The Forbidden Touch of Sanguardo

by Julia James

  Alarm bells started to ring, very decidedly, in her head. She looked hurriedly around for Rafael. To her relief she saw he was already there, on the far side of the room, in a group of people.

  ‘Do excuse me, please,’ she said politely to the auburn-haired woman she now suspected was gatecrashing a private party.

  But the woman was already disengaging herself from her arm and striding forward. As she did so people made way for her. Celeste suspected she was the type of woman for whom people always made way. Whoever she was, she was either rich enough to buy a couture gown—and sport some very good rubies with it—or something dodgy was going on.

  Whichever it was, she realised that Rafael had seen the woman walking so commandingly up to him. She also realised that the other guests were looking at her and very slightly drawing back. Celeste’s antennae started to quiver. There was an air of nervous anticipation being generated. Something was going to happen.

  It did. And it was pure theatre.

  Rafael was standing stock-still as the woman sailed up to him. Every line of his body showed an immobility that made him look turned to stone.

  So, too, did the expression on his face.

  Celeste felt a little chill start deep inside her. Slowly she started to walk forward. Then the auburn-haired woman reached Rafael and stopped.

  ‘Rafe, how good to see you again!’ Her voice carried—a rich, vibrant purr—and its English accent made it distinctively audible.

  Celeste watched as the woman leant forward to bestow an air kiss on his cheek, then stand back to look at him. Let him look at her.

  Which he did. Celeste could see his eyes flicker very briefly. Then, almost unnoticeably, he nodded, acknowledging the woman’s greeting.

  ‘Hello, Madeline,’ he said.

  She gave a little laugh. ‘You couldn’t possibly think I’d stay away tonight!’

  Long lashes dipped over obsidian eyes. ‘No, I couldn’t think that, Madeline.’

  His voice was very dry.

  And very cold.

  Another laugh came from her—rich and throaty. Then Celeste saw her turn to one of the men in the group Rafael was with. He was slightly built, not tall, and he looked, she realised, as expressionless as Rafael. But in the other man, Celeste could see with disquiet, the lack of expression could not mask the dismay in his eyes—dismay and fear.

  ‘I believe you know Lucien Fevre,’ Rafael said. His voice was only dry now, with an edge to it that Celeste recognised—she had heard it before, when he’d spoken to Karl Reiner. ‘He’s the creative genius that you, Madeline—’ he gave the slightest slashing smile, without a trace of humour in it ‘—were too stupid to realise was the core value of the company you bought.’

  Celeste halted. Suddenly, with total clarity, she realised who the woman was. Realised that she should have known from the moment she’d heard Rafael call her by her name.

  Madeline. Madeline Walters. Self-made multimillionairess and the woman Rafael Sanguardo had once been involved with. Belatedly, into Celeste’s head came the thumbnail sketch of him that her fellow model Zoe had given her all that time ago at the charity fashion show...

  The rich, carrying tones came again. ‘The company, Rafael,’ she riposted, ‘that is now a global brand, with sales that are twenty times what they were, whose stock price has quadrupled, and whose product range is—’

  ‘Is a travesty of what it once was,’ he cut in.

  Celeste saw Madeline’s head go back.

  ‘They sell, Rafael!’

  Her voice was not a purr any more. There was a harsh note in it that sounded ugly to Celeste’s ears. ‘They sell in their thousands—their tens of thousands! And with the Chinese market opening up even more they’ll sell in their hundreds of thousands!’

  Without consciously realising it, Celeste felt her feet start forward again. She walked up to the group.

  ‘I think this will sell,’ she heard herself saying as she held up the sapphire-studded clutch with a little gesture of display. In the same movement she turned to Lucien Fevre—who was still looking terrified, she realised. ‘I’d buy it,’ she said, speaking directly to him but knowing her words could be heard by everyone present—as she’d intended. ‘It is, quite simply, one of the most beautiful and exquisitely crafted handbags I’ve ever been fortunate enough to carry.’ She spoke sincerely, for what she said was true.

  Lucien Fevre’s stricken face broke into a smile, and she could see appreciation for her simple compliment in his face.

  ‘I don’t suppose,’ Celeste asked him, ‘they come in other colours as well, do they?’

  Lucien Fevre lifted his hands, turning his attention exclusively to her. ‘The spectrum of the rainbow!’ he said, with enthusiasm in his accented voice. ‘Every hue! But that is just one of my collection—over here...’

  He started walking away and Celeste followed him to where he was going, which was to a large silk-swathed table with a lavish display of his designs.

  ‘Here,’ he went on, indicating with a flourish, ‘I have tried to capture the sea. Look.’ He picked up a blue-green clutch, made of silk shot with pale mauve. ‘Here is the pearlescence of the ocean—and the ornamentation is nacre, which I have also used for the clasp, with Tahitian pearls to enhance it.’

  ‘It’s beautiful!’ Celeste breathed.

  ‘And here,’ he went on, ‘is fire! It is the elements, you see—’

  She could see immediately, and listened and looked while the designer went through his designs with her. As he did so he became more animated, the stricken look gone completely.

  Until, that was, two figures approached them. One was Rafael, and the other was Madeline Walters. As if a spell had been cast Lucien Fevre froze. But it was Rafael who spoke.

  ‘Go on, Madeline, say it.’

  He spoke pleasantly, but Celeste could hear the steel in it. She looked at Madeline Walters’s expression. She could not read it. But she could hear what she said very clearly.

  ‘I made a mistake,’ she said. Her voice was clipped, and she addressed the designer directly. ‘I did not understand the fashion design industry as well as I thought I did. And I...I regret the decision I took.’

  ‘Well done,’ said Rafael.

  His voice was dry—as dry as the look he bestowed upon Madeline. For a moment Celeste could see her eyes glittering, as if she’d swallowed poison. Then it was gone.

  She put her hand out to Rafael, resting it on his sleeve. ‘There,’ she said, ‘may I come off the naughty step now, pretty please?’ She spoke humorously, as though the toxic expression on her face had never been, and her glance at Rafael was teasing.

  More than teasing, Celeste could see, and the realisation did not chill her—it froze her.

  It was inviting.

  Words formed in her head. Stark, sharp, and carved into her consciousness.

  She wants him back.

  * * *

  Rafael pulled his bow tie clear, dropping it down on the dresser, and slid the top button of his dress shirt open. He stretched his neck, loosening his muscles, profoundly glad to be back in his apartment. It hadn’t been an easy evening...

  Madeline’s calculatedly dramatic entrance had not come as a complete surprise—she’d taunted him, and he’d half expected she would try something on. Her anger would have driven her to it.

  Anger because he had sought out the broke and discarded Lucien Fevre and set him back on his feet again. Even more anger because what Lucien was now producing was even better than his earlier work—work that could have been hers had she not treated him so callously when she’d acquired his debt-ridden company.

  But something good had come out of her coup de théâtre. He’d got Madeline to apologise to Lucien. It didn’t matter that the apology had been insincere, as he knew very well tha
t it had. Madeline made a point of never regretting her past actions.

  He knew that better than anyone alive...

  For a moment Rafael felt his skin crawl. He moved restlessly, picking up his discarded tie and hooking it inside his closet. From the en suite bathroom he could hear the sound of the shower running. His expression changed, lightened. Something even better had come out of the evening than just Madeline’s apology to a man she had treated harshly.

  Seeing Madeline with Celeste could not have emphasised to him more the complete difference between them! Even if Madeline had not been what she was, he would never, never prefer her to Celeste! It was Celeste who drew his eye, Celeste who made his pulse quicken, Celeste whose rare, pale beauty made his breath catch!

  How did I ever desire Madeline? How could I ever have thought her anything other than overblown and obvious? How was I ever enthralled by her?

  He shook his head, disposing of a comparison that was not needed. Madeline was nothing to him—less than nothing—and Celeste...ah, Celeste was everything!

  Even as he thought it he realised the shower had stopped and the bathroom door was opening. She emerged, her hair pinned up on her head and a cotton bathrobe wrapped around her. Even in such unromantic garb she took his breath away!

  He went up to her, his expression warm, and kissed her cheek, cupping her elbows with his hands.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, his eyes as warm as his voice.

  She looked at him questioningly.

  He released her. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘for getting through this evening as beautifully as you did. Thank you for behaving with grace and dignity—and kindness.’ He looked at her. ‘Kindness to Lucien. You saw instantly how unnerved he was, and you stepped in to help him through it.’

  ‘I was glad to,’ she said.

  He nodded. Then took a breath. ‘And thank you, too, Celeste, for something even more.’ He paused, looked her in the eye. ‘Thank you for coping with Madeline Walters.’ He took another breath. ‘Although I knew she wasn’t going to be pleased with what I’ve done for Lucien—I’ll fill you in on the whole sorry saga later—I hope you will believe that I didn’t quite anticipate her showstopper.’

  Celeste looked troubled. ‘I’m so sorry I enabled her to get in like that—’

  ‘Don’t be. If it hadn’t been you it would have been someone else. Madeline is unstoppable when she sets her mind to something.’

  Celeste’s gaze faltered.

  And if that something is you, Rafael, is she unstoppable then?

  But she did not say it. Could not.

  Rafael was shrugging off his tuxedo jacket, followed by his dress shirt. Celeste sat down in front of the vanity unit and busied herself letting down her hair and starting to brush it out. Her thoughts were troubled, uneasy.

  Wrapping himself in a black silk knee-length bathrobe, Rafael came up to her.

  ‘Let me,’ he said fondly, and took the brush from her. With slow, sensuous strokes he started to brush the long length of her hair.

  Her eyes met his in the mirror of the vanity unit. His glowed with a familiar fire.

  ‘You’re worried about Madeline, aren’t you?’ he said. His voice was careful.

  Celeste swallowed. ‘Should I be?’ It was hard to ask, but she had to.

  He stopped brushing. ‘No,’ he said. He resumed his brushing, then a moment later spoke again. His voice was steady—decisive. ‘Madeline is the past, Celeste. Yes, we were once an item, but we broke up some time ago, and that, I promise you, is that. Her only emotion when I ended it was anger.’

  He paused, then went on. It was vital he make Celeste realise that Madeline was nothing to him now—nothing!

  ‘I see her from time to time in public,’ he went on. ‘We are civil to each other. But that is all. I know she’s had several liaisons since, and probably has one running now. I could not care less about that. I wish her neither ill nor well. I am completely indifferent to her.’

  Celeste picked up her comb, then set it down again in a random gesture.

  ‘Do you think she feels the same indifference?’ she made herself ask. She tried to keep her voice neutral, as though she were asking a question about something entirely impersonal.

  Rafael shrugged. ‘I don’t care, Celeste. I don’t care what Madeline feels or wants or doesn’t want. And right now...’ He set down the brush and reached for her hand, drawing her to her feet. ‘Right now the only thing I care about is taking you to bed.’

  His voice was husky, his eyes washing over her, and the intimacy, the familiarity, sent a wave of warmth through her.

  He kissed her. A kiss as tenderly arousing as it was sweetly sensuous. Meltingly, Celeste gave herself to it, gave herself to him, to everything he was—everything wonderful and wondrous and precious to her. Rafael! Her Rafael.

  Her last conscious thought before bliss swept her away in his arms was, Poor Madeline...poor, poor Madeline, to have lost him!

  * * *

  Celeste was sitting in a pool of sunlight at the desk in Rafael’s study. She was making notes and sketching, with Lucien’s sapphire-blue evening bag in front of her. Excitement filled her. This morning—the morning after the Lucien Fevre party—Rafael had talked with her. Asked her to contribute her ideas, based on her long experience in the fashion world, to the advertising and marketing campaign that was being prepared for Lucien’s relaunch.

  She’d been delighted—thrilled. Now she was jotting down everything she could think of, and making little sketches, to bounce off Rafael when he got back later. Dimly she was aware of the apartment door opening. Rafael must have been able to get away early.

  ‘I’m in your study!’ she called out. ‘Stealing your printer paper to draw on!’

  The office door, ajar, opened fully.

  ‘So,’ said a voice behind her, ‘when you said “just a guest” to me last night, what you really meant was, “just” Rafael’s current squeeze!’

  Celeste whipped round. Madeline Walters, looking stunning in a formidably well-cut navy blue business suit, which radiated ‘power player’ with every centimetre of fabric, was standing in the doorway.

  Celeste’s expression changed. ‘How did you get in?’ she asked blankly.

  Madeline looked scornfully at her. ‘I’ve kept sets of keys for all Rafael’s properties, though I’ve never made use of any of them till now,’ she said. She shifted position. ‘So, let’s have a proper look at you.’

  Dark, dramatically made-up eyes flicked up and down over Celeste, who stood there, recovering her composure. Whatever the hell was going on, she was going to stand her ground.

  A slightly satisfied smile played on Madeline’s vivid red lips.

  ‘How gratifying,’ she said, ‘that Rafael consoles himself with women who are the antithesis of me! Even if it does mean he has to sleep with a stick insect!’

  Celeste could hear the purr in her contralto voice and said nothing. Madeline wandered around the office, glancing around, and then down at the sketches Celeste had been making. She turned back to her. Eyebrows raised.

  ‘My, my—multiple talents! Not just arm candy—or just good in bed, as I assume you must be, because Rafe...’ the purr was back again ‘...is so very demanding in that respect!’ She glanced again at the sketches. ‘Are you going to run with my idea of white dresses to show off all the different colours of the bags?’

  ‘It’s a good idea,’ agreed Celeste, because it was, and not giving credit where credit was due would be petty.

  ‘Oh, I’m full of good ideas!’ snapped Madeline.

  She wants to get a rise out of me, thought Celeste. She’s come to check me out—scout out the opposition.

  Well, maybe it was time to provide some opposition...

  ‘Not always,’ she said, keeping her voice neutral
.

  Madeline’s eyebrows arched interrogatively. ‘Do you mean running off with Lucien Fevre’s company but not him? Ancient history.’

  Celeste shook her head. ‘No,’ she said pleasantly. ‘The idea you’ve got that Rafael is available to you again.’

  For an instant she knew her comment had hit home. Then Madeline laughed. Rich and full and throaty.

  ‘Rafael is ancient history, too,’ she said dismissively. She quirked an eyebrow. ‘I thought models like you were always au fait with all the celebrity news? Haven’t you seen that I’m busy with a senator who’s tipped to be the running mate of the next presidential candidate? Mind you...’

  Once again Madeline’s voice changed, taking on that purring note, but edged with something underneath—something that sent a chill down Celeste’s veins just like the one she’d felt when she’d realised last night just who the auburn-haired woman was.

  ‘Between you and me, the venerable senator is a little too...venerable. He might make me the Second Lady in the USA one day, but he is, to put it frankly, too...restrained...for my tastes.’

  She tilted her head, eyeing Celeste.

  ‘So maybe, yes, it would be fun to have one last session with Rafael—something hot to remember while I’m enduring the missionary position for the millionth time! Not like Rafael,’ she said, never taking her eyes off Celeste. ‘As you must know by now, Rafael is so very, very...enthusiastic when it comes to bedtime!’

  Her deep-set eyes flashed as she saw Celeste’s reaction to her blatant jibe.

  ‘My God, you’ve coloured up!’

  In an instant, her expression had changed. That flash came again in her eyes, but now it was loaded with a venom that made Celeste’s already frozen face freeze more.

  ‘Well, well, well...’ said Madeline, biting out each word. ‘Now I know what your appeal is! It’s not just that he wanted a skinny whey-faced blonde who doesn’t remind him of me. He wanted a nun, too! Blushing because I said the wicked word “bedtime”!’

  She moved towards her and suddenly, Celeste felt Madeline’s hand snake around her neck and stroke down the length of her loose hair.