Leaving Rafe

by Jamie Anderson

  He shook his head. “I was joking, Ali. I had that BMW on order for over six months and it finally arrived--that’s the only reason I got rid of the Porsche.”

  “Well, it’s all academic anyway, since I have no interest in pursuing anything beyond a business relationship with you. And even that’s only by necessity.” But even as she said it, her anger was starting to fade. She could feel herself starting to believe him--and her resolution beginning to waver. No. You mustn’t show any weakness.

  He leaned back, his eyes narrowed as he glared at her and she could feel the pulse of his anger. “That’s nonsense--you enjoyed our lovemaking as much as I did. I find it impossible to understand why you wouldn’t want to continue this as much as I do.”

  Ali gave him a cold look. “At least do me the courtesy of calling a kettle a kettle, Rafe. We had sex. We didn’t make love. We didn’t share anything except a meeting of the bodies.”

  His nostrils flared. “You are trying to provoke me, aren’t you? Shall I return the favour?”

  “I’m trying to make you understand that while I have no regrets about what we did, I am simply not interested in continuing where we supposedly left off--and seeing, as you put it, where it’ll take us.”

  His lips narrowed into a thin line. “Fine. You don’t want a relationship. But what about sex? No strings. No lovemaking. Just plain and simple, hot, lustful sex?” He drew closer as he spoke, looming over her. “Shall I remind you of how it felt between us, Ali?” he asked, moving into a crouch in front of her chair, his lips close enough to brush against hers. His eyes stared into her own, fierce and unblinking.

  She wanted to say “no”, but the sensuality of his presence held her, mesmerized. She blinked and shook her head, looking away. Taking a deep breath, she had just opened her mouth to form the refusal when she felt his hand against her chin, turning her face to look at him brief moments before his lips closed against hers.

  The heated awareness that had been growing since she entered his office flared into all-consuming fire, swamping her senses and eradicating her rational thought. His fingers twined into her hair and he drew her closer still, his tongue thrusting into her. She moaned, moving forward, her arms snaking around the muscular breadth of his body as she pressed her breasts against his hard chest.

  Then, he pulled back and stood, turning away. Barely registering that his hand also shook as he ran it through his hair, Ali clenched her fists, vainly trying to tamp down on the shudders of rising excitement that Rafe had wakened. She clamped her mouth closed around the shriek of frustration that wanted to emerge at being so suddenly denied the relief he had made her crave in those short moments of intimacy.

  “Damn you, Rafael.” She spoke between clenched teeth.

  He slanted her a cocky grin. “Ready to reconsider?”

  Hell yes! she wanted to shout. Instead, she made herself shake her head. “I’ve never been one for casual encounters,” she said, hoping her attempt at a calm tone didn’t sound as forced as it felt.

  “You will have to make me believe it after what just happened, querida. Besides, this would not be a casual encounter. It would be a series of very uncasual encounters, as per your specifications. No emotions and no strings, if that’s what you want. Just sex. But I can safely promise you the best, most explosive sex you’ve ever had.”

  Ali had made herself stop listening. She was feeling far too tempted already. “No.”

  His laugh pulled his lips back from his teeth and he shook his head. “There is just no winning with you, is there?”

  Ali nodded, her chest heavy with regret. “That’s right. So there’s no point in even playing the game, Rafe,” she said, forcing herself to think about the reasons behind her enforced self-sufficiency. She hadn’t built her ivory tower as an idle pastime--and there had been times when she had come close to hating her solitude. Like now.

  The last thing she wanted was to turn away from whatever it was that Rafael was offering. But she couldn’t allow herself to weaken. She needed protection from the danger and pain of being close to someone, because she couldn’t see any kind of happy ending, with a loving husband, in her future. After all, what man would want to be with her in the long term?

  Perhaps someday, once she felt comfortably established in her career, she’d look into adopting a child. But she would rather play the role of a single mother than spend her life with a man who resented her for being unable to give him a child of his own.

  She swallowed. “So, having established that, shall we get down to work?”

  He watched her for a few moments in brooding silence. “Tell me why, at least. I need to understand why you don’t want to pursue this.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t do that, Rafael.” She had never told anyone about the full results of the accident--not even her father. She suspected the doctor had given Mason the news, but Ali had never discussed it with him--and had no interest in doing so now. Her loss had been too deep and too private to share with anyone.

  His eyes grew darker and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “Then you cannot expect me to give up.”

  She closed her eyes briefly. “That’s your prerogative, I suppose.” She paused. “So can we get back to the business at hand?”

  “For the moment.”

  They discussed the details of their arrangement for the remainder of the meeting and Ali began to hope she might manage to get away without any further reference to the impossible question of their getting involved. Never mind that he was distractingly close as they went over the fine print of the contract. Ali’s nerves were on a knife’s edge as she moved away from him in order to put the papers away.

  “I’ll be in touch with some more specific numbers and we can finalize the contract at that point,” she said, closing her briefcase with a click. She turned back to him, case in hand and just beginning to relax at the thought of getting away from him--and from the potent sexual awareness he always aroused in her.

  Rafe inclined his head, looking darker and more dangerous than ever. “If I am not in touch with you first.”

  The tension returned in full force. “There’s no need--“

  “On the contrary, Ali. Until I hear a reason I can understand and accept as to why you do not want to get involved with me, there’s every need.”

  She let out a sigh. “Goodbye, Rafael.”

  But even after she was well away, in the car driving back to the house, her body remembered how, in those all too brief moments, it had felt to be pressed against him, her flesh molded to the muscles of his chest.

  Ali tried to set aside the memory of his nearness, but it kept returning to her in flashes--the way he had smelled of leather and spicy cologne and Rafe. Her arms prickled with the remembered electricity of his body’s heat as she traced over the contours of his back.

  Then, afterwards, trying to behave normally as they went over the clauses of the contract. He had been close enough to touch, and Ali had wanted to do just that. She had exercised every vestige of self-control and managed to hold back from reaching out.

  But now, as she drove off the Lion’s Gate Bridge onto the highway, she sighed. It was going to be another restless night, with these new memories to plague her awareness and keep her awake, while her body burned for him.

  And, she knew full well he meant it when he said he wasn’t about to give up. The torture of resisting him was bound to continue indefinitely. How many more sleepless nights was she going to have to face before she finally broke down against his sensual barrage and yielded to whatever he demanded?

  Perhaps it would be better to bow to the inevitable sooner rather than later--at least this way, she’d be able to keep to her own terms rather than submitting to those he established for their encounters.

  She nodded as she turned up the drive to her father’s house. It made sense. And after all, it was entirely possible that she had overreacted after Saturday night. It had been so long since she last had sex with anyone--no doubt the overwhelmi
ng physical chemistry she and Rafe shared had made her assume there was more going on then there actually had been.

  As she had told him, it was just sex. No more and no less. Surely she could stick to that assertion--and no doubt, the more she did it, the more she would be able to separate the explosive excitement of their physical encounters from her emotions. As most men would attest, lust didn’t automatically imply love.

  And she had been working on her defenses--her ability to keep things light and casual while preserving her emotional distance, even from friends--for years now. So long as they kept it physical, she would be fine, she concluded as she parked the car.

  Now that the decision was made, she felt an abrupt shift in the tide of her arousal. If her body had its way, she’d be seeing him again--and soon.

  Pulling out her mobile, she scrolled through her address book to his direct line and put the call through.

  “Alvarez here.”

  “Rafe. It’s me, Ali.”

  “Changed your mind already?”

  She hesitated.

  “Ali? What’s up? Are you still there?” She could just imagine his impatient frown as he spoke. Summoning up her bravado, she spoke,

  “I’m still here.” She paused. “As to whether I’ve changed my mind or not… Ask me over to your place tonight and I’ll tell you.”

  “Seven thirty? We’ll have dinner.”

  “No dinner. Eight o’clock.”

  “Fine. See you there. Eight.”

  As he hung up the phone, Rafe suppressed the urge to let out a shout of triumph. After the way their meeting had gone, he had figured on a far longer campaign to win her over. But, having seen her again--having kissed her and felt the potent explosion of her response, which in turn had pushed him close to the edge of his own vaunted control--he knew he couldn’t allow her to get away.

  He leaned back in his chair, frowning into the distance as he contemplated his plan. If she insisted upon it, he would begin with this “no strings” nonsense.

  A smile curled his mouth as he imagined slowly undermining her notions of detachment. It wouldn’t be anything too obvious, of course. Just small things--the kinds of gestures that could be shrugged off and dismissed easily.

  He could be patient when he had to be. His Ali wouldn’t know what hit her. But, he’d lay bets on her making a complete about face after a few months of subtle wooing.

  The smile widened into a grin. He had heard the horror stories from his friends. In no time, she’d be dragging him to jewelry stores to look at rings and insisting on checking with him before registering for one of half a dozen identical china patterns. Rafe rolled his eyes. But still, these were the sacrifices that had to be made in order to get what he wanted: Alicia Witherspoon. Now that he had seen her again, had learned the truth about their past, and experienced her intelligence, her warmth, her vulnerability and her wild, explosive passion, he knew he had met someone special. And he was damned if he’d let her escape from him again.

  He nodded to himself, confident that he had full control of the situation. Then, he deliberately set aside such thoughts and turned to the work at hand.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ali pulled up beside Rafe’s BMW and put her car into park. She glanced at her watch. 7:57.

  “Right,” she muttered, pulling down the car’s sun visor in order to give herself one final look in the mirror. A little pale, perhaps, but otherwise fine.

  She had opted for a casual shirt and slacks, tidy, brushed hair and a minimum of makeup. After all, this wasn’t a hot date. It wasn’t about building a relationship. It was simply about satisfying a mutual need without pretense or dissimilation--a fact she intended to make perfectly clear before they started on anything else. And if he didn’t agree, she’d simply walk out.

  With resolution, she shoved aside the insidious doubt that niggled, pointing out that regardless of her intentions, as soon as Rafe started kissing her, any objections generally died an abrupt death. Why should this time be different?

  Because it has to be. With that thought firmly fixed in her mind, she climbed out of the car and made herself stride up the front steps to his house with far more confidence than she felt.

  It had surprised her to learn that Rafe lived in a house, for she had somehow figured he would be likelier to have bought the penthouse suite of one of the sumptuous new apartment buildings downtown.

  Instead, his home was a modernistic structure of glass and wood--an elegant fusion of angled West Coast design and cozy comfort, which just went to prove that with sufficient skill, the two styles were not mutually exclusive.

  All right, enough stalling. Ali knocked on the door. After a few moments, it swung open and there stood Rafe, his grin sending her senses into havoc.

  He had obviously just finished showering; his dark hair curled in damp tendrils across his forehead. He had swapped his business clothes for bare feet, khaki shorts and a golf shirt. The sight of a few dark hairs peeking out from the bottom of the “v” of his shirt dried Ali’s throat and she gave him a wan smile as he stepped back to allow her entry.

  “Come on up,” He bounded up the hardwood stairs that separated the tiled entry way from the main floor of the house. Ali followed him more slowly. “I know you specified no dinner, but I for one am starved,” he said over his shoulder. “I just had time to throw a frozen moussaka into the oven and do a quick workout after I got in.”

  “Right,” she said, glancing around at the main room, with its floor-to-ceiling picture windows overlooking the inlet and Stanley Park, exposed beams of beautifully grained wood and funky but eclectic furniture. Free-standing walls separated portions of the kitchen and dining room from the main living room, but the space remained open above, providing a sense of spaciousness and light. Skylights above added to the impression. Between the beauty of the structure and its surroundings, and the quirky furniture, Ali had the disconcerting sense of feeling completely at home. It was as if someone had read her mind and extracted from it all the elements of her dream house and then built it.

  “You’re welcome to join me, if you’re feeling peckish,” Rafe was saying as he entered a kitchen area that was all warm-toned wood and matte tiles, minimalist fixtures and homey elegance. He turned towards her with a grin. “Since it is just a frozen entree, we can always say it’s mere expediency rather than an actual shared dinner.”

  Ali came to a stop on the other side of the cooking island, careful to avoid his gaze. She had been too wound up to eat before coming over and now her stomach growled loudly at the smell of the rich spices wafting about the kitchen. Still, she continued to hesitate, when Rafe laughed.

  “Look Ali, it’s not as if I am going to get the wrong idea about us. You’ve been quite clear, after all. But, from the sounds of it, you need to eat. And, you can always use this as the opportunity to clarify your terms and go over all the sub clauses with me.” He winked. “We can call it a business dinner, if you like.”

  His teasing tone, combined with the enticing aroma weakened her resistance. How much harm could it do, after all? “All right. How long till it’s ready?”

  He walked over to the oven, which was separate from the range, and set at chest level into the wall. “Ten minutes.” He glanced back at her, his dark eyes languidly amused. The sensuality of his gaze tightened her stomach and sped up her heartbeat. “Soon enough for you?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not like I have much of a choice, really, is it?”

  “Something to drink? I just opened a bottle of red and was about to pour myself a glass. I also have some white in the fridge.”

  “White, please,” she replied, her throat dry enough to crave the cool, crisp refreshment. She glanced up at her surroundings. “It’s a beautiful house.”

  “Thanks. I had a definite idea of what I wanted, and worked with the architect and contractors very closely.” As he spoke, he poured some wine for her. He handed her the glass with a half smile. “That’s actually when I began to get in
terested in real estate.”

  He helped himself to some red and took a sip. “Ahhh, Chilean wine.” He chuckled. “My mother would wince at my lack of nationalism, but I really do prefer it to Argentinean. And besides, what has Argentina done for me?”

  He had a difficult childhood, though he always declined to talk about the details. She only knew that his father had left his mother when Rafael was still small. After coming to Canada, his mother had made a living teaching tango, as well as a few other dances she had picked up over the years in order to diversify her skills. She used to practice and refine the steps with Rafe when he was growing up.

  A pause, then he slanted Ali a look. “Would you like a quick tour of the house while we wait for the food?”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.” Certainly, it seemed preferable to standing about, staring at each other and making stilted conversation. Ali’s attention was already painfully divided between the fabulous smells permeating the air and the sexual awareness crackling between them. Besides, she was genuinely curious to see the rest of the place.

  The downside of the venture, as she soon discovered, was that she found herself rapidly falling in love with the house Rafe had so meticulously designed and custom-built. It presented what for her was the perfect balance between elegance and casual comfort, from the cathedral ceilings, stunning views and clean architecture to the knotty hardwood floors, plentiful light and cosy area rugs.

  She could easily get far too comfortable in a house like this. Those windows that didn’t boast a spectacular view of ocean, mountains and city looked out on the privacy of Rafe’s property, forested with lushly coniferous pines. Many of the rooms featured high, sliding glass doors that led to a wooden deck, which ran along the perimeter of much of the house.

  “It’s so open and bright,” Ali enthused, transported by the beauty of it in spite of herself. They had been summoned back to the kitchen by the sound of the timer going off. “Like the house is part of the surroundings--the forests, the mountains. With all the glass and high ceilings, it’s as if you’ve invited them to be part of the living space here, or like you don’t want to distinguish between inside and outside or something.” She broke off, embarrassed by her own excitement.