Passion's Mistress by Helen Bianchin Read Free Book Online Page B

'And I wouldn't now brand you a thief for stealing
    from me the first six years of my daughter's life.'
    'If you'd had sufficient respect for our marriage, I wouldn't have felt
    compelled to leave,' she managed carefully. There was an inherent integrity
    apparent, a strength that came from deep within.
    'And rehashing the past has no relevance to Ann- Marie's future.'
    She could feel his anger emanating through the pores of his skin, and all her
    fine body hairs rose in protective self-defence. He could have shaken her to
    within an inch of her life, and taken extreme pleasure in her pain. It was
    there in his eyes, the tautly bunched muscles as he held himself rigidly in
    control. The promise of retribution was thinly veiled, and she felt
    immeasurably afraid, aware that such punishment would be swift and
    without warning—an utter devastation. But not yet, she reasoned shakily. A
    superb tactician, he would derive infinite satisfaction from playing out her
    fear.
    'You've reached a decision?'
    Her heart stopped, then clamoured into a thudding beat. 'Yes.' One look at
    his hard, obdurate features was sufficient to ascertain his inflexibility.
    'Must I draw it from you like blood from stone?' he pursued, his voice
    assuming a deadly softness, and her eyes flared with resentment.
    'I won't allow Ann-Marie to be a metaphorical bone we fight over in a
    lawcourt,' she said hardily. 'Nor will I put her through the emotional trauma
    of being bandied back and forth between two parents.' Her head lifted
    slightly and her chin tilted with determination. 'However, I have one
    condition.'
    One eyebrow slanted in silent cynicism. 'And what is that?'
    'You give up your women friends.'
    He looked at her for what seemed an age, and she was conscious of an
    elevated nervous tension as the silence between them stretched to an
    unbearable length.
    'Could you be more specific?'
    'Lovers,' she said tightly, hating him.
    'Does that mean you are prepared to accommodate me in bed?' he pursued
    with deadly softness.
    Her heart stopped, then clamoured into a thudding beat at the memory his
    words evoked, and the nights when she'd behaved like a mindless wanton in
    his passionate embrace. With concentrated effort she managed to keep her
    gaze steady. 'No, it doesn't, damn you!'
    Stefano remained silent, his eyes watchful as he witnessed the fleeting
    change of her emotions, then after a measurable silence he ventured silkily,
    'You expect me to remain celibate?'
    Of its own volition, her hand lifted to her hair and eased a stray tendril
    behind on ear, the gesture unconscious and betraying her inner nervousness.
    'I'll live in the same house,' she declared quietly. 'I'll play at being your social
    hostess. For Ann- Marie's sake, I'll pretend everything between us is fine.'
    Her eyes were wide, clear, and filled with resolution. 'But I refuse to share
    your bed.'
    The edge of his mouth lifted in a gesture of musing mockery. 'I shall insist
    you share the same room.'
    'Why?' Carly demanded baldly.
    His eyes speared hers, their depths hard and inflexible. 'Because I choose
    never to lose.'
    'Our marriage meant nothing to you!'
    'You think not?' Stefano countered with unmatched cynicism. 'I retain a
    clear memory of your...' He paused imperceptibly, then added mockingly,
    'Contentment.'
    'You gave me beautiful things, put me in a beautiful home, took me out to
    beautiful parties where beautiful people mingled and made out they were
    friends.' She felt incredibly sad. 'Except nothing was beautiful. Not really. I
    was a new playmate, someone you could show off when the occasion
    demanded.' Her eyes clouded, and her lashes fluttered down to form a
    protective veil. 'I was too young, too naive, and I didn't know the rules.'
    His expression hardened, and only a fool would choose to disregard the
    element of tensile steel beneath his sophisticated veneer, for apparent was a
    sense of purpose, a formidability that was infinitely daunting.
    'And now you do?' he