by Sandra Field
No way.
She straightened her shoulders, pasted a brilliant smile on her lips and opened the door.
“My God,” said Rafe.
Her dress was a brief shimmer of sea-green over impossibly long legs. Her shoulders and arms were bare, her cleavage…don’t go there, Rafe. At her lobes, tiny earrings shot flashes of colored fire; her lips were luscious curves of iridescent pink.
Uncertainty flickered across her face. “Too much eyeshadow? Lipstick on my teeth?”
“You’re perfect,” he said unsteadily. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Her smile was more natural. “Oh, sure.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” Rafe said in a raw voice.
He meant it. Karyn’s jaw dropped. “It’s only my friend Liz’s dress and makeup from the Heddingley drugstore.”
“I don’t care what it is, you take my breath away—and that’s the truth, too.”
Hadn’t he done the same to her? Her cheeks flushing a bright pink that had nothing to do with makeup, Karyn said, “You don’t look too bad yourself. Heck, who am I kidding? You’re gorgeous, you’re sexy, you look good enough to eat.”
“Any time,” Rafe said.
Her flush deepened. His light gray suit was impeccably tailored; his blue shirt was teamed with an elegant silk tie. He could have graced the pages of any glossy magazine. Yet beneath his highly civilized garments, she was all too aware of his sheer physicality: his muscular body, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped; his every move with a predator’s grace and sleek economy.
Danger, her brain screamed.
Shut up, she thought in an intoxicating surge of rebellion. I’ve earned a night out. The last three years have been hell on wheels and why shouldn’t I have a few hours of fun? She fluttered her mascaraed lashes at him. “Is the restaurant—wherever it is—ready for us?”
“It might be. I’m not sure I am.”
“I’m a small town girl, Rafe. Nothing fancy. Certainly not what you’re used to.”
Not like Celine, he thought. “Besides being so beautiful you knock my socks off, you’re real, Karyn,” he said forcefully. “You’ve got integrity and courage. If you made a promise, you’d do your best to keep it. Don’t ask me how I know that, I just do.”
“Well, of course I would,” she said, slightly offended that he could even question that.
His voice deepened. “If I kiss you, will I wreck that shiny lipstick?”
“According to the label, it’s kissproof.”
“Why don’t we put it to the test?”
Her breath caught in her throat. She closed her eyes, feeling his breath warm on her cheek, then the first tantalizing sweep of his mouth over hers. As her lips parted to the dart of his tongue, nothing could have stopped her low purr of pleasure. She locked her arms around his neck, lipstick and their destination dropping from her mind as he tasted and sought and explored.
He was clasping her by the hips, pressing her to his body; she could be in no doubt that he wanted her. In a thrill of pride, she allowed her own needs to surface, hot and urgent. Was this the adventure she craved? All her doubts and fears eclipsed in Rafe’s arms?
It was Rafe who pulled back. With a hand whose tremor he couldn’t quite disguise, he brushed a gleaming tendril of hair back from her cheek; then, briefly, buried his face in the sweet-scented curve of her shoulder. Bide your time, Rafe. Take it slow.
Easy enough to say, not so easy to do after a kiss that had made nonsense of his own counsel. “We’d better go,” he muttered, “or we won’t be going anywhere.”
“I have to relay every detail of the menu to Liz,” Karyn said faintly. “She’d never forgive me if I only took this dress up to bed with you.”
“A terrible waste,” he said with a wry grin. “Is that your shawl? It could turn cool later on.”
As she nodded, he picked up a white shawl woven from the finest of wool and threaded with silver. He draped it around her shoulders, his fingers brushing the smooth ivory of her skin. Bide your time, don’t rush and keep your cards close to your chest, he thought crazily. All he had to do was follow his own advice.
All? It sounded like one hell of a lot.
Outside her house a shiny black limousine was parked, a uniformed chauffeur at the wheel. Karyn blinked. “Are you trying to impress me? Because if you are, it’s working.”
“We only go this way once.”
Rafe helped her into the back seat, trying not to stare at her slim legs in their glistening hose. Then he got in the other side. On the seat between them was a great sheaf of pink roses. Karyn lifted them, breathing deep of their fragrance. “Are those for me?”
Her face was rapt, the voluptuous softness of her lips almost more than he could bear. He said clumsily, “If you want them.”
“How could I not? They’re gorgeous!”
She gave him a radiant smile, her eyes sparkling like the crystals at her lobes. Any sensible thoughts fled from Rafe’s brain. “How was your day?” he asked with a singular lack of originality.
She began describing the various cats, dogs and pigs that she’d seen since eight o’clock that morning, and gradually he relaxed. When the limo came to a halt, Karyn looked out. “We’re at the airport,” she said, puzzled.
“That’s my private jet over there.”
A shadow crossed her face. “Where are we going, Rafe?”
“An hour’s flight, to a resort I own in Maine. I’ll have you home in time for work tomorrow.”
Trust me. That was the message. Perhaps she could trust him; it was herself she was worried about. Rafe added, “You’ll like it there, I promise.”
She said with a frown that charmed him, “You’re really very rich, aren’t you?”
“Very.”
“How many resorts do you own?”
“A couple of hundred.”
“And how many houses?”
She looked as suspicious as though owning foreign property was a criminal activity. He said meekly, “The stone house in Droverton, a penthouse in London and the cottage in the Hebrides. A ski chalet in St. Moritz. And a lovely open bungalow in the Caicos Islands. But I spend as much time as I can at Stoneriggs, and I often loan the others out to friends.”
“We’ve got nothing in common!”
“Karyn,” Rafe said with sudden authority, “we’re not getting into any heavy-duty discussions before dinner. If you leave money out of the equation, we’ve got a whole lot in common. The pilot’s waiting for us—let’s go.”
The sleek Learjet delighted Karyn with its deep leather seats, kitchenette and fully appointed bathroom. Laying her roses carefully on an empty seat, she put her small overnight bag in the overhead bin and settled down to enjoy herself.
The resort was on an emerald-green island off the coast of Maine, private yachts and cabin cruisers dotting a sea smooth as glass. As the jet descended, Rafe said, “I’ve designed this place as a conference centre for executives. So there’s a helicopter pad, meeting rooms with state-of-the-art technology and a sportsclub. You can see the marina from the air. There’s also an Olympic-size pool in the solarium.”
Karyn grinned. “I’d find it awfully difficult to concentrate on business.”
“It’s been a good investment,” Rafe said casually, as the jet touched down and taxied along the runway, coming to a halt near a manicured golf course. Another limo was waiting for them on the tarmac. They drove along a winding road edged with fir trees and silver birch, past chalets tucked among the trees, and gleaming sand beaches interspersed with great chunks of granite. The main lodge, built Adirondack-style out of stone and cedar, took Karyn’s breath away. But the limo kept going, until they reached a secluded cedar bungalow surrounded on three sides by magnificent copper beeches, dense shrubbery and gardens scented with lilies, honeysuckle and roses. The other side was open to the ocean and a curve of pale sand.
As they got out, Rafe said easily, “There are three bedrooms, choose whichever
one you want. Then we’ll go for dinner at the lodge.”
Each bedroom had its own balcony, a fireplace, and a marble bathroom with a whirlpool tub and piles of luxuriously thick towels. In the living room, paneled in bleached pine, hand-woven rugs were scattered over the hardwood floor; modernistic glass sculptures framed a stone hearth. Karyn had run out of superlatives; she had no idea how she was going to describe all this to Liz. Perhaps it would be easier to tell Fiona, who was used to this kind of luxury.
Feeling as though she was in a dream, she walked with Rafe to the lodge under a sky blazoned with gold-flecked clouds. As they were greeted in the vaulted foyer with its expanse of windows overlooking the surf, Rafe glanced sideways at his companion. She looked as composed as though she visited resorts like this every day of the week, he thought with a quiver of amusement. After they’d been seated at their table and left with the menus, Rafe said softly, “You’re not to even look at the prices, Karyn, have you got that?”
Trying not to gape at the high timbered ceiling, priceless carpets and even more priceless view, Karyn picked up the menu and opened the embossed leather cover. “I’m hungry enough to reduce you to penury,” she smiled. Then, in spite of herself, her eyes widened in shock. “Rafe—it’ll be bankruptcy.”
“I own the place, remember? Order whatever you want.”
This time her smile was pure mischief. “We won’t end up washing dishes?”
“Not tonight.”
She gave a sigh of pleasure. “How am I ever going to decide?”
Celine, he remembered, had taken for granted everything he’d given her. But Karyn wouldn’t. Any woman capable of medicating a sick bull wasn’t going to be blasé about the finest gourmet cuisine.
Was he falling in love with her?
He began discussing the appetizers, steering away from a question he wasn’t ready to answer. When their wine was poured, he raised his glass. “Shall we toast Fiona and John?”
“To their happiness,” Karyn said, sudden tears shimmering in her eyes. “I really miss her…and I’m dying to meet John.”
“You can stay at Stoneriggs any time you like. Use it as a base.”
Her lashes flickered. It was on the tip of her tongue to say he was taking a lot for granted; but hadn’t he warned her against heavy-duty discussions? Savoring the chardonnay on her tongue, she exclaimed, “I’ve never tasted anything so wonderful—who else can we toast?”
He laughed. “Your friend Liz?”
“Absolutely. To Liz and Pierre.”
He clinked his glass with hers. “I’m so happy to be here with you, Karyn.”
The words had come out before he could censor them. Her blue eyes, deep and unreadable, flicked to his and then away. “I’ll take that as a compliment to my borrowed dress.”
It was, very subtly, a brush-off. Rafe felt the stirrings of anger, and stamped them down. A confrontation was no doubt in the offing. But he had no intention of it taking place here. “So you should,” he said easily. “Why don’t we toast my parents next? To Joan and Reginald—who are as madly in love now as they were when they got married.”
She echoed him, the wine sliding down her throat. She didn’t want to discuss the institution of marriage as embodied in his parents. “They run the castle, don’t they?”
“In their eccentric way, yes.” He began describing Holden Castle as it was many years ago and now, moving to his mother’s pack of irresponsible dogs and his father’s obsession with contract bridge. His face was lit with an affection that touched her in spite of herself. How could she not be drawn to a man who so unselfconsciously loved his wacky-sounding parents?
As the wine sank in the bottle, she began to talk about her own parents, her father’s long battle with heart disease and the hardships that had brought to the family; her mother’s steadfast support of husband and daughter. “I buried myself in my books at university—how could I not when she’d given up so much to send me there?” she said, taking her first mouthful of a leafy green salad lightly tossed with a cranberry vinaigrette. “Mmm…luscious.”
“They use local ingredients as much as possible.” Rafe asked another question, drawing her out about her childhood and adolescence. A shrimp terrine, scallops from the bay with julienned garden vegetables, and a maple syrup mousse followed, each accompanied by the appropriate wine. But even then, Karyn’s tongue didn’t loosen in one particular area: when he mentioned Steve’s name once or twice, she swiftly changed the subject.
His hope that she’d share some of the details of her marriage wasn’t panning out. He could have been more direct, insisting on answers to specific questions. But he wasn’t ready to be quite so unsubtle.
As she drained her espresso, Karyn gave a sigh of repletion. “That was the best meal I’ve eaten in my entire life,” she said. “Thank you, Rafe.”
“My pleasure,” he said, the simple words invested with new meaning. “Want to wander around the grounds for a while before we head back? Or dance on the patio?”
“I used to love to dance,” she said wistfully. Steve had been a technically perfect dancer; but the music had never entered his soul, and she’d soon learned not to take other partners. Briefly a memory of his savage temper rippled along her nerves; she shivered, her eyes downcast.
“Are you cold?”
“Too much wine,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Let’s go dance,” Rafe said. All evening he’d had the sense that someone else was sitting at the table with them: a man called Steve, who’d died a hero. It was a feeling he could do without, he thought, getting to his feet and offering her his arm.
The canopied patio was entwined with wisteria, the blooms like ghostly blue lanterns in the moonlight. Several other couples were circling the floor to music that was dreamy and romantic; Karyn gave herself over to it, moving into Rafe’s arms as naturally as if she’d been dancing with him all her life. He said, smiling down at her, “You’re taller than you were in your steel-toed boots.”
She chuckled. “Actually, my feet are killing me. How do women ever walk in these shoes?”
“Take ’em off.”
Scandalized, she said, “Here?”
“Darling Karyn, we can make our own rules.”
Darling… and was it true? Could she make her own rules? If so, she wanted the evening to end with Rafe in her bed. Once he’d taken her home tomorrow, he’d be leaving for Toronto, so what could be the harm? He’d told her back in England that he’d sworn off passionate relationships; so he wouldn’t want commitment any more than she did. They could go to bed together and then go their separate ways.
The perfect ending to a perfect evening.
She leaned into Rafe’s body, intuitively following his lead, feeling fluid in his arms, slumberous with desire. Lifting her lips to his throat, she whispered, “We could go back to the bungalow.”
He said huskily, “I think that’s a fine idea.”
Even his voice was perfect, she thought with a frisson down her spine. As deep and smooth as the amber-colored brandy he’d ordered after dinner. Her whole body a single ache of longing, she let him take her by the hand and lead her from the dance floor. Hand in hand, they walked back to the bungalow. As he unlocked the door and they went inside, Karyn said casually, “When are you flying to Toronto?”
“I’m in no hurry.”
“I thought you had a sale to look after.”
“I delegated it. Got the report late this afternoon, it doesn’t look like the site suits our criteria.”
A little edge to her voice, she said, “But you’re going home soon.”
“In a hurry to get rid of me?”
All her senses alert, she said with careful truth, “If we go to bed together tonight, it’s not the start of an affair. Or of any kind of commitment.”
Rafe said sharply, “You mean you’ll spend the night with me providing I head across the Atlantic tomorrow morning?”
“You told me when y
ou arrived that you were dropping in—not staying long, in other words.”
“Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
“Maybe you should have communicated that to me.” She gave a sigh of frustration. “Rafe, I don’t want to end a magical evening by arguing with you. You said to me once that you’d sworn off passion for life…she ripped the heart from my body was how you put it. That’s why you were thinking of marrying Fiona, who, to put it mildly, didn’t turn your crank. But what’s between you and me—if that’s not passion, I don’t know what to call it. So I’ve been going on the assumption that the last thing you’d want from me is any kind of commitment.”
She’d found, unerringly, the weak point in his armor. “It’s too soon to talk about the future,” he said forcefully. “I just want to get to know you. To see if there’s anything between us to build on.”
“Build what?”
“You don’t let up, do you?”
“Most people don’t travel four thousand miles for a picnic!”
His eyes like gimlets, he said, “I don’t like talking about this—why for years even the thought of passion made me run a country mile. But it’s time I did.”
She said mutinously, “I don’t need to hear your life story.”
His voice dangerously soft, Rafe said, “Just listen to me for five minutes, will you?”
All Karyn’s euphoria on the dance floor had vanished, eaten up by a pervading anxiety. “All right, I’ll listen. But don’t expect me to change my mind—I’m not into commitment.”
“We’ll get to the reasons for that later,” Rafe said curtly, by sheer willpower forcing her to hold his gaze. “But this is about me. Why I was just fine until you came along.” He paused, trying to calm down. When had he ever let a woman get to him as easily as Karyn did?
So much for his famous defences.
“I met Celine when I was twenty-five,” he said, ironing any emotion from his tone. He was asking for understanding; not sympathy. “I was on the way up, living in high gear twenty-four hours a day. Working my guts out, traveling all over the world, dealing with men who had ten times my experience. Celine was from Paris, she was a model and so beautiful she stole my heart the first time I saw her.” He moved his shoulders restlessly. “I figured she was unattainable. But to my intense gratification she wasn’t. We fell into bed and for the next eighteen months I was head over heels in love with her.”