by Sarah Morgan
‘You want me to guarantee your loan before we have sex?’
Well, of course she did. Furious with himself for breaking his rule and complicating the situation, Rafael felt his mouth tighten, but she shook her head.
‘Of course not. I want you to extend my loan, yes, but not because of—of—anything else that happens to be between us. But if anything did happen then it’s inevitable that you’d question my reasons for sleeping with you.’
No, he wouldn’t. He’d sleep with her and forget her. Because that was the way he chose to live his life. He’d long since abandoned self-delusion. ‘I’m not into analysis. When you sleep with me, I can guarantee you that there won’t be post-mortem.’ He ran a hand over his face to clear the water from his vision. ‘Frankly, I don’t care if we don’t talk at all.’
Her lips parted. ‘Oh, well, that’s romantic.’
He leaned forward and planted an arm against the tree, bringing his body close to hers again. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be romantic.’ He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. ‘Romantic is the lies people tell to soften the fall into bed. And I don’t tell lies. Is that what you’re going to do, Grace? Are you going to tell all the lies that women always tell? Because if you are, then this is the moment that you share with me that you love me. And we both know that you don’t. That’s not what this is about. This is about physical chemistry. The sort you don’t think about.’
Something flickered in her blue eyes. ‘You’re very confusing.’
‘No.’ The irony of her statement brought a smile to his lips. ‘I’m very straightforward. It’s everyone around me who plays the games, Miss Thacker.’
Her chin lifted. ‘I’m not playing games, but I don’t sleep with men I don’t know. And especially not with men who are careless about emotions.’
‘I’m not careless. Not at all.’ He took great care. He played by one set of rules. His own. And he’d made them for a reason. ‘Sex is sex. It doesn’t have to be complicated.’
She stared at him. ‘You’re telling me that you’d make love to me on the forest floor today, and then withdraw my loan tomorrow?’
‘Love?’ Just saying the word brought a bad taste to his mouth. ‘Not love. I didn’t say anything about love.’
Something flickered in her eyes. ‘Emotionless sex, then.’
‘Sex … ‘He stepped closer to her and felt the chemistry spark again like a live thing. ‘It’s an appetite, like hunger or thirst. An urge to be satisfied.’
‘You don’t truly mean that.’ She made a distressed sound and paced back towards the path, rubbing her damp arms with her hands. ‘I’ve been giving you the benefit of the doubt. I told myself that you couldn’t possibly be as cold as everyone said you were. That you’ve had a hard time in your life and that’s bound to make things difficult.’
Rafael ground his teeth with frustration. Why did women always do that?
Why did they always try and dissect every situation down to the bone?
‘If there’s one thing that dampens my libido more than a liar, it’s an amateur psychologist,’ he said, swinging the rucksack onto his back and striding past her onto the path. ‘Sex is sex, minha paixao, it’s just that very few women have the courage to acknowledge that fact. They prefer to dress it up in woolly emotion, bind a man with commitment and then whine when the appetite is satisfied and the whole thing falls apart. Which is why the divorce rate remains high.’
Now who was dissecting things down to the bone? Aggravated with her for driving him on to topics he made a point of avoiding and astonished with himself for not cutting her dead earlier in the conversation, Rafael tightened his mouth and started up the path.
‘Is that what happened to you?’ Her voice came from behind him and he turned, a growl of frustration bursting from his throat.
‘ What did you say?’
She was standing on the rain-soaked path, her blue eyes bright and intent on his, no trace of a smile on her face, and her simple, straightforward scrutiny disturbed him more than he could have imagined possible.
Without understanding why, Rafael strode back to her, the anger mounting inside him, although whether that anger was directed at himself or the girl he couldn’t be sure.
All he knew was that he’d had enough of the conversation. And he’d had enough of Grace Thacker. From now on he was going to block out her curves, her dimples and her sleek, silky blonde hair because some women were just too much effort and she was one of those.
And now she was looking at him in the way women did when they wanted you to open up and spill all sorts of deep, innermost secrets that they could sell to the papers for an indecent amount of money.
Rafael almost laughed. What would she say, he wondered, if she knew that the truth about him could have been sold for a small fortune?
‘I asked,’ she said slowly, ‘whether that was what happened to you. There has to be some reason why you feel and behave the way you do.’
He swallowed a bitter laugh. Oh, there was.
But what would a woman like Grace Thacker do with the information? No doubt use it to secure the loan she needed to continue with her corrupt little business.
Suddenly transported back to his childhood, he glanced around the forest but it held no fears for him now. No dark memories. In fact, it had been his sanctuary. He’d made it that way.
‘Why do I behave the way I do? Because I’m a man, and that’s the way men think.’ Infuriated by her determination to suck information out of him, Rafael couldn’t keep the impatience out of his voice and heard her sharp intake of breath.
‘I just can’t believe that you’re as cold and insensitive as they say you are.’
‘Well, I am.’ His tone simmered with raw aggression as a black rage descended on him. ‘Remember that before you ask personal questions that I have no intention of answering.’
Wondering what had possessed him to consider walking through the rainforest with Grace for company, Rafael ground his teeth and turned away from her but not before he saw the silent question in her eyes.
Women, he thought as he strode up the ancient path at a punishing pace.
The sooner they reached the fazenda, the sooner he could expose the game she’d been playing and end this farce. And then he’d send her home.
Grace walked in silence, keeping her eyes on the path so that she didn’t miss her step in the rough, slippery terrain.
But her mind wasn’t on the physical challenge that the rainforest presented. It was on the kiss—that amazing, astonishing kiss that had awakened her previously dormant body from sleep to a state of almost overwhelming excitement. But the confusion caused by that steamy, erotic encounter in the humid, leafy jungle was eclipsed by the conversation that had followed.
And now she wished—how desperately she wished—that she’d kept her mouth shut.
Perhaps he was right that sex was better without conversation because words had tainted the fragile perfection of the moment.
Words—the most deadly weapon given to human beings.
She, of all people, knew the damage that words could do and yet she’d thrown them out carelessly, with no thought to the wounds they might cause.
And now she was filled with nothing but regret and self-recrimination.
She wished she hadn’t asked if he was going to extend the loan because he’d obviously interpreted her question as a signal that she’d sleep with him if he gave a positive answer.
But most of all she wished she hadn’t asked the question about his marriage. It had been personal and inappropriate, she could see that now, but there had been something about his bitter remarks and the rigid tension in those broad shoulders that had made it impossible for her not to ask. Impossible for her not to reach out to him as she would have reached out to any human being in such intense pain.
And the pain was there, she was sure of it.
When he’d stridden back down the path towards her and the expression on his face had been so
black and threatening that, for a wild, panicky moment, she’d known she’d gone too far. And she’d been afraid.
Afraid for herself.
Afraid for him.
And then she’d seen his eyes. And what she’d seen there wasn’t violence but bitterness, pain and cynicism and her fear had turned back into concern and compassion.
What had caused the darkness that she so clearly saw in him?
What memories haunted his nights and kept him locked to the safe, inanimate computer screen?
And why had he kissed her?
No matter what derisive comment he made about women’s attitude to sex, she wasn’t so naïve and foolish that she’d interpreted their hot jungle encounter as anything other than physical lust. She knew that chemistry existed, even though she’d never experienced its explosive force before today. She understood that sex could happen without love. She understood all those things. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t believe in love.
Never having found it didn’t mean that it wasn’t there.
And never having found it didn’t mean she didn’t yearn for it.
Maybe it would never come her way, but that didn’t stop her hoping because what sort of life was it without hope?
What sort of life was it without love?
And suddenly she understood the acres of dark emptiness that she’d seen in his eyes. Rafael Cordeiro was a man living a life without love.
Why?
Why had he made that choice? And why did she even care?
CHAPTER FOUR
THEY walked without speaking, but were spared an awkward silence by the chorus of birds and frogs chirping and monkeys chattering, the now familiar rainforest sounds that provided a constant accompaniment to their physical efforts.
Occasionally Rafael glanced over his shoulder and looked at her but his gaze didn’t linger and she wasn’t even sure why he was checking on her because she had the distinct impression that he wouldn’t have minded if she’d fallen head first into the river that now bubbled cheerfully alongside the path.
Clearly he was wishing himself alone in his rainforest hideaway.
She’d made the mistake of trying to reach out and touch his deep, dark secrets and, like an injured predator, he’d given her a warning.
Keep your distance.
Don’t come too close.
So keep her distance she would and she wouldn’t go too close.
They’d visit the fazenda as planned, walk back to his lodge and then he’d give her his answer about her business. And whatever that answer was, she’d leave.
And Rafael Cordeiro with his dark secrets and his cynical view of love and life would be part of her past.
Which was a good thing, she told herself as she balanced on a log and avoided a deep, muddy pool of water, because she wasn’t ever going to be the sort of woman who indulged in emotionless sex and if they pursued this physical connection then that was what she’d be offered.
And emotionless sex meant giving up on a dream of something more.
And she wasn’t ready to stop dreaming.
She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn’t even realise that he’d stopped until she walked straight into him.
‘Sorry.’ Moving away from his steadying hand, she stepped back and stared into the trees. ‘Why have we stopped?’
‘This is the beginning of the fazenda.’
They were the first words he’d spoken since his response to her ill-timed question and there was no warmth. No emotion at all. Just a statement of fact. Like a tour guide, trained to impart the required information.
She glanced around herself in surprise, seeing dense jungle either side of the path. ‘We’re still in the rainforest.’
‘The coffee is grown in the forest. The owners maintain the land around them. They run their business in perfect harmony with nature. Ecologically sound.’ His mouth tightened. ‘And you care about things like that, don’t you, Grace?’
So they were back to that, then.
The hard glances and the sarcastic comments loaded with a meaning that she had yet to interpret. Gone was the heat and the passion that they’d shared in the pulsing heat of a rain-soaked forest. Gone was the intimacy, however shallow.
And she made no reference to it. Why would she, when she knew that what they’d shared had been fleeting and ephemeral? A transient lighting of the senses which had been quickly quenched by words, both his and hers. Something less than honest because neither knew the other, so how could anything built on such superficial grounds ever be deeply felt?
Moving away from such dangerous and unsettling thoughts, she played his game. ‘Yes, I do care.’ She refused to let his tone unsettle her. ‘And I know the history of the fazenda. The reason we’re prepared to pay the price we pay for the coffee is because it’s grown in an environmentally-friendly way. If we’d used cheaper coffee then you might be seeing a return on your investment now.’ And perhaps he wouldn’t be so angry. It all seemed to be about money for him. Money seemed to be the only thing that mattered. And she suddenly found herself wondering about his wife, although this time she did her wondering quietly, with her mouth firmly shut.
Was that why his glamorous, high-maintenance wife had left him? Because his focus was all on dollars, cents and profit?
‘You care deeply, don’t you, Grace?’ He was watching her and she saw the now familiar cynical gleam return to his eyes. ‘I suggest we postpone this particular conversation until you’ve looked round the fazenda.’
They walked onwards past creeks and streams that had been dammed to preserve the water. Goats grazed, chickens ran loose and a group of young children were playing a riotous game in the dust outside.
As they walked towards some buildings, a man and a woman emerged to meet them. Their simple clothes were dusty from the soil and worn from years of hard use. Physical toil in the harsh Brazilian sunshine had weathered the skin on their faces and hands so that it was impossible to be sure of their age. Grace would have guessed them to be in their late sixties but they could have been younger.
Holding out both hands, the woman greeted Rafael with warmth and respect and he spoke in rapid Portuguese, his gaze occasionally sliding to Grace, leaving her in no doubt that she was the topic of conversation.
Conscious of her bedraggled appearance, Grace smoothed her hair away from her face and hoped they didn’t mind the fact that she was such a mess. But they didn’t seem to even notice her wet clothes. They didn’t seem interested.
Instead they listened to Rafael and cast anxious glances in her direction, their smiles of welcome apparently frozen by whatever it was he was saying.
Grace sighed. Whatever it was, if the words leaving his mouth related to her, then the one thing that she could guarantee was that it wouldn’t be anything flattering.
Although she didn’t fully understand his animosity towards her, she could hardly fail to be aware that he wasn’t exactly her biggest fan.
Except in the sex department, she reminded herself ruefully. On that level, at least, she’d apparently scored points with him.
As he talked, she sensed a change in the couple and they looked at her with a mixture of anxiety, trepidation and a touch of—anger?
Gaining the distinct impression that her unannounced arrival was less than welcome, Grace suddenly felt awkward and touched Rafael’s arm. ‘Does it put them out, me visiting like this? Because if it does we can just turn straight round and go home.’
‘Home?’ The mockery in his voice reminded her that, however beautiful his rainforest lodge, she had no claim on it.
She was an outsider.
And she’d never felt more alienated from others than she did at that moment.
‘I mean to your lodge, of course,’ she murmured, correcting her mistake swiftly and wondering why every verbal exchange between them felt like negotiating a minefield.
He studied her for a moment, his gaze direct and unsympathetic.
‘Your vi
sit doesn’t put them out. But naturally it’s distressing for them. And worrying.’
‘Why would it be distressing? Do they know that my business is in trouble?’
But Rafael ignored her question and instead switched back to Portuguese to continue his conversation with the couple. And although she couldn’t understand what he was saying, he appeared to be reassuring them about something. His reassurance appeared to have an effect because the woman reached for his hand and gave him a grateful look.
Mesmerised by the unexpected softening she saw in his dark eyes, Grace watched as his strong male fingers closed over the work-roughened hand of the old lady. Although hers wasn’t the hand being squeezed, she knew instinctively that there would be pressure from those long, strong fingers and she took comfort from that surprising fact.
So he wasn’t entirely incapable of emotional connection, then. Not entirely incapable of showing feeling. Not love, maybe, but something.
And not for some Hollywood ‘A’ list actress but for an old lady who lived in the forest. Someone whose means were quite obviously entirely different from his own.
And then he released the old lady’s hand and switched back to English with an ease and fluency that Grace could only envy. Pushing aside the sense of inferiority that other people’s effortless competence always induced in her, she stepped forward with a smile as he introduced them.
‘Carlos and Filomena,’ he said quietly. ‘They farm the land along with their extended family and a few workers who come in from the nearest town.’
Grace glanced towards the children playing with the water barrel. ‘Those are their children?’
‘Grandchildren. Their children are out on the farm working.’
‘A real family business, then.’ Grace sensed a sudden stiffness in the couple and then Filomena stepped forward and said something in Portuguese.