The Spaniard's Kiss

by Nina Croft

  His desire for her had shown no sign of waning. If anything, he seemed to want her more, and the feeling was mutual. He intoxicated her. He had only to walk into the room and her every cell was instantly aware of his presence. As though her body recognized him, knew him, grew languorous and heavy when he was near. But it was more than that. She liked just being with him. She missed him when he was at work. Listened for him returning in the evening.

  The intensity of her emotions terrified her. And she’d avoided putting a name to those feelings.

  By now, she knew he cared. While he never spoke of his feelings, they were clear in his actions. She just wasn’t sure how much he cared. And if it was enough to break through whatever barriers he had put up between them. Barriers she was pretty sure he believed insurmountable.

  Were they?

  How the hell was she supposed to know if he wouldn’t talk to her?

  At the start, Rafe had told her categorically that he would never marry, never give her the family she wanted, and he’d said nothing since to suggest he’d changed his mind.

  She didn’t think he would want them to part after three months. But what did that mean? Did she just stick around indefinitely, hoping that one day he would want more from her? What if that never happened? She would have the choice of saying good-bye to her dreams or walking away. The former made her heart ache, but the latter caused actual physical pain. She had lost one man she loved. Did she want to live through that again with Rafe?

  Man she loved?

  The world stopped. She sat bolt upright in the bed.

  Oh dear God. I love him.

  Beside her, Rafe lowered his arm and pushed himself upright. “Are you okay?” Her gaze darted around the room to avoid looking at him.

  She freaking loved him. What the hell was she going to do?

  “Bella?”

  She cleared her throat. “I’m fine.” She searched her mind for a distraction. “So tell me about your family. Who’ll be at this party? You know it’s weird, I’ve known you all these years but you never talked about them.”

  He raised an eyebrow, but sat back. Obviously, it wasn’t a simple request. “Gary was more my family than anyone.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “There was a ten-year age gap between the rest of the children and me. They were close, but I never really fit in with them.”

  “Aw, that’s sad.”

  “Not really.” He was silent for a few minutes. “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything. Everything.”

  “If I tell you will you come to the party?”

  “Maybe.” She wasn’t agreeing to anything. Meeting Rafe’s mother would traumatize her no matter the situation. In the normal course of things, she’d likely never meet the woman, but if she went to this party, she couldn’t be avoided. And Bella’s comment to Gina would only make the occasion a thousand times worse. “If I go to this party, is your mother going to be weird about the baby thing?”

  “Yes. But don’t worry, she’s not about to whip out a pregnancy test and demand you take it.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, I hadn’t even thought of that option. Maybe Gina won’t have told her.”

  “She’ll have told her, and yes, probably she’s going to be…surprised.”

  “Surprised? Why? Doesn’t she expect you to have children one day?”

  “No. She knows I won’t ever marry. She probably believes she set such a bad example that I would be put off forever.”

  Was that a warning? She ignored it, because he was actually opening up, and there was so much she wanted to know. “Oh. And did she? Tell me about how your mother and father met. I’ve heard all the gossip from the villagers in Spain, but you must know what really happened.”

  “My mother was on holiday in Spain when she met my father. She was eighteen. He was nineteen. As far as I understand it, they had a wild holiday affair, and my mother ended up pregnant. With me.”

  “And they married?”

  “Yes. According to my mother, they were in love. But my grandfather was against the wedding—he said they were too young. There were other reasons, but he didn’t tell us those until after my father was dead.”

  What other reasons? She wanted to ask, but he was already speaking again.

  “Apparently he nearly convinced my father not to go ahead with the wedding—I don’t think my mother has ever forgiven him.”

  “But they did marry?”

  “Oh yes, and it turned out my grandfather was right. One of my earliest memories is of them arguing.”

  “They didn’t get on?”

  “In some ways, but they wanted different things. My mother wanted more children. My father didn’t.” He stared straight ahead, deep in thought. “They argued about that all the time. But maybe it was just an excuse. I’ve no doubt they were in love, but they were too different. They came from different worlds, and in the end I wasn’t enough to hold them together.”

  His words sent a shiver of unease through her. “What happened?”

  “He left when I was eight. Went back to Spain, but he died of pneumonia a year later. My mother never forgave him for leaving or for dying. But she married my stepfather a year after that, and I think she’s been happy.”

  “That’s good.” It was a sad story and maybe one that went a long way toward explaining Rafe’s views on marriage and commitment. But that only increased her fears for the future. “Your grandfather must have been devastated by your father’s death.”

  “I was too young to remember, really. But I’d guess so. He was his only son and only twenty-eight when he died.” He shook his head as if to dispel the memories. “Enough talking about my family. If you come to the party you can meet them for yourself.” He cast her one of his sexy smiles, and her insides melted. “How do you fancy lunch in Paris, and this afternoon I have a hankering to kiss you on top of the Eiffel Tower.”

  She frowned. “How do we get to Paris?”

  “I can have the helicopter ready in an hour.”

  Her mind was still churning from her realization of just how far her feelings for Rafe had gone. She’d think about the love thing later when she was alone, and soon she must make a decision about the future. But she’d never been in a helicopter. Or to Paris. As a distraction it sounded perfect.

  “I’ll go get dressed.”

  …

  It was five long days since her momentous realization that her life had derailed. Contrary to everything she had promised herself after Gary’s death, she was head over heels in love. With a man who would never marry and with zero chance of a happy ever after. She was twitchy, on edge, and every time she thought about the future, her stomach roiled. She couldn’t live like that. Not long term without some sort of commitment. She’d be a basket case.

  Rafe had noticed. She occasionally caught a concerned look in his eye, but he was ignoring it. He was so good at ignoring things he didn’t want to talk about.

  She hadn’t meant to do this now, had wanted to put off the moment as long as possible in the hope she might get some sign from Rafe that her feelings might one day be reciprocated.

  So far a big fat nothing.

  And he’d been pushing her for an answer about the party. He’d asked her again at breakfast. She’d replied she hadn’t decided.

  But for the first time, and quite irrationally, her anger had risen. She was a woman in love. With a man she was sure didn’t believe in the emotion. She was allowed to be irrational. She’d silently fumed as he kissed her on the top of her head and said good-bye.

  She didn’t want to go to a goddamned party. Didn’t want to meet his family. And why did he even want her to, anyway? She was nothing to him. Well, maybe that wasn’t true. But he didn’t want her to be any more than she was now. Certainly didn’t want her love.

  After he’d left, she’d smashed a cup, and then bawled her eyes out, shocking the hell out of both Charles and Toby.

  “Hormones,” she’d mutte
red, which had only increased the fear in Charles’s eyes. In that moment she’d come to a decision. She was going to give Rafe a way out. This had to end. She’d confront him. Tell him she was leaving. It would be the hardest thing she had ever done, but she couldn’t do this any longer.

  So here she was.

  The elevator opened to reveal Peter North, working at his desk in front of the double doors leading to Rafe’s office. Bella hesitated, her finger twitching with the need to press the down button, get the hell out of there.

  Don’t be a wimp.

  She took a step forward as Pete glanced up from his desk and grinned. “Hey.”

  She blew out a breath. She could do this. “Hi, Pete. Any chance I can I see Rafe?”

  “He’s in a meeting right now, but I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  She paced the room as he picked up the phone, spoke quietly. Maybe he’d be too busy and she could go away and rethink this whole thing. But less than a minute later, the double doors opened and there he stood in all his corporate billionaire perfection. She glanced down at her faded jeans and T-shirt. How had they even gotten this far? They were too different. But why did he have to be so goddamn gorgeous?

  He smiled. Then his smile faded as he studied her face as he came forward. “Bella, are you all right?”

  She gave a jerky nod. “I just needed to talk to you.”

  “Come in here.” He led the way through a door to the left of his office and into a small meeting room with an oval table and eight chairs. She crossed to the window and stood staring out over the city. Rafe came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, pulling her back against him.

  No way could she do this while he was holding her, and she turned around and pulled free, took a step away.

  His brows drew together. “What do you need?”

  “I don’t need anything.” She shuffled from foot to foot not knowing how to start. First things first. Then work her way up to the harder stuff. “I’m not going to the party.”

  “You’re not? Why?”

  “I can’t go.”

  “You mean you don’t want to go.”

  “Maybe. I’ll be leaving soon and…” She shrugged. “I don’t see the point.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re leaving? I thought you had weeks before you move to Spain.”

  “I do. But the job starts next week, and they’ve offered me corporate accommodations for the month I’m in London.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You don’t need accommodations in London. You have accommodations.”

  She forced herself to continue. “It was good of you to put me up. Get me out of that hotel, but I know you like your own space.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” he ground out.

  “We’ll still be friends.”

  “Goddamn it, I don’t want to be your fucking friend.”

  She took a step back from the ferocity in his voice. “Then what do you want, Rafe?”

  He stared at her for long seconds, then turned away, one hand raking through his hair, tension radiating from his body. Finally he came back to her. “Just tell me why.”

  “You said right at the beginning, we want different things. My time with you has been fabulous, wonderful, beyond anything—”

  “Then why go?” He rubbed at the spot between his brows. “Why not stay?”

  “Because it’s not enough.”

  Pain flashed across his face. “You still want the home and family?”

  “I can wait, but yes, one day I want a baby.” God, she wished she could tell him she loved him, but it felt too much like emotional blackmail. He’d never asked for her love. She hardened herself to what she had to say. “But you don’t. And you’ve made it clear you’re not going to change your mind. I have to think about the future. I need to move on and we’re”—she gave a helpless shrug—“we’re not going anywhere.”

  She’d been looking somewhere over his left shoulder; now she forced herself to focus on his face. It was wiped clean of expression, giving no clue what he was thinking. Her eyes felt hot and scratchy, her mouth dry while she waited for him to say something. Anything.

  Not a word.

  “Oh God, I can’t do this anymore.” She whirled around and headed for the door, blinking back the tears. She so did not want to break down until she was away from here and on her own.

  “Don’t move out,” he said as her hand reached for the door. “Not yet.”

  She turned slowly.

  “Just give me a little more time. Stay at the house until I get back from New York.”

  “You’re going to New York?” she asked.

  “For the party.”

  She shook her head. “Your mother’s party is in New York?”

  “I was going to tell you as soon as you said yes.”

  She sighed, the strength oozing out of her. “I won’t leave until you get back.” Though she was pretty sure there was nothing to wait around for. Rafe would never change.

  …

  Rafe winced as the door clicked shut behind her, tightness wrapping around his chest like barbed wire.

  Sinking into the chair behind him, he stared at the spot where she’d disappeared. He rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension.

  He’d failed, lost her.

  And it had been nobody’s fault but his own.

  Now all he could hope for was the chance to explain. Maybe that way, at least she wouldn’t hate him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “He’s gone, Toby.”

  The little dog peered back at her with his beady brown eyes.

  Bella sniffed, took another gulp of red wine, before resting the nearly empty bottle carefully on the stone floor beside her. “You can stop wagging your tail. It’s nothing to be happy about.”

  In fact, she was downright miserable. She sniffed again. No doubt she’d get over it. In a hundred years or so.

  She hadn’t seen Rafe again after their horrible meeting yesterday morning. Somehow she hadn’t expected that when she walked out. Some tiny, stupid part of her had really thought he’d come after her.

  Crazy or what?

  Last night she’d waited for him to come home. Not knowing what she would say, but needing to see him so badly she hurt.

  Eventually, she’d asked Charles, who’d been casting disapproving glances in her direction ever since she’d gotten home yesterday afternoon. Except it wasn’t her home. It was Rafe’s house.

  Charles had informed her that Rafe had requested a bag be packed and sent to his office. He’d taken the company jet and gone to New York. Charles had made it sound as though this early departure was all her fault. And maybe he was right.

  Today she’d worked well into the evening, showing tourists the sites of London, and had managed to keep busy and not wallow in too much self-pity. But when she got back to the empty house, the sense of loneliness had almost swamped her. Poor Toby had sensed her mood and done his best to cheer her up, but it just wasn’t happening. And Charles wasn’t helping. He’d hardly said a word to her, but his critical glares had made her squirm. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Had she?

  This was self-preservation.

  In the end, she’d hidden herself away in the wine cellar, opened a bottle of red, and was now slumped on the floor, back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of her, looking at paperwork for properties in San Sebastian. While SA International would provide her with accommodations for the month she was in London, she was expected to find her own place for the year in Spain. She couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t imagine herself in any of the places.

  “He’s flown away, Toby. You’re all I have left.” Toby put his front paws on her thighs, stretched up, and licked her face.

  The words blurred, and she screwed up the papers and tossed them on the floor.

  “Maybe we should join the army instead? Go shoot something.” She patted Toby on the head. “You can be a sniffer dog.”

  It was after mi
dnight. She should go to bed. But she’d packed her bags, and they were sitting on the floor in her bedroom, and she couldn’t face looking at them right now. It hurt too much. What was she going to do? What if Rafe decided he didn’t want to be friends with her anymore and she never saw him again?

  “He’s a bad man, Toby. He promised Gary he’d look after me and instead he broke my heart.”

  Someone cleared their throat and she jumped. Oh God, Charles. Had he heard her confessing her broken heart to a dog?

  He appeared around the corner of a wine rack. “Mrs. Sinclair.”

  “Bella,” she said automatically, as she had done every time he called her that.

  “Bella,” he conceded. That was a first. “I brought you a glass for the wine.”

  “Aw, how sweet. But I’m okay with the bottle.” She picked it up and hugged it to her chest.

  “Then perhaps I might have a glass.” He held it out, and she eyed him suspiciously.

  “You think I’ve had enough, don’t you? You think I’m a bad influence on Toby.”

  “Yes.”

  She snorted but patted the floor beside her. “Sit down, and I’ll give you some.”

  He pursed his lips, but he came down beside her. She filled his glass and sat back. “You’ve known Rafe all his life, haven’t you?” He nodded. “Tell me what he was like as a little boy.”

  Charles took a sip of his wine. “He was…perfect.”

  She sighed. “I should have guessed.” Why couldn’t he have been just a little bit of a mess?

  …

  Rafe paused before the door. Through it drifted the sounds of music and subdued conversation. A wave of exhaustion washed over him. At the best of times, he didn’t like parties.

  He’d thought about not making the trip, but he’d needed to put some distance between him and Bella. Otherwise he might have gone begging. And he couldn’t face any more rejection right now. He also needed to talk to his mother. The sort of conversation that couldn’t be done over the phone. Tell her he was about to reveal the family secret. That should make her birthday special.

  He doubted the truth would make any difference to Bella. He still wouldn’t be able to give her what she needed. But at least she would understand why.