Burning Embers

by Hannah Fielding

  Coral tensed at his touch but managed to tear herself away. “No doubt that is true in your kind of world.”

  He gave a deep laugh that was edged with a note of sadness. “According to you, what might be my kind of world?” he asked quietly as he stepped back and leaned against the bark of a nearby tree.

  “A primitive sort of world,” she said. “Barbaric, lawless, and promiscuous, like yourself.”

  Rafe laughed shortly, but he shifted uneasily. “Those statements are unfounded. Your case, Miss Sinclair, would never hold up in a serious court of law. Come now; be more specific. I’m sure you can do better than that.”

  The challenge in his voice was unmistakable. Common sense cautioned her to ignore it and change the subject or, better yet, bid Rafe goodnight and return to the safety of her room. But suddenly Coral was feeling vicious and vindictive; she hated this man with his quiet self-confidence; she hated the way he looked her up and down as though he was admiring his latest possession; she hated his ability to get away with anything. Yet if she were honest, most of all she hated the impact Rafe had on her emotions, what he did to her own self-confidence…the passions he stirred inside her.

  “Do you really want to know what I think of you?” She moved toward him, her eyes glittering defiance.

  “I’m most interested to hear your views, dear lady.”

  “I think you are a disloyal friend and a womanizer.”

  Rafe nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Those are rather unpleasant accusations you have just made, you know?”

  “Maybe.” Coral shrugged a bare shoulder. “But they are quite justifiable.”

  “Some may care to disagree with you.”

  “I don’t think so. Everybody believes my father was a good friend to you. It is general knowledge that when you arrived here, you were a human wreck, and he saved you. He let you into his home, set you back on your feet, and you repaid his kindness and hospitality by stealing his wife and breaking his heart.”

  “Cybil and I are old friends. We knew each other long before either of us met your father,” he said.

  “Oh, I know all about that.” Coral’s eyes flashed with a belligerent light, and she moved toward him — the mention of Cybil’s name alone was enough to spur her anger on. “You’ve always been lovers.” She thought she would choke on the word. “And poor Daddy’s heart couldn’t take it, so now you should have his death on your conscience,” she ended, having successfully fired her vitriolic missile, regretting it as soon as it had been delivered. She did not know what to believe but felt deep down that her words were unjustified.

  Rafe remained cool and detached, his eyes studying her intently, though she could see his jaw harden. Suddenly she became aware of how close she was to him, her cheeks glowing with anger, and she wished for more clothing than the clinging fabric of her nightshirt.

  “Yes, Cybil and I had a brief fling in a previous life — ” Rafe ran a frustrated hand through his hair “ — but that was all before I knew your father and became his friend. Your father worshipped Cybil… But there was a misunderstanding. You have to take my word for it. I would never have betrayed your father or hurt him in any way.”

  Damn the man! He made it sound so believable, but she sensed that there was more to this than he was admitting. Why did she have to take his word for it?

  “And is it because of your father that you refused to dance with me tonight?” Rafe added, not giving her time to respond.

  “Yes, among other things,” she replied, knowing he could see her anger.

  “Such as?”

  She arched a brow. “Well, for one thing, you think you can waltz back into my life after all this time, with no explanation, expecting me to swoon at your feet.”

  Rafe smiled at her as his eyes searched her face and his voice became lower. “I’m back now, Coral. That’s all you need to know, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, is it? There’s a lot I need to know, but you seem to think yourself above all explanations.” Her defiant gaze held his. “In fact, I find your behavior quite repulsive.” She was aware of the charged atmosphere between them. Coral saw the thunderous look on his face too late. She would have moved away had she sensed the warning undertones of his deceptively soft voice and recognized the danger signals in his narrowing eyes, but she was too deeply immersed in her little battle, too busy scoring points and letting out some of the nervous tension that had been building up inside her.

  “All right, young lady, so you think I’m repulsive?” he rasped as fire flashed in his eyes. He grabbed hold of her shoulder, whirling her round and pinning her against the tree. She was rooted to the spot, a prisoner of his iron grip. Rafe paused, staring at her. Stunned, she saw that the anger in his eyes had turned to passion; she was mesmerized by his mouth so close to hers. Coral parted her lips to protest, but no sound came out of her throat. Fighting her own desire, she tried to wriggle out of his grip, but Rafe pressed himself against her, his warm masculine body dominating and demanding. His lips claimed her mouth, igniting her with hungry kisses. She shivered as his chest pressed against her breasts, which were straining against the fragile barrier of silk. She felt her body come to life.

  As he slid one arm around her waist, the other hand moved farther down, teasing the soft curves of her body. He pushed his legs between her thighs, pressing his arousal against her. Coral arched toward him, sensing his need and unconsciously urging him to fulfill it. Suddenly he groaned, pulled back, and turned away, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath.

  Her eyes flew open. “What’s wrong?” she gasped, her senses still aching, her mind awhirl.

  Shaking his head, he released her and leaned one trembling hand against the smooth brown bark of the tree, his eyes fixed to the ground. “Damn you, Coral, you could drive a saint to drink,” he said, his voice thick and trembling with emotion. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that happen. I swore I wouldn’t. Go to bed. Go and sleep.”

  “I can’t sleep now,” she protested, trying to catch her breath. “I’m too hot!”

  “Then take another shower,” he suggested as he stormed off into the night.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was only pride that enabled Coral to face Rafe at breakfast. At first, she was tempted to spend the morning in bed on the pretext of a hangover, but it would have been tantamount to admitting that she had taken his sudden sobering up as a rebuff and that she cared. She blushed at the memory of her own wanton response as his hands had slid over her body, stroking and exploring her slender curves through the thin fabric of her nightshirt. She had never felt wanted in this way before. Yet he had been the one to pull away, to call them back to reality. What would be his reaction this morning? Would he bring up their tête à tête of the night before? She had used some pretty harsh words to his face, and then she had responded to his furious desire with equal fire. Would he chastise her? Ignore her? Mock her? To hell with the man! Coral’s mind flashed with resentment and anger, but underneath she recognized Rafe’s hold on her. Nevertheless, she would not hide away like a sensitive flower. She put on a determined air and forced herself to go downstairs.

  When Coral walked into the dining room, she noticed too late that Rafe was on his own, making his way to the sideboard. “Ah, Miss Sinclair,” he exclaimed jovially as she appeared in the doorway, “did you sleep well?” Coral’s first instinct was to rush from the room, but she stayed. Without looking at him, she knew that he was watching her, and she was damned if she was going to give him the satisfaction of an undignified retreat.

  “Can I help you to some eggs and bacon? Absolutely delicious! Or maybe you would prefer a cup of coffee to start off with? Nothing like a cup of the hot brown brew to sober one up.”

  Coral met the devilish, tawny-brown gaze. She would have gladly wiped that Cheshire cat grin off his arrogant face, but she restrained herself. “Thank you, Mr. de Monfort,” she said coolly, even managing a brave smile, “but I think that
I’ll pour myself a glass of orange juice.”

  Walking toward him, she couldn’t help but notice how Rafe’s faded jeans molded to his hips and muscled thighs, and she tried to ignore the way the sight of his neck through the unbuttoned top of his shirt affected her, hinting at the broad chest below. As he stepped back to let her pass, a whiff of cologne that mingled with the clean, manly scent of his skin tickled her nostrils, sending unwelcome tremors through her body. This was not turning out to be such a good idea after all. “The house seems awfully quiet. Where are the others?” Coral asked lightly, hoping her tone did not sound too rattled as she sat down at the large dining table.

  “Most of them have had breakfast. I fear we’re lumbered with each other for the remainder of the meal.” He beamed, taking a seat opposite her. “Can I pass you the toast?” Rafe stretched out the long, lean hands that had stroked her so effectively a few hours before, reaching out for the silver toast rack.

  “No, thanks,” Coral said without looking at him, strangely stirred by his amused attention. She wouldn’t have minded a refreshing pawpaw or a mango. The artfully arranged basket piled high with clusters of exotic fruit looked tempting enough, but it was placed on the far side of him, and the steady pupils unnerved her to such a degree it made her tongue-tied and gauche.

  “You should eat something — you look a little pale. Maybe some fruit?” Rafe suggested sympathetically as he lifted the colorful basket across and laid it in front of her. Damn the man. Was he a mind reader?

  “Thank you,” she said, reluctantly glancing at him and settling for the first fruit that came within her reach.

  “Funny girl,” he murmured as if to himself.

  “What’s so funny?” she snapped, seizing the opportunity to have a go at him. Tension was in the air.

  “You are. You’re suddenly acting like an awkward schoolgirl,” he said huskily, his voice openly teasing but still caressing, “when every inch of you loudly proclaims that you are anything but.” Rafe raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to her, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “More like this ripe fruit here, succulent and ready to be savored…”

  “That’s enough!” Coral rasped, interrupting him, as she fought the familiar heat that raged through her veins. She did not know how to deal with Rafe’s disarming directness, and once again he had managed to push all of her buttons. How could he be so flippant after she had made herself so vulnerable in front of him last night? Pushing her chair back, she stormed out of the room, more embarrassed than angry, and almost collided with Cybil who had just appeared in the doorway.

  “What’s the matter with her?” her stepmother asked in a mocking voice.

  Rafe shrugged. “Not a morning person, I guess.”

  It was mid-morning, the house was stifling, and Coral had to get some air. Needing to walk, to get away, she rushed out into the garden, down the drive, and toward the front gates. She had barely reached the end of the dirt road that ran along the boundary fence when she heard a car coming up fast behind her. It was Rafe’s Land Rover. The car swept passed her and screeched to a sudden stop a little farther on, obstructing her way. The driver rolled down the window. “And where do you think you’re going, rosebud?” said the all too familiar, all too irritating voice. She swore under her breath. Was there no getting away from this man?

  Ignoring him, she managed to squeeze past the vehicle and continued on her way. She heard the door of the car slam shut. In a couple of strides he had caught up with her, grabbing hold of her arm.

  “Let me go,” she said sharply. “Let me be.” She lashed out at him, but he wouldn’t listen and maintained his grip. “I’ll have you arrested for assault,” she threatened, kicking and struggling frantically, all claws out.

  Rafe’s eyes glittered dangerously in the sunlight. “Steady, little tigress,” he muttered, “I’m stronger than you are, even though you do put up a good fight. I’m just trying to stop you running off. Don’t you realize you’re walking straight toward the jungle?”

  “I’m either a rosebud or a tigress.” She was still wrestling to free herself from the powerful clasp of his fingers around her wrists. “I can’t be both, so make up your mind. What do you want with me anyhow? You’re not my keeper. He’s dead, remember?”

  Her words obviously stunned him. The clamp loosened, and she wrenched herself away.

  “Get into the car,” he ordered, glowering at her.

  “No, I won’t,” she declared plainly, her face flushed, as she glared back at him steadily.

  “Come now, Coral, get into the car. I’ll give you a lift to wherever you’d like to go.”

  “I don’t think so,” she retorted hotly. “I just want to have a walk, and you’re the last person I’d choose for company.”

  “Going for a walk in this part of the world can be dangerous,” he said. “For one thing, the sun is already hot. Soon it will be unbearable, and it will scorch your delicate rosebud skin. We wouldn’t want that to happen, would we now?” He was smiling at her indulgently, his voice softer, almost tender. “For another, you may have been away from Kenya since you were a girl, but you must remember that white people never go walking alone here, not even the local expats. Besides, we’re in the middle of the bush, on the edge of the jungle; you could have some very unpleasant encounters with creatures much more dangerous than I am. Whatever you think of me, Coral, try to bear in mind that I only have your best interests at heart.” Rafe’s anger had been replaced by concern. He had a point there, she thought; it probably wasn’t such a clever idea to go wondering off on a hike in this outlandish place.

  “So, what do you suggest, clever clogs?” Coral looked up at him, arms folded. “I’m not used to being imprisoned; besides, I’ve got work to do. I may have a year’s unpaid leave, but I have promised to get together photographs and material soon for an article next year on Africa. I’m not in the habit of letting people down.”

  “I never suggested that you should let anyone down,” Rafe said, “but there are other means to go about it.”

  “Such as?”

  A smile touched Rafe’s lips. “More than one way comes to mind,” he said pensively. For a few seconds his attention seemed to drift away; then he pinched her chin affectionately between his thumb and forefinger. “Come along, rosebud.” Rafe smiled mischievously as he pulled open the door of the Land Rover to let her in. “It’s already too hot out here. Let’s continue this conversation in the car. I’ll take you for a drive and show you some countryside.” Coral stopped arguing and followed him to the car.

  The narrow road climbed and descended along the edges of gaping ravines and precipices, winding its way across the foothills. The views were unexpected and magnificent. Orchids sprouted from emerald green grass between banks of compact, glossy thorn bushes and flame-colored reeds. Along the road, acacias, tamarind, frangipani, and purple jacarandas thrust their flowering branches into the never-ending, azure sky. On all sides everything was colossal; the space surrounding them made them seem reduced to Lilliputian size.

  They drove in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Rafe was a steady driver, and Coral watched through the window as the scenery rolled by. She felt an urge to ask more about him but did not know quite how to go about it. Clearly Rafe’s knowledge of her was much greater than hers of him; the oils he had painted were alone proof enough. Walter Sinclair must have spoken to Rafe about his daughter, but to Coral, the man sitting next to her was a total stranger. Although she recognized herself to be a private person, somehow there was something more evasive about him, something studiously vague. She thought back to their first two encounters. Rafe had deliberately not introduced himself. Maybe he had felt awkward because of the gossip surrounding him, Cybil, and her father. Yet he must have realized that sooner or later they would meet socially and that she would find out his identity. Kenya’s social circles were not that wide after all; everybody knew everybody, and everyone gossiped about everyone. Maybe this was part of his style, to make
himself seem more attractive; she had known a few people like that. Still, his Sphinx-like attitude made her feel uneasy.

  Rafe, who had been watching Coral for some time, suddenly stopped the car, jerking her back to reality. Totally absorbed by her thoughts, she had not noticed their arrival at a clearing. There, in the middle of the depression, entirely enclosed by flowering shrubs, lay a phosphorescent expanse of water, shimmering like a sheet of silk in the rays of the midday sun. High above, a solid mass of white foam thundered from a narrow gulley; it leaped down, rolling over part of a sheer wall of mountain that stood like an impassive sentinel, its head in the clouds. Farther up, exotic trees stooped over the crystalline lake.

  Coral got out of the car, her senses reveling in the magnificent scenery, submerged in this world of color. Apart from the light roar of the falls and the singing of birds, it was a tranquil haven of beauty. “It’s so peaceful here,” she murmured.

  Rafe came round and stood next to her. They watched silently for a while as the sunlight caught the cascades, making them dazzle like diamonds. “Am I forgiven, then, for teasing you at breakfast?” Rafe’s voice was soft, the inflection a seductive caress. Coral looked up at him and met his amused expression. Laughter bubbled up in her throat, a spontaneous answer to his question.

  “Fancy a swim?” he asked, his eyes sparkling almost as fiercely as the water.

  “My swimsuit is at the house,” she said in a low voice as she stared at a spot in the distance, very much aware of his attentive look.

  He chuckled. “That’s a very lame excuse, rosebud. You’ll have to do better than that. Who needs a swimsuit anyway?”

  She felt her cheeks color. “I do,” she uttered, still determinedly focusing on the scenery opposite.

  “Is that a blush I see?” he asked with a light chuckle. “How inhibited you English are. Don’t you know that it’s the most delicious sensation to feel water against one’s naked skin? Nakedness is a perfectly natural and beautiful state. We were all born that way, and if we are happy to be naked as babies, why not as adults?” His tone was matter of fact as he continued to stare at her steadily.