The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise Allen
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softly as she quickly averted her eyes.
‘Shy, Carly?’ he drawled, and she hated the faint flood of pink that warmed her cheeks as she moved towards her bed.
He possessed all the attributes of a superb jungle animal, resplendent, resting, yet totally focused on his prey.
An arrow of pain arched up from the centre of her being in the knowledge that seven years ago she would have laughed with him, tantalisingly slid the nightgown from her shoulders—if she’d even opted to wear one—and walked towards him, sure of his waiting arms, the rapture that would take them far into the night.
Now, she fingered the decorative frill on the pillowslip, and made a play of plumping the pillow, feeling oddly reluctant to skip into bed, yet longing for the relaxing effect of several hours’ sleep.
‘How delightful, cara,’ Stefano teased mercilessly. ‘You can still blush.’
Carly lifted her head and her eyes sparked with latent fire. ‘If you wanted a playmate for the evening, you should have gone nightclubbing with Georgeanne.’
One eyebrow slanted in silent mockery. ‘Why—when I have my very own playmate at home?’
Anger mingled with the fire, and produced a golden-flecked flame within the brilliant darkness of her gaze. ‘Because I don’t like playing games, and I particularly don’t want to play them with you!’
‘Georgeanne is—’
‘I know perfectly well what Georgeanne is!’ she vented quietly, hating his level gaze. She was angry, without any clear reason why.
‘—the daughter of a very good friend of mine,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘who delights in practising her feminine witchery.’ His eyes hardened fractionally. ‘Charles should have disciplined her precociousness at a young age.’
‘Oh—fiddlesticks,’ Carly responded, unwilling to agree with him. ‘Georgeanne suffers from acute boredom, and views any attractive man as a contest. If he’s married, that presents even more of a challenge.’
Stefano’s eyes speared hers, and his expression assumed a lazy indolence. ‘Jealous, cara?’
‘Stop calling me that!’
‘You’re expending so much nervous energy,’ he drawled imperturbably. ‘You’ll never be able to relax sufficiently to sleep.’
Without thinking she picked up the pillow and threw it at him, then gasped as he fielded it with one hand and moved with lightning speed to trap her before she had the chance to move. She wrenched her arm in an effort to be free of him, then she cried out as he tightened his grip and pulled her down on to the bed.
There wasn’t a chance she could escape, yet to lie quiescent was impossible, and she flailed at him with her free arm, then groaned with despair as he caught it and held her immobile.
His mouth was inches above her own, and she just looked at him, unable to focus her gaze on anything except his strong, chiselled features and the darkness of his eyes.
Time became suspended as she lay still, mesmerised by the look of him, imprisoned in a spellbinding thrall of all her senses. This close, the warmth of his breath skimmed her mouth, and she could smell the faint musky tones of his aftershave, the clean body smell emanating from his skin, and the essential maleness that was his alone. An answering awareness unfurled deep within her, flaring into vibrant life as it coursed through her body with the intensity of flame.
She could see the knowledge of it reflected in his eyes, the waiting expectancy evident as every cell, every nerve-end flowered into a sexual bloom so vivid, so hauntingly warm that she caught his faint intake of breath an instant before his head slowly lowered to claim her mouth in a teasingly gentle kiss that was so incredibly evocative that she was powerless to still the faint prick of tears.
His lips trailed to the sensitive cord at the edge of her neck, nuzzling the sweet hollows, before continuing a slow descent to a highly sensitised nub peaking at her breast.
The anticipation was almost more than she could bear, and she murmured indistinctly, craving the exquisite pleasure of his touch, exulting when he took the tender peak into his mouth and began teasing it with the edge of his teeth.
A deep shooting pain arrowed through her body, and she slid her hands up over his shoulders in a tactile voyage of discovery until her fingers reached the dark curling hair at his nape.
An ache began at the junction of her thighs, and she arched her body against his in unbidden invitation, then she gave a pleasurable sigh as his fingers slid to caress the aroused orifice to a peak of exquisite pleasure, his movements deftly skilled, until nothing less than total possession was enough.
She became mindless, caught in the thrall of a passion so intense that she began to beg, pleading with him in wanton abandon, until with sure movements he plunged deep inside, stilling as she gasped at his level of penetration.
Then slowly he began to withdraw, only to repeat the initial thrust again and again, increasing in rapidity until her body caught hold of his rhythm and then paced it in unison until the momentum tipped them both over the edge into an explosion of ecstasy so tumultuous that she began to shake uncontrollably as the tremors radiated through her body, incandescent, shattering, primitive, the most primal of all the emotions, subsiding gradually to assume a piercing sweetness that stayed with her long after he curled her close in against him and his breathing steadied with her own into the slow, measured pattern of sleep.
Carly retained very little memory of the ensuing few days, for one seemed to run into the other as she spent all her waking hours at the hospital.
‘I want to stay with her,’ she said quietly to the sister on duty shortly after Ann-Marie was admitted.
‘My dear, I understand your concern, but we’ve found a young child tends to become distraught if the mother rooms in with the child. It really is much more practical if you visit frequently for short periods. Quality time is much better than quantity. Besides,’ she continued briskly, ‘it allows the medical staff to do their job more efficiently.’
It made sense, but it didn’t aid Carly’s natural anxiety, for she had hardly slept the night prior to Ann-Marie’s surgery, and was a nervous wreck all through the following day, choosing to sit in silent vigil well into the evening, despite being advised to go home and rest.
Stefano came and fetched her, his voice quietly insistent, and she was too mentally and emotionally exhausted to give more than a token protest as he led her out to the car. At home he heated milk, added a strong measure of brandy, and made sure she drank it all.
One day seemed to run into another without Carly having any clear recollection of each, for Ann-Marie was her entire focus from the time of waking until she fell wearily into bed at night.
From Intensive Care, Ann-Marie was released into a suite of her own, and designated a model patient as she began the slow path towards recuperation.
Carly, however, became increasingly tense, for there were still tests to be run, and by the fifth evening she was powerless to prevent the silent flow of tears long after she’d crept into bed.
Reaction, she decided wearily, to all the tension, the anxiety, and insufficient sleep. Yet she couldn’t stop, and after a while she slid soundlessly to her feet, gathered up a wrap and walked silently down the hall.
Ann-Marie’s bedroom door was closed, and she opened it, her breath catching as she saw the night-light burning and two bright button eyes as Françoise lifted her head to examine the intruder.
A lump rose in her throat as she crossed to the sleeping-box and scooped the curly-haired black bundle into her arms.
The poodle’s nose was cool and damp, and Carly hugged her close. A small, wet pink tongue emerged to lick her cheek, then began to lap in earnest at the taste of salty tears. After several long minutes she restored the poodle into its sleeping-box, then slowly crossed to the window.
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