by Lucy King
*
Rafael slammed closed the door to his flat, dumped his things in the hall and headed straight to the fridge for a cool refreshing beer. Flipping off the lid, he lifted the bottle to his mouth, leaned back against the counter and took a long swallow.
God, what an afternoon.
As the harrowing memory of it slammed back into his head for the thousandth time since he’d packed up and left he closed his eyes and let out a long deep breath.
How could he have got it all so badly wrong? How could he have so totally lost control like that? How could his rock-solid resistance to temptation have vaporised quite so comprehensively?
His behaviour had been unfamiliar, unexpected and completely unprecedented. And as for the primal urge to stake some sort of claim on Nicky, the one that had surged through him and had made him reach down and grab her, well, that had simply been as scary as hell.
At least in the aftermath of the kiss he’d managed to wrestle back some degree of control, he thought with a shudder. At least he hadn’t high-tailed it to the safety of his vines as he’d been so tempted to do, but instead had stayed there, strong and resolute and in control. And at least he hadn’t revealed any of the turmoil and confusion and still-scorching desire that had been churning through him. That really would have finished him off.
Yes, cool indifference and a refusal to let her speak had been the right way to handle it because he’d had no intention of engaging in a discussion about what had happened and he certainly hadn’t wanted her to rake over the way he’d behaved or analyse his many deficiencies.
Leaving had been a good idea too because, for one thing, Nicky might have agreed to back off but the look in her eye had been fiercely determined and he’d got the impression she was planning to revisit the discussion at the first available opportunity.
For another, he might not have wanted to admit it, but her rejection of him had hurt and he didn’t really need to be constantly reminded of it every time he laid eyes on her.
And lastly, with his self-control in such bits he couldn’t guarantee that kissing her wouldn’t happen again, and if that wasn’t the most terrifying thought on the planet he didn’t know what was.
So he’d walked away from her with what little pride he’d had left, utterly exhausted and defeated and struck by the realisation that finally, finally he’d reached breaking point.
Rafael sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. It had truly been the most shattering, frustrating, painful weekend he’d had in years and frankly he couldn’t wait to see the back of it.
At least it was nearly over, he told himself, glancing up at the clock. He’d use what was left of it and the rest of the beer in the fridge to wipe it from his head, and put Nicky out of his mind once and for all. Then all the stuff churning around inside him would settle down, things would get better and he’d start to feel normal again.
With any luck.
The sound of his phone ringing jerked Rafael out of his thoughts. He dug it out of his pocket and as he glanced at the screen he inwardly groaned because apparently things weren’t going to get better just yet.
Resisting the temptation to ignore the call because look at what had happened the last time he’d done that, he hit the answer button and lifted the phone to his ear.
‘Gaby,’ he said, and took another swig from the bottle. ‘Good of you to get in touch. How’s Bahrain?’
‘Don’t you give me any of that good-of-you-to-get-in-touch-how’s-Bahrain crap,’ said his sister, sounding so uncharacteristically fierce that he tensed, every one of his instincts instantly jumping to high alert. ‘What I want to know is, what the hell did you do to my friend?’
Carefully setting down his beer, Rafael forced himself to relax and stay cool. ‘I take it you’ve spoken to Nicky.’
‘I’ve just got off the phone to her.’
‘How is she?’
Gaby blew out a furious breath. ‘Oh, she’s fine. Just fine, considering… Me, though, I’m in a state of shock.’
He closed his eyes for a second and ignored the urge to hang up and blame it on a low battery. ‘Why? What did she say?’
‘That you’d kissed her.’
‘I see.’
Gaby spluttered a bit more. ‘Is that it?’
Rafael stifled a sigh. ‘What else do you want me to say? You seem to know everything already.’
‘Not everything,’ she said furiously. ‘One thing I’d really like to know is, how could you?’
Pretty easily, he thought, as the memory of Nicky in his arms and how she’d got there flashed in his head. Stamping down on the sudden surge of desire that rushed through him, he forced himself to focus on the conversation.
‘What’s your problem, Gaby? Why the outrage?’
In contrast to him Nicky hadn’t seemed particularly upset by the kiss earlier so what was his sister so het up about? Had Nicky had time to reflect and reached the same conclusion that he had? Had she decided that he had in fact taken one hell of a liberty, and said as much to Gaby? ‘It was only a kiss,’ he muttered as a sense of unease and a ribbon of self-disgust wound through him.
‘That’s precisely the problem,’ his sister said vehemently. ‘Nicky does not need kissing. She’s in enough of a mess as it is without you adding to it.’
Rafael frowned. ‘What kind of mess?’
‘It’s not for me to say.’
‘Gaby…’
‘No. She asked me not to. But it’s serious.’
A chill ran through him. ‘Is she ill?’
‘No. At least not physically, I don’t think. But what I will say is that she’s been going through a really rough time lately and could do with a bit of head-space. She needs a break and time to get herself back together. Alone.’
And just like that, as if he didn’t have enough to contend with, a bucketload of guilt landed on top of all the frustration and desire and self-recrimination, and his head began to pound with the force of it.
God, he should have realised something wasn’t quite right with Nicky. In fact, he had, hadn’t he? Within five minutes of meeting her he’d noticed the paleness of her face and the fact that she was a little too thin. He’d seen the way she’d tensed up when they’d talked about her work yesterday evening at supper, and he’d registered the way she’d been so reticent to talk about herself today at lunch. And then what about that nightmare she’d had, and he’d conveniently let drop?
Yes, all the signs that she wasn’t entirely OK had been there. And what had he done? He’d paid it all the barest attention and then like a self-centred jerk switched his focus to himself, completely consumed by the heat and desire she’d aroused in him and outraged by the fact that it wasn’t reciprocated.
And then he’d jumped on her.
As yet more self-disgust unfurled in the pit of his stomach and spread throughout his body Rafael wished he’d never made the decision to head south. He wished he’d stayed right here and suffered whatever torture that dinner party might have held, whatever lengths Elisa might have gone to to make him change his mind, because frankly none of it would have been as unpalatable as having to live with the knowledge that his behaviour over the last forty-eight hours was nothing to be proud of.
‘Well, I’m back at home,’ he said flatly, ‘and as I have no intention of laying eyes on her ever again, Nicky can have all the head-space she needs.’
EIGHT
Much to her surprise, Nicky was enjoying the rest of her so-called holiday immensely. Whether it was because the cortijo was so quiet and tranquil it was impossible not to relax, or whether it was because Rafael was no longer around to bamboozle her poor frazzled brain, she had no idea. All she knew was that in the fortnight since he’d left, she’d settled into something of a routine that largely revolved around eating, sleeping, reading and sunbathing, and she was feeling better than she had in ages.
The Monday following his stealthy departure Maria had returned after her weekend off and had resumed her miss
ion to feed Nicky up. A seemingly never-ending stream of dishes had appeared, each so mouthwateringly appetising that Nicky couldn’t have resisted even if she’d wanted to. Slivers of melt-in-the-mouth jamón. Little earthenware pots of sizzling hot green peppers. Bowls of steaming paella. Strong crumbly manchego cheese. Spicy chorizo, sun-warmed tomatoes picked straight from the vines and freshly baked bread… She devoured it all and as a result had put on a few pounds, which she reckoned suited her.
Filled with good food, she’d been sleeping a lot better. Once she’d got used to the creaks and groans of the two-hundred-year-old house, she found the silence of the night comforting, and tended to crash out the minute her head hit the pillow. Not stirring until dawn, she enjoyed a sleep that was deep and restorative and nightmare-free.
Well, almost nightmare-free. She’d had it again once a week ago, triggered, she suspected, by a phone call from her therapist who was ringing to see how she was, but that was it. Most nights she seemed to dream of Rafael, which was bizarre given that he barely crossed her mind during the day.
Feeling physically so much stronger, Nicky had taken to exploring. The minute she opened the shutters to the coral pink streaks slashing across the sky, she was up, showered and dressed and heading outside into the relative cool of an Andalucian August morning.
As the sun inched higher she wandered up and down the rows of vines, letting the heady scent of ripening grapes and dry, dusty earth envelop her and feeling the warmth of the soil beneath her flip-flops stealing right into the depths of her bones and absorbing the cold that had been there for so long.
She’d got into the habit of having a nap after lunch, then spent the afternoons swimming and reading. In the evenings she sat on the terrace, looked out over the gently rolling landscape, nibbled on tapas and drank wine, the warm night air vibrating with the chirrup of cicadas and redolent with the scent of mosquito-busting citronella.
Not only had she been sleeping—and looking better—but she’d also tentatively been getting back in touch with friends and colleagues. Yesterday she’d even emailed her parents to find out where they were and how they were getting on.
Best of all, this morning she’d woken up, seen the fabulous light that she saw every morning, and without even thinking about it had picked up her camera. Her body buzzing with anticipation and her heart racing, she’d gone outside into the vines as usual, but, instead of idly ambling through them and thinking about nothing, this time she’d found herself automatically studying the way the light fell on the fat ripe grapes and bounced off the browning crumbling leaves, and focusing on contrast, angles and composition.
She’d rattled off a series of pictures and before she’d known it the sun was high in the sky and she was sweltering and dirty and aching all over. And she’d never felt so good, so giddy with delight, so relieved.
All she had to do now, she thought, pulling her eye mask down and settling against the pillows for her customary siesta, was wait for her libido to come back and she’d be well and truly on the road to recovery.
*
There was someone in the house.
Jolted out of the deep sleep she’d been enjoying, Nicky sat bolt upright in bed and tore off her eye mask, her pulse hammering, her blood roaring in her ears, and every one of her instincts quivering with awareness.
The slam of the front door echoed off the walls and the heavy thud of footsteps pounding up the stairs resounded through the house, shaking the cortijo’s foundations and rattling the windows.
Her ears pricked. Each step seemed to hit the floor in time to her heartbeat, getting closer, louder, faster as they thumped along the corridor, making straight for her room. Her stomach churned and she went dizzy.
It was just like before, she thought, her breath catching. Only this time it was the middle of the day. This time she wasn’t white-knuckled and terrified. This time she wasn’t frantically hunting around for a weapon and trembling with panic. And yes, her heart was pounding, but it wasn’t with fear; it was with something else entirely because those footsteps sounded familiar. Very familiar. And even though they’d been gone a while now they were, apparently, back.
Before she could even begin to try and work out why, her door flung back and there was Rafael, standing in the space where it had once been, looking haggard and drained, but dark and intense and utterly gorgeous nonetheless.
For one agonisingly long moment neither of them spoke. On Nicky’s part, her head had gone so blank that all she could do was stare at him. And as for Rafael, she somehow got the impression that he didn’t trust himself to speak. He looked to be barely clinging onto his control, as if it were taking every ounce of his strength to stay where he was. He looked like a man at the end of his tether. Like a man on the edge, and the rush of heat that swept through her made her entire body shudder and a thousand shivery little thrills scuttle up and down her spine.
Her eyes locked with his, held, and her heart skipped a beat at the fire that blazed in their depths.
‘What are you doing back here?’ she said, her mind spinning because no reason she could think of for his return seemed likely.
‘I couldn’t stay away,’ he said hoarsely, his jaw tight as he stared back at her. ‘I tried. But I couldn’t.’
Nicky swallowed to work some moisture into her desert-dry mouth. ‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘Why not?’
‘I can’t get you out of my mind,’ he said raggedly. ‘You’re driving me crazy.’
‘What do you want me to do about it?’ she said, her voice sounding oddly husky while her heart pounded so madly she thought it might break free.
And then the taut mask of his expression collapsed and the raw naked desire that was revealed nearly made her swoon. ‘Put me out of my misery.’
The sizzle in the pit of her stomach flared into life and exploded, rushing through her veins like a tidal wave, drowning out all rational thought and dissolving her bones.
Somehow managing to get to her feet, Nicky slowly walked over to him, and smiled as she took his hand and drew him towards her. She took a step back, he took one forwards and like that they tangoed towards the bed she’d just slid out of, their gazes bound by an invisible thread of want, barely touching, yet generating so much electricity that she could feel the air vibrate with it.
The backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress, but he didn’t stop and as he came up against her and took her in his arms she wound her arms around his neck and lifted her head. He lowered his and their mouths met. Opened. Fused.
She closed her eyes and sank into him and what had started as a slow, seductive meeting of mouths deepened, grew more passionate, more frenzied.
Electrifying desire shot through her and, unable to stop herself, she pressed herself closer and moaned into his mouth. Lost in a whirlpool of sensation, she felt him ease her back and down onto the bed and then clothing disintegrated and his hands were everywhere, sliding over her burning skin and touching and exploring every inch of her, her neck, her breasts, her stomach and then the molten, aching centre of her.
His mouth followed, creating devastation wherever it roamed, and within minutes she was moaning his name, writhing and panting and tilting her hips, her insides winding into an impossibly tight knot.
As wave after wave of sensation cascaded over her, Nicky groaned. Whimpered. Whispered in his ear and raked her nails across his back as she told him what she wanted.
And then he was above her and pushing inside her. Moving slowly at first but soon, with her pleas for more filling the room, driving in and out of her faster and harder, making her whole body tighten and tremble until she couldn’t bear the pleasure any longer and—
Nicky woke with a start, her heart pounding, her breathing ragged, her skin coated in sweat and her insides adrift.
Oh, dear God. What was that?
She whipped her eye mask off, winced at the sudden flood of bright light that hit her eyes and then rapidly blinked. Which might have helped her eyes adjust, but di
d nothing to clear her head of the erotic images swimming around it, nor anything to dispel the tingles of residual pleasure that were rippling through her body and telling her that it could well have been what she thought it was.
Groggily levering herself up, she sat there stunned for a moment or two, then, taking a couple of deep breaths to try and clear her head and calm down, she braced herself and looked down at her T-shirt-and-knicker-clad body. Down to where the skin of her chest was flushed, her nipples were rock hard and her stomach and her legs were still twitching.
Heavens, she thought in astonishment, pressing her palms to her cheeks and feeling them burn even more fiercely at the dawning realisation that there was no longer any doubt that it had been exactly what she thought it was.
Well, well, well…
She flopped back and felt a wide smile spread across her face as she stretched and revelled in the unfamiliar lethargy of her body. Details of what she and Rafael had done in her sleep flitted through her head, in vivid Technicolor and spectacular clarity, and her smile deepened as heat flooded through her all over again.
Oh, thank God. It looked as though her much-missed sex drive was back. And about time too because she’d been beginning to fear it might never happen. Despite her secret efforts to encourage it…
The way her libido had reappeared might have been somewhat startling but that her dream had featured Rafael didn’t surprise her in the slightest. When he’d initially gone she’d pretty much completely cast him from her mind, but at some point over the last fortnight he’d started to invade her thoughts with increasing frequency.
She’d found herself recalling the heavy weight of him lying on top of her flat out on the floor, that first night. Or remembering how well his T-shirt had stretched across the muscles of his back when he’d been lighting the barbecue and preparing the steaks.
In her mind’s eye she’d kept seeing his long brown fingers twirling the stem of his wine glass and the heat in his eyes when he’d watched her eat all those prawns. And she’d kept thinking about all those smouldering sexy smiles he’d given her the next day at lunch and the feel of his hands massaging suntan lotion into her back.