Mistress Arrangements: Passion's Mistress / Desert Mistress / Mistress by Arrangement
them together behind his back.
The strong, measured beat of his heart sounded loud against her ear, and she rested against him for a long time, drawing comfort from his large frame, until at last she stirred and began to pull free of him.
Without a word he loosened his hold, and, slipping one arm about her waist, he led her back to their suite. Both beds bore evidence of their occupation, and she viewed each, feeling strangely loath to leave the sanctuary of his embrace, yet to go tacitly to his bed would reveal an unspoken willingness for something she was as yet unprepared to give.
For what seemed an age he stood in silence, watching the expressive play of emotions chase across her features, then he leant forward and brushed his lips against her cheek, trailing gently up to her temple before tracing slowly down to the edge of her mouth.
It was an evocative caress, his lips gently tracing her own with such a heightened degree of sensitivity, it was almost more than she could bear.
It would be so easy to allow him to continue, to follow a conflagrating path to total possession and its resultant euphoria. Except that it would only be a merging born out of sexual desire, not the meeting of two minds, two souls, the sharing of something so beautiful, so exquisite, that the senses coalesced and became one.
She went still, lowering her hands slowly down to her side, and Stefano lifted his head slightly, viewing the soft mouth, the faint smudges beneath her shimmering eyes, and his expression became watchful, intent, as she sought to swallow the sudden lump that had risen in her throat.
Carly wanted to cry out, yet no sound emerged, and she willed herself to breathe slowly, evenly, as he drew her down on to his bed and pulled her gently into the circle of his arms.
His quietly voiced, ‘Sleep easy, cara,’ sent goose-bumps scudding in numerous directions to places they had no right to invade. She lay there, unable to make so much as a sound, and within minutes she became aware of the steady pattern of his breathing. Then slowly she began to relax, and gradually sheer emotional exhaustion provided a welcome escape into somnolence.
ANN-MARIE CONTINUED to improve with each passing day, and there was immense relief at the week’s end to receive the neuro-surgeon’s voiced confidence of a complete recovery. It balanced the shock of seeing the bandages removed for the first time, and evidence of a vivid surgical scar.
Carly was so elated on leaving the hospital that she decided against phoning Stefano, and opted to tell him the news in person. Consequently it was almost four when she entered the towering modern city block and rode the lift to Reception.
There was a sense of déjà vu on stepping into the luxuriously furnished foyer, although this time there was the advantage of needing no introduction. Carly entertained little doubt that an expurgated version of her previous visit had filtered through the office grapevine, and she kept her eyes steady with a friendly smile pinned in place as the receptionist rang through to Stefano’s personal secretary.
Renate appeared almost immediately, her features schooled to express warmth and a degree of apologetic charm. ‘Stefano is in conference with a colleague,’ she enlightened Carly as she ushered her into his private lounge. ‘I’ve let him know you’re here, and he said he’ll be with you in a matter of minutes.’ The smile deepened. ‘Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea? Something cool?’
‘I’d like to use the rest-room first, if I may?’ Carly returned the woman’s smile with one of her own. ‘And something cool would be great.’
As she was about to re-enter the lounge several minutes later a door opened several feet in front of her to reveal a tall, attractive brunette whose stunning features were permanently etched in Carly’s mind.
Recognition was instantaneous, and Carly’s whole body went cold as she watched Angelica Agnelli turn back to the man immediately behind her and bestow on him a lingering kiss.
Carly felt as if the scene was momentarily frozen in her brain, like the delayed shutter of a camera, then the figures began to move, and she watched as Stefano stood back a pace and let his hands fall from Angelica’s shoulders.
His expression held warm affection, and stabbed at Carly’s heart. At the same moment he lifted his head, and Carly watched with a sort of detached fascination as they each became aware of her presence.
It was rather like viewing a play, she decided as she glimpsed the darkness in Stefano’s eyes an instant before he masked it, and she was prepared to go on record that the dismay evident in Angelica’s expression was deliberate, for the faint smile of contrition failed to reach her eyes.
‘Carly,’ Angelica greeted her with apparent warmth. ‘Stefano told me you were back.’ Her expression pooled into one of apparent concern. ‘How is your daughter?’
The faint emphasis on ‘your’ wasn’t missed, and Carly marshalled innate dignity as a weapon in her mythical arsenal. ‘Ann-Marie is fine, thank you,’ she responded steadily. Her eyes lifted to meet Stefano’s slightly narrowed gaze, and she summoned a deliberately sweet smile. ‘Renate is fetching me a cool drink. I’ll wait in the lounge while you see Angelica out.’ She placed imperceptible stress on the last word, then softened it with a studied smile as she turned towards the beautifully attired young woman whose haute-couture clothes hugged a perfect figure. ‘Goodbye, Angelica. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.’ Not if I see you first, she added silently as she turned into the private lounge.
With extreme care Carly closed the door behind her, then crossed towards the bar where an iced pitcher of orange juice stood beside a tall frosted glass.
Pouring herself a generous measure, she sipped at it abstractly and told herself she felt no pain. Dammit, she swore softly. There had to be subversive psychic elements at play somewhere in the vicinity, for each time she entered Stefano’s private lounge she was moved to blinding rage.
However, this time she’d be calm. Another voluble, visible display of temper would have the staff labelling her a shrew. Yet she defied even the most placid woman not to be driven to anger when she was faced with evidence of her husband’s affaire de coeur.
It was five minutes before Stefano joined her, and she turned quietly to face him as he entered the room. His expression was inscrutable, his eyes faintly hooded, and he made no attempt at any explanation.
He looked the epitome of a successful businessman, his three-piece suit dark and impeccably tailored, the pale blue shirt made of the finest silk, and his shoes hand-stitched imported leather.
She was reminded of the saying that ‘clothes made the man’. Yet her indomitable husband could have worn torn cut-off jeans and a sweatshirt, and he’d still manage to project a devastating raw virility that had little to do with the physical look of him.
If his relationship with Angelica Agnelli continued to extend beyond that of friends, then anything Carly said would only fuel her own anger and lead inevitably to another confrontation.
Besides, she was twenty-seven, and no longer the naïve, trusting young girl who had believed in one true love. Reality was the knowledge that love didn’t conquer all, nor did it always last forever.
‘How was Ann-Marie this afternoon?’
Carly met his dark gaze with equanimity. ‘Improving,’ she informed him steadily. ‘The specialist is confident she’ll make a full recovery.’
His features relaxed into an expression of immense relief. ‘Grazie a Dio,’ he breathed with immense gratitude.
‘Obviously it would have been better if I’d phoned with the news.’
One eyebrow slanted above a pair of eyes that had become strangely watchful. ‘Why obviously?’
‘Business, pleasure and personal affairs are an incompatible mix,’ she hinted