‘You appear to be learning all too quickly how to behave as that “pampered poodle” you spoke of so disparagingly!’ He eyed her scathingly.
Beth’s breath caught in her throat, knowing that Raphael had meant to wound with his remark. And that he had succeeded. She didn’t want any part of being Gabriela Navarro. Not the name. Or to be thought of as that spoilt and pampered little-rich-girl Raphael had just referred to so scathingly.
Beth had sincerely hoped that once she returned to England she would be able to get some perspective back into her life—albeit with Raphael lurking somewhere in the background—but instead she hadn’t even been allowed to return to her own home, let alone the normality of her life.
She drew in a shaky breath before speaking. ‘That was very unkind of you.’
His mouth twisted. ‘I was not aware that you required kindness from me?’
‘Everyone prefers kindness to cruelty, Raphael.’
He breathed deeply. ‘Perhaps I am not feeling particularly kind.’
Beth frowned. ‘Because I asked for my bags to be brought upstairs?’
No, Raphael’s present mood had very little to do with Beth’s perfectly valid request, and more to do with the fact that he had just become aware of the fact that the two of them would be staying in this house alone for the next few days. Something that hadn’t occurred to him until just now.
Beth’s slightly bewildered expression at his unexpected aggression certainly wasn’t helping him to remain professionally aloof from this situation. Possibly because ‘professional’ was the last thing he felt whenever he was in this woman’s company. And, if Raphael was to do his job of protecting her properly, he needed to remain completely detached as well as professional.
He looked at her coolly. ‘I will arrange for your bags to be brought upstairs.’
Beth looked at him searchingly for several long seconds before nodding slowly, her eyes looking even darker in the pallor of her face. ‘Thank you.’
He raised dark brows. ‘No comment as to the fact that should have been my original answer?’
‘No.’
Raphael allowed himself a small smile. ‘Are you feeling quite well?’
A pained looked crossed Beth’s expressive face. ‘Not really. Will you excuse me?’ She turned sharply before running quickly up the stairs.
Raphael remained in the hallway, hands clenched at his sides as he continued to watch her as she reached the top of those stairs, before turning to the right and disappearing down the hallway in the direction of the guest bedrooms in the east wing. As if the devil himself were following at her heels…
Should Raphael follow her, and apologise—once again!—for appearing insensitive to her obvious distress, both at thoughts of being Gabriela Navarro and the sudden changes that were being asked—no, demanded!—of her because of it? Or would his apology only succeed in making this situation worse?
Raphael wasn’t sure their present situation—alone together and at constant loggerheads—could get any worse!
And yet he had made a promise to Cesar before leaving Buenos Aires, and to Esther and Carlos, who were both so obviously distraught at the thought of their daughter leaving them again so soon after they had found her.
A promise that he would protect Beth at all costs.
Raphael just hadn’t realised, when he had made that promise, that he might be asked to protect Beth from himself.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘BETH?’ RAPHAEL CAME to a halt in the open bedroom doorway as he saw—and heard—her crying as she lay face down on the bed, immediately dropping the two bags he was carrying to cross the bedroom in long determined strides before sitting down on the bed beside her.
The first Beth knew of Raphael’s presence in the bedroom with her was when she felt the bed dipping beside her before his hands came to rest gently on her shoulders as he turned her over. His arms moved about her as he took one look at her tear-stained face before pulling her towards him and cradling her against the reassuring heat of his chest.
That gentleness, along with Raphael’s reassuring warmth, and the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, only made Beth cry all the harder.
These past few days had been—Beth couldn’t even begin to describe how awful they had been!
Going back to Buenos Aires with Grace. Seeing her own likeness to the Navarros, most especially to Esther. Even the similarity of her own stubborn determination to Cesar’s impossible arrogance! And the results of those blood tests, no matter how much Beth verbally denied it, had completely unsettled her.
To the point that she had desperately needed to escape, to flee the demand being made of her to accept she was Gabriela Navarro and not Beth Blake.
But returning to England, seeing the alterations being made on her home, arriving at Cesar’s estate, with its high walls and dozen or so security guards, had only succeeded in making the possibility of her really being Gabriela Navarro seem all the more real, not less so.
More real than Beth could emotionally deal with.
It was too much. All of it. The whole idea, of her being—becoming, the Argentinian heiress Gabriela Navarro was so totally off the charts of Beth’s comprehension that, no matter how she might try to pretend and behave to the contrary, Beth knew she was in serious danger of being totally overwhelmed by it all.
Even the name Gabriela was foreign to her.
Gabriela Esther Carlotta Navarro. Esther for her mother, Carlotta in memory of Carlos Navarro’s mother…
And how could that possibly be Beth, when she barely understood a word of Spanish, let alone spoke it?
It couldn’t be.
And yet somewhere, deep inside her, Beth had the uneasy—the unacceptable!—feeling that it really was…
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘Do you believe that I’m her, too?’
‘Yes.’
Raphael was so much like Cesar: no ifs, ands or buts, just that harsh and implacable affirmative! ‘What makes you so certain?’ Beth frowned up at him.
He breathed deeply. ‘You could not possibly remember me, but—I knew Cesar’s sister as a baby.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I didn’t realise that…’
He smiled tightly. ‘There is no reason why you should have done so. But yes, I am as convinced as everyone else that you are Gabriela Navarro.’
‘Why?’
‘Obviously you look so much like Esther and Carlos. And you are as fiercely stubborn as Cesar when you argue,’ he added teasingly. ‘But I can also see traces of that much younger Gabriela in you, too. She was utterly adorable and charming, even at two years of age, but also very determined in her nature, decided what she wanted or where she needed to be, and ensured that she got there.’ He chuckled softly.
Beth eyed him teasingly. ‘You think I’m adorable and charming?’
‘And, do not forget, very determined,’ he reminded her lightly.
‘But what if I still don’t want to be her?’ Beth demanded distractedly, still trying to assimilate the information that she—Gabriela—and Raphael had known each other over twenty years ago. And that Raphael had obviously felt the same brotherly indulgent affection for Gabriela as Cesar had.
‘Is that the reason you are upset?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted huskily.
‘Then I would say that you are unique in not wishing to be the young, beautiful, and very wealthy Navarro heiress,’ Raphael drawled dryly.
Beth sighed heavily. ‘Everyone dreams of being wealthy enough to one day not have to worry about money again. But not at the sacrifice of their other hopes and dreams.’
‘And what are your other hopes and dreams?’
‘To become the best editor I know how to be, and maybe even find and edit that one special book that’s going to take the world by storm!’ she revealed fiercely.
‘And you do not believe you can do those things as Gabriela Navarro?’
‘I know I can’t!’
‘The Gabriela I knew
all those years ago would have ensured that she did exactly as she wished to do in her adult life,’ Raphael said softly.
‘Cesar’s answer to that would seem to be to simply buy a publishing company for me,’ she muttered disgustedly.
He smiled ruefully. ‘That is the way Cesar deals with such problems. It does not have to be your way also.’
‘No,’ Beth acknowledged doubtfully.
‘Take a deep breath and learn to deal with one problem at a time, Beth,’ Raphael advised huskily. ‘If you stop and consider, you have already done so. You are here, back in England, as you wished to be, and tomorrow you will return to your job, also as you wished,’ he explained as she looked up at him questioningly. ‘You have free will, Beth, are over twenty-one, and so at liberty to live your life in any way that you choose.’
‘And you think that the Navarros and Cesar are going to accept that?’ She smiled ruefully.
‘I think the Gabriela I knew would have made sure they were given no choice in the matter!’ he assured her dryly.
Beth exhaled shakily as she realised she had been holding her breath for several minutes. And Raphael was right, of course; no matter what the family pressure—whichever family that might happen to be!—she ultimately didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to do.
And at the moment what she wanted to do was try to repair the damage she had done to the soggy mess that was now Raphael’s white silk shirt! ‘I’m so sorry about this.’ She attempted to brush away some of that dampness with her hand.
‘Why is it that women never have a handkerchief or a tissue with them when they cry?’ Raphael’s voice was a teasing rumble beneath her cheek. ‘Here, use this,’ he encouraged softly as she made no effort to take the blue silk handkerchief that she knew had been in his breast pocket until a few seconds ago, as a match for the neatly knotted tie at his throat and the colour of his eyes.
‘We don’t decide to cry, it just happens.’ Beth took the handkerchief from him and mopped at the dampness of his shirt before drying her cheeks and blowing her nose. ‘And how many women have you made cry?’ she murmured as she tucked the silk handkerchief into her denims pocket, intending to wash it before returning it to him.
‘None that I recall.’
She gave him a derisive glance. ‘Why do I find that so hard to believe?’
He raised dark brows. ‘I do not know. Why do you?’
Now there was a trick question if ever Beth had heard one!
How did she know women had cried over this man? This man who was as handsome as sin, and just as wickedly dangerous? And unattainable…
Beneath those breathtaking good looks and unmistakeable sensuality, Beth sensed there was an aloofness to Raphael Cordoba, a coldness that said his heart had never been touched by any of the women he might have been involved with since he reached sexual maturity. An aloofness, and coldness of emotions, that challenged at the same time as it gave warning of heartbreak to any who ventured forth.
So, yes, whether Raphael had witnessed it or not, Beth was certain that there had been many women who had cried tears over him. ‘Just a hunch.’ She shrugged dismissively. ‘You so obviously spoke from experience about ladies not having a handkerchief with them when they cry.’
‘I have six sisters, so yes—’
‘Six sisters!’ Beth pulled back slightly to look up at him in disbelief, disconcerted by the admission. ‘Older or younger, or a mixture of the two?’
‘All older.’ He grimaced.
She gave a slightly dazed shake of her head. ‘I can’t even begin to think what it must have been like growing up with six older sisters…’
‘The fights that ensued over the use of the bathrooms were always entertaining,’ he revealed dryly.
‘I would imagine so…’
He shrugged. ‘But being a young boy, with the usual aversion to bathing, helped in that situation, I believe.’
Beth tried to imagine Raphael as a young boy. No doubt his hair would have been longer then, more inclined to curl, and those piercing blue eyes wouldn’t have that hard cynicism to them that had come with maturity—
Or perhaps they would?
She knew nothing of Raphael’s background but the things he had chosen to reveal to her over the past few days—and she hadn’t felt inclined to ask Grace anything about him, either, knowing exactly what conclusions her sister would have drawn from Beth’s interest in the personal life of Cesar’s enigmatic Head of Security!
But Raphael had just revealed that he was the youngest of seven children, which surely meant that his family home would have to have been cramped and overcrowded, and that so many children would have been a severe strain on the family finances. A hardship that would only have been made more painfully obvious by Raphael’s friendship with a man whose family was as rich and powerful as Cesar Navarro’s. A friendship that had perhaps come into existence because Raphael’s family lived and worked on one of the Navarro properties?
‘Are all of your sisters married?’
‘Five of them. Rosa is…slower, than others,’ Raphael revealed tightly. ‘It is not hereditary, you understand—it was caused by complications at her birth.’
‘I wasn’t presuming that it was,’ Beth answered him distractedly, thinking of the fact that Raphael’s parents would have had five weddings to pay for, if not dowries to supply—did the parents still provide dowries for their daughters in Argentina?—as well as the continuing financial support of their remaining daughter. Perhaps Raphael even helped with that support; he had certainly sounded defensive just now on his sister Rosa’s behalf. ‘Does Rosa still live at home with your parents?’
His eyes hardened. ‘She resides with my eldest sister, Delores, and her family.’
‘But none of your family live in Buenos Aires?’ she prompted curiously.
‘No.’ Raphael now sounded, and looked, just as unapproachable on the subject of his family as he had two days ago.
‘And what of your parents? Are they both still alive?’
‘My father is. My mother died shortly after my tenth birthday.’
Beth gave a pained frown. ‘I’m sorry.’
He shrugged. ‘So am I.’
‘It can’t have been easy for your father to bring up all those children on his own.’
‘He remarried when I was sixteen.’ Raphael’s jaw had become inflexible.
As evidence that he didn’t like his stepmother? Perhaps this was the reason Rosa lived with her eldest sister, and perhaps another reason why Beth always sensed a stiltedness in Raphael’s manner whenever his family was mentioned in conversation.
She had sensed some sort of tension between Raphael and his family when Esther had enquired after them two days ago. Possibly one that had been created by Raphael’s desire to escape from his father’s second marriage as well as the poverty of his childhood…
That need to escape would certainly fit in with the years he had spent in the military. It would also explain the impatience he showed towards Beth’s rejection of the idea of becoming a member of the wealthy Navarro family.
Raphael had absolutely no idea what thoughts were going through Beth’s head at that moment, but whatever they were they had brought a frown to her creamy brow. Just as he was aware of the frown between his own eyes as he realised he was sitting on the side of the bed with Beth cradled in his arms…
Despite her outer veneer of toughness, Beth felt utterly soft and very feminine with her breasts pressing against the hardness of his chest, her back feeling softly sensual as his hands ran lightly over the material of her T-shirt, the softness of her silky blond hair smelling of citrus fruits, her perfume—something lightly floral and utterly feminine that was uniquely Beth—having invaded his senses and at the same time lowered his defences.
Defences Raphael knew he could not allow to be lowered with a woman he found as beautiful and intriguingly enticing as he did Beth Blake. Even less so in regard to Gabriela Navarro, the woman he was here to prot
ect.
He removed his arms abruptly before standing up and moving sharply away from her. ‘If you like I will take you upstairs now and show you the gym?’
She blinked at the sudden change of subject, before that surprise was quickly masked and she smiled brightly. ‘Feel like joining me?’
Raphael’s lids narrowed warily. ‘Sorry?’
She stood up, lean and slender in a blue sweater and fitted low-rider denims. ‘Grace said that you and Cesar often spar together in the gym…’
‘Yes.’
She grinned. ‘I have a black belt in karate.’
Raphael drew in a sharp breath. ‘And you are suggesting that the two of us should now spar together,’ he murmured doubtfully.
She quirked a mocking brow. ‘Is your reluctance because I’m a woman?’
‘My reluctance has nothing to do with your being a woman—’ He broke off as she gave a disparaging snort. ‘It has nothing to do with your being a woman, Beth,’ he insisted firmly, ‘and everything to do with the fact that I was in a special unit of the Argentinian army for several years.’
‘And?’ She shrugged.
‘And I have…skills that are far beyond those of karate,’ he explained grimly.
‘And would those skills include knowing how to disarm and kill someone with your bare hands?’
‘If necessary, yes,’ he admitted harshly.
None of Beth’s inner shock showed in her expression—why should it, when she had already guessed, from the predatory stillness that always surrounded Raphael, that he could be lethal, physically as well as emotionally? ‘And have you ever felt it necessary?’
‘Yes.’ A nerve pulsed in the tension of his jaw.
‘Well, let’s hope you won’t find it necessary today,’ she dismissed lightly.
‘Beth—’
‘Oh, come on, Raphael, hand-to-hand combat is going to be much more fun than that punch bag with your own or Cesar’s photo pinned on it!’
He drew in a deep, controlling breath. ‘Not if you are the one who ends up black and blue.’
‘And is that likely to happen?’
‘Not if I can avoid it, no,’ he bit out grimly.
A Touch of Notoriety Page 5