by Day Leclaire
Tears leapt to her eyes. “I know you too well to believe that. You would have helped no matter what,” she disputed unevenly. “And Shayne? Is she all right? Was she badly hurt?”
“She has scars as I do, but she’s recovered for the most part.”
“I’m sorry. So sorry. I didn’t know or I would have gone to see her.” Ella pressed her lips to the thin white line that ran the length of his collarbone. “It terrifies me to think how fragile our lives are. How brief a time we have and how suddenly it can all end.”
Rafe inhaled the sweet feminine fragrance of her hair and skin. The scent intoxicated him, eclipsed every thought but one. “Then we shouldn’t waste another minute.”
Palming her breasts, he paid reverent homage with his tongue and teeth to the delicate peach-tinted tips. They peaked sharply in response, pearling from the pull of his mouth. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more of her. He wanted all of her. He slid downward, warming her belly with his breath as he stripped her of the final lacy bits of underwear. He smoothed the taut skin of her thighs and buttocks, feeling the supple muscles quiver in response.
“Rafe, please! I need you.”
Gently, he slipped his fingers into the very heart of her. Her soft cry broke above him, shivering like frost-tipped leaves. She was all liquid warmth, a devastating combination of passionate purity and demanding sensuality. It wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge, to feel her flame to life within his hands. Already her breath had grown shallow and rapid, an exquisite tension building beneath each stroking touch.
He released her, lifting her onto the bedspread, silk on silk. She looked at him, her eyes the color of molten gold, her need a silent cry. “Soon, amada,” he soothed. “Very soon.”
His gaze never left her as he swiftly stripped. She stiffened as he shed the last of his clothing, vulnerable in her innocence, strong in the power of her femininity. Finally he came to her, gathering her close. Passion rode him hard, threatening to break what little remained of his patience.
He wanted to go easy with her. He wanted to be the honorable man she thought him, instead of the vengeful one he was. Just this once, he wanted to fulfill her dreams before she awoke to the brutal harshness of reality.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”
“I’m not afraid.” She cupped his face and he sensed she was gathering the nerve to speak. “I know you don’t want my love. But you have it anyway. When I give you my body, I also give you my heart.”
Words of rejection leapt to his tongue. He didn’t want to hear this. Not now. Not if he had a hope in hell of finishing what he’d started this night.
“Don’t—” he began.
She sealed his lips with her fingers. “Please don’t stop me. What I have to say is long overdue. You have no idea what it’s been like these past five years. I thought I’d lost you forever. I thought I’d never have the opportunity to tell you what’s in my heart.”
He tried again, catching her wrist and dragging her hand from his mouth. “Some things are best left unsaid. This is one of them.”
“No, it isn’t. I love you,” she repeated in soft wonder. “Don’t you understand what a miracle that is?”
He turned his head, rejecting the slice of heaven she offered with such unstinting generosity. “It’s no miracle.”
“But it is.” She laughed, the sound a silvery ripple. “You see, tonight was my last chance to discover that miracle. You didn’t know that, did you?”
He tensed, swinging back to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that tonight was my last chance to experience the magic of the Cinderella Ball.”
“Why?” He heaved himself onto an elbow, gazing down at her with all the hostility of a caged jaguar. “Why do you say that?”
“Over the past few years . . .” She gave a self-conscious shrug. “I’d begun to lose faith.”
She couldn’t mean what he thought. It would be too bitterly ironic. “Lose faith, how?”
“It must seem odd coming from me of all people. But I’d almost stopped believing in the Cinderella Ball,” she confessed hesitantly. “I’d almost stopped believing in magic and miracles and everlasting love. So, I decided to give it one last night in order to determine if those things really exist.”
“This night? This was your last night?” At her nod, he demanded, “What if you didn’t find love?”
“I made myself a promise. If I wasn’t wed come morning, then I’d give up. I’d have proven that I was never meant to find happily-ever-after. That I wasn’t one of the special people destined to receive the miracle of love.” She traced the tense curve of his cheek, her eyes shining like golden stardust. “And then you walked in.”
He shook his head in fierce denial of her words. “No.”
“Oh, Rate. Don’t you see? It was fated.”
“Ill-fated, you mean.”
“No!” Her full mouth tilted in a tremulous smile. “You restored my faith. If you hadn’t come tonight, I would have given up. I know I would have. And then I’d have realized you were right about the Cinderella Balls.”
“I am right about them, Ella,” he told her forcefully. “They’re just foolish pipe dreams for desperate people.”
“You’re wrong, Rafe. You must see that now. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have spent the entire evening searching for a man to love. But it wouldn’t have worked. I’d never have found him.”
She was destroying him, inch by agonizing inch. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Yes, I do. You warned that I had nothing to offer anyone else and it’s true.” She clung to him, pressing close, the softness of her breasts branding his arm. “You have it all. My heart, my love, my future. It’s all in your keeping.”
“Basta!” He thrust her away and in one swift motion rolled to the side of the bed. He sat on the edge, the broad expanse of his back turned toward her.
“Rafe, what is it? What’s wrong?” She scooted closer, laying a cool hand against his fevered skin.
“Don’t touch me!” He tossed the curt words over his shoulder. “If you have so much as an ounce of self-preservation, you will not touch me.”
The final rays of a dying moon cut a harsh path across his bowed head, catching in the deep crevices marking his face. He gulped air, his chest heaving beneath the effort. His muscles stood in high relief, corded into taut ridges, as though he fought to sustain an unbearable weight.
“Rafe, what is it?” she whispered in concern.
His throat moved convulsively and his hand fisted on his knee. “Just give me a moment to regain my control.” Drawing on battered inner reserves, he stood. In one swift motion, he snatched the silk comforter from the bottom of the bed and tossed it at her. “Cover yourself,” he ordered.
She caught it automatically, wrapping herself in its concealing folds. “Please tell me what’s wrong.” Fear wove a shaky path through her words. “What have I done?”
“I can’t go through with this,” he replied, deciding to give her the truth, straight and unvarnished. “I thought I could, but I was wrong.”
“You can’t do what?”
He turned on her, thoroughly disgusted with himself but also irrationally furious with her for being so naive and trusting. When would she realize he didn’t deserve her trust, let alone any of the finer emotions with which she’d gifted him?
“Why the hell do you think I married you?”
“You’ve told me that already. Because you want me.” She held out a hand in appeal. “I know you believe it’s only a physical attraction. But I think given time—”
“Time will not change anything,” he cut in, determined to end this farce. “Nor does it explain my presence at your home this evening. Perhaps you would care to guess my reasons for that?”
She groped for a response. “To resolve our differences?” she offered tentatively.
“No, Mrs. Beaumont. Try again.”
&n
bsp; He waited, holding her gaze with an implacability she couldn’t escape. He steeled himself to watch the comprehension dawn, to watch as disillusionment drained the animation from her delicate features. It didn’t take long.
“Rafe, please. Don’t do this.”
“Answer me,” he commanded. He kept his emotions rigidly in check, refusing to be swayed by the tiny spark of hope still reflected in her expression. “Why did I come this evening?”
The light of hope faded. “You came to get revenge,” she whispered painfully.
“That’s what has driven me all these years,” he confirmed. “But my main purpose for attending tonight was to put an end to the Cinderella Balls.”
Her chin lifted with the first hint of angry defiance. “By marrying me? How would that have ended the balls?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He couldn’t put into words the plan he’d devised nor the manner in which he intended to execute it. She remained silent for several long minutes, lost in thought. Then once again comprehension dawned and he strove not to flinch as her face turned ashen.
“You . . .” She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “You thought once we’d made love our feelings for each other would die. And that when they died, so would our marriage.”
“I see you understand now.”
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You’re wrong. That’s not what would have happened.”
“We will have to agree to disagree on that point,” he said gently.
“You’re serious?” She hugged the comforter tighter against her breasts. “You were going to make love to me and then leave?”
“Not quite. I wanted you for longer than one night,” he confessed with brutal candor. “A month or two would have seen the job done. By then you’d have realized marriage isn’t the miracle of love you seem to think. And you’d have run home to Mommy and Daddy a disillusioned but wiser woman.”
“You believed my parents would have been so upset by my failed marriage, so disillusioned themselves, they’d have stopped the balls?” she questioned in disbelief. “Well, I have news for you—”
He cocked an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t have worked? No problema, amada. I still have an alternate plan should they prove stubborn.”
She seemed to hesitate, as though compelled to speak, but deciding at the last minute to remain silent. “You’re referring to one of those alternatives you mentioned earlier in the glade?”
“Qué coqueta. But then you always were clever, when you weren’t allowing your emotions to interfere with your reason. I hesitate to take such drastic measures,” he felt compelled to add. “But make no mistake. I will end these balls.”
“Because of Shayne?”
His control broke and he caught her arm, yanking her close. “Yes, because of Shayne! I’d do anything. Anything,” he stressed, “to protect others from her fate. You don’t understand, do you? But then, how could you? You live a life of illusion. Nothing about your existence is real.”
She twisted free of his grasp, scooting toward the center of the massive bed. “That’s not true!”
“No? When you return to your fairy tale existence, princesa, open your eyes and take a good look around. Your cupcake castle has so many rooms even you are unfamiliar with them all. It sits in the midst of a desert and yet is filled with plants and shrubs better suited to tropical climes. I doubt they could survive without the protection of a fleet of gardeners and enough water to quench a small city. You hide from strife in a private glade with verdant sod to comfort your dainty feet and leafy trees to shade your fair skin. Well, real life isn’t like that.” His voice reflected his contempt. “Ask Shayne.”
Tears glittered in Ella’s eyes, tears she fought valiantly to conceal. “You still haven’t answered my question. What happens now?”
“If I have a written guarantee from your parents that the balls end, nothing happens. You go home and the marriage is annulled.”
“And if they don’t agree?”
“If they refuse, they will soon find themselves without the financial ability to throw another Cinderella Ball. And I warn you, it is well within my powers to do as I threaten.”
Shock held her rigid. “That’s what you came tonight to tell us?”
He didn’t bother to wrap it up in pretty paper. “Yes.”
“And then you decided—”
“That I still wanted you,” he replied, determined to be blunt and brutal to the bitter end. “To my surprise, I discovered you also wanted me. Our marriage was an alternate means to a similar end.”
“While at the same time satisfying our,” she cocked her head to one side. “How would you refer to it? Our mutual desire?”
“Exactly.”
“So why didn’t you go through with it?”
He gazed into her brilliant golden eyes. They gleamed like the last few rays of sunlight, fighting against the relentless push of night. He basked in those final moments of warmth, knowing it would never again be his. He gathered his strength. It was time to finish what he’d started.
“I discovered revenge is not as sweet as I thought. In fact, it tastes quite bitter.” He gave a careless shrug. “Besides, my point has been made. You spout sentimental nonsense about true love, about the magic of this inane ball. But you haven’t found love or magic or a Prince Charming this evening, have you my pobrecita Cinderella? You found vengeance.”
She didn’t look at him, but remained crouched in the center of the bed, clinging to the comforter as though to a lifeline. “You’re going to leave now,” she said at last.
It wasn’t a question.
“It would be pointless to stay.” It took every ounce of control not to drag her into his arms, to set right the terrible wrong he’d done. Instead he retrieved his clothing from the floor and dressed. “I will give you time to reach your decision about future Cinderella Balls,” he said as he gathered his belongings. “But I suggest you not wait too long before reaching that decision.”
“No,” she whispered. “I won’t wait too long.”
“The room is yours until morning. There’s no hurry to vacate.”
“Thank you,” she responded, unnervingly polite.
Rafe found the five minutes it took him to complete his packing more agonizing than any of the injuries he’d received rescuing Shayne. He almost wished the harm he’d caused could take on physical expression. Wounds that did not kill eventually healed. But in his heart of hearts, he knew fate had no intention of being so kind. He’d bear these scars the rest of his life.
At the door, he turned and looked at Ella and his pain surpassed anything he’d ever felt before.
The golden sunshine had fled her gaze and the blackness of night consumed her.
And in that moment, the gates of hell opened to welcome him.
CHAPTER FIVE
“He’s not coming, is he?” Ella asked quietly as her father approached from the direction of the house.
She stood in the middle of the glade, the one Rafe had described in such caustic terms, and gazed at the moon. It would be full in another week, the second full moon since the Cinderella Ball. And it would offer yet another painful reminder of that disastrous night. Silvery light caressed her upturned face. Was Rafe in Costa Rica, also staring at a midnight sky? The thought caused her throat to close.
“No, my dear. He isn’t coming back,” Donald finally replied. He didn’t offer his sympathy and she was grateful for his restraint.
“I’d hoped—” She broke off, bowing her head.
She’d hoped that Christmas might bring with it the miracle she’d prayed for with every fiber of her being. But just moments ago the huge grandfather clock in the hallway had laid that fantasy to rest. On the final stroke of midnight, Christmas Day had passed without a word from Rafe.
“No matter how it might look, he cares for you,” her father insisted. “There’s no doubt in my mind.”
“What makes you say that?” She turned to confront hi
m. “Do you think he cares because he called you the night we married? You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t find that a very convincing argument.”
Donald sighed, the sound like the tired creak of a pine. “When Rafe phoned from the Grand’s lobby, I’d never heard a man more tortured. He didn’t just ask me to interrupt the ball and bring you home. He ordered me to.” Her father dropped a hand to her shoulder, squeezing gently. “If I hadn’t done as he’d demanded, I suspect he’d have come after me personally.”
“I doubt that.” Her laughter sounded shaky and she broke off, aware that it revealed far too much of her inner turmoil. “He was well on his way to Costa Rica by the time you arrived.”
“No, Ella. He wasn’t.”
Her head jerked up. “What do you mean?”
“I doubt it would have made any difference if I’d told you two months ago.” He hesitated for a brief moment. “But perhaps it will now.”
“Told me what?”
“When I arrived at the Grand Hotel, I saw Rafe sitting in a cab outside. Just sitting and waiting while he smoked a cigar. Waiting for me to come for you, I suppose.”
She shook her head. “You must have seen someone who resembled Rafe. It couldn’t have been him. He doesn’t smoke.”
“He did that night. I saw him quite clearly.”
“What are you saying, Dad?”
“Just this. If ever a man needed his faith restored, it’s Rafe Beaumont.”
“You’re mistaken,” she said with a slight smile. It amazed her that she could still find anything humorous about her husband. “He doesn’t want his faith restored. He doesn’t even believe in such a thing. Just like he doesn’t believe in magic or miracles or love.”
“Oh, he believes. That’s why he fights so hard to deny it. You see, to believe in the untouchable, one must give up control.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
