“You wanted to make it on your own?” Rafael frowned, as though the notion were altogether unexpected.
Ali nodded. “Without using Dad’s reputation as a crutch. All those years ago you said I had been expecting to have an automatic entrée into status because of who Dad was. I was furious--not the least because you were right. So, I applied to the London Business School in order to move out of Dad’s range of influence.”
“I see. Seems like you went to a lot of trouble just to prove me wrong.”
Ali laughed, more incredulous than amused by his comment. “Don’t overrate your influence, Rafael.” Though really, he was right--she just regretted that she had allowed him to see how much power he once had over her.
“You surprise me, that’s all. I am amazed that anything I might have said would have penetrated that self-absorbed haze of yours. You made it quite clear that you didn’t really regard me as much more than an easy conquest back then.”
Ali shook her head. She had said that, hadn’t she? She hardly remembered what she all had told him during that argument, though she could recall with stunning clarity every last, nasty remark he had made to her.
After overhearing the conversation between Rafe and his friends, Ali had been so angry and hurt that she had been on the verge of leaving, when her old high school friend showed up. Steve had been sympathetic when she had asked if they could go somewhere private. On their way out the bar, Ali had noticed Rafe watching them. She shot him a defiant glare and moved closer to Steve.
That was when the idea of how she could end things with Rafe, once and for all, had come to her. If all went well, there would be no honey-tongued attempts to persuade her that up was down and black was white. Because even in the midst of her rage and pain, she knew that some part of her wanted to be persuaded--and she wasn’t about to give herself the opportunity.
Steve agreed to the plan--and the scene was perfectly set for Rafe to be greeted by a highly compromising display when he emerged from the bar a few moments later.
Thinking back on the ugly confrontation that followed, Ali had some recollection of telling Rafe that he bored her. That while she had been attracted to his poverty for the novelty of the experience, she had no interest in continuing things with him. She had probably said a few other things besides, but the specifics had been obscured in her memory by the intensity of her swirling pain and rage.
He had reacted with fury and delivered a few home truths to her doorstep that had shaken her profoundly, once her anger finally faded and she took a good look at her life.
“You had me going there,” he had sneered. “You really did. I fell for you, hook, line and sinker.” He shook his head, his eyes pools of fathomless black. “But I’ll console myself with the knowledge that a spoiled bitch like you will never know what it is to earn an honest day’s pay in your life. You’ll just use your looks and your father’s connections to ensure that you get the world handed to you on a platter.”
“And you’d know all about honesty and hard work, wouldn’t you?”
“You’re rotten to the core, d’you know that? Fine--what the hell do I care if you’re set on wasting your life on your selfish manipulations? All I can say is, if you do anything to hurt your father along the way, you’ll be hearing from me.”
“That’s right--you wouldn’t want me to jeopardize your ticket to success, would you?” she’d snarled.
But, amid all the insults and nastiness, she had never doubted that his own fury stemmed from having his plans to marry the boss’s daughter thwarted.
“Of course, we both know you are now anything but indifferent to me, no matter how much you want to deny it.” The words cut into her recollections, pulling her back to the present.
Ali rose from her seat abruptly, tossing her crumpled napkin onto the table. “And I do believe that marks the end of our conversation.”
She was already walking towards the sanctuary of her room when he moved to block her.
“What happened to all those high and mighty claims of not touching me?” she snapped, once again feeling the volatility of her anger rise out of the fizzing potency of her attraction.
He lifted his hands so that they were poised millimeters from the bare skin of her arms. She could feel their heat, even as the goosebumps rose, as if trying to bridge the gap he had maintained. If she wanted to move away from him, she’d have to touch him--and feel the electric heat of his skin against hers.
“I am not touching you,” he said, his breath brushing against her forehead. She was barely able to suppress her shudder of longing as her body involuntarily swayed towards him. She looked up to see him smiling at her. “Ready to beg for it, querida?”
The flare of her ire--that he could do this to her, and that she was powerless to stop him--was all that saved her. Lifting her arms, she thrust his hands aside with only the briefest contact. Then, with a quick sidestep, she moved around him and stepped into the bedroom.
“Don’t hold your breath, Rafael--or on second thought, maybe you should,” she said as she slammed the doors shut on his amused face. “It would make my life a helluva lot easier,” she added in a mutter as she turned the lock.
Not that she thought he would try coming in. It seemed clear that he had no plans to make any unwelcome advances on her--that he was quite set on making her beg for it, the jerk. Though, at the same time, she didn’t particularly want him to make it any easier for her, since her own treacherous impulses were already driving her to the edge of her resistance.
After glancing at the open balcony door, she decided against closing it. He wasn’t going to make any moves and she knew it.
Instead, she rummaged through her bag until she found the sarong she had brought for sleeping in. Then, after changing, she slipped into bed and tried to get comfortable.
It wasn’t working. She had been tossing and turning for hours--according to the bedside clock, it was just after two a.m.
With an impatient sigh, she slipped out of bed. After tightening the knot on her sarong, which she had twisted, halter-style, across her chest and around the back of her neck, she walked over to the balcony, her footsteps muffled by the plush carpet.
She was about to step outside when she paused.
He was already there, and the moonlight slanted through the sparse trees, illuminating his portion of the balcony, even as her half remained in shadow. He hadn’t heard her approach, and so she was able to watch him, unobserved.
He was shirtless, the back of his hips resting against the side railing as he stared out towards the water. He had his arms crossed, emphasizing the firm muscles of his torso, the chiseled contours of his biceps and triceps. In the glacial moonlight, his hard features and body seemed to have been carved from stone--an effect emphasized by his utter immobility.
But though his skin had been leeched of its usual bronzed colour, even the silvered light couldn’t steal away the potent sexuality that tightened Ali’s stomach. She watched, mesmerized, as he shifted suddenly, straightening, then turning towards her.
Suppressing a gasp, she retreated further into the shadows of her room. The last thing she wanted was to have him catch her gawping like a schoolgirl just because he had taken off his shirt. But, he continued the movement without pause, striding back into the living room, her final glimpse of his face revealing a shuttered, distant expression.
Ali leaned back against the wall, the tension draining from her, now that the moment had passed and she had evaded being caught. She ran a shaking hand through her hair and drew in a deep breath, before returning to the vast solitude of her bed.
I wonder what would have happened if I’d stepped outside just now. She lay back on the bed, eyes closed as she imagined touching him--experiencing more of that electric intimacy they had shared on the balcony earlier.
She ached with the desire to run her hands over that bare chest. To press against him and drink in more of the searing passion only he could give her.
Just one n
ight. What harm would it do, really?
Her fists curled tightly around the bunched fabric of the sheet as she shook her head. It had been too long. And it would just be too humiliating--bad enough that she hadn’t wanted to tell her friends about the scars. She didn’t want to have to explain about them to Rafael, of all people.
No. She would indulge her imagined fantasies tonight. Get it all out of her system, so that tomorrow she would be able to face him without being tormented by all these ridiculous, lascivious thoughts and hopeless yearnings.
CHAPTER SIX
Room service had already brought a full breakfast by the time Ali emerged from her room the next morning, showered and ready to set out for the day.
Or at least, I will be once I have a few coffees in me.
Around five in the morning, she had fallen into a restless sleep, only to awaken three hours later feeling tired and unrefreshed.
Rafael, by contrast, looked disgustingly well-rested and robust in his hiking gear. He glanced up from the Saturday edition of the Times as she approached the table.
“Slept well?” He raised his brows at her as he took a sip of coffee.
“Like a baby.” An exceptionally restless one, with colic.
She glanced at the covered trays that had been laid out on the dining table. Rafael leaned forward, lifting the lids from them as he spoke,
“There’s an omlette, some milk and cereal, a few croissants and muffins, and a selection of fruit. I didn’t think you drank tea, so I just ordered a carafe of coffee, but we can always stop by and grab a tea bag and some hot water from the café if you’ve a craving.”
“Coffee’s fine. Good God Rafael, from the looks of it you must think I have the appetite of a linebacker. Or a small army.” Ali eyed the spread with bemusement, given that her usual breakfast consisted of a small bowl of cereal and a coffee.
He shrugged, glancing at her. “You’ve lost weight. You should eat more. Besides, we can pack some of the fruit and muffins for later if you don’t finish them all.”
They spent the morning at the site. Rafael showed her around the property.
Throughout, Ali was searingly conscious of his proximity. Images of his bare-chested perfection from the night before kept flitting through her mind as she tried to concentrate on what he told her. When he led her along trails through the undergrowth, she found herself distracted by the sight of his tight butt, clearly delineated by his well-fitting khaki shorts. Looking up only drew her attention to his broad shoulders.
Nor did it help that each time he walked by, her bare legs and arms would tingle with heat. He never quite touched her, but he always came close enough for her to smell the spiciness of his presence and feel the electricity that made her want to bridge that distance.
Rafael, by contrast, seemed completely wrapped up in the excitement of the project itself, his eyes burning with intensity as he walked her through the projected locations of the houses. And indeed, when Ali forced her mind to think about what he described, she discovered his enthusiasm was contagious. She kept having to remind herself that she needed to remain critical and play Devil’s Advocate in this, on behalf of her clients.
In the afternoon, they retired to the small, preliminary office he had set up for the development. She didn’t have much choice of where to stand as they pored over the early blueprints and schematics, and her awareness of him was correspondingly more intense, particularly when he would lean across her to point out some detail on the plans.
“So the whole idea would be to create a number of properties that appear rustic from the outside. But inside, they would be fully appointed. The ultimate luxury experience, with stunning views and an opportunity to retreat into comfort and pampering, far from the bustle of city and suburban life.”
As he spoke, Rafael walked over to one of the filing cabinets and drew out yet another folder. From this he extracted a number of sketches as he came to stand beside her.
“This is what I mean by ‘fitting in with the surroundings’. The last thing I want--and that I think our clientele will want--is cookie-cutter cabins, each exactly like all the others.”
Ali gasped as she flipped through the sketches of elegant houses with slanting roofs and picture windows. He was right. Unlike so many of the newer developments in the area, these houses fit perfectly with their surroundings.
“Each house, with its own theme décor based on various West Coast native totems, will accommodate up to twenty guests and will be run along the lines of bed and breakfasts, in order to foster a sense of intimacy and seclusion. The main check-in office will be here.”
As they progressed from the actual blueprints, through the contingencies of running the cabins--particularly through the low season--and into the market research and statistics Rafael had compiled prior to pursuing the project, Ali had to admit she was more than impressed.
She was growing more and more convinced that Rafael was onto a good thing with this development--and it would take a bigger fool than she to turn away from the opportunity to invest at such an early stage in the game.
They went for dinner at the Wickaninnish Restaurant and were seated on the terrace, overlooking the ocean.
Ali smiled as she sank into her seat and gazed out over the sparkling water. “It’s like we’re at the edge of the world.”
Rafael returned her grin. “In a sense, we are. There’s not much between here and Asia, except ocean and more ocean. That’s one of the reasons I’ve always loved this place. The natural world is so powerful here--it’s like a retreat from everything that dominates my everyday life. That’s what I want to create for others, with the cabins.”
“No guarantees we’ll invest until I’ve spoken with Dad, but I’m definitely impressed with what you’ve got planned here, Rafael.”
He shrugged. “As I mentioned before, I’m not particularly concerned about getting investors, so it’s no pressure from my side.”
She chuckled ruefully. “Right. All the pressure is from my clients--as you probably well know. They’re all itching to throw money at you.”
He laughed, and Ali drew in a breath at the sound. She hadn’t heard him laugh like this--with genuine amusement--in years. The warmth of the sound stoked the fire in the pit of her stomach--as did the open relaxation in his expression. He was truly passionate about the ventures he pursued, she realised.
“I have your father to thank for my success. If he hadn’t shown such faith in me, no-one else would have.”
The warmth in his tone spawned another insight. “You really love my dad, don’t you?” she said wonderingly. She had known Rafael liked and respected her father. But, she had always assumed those feelings were tempered--or even dominated--by far more mercenary motives for maintaining his friendship with Mason.
He nodded. “Your father is one of the best men I have ever known. It’s only unfortunate that--“ He broke off, his eyes grown cool.
Ali felt her annoyance rise at the disdain in his expression and knew that she had reached the end of her tolerance. “Do continue, Rafael. I’m curious to hear what’s so unfortunate.”
He shrugged. “How a man like Mason could have fathered someone like you is beyond me.”
Ali’s throat constricted with anger. Her eyes narrowed and she sat forward. “You know, Rafael, I think it’s about time I set you straight on a few things. I’m not--nor have ever been particularly promiscuous.”
He raised a dubious eyebrow. “So you’re asking me to doubt the evidence of my own eyes? And of your own previous claims?”
“I’m asking you to look at the events from a different perspective,” she said, her voice heavy with the emotions coursing through her. “Consider this: a young, naïve girl, in love for the first time in her life. She arrives at a pub where she’s meeting an old friend and it just happens that her lover is there, with a bunch of his friends. At first, she considers going over, but then decides she’s not going to disturb him.”
“And?”
Ali watched him closely as she spoke and noted the tightening of his expression. “She’s devastated, and when her old friend arrives, he sees her distress. He puts a consoling arm around her and they leave.”
“I see.”
“Did you want me to continue?”
His mouth twisted. “No, actually. I do believe I know the rest of this story. The lover sees her leaving the pub with another man and follows her to the other man’s apartment, where he bursts in on a tidy little scenario.” He gave her a challenging look. “So are you asking me to believe you were consoling yourself in that buffoon’s arms?”
Ali nodded, her lips tight. “After what I had overheard, I wasn’t about to give you a chance to talk me into believing you again--because I knew full well that you could do just that, if I allowed it. And given what I had just heard about your motives, I had no intention of letting you see how much I cared--I figured I could at least salvage my pride.” She gave him a look. “I’m sure you’d know all about that.”
She shrugged. “So, I persuaded Steve to help with my plan. We got into position, half undressed, and waited for you to arrive. You know the rest.”
“I see. So you expect me to believe it was all a setup?”
Ali gave a humorless laugh. “Well, you could always ask Steve. I have his number in my organizer. And if you don’t believe him either, you could always ask his partner, David. They’ve been together for about six years, now, but Steve has been out since high school.”
Leaving Rafe Page 6
