Elena was also affected and squeezed Sarika’s hand. “That’s beautiful.”
“I know.” But then she remembered the rest and scowled. “That was before I asked about his parents, and he practically ran from the room then slammed his door in my face. Jerk.”
“Again, small victories. Read between the lines. The man said he needed you.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts’. Take the win and build on it.”
Sarika slumped in her chair and stupid tears pricked her eyes. She dashed them away before anyone but Elena could see. “I don’t know how to do that. Do I just ignore the things that bother me? Pretend I’m not hurt when he pushes me away?”
“No. But you need to focus on making those things better, not sticking the knife in. And I have faith you can do it. “
She didn’t have Elena’s optimism. How could she ever get Rafe to open up? At times, he was so tightly controlled and distant.
And alone.
She’d seen that today when he’d walked away. He’d locked himself behind his protective walls that no one could scale. But there were chinks in that wall, and she was one of them. He wanted her. He needed her. She’d heard it in his voice. How far would he go to keep her? Would he lower a rope and help her over?
Elena stood, drawing Sarika from her reverie. “You need to stop thinking and just have some fun. Let’s go shopping. Running Rafe’s credit card is an acceptable form of revenge in this case.” A smirk formed on her lips. “Maybe we’ll even pop into that gorgeous bridal boutique on State Street. I’ve always wanted to go in there.”
Sarika’s brows rose but inside her heart had jumped excitedly. “Definitely not…okay, maybe, but only because you want to, and not because I’m looking for a wedding gown.” She’d also window shopped past many of Santa Barbara’s exclusive wedding stores, dreaming of the day she would don one of the stunning dresses inside and marry Rafe.
It was a dream that could come true – he wanted to be her husband – but she wasn’t so sure the dream would match the reality.
Still…what would it hurt to take a look inside? They had other kinds of gowns in there, too.
Elena pulled Sarika to her feet. “I know just the place. Let’s find a dress that’ll knock that man on his heels. And maybe some lingerie to match.”
* * *
Rafe opened the heavy, wooden door to the villa quietly, telling himself he didn’t want to wake Enzo, Ana Lisa’s maggiordomo.
Yeah, right.
He wanted to avoid Sarika. He’d considered returning to his own home, but deep down, he knew he had to face her. If he didn’t, he might never dig himself out of this hole and then he’d lose her forever.
Which was worse than a fight. Even worse than talking about his parents.
She’d be waiting up for him. He was certain of it. What the hell could he say other than ‘I’m sorry’? His own personal mantra of late.
He didn’t like talking about his parents. So what? There was no crime in that. Who in their right mind wanted to bring up bad memories?
Women did. They wanted to talk everything to death. Put it all out there for the world to see. Well, that wasn’t who he was. She’d just have to accept there were boundaries she couldn’t cross. His parents were one of them.
He walked softly over the black and white checkered foyer floor, past the priceless paintings, antique vases, and sculptures displayed against the wall, under the elaborate gold and crystal chandelier in the grand salon until he reached the library. Would she be in there?
Pushing the door back, he saw her sitting at the ornate, mahogany desk staring at him. She wore a loose, green tee-shirt that matched her eyes, her hair was pulled back in a braid, and her face was free of make-up, making her look about sixteen. Sweet sixteen.
Her eyes pierced him. “Sit down.”
Not so sweet.
He sauntered into the room, deliberately moving to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink. “Can I get you anything?”
“No.”
He sipped the Scotch he’d chosen, then turned to her, leaning against the cabinet. “Did you have a good day?”
“Parts of it. I bought a very expensive dress and charged it to you. That was fun. I also bought some lingerie. If you ever want to see me wearing it – or not wearing it – I suggest you take a seat.”
He balanced the empty glass in his hand, striving to appear unaffected by her words, but underneath his heart raced at the sexy image that had popped into his mind. With a shrug, he sat in the winged, leather chair across the desk from her. Most likely he was playing this all wrong, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t like what she had to say. Besides, it went against everything in his nature to let anyone dictate to him.
Pride goeth before a fall.
Damn.
He held up his hand. “Before you say anything, I know I was wrong to close the door on you. I’m…sorry. Again.”
Her face softened, causing the knots in his stomach to ease. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
“Then why did you?”
Ah, hell. He shoved his fingers through his hair. “Because it was easier than…than…”
“Talking about your parents?”
“Yes.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, and his tension rose, knowing what she would say next. When she finally opened her mouth, he waylaid her. “No.”
“No, what?”
“I won’t talk about them. Ever. I’ll do a lot of things for you, Princess, but digging up my past is not one of them.” He leaned forward, hands entreating her. “Let’s focus on the future. Our future. We can make each other happy.”
“I don’t know if that’s true. Things in the past affect the present, Rafe. Affect our beliefs and behaviors. I can accept not talking about your parents, but I won’t accept how your feelings about them cause you to shut me out.”
Psychobabble, blah, blah, blah. Rolling his eyes, he slumped back in his chair.
“You’re doing it right now,” she continued, voice rising. “Instead of asking me what I mean by that and how can we fix it, you’ve dismissed my feelings and pulled away. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“How do you think it makes me feel when I ask you to stop talking about something and you continue to harp on it?”
“I don’t know because you’ve never told me. You’ve never shared your feelings or thoughts with me about anything emotional. How is it, after knowing you for over fifteen years and being in a relationship with you for a year, I never even knew your parents had a bad marriage? It explains so much, and I never knew.”
His heart pounded, and he could feel that muscle twitching in his jaw. She appeared so serious – and hurt, her hand fisted over her chest. Something inside him almost broke.
“So, you’re going to end it between us and find someone else to marry.” It was a statement, not a question, and he braced himself for her acknowledgement.
“No. I’m going to fight for you Rafe, and you’re damn well going to learn how to communicate with me. And I don’t mean physically – you’ve honed that skill to perfection.”
A wave of intense relief poured through him, but at the same time, his gut churned. He’d told her he wouldn’t talk about his parents.
She held up her hands. “I won’t pry into your past unless you open that door, but anything in the present is fair game. That means whenever you climb behind your walls, I’m going to yell and scream and stomp around until you come back out and tell me what’s bothering you.”
Rising from the desk, she walked around and leaned down in front of him, trapping him in the chair. “You have to put words to your feelings, Rafe. That’s what I need to be happy. And until you do, our physical relationship is on hold.”
Their eyes met and held.
“No,” he said.
* * *
Sarika straightened, hands on her hips. She glared down at the infuriating man she intended to – maybe – marry.
Elena had been right. Rafe and the relationship were worth fighting for. Sarika would go down kicking and screaming.
“What do you mean ‘no’?”
He caught her hips, keeping her in place. “The opposite of ‘yes’.”
She tried to squirm free, but the soft grey material of her sweat pants threatened to slip from her body. Rafe eyed her exposed midriff with interest, then leaned forward and placed a kiss just below her belly button. Her knees weakened, and she gasped, catching his head for balance. Fire poured through her veins, sparking where his tongue painted circles on her skin.
Looking up, he met her gaze. “Withholding sex will not help our communication, believe me.”
She bit her lip. “But you rely on it, Rafe. You retreat behind your walls and leave me floundering, then try to breach the distance between us with physical intimacy rather than talking to me.”
He stood and wrapped his arms around her. “Is that so bad? Our physical connection is part of our emotional connection. One doesn’t cancel out the other.”
“No, but it overshadows it. If you’ve got me in bed, panting for you, then you don’t even have to try to open up. Our relationship before was like that. It leaves me at a disadvantage.”
He stared at her, genuine confusion on his face. “You felt that way? That you were somehow less than me during the time we were together?”
“Yes.” Her throat tightened and she couldn’t say anything more. God, please let him understand.
He moved past her toward the window, the moon a sliver in the sky over his shoulder. Her heart squeezed as the distance grew between them, but this time it didn’t feel like he’d completely shut the door.
He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. “That’s how I felt, too – at a disadvantage. I wanted you so badly, all the time. It was an obsession.”
She hesitated then moved toward him, amazed he’d just shared that with her. “Then why did you limit our time together? I would have traveled with you, lived with you.”
“I thought I should…control it.” He spun to her and closed the distance, one hand closing over the curve of her behind, the other twisting around her ponytail. “But none of that matters now. It’s in the past where it belongs. I’m a man, Sarika. I communicate with sex.”
She raised a brow. “So you’re going to force me?”
“Of course not, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying.” He pulled on her hair until her head tilted back, exposing her neck so he could trail kisses along her throat. “And I hate to break it to you, but you’re pretty easy.”
He nipped her earlobe, making her groan. Her lids fell shut as a surge of heat coursed through her.
“See?” he said smugly.
Her eyes popped open and she pushed him away. “I am not easy.”
“For me you are. I like it.”
She tossed her head then marched to the door.
“Where are you going? I was just getting warmed up.”
Looking backward, she caught his grin. What she wouldn’t give to knock it off his face. “To bed – alone. Get used to it.” Then she stomped from the room.
* * *
She woke the next morning straight from an erotic dream. Starring Rafe, of course, in his full, naked glory. Her mind, unable to distinguish fantasy from reality, had slicked her body in anticipation of his possession, leaving her so turned on, even her teeth ached.
Damn.
How the hell would she last without touching him? She wouldn’t. But maybe with enough chocolate, she could endure until Ana Lisa came home.
Glancing toward the bedside table, she spotted the morning cappuccino Rafe had left. Bless his conniving heart. Please let there be treats, too.
A bakery box from her favorite patisserie sat beside the coffee. She picked it up reverently and opened it. A perfectly shaped, golden croissant drizzled with chocolate lay inside. The smell wafted up, making her mouth water.
Propping up the pillows, she closed her eyes and took a bite. Heaven. Then a sip of cappuccino. Double Heaven.
She finished her breakfast as she thought about her situation with Rafe. He was right, physical communication during lovemaking was important. It bonded them together, and they would need that when things became difficult as she pushed him to express his feelings.
But if she gave in now, what motivation would he have to open up? They’d be right back to square one.
Maybe she could use the sexual desire between them as part of her arsenal? One more way to encourage him to communicate. She didn’t want to trade on sex, that seemed so…dirty, somehow, and controlling, but she did need to be convinced of certain things in order to marry him.
So, communication would lead to marriage, and marriage would lead to sex. She could live with that, couldn’t she?
Her phone rang, and when she saw it was Rafe, the dream came flooding back, making her want to throw all her good intentions away and demand he come home and make love to her immediately.
Frustrated, she lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?” Her voice came out low and throaty.
There was a pause, then she heard him groan. “Say that again…no don’t. I won’t be able to walk for a week.”
She snuggled under the covers with a smug smile, her hand drifting down her body. It had been too hot for a nightgown and all she wore were tiny, black panties. Closing her eyes, she imagined him beside her. “Did you sleep well?”
“No. Last night was hell without you.”
“Good.” She didn’t want to trade on sex, but surely there was nothing wrong with a little teasing. “Where are you?” she asked.
“Work. Where are you?”
“In bed.”
“I thought so. You sound sleepy and sexy.” His voice lowered another notch. “What are you wearing?”
She smiled. “Crumbs.”
“And that’s it?”
“Mmm hmm. Do you want to lick them off?”
The breath exhaled heavily from his lungs. “That’s just cruel, Princess. I can’t leave right now.”
Flopping over onto her back, she stretched luxuriously. “Too bad, because those crumbs are slipping into all kinds of interesting places.” God, she wished he was there with her. She loved it when they teased each other.
“All right, you little temptress. Get your butt out of bed and down to my office. And wear something that will go with diamonds. I’ll send the limo to pick you up.”
He disconnected, and she stared at the phone. What had he meant by that? What kind of diamonds? Surely he wouldn’t…
She considered calling back, but knew he’d wouldn’t pick up. Butterflies danced excitedly in her stomach. Had he meant what she thought he meant? Even he wouldn’t be so presumptuous. Would he?
Well, there was only one way to find out.
After showering, she chose a rose-patterned, chiffon dress that fastened halter-style behind her neck, skimmed her curves, and floated at an angle to the tops of her knees. Clasping her hair in a loose knot behind her head, she framed her face with silky tendrils.
Then she painted her toenails fuchsia. When they were dry, she slipped into high-heeled, champagne-colored sandals. Lastly, she put diamond studs in her ears, a solitaire around her neck, and a fragile, diamond bracelet around her wrist. That would show him she didn’t need his diamonds.
Except she’d left her fingers bare. With a scowl, she searched her jewelry box and found a large, red coral ring in the shape of a flower that she placed on the middle finger of her left hand.
Perfect.
Before meeting Rafe, she made a detour to a bookstore. Since he was giving her something, she would also give him something – a sign of her dedication to their future. A long and happy one where they discussed their feelings.
As the cashier gift wrapped the book, Sarika’s lips twitched with amusement. She almost laughed out loud imagining Rafe’s expression when he tore through the pretty, silver paper. It would be a moment to remember.
The limo dropped her off in front of a Spanish Colonial style building that was built during the reconstruction of Santa Barbara following the famous 1925 earthquake. The structure housed Rafe’s company, the Fabrizio Group, and was one of many properties the Fabrizios owned in California.
She pushed through the arched doorway and clicked across the white, marble foyer, passing Queen Anne sofas and chairs in a soft yellow brocade as she headed toward the elevator. Above her, a large, wrought iron chandelier hung from a high, curved ceiling, while elegant murals danced across hand plastered, honey-toned walls.
The depth of color and artistry never ceased to amaze her.
Arriving at the top floor, Rafe’s secretary, an impeccably groomed woman in her fifties who’d been with him since he took over the company ten years ago, greeted Sarika with a hug then admitted her into his office.
Gorgeous in a navy suit, Rafe stood by the arched window beside a small, serious looking man with thick, black glasses. Eyes flaring upon seeing her, he strode across the rich, Turkish rug, kissed her hello, and whispered, “Are all the crumbs gone?”
She flushed and darted her eyes to the man who’d followed at a respectable distance behind Rafe.
Rafe turned, keeping an arm around her waist, and made the introductions. “Sarika, this is Monsieur Billaud, he drove up from L.A. this morning and designs jewelry exclusively for Cartier. Monsieur Billaud this is Sarika Dkany. Sarika is going to marry me.”
Her shocked gasp echoed in the room, making Rafe grin. “She just needs a little persuasion…of the diamond variety.”
Chapter Ten
A quiver of excitement raced through her before she squashed it and glowered at Rafe.
Monsieur Billaud smiled primly, then took her hand and bowed over it saying, “A pleasure, Mademoiselle Dkany,” with a thick, French accent.
Brows rising at his quirky behavior, she resisted the urge to curtsy. “Likewise, I’m sure.” If he only knew she was the daughter of a Gypsy.
“Monsieur Billaud brought up a case of his latest rings for you to look at.”
The Fabrizio Bride Page 10