of the northern beaches, where he played chef, cooking steak and sausages to perfection while Carly busied herself setting out a variety of salads, sliced a freshly baked French breadstick, and enjoyed a light wine spritzer.
The air was fresh and clean, slightly tangy with the smell of the sea. A faint warm breeze drifted in from the ocean, teasing the length of her hair, and she gazed out to the horizon, seeing deep blue merge with clear azure, aware in that moment of a profound feeling of awe for the magnitude and greatness of nature. There was a sense of timelessness, almost an awareness that life was extremely tenuous, gifted by some powerful deity, and that each day, each hour, should be seized for the enjoyment of its beauty.
Tears welled at the backs of her eyes and threatened to spill. Dear God, what would she do if anything happened to Ann-Marie? How could she cope?
‘Mummy, what’s wrong?’
Carly caught her scattered thoughts together and summoned a smile. ‘I’m admiring the view,’ she explained, and, reaching down, she lifted Ann-Marie into her arms and directed her attention out over the ocean. ‘Look, isn’t that a ship in the distance?’
They ate sausages tasting faintly of smoke, tender steak, and the two adults washed it all down with a light fruity wine, then they packed everything back into the boot of the car and walked along the foreshore.
Ann-Marie chattered happily, pausing every now and then to inspect and collect seashells, which she presented for Carly’s inspection, then when she grew tired Stefano lifted her high to sit astride his shoulders, and they made their way slowly back to the car.
A gentle breeze tugged at Carly’s long cotton skirt and teased the length of her hair. The sun’s warmth was beginning to cool as the giant orb sank lower in the sky, its colour flaring brilliantly as it changed from yellow to gold to orange, then to a deep rose before sinking below the horizon. The keening seagulls quietened, and took their last sweeping flight before seeking shelter for the night.
There was a sense of peace and tranquillity, almost a feeling of harmony with the man walking at her side, and for a moment she wondered if their marriage could have worked…Then she dismissed it in the knowledge that there were too many ‘if only’s. There was only now.
‘You take the wheel,’ Stefano instructed as they reached the car, and Carly shook her head, unwilling to familiarise herself with a new vehicle while he sat in the passenger seat. ‘I insist,’ he added quietly, and in Ann-Marie’s presence she had little option but to accede.
It was almost nine when they arrived home, and Ann-Marie was so tired that she fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.
‘COFFEE?’ STEFANO queried as they descended the staircase, and Carly nodded her head in silent acquiescence.
In the kitchen she filled the percolator with water, selected a fresh filter, spooned in a measure of freshly ground coffee-beans, then activated the machine before reaching for two cups and saucers, sugar.
‘From now on, use the BMW.’
Resentment flared in his mocking command. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my car,’ she retaliated at once. ‘It’s roadworthy and reliable.’
His gaze trapped hers and she felt every single hair on her body prickle with inexplicable foreboding. ‘When was it last fully serviced?’
Too long ago, Carly admitted silently, all too aware that over the past few months all her money had gone on expensive medical bills.
‘You don’t like the BMW?’ Stefano queried with deceptive mildness, and she summoned a false smile.
‘I presume it’s the “in” vehicle that wives of wealthy corporate directors are driving this year.’
His eyes narrowed fractionally, and the edges of his mouth curved with cynicism. ‘That wasn’t the reason I chose it.’
‘No?’ Her faint smile was tinged with mockery. ‘It does, however, fit the required image.’
‘And what is that, Carly?’ Stefano pursued with dangerous softness.
‘You’re a very successful man,’ she returned solemnly, ‘who has to be seen to surround himself with the trappings of success.’ She lifted an expressive hand and effected an encompassing gesture. ‘This house, the cars. Even the women who grace a part of your life.’
His eyes locked with hers, and she suppressed a faint shivery sensation at the dark implacability evident.
‘You know nothing of the women in my life.’
It was like a knife twisting deep inside her heart, and she fought visibly to contain the pain. She even managed to dredge up a smile as his eyes seared hers, dark, brooding, and infinitely hard.
Carly felt as if she couldn’t breathe, and the beat of her heart seemed to thud right through her chest, fast-paced and deafening in its intensity. She wanted to escape—from the room, the man, the house. Except that she had to stay. For a while, at least. Until Ann-Marie was fully recovered. Then…
‘The coffee is ready.’
His voice intruded, and she turned blindly towards the coffee-machine. Dear God, she doubted her ability to walk the few paces necessary and calmly pour the brew into cups, let alone drink from one. She’d probably scald her mouth, or drop the cup. Maybe both.
‘I no longer feel like any,’ she managed in a voice that sounded indistinct and far removed from her own.
‘Add a dash of brandy, and cream,’ Stefano ordered steadily. ‘It will help you sleep.’
She opened her mouth to respond, only to have him pursue with dangerous softness, ‘Don’t argue.’
‘I’m not arguing!’
‘Then stop wasting energy on being so stubbornly determined to oppose me.’
‘You must know how much I hate being here,’ she flung with restrained anger. She was so infuriated that it took every ounce of control not to lash out at him.
‘Almost as much as you hate me,’ Stefano drawled imperturbably as he moved to pour the coffee, then he added brandy and cream to both cups.
‘You have no intention of making things easy for me, do you?’ Carly demanded bitterly.
His eyes assumed a chilling bleakness, his features assembling into a hard, inflexible mask. ‘You’re treading a mental tightrope.’ He lifted a hand and caught hold of her chin, his fingers firm and faintly cruel. ‘And I’m in no mood to play verbal games.’
‘Then stop treating me like a fractious child.’ It was a cry from within, heartfelt, and more revealing than she intended.
‘Start behaving like a woman and I’ll respond accordingly,’ he said hardly, and flecks of fiery topaz lightened the darkness of her eyes.
‘Close my mind and open my legs?’ Rage bubbled to the surface and erupted without thought to the consequence. ‘Sorry, Stefano. I’m not that desperate.’
For a moment she thought he meant to strike her, and she was powerless to escape him as hard hands curled round her arms and pulled her close.
‘This time,’ he ground out grimly, ‘you push me too far.’
He possessed sufficient strength to do her grievous bodily harm, yet she stood defiant, unwilling to retract or apologise for so much as a single word.
With slow deliberation he caught both her hands together, then slid one hand beneath her head, tilting it as he impelled her forward, then his mouth was on hers, hard and possessively demanding.
A silent scream rose and died in her throat, and she began to struggle, hating him with all her heart as he exerted