by Kim Lawrence
Had his early years been different, would he have one day had a photo of his son in his graduation gown on his desk like Simon? Rafael did not know and there was no gain in speculating, he reminded himself. A man lived with what was and not what might have been, and fatherhood was not a role he had ever considered for himself.
Would it happen? He enjoyed being a free agent. Some people might consider him selfish but to Rafael’s mind it would be more selfish to take on a role that you were patently unsuited to.
And scared of.
Rafael pushed away the silent addition. It was not a matter of fear, it was a matter of practicality and personal preference. Of course, if things had been different he supposed it was possible he might have felt it his duty to continue the name of an ancient family. As it was he owed no loyalty to the family who had rejected him.
That rejection had freed him to do as he wished and he did not wish to spend his life constantly in the middle of some sort of domestic crisis like Simon here.
How did someone like Simon, with a challenging job and a large family, manage to cope with the various demands on his time?
It would not do for him. Rafael had always been scrupulous about keeping his own personal life separate from business, and his life had balance.
Or it had had!
‘There is no problem,’ Rafael lied smoothly. ‘Things moved faster than anticipated and Lucas had things under control.’
Just as well someone did!
Ironically his team and the opposition had assumed that his lack of interest was some sort of clever mind game to throw the opposition off their game and it had.
He’d been lucky this time, but Rafael knew that luck and his reputation wouldn’t save him another time. Reputations could be lost overnight; all it took was a few bad decisions for the market to lose confidence.
Rafael knew he could not afford to lose his edge. He couldn’t carry on struggling to concentrate because he was wondering what Libby was doing, if she was waiting anxiously for his return, if she was smiling at other men …
His brain had been hijacked by his temporary intern.
This preoccupation was alien to him. His ability to compartmentalise the disparate aspects of his life had always been a given for Rafael. To have that ability desert him, to find his mind wandering and his thoughts filled exclusively with one face, had made him wonder if he was losing it.
The sobering thought had focused him and it had been with relief he had realised he wasn’t losing anything—he just wasn’t getting it!
This wasn’t about losing his edge, it was about sex. He was a man with healthy appetites, not accustomed to putting any effort into getting the object of his interest into bed.
Despite his notorious reputation, Rafael was the one normally being pursued, and it had always been that way. Since he had entered adolescence women had been attracted to him.
He had told himself that the chase would be good for his jaded appetite, give him time to savour the pleasure of her eventual surrender.
But the pleasure of the chase was one thing, and this, this hunger gnawing away at him like acid, was not pleasure, it was torture!
He was not a naturally patient man, so why go against type now? He had finally realised the error of being too patient, of overcomplicating the situation; the solution was simple—he wanted her and she wanted him. It was time to bring the situation to a conclusion and get back to normality.
He had never been in a relationship for longer than a few weeks before. How long would it take for the fascination to fade, for the hunger to be sated?
Libby had enjoyed her second week. Rob Monroe, a fatherly Scottish man with a dry sense of humour, had greeted her warmly.
‘Rafael wants you to experience as many aspects of the business as possible during your time with us.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Libby promised, thinking, This is where it really starts. She found herself excited by the prospect.
It was later that day when, unable to help herself, she awkwardly introduced the subject that had been on her mind all morning. ‘Mr Alejandro, does he … will he be … around … much this week?’
If she got told it was none of her business, fair enough. To Libby’s way of thinking being put in her place was infinitely preferable to glancing over her shoulder every two seconds. If he was going to pop up she wanted to be forewarned.
‘Rafael is out of the country.’
‘He is?’ Conscious that her reaction to this news was worryingly ambiguous, she concentrated on the relief section, wisely not delving deeper into the tiny flash of something resembling anticlimax.
‘I thought you’d know.’
Libby shook her head. ‘Me? Why should I …?’
The older man had looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, you and he are … friends?’
For friends Libby read lovers. The heat rushed to her face—so the half of the company who didn’t think the lovely Gretchen was sleeping with him thought she was.
Libby knew her cheeks were burning but she kept her glance steady as she looked the older man directly in the eyes. ‘Why would you think that?’
There was a pause before he smiled and nodded his head. ‘My mistake. Rafael will be out of the country for most of the next two weeks.’
Libby received this information in silence. Good news obviously, which begged the worrying question why she experienced a sinking sensation that strongly resembled anticlimax.
‘As you know …’ He paused and added, ‘Or maybe not, he has extensive interests in South America.’
Libby could only hope that Rob Monroe shared his mistake with others. She was never sure if he had, but the attitude of other people she encountered in the building had for the most part been positive—until today, when she arrived to the news that her mentor was ill, nothing more dramatic than the flu but enough to keep him at home for the rest of the week.
Deputising for him was his junior, a stylish brunette in her mid thirties. The previous week Libby had reached the point where, against all expectation, she was actually looking forward to arriving at work.
She was already dreading tomorrow. Her new mentor performed her task with obvious reluctance, ignoring Libby most of the time and only introducing her to anyone when pointedly asked.
Libby had stood around feeling uncomfortably like a spare part. Opening her mouth triggered an exaggerated sequence of eye rolling from the older woman, followed by a tart reminder that she was there in a supernumerary capacity to observe, not participate.
Libby, who knew when she was beat, had eventually stopped opening her mouth. Wasting all this valuable learning time was really frustrating, but what choice did she have? It was true—she was meant to observe, not participate.
Libby, determined to prove herself capable to spite Rafael, just hoped that Rob Monroe would be well soon.
Her reluctant mentor hadn’t even bothered to keep up the pretence of letting Libby trail after her—instead after lunch she planted a stack of papers on her desk and asked for an analysis, her expression suggesting that she did not anticipate getting it.
It had taken Libby most of the afternoon to figure out what she was meant to produce an analysis on, but, determined to prove the woman wrong if it killed her, she ploughed on. By four she had realised it might not kill her but it was going to give her one hell of a headache. The fact she had skipped breakfast and not yet made it to lunch had probably not helped.
Hoping to head off the familiar symptoms, she headed out into the corridor, intending to get a glass of iced water to help wash down her migraine medication.
It was there, with a hand pressed to her throbbing head, that Libby, her thoughts still on the figures revolving in her head, almost ploughed straight into Jake Wylie, the lawyer that Susie had set her up with in New York the previous month. His surprise when he recognised her was equal to her own.
‘Now this is what I call fate,’ he said after she’d given a brief and strictly expurgated reason fo
r her presence.
Not fate, but it was really good to see a familiar face in an environment where she felt like a fish out of water—there had been moments today when she’d felt so isolated and alone that she’d found herself anticipating, and not in a totally negative way, turning around and seeing Rafael standing there!
They began to chat. Jake was a very good listener and, unlike Rafael, you could take what he said at face value. There were no sinister undertones to worry about—or sexual attraction—which made him very easy to relax around.
Having worked through her lunch break, Libby, who was in desperate need of a coffee, invited Jake to join her. She was genuinely delighted when he accepted.
She was midway through pouring Jake a coffee when her mobile rang. Libby smiled an apology and lifted it to her ear and heard her brother’s voice.
‘How is—?’
Her brother cut across her. ‘Is it true?’
Her parents had told her they were not going to tell her brother because he had enough on his plate, adding that they were hoping she had come to her senses before then. Clearly they had decided that with the baby home and Meg fully recovered his plate was clear enough now.
‘Yes, I’m working for Rafael Alejandro, but there are reasons—’
‘I’m not interested in reasons, Libby, the only thing I’m interested in hearing you say is you’re walking out of that building.’
‘I can’t say that.’
‘Have you any idea how upset Mum is? I can’t believe how selfish you’re being.’
Libby felt her eyes fill with tears. ‘Maybe I am.’ It was a question she had asked herself more than once—ever since she had realised that she was no longer doing this just for her family: she was doing it for herself.
She winced as the sound of the phone slamming into the cradle vibrated down the line.
‘Are you all right?’
Libby caught her trembling lower lip between her teeth and shook her head. ‘Family stuff.’ She stopped, pressing a hand to her mouth as her voice was suspended by tears.
She gave a mortified sniff and shook her head in apology.
Jake’s expression became instantly sympathetic. ‘Don’t worry—the things I could tell you about my family.’ And he proceeded to do just that. Libby had no idea if the story of a disastrous Thanksgiving family dinner was real, but it made her laugh.
‘Thank you and sorry about the waterworks.’
The handsome American gave a smile that crinkled his eyes and touched her shoulder. ‘I have four sisters and an ex-wife. I know all about crying. Don’t mind me, let it out,’ he advised, giving her shoulder a friendly squeeze.
The show of sympathy brought a fresh rush of moisture to her eyes. Libby blinked, swallowing past the aching emotional stricture in her throat as she firmed her shoulders.
He meant well, of course, but she had no intention of taking Jake’s advice. If she let go, if for one moment she lowered her defences and let the emotions she had walled up over the past few weeks loose, the resulting torrent would not be pretty.
‘You’re kind.’ She scanned his face, thinking, And good-looking and smart. Why, she wondered, couldn’t I have been attracted to this nice man and not—? Libby shook her head and pushed the thought aside. There were some realities she was not ready to admit even to herself just yet.
Not ever!
Jake watched as she reached for a tissue from the box on the desk; he pushed it closer. ‘A kind lawyer, two words that in my experience rarely precede women ripping my clothes off …?’
Libby shook her head and gave an apologetic smile. ‘I’m not really looking for—’ She broke off awkwardly.
The American gave a philosophical shrug. ‘I thought so but no harm in trying, and watch out—you know what they say?’
Libby shook her head.
‘You always find it when you’re not looking.’ He gave a frown and added, ‘Or was that it finds you?
‘How do you feel about dinner anyway? I’m in town for the rest of the week. I promise not to produce any more homespun wisdom and you could tell me what the legendary Rafael Alejandro is like in real life.’
‘Rafael Alejandro!’
Libby inhaled deeply through flared nostrils. She had developed an almost Pavlovian response to that name. Hear or think it—which she did more frequently than she liked to admit—and she experienced a dramatic hormone rush followed by an equally strong period of self-loathing.
It was a name that pressed more buttons than Libby could count!
She barely registered Jake’s startled expression when a bitter laugh was wrenched from her lips.
‘I can tell you that now. He’s an arrogant, self-opinionated, conceited, unscrupulous, devious—’ Breathing hard, she brought her short tirade to an abrupt halt.
Yes, Libby, that really came across as a disinterested analysis.
Jake let out a silent whistle. ‘Wow. I take it I’m not talking to a fan.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LIBBY, appalled and embarrassed by her outburst, struggled for composure. ‘He is not a man who inspires mild feelings,’ she admitted with a little laugh.
‘Am I interrupting?’
Libby loosed a gasp and turned her head jerkily, her complexion going through several dramatically rapid shade changes before she faced the man framed in the doorway, her eyes wide and horror-filled in a face that was porcelain pale.
Rafael Alejandro, his face a stony mask, levered his lean length from the doorframe, channelling dark, mean and brooding from every perfect, arrogant pore as he tipped his dark head, displayed a perfect set of white teeth and divided his nasty sardonic smile between her and Jake.
Her outburst replaying in her head—he had obviously heard every word—Libby bit her lip to restrain the groan that rose in her throat, utterly helpless to control the rush of liquid heat that surged through her body.
She watched as he levered his shoulder off the doorframe and straightened up to his full impressive height before sauntering into the room with the feline grace of a jungle cat.
‘I was just—’
‘Yes, I heard.’
Libby swallowed, her cheeks flaming, and lowered her gaze, struggling to regain a semblance of control. She had meant every word she had said in her no-holds-barred summary of his character; her only inaccuracy lay in omission.
You could not describe Rafael Alejandro without mentioning the trivial detail that he was arguably—no argument in Libby’s mind—the most incredible-looking man on the planet. But no description of his well-built body, chiselled features and sexy mouth could articulate the force field of arrogant, raw sexuality he projected.
It was something a person had to feel to appreciate. Libby was feeling it now, feeling it from her scalp to her toes.
She wondered if she was having a heart attack.
‘I am intruding?’ His questioning glance slid past Libby and to the man beside her.
Libby missed the social cue. ‘No … yes … that is …’ Libby stopped. Forced onto the offensive by sheer embarrassment, she snapped crankily, ‘What are you doing here?’
Rafael raised a brow and Libby bit her lip, feeling a total idiot.
‘That is, this is a surprise. Nobody told me you were coming.’
‘I had no idea I was meant to inform you.’
Jake, who had been silent, stepped in to fill the awkward silence. ‘Jake Wylie …’
For an awful moment Libby thought that Rafael was not going to take the hand extended to him.
The contact was brief. After subjecting him to a stare that made the ice cap look warm and cosily benevolent by contrast Rafael ignored the other man totally and turned his attention to Libby.
‘Right, well, I must be going. It was very nice to meet you and it was lovely to catch up, Libby …’ Jake threw her an apologetic look.
There was a silence after the door closed behind Jake, broken eventually by Rafael.
‘You have been putting your t
ime to good use, I see. I am all for thinking outside the box, but I think you might have the wrong idea about what skills are required when running a light manufacturing company.’ His lips curled into an expressive sneer of disdain.
The smiling insult drew a gasp from Libby. ‘That was totally uncalled for!’
‘In this building I do not receive lessons on manners, I deliver them!’ The stinging rebuke brought a fresh rush of anger to her cheeks.
‘And actually I think that under the circumstances I was admirably restrained. You are meant to be shadowing Rob. Instead I find you making out with someone on your desk. I’m assuming you have worked your way through the football team.’
‘I was not on my desk … or making out,’ she added hastily. ‘And Mr Monroe … Rob … he is sick.’ She shook her head and added, ‘Football team?’
‘Why was I not told?’
‘How should I know?’
A nerve ticked along Rafael’s jaw. ‘Who is responsible for giving you this junk?’ He picked up the file on top of the pile and waved it towards her.
Libby deflected the question. ‘Why—are you going to bully her too?’ She might not like the woman, but she would not put her worst enemy in Rafael Alejandro’s firing line.
He stared at her face, betraying little beyond blank incredulity. ‘Bully?’
She lifted her chin another defiant inch and met the blaze of his golden stare head-on. ‘You heard me.’
She saw something dark and dangerous flare in Rafael’s mesmeric eyes and swallowed, moistening her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue.
‘Please go on, you fascinate me.’ At one level Libby did know that this was probably the worst advice in the world to take. But she was way past taking the sensible option. Besides, this situation was past fixing by grovelling. It was obvious she’d already totally blown whatever chance she had of saving her father from financial ruin, so why hold back?
What was the worst he could do?
Libby’s thoughts veered away from the question.
‘You know what my definition of a bully is?’
Rafael’s dark brows twitched into an interrogative dark line above his hawkish nose as he folded his arms across his chest, his eyes trained on her heaving bosom, and he murmured, ‘I feel sure you are going to tell me.’