by Donna Alward
“It’s not just me, is it?” The uncertainty in his voice reached into her heart. Him, insecure? If she weren’t already so overwhelmed, she’d laugh. Instead, she leaned into his touch.
“It’s not just you. Not even a little bit.”
He kissed her then. The last time he’d had too much Scotch and wasn’t thinking straight at all. Maybe this time they were swept away in the day or whatever spell had bewitched them, but a few glasses of wine weren’t enough to cloud anyone’s judgment. She was fully aware of who she was, where she was, and who she was with. And so was he.
His lips were soft, warm, and seductive. While she knew it was in his power to be commanding, to take charge, this was a side of Raoul that few ever saw or could appreciate. There was tenderness and patience. A willingness to explore that made her head swim with delight. He was a man who knew how to be decisive, and also knew when to step back and let things unfold. This moment was one of the latter, and she was ever so glad. The way he kissed her was so swoon-worthy she thought she might have to let go of the lapels and hang on to his shoulders just so she didn’t melt into a puddle at his feet.
He nibbled at her lower lip. “Mmmm.” His mouth slid over her jaw until he nipped at her earlobe, which sent several points of arousal to full attention. “Oh,” he murmured, his voice rich and warm. “I see.”
Then he nipped at it again and Steph swallowed a groan. She had to be quiet. No one could know they were out here.
As if he sensed her thoughts, he pulled her with him so they were shadowed by a tall potted tree. In the process he tugged on her hand and she pitched forward, her body pressed against his, clenched fists still between them.
Then she dropped her hands; the jacket slipped off her shoulders and tumbled to the terrace stones. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him forward, just enough that they were kissing again, with less restraint and patience than before.
His hand slid over her shoulder, warm against her bare skin, and goose bumps ran down her arms. Their breaths grew short as urgency grew, and Raoul’s palm slid over her breast. She pressed into his hand, needing to feel close to him, to feel connected. To . . . reach him in some way, and make him see it was her. Steph. She was the one here, flesh and blood, in his arms, kissing his lips, moaning into his mouth as he touched her.
More than anything, she wanted him to finally, finally see the woman she was. Below the surface of job titles and casual relationships. She wanted him to see her the way she saw him.
“Steph,” he whispered, slowing the kiss a little, running his lips over her forehead. “We shouldn’t be doing this out here.”
She swallowed her fear and leaned back just enough that she could look him in the face. “Then do you want to take it somewhere else?”
The naked yearning on his face gave her the answer, but his words contradicted it. “I can’t. Not that I don’t want to, but . . .” He lifted his hands and cupped her face. “It’s too soon. I don’t want to . . .” He frowned. “I don’t want to make a mistake.”
Ouch. It hurt to hear he thought being with her would be a mistake. But he must have seen her reaction, because he quickly amended, “Not a mistake being with you, but a misstep. I don’t want to be careless with you.”
For a brief second, Stephani wished she was the kind of woman to inspire a man to make missteps and mistakes. The kind of woman to awaken a great passion, rather than a strategic response.
But then, this was Raoul. He thought about all his decisions and weighed the options. It wasn’t in his nature to throw caution to the wind.
Which also meant that he made a conscious decision to come out here tonight. And that meant something, too.
“You have never been careless with me, Raoul.”
The warm breeze ruffled the tendrils of her hair that had escaped the pins, and she hooked a piece with a finger and pulled it away from her mouth. His chest rose and fell rapidly, as if he were still catching his breath. She reached up and pulled on the end of his bowtie, and it unraveled in her hand. Then she undid the top button of his shirt and wet her lips at the simple sight of the hollow of his throat. There was something about a man in formal wear loosening up and looking a little rumpled.
“I was careless, once. On my birthday.”
“No, you weren’t. Drunk, yes.” She smiled a little. “Careless, no.”
He sighed deeply. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Steph. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know if I’m afraid or dead inside. And I don’t know how to figure it out, when everyone analyzes every single thing I do. Like they have to watch each action to make sure I’m not going to break. That I’m . . . hell. Moving on with my life on a family-approved calendar.”
“You can’t really grieve on anyone else’s schedule,” she answered, though it hurt. Deep down she wished he didn’t have to grieve anymore at all. That’d he’d be at the point where he’d be ready to move forward without reservation. But neither would she lie. There was more than attraction between them. There were years and years of friendship.
A round of laughter echoed through the terrace doors, and they both turned toward the sound. The party was still going on, but she had no desire to rejoin it. Even though she really should, and so should Raoul. She would rather stay out here and feel the breeze and smell the sea and flowers and look at the stars and pretend that royal duty and the familial microscope didn’t exist.
“What happens now?” she asked, then shivered. The air cooled at night, and her shoulders were bare. Raoul noticed and tucked her into his arms. She closed her eyes and soaked in the sensation. They could never embrace like this anywhere else. Maybe never again.
“I wish I could tell you. Feeling like this, about you . . . it’s damned inconvenient. You’re my assistant. You’re close to the family. There are deeper ties than if you were some stranger or something. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want a bunch of questions and well-intentioned advice.”
“You want privacy.”
He nodded; she felt the movement against her hair. “I do. I’ll be honest with you, Steph. I meant what I said about marrying again. The idea scares me to death. I’m in no position to make any promises. And I especially don’t want to string you along and give you hope for something that might not happen.”
Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she said nothing.
“All that is in opposition to the attraction I’m feeling right now. I didn’t lie when I said I wanted you. Kissing you and holding you . . . that’s the most alive I’ve felt in a very, very long time.”
The words sat on her tongue. The ones telling him that she’d cared for him for such a long time, that he was her ideal and she wanted him, too. But she didn’t say them. It was sure to send him running in the other direction, erasing any chance they might have. The last thing he needed was for her to declare her undying love when he was so unsure.
And despite her earlier determination to remove herself from the situation, she knew she would always regret not giving this a chance, even if it was a slim one. To get this close and then walk away . . . no. She worked in a world of risk assessments and calculated moves. Right now she was doing her own risk assessment and she knew that she had to at least give this a shot. The possible reward was worth it, wasn’t it?
Music started up again, a slow song that she recognized. Raoul adjusted his embrace until they were in a dance hold again, only this time she was pressed tightly against his body rather than the respectable distance they’d maintained in public. She sighed, happy and yet burdened with the knowledge that something this amazing had to be so complicated.
Their feet shuffled along the textured surface of the terrace, the music quiet behind them. Raoul kissed her hair. “Are we going to be all right?” he asked, a thread of worry darkening his voice. “I wish I could give you assurances. I wish . . .” His jaw tightened against her temple.
“I don’t want assurances right now,” she admitted honestly. “I wouldn’t believe
them if you gave them to me. I’d prefer the honesty, even if it’s difficult and painful. Raoul, if you weren’t so conflicted I wouldn’t care about you so much. It shows the kind of man you are. It shows your heart.” She put her palm against his chest, feeling the strong beat there. “You loved Ceci as beautifully as any man could love a woman. It takes time to get over that. I have my own reservations too, you know.” She looked up, moved her feet in the shuffle-circle even though they weren’t really focusing on dancing anymore.
“You do?”
“Of course I do. Surely you know now that this attraction isn’t one-sided. But Ceci was my cousin. There are times I wonder if I’m betraying her by caring for you in that way.”
“Of course you’re not. Nothing happened until Ceci had been gone for months.”
Stephani didn’t answer, but stared at his shoulder instead.
“Unless . . .” His feet stopped moving and he tipped a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Unless you’ve felt this way since before that night.”
“I can’t answer that. Don’t make me.”
He stepped back a little. “While we were married?”
“Yes. No.” She put a hand over her eyes, trying to sort her thoughts. “Raoul, you were married. I would never have said or done anything to come between you and Ceci. You loved each other perfectly, you see? I didn’t want to care about you so much. I just . . .” She chanced a look up at him, but his face was unreadable. “I worked for you. I saw the kind of man you were every day. I knew when you were happy and when you were worried and when you were hurting. I saw how you loved her and the children and . . . I don’t want to say that I thought you were perfect, because you’re not. No one is. But feelings are feelings, and I’ve had them for you for a long time.”
“I see.”
She could tell he did, and he was definitely stepping back. Of course he was. There was a big difference between a sudden mutual attraction and discovering someone had had feelings for months, even years.
“This is too complicated, isn’t it? I should go in.”
“You surprised me, that’s all.”
But his voice was still cool, and the hot energy that had flowed between them earlier had fizzled away.
“It’s okay,” she said finally, straightening her shoulders. “Seriously, Raoul. I’ve been dealing with my feelings for a long time. I’m fine. If you want, we can forget this ever happened.”
It was a courageous statement, but not entirely brave on her part, because she didn’t wait for an answer. Instead she passed by him and went to the terrace doors to rejoin the party.
* * *
The castle had an empty feel to it, Raoul realized. He walked the quiet hallway to the part of the palace that housed the offices, his steps echoing dully on the carpeting. Rose and Diego were on their honeymoon. Rose’s family had all departed back to England, and Lucy and Brody had taken the children—including Max and Emilia and Imogene—to Disneyland Paris. Alexander was around, and Sofia was in the office, since she was managing things for Diego in his absence. But it was uncharacteristically quiet as he left the family quarters behind and entered the foyer to the business wing.
Stephani was already at her desk.
The wedding had been on Saturday, and she’d stayed home on Sunday. Monday, he’d spent with the children, wanting to have some quality time with them before they left on their trip. Tuesday, he’d been booked to play polo in a charity event, though his skills were inferior to Diego’s. When he’d returned, late in the day, Steph had gone home.
All completely valid reasons for not seeing each other. Nevertheless, he knew he’d been avoiding her, and he suspected the same was true for her. The way they’d left things Saturday night was awkward.
She looked up, glasses perched on her nose. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
It made very little sense that he wanted to go to her desk, pull her to her feet, and plant a kiss on her unsmiling lips. He’d always prided himself on his self-control, but he had started to realize that Steph could run circles around him in that regard. He’d never had a clue, not once, in all the years she’d been his assistant. She’d been his friend. She’d been his trusted and incredibly efficient assistant. She’d been . . . his wife’s cousin. He’d never had an inkling that she’d harbored any sort of romantic feelings toward him.
But he knew now. He thought back to the days after the drunken kiss in the alcove. They’d carried on as if nothing had happened.
A kiss was apparently easier to ignore than confessions.
“You have a call scheduled for nine thirty,” Steph advised him. “Then nothing until eleven, when you meet with your father. Two thirty is the meeting with the committee regarding the environmental impact study that’s being done for the proposed resort site.” She gave a slight smile. “You and Señora Munoz weren’t playing around when you met last week, were you?”
It was a rhetorical question, so he merely smiled in return. “A light day, then,” he said easily. “Thank you, Steph.”
“Of course. Do you want coffee?”
“I’d love some.”
He went into his office and frowned. Was ignoring everything the best course of action? It felt like the coward’s way out. At some point they had to deal with what had happened, and decide what came next. It wasn’t as if feelings had just disappeared, after all.
The thump of his heart when he’d seen her sitting there this morning told him that.
She tapped on his office door and then came in, carrying a tray with his coffee and a little plate with two rolls and some cheese. “I heard you didn’t have breakfast this morning, so I brought something to hold you until lunch.”
He met her gaze, and admired the way she could stand before him and remain so calm and impassive. Had she perfected that look over the years?
“Why don’t you get a cup for yourself and come in? We should talk.”
There. A flicker of uncertainty. He was relieved he wasn’t the only one freaking out a bit on the inside.
“Oh . . . of course. I’ll be right back.”
He wasn’t really hungry, but while she was gone he bit into a soft roll. He washed it down with the strong coffee and then sat down behind his desk. By the time Stephani came back, he’d eaten half the roll and was feeling slightly calmer.
She sat down across from him, crossed her left leg over her right, and cradled the coffee cup in her hands.
“So,” he said, leaning forward. “We’ve been avoiding each other.”
She blushed, and looked down before taking a sip of her coffee.
“It’s okay.” He folded his hands. “I’m as guilty as you are of hiding. I needed some time to process everything that happened on Saturday.”
“Me too,” she admitted. She put her cup on his desk. “Raoul, what I said . . . I know it was awkward. I loved Ceci like a sister. She got me this job. It’s bothered me all this time. This isn’t how you repay family, you know?”
Oh, he understood the idea of duty and loyalty very well. He had his own to deal with. He’d also had the thought that having feelings for Stephani was somehow dishonoring Ceci’s memory.
“Family doesn’t require payment,” he replied, “and Ceci would have been mortified if she thought you felt you needed to pay her back. Family looks after each other.”
“I know that, deep down.” She smiled sheepishly. “I think this falls under the umbrella of ‘this is a me problem’ and a product of my own guilt complex.”
“Well.” Raoul steepled his fingers and thought about how to say what had been plaguing him for the better part of three days. “I guess what this comes down to is deciding where to go from here. Do we go back to normal, and maintain a professional relationship? Or do we consider exploring what this is?”
She stared at him so long he started to get worried. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just surprised, that’s all. That you’d even . . .” She broke
off, swore in Spanish under her breath. “Sorry. I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. And raw.”
He let out a breath. It was much better when she dropped her guard and was honest. “Me too,” he admitted. “This wasn’t what I planned. There are so many mixed feelings and complications. But the one thing I came up with for sure is that I don’t think this is going to go away. We need to deal with it head-on.” He took a breath and met her gaze evenly. “I’m also aware of the imbalance of the situation. You work for me, and so I need you to know right now that there is no pressure on you in any way.”
Her face softened. “Oh Raoul, I know that. You’ve never been one to throw your weight around.”
“Well, it needed to be said. We’ve never had a typical employee-boss relationship, you and I.”
“No,” she said softly, “we haven’t.”
He got up and went around the desk, pulled over a chair and sat at a right angle to her. “What do you want, Steph? Do you want to forget about it and move on? Or do you want to see where this leads? I can’t make any promises. I just can’t.” He reached out and took one of her hands in his. It was shaking. “But I don’t think I can just walk away, either.”
They were both staring at their joined hands. Steph slowly moved her thumb back and forth, over his knuckles, a small but important caress.
“I don’t want to walk away.” Her voice was a little hoarse, and she cleared her throat. “Not yet. Not when . . .” She looked up at him. “Not yet.”
He nodded, his throat suddenly tight. This was more than the desire that had swept over them at Diego’s wedding. More than a drunken impulse in a shadowed corner. This was a real acknowledgment of feelings, and it felt important.
The phone rang out at her desk and she stood. “We’ll talk more about it later,” she said, letting go of his hand. “We need to keep this away from the office, you know?”