He walked without haste toward her and, staring mutely into the expressionless features, some of Beth's paralysis vanished and she rose to her feet. As he continued his unswerving approach, she was almost glad that the waiting was over, the uncertainties finished—whatever tenuous bond there was between them could finally and forever be broken.
Rafael's advance was indolent, his movements arrogantly graceful, almost insulting in the measured, unhurried steps he took. He halted barely a foot from her, his eyes brazenly assessing her, taking in the delicate peignoir, the agitated rise and fall of her small breasts, the gold-tipped lashes which framed the eyes nearly purple with apprehension—and defiance.
He took his time with the blatant appraisal, making no effort to banish the almost physical presence of tension that surrounded them. The gray eyes moved insolently over her face, lingering for an agonizing moment on her mouth before slipping to her white throat, where the rapid beat of her pulse was apparent, and then flicked down her body before his gaze returned to her face.
"English," he said, rolling the syllables off his tongue as if until that moment he had not been certain of her identity.
Beth swallowed, wanting to make an indifferent rejoinder, to say something that would give her the opportunity to lessen the tautness between them. But her tongue and brain seemed frozen; she could only stand there, trembling with the force of the conflicting, turbulent emotions coursing wildly through her blood. The wariness and nervousness she expected, but she wasn't prepared for the queer excitement that vibrated in her blood or the quick rush of fierce joy at seeing those dark, arrogant features again.
Rafael waited for her to make some reply, but when several minutes had passed and Beth remained silent, her eyes locked on his, he murmured, "Nothing to say? Perhaps it is just as well, for I do believe I did warn you to stay away from me, didn't I?"
She found her voice and stammered, "B-b-but I... it isn't... I didn't..." Stopping in sheer nervousness, she took a deep breath and said honestly, "I had no idea that you would be here. You must believe me! If Sebastian had mentioned your name just once we would never have—"
Her words were broken off sharply as Rafael moved with the swiftness of a striking panther, one steel-fingered hand closing around her upper arm. The black eyebrows snapping together in a frown and the gray eyes narrowing with suspicion, Rafael snapped, "Sebastian? What does Sebastian have to do with you?" Comprehension dawned and his grip bruising, he said accusingly, "It was you he met on the ship! Of course, it has to be—his 'angel' is none other than the little slut I met in New Orleans four years ago. What an unfortunate coincidence for you, English."
Beth's lips parted to protest, but Rafael gave her no chance. Jerking her up against his hard body, he threatened softly, "Leave Sebastian Savage alone, English. Work your wiles on someone who understands your kind of woman, but leave that boy alone. Do you understand me?"
"But I haven't—" Beth was unable to finish the sentence, for Rafael shook her and snarled, "Quiet! I have neither the inclination nor the patience to listen to your lies. I don't know what you are up to, but one thing is for damn sure—you're leaving here."
Some of the shock at seeing him faded, and Beth found she was angry, very angry at his confident assumption that he could just order her away. The violet eyes sparkling with temper, she furiously attempted to shake herself free of Rafael's grasp, but his grip only tightened, the fingers biting into her arm. "Let me go, you arrogant beast!" she said in a low voice. Sudden temper pushing her beyond her usual constraint, she spat, "How dare you speak to me in this fashion! Sebastian invited my husband and me to visit. Your parents, unlike you, have been most kind to us, and I refuse to insult their hospitality because you demand it." Her breath came angry gasps. "Do you think that for one moment I would have accepted Sebastian's invitation if I'd the slightest inkling that you were related to him?" She gave a choke of bitter laughter, "You are the last person I wished to meet. I detest you, Rafael Santana—you conceited overbearing devil."
A derisive twist to his mouth, Rafael murmured, "How well you do it, English. All this, this outrage is so very sincere that if I didn't know better I would be tempted to believe you." He shook her again, adding, "You forget, querida, that I know you for what you are."
"You don't know me at all!" Beth snapped, her eyes flashing. "And I have no desire to further my acquaintance with you. Release me or I shall be forced to cause an embarrassing scene for both of us."
"Embarrassed? Me? English, I think you must have forgotten what little you learned about me four years ago. I don't," he said with deceptive gentleness, "ever embarrass. If you would like to scream and wake the hacienda, by all means do so. Besides, I am rather curious to meet this husband of yours—he appears to be a complacent gentleman."
Beth took a breath, wanting passionately to cause a scene of such epic proportions that Rafael would be shaken from his infuriating self-assurance and yet terrified of the ensuing commotion. But more than that she was unwilling to risk a confrontation between this man and Nathan. If Rafael was as cold-blooded and indifferent as he gave every indication of being, creating an ugly furor would accomplish nothing and would precipitate the one thing she feared most—a duel between Rafael and Nathan. Enraged by his arrogant behavior, she longed to forget about the danger to Nathan, longed with increasing ferocity to strike and claw at his mocking face and jolt him from his scornful stance. Caution won out... but her voice was shaking with suppressed anger as she stuttered, "L-l-leave m-m-my husband out of this. You have no right to assume anything about him. He is not complacent. He is a nice man, a gentleman—something you could never be."
The gray eyes never left her face. "Such a spirited defense," he drawled. "If I were not wise to your chicanery, English, I might find your words admirable, but as it is, I find them a pathetic ruse."
"Ruse? What do you mean?"
"Sebastian is the person I am concerned about, not your husband, so do not attempt to change the subject."
"But you," Beth burst out, "you were the one who brought Nathan into this, not me."
"It matters little. What matters to me is your relationship with my cousin—if your husband is willing to allow you to parade your latest lover under his nose that is his business. But when that newest conquest is Sebastian, then it is my business."
Unable to help herself, Beth taunted, "Is Sebastian so weak that he cannot defend himself... against a mere woman?"
Rafael's face tightened and his grip on her arm tightened. "Do not," he said from between clenched teeth, "push me too far, English. I have ridden many miles to reach here, and I am tired and in no mood to exchange impudent remarks with you."
"Then don't!" Beth retorted, wondering how he had so easily changed her into a volatile creature she did not recognize. Or was this creature the real Beth, set free from all the suffocating precepts she had practiced all her life? It was an uncomfortable idea and she didn't need to explore it now, she thought angrily, hastily pushing it from her mind. No, now she needed all her wits about her, especially as she became aware that a new disturbing element had entered the conflict between them. Incredibly, insidiously, she was conscious of the attraction of his lean, hard body so close to hers, remembering against her will what it felt like to have his hands on her breasts, how that reckless mouth had plundered her lips.
Rafael was aware of the change in the atmosphere, the gray eyes dropping again and again to the soft mouth just below his, his body conscious that the lacy peignoir hid the silken curves and warm flesh that had given him countless nights of restless sleep before he had been able to tear it from his mind. That she had once had the power to trouble his thoughts enraged him; that she had dared to intrude upon his life again infuriated him. That she was the woman, the "angel" of Sebastian's outpourings, woke a violent feeling he had never experienced in his life; he recognized it with a dull rage as jealousy. Furious and staggered by that knowledge, he twisted her arm behind her back and, crushing her sli
m body up against his, he snarled, "Stop arguing with me and listen to what I say! I don't care what kind of excuse you use, I don't give a damn how rude it may appear, but you goddamn will get yourself and your accommodating husband out of here today."
Physically aware of her as he was, bringing her soft body next to his wasn't the wisest thing he could have done. With her breasts thrusting against his chest, the slender legs pressing intimately against his thighs, and her sweet lavender scent in his nostrils, Rafael was not immune to the fierce onslaught of desire that shook his body. He could feel himself stir and harden with a devastating hunger to feel this supple silken body beneath his and to taste the sweet mouth that had haunted him. The gray eyes darkening with passion, his grasp slackened and rhythmically his thumb caressed the shapely arm he held. It was madness, he thought savagely, knowing he should fling her from him and yet unable to do so. With a muffled curse he threw restraint to the winds and brought his mouth down on hers.
Beth sensed the moment his mood changed and, fighting against herself as much as Rafael, she attempted to avoid his kiss, but he had her too firmly entrapped, the sombrero fluttering to the flagstones as he brought his other hand up to capture her opposite shoulder. Caught in his strong arms, Beth was helpless against the hungrily seeking mouth which thoroughly explored hers, his tongue forcing its way between her teeth, probing and darting, exciting, inflaming even as it enraged. What little control she had on her unruly temper evaporated and like a small, snared wildcat, she fought, twisting and turning, her fists beating furiously against him in her struggles to escape. Rafael only tightened his embrace, his mouth roaming freely across her face, leaving burning kisses that seared her temple and cheeks.
"English, English," he murmured into her neck, his tongue gently tracing a faint blue vein whose frantic pounding betrayed her susceptibility to his lovemaking. "I did warn you in New Orleans, didn't I? I seem to recall that I cautioned you to stay out of my territory... and that if you intruded into my life I would treat you as you deserved. You didn't heed me, did you?"
Beth stiffened in his arms. "If you will just listen to me!" she cried indignantly. "I didn't follow you out here and I had no idea that Sebastian was related to you. Do you think that I would have sought you out after four years?" The violet eyes disdainful, she asked hotly, "What kind of a conceited fool do you take me for? I am not, nor have I ever been the type of creature that you think. Your wife arranged for you to find Lorenzo and me! If you would just stop being so eager to believe ill of me, I could explain what happened that afternoon."
Rafael seemed to be listening to her, his eyes fastened upon hers, and Beth hoped that the vicious misconception could be clarified. But as soon as she mentioned that ghastly afternoon, his face closed up and a sardonic expression crept into his eyes. His lips slanting with a mirthless smile, he shook his head. "No, English. Don't. That subject is as dead as Consuela, and I do not want to discuss it—ever."
Beth drew a shaky breath as a dreadful feeling of defeat spread through her. He was so implacable, so determined not to believe her that she knew with a sickening lurch of her heart that it was useless to persist—Manuela had been right, he would never accept the truth. Fighting back her despair, she said quietly, "If you will not listen, if you have your mind so stubbornly set against me, then we do indeed have nothing to discuss. As that appears to be the case, I would appreciate it if you would allow me to return to my rooms."
"An excellent idea. We will adjourn to either your room or mine so we can finish what we started in comfort and privacy." A crooked smile lifting one corner of his mouth, he added, "There is little that I may do that would shock my family, but finding me making love to one of their guests in the middle of the courtyard might discompose them a little."
Unable to believe that she had heard him correctly, but afraid that she had, Beth stared at him aghast. "You don't mean—! I don't want you to—!" Gathering her scattered wits, she finally got out: "Senor, if you think I have any intention of allowing you the liberties you took in New Orleans, you very much mistake the matter. I intend to return to my rooms—alone! I do not want or need or even desire your company."
Rafael smiled, a smile that was not reflected in the gray eyes. "No, madame, you mistake the matter. I have been a long while without a woman and, considering how free you are with your favors—what is one more man?"
Whatever leash Beth had placed on her temper vanished, and her open palm connected with gratifying satisfaction against Rafael's lean cheek. "You animal!"
She was lovely as she stood slim and straight before him, the fair hair falling around her shoulders, the long gold-tipped lashes intensifying the amethyst blue of her eyes, and the small bosom heaving with resentment. Rafael felt something coil agonizingly in his gut, the unexpected longing for this to have played out differently surprising him; caught off guard by his own emotions, he didn't retaliate. With a smothered oath he swung her up in his arms. "This conversation has gone on long enough," he snarled. "I hope to God Dona Madelina has placed you in the gold rooms where she does most guests, because, sweetheart that's where we're going. Pray, English, that your husband does not share your bed this night, because if he does we are all in for an enlightening scene." And with that his mouth trapped hers, effectively stopping the scream rising in her throat. Beth strained to escape him, but she was helplessly caught up in his arms. Ignoring her muffled cries, oblivious of her thrashing, Rafael sauntered leisurely to the gold rooms. Neither of them aware of an astonished and disbelieving Sebastian standing transfixed in the doorway of his rooms.
Sebastian hadn't been certain what woke him. With an inbred curiosity he had gotten out of bed and pulled on a pair of trousers, then opened the door to his suite of rooms. Glancing out into the courtyard, he saw that Rafael had arrived; he hadn't noticed Beth's presence before Rafael swooped her up in his arms and carried her like a piece of booty out of sight. His mouth falling open in dumbstruck amazement, he stood for several seconds not quite believing what he had seen.
Unaware of Sebastian's view of them, upon reaching the door of the rooms he wanted, hardly halting in his stride, Rafael kicked open the door and once inside slammed it shut with a powerful thrust of his shoulder.
Leaning against the door, Rafael slowly released Beth, letting her slender body slide down the length of his hard muscles. Imperceptibly the pressure of his mouth slackened, the firm lips exploring her mouth, his tongue forcing its way into the inner sweetness.
"Mmm, English, I think I have missed you," he said, raising his head slightly, the gray eyes black with passion.
Beth drew a long shuddering breath, her emotions in such a turmoil that she couldn't think coherently. To her burning mortification, she discovered that Rafael still exercised an unfair power over her body. She hungered for the feel of his body next to hers and his arousing kisses went to her head like wine. She knew she should fight him, knew that even now she should scream and alert the house, but in her heart she didn't want to—she wanted him, and nothing else mattered but that Rafael was here and she was in his arms.
She did make one last attempt. Her voice hardly above a whisper, she said, "Rafael, please don't do this. Please leave these rooms and allow me to keep my pride—it-it isn't asking a great deal of you."
His eyebrow rose. "Since when have whores had pride?" he sneered, remembering her in Lorenzo's arms. "No, English, I will not leave nor will I be deterred from having that lovely little body of yours." His eyes hardening, he added, "If you find me too repugnant after all your other lovers, close your eyes and imagine I am your husband."
Beth's gasp of outrage was lost as Rafael's mouth urgently sought hers and she fought against the treacherous leap of her pulse as his warm lips moved with growing hunger on hers. She wanted to resist him, wanted to slap his arrogant face, but she had no defenses against the potent magic he wreaked upon her senses—her body betraying her. With a moan of defeat her arms closed around his hard body and she returned his kisse
s, reveling in the feel of his muscled chest against her breasts.
His lips never leaving hers, Rafael swept her up in his arms once again and carried her into the bedchamber. He laid her on the wide bed, his body resting lightly on hers. Then, pushing himself away, swiftly he stripped off his clothes, his eyes on Beth's flushed features.
Wanting to look away but driven by some inner need, Beth watched him. She had never seen a naked man before, and she found herself intensely curious about the male body—especially this male body.
Rafael, with his Comanche blood and upbringing, was indifferent to nakedness and there was an arrogant pride in revealing himself to the woman who lay on the bed, her gaze shy as it rested on him. He removed his boots first, the spurs jingling as he tossed them aside, and with an emotion bordering on hysteria Beth was surprised that he didn't have the cloven hooves of Satan, so easily had he destroyed her desire to resist him. But she had no time for such thoughts—she was caught and entrapped by the sheer magnificence of the tall masculine body before her.
Rafael's shoulders were broad, the arms revealing their well-honed muscles with every movement he made as first the black chaqueta and then the calico shirt were shrugged off and his chest with its smooth width was bared, the bronzed skin hardly a shade different from the dark face above it. Her eyes widened with astonishment when he laid a wide, wicked-looking knife concealed under his clothes on top of the shirt. The muscles of his powerful upper torso bunching and rippling, with a violent tug he undid the leather gun belt, and after a quick all-encompassing glance around the room placed the gun on a nearby chair—far enough away from Beth, yet close enough should he need it in a hurry. Mesmerized, Beth stared at him, noting the lean stomach and the first beginnings of the line of black hair that disappeared tantalizingly beneath the worn calzoneras. There was no disguising his arousal underneath the snug fabric, yet when at last the calzoneras were discarded, Beth drew in her breath sharply at the sight of his rigid maleness jutting fiercely from the tangle of thick black curly hair. Suffering an attack of agonizing embarrassment, she dropped her eyes, staring blindly at the long well-shaped legs.
While Passion Sleeps Page 18
