Forbidden to His Touch

by Natasha Tate

  Sophia clung to her good mood and her hope for two interminable weeks before a dark doubt rose to eclipse her optimism. Two weeks! She hadn’t seen or heard from him since their night in London, and her excuses for his lack of communication were wearing thin. Fear that she’d been wrong all along, that he’d viewed their night together as a colossal mistake and that she’d totally misinterpreted his feelings, plagued her with insecurity and worry.

  She couldn’t have been that off in her assessment of their relationship, could she?

  Apparently, she could have.

  And though she told herself he’d behaved just as she expected, it still hurt.

  It had hurt even more the morning she’d learned she wasn’t pregnant.

  Fool that she was, she’d allowed herself to think things might be different than he’d said they would be. That a child might change things. That a child might make him admit the truth.

  She’d allowed herself to hope, to dream about a future that would never be. She’d deluded herself into seeing things that weren’t there, and convinced herself that the fantasy was real.

  But with the truth staring her in the face, she could no longer deny it. Rafael hadn’t just left London to regroup. He’d left her.

  Too disheartened to dwell on his rejection, she threw herself into the business, actively following up on her London contacts and immersing herself in the day-to-day workings of a thriving winery. She learned more each day and fell exhausted into bed every night, praying for sleep to claim her thoughts and stem her tears.

  It rarely did.

  Four days later, Dolores returned early from her Thursday evening cleaning of Rafael’s home. Sophia looked up from the books she’d been trying to balance, her back burning from fatigue and her eyes smarting from too many unshed tears. “Any word from Raf yet?”

  Dolores lowered her purse to the table and didn’t comment. Instead, she turned to empty the dish drainer with a quiet huff of irritation.

  Silence was not Dolores’s typical response, and Sophia studied the housekeeper’s averted profile, wondering if she were hiding something. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Dolores pressed her lips into a hard line of censure as she opened a cupboard and clanked a stack of plates inside. “Nothing. I’m just trying to gather my calm.”

  “Gather your calm?”

  “Yes.” The curt response came on the heels of a noisy sorting of flatware. “Because if I don’t, I’m going to march back over there and slap that boy silly.”

  “Raf?” Sophia said, and her heart lurched into an uneven, galloping beat. “He’s home?”

  “Yes. He came home today, spewing a load of nonsense,” Dolores said. “And he’s meeting with a lawyer as we speak.”

  Sophia’s hands froze around her pencil, and she was grateful for the way it concealed the trembling that claimed her limbs. “A lawyer? Why?”

  Dolores’s brows drew down into a dark scowl and she flung her hands up toward the ceiling. “Because he’s a stubborn, idiot fool, that’s why.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “I CAN’T believe you sent a lawyer to do your dirty work instead of talking to me yourself.” Sophia strode into Rafael’s black-and-grey office, her pale blue sleeveless dress and sandals a cool contrast to the fury in her distressed features.

  “What dirty work?” It was the first time he’d seen her in nearly three weeks, and she was more beautiful than all of his aching memories combined.

  “Don’t play the innocent with me.” She flung a stack of paperwork onto his desk and they scattered across the polished top, their fluorescent yellow “sign here” flags accusing him with their stark red arrows and blank signature lines. “Your lawyer just gave me those, and then had the temerity to imply that I should be pleased.”

  Rafael’s gaze slid to the transfer of assets forms that his lawyer had just drawn up, and he felt the back of his scalp tighten. “Aren’t you?”

  “Do I look pleased?”

  He straightened the papers without looking at her, arranging the pile while forcing steadiness to his hands. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t be. It’s for the best.”

  “How is forfeiting your half of the business without consulting me first what’s best?”

  “I’m not forfeiting it,” he said without any inflection at all.

  “What do you call it, then?”

  “Returning it to its rightful owner.”

  “It’s yours, Raf.”

  “My job here is done.” He ignored the way his lungs felt too tight to breathe. “I brought you home. I fulfilled my promise to your father. I’m not needed here any longer.”

  Her nostrils flared as she glared at him. “I’ve barely been here two months.”

  “You’re a fast learner,” he told her with a deliberate shrug. “And it’s quite obvious you don’t need me the way your father did.”

  “What?” she gasped. “Of course I do!”

  He gestured toward the edge of his desk. “Why don’t you grab that pen and we’ll get these papers taken care of?”

  “You’ve worked here for almost twenty years,” she said after a quick glance at the pen. “Why would you throw it all away for no reason?”

  “I’m not throwing it away. I’m giving it to you.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “You only think that right now. You’re confused.”

  “I am not confused,” she snapped. “I’m angry. And justifiably so. We’re partners.”

  “We can’t be anymore, not after what happened in London. And once you’ve had some time to cool off, you’ll see I’m right.”

  “How? You talk about my father’s legacy and my responsibility to it, but you know this place will never survive without you here.”

  “It’ll survive just fine. These past three weeks just proves it. You’re smart, you learn quickly and wine-making is in your blood. The crew reports that you’re doing better than any of us expected, and that your knack for blending rivals your father’s. They all adore you, half of them are in love with you already, and with Manuel and Carlos as foremen, you won’t need me at all.”

  “You’re wrong.” She placed her hands flat on his desk and leaned toward him, her blond hair sliding like a river of silk over one golden shoulder and arm. Her blue eyes were living flame, her distress bringing a flush to her cheeks and throat. “I don’t agree to this. I won’t. And you told me that neither of us can change our partnership without the other’s agreement.”

  Resisting the urge to reach for her, he leaned back in his chair and laced his hands over his abdomen. Staring at the woman who might be pregnant with his child, at the woman he loved so much he could hardly breathe for wanting her, made his bones ache. “I lied.”

  “What?”

  The dismissive shrug and false smile he offered her made his gut twist. He reminded himself that he deserved to lose her forever, that he deserved to lose everything. He never should have wanted what he couldn’t have, and now he was paying the price. “I said whatever needed to be said to bring you home. I’d vowed to honor my promise to your father, and it didn’t matter what lies I told to do it.”

  She jerked upright, her flushed skin assuming a paleness he hadn’t seen since she thought she might be carrying his child. “So you’re telling me the ends justify the means.”

  “Yes.”

  “And as long as Papa’s little princess falls into line, as long as you fulfill your promise to him, integrity and trust don’t matter.”

  He resisted the urge to recant his words, to tell her anything she wanted to hear if she’d just allow him to stay. “Yes.”

  Sophia searched his face for several long moments in silence, before confusion and hurt and doubt replaced her anger. “Why are you doing this?” she asked in a strangled voice. “You’re better than this.”

  His entire body tensed, but he kept his expression aloof. He told himself that even if he could have stopped himself from hurting her, he wouldn’t hav
e. Driving her away, ripping his insides apart with one brutal yank, was the only way he could survive the pain of losing her. And even though he knew the pain in her eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life, he had no choice. It was for the best. She’d be better with him gone. “You never were a very good judge of character, were you?”

  Her hand fluttered up to the neckline of her blue dress, pressing hard against her chest. She stepped back, her eyes wide and unblinking as hurt pulled at the corners of her mouth.

  Dismissing her trust in such a cavalier fashion made it difficult to breathe. But if he didn’t make her hate him, if he didn’t make her glad that she was leaving, he’d change his mind. He’d beg her to let him love her and hold her and never let her go.

  She seemed to regain her bearings enough to lift her chin and offer a tissue-thin smile. “I suppose it’s never too late to learn from one’s mistakes, is it?”

  “No,” he said, making himself sit there in arctic indifference despite the compulsion he felt to draw her close, comfort her and kiss the pain from her strained mouth. He forced his gaze to flick to her abdomen and back. “And speaking of mistakes, have you figured out whether you’re pregnant or not?”

  She went utterly still while her face blanched white.

  “Well?”

  She lifted her eyes to his, and he forced himself to stare directly into their clear depths despite the cost to his soul. “What if I were?” she asked in a choked voice. “Would it change anything?”

  “Not really.”

  “So what do you care? If you’re going to leave anyway, what does it matter?”

  “I can certainly make sure my child never goes without. I can support you both in whatever way you deem necessary.”

  “Don’t worry,” she blurted. “I won’t burden you with another Turino you don’t want,” she said. The pained timbre of her words lanced his lungs like the lash of a whip.

  “I won’t shirk my responsibilities,” he said in a cool, calm voice of reason. “If you’re pregnant, I want to know about it.”

  “Of course you do,” she said, her hurt lending a sharp edge to her voice. “You’ve never been anything but a bastion of responsibility and obligation, have you?”

  He pressed his mouth into a firm line and remained silent, his past and Paolo’s death clear evidence to the contrary.

  “No one likes to feel like an obligation,” she continued. “I should know. And for the record, I’d never allow our child to know you viewed him as a penance you had to pay. If you’re incapable of loving him and raising him as his father, then we’d be better off without you or your support.”

  His jaw flexed while his stomach muscles drew tight with dread. And anticipation. And hope. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “No.” Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears and her mouth trembled despite her visible efforts to look composed. “I was only speaking hypothetically.”

  “Hypothetically?”

  “I’m not pregnant,” she clarified.

  Disappointment wrenched hard within his lungs, but he forced the lie out anyway. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  She stared at him for a moment without speaking, her wide blue eyes filled with confused pain. “I’m not,” she finally confessed.

  The words hit him like a fist, driving the air from his lungs. “What?”

  Her small hand pressed against her abdomen and her breath came in fragmented, shallow pulls. “Crazy, isn’t it? I wanted to be pregnant. Whether you would have welcomed the news or not, I wanted your child. To have a part of you that would love me and not reject me.”

  He swallowed thickly, unable to frame a suitable reply.

  “But these past three weeks have proven to me that it’s not to be. We’re not to be.”

  I’m sorry. “No.”

  “I realize that now.” She inhaled sharply, bracing her shoulders as she shook off her sadness. “I know the truth about how you feel and I accept it. You won’t ever love me and even thought it hurts, I’ve come to terms with it. So if you’re leaving because you think I’m going to demand more than you want to give, don’t.”

  Hearing her absolve him of the consequences of their lovemaking made the knife of guilt twist sharply in his gut. “Soph—”

  “Don’t.” She held up a palm, her body taut and her mouth trembling. “You don’t have to explain. I know making love to me was a mistake. That it didn’t mean anything to you.”

  He contemplated her words in miserable silence, wanting to tell her it had meant everything to him.

  “I just want you to understand that things here don’t have to change just because we spent one night together.” She firmed her chin, reminding him of how she’d always rallied after being hurt as a child. “It doesn’t have to derail your life and ruin everything we could build as partners here.”

  He dragged his focus away from her sweet face and then pushed to a stand, moving to stare sightlessly out of the bank of black north windows.

  “I promise I won’t ask for anything more than you’re willing to give. Not ever again.” She inhaled again and then followed him. She stepped close enough to stand at his side, their reflections eerily transparent in the waning light. “There’s no reason we can’t make this work,” she said. “We can redraw those lines you insist on having, and pretend London never happened.”

  He stiffened at her nearness, his skin on fire where her heat warmed him, and stepped away from her with a shake of his head. “No.”

  “Why not?” she insisted. “If I can move past it, why can’t you?”

  Their eyes met in their reflection for several long moments, the silence stretching between them like a living thing.

  “I swear we can pretend London never happened,” she urged as she turned to face him, pressing him to tell her their night together had meant nothing to him. That she meant nothing to him.

  He met her gaze, the desire to touch her so strong he could taste it on his tongue. “No. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. London happened and there’s no going back.”

  She stood beside him in silence, the weight of her stare multiplying his guilt tenfold.

  “I can’t forget that night or what I did to you,” he growled. “Ever.” He swallowed as he dropped his gaze to his knotted hands and firmed his mouth. “Which is why I have to leave. No matter what we do, that night will always be between us.”

  “So what if it is?” she asked softly, her small fingers fluttering up to rest on his rigid shoulder. “We can just chalk it up as yet another of my impulsive decisions, a choice I should never have made.”

  “It wasn’t just your choice.” He shrugged off her touch and moved away from her, placing distance between them before he trusted himself to meet her eyes. “It was mine. And I can’t ever undo it.” Nor can I promise I won’t try to repeat it.

  “Am I asking you to?”

  Her quiet response, the acceptance she always, always offered, made him want to haul her close, bury his head against her breast and beg her to forgive him when he deserved nothing but her disgust. “You don’t have to. I’m leaving regardless.”

  Again, slim fingers reached for his arm. “Would you still leave if Papa were here?”

  The dual betrayal of Turino and Sophia sat in his gut like twin boulders, growing heavier with each passing day. “If your father knew what happened in London, the things I did to you, he’d banish me himself.” His left eye twitched and his mouth tightened before he continued. “But even if he didn’t, Turino would welcome the additional property I’m leaving to his estate. With what I’m adding to your holdings, Turino’s legacy will live on for generations to come.”

  “Generations?” A small huff of laughter accompanied the word. “And just who, exactly, is going to father these generations of Turinos?”

  He dragged his arm from beneath her fingers, unable to remain immobile while she hovered so close, touching him. “I’m sure you’ll find someone,” he told her as he retreated to h
is desk, using the large piece of furniture as a barricade to shore up against his weakness for her.

  “Like who?” she asked. “Alexander?”

  A dark and bleak anger accompanied the name, but Rafael swallowed it back. “If he makes you happy, then yes.”

  “He wanted to follow me here, you know,” she said from where he’d left her. “He wanted to start a relationship with me and confessed his love for me.”

  His hands curled into fists against the desktop while the air in his lungs refused to move.

  A morose half smile pulled at her mouth. “And the ironic part of it is, he wanted to follow me so I’d be off-limits to you.” A shake of her head accompanied the admission. “As if you’d need additional reasons to stay away from me.”

  He remained silent while his heartbeat thundered in his ears.

  “And you know what?” she asked. “I should be with him. I admire him. He’s handsome. He’s generous and kind. He’s one of my best friends and I know he’d never, ever hurt me.”

  “Then why didn’t you invite him to join you?”

  “Did you want me to?” she asked as she lifted her gaze to his.

  I don’t want you with anyone but me. As difficult as it was, he forced his face to remain expressionless as he formed the words. “I want you to be happy.”

  She stood without moving, staring at him while color gathered in her cheeks. “Do you, Raf? Do you really?” “Of course I do.”

  Tears brightened her eyes, but she battled them back before they fell. “And you think Alexander will make me happy.”

  He has to. “Yes.”

  She blinked twice while her mouth wobbled. “You’re right. He’s a wonderful man. And what woman wouldn’t be happy with a good man who loved her?”

  “Soph—”

  “Except I can’t love him back,” she confessed in a brittle, cracking voice. “I’ve tried, but my stupid heart won’t listen.”

  Palpable relief, relief he knew he had no business feeling, flooded his chest.

  “Do you want to know why?”

  No. Yes. Tell me.

  “I can’t love him because I seem to be incapable of loving anyone but you.” A wet, miserable bubble of laughter clogged in her throat. “How pathetic is that?”