Sophie distracted him by holding up the jug, her bright tone matching her smile. ‘Milk? Sugar?’
‘Neither, thanks. I’ll take it how it comes.’
She handed him the tea, wishing he wouldn’t stretch out his legs like that—a movement which was making the dark material of his trousers spread tautly over his powerful thighs. Was it his intention to get her gaze to linger there, like some reluctant voyeur? Yet ogling men was something she didn’t do. It wasn’t in her nature to be predatory. Any such behaviour would have been picked up and frowned on by the cameras which had followed her every move since birth. Even the man to whom she’d been betrothed—a man popularly known as one of the world’s sexiest men—had never aroused this kind of heart-pumping interest, which was making her fingers start to tremble.
In an attempt to hide her nerves, she brushed some imaginary crumbs from the table. ‘So where do you live?’ she questioned.
‘Mainly in New York, although I lived here full-time when I first bought the station. But I move around a lot between cities—constantly on the move. I’m what you might call an urban gypsy, Sophie.’ He took a sip of his tea, mocking eyes studying her over the rim of his cup. ‘And you still haven’t answered my question.’
‘I’m sorry?’ She batted him a confused look, hoping he might have forgotten. ‘What question was that?’
‘I asked if you were Greek.’
Sophie didn’t want to lie but if she told him the truth it would be like hurling a bomb into the room. Her anonymity would be over and her sanctuary would end. There would be questions. Lots of them. Because what could she say?
I’m a princess who doesn’t want to be a princess any more. I’m a woman who’s been brought up in a palace who has never had to cope with real life before. A woman who has been hurt and humiliated. Who has struck out to discover if she can cope with life without the protection she’s known all her life.
She met the cold gleam of his gaze. ‘My grandmother was Greek,’ she said. ‘And Greek is my mother tongue.’
He was even more watchful now. ‘Any other languages?’
‘English. Obviously.’
‘Obviously.’ His eyes glinted. ‘And that’s the lot?’
She licked her bottom lip. ‘I can get by in Italian. French, too.’
‘Well now, aren’t you the clever one?’ he questioned softly. ‘You certainly have a lot of qualifications for someone who’s spent the last few months frying steak and buttering bread for a bunch of station workers.’
‘I didn’t realise linguistic ability was a bar to being a cook on a cattle station, Mr Carter.’
Their gazes clashed and Rafe tried not to be affected by the sudden challenge sparking from her eyes, which was easily as distracting as the pert thrust of her breasts. On one level he was aware she was playing games with him by avoiding his questions and he wasn’t sure why. He frowned. But there was a lot he wasn’t sure about right now. Plenty of young women came from abroad to work in remote parts of this country—but he’d never come across anyone like Sophie Doukas before. He wondered just what she was doing here, when she looked as out of place as a diamond you might find in the rough. Andy had told him that when she’d first arrived she’d been green and naïve, but had been eager to learn. Rafe had wondered why his gruff Australian station manager had employed someone without even the most basic of skills, but now he’d seen her—he had a pretty good idea why.
His throat grew dry.
Because she was beautiful.
Really beautiful.
Not the kind of beauty which came from spending hours in front of the mirror or having a plastic surgeon on speed-dial. Something told him she looked that way without even trying. Her cheekbones were high, her eyes as blue as a Queensland sky and her dark hair was tied back in a shiny ponytail. She wore no make-up—but with lashes that long, he guessed she didn’t need to. And her lips. Oh, man. Those lips. His groin hardened. Just one glance at them and he could think of a million different X-rated ways he’d like her to use them—starting with that cute pink tongue working a very fundamental kind of magic.
But her appeal didn’t stop at her face. She had one of those bodies which looked amazing in clothes but probably better out of them. Even her cheap white T-shirt and unremarkable cotton shorts failed to disguise her long legs and curvy bottom, and she moved with the natural grace of a dancer. She was one very desirable female, that was for sure—and Rafe imagined Andy’s reaction when he had first seen her. What man could have resisted a woman who looked like this, turning up out of the blue as if in answer to every hot-blooded man’s dreams?
But Andy had also told him that she’d kept her distance. She wasn’t one of those foreign backpackers keen to enjoy anything new—including sex. Apparently she hadn’t flirted with the men or indicated that she might be up for some late-night hook-up. His manager had told him she seemed wary and could turn the ice on without really trying, which was why nobody had dared to make a pass at her. Rafe frowned. Yes. Wary was right. She was regarding him now in a way which reminded him of a bowerbird which had once flown into the homestead by mistake—its beautiful wings battering uselessly against the window pane as it tried to escape from its domestic confinement.
He took another sip of his tea, his interest stirred in more ways than one because he could sense she was trying to distance herself from him, and that never usually happened. He was used to instant compliance from the opposite sex whenever he wanted it. A gushing desire to tell him everything he ever wanted to know—and then more.
But not from Sophie Doukas it seemed. He wondered why she was being so cagey. And whether her reluctance to talk was responsible for the powerful beat of desire which was pooling even harder in his groin.
‘No,’ he conceded dryly. ‘Your linguistic ability is to be commended, even if you haven’t had much chance to practise your language skills out here in the bush.’ He shifted his weight a little. ‘I understand you and I are going to be sharing accommodation.’
She looked uncomfortable. ‘We don’t have to. I’ve been living in the far end of the main house since I arrived. Andy said it seemed crazy for it to stay empty and that it was much cooler in here. But now you’re back...’
She looked him straight in the eyes without any hint of the flirtation he would have expected from any other woman in the circumstances.
‘I can easily move into one of the smaller properties,’ she continued stiffly. ‘I’d hate to feel I was in your way.’
Rafe almost smiled. No. She definitely wasn’t flirting. Hell. When had been the last time that had happened? ‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said. ‘It’s plenty big enough for two people. I’m sure we won’t have any problem keeping out of each other’s way. And I’m only passing through—one night max. Which reminds me.’ He leaned back against the window and looked at her speculatively. ‘I don’t remember Andy mentioning how long you’re planning on staying?’
He watched as her body language changed. And how. She picked up a teaspoon she’d left lying on the table and carried it over to the sink as if it would explode if she didn’t quickly plunge it into a bowl of water.
‘I...hadn’t really decided,’ she said, still with her tensed back to him. ‘Soon. Just after Christmas, probably.’
‘But won’t your family miss you at Christmas?’ he probed. ‘Or maybe you don’t celebrate Christmas?’
She turned to face him then and Rafe saw that her face had grown pale. Her blue eyes had darkened so that suddenly she looked almost fragile and he felt an unexpected kick of guilt—as if he’d done something wrong. Until he reminded himself that all he’d done was ask her a straightforward question and, as the man who was paying her wages, he had every right to do that.
‘Yes, I celebrate it,’ she said quietly. ‘But my parents are dead.’
‘I’m sorry.’<
br />
She inclined her head. ‘Thank you.’
‘You don’t have brothers, or sisters?’
Sophie thought how persistent he was—and how she wasn’t used to being interrogated like this. Because nobody would usually dare. She wondered why he was so interested. Did he realise that his station manager had been less than meticulous when he’d interviewed her—or was there something else? She stared at the teapot and watched it blur in and out of focus. She was innocent, yes—but she wasn’t completely stupid. She’d seen the look he’d given her when he walked into the kitchen—a look of surprise which had swiftly turned to one of appreciation. She had been subjected to a brief but very thorough evaluation of her face and her body—one she doubted he would have done if he’d known who she really was. But he didn’t know, did he? And he wasn’t going to find out.
Because her first instincts had been the right ones, as instincts so often were. She’d felt apprehension when she’d first seen him and she hadn’t known why. But now she did. As he’d looked at her, she’d felt something alien. A feeling which had nothing to do with the fear of being found out, but which was just as disturbing. A sudden heaviness in her breasts and a melting sensation low in her belly. Her skin suddenly felt as if it were too tight for her body and her cheap underwear seemed to be digging into her flesh.
And just as she would have recognised sunburn if she’d never experienced it before, she knew that what she was feeling for Rafe Carter was desire. Hot and very real desire, which was making her heart pound so erratically. Making her wonder what it would be like to be held by Rafe Carter and have him touch her. For him to run those long olive fingers over her newly sensitised skin and take away some of this terrible aching. And she’d never felt that before, not with anyone.
Guilt rippled over her.
Not even with Luciano.
She realised he was still waiting for an answer and she struggled to extract some coherent answers from the unfamiliar erotic fog of her thoughts. ‘I have a younger sister and a brother.’
‘And won’t they be expecting you home?’
Sophie shook her head. After she’d left Isolaverde, she had phoned to let her brother, Myron, know she was safe and well—and begged him not to send out any search parties. She’d told him she needed to escape the pressure of what had happened, and so far he had heeded her request. On the few occasions she’d managed to get online and search the news outlets, there had been no public acknowledgements regarding her sudden disappearance and her younger sister, Mary-Belle, had stepped in to take over all her official engagements. Maybe Myron understood that her pride had been hurt and she’d needed to get away to lick her wounds after her very public rejection by the man she’d been meant to marry. That she was more than happy to resume all the responsibilities of her role as princess, she just wanted a little time to get her head together. Or maybe he was just too busy ruling their island kingdom to pay her much attention. He took his position as King of Isolaverde very seriously and for too long now had been coming under pressure to find himself a suitable bride.
‘You’ve got exactly six months to have your little stab at rebellion,’ he had clipped out, over the crackly phone line. ‘And if you’re not back by February, then I will send out search parties to bring you home again. Make no mistake about that, Sophie.’
Remembering her brother’s sense of control—and the way that people had always tried to control her all her life—Sophie turned round to meet Rafe Carter’s inquisitive stare, knowing she had to stop him doing the same. So be strong. Ask him something, she thought. Put him on the spot.
‘And how about your Christmas? You’ll be sitting around the Christmas tree with your own family, will you?’ she questioned. ‘Pulling crackers and singing carols in the old traditional way?’
His face hardened and Sophie saw something in the depths of his eyes which looked almost like pain. She blinked. Surely not. She couldn’t imagine a powerful man like this ever hurting.
‘That kind of Christmas only exists in fairy tales,’ he said and suddenly his voice grew harsh with cynicism. ‘And I never did believe in fairy tales.’
Abruptly he stood up and moved away from the window and suddenly he was close enough for Sophie to touch. Close enough for her to notice that his jaw was dark with the hint of new growth, even though he could barely have been out of bed for more than a few hours. As a symbol of virility, he couldn’t have sent out a more potent message and another rush of unfamiliar desire pulsed through her.
‘Why look,’ he observed, his steely eyes glittering before they were shaded by his ebony lashes as he glanced down at her fingers. ‘Your hands are trembling. What’s the matter, Sophie? Is something bothering you?’
She suspected he knew exactly what was bothering her but she concealed her embarrassment behind a shake of her head.
‘Actually, there is,’ she said. ‘I get nervous if someone stands around watching while I work—especially if that someone happens to be the boss. I’m about to start making the men their mid-morning smoko and you know how hungry they get.’ She gave a quick smile, hoping it hid the way she was feeling. Hoping he wouldn’t notice the fact that her nipples were pushing like little hard stones against her T-shirt or that her cheeks were getting hotter by the second. ‘So if you’ll excuse me?’
‘I get the distinct feeling I’m being dismissed,’ he said silkily. ‘Which is something of a first. Still, since dedication to work is a quality I’ve always admired, you won’t find me objecting.’
But before he reached the door he paused, and suddenly he was no longer the mildly curious boss asking idle questions about her background or pointing out that her fingers were trembling. Suddenly he was the billionaire station owner with the shiny helicopter, who was regarding her with a certain sense of entitlement.
‘I have no objection to sharing the homestead with you, just as long as you realise that I like my own company. So please don’t feel you have to seek me out or engage me in conversation, especially if I’m working. If it happens to be a beautiful day, we’ll take that as a given, shall we?’ His voice hardened. ‘I certainly don’t need to hear your views on the sunshine levels or having you brightly enquire how I’m planning to spend my day. Understand?’
Sophie met his piercing grey gaze, thinking that was possibly the rudest thing anyone had ever said to her. Engage him in conversation? Why, she’d rather talk to one of the large bugs which regularly scuttled across the veranda each morning! But her face betrayed nothing as she nodded, even if her voice was stiff. ‘Of course.’
She was glad when the door swung shut behind him. He was the most arrogant man she’d ever met—even more arrogant than her brother—but he was also the most attractive. By a mile. Briefly she closed her eyes as she reminded herself of the effect he’d had on her. She’d been stumbling and uptight in his company and that wasn’t her. Just as trembling fingers and aching breasts weren’t her either. She’d let him get to her just because he looked like some fallen Greek god who’d been given more than his fair share of sex appeal and she mustn’t allow that to happen again. He was her boss—nothing more. A man who was just passing through.
But despite her best intentions, something made her go to the window as he crossed the yard and something kept her there, watching him.
The morning sun was touching his ebony hair with splashes of dark red and she could see the powerful thrust of his thighs as he walked. A pulse started beating deep in her groin and Sophie felt a yearning so powerful that she had to grip onto the window sill for support.
It was just unfortunate that Rafe Carter chose that very moment to turn around and catch her staring.
And she couldn’t mistake the lazy arrogance of his smile.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS TORTURE having your boss hanging around for longer than he was supposed to. Sophie gave the bowl of
cake mix a vicious stir as he began to walk across the yard towards her. Sheer torture. Why was he still here four days after telling her he was just ‘passing through’? Wasn’t he supposed to be some important international CEO with loads of calls on his time? Not someone who helped his men repair fences and muster cattle before standing in the evening sunlight with a bottle of cold beer held to his lips. Sophie swallowed. And why the hell did he have to walk around the place looking like...that?
Her heart pounded as she watched him approach the homestead, the expensive grey suit he’d worn on his arrival now just a memory. He was wearing faded denim jeans, which might as well have been sprayed onto his muscular legs, and a clinging black T-shirt, which emphasised his washboard abs and the powerful lines of his arms and shoulders.
It was getting uncomfortable. Embarrassing, even. Every time he came into her eye-line, a load of unsettling things started to happen to her body. Things which centred around her aching breasts and a newly sensitive spot between her thighs. Things which had never happened to her before. She’d tried telling herself that it was because she was in this very elemental place instead of the rarefied atmosphere of her palatial home which was making her so aware of her own physicality. She’d tried keeping out of his way as much as possible—scuttling out of sight whenever she spotted him in the distance—but nothing seemed to help. Whatever qualities Rafe Carter had, he had them in abundance and she just couldn’t stop thinking about him...
He pushed open the door and walked into the air-conditioned cool of the kitchen. His black hair was curling in damp tendrils around his hard-boned face and a single line of sweat arrowed down the front of his T-shirt before disappearing beneath the soft leather of his belt. She put down the bowl of cake mix as she forced her gaze upwards to his face, but that wasn’t much better. Why couldn’t she just look at those sensual lips without wondering what it would be like to be kissed by them?
A Royal Vow of Convenience Page 2
