At the Italian's Command

by Cathy Williams

  Sophie had shuddered at the prospect of that little truth emerging. Her mother, the most generous-minded of people, would have been bitterly disappointed to think that her daughter had taken her clothes off, had had sex simply for the hell of it, because they happened to be under the same roof and human nature had got the better of her. She couldn’t bear to think of disappointing her mother. And Claudia would have mirrored those sentiments. A double disappointment. And, naturally, they would see Rafe’s behaviour as him simply being a man, according to one of those distasteful but pervasive notions that men somehow were allowed to follow a different set of rules when it came to members of the opposite sex. A man playing the field was simply in the process of looking for the right woman. A woman thought to be playing the field was loose. Not only was Sophie the opposite of loose, but her mother would be deeply worried that her daughter had somehow jettisoned all her principles. And Sophie would have been unable to tell her the truth because that would have been admitting the pathetic fact that she had fallen in love with him.

  She dabbed herself dry and chose the drabbest of her outfits to face the waiting crowd. Jeans and a grey loose-fitting shirt that had once been her father’s and for which she had a very special affection.

  She cuffed the sleeves, slipped on her loafers and pointedly avoided looking in the mirror just in case her eyes showed her too much of what she was really feeling.

  Rafe had made it down before her.

  She could hear his low, deep, sexy drawl coming from the direction of the kitchen. The drawl got clearer the closer she got.

  ‘It’s early days yet, Mother, so there’s no point nagging me,’ he was saying with a certain amount of smug contentment in his voice. The man was apparently an actor as well as a business tycoon. Maybe the two went hand in hand. Sophie gritted her teeth, took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen where the four women were sitting at the table, sipping cups of tea while Rafe held court standing with his back to her, leaning indolently against the central island.

  ‘I couldn’t agree more!’ Sophie interjected, making straight for the teapot and pouring herself a cup of tea, even though at nearly midday coffee would have been more to her taste.

  ‘From acorns…’ Edith chipped in. ‘I never thought Tom and I would end up married and look at us now! I always thought of him as the boy next door, more like a brother than a friend, until one night we went out, just the two of us, because our little party had cancelled out, and we got to chatting. I mean, really talking, and it was like a new world opening up!’

  Sophie tried not to choke on her tea at the thought of ever seeing Rafe as the boy next door or like a brother.

  ‘Yes, sometimes things do work out that way,’ Rafe agreed smoothly. He went over to where Sophie was standing, glued to her cup of tea and the square metre of space that was furthest away from him. He slung his arm casually around her neck and toyed with her hair. She tried to smile and look as natural as she could while her mind rapidly flew ahead to that point when they would both diplomatically call the game off and depart their separate ways.

  ‘But more often than not, they don’t,’ she pointed out, bringing the conversation back down to planet Earth. ‘I mean, people have relationships and they just don’t last! Especially in London.’

  ‘Why especially in London?’ Rafe asked with interest. He managed to sound indulgent and annoyingly sexy when he said that.

  ‘Things are different in London.’ Sophie tried to ignore the way he was curling and uncurling strands of her hair around his finger. She stared at her mother, determined to point her in the right direction for disappointment when the phoney love match failed to work out. ‘It’s not like a cosy little village. It’s big, it’s fast and everyone moves at a different pace, including their relationships.’

  Grace frowned. ‘Surely not everyone, darling. Or else no one in London would ever settle down, get married…’

  ‘Few do,’ Sophie hazarded.

  ‘Unless it’s the genuine article.’ Rafe gave her a little squeeze of affection and she could have kicked him.

  ‘I quite agree,’ Claudia was saying, bustling over to the bags on the counter and pulling out a gourmet assortment of food, which seemed roughly enough to feed double the number of people in the kitchen. ‘You mustn’t become disillusioned simply because you’re in London, Sophie,’ she lectured.

  Grace added, ‘Aand you mustn’t think that because the people around you are flitting in and out of relationships that you should do the same. Mind you…’ she smiled ‘…you’ve never been one to fall victim to peer pressure.’

  Which thankfully diverted the conversation onto the general topic of peer pressure, leaving Sophie some time to breathe and also try to wriggle away from Rafe. Her tiny but determined efforts met with no success. He simply tightened his grip on her until she was forced to deliver a substantial prod to his ribs. It did the trick and she escaped fast, before he could recover from the temporary winding.

  ‘No need to give me a hand, Sophie. I’ve been terribly lazy and bought food that needs absolutely no preparation whatsoever. Just some cold cuts and salad. Not exactly winter warmers, but some hot bread should do the trick.’

  ‘Well, we have the casserole for this evening, Claudia.’ This from Maggie who now proceeded to make Sophie’s efforts at dodging Rafe utterly redundant by busying herself with setting the table. ‘What about you two? Joining us for some lunch, or would you rather do your own thing?’ A coy look accompanied this question and Sophie groaned inwardly.

  Who would have thought that these women, after decades of experience, were still so stuffed full of romantic notions? So far, not one had taken her up on her tentative remarks about the woeful impermanence of relationships between men and women. She could have been addressing a roomful of sixteen-year-olds! And Rafe had been no help. Instead of helping her cool things down, he had added fuel to their collective fire!

  ‘Oh, I think we’ll brave the cold and head for the town,’ Rafe drawled, while she was still in the process of working out the pros and cons of staying put as opposed to going out.

  ‘Thought you might!’ Claudia laughed and exchanged a glance with Grace. ‘You’d better wrap up warm, though, Sophie. It’s cold out there.’

  ‘What about all the food?’ Sophie asked weakly. ‘There’s an awful lot… I wouldn’t want you to think that you’d wasted your money buying food for us, only for us to disappear…’

  ‘Hungry as a horse, my dear,’ Maggie said, and in the ensuing banter Sophie managed to make her exit, with Rafe hard on her heels.

  ‘Spit it out now or wait till we’re alone?’ he murmured, catching up with her on the stairs and turning her around so that she had to look at him.

  ‘You could have helped me out back there, Rafe!’

  ‘Ah. Thought so. Okay, we’ll discuss it over lunch. Meet you by the front door in fifteen minutes.’ He sauntered off like a man without a care in the world, leaving her to stew in her own frustration.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was ready by the front door, having stuck her head in the kitchen to say goodbye, and her stewing had reached boiling point.

  ‘You’re ready to explode, aren’t you?’ was the first thing he said, once they were in his car and heading towards the town.

  ‘Ten out of ten for observation, Rafe!’ She swivelled to look at his profile, struck against her will by his masculine beauty, two words that had no right to go hand in hand.

  ‘Why? I thought we had agreed that the best option would be to let Grace and Claudia indulge in their little fantasy until we inform them otherwise.’

  ‘I’m glad you used that little word fantasy.’ The fantasy of being involved with Rafe in a committed and lasting relationship, one involving rings and wedding bells, the fantasy of little Rafe and Sophie children running around in a big garden somewhere, the fantasy of sharing every night with him curled around her in a big bed in a perfect house. It was a cruel joke. ‘There was just no need to fe
ed it.’

  ‘You’re saying that I should have ignored you in the kitchen? Behaved like an inconsiderate bastard who sleeps with a woman and then treats her like a stranger?’

  Sophie didn’t say anything. She just stared out of the window and wondered how an unfortunate correlation of random circumstances had contrived to land her up in the place she now was in. Her mind buzzed with if only scenarios. If only she hadn’t changed jobs; if only she had gone to work for a failing publication; if only Claudia and her mother hadn’t stepped in to help her out with her first assignment; if only she had kept herself focused solely on her job and not been distracted by the private man behind the public face. If only she hadn’t slept with him.

  ‘I won’t do that, Sophie,’ he grated coldly. ‘I have no intention of projecting a persona that isn’t me because it happens to suit you.’

  ‘The more convincing your performance is, the worse it’s going to be when the whole thing is called off.’ She rested her head against the window and looked at him. ‘You’ve seen for yourself what they’re like. Heads stuffed full of cotton candy.’

  ‘Are you telling me that you’re a hard-nosed cynic? Because if you are, then I refuse to believe it.’

  Sophie wondered whether he liked the thought of her being naïve and gullible. Maybe it gave his ego a boost to think that he was the sexy Svengali showing her the ways of the big, bad world. Hadn’t he commented that she needed looking after? Perhaps it gave him a kick to visualise himself in that role. Might make a change from the worldly-wise, sophisticated women he had always dated. Little, lost girl Sophie, fresh out of the country and in need of a masterful man.

  ‘I’m telling you that I’m realistic. Sure, I have the same hopes and dreams about love and happiness as the next person, but I also know that what you and I might have shared, has nothing to do with any of that. And I don’t want my mother to be under the illusion that anything is going to come out of it.’ She watched as he concentrated on finding a spot to park his car, leaving her remark dangling in the silence.

  He only replied when he had manoeuvred into a space. Then he turned to her, his arm resting lightly on the gear lever between them. One hundred per cent undivided attention. She would have to put that in her piece because that was what he did so well. He focused. She had watched him in action, had seen firsthand that peculiar ability he had to mesmerise. It was almost as if he had the ability to will people into listening to what he had to say and into agreeing with him.

  Which was why she didn’t make the mistake of actually turning to look him in the eye.

  ‘I wasn’t pretending earlier, Sophie. I wanted to carry on touching you.’ She heard the half-smile in his voice. ‘Not in quite the same way, I grant you, but out-and-out passion is a little tricky in front of parents, wouldn’t you agree?’

  She wasn’t looking at him, but her body was still managing to respond. This was how he did it. He would use that sexy, persuasive voice of his to tell her that there was nothing wrong in touching, in exploring each other, after all they both enjoyed it…wasn’t life too short not to enjoy the sensual experiences that were offered? Too short for self-denial? And, of course, she would listen, would see his point of view and would temporarily forget the fact that she wasn’t one of those enviable live-for-the-moment types, that in fact she was a boring, down-to-earth type who planned ahead.

  ‘I think we should talk about this over lunch,’ was all she said, still staring straight ahead at the picturesque street with its charming shop fronts that managed to be authentically rustic and chic at the same time.

  ‘Okay,’ Rafe said, giving in easily. God, he wanted her to look at him, wanted to see what she was thinking, but she wasn’t giving an inch. Which was leaving him feeling very frustrated indeed. It occurred to him that he really didn’t need to pursue a woman who didn’t want to be pursued, but something was dragging him on. He turned away, opened the car door and noticed that she was out of the door before he had time to open it for her. Out of the door and heading up the street with her hands shoved into her coat pockets and a look of frowning concentration on her face.

  ‘I don’t know anywhere around here to eat,’ she said, pausing as he caught up with her. ‘Shall we just make do with a pub lunch or something?’

  ‘Anywhere that involves a table separating us,’ Rafe agreed. ‘That way you might be inclined to actually look at me when I’m talking to you.’

  Sophie blushed, but didn’t rise to the bait. There was a pub to her right. She headed into it, not caring whether it was good or bad. It was good. In fact, it was indistinguishable from the smart, classy pubs that fringed some of London’s well-heeled suburbs. The floor was polished wood and the tables and chairs were expensive and plentiful, catering for a clientele that primarily came to eat as opposed to drink.

  It was also well on the way to becoming full. They were shown to a table by the window and were handed menus that tried to pass themselves off as café-style, although the list of dishes gave the game away.

  ‘Fascinating menu, don’t you agree?’

  She looked at him to find him staring back at her with an expression of amusement. He had discarded his menu and was leaning on the table, softly drumming the surface with his fingers.

  ‘It’s a shame that these types of places have taken over from the ordinary country pub.’ Sophie looked around her at the smart, understated sophistication. ‘Not a single Cornish pasty on the menu.’

  ‘Do you like Cornish pasties?’

  ‘Not really, no.’ She sighed and dropped the menu. ‘Look, I don’t want to argue with you, Rafe. I just can’t behave like your mistress in front of my mother, especially when I had already reached the conclusion that what we did was…well, wasn’t going to be repeated. And don’t tell me about Victorian principles and life in the twenty-first century. I know all that. I know that everything you say makes sense to you, but—’

  ‘My mother asked us to stay on with them for a couple more days and I agreed,’ he told her bluntly.

  Sophie’s mouth dropped open. ‘You did what? When? When did she ask you this?’

  ‘Before you came back downstairs from your bath. I made the mistake of venturing into the kitchen to find out if there was anything I could buy in town, considering their shopping trip had been aborted, and she mentioned it then.’

  ‘And you agreed.’

  ‘It seemed a good idea. For one thing I haven’t had a break from work for longer than I want to remember.’

  ‘But that means…’

  Rafe gave her a long, assessing look. ‘No, it doesn’t. I’m more than happy to tell them that it was a one-night affair, that we’re far better suited as friends, that sex just clouds the waters. There are a million ways of extricating ourselves from the situation without you feeling that your reputation is being torn to shreds in the process.’ He shrugged. ‘Give them all the benefit of the doubt. However much they enjoy the thought of the two of us getting together in some desperately romantic clinch, they’re old enough to realise that life just doesn’t work along those lines.’

  ‘That’s not what they were saying earlier on.’ Someone came to take their order and Sophie simply followed what he was having because she couldn’t be bothered to consult the menu and because her appetite had disappeared anyway.

  ‘You can leave it to me to deal with,’ Rafe told her, signalling the waiter over and ordering them both a glass of wine, as well as a bottle of water. ‘My sensitivity over what other people think of me is virtually nil and my mother knows me well enough anyway to understand that I would only be speaking the truth if I tell her that there was never any chance of a relationship between us, that we would not wish to jeopardise our newly discovered friendship over sex. That, in fact, there is something honourable about relinquishing a sexual relationship in favour of a platonic one.’ His mouth curved into sardonic smile. ‘As I am sure that you, too, would agree…?’

  ‘Definitely.’ Sophie smiled, but the smile m
ade her mouth ache. Of course, he was absolutely right. Still. She couldn’t prevent the stab of disappointment that he had retreated from pursuit so gracefully and so…quickly.

  The food came, as did the wine. She partook of the latter and toyed with the food while Rafe smoothly changed the subject and asked her all the things a normal person would ask. Things to do with her work and the people she worked with. Boring things. When all she wanted… No, stop right there, she told herself.

  ‘If you like I’ll tell my mother that you would prefer us to head back to London. I can always wrap it up in something to do with work. There’s always a report that needs urgent attention.’

  Sophie looked at him curiously. ‘Which makes me wonder what will happen to your reports if you decide to take a couple of days off work.’

  She allowed him to slip her coat on for her and steeled herself against the soft brush of his fingers against her arm. It was already getting dark outside. The sun had set and a greyish light had settled over everything.

  ‘Sometimes it’s wiser not to think along those lines.’ He sighed and Sophie flicked him a glance from under her lashes. She hadn’t noticed before, but he looked tired and, for the first time, she was ashamed to admit, she realised that he was just human after all. He might have the stamina and energy of something that got plugged into a socket every night, but he was just as prone to exhaustion as the rest of the human race.

  ‘You run your empire, you own every part of it. You should be able to take however much time off that you feel you need. I mean, it’s not like we ordinary mortals who have to juggle with calendars and book our time away.’

  ‘Not like you ordinary mortals?’ Rafe smiled and glanced across at her. ‘Is that what you think of me? That I’m not an ordinary mortal?’ His low, amused voice did something funny to her, as did the semi-darkness in the car, which made it impossible to read any expression on his face.

  ‘O-of course not…’ Sophie stammered. Hadn’t she had firsthand, wonderful experience of exactly how much of a flesh and blood man he was? Hadn’t she touched that beautifully mortal body, every inch of it? She breathed in slowly and deeply. ‘I just mean that you don’t have to account to anybody for your time…’