by Miranda Lee
But so what? he thought recklessly. He was still going to do it, wasn't he?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ISABEL woke with a moan on her lips. The sun was shining in through the open doorway of the bure, indicating Rafe was already up, probably having his early-morning swim.
'That man must have a constitution of iron,' she muttered as she dragged aside the mosquito net and tried to sit up. But the room spun alarmingly and there was a bongo drummer—complete with drums—inside her head.
With a low groan, Isabel sank back carefully onto the pillows then ever so slowly rolled onto her side. The room gradually stopped spinning.
It was then that she saw the tall glass of water sitting next to the bed, alongside a foil sheet of painkillers.
'What a thoughtful thing to do,' she murmured, though not yet daring to move. In a minute she would take a couple of those pills Rafe had left her. Meanwhile, she would close her eyes and just do nothing.
Isabel closed her eyes and tried to do nothing, but her mind was by now wide awake. She began thinking about last night after dinner. In the end, they hadn't got anyone else to run them back to their jetty. Rafe had said he was fine to operate the boat and she'd been far too tipsy to worry.
Tipsy! Hardly an adequate word to describe her state of intoxication. She'd been seriously sloshed. Not Rafe though, yet he'd consumed as many glasses of wine as she had. Or had he? Perhaps not. He'd talked a lot between courses, and she'd just sat there, sipping her wine and listening to him like some fatuous female fool, thinking how gorgeous he was and how stupid Liz was to dump him.
No, Isabel finally conceded. Rafe hadn't consumed nearly as much wine as she had. If he had, he wouldn't have been able to make such beautiful love to her as he had after they'd come home.
'Not that she could remember it all. Some bits were pretty hazy. But she could remember the feel of his hands on her as he undressed her and caressed her. So gentle and tender. The same with his kisses. His mouth had flowed all over her and she had dissolved from one orgasm to another.
She'd never known climaxes could be like that. Blissful and relaxing. Her bones had felt like water by the time he'd rolled her onto her side, rather like she was lying now. Only last night Rafe's naked body had been curled around her back.
Isabel's stomach contracted at the thought. That was one thing she hadn't forgotten. How he'd felt when he'd first slipped inside her. She moaned at the memory. It had felt so good. Even better when he'd begun to move.
Never had she been so lost in a man's arms, her mind and body like mush. She hadn't come again. But, Rafe must have. She had a vague recollection of his crying out. But after that, all memory ceased. She must have fallen asleep. And now here she was the next morning with a parched mouth and a vicious headache, whilst Rafe was down at the beach, no doubt bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
A shadow fell across the corner of her eye and she rolled over just enough to see Rafe walk through the sun-drenched doorway. His dark silhouette eventually lightened to reveal that she'd been right. He had been swimming, thankfully dressed in board shorts. She couldn't cope with him in full-frontal nudity this morning.
'How's the head?' he said as he walked towards the bed.
'Awful. Many thanks for the tablets and the water.'
'My pleasure. And it was,' he added with a devilish grin.
'Don't be cocky. I was pretty plastered.'
'So I noticed. You know you're very agreeable when you're plastered.'
'I really couldn't say. Last night is somewhat hazy.'
'You mean you can't remember anything?'
Isabel caught an odd note in Rafe's question. Was he pleased or offended? 'I didn't say that. I said hazy, as in...hazy.'
'Ahh. Hazy. Hazy word, hazy.'
'You were pretty good, if that's what you're waiting for.'
He smiled. 'That's nice to hear.'
'Different, though.'
Rafe's stomach flipped over. 'Different?' he asked, trying not to panic. 'In what way, different?'
She shrugged. 'Gentler. Sweeter. Different.'
Rafe smiled his relief. 'Well, I didn't need to rush it. You weren't making any of your usual control-losing demands.'
Isabel was taken aback. 'What do you mean, control-losing demands?'
'Honey, you have a very impatient nature when it comes to sex. It's always faster, Rafe. Harder. Deeper. Again. More. No more. Stop. Don't stop. The list is endless.'
'That's not true!' she denied hotly.
'Perhaps a slight exaggeration on my part. But it was still a rather nice change to know I could take my time and do exactly what I wanted to do with your total cooperation. I really enjoyed it.'
And how! Rafe thought.
Any apprehension over his bold decision not to use any protection had disappeared once he'd put his plans into action. Knowing that a child could possibly result from his lovemaking had added an emotional dimension Rafe hadn't anticipated. When he'd felt his seed spilling into her he'd thought his heart would burst with elation. And when she'd gone to sleep in his arms afterwards he'd been consumed by feelings so powerful and deep that they'd revolutionised his ideas on what loving a person was all about.
Seeing Liz last night was the best thing that could have happened to him. What a fool he'd been, choosing a solitary life for fear of being hurt again. Fair enough to withdraw into his cave for a while. But it had been years, for pity's sake. Years of keeping women at a distance, except sexually, and telling himself—and everyone else—that he didn't want marriage and a family, when the truth was he'd become too much of a coward to risk his male ego a second time. He'd been afraid of being dumped again, afraid of rejection.
Not any more. He was going to take a leaf out of Isabel's book and go after what he wanted. Which was her as his wife as well as the mother of his child. Or children. Heck, he wasn't going to stop at just one. He'd hated being an only child.
But he couldn't tell her all that yet. He couldn't even tell her how much he loved her. She wasn't ready for such an announcement. But she would be, in time. And when Mother Nature eventually took her course.
It was to be hoped that last night had done the trick. But if it hadn't, he'd already doctored a few more condoms for today. If at first you don't succeed, Rafe, then try, try again.
Trying again had never looked so pleasurable. Pity she had a hangover. Still, that would pass.
'God, I can't stand people looking perky when I'm dying,' Isabel grumbled.
'What you need is a refreshing swim,' Rafe suggested.
She groaned. 'My head is already swimming, thank you very much. Do you think I could con you into getting me a cup of coffee?'
He jumped up off the foot of the bed. 'One steaming mug of sweet black coffee coming up!'
Isabel groaned again. Not only perky, but energetic. He even started whistling.
Still, she had to concede Rafe wasn't anything like she'd first thought. Oh, she didn't doubt he was a bit of a ladies' man. And marriage and children were not part of his life plan. But he wasn't at all arrogant, or selfish. He was actually quite considerate, and highly sensitive. That Liz female had really hurt him, stupid greedy amoral woman that she was.
His dad's death had scarred him as well. Isabel had been moved last night when Rafe had told her how his father had been a country rep for a wine company, travelling all over New South Wales, selling his products into hotels and clubs and restaurants. Rafe had been just eight when his dad's car had hit a kangaroo at night and careered off the road into a tree, killing him instantly. Unfortunately, his father hadn't been a great success as a salesman—a bit of a dreamer, though in the nicest possible way—and money had been tight for his widow and son after his demise.
But he'd been a great success as a dad. Clearly, Rafe had adored him. His voice had choked up when he'd told Isabel that the only things his father had left him in a material sense were a camera and a pair of phantom's-head cuff-links. Father and son had had a real thing for t
he Phantom, his Dad always bringing Rafe home a Phantom Comic after he'd been away. They would always read it together that night. Isabel had been moved to hear that, when one of the prized cuff-links had been lost during a house move Rafe had had the other made into an earring and never took it off for fear of losing it as well. How he must have loved that man!
It was a pity he shied away from being a father himself. With his dad's example to go by, he'd probably be a very good one.
She sighed. That was the incorrigible romantic in her talking again. Next thing she'd have him returning with her coffee and saying he'd changed his mind about what he wanted in life, after which he'd declare his undying love and beg her to marry him.
Fat chance!
'Here's your coffee, lover. Now, stop all that sighing and drink up. Oh, for pity's sake, you haven't even taken your headache tablets yet. Or drunk the water. How do you expect to feel better unless you rehydrate yourself? No, no coffee for you till you've done the right thing. And there'll be no more drinking to excess in future. It's no good for you.'
Isabel glared at him. 'And there I was, thinking you weren't the bullying bossy pain in the neck I'd first met. But I was deluding myself. The only reason you want me to feel better is so that you can have more of what you got last night.'
He grinned the cheekiest sexiest grin. 'You could be right there.'
Isabel glowered at him as she popped two tablets into her mouth and swallowed the water.
'A shower or the sea?' he said, eyeing her rather salaciously where the sheet had slipped down to her waist.
Isabel didn't have to look down to know what he was seeing. Maybe she wasn't too perky this morning, but her nipples still were.
And she was so wet down there it wasn't funny.
'I think a spa bath is in order,' she said. 'Alone,' she added firmly.
'I could scrub your back,' Rafe offered.
'No.'
'Spoilsport.'
'And then, after breakfast, I'd like to do something unenergetic. I noticed there was a pack of cards in the cupboard over there.'
'Cards,' he repeated drily. He hated playing cards. His mother was a fanatic at euchre and cribbage, and used to rope him in when she couldn't find another partner. She always won so there hadn't been much fun in it for him.
'There's plenty of other games in there as well, if you'd prefer,' she went on, no doubt hearing his reluctance.
Rafe eyed her with determination. The only games he aimed to play today were those of the erotic kind. He couldn't afford to waste the whole of this very critical twenty-four hours. She might be ovulating at this very second.
But then an idea came to him.
'Okay,' he agreed. 'But, to make it interesting, let's bet on the outcome of each game.'
She frowned. 'For money, you mean?'
'Don't be silly. What would be the fun in that?'
'What, then?'
'If I win, you have to do whatever I want. And vice versa.'
Her eyes widened. 'Are we talking sexual requests here?'
'Not necessarily. I might ask you to go for a swim with me. Or cook me a meal. Or give me a massage.'
Yeah, right, she thought ruefully.
'I won't agree to anything, Rafe, especially sexually. There has to be limitations.'
'Nothing too kinky, then. Nothing you think the other person wouldn't like.'
That was far too broad a canvas! 'I...I don't want to be tied to that hammock again.' Not in the daylight. That would be just too embarrassing for words.
'Fair enough. What would you rather be tied to?'
'Rafe!'
'Only kidding.' Hell, he didn't want to tie her up. He just wanted to make her a mother.
Isabel could feel the heat spreading all through her body. This was just the kind of thing which turned her on. Oh, he was wicked.
'Let me have that bath and some breakfast first, then,' she said, trying not to sound too eager. 'You find whatever game you think you would prefer.' And hopefully one that he was darned good at playing. Because she didn't want to win, did she? She wanted him to win.
He chose an ingenious little game called Take It Easy, and by eleven they were sitting on the terrace, playing. The trouble was luck rather than skill played a large part and, even if you didn't try, sometimes you still won. Each game didn't last all that long and the rules suggested you play three games then totalled up the scores to see who won.
Isabel won the first round, by one point, despite not concentrating at all.
'Oh,' she said, trying not to sound disappointed by the result.
Rafe eyed her expectantly across the table. 'Well? What cruel fate awaits me, oh, mistress mine?'
'You said nothing kinky,' she reminded him.
'No, I said nothing too kinky.'
'You also said it didn't have to be a sexual request.' Surely she would lose next time and then she would be forced to do what he wanted. That would be much more fun. She would wait. 'So I'd like a toasted ham, cheese and tomato sandwich, please. And a tall glass of iced orange juice.'
'What?' he snapped, his face frustrated. 'You just had breakfast half an hour ago.'
'I'm sorry but I'm still hungry,' she said blithely.
When he just sat there, scowling at her, she crossed her arms. 'Are you welching on your bet already?'
'You'll keep, madam,' he muttered, then went to do her bidding.
Five minutes later he returned with the sandwich on a plate and a very tall glass of frosted orange juice. The fridge and freezer really were very well stocked, especially with the ingredients for easy-to-make snacks. Honeymooners and illicit lovers—who were the likely bookers of the private bures—apparently didn't surface back at the main resort for meals all that often.
Isabel accepted the toasted sandwich and ate it very slowly, pretending to savour every bite. In actual fact, she wasn't at all hungry. She just hadn't been able to think of anything else to ask for. The orange juice was nice, though, and she drank it down with deep gulps. Her hangover had long receded but she was still probably a bit dehydrated.
'Ahh,' she said, and placed the empty glass on the empty plate, pushing them both to one side. "That was lovely, Rafe. Thank you. Shall we get on with the next round?'
'By all means.'
Rafe won. Easily.
'Oh, dear,' Isabel said.
'My turn, it seems,' Rafe said with cool satisfaction in his voice, and a smouldering look in his eyes.
Isabel began to tremble inside.
'Take off your sarong,' he commanded.
When he didn't add anything else, she just looked at him. 'That's it? Just take off my sarong?'
'Yes. Do you have a problem with that?'
She gulped. It was far less than she was expecting. And yet...
It suddenly hit her that he meant for her to sit there, playing the next round of the game, in the nude. The deviousness of his mind excited her, as did the idea.
Isabel felt her blood begin to charge around her veins as she stood up and slowly undid the knot which tied her sarong between her breasts. Their eyes met and she was just about to drop it down onto the terracotta flagstones when the phone rang.
'Leave it,' Rafe commanded thickly. 'It's probably just Reception wanting to know if we want a picnic lunch brought over.'
Isabel tried to do what he said. Tried to ignore it. But she couldn't, especially when it just kept on ringing.
'I can't,' she blurted out and, relying the sarong, she hurried in to answer it.
'Hello,' she said breathlessly.
'Isabel?'
'Rachel!'
'I'm so s...sorry to bother you,' she cried, her voice shaking.
'Rachel, what's wrong?'
'It's Lettie. She...she's gone, Isabel.'
'You mean...passed away?'
'She wandered out of the house a couple of nights back when I was asleep and got a chill. She... she wasn't wearing any clothes, you see. She often took them off. Anyway, by the time I
realised she was gone and the police found her, wandering in some park, she was shivering from the cold and it quickly developed into pneumonia. Her doctor put her in hospital and pumped her full of antibiotics, and they said she was going to be all right, but last night she...she had a heart attack and they couldn't save her.'
'Oh, Rachel, I'm so sorry.'
'You know, I thought I'd be relieved if and when she died,' she choked out. 'You've no idea what it's been like. The endless days and nights. The utter misery and futility of it all. Because I knew she'd never get better. She was only going to get worse. And worse. I used to lie in bed some nights and hope she wouldn't wake up in the morning. But now that she has died, I...I'm not relieved at all. I'm devastated. I look at her empty bed and just cry and cry and cry. I...I can't function, Isabel. I needed to talk to you. That's why I had to call. I needed to hear your voice and know that somewhere in this world there was someone who loved me.' At that, she broke down and wept.
'It's all right, Rachel. I'll ring Mum and Dad straight away and get them to go and bring you home to their place. And I'll be back in Sydney as soon as I can.'
'But...but you can't,' she cried, pulling herself together. 'Your mum will know, if you do that.'
'Know what?'
'That you didn't go to Dream Island with me. She'll know you went with...with some man.'
'Oh, never mind that. What does that matter? So she'll think I'm wicked for a while. She'll get over it. Now, you hang in there, Rach, and don't go doing anything silly.'
'Such as what?' Rachel sniffled.
'Such as drinking too much of Lettie's sherry. Or sleeping with the gardener.'
'I don't have a gardener,' she said mournfully. 'But if I did I would sleep with him, no matter what he looked like. I'm so lonely, Isabel.'
'Not for long, sweetie. Just hang in there. I'll ring Mum straight away and get her to ring you.'
'All right.'
'You are home, aren't you?'
'What? Yes, yes, I'm home.'
Isabel's heart turned over. The poor darling. She sounded shattered. 'Okay, don't go anywhere till Mum rings you.'
'Where would I go?'
