Bedding his Innocent Mistress

by Clare Connelly

“I bought the property ten years ago,” he said. “My father always wanted to grow grapes.” His lips twisted. “It seemed… appropriate.” Lying beside her, he turned his face to hers. “I named it for him, you know.”

  “The property?”

  He nodded. “The wine I make is called Diego. It was his name.”

  The confession twisted her insides. “I’m sorry you lost him.”

  Rafe shifted. “It was a long time ago.”

  “That wouldn’t make it hurt any less.”

  He propped up on one elbow, reaching over Ivy and plucking a single grape from the vine. He hovered it over her lips, and then pushed it into her mouth. She tasted it, the sweetness divine, and then swallowed, her eyes holding his. Awareness arced between them, hot and desperate for acknowledgement.

  “You must have admired him, to name this place for him?”

  His expression was relaxed, but Ivy knew there was a tension pulling at him, behind that.

  “Must I?”

  Ivy pulled a face. “You’re very good at deflecting my questions, you know.”

  “Look who’s talking,” he fired back, a smile on his face belying the seriousness of his accusation.

  “I don’t do that.” Ivy’s response was arch.

  “If you say so.” He reached for another grape, this time depositing it in his own mouth. Ivy watched as he chewed and swallowed, her blood pressure sky-rocketing at the simple, sensual gesture.

  She pushed up off the ground and came to straddle him, lacing her fingers through his so they were tightly connected. He watched her with the kind of intent that characterised so much of their relationship. He saw everything. It should have frightened Ivy, but it didn’t.

  “And you?” He lifted their hands, pressing a kiss to the back of hers. “Are you close to your parents?”

  “They’re my parents,” she said with a shrug, shutting the question down.

  But Rafe squeezed her hand. “You’re doing it again.”

  Her eyes flicked to his self-consciously. “I don’t mean to.” She sighed heavily. “I’m close to my parents, yes. But …”

  “Si,” he prompted, when the sentence remained unfinished.

  “The Steve thing…” she said with a shrug, lifting her gaze and focussing on the house in the distance. The afternoon sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting a glow of gold and mauve over the valley, and Ivy’s heart was full. It truly was stunning. London seemed very far away, suddenly, like a distant dream.

  “Si,” he drawled, the animosity in his expression gone in an instant.

  “They love him,” she said quietly. “Our break up has been hard on them.”

  “Harder than it was on you?” He said silkily.

  “Different.” Ivy shook her head. “But aren’t we here to get away from Steve?”

  “You can’t get away from him,” Rafe said, the words edged with coldness. “He is in here,” he lifted his hand and pointed to her head. “And in here.”

  Ivy’s heart twisted. “That’s not true.” She bit down on her lip, standing up jerkily. “Now, are you going to show me inside the house?”

  Rafe watched her for another moment before he stood, and his expression was harder than stone when he turned away from her. She watched him as they walked back up the hill, the tension in his body unmissable.

  As they neared the top of the hill that housed the vines, he slowed and turned to face her. “Do they still see him?”

  “Sometimes.” She dipped her head forward. “He was at my father’s birthday party a few months ago.”

  Rafe swore under his breath. “Did he bring his fiancé?”

  Ivy paled. “God, no. Thank goodness. No, it was just Steve.”

  “And you were okay with this?”

  Ivy’s smile was a wry twist of her lips. “I didn’t stay long.”

  He nodded then began to move once more, past his car, towards the house. It wasn’t grand, from the outside. If anything, Ivy might have described it as rustic. And utterly charming. There were three steps that led to a large archway, made of bricks. Bougainvillea scrambled over it and as Ivy walked through, she was distracted, so a long branch of the plant ran across her arm, forming an inch-long scratch.

  She rubbed at it distractedly, too focussed on the house to care, but Rafe saw. He stopped walking, taking her hand in his, and studying the mark. “There’s ointment inside.”

  “I’m fine,” she smiled at him, and the smile seemed to fill her chest. “It’s just a scratch.”

  He nodded, and again, she had the strangest sense that he was about to say something, to tell her something important, but then he began to walk, pushing towards the house. Instead of a key, there was a number pad on the front. He pressed several digits and a low beeping noise was emitted, then a click, and Rafe pushed the door inwards, standing just inside so he could hold it open for Ivy.

  Once she crossed the threshold, she saw there was nothing rustic about the interior. While original features of the house had been preserved, state-of-the-art design had been layered over, leaving high-ceilings, huge glass windows that showed the view in every direction, a skylight over the kitchen, large white tiles and beautiful, architectural furniture.

  As with everything with Rafe, it was perfect.

  “Everything looks so Spanish!” She cooed, her delight obvious.

  He laughed. “Spanish?”

  “Yes! Just like I’ve imagined.”

  “You’ve never been?”

  “To Spain?” She pulled a face. “No. I’ve never been anywhere, really.”

  “Why not?”

  Her eyes ran across his face. She didn’t want to talk about Steve. Not here, not now. But his question required an explanation. “Steve didn’t like to fly,” she said with a shrug. “So we were limited…”

  Rafe’s expression was grim, and eager to avoid his condemnation – for she saw how silly she’d been to let Steve’s phobias limit her own desires, she spoke quickly, rushing to a change of subject.

  “I can see why you prefer living here. Not that your London place is in any slouch in the nice-department but this is… something else.”

  He nodded, apparently happy to let the conversation move on. “I’m glad you approve.”

  She did approve, but what did that matter? This was Rafe’s real life. A life to which she didn’t, and wouldn’t ever, belong. It was a life full of sunshine and Spanish heat, grapes and wine, sea and glamour. Why did she care? Why did it bother her to have peeled back the covers on this life, to have seen the way he lived, and to know she was excluded from it?

  She didn’t want anything else from Rafe. That hadn’t changed. Though she couldn’t deny things between them had been shifting for weeks, that they’d become close in ways she hadn’t anticipated, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t walk away from him at the end of this, her head held high.

  Because she wasn’t the same woman she’d been a year ago. Seven months ago. She wasn’t the same woman whose heart was fragile and foolish, open to anyone to break.

  “Hungry?”

  She nodded, though she wasn’t sure if she was or not. She followed him into the kitchen, surprised to see that the fridge was fully stocked. As though reading her mind, he explained, “My staff take care of it.”

  “But they wouldn’t have known we were coming here?”

  “My pilot lets them know.”

  She nodded, taking a seat at the bench. “This is… you really do live in a whole other world to me, you know.”

  He pulled a selection of deli meats from the fridge, some cheese and olives, caperberries and bread, then lifted a large wooden board from beneath the bench.

  “I’m pretty sure there is only one world, and we are both on it.”

  She rolled her eyes, reaching across for an olive, as he laid the selection of food onto the platter. It was salty and oily and plump – the perfect olive. She closed her eyes as the flavours filled her mouth, and when she opened them, he was staring right at her, d
esire unmistakable in his face.

  Ivy blinked away, the heat between them making her inexplicably self-conscious. “Only one world,” she agreed, the words thick with heat. “But they look very different.”

  His frown was infinitesimal. “In what way?”

  She laughed softly. “Private jets, staff, mansions in Spain, Penthouses in London…”

  “This bothers you?”

  Her heart thumped hard in her chest. He was right. It did bother her, and that fact was a disaster, because it spoke of a desire for permanence that was absolutely unwelcome.

  “It might if I wanted anything from you other than your beautiful body,” she said with an attempt at lightness.

  It failed. She saw the warning flash in his eyes, the tightening of his mouth, and she resented the stupid comment immediately.

  But his reaction was just a lightning bolt; he was himself again almost instantly.

  “Come.” His smile burned her all the way to the soles of her feet. “Let’s go outside.”

  She reached for the platter but he shook his head. “I’ve got it.”

  She followed behind him, through the enormous living space with low-line white sofas and a white baby-grand piano, through enormous glass doors that led to the kind of outdoor area that would have been at home in a six-star resort. An infinity pool gave way to views of the ocean, citrus trees grew to one side, forming a green-screen and offering fragrant shade, and sun lounges provided the perfect spot to sit and relax. Towels were rolled on each, ready to be used.

  “Your staff?” she prompted, as he placed the platter in the middle of a glass table, around which white wicker furniture had been set.

  “Going to hold it against me?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “How can I, when I find myself in the midst of heaven?”

  He leaned down and kissed her, just a brush of his lips against hers, but fire arced through her body.

  Perfection seared her soul.

  But, that sense of completeness was a double-edged sword, and as she watched him disappear back into the house, a sinking sensation settled upon her. She would say goodbye to him, when it was time. The devastation she’d felt at losing Steve would be nothing to how she’d feel if Rafe were to end things with her before she was ready.

  She surrendered to that knowledge, even when it made no sense academically. After all, Steve had been her life for many years, and Rafe she’d known such a short time… how was it possible that he posed an even bigger threat to her happiness than Steve?

  Ivy didn’t know, but she acknowledged the truth, deep in her heart, and if anything, it only served to strengthen her resolve.

  She had to be ever-ready, and to leave on her terms, when it was time.

  She breathed in, tasting the sea, tasting it all the way into the pit of her belly.

  When Rafe returned, it was with a bottle of his signature champagne and two flutes. Ivy watched him expertly uncork it and pour two measures, handing one to her.

  “Thank you.” She frowned. “For everything.”

  He arched a brow inquisitively, taking the seat beside her and putting one of his strong, tanned arms around her shoulders as though the intimacy was the most natural thing in the world. Pleasure, desire, guilt flooded her system. Her cheeks flushed.

  “Everything?” He reached for a piece of cheese.

  “For bringing me here,” she said quietly. “Especially today.”

  She felt him stiffen.

  “I don’t know what I would have done.”

  He spoke slowly. “You would have got mad, as you should, then you would have got over it. Because you are not a fool, Ivy, and you know that this man is a part of your past. That he reaches out to you because he can’t accept the fact that you’re not in his life anymore.”

  He was right. She knew it wasn’t about her so much as Steve, and what Steve wanted. What Steve couldn’t accept. It didn’t make it any less confusing, though.

  “I wanted you to see my home,” he said after a few moments of quiet reflection had passed. A bird flew overhead, with big black wings and a bright patch of colour in the middle of its chest.

  “Why?” Ivy drank her champagne, the taste forever intertwined with their first night together in her mind.

  “Because it’s important to me.”

  Panic flooded her veins. The sense that she was being pulled off the edge of a cliff without a parachute made her knees weak.

  His words were reaching under her skin, finding purchase in the blood that massaged her body. She turned to face him, intending to say something serious, something boring, something that would tether them to reality. But then she saw him, she saw the way his handsome face, now as familiar to her as her own, glowed in the evening sun, the way he was handsome and strong, smart and kind, the way he was wealthy and confident without being arrogant or elitist, and words froze in her brain and her mouth.

  And so she kissed him, instead, and it was a kiss that spoke of need and want, and also of confusion, because Ivy was awash with it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SHE KNEW IT COULDN’T continue. But a week after returning from Spain and Ivy’s head and heart were telling her two very different things.

  She checked her reflection in the mirror for the hundredth time, knowing that the dress was the perfect choice for the occasion and still feeling like she was going to be a fish out of water. Though she’d attended dozens of charity balls in her time, that was as a senior member of the GBRTV team. This was different.

  She was going with Rafe, and anxiety had been unfurling through her since he’d first suggested she accompany him four days earlier.

  Now, she wished she’d just said ‘no’. After all, it was everything she’d promised herself they weren’t. But it was just one night. Just like that first night, in the luxurious casino, she was going to push herself out of her comfort zone in the spirit of, ‘what the heck’, and she was going to have fun.

  And not think about the consequences. Not think about the future. Not overthink every touch and look, worrying that it might lead to heartbreak and destruction and devastation even when she was sure it would.

  She ran her hand down the side of the dress, loving the feel of the silk. It was a sleek dress, a dark green colour that matched her eyes, with flimsy spaghetti straps over her fair shoulders, a hint of a drop at the front to reveal her modest cleavage. Though it fell to the floor, it was cut on the bias, and hugged her slender frame to the ankles, showing her body in a way that she knew would drive Rafe wild.

  And she relished that prospect.

  She’d bought the dress with him in mind, though she hadn’t been willing to admit that to herself at the time. But when she’d handed over her credit card at the high-fashion Mayfair boutique, she’d imagined him sliding the dress up off her body, his hands caressing her hips, finding her breasts, teasing her and tormenting her with the strength of the pleasures he could invoke.

  A smile played about her lips as she painted bright red lipstick on them, to match her nails. Her hair she’d curled a little, so that it fell down her back like a slightly tousled version of its usual self. Silky and dark and, she had to admit, kind of sexy.

  She felt sexy, and it was the first time in her twenty-four years when she’d actually admitted that to herself. With Steve, she’d felt comfortable and complacent, and with Rafe she felt…

  “Alive.”

  She said the word aloud, husking it on a breath, smiling and pushing away any more complicated thoughts.

  The door buzzed and she grabbed her clutch purse – black to match her heels – then pulled it inwards, ready to meet the driver Rafe had said he’d send. She was getting used to that – the little touches of wealth that were so easy to accept. A driver collecting her after work, even when she wasn’t going to Rafe’s, because he liked to know she was home safely. Tables at the best restaurants reserved for their lunches. All of it.

  The smile froze on her face when the door was open wid
e enough to reveal the other side.

  “Steve?”

  She stared at him in shock, and he was staring back at her with the same look of disbelief. His eyes, eyes she had stared into for so many hours, dragged from her head to her toes, his face turning a shade of pink as he took in the beautiful dress and the way it flattered her figure.

  She’d never dressed for him like this. Not once.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The question came out thick and breathy. She cleared her throat, and looked behind him. There was no sign yet of any of Rafe’s cars.

  “I came… can we talk?”

  She frowned. “Does it look like a good time?” She prompted, waving a hand across her front, to emphasise the fact she was dressed for a night out.

  “It’s never a good time with you,” he said caustically.

  “Jesus, Steve. That’s a low blow. I had plenty of time for you when we were a couple. But you ended that, and so yeah, I have a life now. A life outside of you.” She straightened her spine, proud of the fact she could say that and mean it.

  “I’m sorry,” he shook his head in a way that was so self-deprecating and familiar that her stomach swished. “I’m doing this all wrong.”

  “Doing what all wrong?”

  “I just… I really need to see you. To speak to you.”

  “Well, you’ve got about two minutes,” Ivy snapped. “So say what you came to say.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  Ivy was angry. No, she was furious. The sight of this man she had loved, once-upon-a-time, made her want to throw a brick at a wall. On the threshold to the house they’d bought together, holding hands the first time they’d seen it, planning where they’d put what room, filling the house with furniture, art and hopes for their future, looking out at a world that had stopped making sense a long time ago.

  “Mind if I come in? It’s kind of freezing out here.” He stepped through the door before she could answer. “And speaking of which, you should grab a coat because you’ll catch a bad cold if you go out like that.”

  Ivy frowned. He was probably right, though slipping from her house to the limo and then to the ballroom, she really wouldn’t be ‘outside’ for much of the night at all. Besides, there was Rafe, and the manners that always had him offer his coat if she were cold, wrapping her in his concern and masculine fragrance.