The Forbidden Touch of Sanguardo

by Julia James

  Emotion speared her. Could she really be here with him, now, in this paradise time together? After all her lonely, solitary years, imprisoned by her past, was it really so simple...so easy?

  And yet it was! That was the wonder of it—the miracle. That in his arms she had made herself anew, stepped free of the prison of the past.

  So easy—in the end, so miraculously easy...

  So easy to be with Rafael, by day and by night, to be with him all the time, separated by nothing—not even the gardens of the hotel. She had moved into his cabana-villa and, whilst she was still insisting on paying her own share for meals and any activities, such as this morning’s snorkelling expedition, Rafael had refused to accept any contribution to his accommodation. It was costing him nothing to share it with her, he’d pointed out with irrefutable logic, and on that issue she’d had to concede.

  And so she was here—here, as Rafael had said, for as long as they both could be. She, for her part, had emailed her agency, saying she would not be back yet, and Rafael had ruthlessly cleared his diary of anything other than remote interactions that he could conduct, if necessary, from the hotel’s business centre.

  Because Celeste was his priority. Nothing else. Disbelief still washed over him sometimes, to think that she had finally found the courage to trust him—trust him not just with companionship but with passion and desire. For it had taken courage, he knew that. Whatever it was—that ‘something bad’ that she had glossed over—it had scarred her badly, poisoned her badly. Kept her in that lonely state she had been in, separated from all that she should have been free to give herself to.

  But she’d stepped out of the long shadow the past had cast over her. Taken the hand he’d held out to her, stepped back into life—warm and joyous and passionate. To share it with him.

  Share it all with him.

  All that their time together could give them...

  After their snorkelling Rafael could hardly wait to get her back to the cabana. ‘Time for a siesta,’ he told her, the glint in his eyes also telling her that sleep would not be high on their agenda for a while...

  Celeste threw him a teasing glance. ‘Aren’t we going to have lunch first?’

  ‘No,’ he said, and kissed her to prove his point. ‘You are all I want to feast on,’ he told her, as they gained the cool privacy of the villa and he took her in his impatient arms.

  ‘And I you,’ she said huskily, gazing up at him, her eyes full with desire.

  The desire that was pouring through her. Desire that was like terra incognita—a land she was exploring with a sense of wonder and release that she had never dreamt possible. A land she had thought barred to her for ever.

  After so much fear, with Rafael she found there was nothing to fear! Only to embrace and accept and cherish. In this blissful, wondrous present the past had vanished like dark smoke on the wind—the clear, fresh wind that blew off the endless reaches of the vast Pacific here on these emerald isles, these precious jewels set in a cobalt sea.

  How simple it had been—how easy! Wonder filled her— and gratitude...boundless gratitude. And desire—oh, rich, rich desire. The passion in her body so long starved now filled her every cell, set her eyes glowing with an ardent flame that fired her with a heat that set her ablaze.

  She wound her hand into his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers, her body clinging to his as she kissed him deeply, arousingly.

  And he responded. Responded with an urgency that only fuelled her own, that only made her hands fumble in their haste to free them of their clothes, to draw him down with her upon the waiting bed and sate her desire on his strong, sculpted body.

  How beautiful that body was! How perfect in its form, its texture and its honed, vital masculinity! She let her hands roam across his muscled torso, knowing every contour, knowing, too, with a delight that enthralled her, just how the touch of his hands, his mouth, the skilfully skimming tips of his fingers, could draw from her sensations she had never dreamt of! And how his surging body could ignite her own, could fuse with hers, melding them as one single flame in which they were consumed.

  And afterwards...ah, afterwards she would lie in his loosened embrace, her racing heart slowing, her hands limp on his chest, his hands slackening around her. They would lie together, limbs splayed and tangled, heated and exhausted by passion fulfilled, and she would be cradled against him and know a peace, a happiness, she had never known.

  Happiness had set a glow about her, like an inner light within her, thought Rafael, gazing at her now, their heads upon the same pillow. He could see it, rejoice in it. It was there all the time—as they walked through the gardens, as they dined and lunched and breakfasted together, as they lay lazily on the beach or by the pool, even as they glanced at each other as they went out running together in the cool early hours of the newly minted mornings, as they talked and laughed and passed the long, easy days, the clinging, passionate nights.

  It was a happiness he felt, too, he knew. Lifting his spirit so that this time with her here seemed to be a time out of the world—a garden of paradise found. But the world, he knew, was waiting beyond the running swell of the seas, and it must reclaim them in the end.

  But not permanently. That much he knew. Knew for certain that this time with Celeste had changed him fundamentally.

  I want her so much to be the one! To be the woman I want to share my life with! But not the life I know—the one filled with buying and selling and making money and yet more money.

  No, he had enough money. His money-making days were over now—now was the time to slow down, take a different tack, move his life into a different orbit. Focus more on his work in his own country, improving the living standards of those he had once been one of.

  That life would have Celeste in it—always.

  But he had to hasten slowly. To declare himself to Celeste now might yet be too precipitate. She had come so far with him—so far from the prison of her lonely, solitary life—but she needed time. Time with him. Time to accept what he was to her—what she, he knew with every twining of their hands, every shared glance, every moment of companionship and intimacy, was to him. Time to be with him not just on holiday but to become part of his life, and for him to become part of hers.

  But, however they arranged their lives together from now on, there were practical things to be attended to. They could not stay here on the island for ever. She probably had work commitments ahead of her, which she would want to honour—and he most certainly had his, which he could no longer postpone.

  One above all was looming. One he welcomed. It would see justice achieved for someone who deserved it.

  In his head he heard the memory of his own voice remonstrating with Madeline about her latest coup—taking over a struggling luxury brand fashion company but firing its founder. Rafael had argued strongly against such ruthless action.

  ‘You could pay him a royalty—just a small one—or make him an artistic consultant...keep his talent in the company,’ he’d suggested.

  Madeline had not listened. ‘Rafe, the man’s a loser! A fool.’ Her voice had been scathing. ‘He should have damn well put the design trademarks in a separate company and kept it private—and he should have looked after his cash flow. Not left himself vulnerable. Now he’s paying for it.’

  ‘He’s an artist, Madeline, a creative,’ Rafael had pointed out. ‘Naive, possibly, and not good at business, but you own his designs now, and his brand, and with your marketing and financing skills they’ll make you a fortune—you can afford not to hammer him into the ground and take everything he values from him!’

  She’d only looked at him. Her deep-set eyes, which could blaze with scorching sexual desire, make him forget everything but sating himself on her lush, threshing body, had taken on a hard diamond brilliance. Her voice had been as hard as her eyes.

  ‘Sentiment is for
losers—and I don’t intend to lose, Rafe. Ever. I’ve done whatever it took to get here, and I’ll go on doing it to get further still. I always have and I always will!’

  Had that exchange finally opened his eyes to her? Made him realise that despite what they had in common—their shared talent for winning the good things in life, including each other—they were very different people at heart? Madeline’s ambition drove her to the exclusion of everything else—all other values were cast aside.

  Rafael’s eyes steeled. When he had finally discovered just how utterly uncaring Madeline was of anything other than fulfilling her driving ambition for wealth—when he had learnt just what she was prepared to do to achieve those ambitions—it had only finished what had already been dying between them.

  And all her scornful derision of his shock and revulsion at her revelations about herself had not been able to revive it! Finally he had seen Madeline without the gloss and allure of the passion that had once burned between them. Seen her for what she was—a woman he could never in a million years consider to be someone he could make his life with.

  He would never make that mistake again!

  And now his gaze came back to Celeste, nestled against his chest, her beautiful face tender in repose. Emotion welled through him.

  With Celeste he was not making a mistake, he knew! With Celeste he was doing the right thing, making the right choice! Her difference from Madeline could not be more absolute!

  He felt his heart glow as he gazed at her sleeping figure. Celeste was the woman he wanted in his life—for all his life! And to achieve that he was determined.

  The first step was to persuade her to come back with him to New York. He made himself broach the subject later that day over dinner.

  ‘I don’t want to leave Hawaii,’ he told her, his eyes lambent, ‘but I can postpone my return no longer. I have people waiting for me whose enterprises and livelihoods depend on my input and decisions. I cannot, therefore, indulge myself here for ever.’

  He took a breath, for he could see by the sudden shadow in her eyes that she was as loath to leave as he was. He reached across the table, taking her hand in his, pressing it closely.

  ‘But that does not mean that we have to part.’ He took another breath. ‘Come with me to New York, Celeste! Stay with me there!’ His voice lowered, became husky, and his eyes poured into hers. ‘I want you so much, Celeste. I cannot do without you.’

  There was a sudden caution in his eyes that she saw immediately.

  ‘If I am presuming too much, forgive me...’ he said.

  She felt her heart lift—soar. Her fingers squeezed his. ‘Do you mean it? Do you really mean it?’ Her voice was a breath of hope in her throat. Her eyes widened with the same emotion.

  He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it—the age-old gesture of homage and devotion to a woman from a man...a man to whom she knew, without a flicker of doubt, she could entrust herself, a man to hold and to cherish.

  ‘Yes!’ he breathed. ‘What we have here I do not want to lose!’

  ‘Nor I,’ she answered. ‘I want only you, Rafael. Only you!’

  He kissed her hand again, his lips pressing to her knuckles in the sheer relief of hearing her answer. Then, with an intake of breath, he released her hand, picked up his wine glass and took a mouthful.

  ‘We can be as flexible as you need in respect of your work commitments,’ he assured her. ‘It might get complicated, but I’m sure we can work something out.’

  Celeste smiled back. Her heart was singing. Not to have to part from Rafael, as she had been increasingly dreading she must once this idyll here was over—for him to want her to go with him to New York—to be with him. Be part of his life!

  How much he has come to mean to me! I could not bear to leave him.

  Emotion welled within her.

  ‘In the meantime,’ he went on, his eyes pouring into hers, ‘we’re going to enjoy our very last days together here. And,’ he finished, ‘I think we should book our next visit before we leave! Coming back here again is most definitely on the agenda.’

  He got to his feet, drawing her with him.

  ‘And now...’ He smiled down at her, familiar, intimate, making her heart lift as it always did. ‘Let’s take a walk along the beach and watch the moon set over the Pacific. And let’s make our wish to come back.’

  She went with him gladly, at his side—the one and only place she wanted to be...

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  NEW YORK WAS...well, New York, thought Celeste. As full-on and non-stop as ever. Rafael had had to plunge into work to catch up with all he’d postponed while they’d been in Hawaii, so Celeste had looked in on the New York branch of her agency and managed to get some short-term work. But her heart was no longer in her career. It was, she knew, with a warm, glowing wonder, with Rafael.

  Rafael...who had set her free from her past so that it could never haunt or harm her again! She had made herself anew—the past was finally gone from her life. Now there was only this wonderful present! Being with Rafael, living with him, was all she wanted!

  As his backlog cleared they were able to have more time together—either spending relaxed evenings in his apartment on the Upper East Side or going out to quiet, out-of-the-way restaurants. Then one afternoon he phoned her from his office downtown and asked whether she would come to a function with him.

  ‘It’s an informal initial launch party for a designer I’m backing—not clothes, but handbags,’ he explained. ‘He’s had a bit of a rough time in the past year or so, but I want that to change now. If you’re OK with it I’ll have one of his evening bags sent round to you—if you could wear something that will show it off?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said at once. ‘I’d be glad to.’

  She was, too, when the bag was delivered. It was a beautifully made clutch, in vivid royal-blue silk, with an appliqué swirl of what Celeste suspected were real sapphires. To show it off to its best she opted for a white dress in silk plissé—a simple design that would not compete with the exquisite evening bag.

  Rafael was changing into black tie at his office, so she set off on her own for the small but ferociously elegant boutique hotel at the edge of Central Park. In the lobby she paused by the function board to see which room the function was in.

  ‘I take it,’ said a voice behind her, ‘that you, too, are heading for the Leonardo Suite?’

  She half turned. It was a female voice that had spoken, with an accent that was decidedly English.

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled, glancing at the woman who had spoken to her.

  Some years older than Celeste, she was not as tall—few women were—but her looks were as eye-catching as her voluptuous figure, moulded by a vermilion gown that set off her most striking feature: the rich auburn colouring of her hair.

  She looked very faintly familiar. Celeste’s brow furrowed a moment. Actress? Socialite? The wife of someone famous? But she couldn’t place her—and it didn’t matter anyway.

  The woman was returning her regard, but it was a lot more comprehensive than Celeste’s quick glance. Dark hazel eyes went to the clutch Celeste was carrying, and narrowed very slightly.

  ‘May I see?’ she asked suddenly, and held her hand out.

  Carefully, Celeste handed it over. The woman promptly turned it around in her hands, and then opened it. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she said, without glancing at Celeste and certainly without expecting her to object. The woman looked at the discreet label within and then, with a snap, closed the bag and handed it back to Celeste.

  ‘Interesting,’ she said. There was the slightest bite in her voice. Then her expression cleared. ‘Shall we go up together, since we’re heading in the same direction?’

  Celeste could hardly object, and they walked to the lift together.

  ‘I
t’s an effective choice,’ the woman said as the elevator doors closed on them. Her glance indicated the white gown Celeste was wearing.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, adding nothing more.

  ‘Is it going to be a theme?’ the woman asked.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Celeste looked confused.

  ‘Having all the models dressed in white, each with a different coloured bag. It would be very effective,’ the woman said.

  Celeste shook her head. ‘Yes, I see that. But in fact, no—I’m just a one-off tonight,’ she said lightly, with a social smile.

  ‘Really?’ the woman replied. ‘Sounds like he’s missed a trick. Which isn’t surprising, of course. Tell me, out of curiosity, what’s your fee for an evening like this?’

  Again, Celeste looked confused. Then she realised the woman had, perhaps not surprisingly, assumed first that she was a model and second that she’d been hired to carry one of the designer’s products.

  ‘Oh, I’m not here professionally,’ she said, again keeping her voice light. ‘I’m just a guest.’

  ‘Really?’ said the woman, her eyes flicking again.

  Probably, Celeste thought, because she could see that the necklace she was wearing with the white evening gown was nothing more valuable than freshwater pearls.

  Fortunately the elevator opened at that point and they stepped out, seeing the entrance to the function suite just opposite.

  ‘Let’s go in together,’ said the woman. ‘We’ll make quite a visual impact side by side, I think.’

  Again, it was hard to object, so Celeste let her walk in beside her. They paused by the reception desk. Celeste gave her name, but said nothing more as a tick was put against it. Then the member of staff looked expectantly at the woman at her side.

  ‘Oh, I’m her bodyguard,’ said the woman with an insouciant air. Then she hooked her arm into Celeste’s and moved forward.