into a parking space. Carlo switched off the engine and undid his seatbelt.
Aysha looked at him askance. ‘Why have you stopped?’
He reached sideways and unclasped her seatbelt. ‘You didn’t eat dinner, remember?’
The thought of food made her feel ill. ‘I don’t feel hungry.’
‘Then we’ll just have coffee.’
She looked at him in exasperation, and met the firm resolve apparent in his stance, the angle of his jaw.
‘Do I get to have any say in this? Or will you employ strong-arm tactics?’
‘You’ve dropped an essential kilo or two, you’re pale, and you have dark circles beneath your eyes.’
‘And I thought I was doing just fine,’ Aysha declared silkily.
‘It’s here, or we raid the kitchen fridge at home.’
That meant him entering the house, making himself at home in the kitchen, and afterwards... She didn’t want to contemplate afterwards. Having him stay was akin to condoning...
Oh, damn, she cursed wretchedly, and reached for the door-clasp.
The restaurant was well-patronised, and they were led to a centre table at the back of the room. Aysha heard the music, muted Mediterranean melancholy plucked from a boujouki, and the sound tugged something deep inside.
Carlo ordered coffee, and she declined. Greek coffee was ruinously strong.
‘Tea. Very weak,’ she added, and rolled her eyes when Carlo ordered moussaka from the menu. ‘I don’t want anything to eat.’
Moussaka was one of her favoured dishes, and when it arrived she spared it a lingering glance, let the aroma tease her nostrils. And she didn’t argue when Carlo forked a portion and proffered a tempting sample.
It was delicious, and she picked up a spare fork and helped herself. Precisely as he’d anticipated she would do, she conceded wryly.
There was hot crusty bread, and she accepted a small glass of light red wine which she sipped throughout the meal.
‘Better?’
It wasn’t difficult to smile, and she could almost feel the relaxing effect of the wine releasing the knots of tension that curled tightly around her nerve-ends. ‘Yes.’
‘More tea?’
Aysha shook her head.
‘Do you want to stay for a while, or shall we leave?’
She looked at him carefully, and was unable to define anything from his expression. There was a waiting, watchful quality apparent, a depth to his eyes that was impossible to interpret.
She spared a glance to the dance floor, and the few couples sharing it. Part of her wanted the contact, the closeness of his embrace. Yet there was another part that was truly torn.
Nina’s accusations were too fresh in her mind, the image too vivid for it not to cloud her perspective.
Everything was wedding-related. And right now, the last thing she wanted to think about, let alone discuss, was the wedding.
‘I adore the music. It’s so poignant.’
Was she aware just how wistful she sounded? Or the degree of fragility she projected? Carlo wanted to smite a fist onto the table, or preferably close his hands around Nina’s neck.
More than anything, he wanted to take Aysha to bed and make love with her until every last shred of doubt was removed. Yet he doubted she’d give him the opportunity. At least, not tonight.
Now, he had to be content to play the waiting game. Tomorrow, he assured himself grimly, he’d have everything he needed. And damned if he was going to wait another day.
He leaned across the table and caught hold of her hand, then lifted it to his lips.
It was an evocative gesture, and sent spirals of sensation radiating through her body. Her eyes dilated, and her lips shook slightly as he kissed each finger in turn.
‘Dance with me.’
The shaking seemed to intensify, and she couldn’t believe it was evident. Dear God, dared she walk willingly into his arms?
And afterwards? What then? Let him lead her into the house, and into bed? That wouldn’t resolve anything. Worse, the lack of a resolution would only condone her acquiescence to the status quo.
‘Is dancing with me such a problem?’ Carlo queried gently, and watched her eyes dilate to their fullest extent.
‘It’s what happens when I do.’
His eyes acquired a faint gleam, and the edges of his mouth tilted. ‘Believe it’s mutual.’
Aysha held his gaze without any difficulty at all. An hour ago she’d been furious with him. And Nina. Especially Nina.
‘Pheromones,’ she accorded sagely, and he uttered a soft laugh as he stood and drew her gently to her feet.
‘The recognition by one animal of a chemical substance secreted by another,’ Aysha informed him.
‘You think so?’
She could feel her whole body begin to soften, from the inside out. A melting sensation that intensified as he brushed his lips against her temple.
‘Yes.’
Would it always be like this? A smile, the touch of his mouth soothing the surface of her skin? Is it enough? a tiny voice taunted. Affection and sexual satisfaction, without love.
Many women settled for less. Much less.
He led her onto the dance floor and into his arms, and she didn’t think about anything except the moment and the haunting, witching quality of the music as it stirred her senses and quickened the pace of her pulse.
Aysha wanted to close her eyes and think of nothing but the man and the moment.
For the space of a few minutes it was almost magic, then the music ceased as the band took a break, and she preceded Carlo back to the table.
‘Another drink?’
‘No, thanks,’ she refused.
He picked up the account slip, summoned the waitress, paid, then led the way out to the car.
It didn’t take long to reach Clontarf, and within minutes Carlo activated the gates, then drew the Mercedes to a halt outside the main entrance.
Aysha reached for the door-clasp as he released his seatbelt and opened the car door.
‘There’s no need—’
He shot her a glance that lost much of its intensity under cover of night. ‘Don’t argue,’
