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 with unaccustomed cynicism, and saw his eyes narrow.
‘Angelica—’
‘Don’t even consider proffering the rather hackneyed explanation that she’s merely an associate.’ She lifted her chin, and her eyes were remarkably clear as they held his. ‘I’ve heard it all before.’
‘Angelica is a valued family friend,’ he continued with hard inflexibility, and the gold flecks in her eyes flared with brilliant topaz as she refused to be intimidated in any way.
‘Valued is a very tame description, Stefano,’ Carly responded, wondering what devilish imp was pushing her in a direction she’d sworn not to tread.
‘Perhaps you’d care to offer a more lucid alternative,’ he drawled with dangerous silkiness, and she was powerless to prevent the surge of anger coursing through her body.
‘She wants you,’ she declared with quiet conviction. ‘She always has. For a while I stood in her way. Now that I’m back…’ She trailed off deliberately, then effected a slight shrug. ‘If she can hurt me emotionally, she will.’ The need to be free of him was paramount, and she turned to leave, only to have a detaining hand catch hold of her arm and pull her back to face him.
Any escape could only be temporary. It was there in his eyes, the latent anger a silent threat should she continue to thwart him.
‘Let me go.’ The words left her throat as his head lowered, and she turned slightly so that his lips grazed her cheek. Then she cried out as he slid his fingers through the thickness of her hair, and his mouth captured hers in a kiss that was nothing less than a total possession of her senses.
A muffled groan of entreaty choked in her throat as he brought her even closer against his hard, muscular frame, and when he finally lifted his head she stood quite still, bearing his silent scrutiny until every nerve stretched to its furthest limit.
His hands slid with seductive slowness to her waist, then cradled her ribcage, the pads of each thumb beginning an evocative circle over the hardening peaks of her breasts in a movement that was intensely erotic.
She had to stop him now, before she lost the will to move away. ‘Sex in the office, Stefano? Whatever will Renate think?’ she taunted softly. ‘Or maybe she’s accustomed to her boss’s…discreet diversions?’
His eyes narrowed, and a muscle hardened at the edge of his jaw. ‘Watch your foolish tongue.’
Carly laughed, a soft mocking sound that was the antithesis of anything related to humour. Gathering courage, she added with unaccustomed cynicism, ‘I imagine many women shared your table as well as your bed in the last seven years.’
His eyes stilled for a second, then assumed a brooding mockery. ‘You want me to supply a list, cara?’
For one heart-stopping moment she looked stricken. The thought of that long, superbly muscled body giving even one other woman the sort of sexual pleasure he gave her was sickening. To consider there had probably been several made her feel positively ill. Suddenly she’d had enough, and was in dire need of some breathing space—preferably as far away from her inimical husband as possible.
If she didn’t leave soon, the ache behind her eyes would result in silent futile tears, and without a further word she turned and left the room.
Within minutes of reaching home she crossed to the phone and dialled Sarah’s number. At the sound of her friend’s voice she clutched hold of the receiver and sank down into a nearby chair for a long conversation that encompassed an exchange of news as well as providing a link to normality.
‘You must bring James to dinner,’ Carly insisted as Sarah exclaimed at the time. ‘I’ll check with Stefano and give you a call.’
‘Lovely,’ the other girl declared with enthusiasm. ‘Give Ann-Marie a big hug from me, and tell her I’ll visit tomorrow.’
Dinner was a strained meal, for Carly found it difficult to contribute much by way of conversation that didn’t come out sounding horribly banal. In the end, she simply gave up, and pushed her food around the plate before discarding her cutlery to sip iced water from her glass.
Stefano, damn him, didn’t appear a whit disturbed, and he did justice to the dishes Sylvana provided before finishing with fresh grapes, biscuits and cheese.
Carly sat in silence during the drive to hospital, unwilling to offer so much as a word in case it ended in a slanging match—or worse.
There was such a wealth of resentment at having witnessed the touching little departure scene between Angelica and Stefano that afternoon—and unabating anger. It almost eclipsed the joy of witnessing Ann-Marie’s pleasure in their visit, and the expressive smile when Stefano presented her with yet another gift.
‘I’m getting spoilt,’ Ann-Marie concluded, hugging the beautifully dressed doll close to her small chest, and her eyes gleamed when her father leaned down to brush his lips against her cheek. ‘Thank you, Daddy.’
The words held such poignancy that Carly had to blink fast against the threat of tears.
‘My pleasure, piccina.’
‘What’s a piccina?’
‘A special endearment for a special little girl,’ he responded gently.
It was almost eight when the Mercedes pulled into the driveway leading to Stefano’s elegant home, and once indoors Carly made her way through to the kitchen.
‘Coffee?’ It was a perfunctory query that incurred his narrowed gaze.
‘Please.’