Rafael's Suitable Bride (15 page)

‘Fine.' He shrugged in casual dismissal. Her distinguished converted Georgian house was now in view, and he turned down the wide, elegant street to pull up directly in front of her block.

‘Fine?'

‘Look, I've told you the parameters of this whole arrangement. If you can't accept it, then you can't accept it. You're right. If you want to chance your future on a man who can promise you everything you want, then feel free to pursue the dream. As you pointed out, it's no good being tainted by my take on marriage.' Rafael grimly wondered what sort of man she had in mind to fill the woolly, candy-floss fantasies in her head. Some limp-wristed nerd who would help her arrange flowers in her shop and promise her happy endings that would never materialise?

‘However—' he gave her a lazy, assessing look ‘—it's going be tough finding Mr Right when you're in love with me, isn't it?'

Cristina felt her whole body begin to burn as those amazing eyes bored into her, making a mockery of feelings that she held precious, she thought. He was beyond cynical. Was that why he had pursued her with such confidence, had felt so guar
anteed of success? She had been careful not to mention the ‘love'word, but of
course
he would have known how she felt!

She wondered whether it had turned him on, knowing how powerful the effect he had on her was. Hadn't she read somewhere that that was sometimes how it worked? You could physically be attracted to someone, at least for a while, not because they were
your type
, but because they were so mad—keen on you that it was
an irresistible tug on the ego
. Of course, after a while, it just became boring.

She belatedly wished to high heaven that she hadn't exchanged experience for magazine articles.

‘No.' She held her head high. ‘Why should it?' Good question indeed, and he looked very interested in hearing what she had to say by way of response. She could have hit him! She actually could have resorted to physical violence and swung her handbag at him, wiped that smug half-smile off his face.

She scrabbled around to think of a suitably cutting reply, which was something of a struggle, because cutting replies didn't come easy to her. Eventually she said, frowning into the distance, ‘I fell in love with a man who isn't capable of loving me back. Next time, I'll choose carefully. I'll go for the guy who wants to put
me
first, someone who doesn't think that marriage is some kind of maths equation that can be solved on a piece of paper, someone who isn't scared of emotional commitment, someone who—'

‘I get the message,' Rafael cut in, the faintest tinge of colour darkening his aristocratic cheekbones. ‘And where do you think this paragon of saintliness is going to reside—aside from in your own imagination, of course?'

Cristina was finding it difficult to believe that this was the same man who had taken her breath away. ‘I really feel sorry for you, Rafael,' she said with heartfelt sincerity. She opened
the car door, ready to flee to the soothing calm of her little apartment.

‘And that would be because…?' Why the heck was he feeling that he was losing the battle even though he was winning the war?

‘Because…' she looked back over her shoulder ‘…what dreams do you have left if you don't dream of love and happiness? That's the one thing all the money in the world can't buy.'

S
IX
weeks later, and that parting shot could still make Rafael scowl when he thought about it.

Fortunately for him, he had dusted himself off that whole sorry business with, he liked to think, the ease born of experience. In fact, as he looked across the dinner table at the sexy blonde sitting opposite him, he couldn't help but smile to himself and wonder whether Cristina was enjoying a similarly happy situation. Or was she, as he liked to imagine, curled up on that squashy patterned sofa in her apartment with a hot cup of cocoa and only her moral high ground for company?

‘Share the joke with me?'

Rafael snapped out of that pleasant train of thought and focused on Cindy. Long-limbed, long-haired, full-lipped Cindy, all the way from America and every inch the advertising executive. She worked for a small but very upwardly mobile company which was now beginning to expand globally, and Rafael had met her at one of the many social events which he had crammed into the past few weeks, ever since the end of his relationship with Cristina. Initially he had found the constant round of parties, openings, dinners and theatre evenings a nightmare of boredom, but he had forced himself to attend them because, as far as he was concerned, he had
become lazy in Cristina's company. He'd been happy to do very little including—and he shuddered to think about it—sitting in front of the television and indulging her passion for certain soap operas.

‘I always smile when I find myself sitting opposite a beautiful woman,' Rafael said smoothly. ‘You haven't eaten your fish. No good?'

‘A girl has to…' Cindy patted her non-existent stomach and smiled ruefully. ‘You know, watch her calorie intake, especially in my job. You'll never believe this, Rafael, but…' She leaned forward and whispered in a shocked undertone, ‘Anyone even a
teeny weeny
bit overweight never gets through to the second round of interviews! You must
never
repeat that! But it's more or less a given.'

Rafael grunted something. He was in danger of losing interest, even though Cindy was very perky and very, very sexy. ‘I'm thinking of having a party next weekend.' He changed the subject. ‘My secretary's idea. Some important Japanese clients are coming over and she's suggested an informal affair at my place. Some pretty influential people will be invited.' He leaned across the table and took one of those long, elegant fingers in his. ‘Care to come?' He had been seeing Cindy now for a fortnight and he had yet to invite her to his place. He also had yet to sleep with her, but his timetable had been frantic and this was, in actual fact, only the second time they had sat down together.

Her eyes lit up and she produced a thousand-watt smile from somewhere. ‘I'd love to!' she squealed. It was, he thought, a predictable reaction. ‘What shall I wear, hmm…?'

With admirable self-absorption and a running commentary on how important it was to dress for the part—because, wherever she was, she was always representing her com
pany—Cindy lost herself in pleasant contemplation of the prospect, leaving Rafael time to muse on another dawning idea. A very good idea, as a matter of fact.

He thought of Cristina and her hot cup of cocoa. His mother had been shocked and disappointed at the outcome of their relationship. In fact, for reasons quite beyond him, she had jumped to the conclusion that it had all been his fault—a misunderstanding Rafael had not hastened to remedy, because a complicated story of Cristina and her childish nonsense about not wanting to marry anyone who didn't spout rubbish about undying love would have upset Maria. Worse, it would have incited lengthy and endless sermons on the topic of his cynicism, which was a trait his mother had never found particularly endearing.

She would heartily approve of him doing the decent thing and inviting his ex to his party. Taking her under his wing, so to speak, for all the right reasons. He had moved on with his life. Wouldn't it be the generous thing to do to make sure that Cristina wasn't heading for some kind of depression? He hadn't heard a word from her since she had flounced out of his car, pink faced and self-righteous, and trying to get information from his mother had been the equivalent of hitting his head on a brick wall.

He had even debated getting in touch with
her
parents in Italy, just to make sure that the woman hadn't done something incredibly silly. But then he had reminded himself, with a generous helping of that cynicism his mother so detested, that the only incredibly silly thing Cristina was likely to do would be to waste away her life in search of the non-existent.

‘Are
you
going to be involved in the arrangements?'

Rafael surfaced and looked blankly at his date for a few seconds. Then he was back to reality, smiling and assuring her that he would naturally be taking no part in arranging anything.

‘Why should you?' Cindy asked, her green eyes lingering
seductively on his face. ‘You're an important man. Why not let someone else do all the boring stuff?'

‘Why not indeed?' Rafael murmured. He knew when his ego was being stroked and it was being stroked now. He also knew when a woman's eyes were lingering on him with one thing in mind. He looked at his watch and then regretfully signalled for the bill. ‘Afraid I'm going to have to let you get your beauty sleep tonight,' he told her without preamble. ‘I'm on a plane to Australia first thing in the morning, and I have a thousand emails to get through before my head hits the pillow.'

More or less the truth, but if his libido was anything to go by he was really more tired than he'd thought; even that kiss on the lips, which should have had him dismissing his driver and following her into her flat in Battersea, barely got his pulses racing.

‘I'll be in touch,' he promised, guiltily aware that she wanted a hell of a lot more than he was in the mood to give. ‘I'm going to get my secretary onto this whole party thing and I'll let you know the details.' With the engine running and his driver waiting, Rafael kissed her again, this time with slightly more vigour. But when she would have pulled him closer towards her so that she could press her amazing but surgically enhanced breasts against his chest, he pulled away, gently loosening her hands from his neck.

‘Get something for yourself to wear from Harrods,' he said, vaguely aware that this was meagre compensation for leaving her on a Saturday night on her own, when she had clearly been offering her company into the early hours of the morning. ‘Just tell them to put it on my account. I'll make sure my secretary clears it.'

That, at least, did the trick. Cindy's face, on the verge of a pout, broke into a radiant smile.

‘Are you sure about that?'

Relieved to be off the hook, Rafael nodded and took a step back. ‘Whatever you want,' he told her. ‘I want you looking…Well, let's just say you won't have to try very hard.'

‘But I'll still enjoy it, especially when I know that you'll be waiting to see what's under the sexy clothes as soon as the last person leaves…'

She drew her finger tantalisingly along her exposed cleavage and shot him a slow, coy smile. Rafael could well imagine that a thousand men would have melted from the heat of that smile, but his head was already racing away to the emails he had to send, and to a certain call he would make as soon as he got back to his apartment.

He nodded his head, appreciating her with his eyes, but relieved that his driver gave him the excuse to beat a retreat. His attention was firmly elsewhere by the time he was finally back in his apartment and switching on the lights.

He poured himself a glass of mineral water, looked at the computer waiting for him on the kitchen counter, where he had left it charging in his absence, and grabbed the phone from its handset.

He had almost near-perfect recall, and jabbed in Cristina's number as he stretched out on the long sofa in the living room. Of course she would be in. Not for a minute did he contemplate the possibility that at ten-thirty on a Saturday evening she might be out doing the London scene.

She might have waxed lyrical about Mr Right, but hunting him down would have been a completely different matter. She wasn't a hunter. She was utterly, maddeningly feminine and would have been appalled at the concept of getting out there and being proactive.

Sure enough, it was a drowsy voice that answered after just three rings.

‘Have I woken you up?' Rafael demanded, disregarding all rules of basic politeness.

‘Rafael?'

‘Well? Were you asleep?'

The sound of that dark, velvety and supremely arrogant voice was like a bucket of ice-cold water being thrown over her head.

For the past six weeks she had tried really hard to get him out of her head, and she had managed to convince herself that it was working. She had applied to start a formal evening-course in landscape gardening, and had been ploughing through a mountain of books in preparation. In between her daily running of the flower shop, it had just about been enough to see her through those nasty times when memories of him would pounce, like a monster let out of a cupboard, pummelling her hard-fought good intentions.

For Anthea's sake she had also tried to put a brave face on things, had shrugged off the cancelled engagement as ‘one of those things', as though broken engagements were a daily occurrence in her life, and had been as bright and breezy as she could.

She had, however, drawn the line at launching herself into the single life, despite her friend's attempts to get her out there in the social scene.

Hearing Rafael's voice now catapulted her straight back in time. Her small hard-won achievements evaporated and she sat up in bed, every nerve in her body tensing.

‘What do you want?' she asked tightly, and down the end of the line she heard him sigh. Well, she hadn't
asked
him to call her, hadn't heard a word from him for weeks, so why was he sighing as though
she
had been the one to interrupt him in the middle of his super-busy life? Immediately she thought that
Rafael would not have seen things that way and she was so guiltily, stupidly pleased to hear his voice that she fell silent.

‘There's no need to snap,' Rafael said silkily. ‘I mean, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?'

Cristina dearly wished that she could answer that in the affirmative. But her evening had been spent watching a gardening show on television, having something of a comfort-eating fest on her own and spending half an hour on the phone to her mother who had taken to calling her every couple of days to
cheer her up
.

‘No,' she admitted reluctantly, ‘Not really. Why are you calling? What do you want?'

What Rafael really wanted was to tell her that he could actually have been in the company of a stunningly beautiful blonde who would never have dreamed of speaking to him as though he were something that had crawled out from under a rock—but in time he remembered that she was probably still angry and bitter with him.

‘I wanted to find out how you were.' He relaxed, resting his arm under his head and loosely linking his feet at the ankles where he stared down at his black socks, having previously kicked off his shoes by the front door.

‘I'm very well, thank you.'

‘Good. I'm glad to hear it. I was worried about you.' His voice bordered on pious.

‘Well, I don't believe that for a minute, Rafael. And you still haven't told me why you're calling me at this hour.'

‘Most of London are up at
this hour
,' he pointed out. ‘And I was calling to invite you out.'

On a date?
was the wild thought that flew through her head. Then she remembered what he was all about. He was the man who had a stone for a heart even if he did manage to
give a very good impression of a living, breathing,
normal
human being.

‘I don't think so.' She remembered the way they had laughed together, the way he had indulged her inclination to babble, the way he had made her feel sexy and good about herself. Very firmly, she shut the door on those nagging, enticing memories.

‘To a party I'm having next weekend at my place here in London.'

‘You want to invite me to a party…?' That was more like it. He wasn't really interested in finding out about
her
and how
she
was doing; he probably felt bad because he had hurt her. Not, obviously, so bad that he wanted to check on her welfare face to face over a cup of coffee, but bad enough to consider asking her along to something large and impersonal which would give him the opportunity to ask a few polite questions with the comfort of having a crowd of his friends around. Just in case she started blubbing or something. She wondered whether his mother had put him up to it.

‘Hello? Are you still there? Or have you dozed off in mid-thought?'

‘Of course I haven't
dozed off
!' Cristina snapped. ‘See? You've only been on the phone for two seconds and already you're making me shout!'

‘There's nothing wrong with emotional responses.'

‘That's not what you've said in the past,' Cristina reminded him sourly.

That, Rafael had to concede to himself, had a ring of truth about it.

‘Well?' he demanded. ‘Can I count you in or not?'

‘Why have you asked me? Do you feel sorry for me? Did Maria put you up to it?'

‘No one has put me up to anything, in answer to your first question. And in answer to your second…Is there any reason why I should feel sorry for you? I mean, life moves on, doesn't it?' He tried to visualise Cindy's face in his head, but instead a very clear image of Cristina's rose to the forefront.

So he
did
feel sorry for her. His non-answer was as good as a positive response and, while Cristina didn't want to go to any party he might be having—didn't want to be in his presence at all, not when she was obviously still so vulnerable to his overpowering personality, even when she was just receiving it via radio waves at the end of a telephone—well, to refuse would be to admit that she just couldn't face him. He would feel even sorrier for her then!