Mistress Arrangements: Passion's Mistress / Desert Mistress / Mistress by Arrangement

‘Define pleasantries,’ Stefano drawled, and she froze, her eyes widening into huge pools of uncertainty in features that had suddenly become pale. There wasn’t a shred of softness in his voice, and she was frighteningly aware of her own vulnerability in the face of his superior strength.

‘Afraid, Carly?’

‘Of a display of raging male hormones?’ she managed with a calmness she was far from feeling. He looked dangerous, like a sleek panther contemplating a helpless prey, and it was impossible not to feel apprehensive.

Her lashes flicked wide as his gaze travelled to the base of her throat, then his eyes captured hers with an indolent intensity, and she dredged up all her resources in an attempt to portray some measure of ease.

‘Is that all you imagine it will be?’ he queried silkily.

‘Sex simply to satisfy a base animal need?’

‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you,’ he said in a voice that was deadly soft.

‘I’ve learnt to survive,’ she returned with innate dignity. ‘Without benefit of anyone other than myself.’

Stefano looked at her for what seemed an age, his gaze dark and inscrutable. ‘Until now.’

‘Payback time, Stefano?’ She forced herself to study him, noting the almost indecently broad shoulders, the firm, sculptured features that embodied an inherent strength of will. ‘Are you implying I should slip into your bed and allow you to score the first instalment?’

‘With you playing the role of reluctant martyr?’ He paused, and his voice hardened slightly. ‘I think not, my little cat. I don’t feel inclined to give you that satisfaction.’

Her stomach lurched, then appeared to settle. It was only a game, a by-play of words designed to attack her composure. Well, she would prove she was a worthy opponent.

‘What a relief to know I don’t have to fake it,’ she told him sweetly. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to discuss before I hit the shower?’

There was lurking humour evident in those dark eyes, and a measure of respect. ‘Last week I extended an invitation to Charles and his wife to dine here this evening. They flew in from the States yesterday.’

The thought of having to act the part of gracious hostess in his home, while appearing capable and serene, was a hurdle she wasn’t sure she was ready to surmount—yet. However, Charles Winslow the Third was a valued colleague, who, the last time she’d dined in his presence, had been in the throes of divorcing one wife in favour of wedding another.

‘What time had you planned for them to arrive?’ she queried cautiously, unwilling to commit herself.

‘Eight. Sylvana will prepare and serve the meal.’

She had to ask. ‘Are they the only guests?’

‘Charles’s daughter, Georgeanne.’

Seven years ago Georgeanne had been a precocious teenager. Time could only have turned her into a stunning beauty. ‘Another conquest, Stefano?’ she queried with musing mockery.

‘I don’t consciously set out to charm every female I come into contact with,’ he drawled, and she gave a soundless laugh.

‘You don’t have to. Your potent brand of sexual chemistry does it for you.’

‘An admission, Carly?’

‘A statement from one who has sampled a dose and escaped unscathed,’ she corrected gravely, and glimpsed the faint edge of humour curve his generous mouth.

‘And tonight?’

She looked at him carefully. ‘What if I refuse?’

‘Out of sheer perversity, or a disinclination to mix and mingle socially?’

‘Oh, both,’ she disclaimed drily. ‘I just love the idea of being a subject of conjecture and gossip.’

‘Charles is a very good friend of long standing,’ Stefano reminded her.

‘In that case, I’ll endeavour to shine as your hostess,’ Carly conceded. ‘What of my friends?’ she pursued.

‘Sarah?’

‘Yes.’ And James. She would mention it when she phoned Sarah this afternoon.

‘Feel free to issue an invitation whenever you please.’

Stefano watched with indolent amusement as she slid from the bed, slipped her arms into a towelling wrap, then escaped to the adjoining en suite.

Breakfast was a shared meal eaten out on the terrace, after which Stefano withdrew upstairs only to re-emerge ten minutes later, immaculately attired in a dark business suit.

He looked every inch the directorial businessman that he was, and arrestingly physical in a way that set Carly’s pulse racing in an accelerated beat. She watched with detached interest as he crossed to the table and brushed gentle fingers to Ann-Marie’s cheek.

Somehow she managed to force her features into a stunning smile when his gaze assumed musing indolence as it rested on her mobile mouth.

‘Bye. Don’t work too hard.’ The words sounded light and faintly teasing, but there was nothing light in the glance she spared him beneath dark-fringed lashes.

Minutes later there was the muted sound of a car engine as the Mercedes traversed the long curving driveway.

Ann-Marie’s appointment with the neuro-surgeon was at ten, and afterwards Carly drove home in a state of suspended shock as she attempted to absorb Ann-Marie’s proposed admission into hospital the following day, with surgery scheduled for late Wednesday afternoon.

So soon, she agonised, in no doubt that Stefano’s influence had added sufficient weight to the surgeon’s decision to operate without delay.

It was impossible not to suffer through an entire gamut of emotions, not the least of which was very real fear. Even the neuro-surgeon’s assurance that the success-rate for such operations was high did little to alleviate her anxiety.

Stefano arrived home shortly after four, and half an hour later the breeder delivered Françoise—a small, intelligent bundle of black curls who proved to be love on four legs.

The delightful pup took an instant liking to the hulking Prince, who in turn was initially tolerant, then displayed an amusing mixture of bewitchment and bewilderment as Françoise divided her attention equally between him and her new mistress.

There was a new kennel, an inside sleeping-box, leads, a collar, a few soft toys, and feeding bowls.

Ann-Marie looked as if she’d been given the world, and Carly experienced reluctant gratitude for Stefano’s timing.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly as they emerged from their daughter’s bedroom, having settled an ecstatically happy little girl to sleep. Françoise was equally settled in her sleeping-box beside Ann-Marie’s bed.

His smile was warm, genuine, she perceived with a slight start of surprise, for there was no evidence of his usual mockery.

‘She has waited long enough to enjoy the company of a much wanted pet.’

Carly felt a pang of remorse for the years spent living in rented accommodation which had excluded the ownership of animals. It seemed another peg in the victory stakes for Stefano—a silent comparison of provision. His against hers.

‘We have fifteen minutes before Charles is due to arrive,’ Stefano intimated as they reached their suite. ‘Can you be ready in time?’

She was, with a few seconds to spare, looking attractive in a slim-fitting dress in vivid tones of peacock-green and -blue. Her hair was confined in a simple knot, her make-up understated with practised emphasis on her eyes…Eyes which met his and held them unflinchingly as she preceded him from the room.

CHAPTER SIX

CHARLES WINSLOW THE THIRD was a friendly, gregarious gentleman whose daughter was of a similar age to his second wife.

If appearances were anything to go by, each young woman had worked hard to outdo the other in the fashion stakes, for each wore a designer label that resembled creations by Dior and Ungaro.

Carly felt her own dress paled by comparison, for although the classic style was elegant it was hardly new.

Within seconds of entering the lounge Charles took hold of Carly’s hand and raised it, Southern-style, to his lips.

‘I’m delighted the two of you are together again,’ he intoned solemnly. ‘You’re too beautiful to remain unattached, and Stefano was a fool to let you escape.’

Carly caught Stefano’s faintly lifted eyebrow and was unable to prevent the slight quiver at the edge of her mouth. Without blinking an eyelid, she sent Charles her most dazzling smile. ‘Charles,’ she greeted with equal solemnity. ‘You haven’t changed.’

His faintly wolfish smile was no mean complement to his sparkling brown eyes. ‘My wife tells me I become more irascible with every year, and Georgeanne only tags along because I pay her bills.’

‘Ignore him,’ Kathy-Lee advised with a light smile.

‘Stefano…’ Georgeanne purred, offering Carly a sharp assessing glance before focusing her attention on her father’s business associate. ‘It’s wonderful to see you again.’

‘Wonderful’ was a pretty fine superlative to describe Charles’s daughter, Carly mused, for the young woman was all grown up and pure feline.

Kathy-Lee, at least, opted to observe the conventions and set out to charm superficially while choosing to ignore the machinations of her stepdaughter. Which, Carly noted circumspectly, grew more bold with every passing hour. Perhaps it was merely a game, she perceived as they leisurely dispensed with one delectable course after another.

Whatever the reason, Carly refused to rise to the bait, and instead drew Charles into a lengthy and highly technical discourse on the intricacies of computer programming. As he owed much of his fortune to creating specialised programs, his knowledge was unequalled.

Stefano, to give him his due, did nothing to encourage Georgeanne’s attention, but Carly detected an implied intimacy that hurt unbearably. It clouded her beautiful eyes, leaving them faintly pensive, and, although her smile flashed with necessary brilliance throughout the evening, her hands betrayed their nervousness on one occasion, incurring Stefano’s narrowed glance as she swiftly averted spilling the contents of her wine glass.

Carly told herself she couldn’t care less about her husband’s past indiscretions, but deep within her resentment flared, and mingled with a certain degree of pain.

Outwardly, Stefano was the perfect host, his attention faultless, and only she knew that the implied intimacy of his smile merely depicted a contrived image for the benefit of their guests.

It was almost eleven when Charles indicated that they must leave.

‘It’s so early,’ Georgeanne protested with a pretty pout. ‘I thought we might go on to a nightclub.’

‘Honey,’ Charles chided with a slow sloping smile before directing Carly a wicked wink, ‘I have no doubt Stefano and Carly have a different kind of socialising in mind.’

His daughter effected a faint moue, then sent Stefano a luscious smile. ‘Don’t be crude, Daddy. I’m sure Stefano has the stamina for both.’

Charles gave Kathy-Lee the sort of look that made Carly’s toes curl before switching his attention to his daughter. ‘It’s no contest, darlin’,’ he drawled.

Georgeanne evinced her disappointment, then effected a light shrugging gesture. ‘If you say so.’ She moved a step closer to Stefano and placed scarlet-tipped nails against his jacket-encased arm. ‘Ciao, caro.’ She reached up and brushed her lips against his cheek—only because he turned his head and she missed his mouth. Her smile was pure celluloid, and there was a faint malicious gleam as she turned towards Carly. ‘You look—tired, sweetie.’

Without blinking, Carly met the other girl’s sultry stare, and issued softly, ‘Stefano doesn’t allow me much time to sleep.’

Charles’s eyes danced with ill-concealed humour. ‘Give it up, Georgeanne.’ With old-fashioned charm he took hold of Carly’s hand and squeezed it gently. ‘You must be our guests for dinner before we fly back to the States.’

Carly simply smiled, and walked at Stefano’s side to the foyer. Minutes later Charles, Kathy-Lee and Georgeanne were seated in their hired car, and almost as soon as the rear lights disappeared through the gates Carly moved upstairs to check on Ann-Marie and Françoise.

A tiny black head lifted from the sleeping-box to regard her solemnly, then nestled back against the blanket.

‘I’ll take her outside for a few minutes, then she should be all right until morning.’

Carly turned slowly at the sound of Stefano’s voice, and she nodded in silent acquiescence. Ann-Marie was lost in sleep, her features relaxed and cherubic in the dull reflected glow of her night-light, the covers in place, and her favourite doll and teddy bear vying for affection on either side of her small frame.

Carly felt the sudden prick of tears, and blinked rapidly to dispel them. Her daughter was so small, so dependent—so damned vulnerable.

She was hardly aware of Stefano’s return, and it took only seconds to settle the poodle comfortably among its blankets.

Once inside their own suite, Carly stepped directly through to the bathroom and removed her make-up with slightly shaking fingers. Her nerves felt as if they were shredding into a thousand pieces, and she needed a second attempt at replacing the lid on the jar of cleanser.

When she re-entered the bedroom Stefano was propped up in bed, stroking notes into a leatherbound book, and her stomach executed a series of flips at his breadth of shoulder, the hard-muscled chest with its liberal whorls of dark hair tapering down to a firm waist.

The pale-coloured sheet merely highlighted the natural olive colour of his skin, and as if sensing her appraisal he looked up and pinned her gaze, only to chuckle 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.

The curtains were closed, and she opened them fractionally, looking out at the moonlit grounds in detached contemplation.

The small shrubs appeared large with their looming shadows, and everything seemed so still, almost lifeless. Pin-pricks of electric light glittered across the harbour, merging with splashes of flashing neon advertisements gracing several city buildings. By night it resembled a tracery of fairy-lights, remote, yet symbolising activity and pulsing life.

She had no idea how long she remained motionless, for there was no awareness of the passage of time, just a slide into introspection that took her back over six years to the day her daughter was born, and the joy, the tears and the laughter that had followed through a few childhood illnesses, the guilt of having to leave her in child care while she worked, Ann-Marie’s first day at kindergarten, her first visit to the zoo, and the day she had started school. She was a quiet, obedient child, but with a mind of her own.

‘Unable to sleep?’ The query was quietly voiced, and Carly turned slowly to face the man standing in the aperture.

For an age she just looked at him, her eyes large and unblinking in a face that was pale and shadowed, then she turned back to the scene beyond the window. ‘I wish it was all over and she was home,’ she managed in an emotion-charged voice, and felt rather than heard him move to stand behind her.

‘Likewise,’ Stefano muttered in agreement.

No power on earth could speed up time, and she closed her eyes in an effort to gain some measure of inner strength. She had to be strong, she had to be, she resolved silently.

Hard, muscular arms slid around her waist from behind and pulled her gently back against a solid male frame.

For a moment she resisted, stiffening slightly, then she became prey to the protective shelter he offered, and she relaxed, allowing his strength to flow through her body.

It was like coming home, and the sadness of what they’d once shared, then lost, overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes tightly against the threat of tears, feeling them burn as she fought for control.

For all of a minute she managed to keep them at bay, then they squeezed through to spill in warm rivulets down each cheek to fall one after the other from her chin.

Firm hands slid up to her shoulders and turned her into his embrace, one hand slipping through the thickness of her hair while the other slid to anchor the base of her spine.