Hot Nights with a Spaniard (Mills & Boon M&B) (Mills & Boon Special Releases)

by Carole Mortimer

  Cairo frowned now. ‘I would really rather not talk about your affair with Pamela any more, Rafe—’

  ‘There was no affair, dammit!’ he rasped. ‘I did spend the afternoon of your wedding in bed with Pamela, yes, but it was the first and last time—’

  ‘It had been going on for weeks before my wedding!’ Cairo accused, her voice rising agitatedly.

  ‘What? Cairo, I categorically did not have an affair with Pamela Raines before your wedding!’ Rafe scowled.

  ‘She tells a completely different story!’

  Rafe eyed her uncertainly now. ‘She does?’

  ‘Yes! Now will you please leave, Rafe?’ she requested tautly. ‘This whole conversation is giving me a headache.’

  Rafe looked at her searchingly. The frown between her eyes, the strain he could see in reflected those dark brown eyes, the hollows of her pale cheeks, and the thin, unhappy line of her mouth, confirmed that she did indeed have a headache.

  But he couldn’t just leave it there. ‘Cairo, you have to believe me—’

  ‘Rafe, I don’t have to do anything where you’re concerned,’ she cut in. ‘I make it a policy never to talk about the past,’ she added firmly as he would have spoken again. ‘It serves no purpose but to open up old wounds—’

  ‘What if those wounds never healed in the first place?’ he asked.

  She gave a derisive smile. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Rafe, but I was over you long ago.’

  ‘I wasn’t referring to your wounds, Cairo….’

  Cairo became very still as she now looked at Rafe as searchingly as he had looked at her seconds ago.

  He looked grim and determined, with an underlying impatience—he certainly didn’t look anywhere near as devastated, or broken-hearted, as she had been that morning eight years ago when she’d discovered he was having an affair with Pamela Raines.

  And all the talking in the world couldn’t change that!

  ‘It’s far too late for the two of us to talk about this, Rafe,’ she insisted. ‘I have my own life now, and you have yours—and those lives have no common ground,’ she said with certainty.

  ‘We still want each other—’

  ‘You’re talking about sex again, Rafe,’ Cairo interrupted. ‘And, yes, I admit, having met you again, that it’s interesting to realize the sexual attraction is still there,’ she conceded. ‘But the truth of the matter is I don’t want any sort of relationship in my life right now, sexual or otherwise,’ she added coldly.

  The absolute certainty in her tone told Rafe that Cairo meant exactly what she was saying.

  Which left him precisely where?

  As far as Cairo was concerned, obviously nowhere.

  But that didn’t mean Rafe didn’t intend finding out for himself exactly what had happened to the two of them all those years ago. Because one thing this conversation with Cairo had definitely told him was that there were things about that time he had been completely unaware of. Not that any of that was going to change how Cairo now felt about him, but he wanted—no, needed—to know, dammit!

  He drew in a deep breath. ‘This is goodbye, then, Cairo.’

  ‘It would appear so, yes,’ she clipped.

  He gave a rueful smile. ‘Friends usually kiss each other goodbye, don’t they?’

  Cairo gave a tight smile. ‘I thought the one thing we had just agreed on was that the two of us can never be friends.’

  Rafe shook his head. ‘You can’t seriously believe that I mean to never see you again?’ Just the thought of that happening made his stomach muscles clench.

  Her laugh sounded forced. ‘You survived without seeing me for eight years, Rafe. How do you suppose we managed that, anyway?’ she mused. ‘With us both living in Los Angeles and mixing with the same crowd of actor friends and acquaintances?’

  Rafe knew exactly how they had avoided meeting each other—whenever he had known Cairo and Lionel were going to be at a party or an awards ceremony, he had avoided going himself, the thought of seeing the two of them together enough to turn his stomach.

  ‘Incredible to believe, isn’t it?’ he acknowledged dryly.

  A miracle, was how Cairo would have described it!

  She had lived in nervous trepidation for the first year of her marriage to Lionel just at the thought of accidentally finding herself face to face with Rafe again. But as the months, and then years, had passed without that happening, she had put the idea of it from her mind.

  Only for it to happen eight years later at a villa in the South of France, of all places!

  ‘Incredible,’ she echoed, before giving Rafe a pointed look.

  He nodded. ‘It’s time I was leaving,’ he said. ‘But I’m sure it isn’t going to be another eight years before the two of us meet again, Cairo,’ he promised huskily.

  She gave him a startled look. ‘You are?’

  Rafe shrugged. ‘If not before, then we will most certainly see each other again at Simon Raphael’s christening.’

  Cairo had completely forgotten that Margo and Jeff had earlier asked if the two of them, along with Jeff’s brother Neil, would be Simon’s godparents.

  ‘Of course,’ she acknowledged stiffly. ‘I’ll—’ She broke off the polite adage—she would not look forward to seeing Rafe again, either at the christening or before! ‘I’ll see you to the door,’ she said instead, before crossing the room to open the door for him to leave.

  Rafe paused in the open doorway. ‘It really has been good to see you again, Cairo.’

  ‘Of course it has,’ she came back dryly.

  His mouth twisted. ‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you.’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s a little difficult to be any other way when— Never mind,’ she dismissed brightly. ‘Have a good flight back to Cannes tomorrow,’ she added politely.

  Rafe had no intention of going ahead with his original plan of returning to the Cannes Film Festival tomorrow. Not when Pamela Raines, the person he was now determined to talk to, was in Los Angeles….

  ‘Thanks,’ Rafe accepted noncommittally.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘Cairo—’

  ‘I’m sure it doesn’t usually take you this long to say goodbye, Rafe!’ Cairo snapped, her nerves stretched to breaking point. This evening had already been difficult enough without the added strain of this lingering goodbye!

  ‘No,’ he acknowledged. ‘But, then, this really isn’t goodbye, Cairo,’ he said, running a single finger down the warmth of her cheek before finally taking his leave.

  Cairo hastily closed the door behind him before leaning weakly back against it.

  She accepted that there was no way she could get out of being her new nephew’s godmother without actually hurting Margo and Jeff’s feelings. Nor could she hope that Rafe would change his mind about being godfather to his namesake. But the christening was sure to be weeks, possibly months away—plenty of time for Cairo to have built back her crumbling defences where Rafe was concerned.

  She hoped….

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘WHO are these roses from?’ Cairo asked Josie, the wardrobe lady, as she entered her dressing-room at the theatre on opening night and saw a huge vase of yellow roses in pride of place amongst the other half dozen bouquets that had been delivered.

  ‘There is a card, I believe,’ Josie told her distractedly as she examined Cairo’s costume for any last-minute problems.

  But Cairo didn’t need to read the card to know who the yellow roses had come from! Did that mean, despite her having asked him not to, that Rafe was out there in the first-night theatre audience, after all?

  Oh, God …!

  She sat down abruptly on the chair in front of the dresser, her hand shaking slightly as she picked the card out from amongst the beautiful yellow blooms and read the words printed on it: ‘I believe the correct term is break a leg, but I would really rather you didn’t break anything. Will you have supper with me afterwards?’

  There was no signature beneath the
message, but after their conversation three weeks ago Cairo knew that only Rafe could have sent her the yellow roses.

  But why had he?

  And why, after Cairo had made it so clear to him that she didn’t want to see him alone again, was he inviting her to have supper with him after the play ended?

  She wouldn’t go, of course.

  She couldn’t go.

  Because, as hard as she had tried, Cairo’s response to the arrival of these yellow roses told her that she hadn’t managed to rebuild her defences against Rafe in the last three weeks at all!

  That perhaps she never would….

  ‘You were wonderful, Cairo!’ Lionel took her in his arms to beam at her proudly once he had managed to make his way to her side through the crowd in her dressing-room.

  ‘Thank you.’ Cairo glowed, still too excited by the triumph of the evening to question what her ex-husband was actually doing here.

  As she had stood in the wings earlier waiting to make her first entrance a complete calm had come over her, and she had forgotten everything—and everyone!—else as she had concentrated on the performance ahead.

  The spontaneous applause, followed by numerous curtain calls, and then the director coming onto the stage to present her with a huge bouquet before hugging and kissing her, had been more than enough to convince her she had succeeded.

  ‘You were right, Cairo, this is where you belong,’ Lionel told her ruefully. ‘It’s a little mad in here right now.’ He laughed softly as more people tried to crowd into her dressing-room. ‘Will you meet me for lunch tomorrow? I have something important to tell you,’ he added persuasively as Cairo started to refuse.

  She didn’t want to meet with Lionel tomorrow; she had even less to say to him than she did to Rafe, but the genuine appeal in his face was more than she could withstand. ‘Okay, Lionel, I’ll have lunch with you tomorrow,’ she agreed reluctantly.

  He grinned his satisfaction. ‘One o’clock at Gregory’s?’ He mentioned the name of the restaurant she’d had dinner at with Rafe three weeks ago.

  ‘One o’clock at Spencer’s,’ she corrected, opting for a restaurant in which she and Lionel had occasionally dined in the past when they had been in London.

  But not so often that it had become ‘their’ place …

  Whatever Lionel had to tell her, she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about her acceptance of this luncheon invitation.

  ‘I really do have to go now, Lionel,’ she said, laughing at the loud pop of several champagne bottles being opened.

  ‘Sure you do.’ He nodded. ‘This is definitely your night. But I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow.’ He gave her another hug before kissing her lightly on the lips.

  Suddenly Cairo became aware of the deadly silence that had fallen over a room that seconds ago had been full of laughter and loud conversation. She stepped back slowly to release herself from Lionel’s arms and glanced over towards the door.

  Rafe!

  He stood in the doorway holding another bottle of champagne, very tall, his dark hair silky, and looking incredibly handsome in a black evening suit, snowy white shirt and black bow tie—and with an expression on that ruggedly arrogant face that was enigmatically unreadable.

  The room was full of other members of the cast, the director and backstage crew, as well as family and friends—and all of them, without exception, were staring at the famous actor standing in the doorway of Cairo Vaughn’s dressing-room!

  ‘Everybody out, and give Cairo some space,’ Paul, the director, called authoritatively even as he began to shoo people out of the room.

  ‘Please don’t leave on my account,’ Rafe drawled politely.

  But it was a politeness that no one, not even Margo and Jeff—the traitors!—took any notice of as Rafe stepped aside and they filed out of Cairo’s dressing-room, leaving only Cairo, Lionel, and Rafe—and an awkward silence.

  ‘Time I was going, too,’ Lionel remarked, giving Cairo a wry smile before strolling over to the door. He stopped in front of Rafe, the two men looking at each other in silent challenge for several seconds before he spoke again. ‘She’s too good for both of us, Montero.’

  Rafe gave a slight inclination of his head. ‘I’m aware of that,’ he grated harshly.

  ‘I hope that you are.’

  ‘Lionel—’

  ‘It’s okay, Cairo,’ Rafe said, before turning back to the older man. ‘I’m glad we understand each other,’ he said quietly.

  Cairo couldn’t even begin to understand what had just transpired between the two men, what underlying message their brief conversation had carried—a message that excluded her while somehow being about her.

  Men!

  ‘I’ll see you at one o’clock tomorrow, Cairo,’ Lionel called back, before closing the door behind him as he left.

  Cairo was instantly aware of the fact that she was still in the slinky black dress she had worn for the final scene, and that her stage make-up was much too harsh, too overemphasized in the confines of her dressing-room.

  ‘I look a mess.’ She turned away to take one of the cleansers from the packet on her dresser before bending down in front of the mirror to begin wiping the make-up from her cheeks. She looked at Rafe’s reflection in the mirror. ‘Did you see the play? Or have you just arrived?’

  ‘You do not look a mess,’ he assured her as he stepped further into the room. ‘And, yes, I saw the play. You were magnificent. Wonderful. Electrifying! I doubt a single person took their eyes off you the whole time you were on the stage.’

  Pleasure warmed her cheeks. ‘I—received the roses, too, thank you.’

  He held up the bottle of champagne. ‘Do you have any glasses left in here for this or did they take them all away with them?’ he asked lightly as he deftly popped the cork on the bottle.

  ‘I have some in here.’ She opened the cupboard beneath the dresser. ‘What would you have done with this if I’d bombed?’ she teased as she held the glasses out for him to pour the champagne into.

  ‘Then I would have collected the second bottle I’ve got in the car and made sure you became very, very drunk!’ Rafe said.

  ‘I think I’m already drunk on success,’ she admitted glowingly.

  Rafe held up his own glass of champagne. ‘To you,’ he toasted her huskily. ‘You were an absolute triumph tonight, Cairo.’ He sipped the champagne, his gaze not leaving the flushed beauty of her face.

  He had literally been mesmerized by Cairo the moment she had stepped on the stage earlier tonight, the complete hush that had fallen over the theatre for the whole of her performance, followed by all those curtain calls, telling him that he wasn’t alone in his admiration.

  He had always known Cairo could act, but tonight, in the setting that she loved best, she had far outshone any of her previous performances on screen.

  ‘I don’t want to keep you from the party …’ He smiled wryly as he heard the sounds of the rest of the cast and crew still celebrating outside in the hallway.

  She laughed. ‘It will go on for most of the night, I’m sure.’

  ‘I’m sure of it, too.’ Rafe nodded. ‘Did I see Margo and Jeff in here a few minutes ago?’

  ‘You did,’ Cairo confirmed. ‘Rafe, I doubt I’m going to be able to get away for supper for several more hours yet,’ she told him apologetically as the noise outside became louder still.

  He had already guessed that. But this was Cairo’s night and she deserved to enjoy every moment of it.

  He smiled reassuringly; at least Cairo hadn’t said she didn’t want to have supper with him, only that she couldn’t right now …’I thought maybe I would go and have a drink with Margo and Jeff, and the two of us could meet up at my hotel for supper later.’

  She grimaced. ‘I may not be in any condition to eat supper later!’

  ‘Then I’ll just put you to bed and we can have breakfast together in the morning.’

  Cairo became very still, sipping her champagne as she thought over what
he had just said. Rafe’s intention was for them to have supper together at his hotel? Or breakfast! She gave him an overbright smile. ‘You could just stay and join in the party?’

  ‘You saw what happened just now …’ He shook his head. ‘This is your night, Cairo—you don’t need Rafe Montero muscling in on the act.’

  Her smile widened. ‘No doubt it would add to my kudos if he did!’

  Rafe threw his head back and laughed. ‘Cairo Vaughn doesn’t need any added kudos,’ he teased.

  He seemed different, Cairo realized, frowning at him slightly. Less harsh. With none of that sarcasm and scorn that had been such a part of him when they had met again three weeks ago. But he unnerved her just the same—still making her feel totally aware of him and the response of her own body to his proximity.

  Not a good idea!

  She deliberately changed the subject. ‘Congratulations on winning the Best Director award at Cannes, by the way.’ Although, strangely, Cairo had read in the newspapers that Rafe hadn’t been there to collect the award himself, after all, that his assistant director had collected it on Rafe’s behalf….

  ‘Thank you.’ He inclined his head in acknowledgement, the intense blue of his gaze not leaving her face. ‘Will you have supper with me later, Cairo? There are some things I need to say to you,’ he added gruffly even as Cairo would have made a polite refusal. ‘To explain.’

  He was hard to resist in this softer, less accusatory mood. More like the Rafe she had known eight years ago. Or the Rafe she had thought she knew, Cairo reminded herself firmly.

  She shook her head. ‘I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Rafe.’

  He stepped forward to take one of her hands in his and raise it to his lips, his gaze once again holding hers as he pressed a lingering kiss to the back of it. ‘Just do this one last thing for me, Cairo,’ he begged. ‘After that—well, it will be up to you whether or not we see each other again.’