‘Anything I can do for you, Rafe?’
‘You mean, apart from looking as though you’d rather I was anywhere else but here?’
‘I told you,’ she said stiffly. ‘I get uncomfortable if people watch me while I’m working.’
‘So you did,’ he said softly. ‘Well, you won’t have to endure my company for much longer because I’m leaving first thing tomorrow.’
‘Oh.’ Sophie tried to keep her stupid wash of disappointment at bay. ‘You are?’
‘I am. So I’ll be out of your hair once and for all.’ He paused. ‘I thought you could cook the men a special meal tonight. An early Christmas celebration, if you like. A kind of thank you from me to them for all their hard work over the year. We could open some decent wine—and afterwards go into Corksville for a drink.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Think you could manage that, Sophie?’
When he looked at her that way she felt incapable of managing anything except dissolving in a puddle, but somehow Sophie produced an efficient nod of her head. ‘Of course!’
She spent the rest of the day rushing around, consulting online recipes as she attempted to make a traditional Christmas dinner for the men, but her thoughts were mostly occupied with what to wear. Because even though she was only there to cook and serve, her cheap dresses and shapeless shorts didn’t seem appropriate for a celebration dinner and besides—wasn’t there a stupid part of her which wanted to dress up? Who wanted Rafe Carter to see her as a real woman for a change, rather than just the fading-into-the-background person she had tried her best to be?
She looked longingly at the one dress which was hanging in her wardrobe and the only outfit she’d brought with her from Isolaverde. It was made to measure by her favourite designer and deceptively simple; she loved the soft blue cotton material, which brought out the colour of her eyes. Just as she loved the fitted bodice and short swinging skirt which brushed her bare thighs as she moved. She slipped it on, along with a pair of strappy sandals, then applied a little mascara and lip gloss. She even left her hair loose for once, clipping it lightly back from her face in case bossy Rafe Carter started giving her a lecture on health and safety regulations while she was cooking.
With barely an hour to spare and the realisation that there were no after-dinner chocolates, she made a last-minute dash into the nearby town of Corksville where Eileen Donahue, the woman who ran the local store, gave her a very curious look.
‘I hear the boss man is back,’ she said as Sophie put a box of dark chocolate mints on the counter.
Sophie nodded. ‘That’s right. But he’s leaving tomorrow.’
‘Shame. The town could do with a little more eye candy.’ Eileen gave a sly smile. ‘Good-looking man, Rafe Carter.’
Sophie kept her voice neutral. ‘So they say.’
‘Got himself a permanent woman yet?’
‘I really have no idea, Mrs Donahue.’
‘Yeah. Heard he plays the field and all.’ The storekeeper’s eyes narrowed perceptively. ‘Still, nice to see you in a dress for a change. Makes you look kind of...different.’
It felt like reality slapping her hard across the face and Sophie’s fingers stiffened as she pulled a note from her purse.
What did she think she was playing at—risking months of careful anonymity just because she wanted to make some pathetic impression on the boss?
Quickly, she picked up the chocolates and left, but her throat felt dry with anxiety as she drove out of Corksville in a cloud of dust. Had Eileen been looking at her suspiciously as she’d picked up her change, or was she just getting paranoid?
She was putting the finishing touches to the dining-room table when she looked up to find Rafe standing framed in the doorway and she wondered how long he’d been standing there, watching her. He was dressed in a pair of dark trousers and a silk shirt, which was unbuttoned at the neck, all traces of the day’s dust and sweat gone. He had the slightly glowing appearance of a man who’d just stepped out of the shower and the sheer intimacy of that fact didn’t escape her. And he was looking at her in a way which was making her heart crash painfully against her ribcage.
‘Well, well, well.’ He blew a soft whistle from between his lips as she placed a folded napkin on one of the placemats. ‘It’s the Sophie Doukas transformation scene.’
She pretended not to know what he was talking about. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘The pretty dress. The loose hair. The make-up.’
‘You don’t like it?’
His lips curved into a smile, which suddenly looked wolfish. Dangerously and attractively so.
‘Don’t fish for compliments, Sophie. You look very beautiful as I’m sure you’re perfectly aware. And the dress is...’ he seemed to be having difficulty completing the sentence ‘...quite something.’
She grabbed another napkin and turned away. ‘Thank you.’
Rafe frowned, wondering why her abrupt reaction to a simple compliment was so perplexing—as if she wasn’t used to a man telling her she looked beautiful. But then, everything about her was perplexing and he couldn’t work out why. He glanced around, taking in the flowers and candles and a starched white tablecloth she must have got from heaven only knew where. Paper chains were looped from one side of the ceiling to the other and, on the plastic Christmas tree, fairy lights gleamed. The overall effect was tacky and yet it was also homely. It was unmistakeably a woman’s touch—as if she’d been trying very hard to make the place look comfortable. Something inexplicable twisted at his heart, because Poonbarra was supposed to be about basics. About hard work and getting back to nature. It wasn’t supposed to be about comfort.
He’d ended up staying longer than planned because he was dreading going back to England for the christening of his half-brother’s son. Given his reputation for being the family’s habitual no-show—for reasons which were painfully private—nobody could believe he’d agreed to attend in the first place. And in truth, neither could he. He swallowed down the acrid taste which had risen in his throat. He knew that dark and bitter memories were going to be unavoidable, but he told himself he couldn’t keep avoiding them for ever. That maybe he needed to ride out the pain once and for all. That maybe you never properly healed unless you faced the reality of what you had done.
But one day had bled into two and then three and delaying his trip had become more...complex. He’d underestimated the effect of Poonbarra. Of the peace and calm which always descended on him there—a feeling which had been magnified by the decorative presence of Sophie Doukas...the woman who didn’t flirt. The woman who spent her time avoiding him—something which was both novel but ultimately frustrating.
He tried to concentrate on the bottle of wine he was opening, but couldn’t seem to stop his gaze from straying to her, no matter how hard he tried. Because she was...a challenge? Was that why he couldn’t stop thinking about her? Why his hot and erotic dreams had featured plenty of X-rated images of his aloof cook? She must be as aware as he of the sizzling attraction which had sparked between them from the get-go, yet she hadn’t acted on it as most women in her position would have done. There had been no unexpected sightings of her around the homestead wearing just a skimpy bath towel. No unexplained ‘nightmares’ intended to bring him running into her room late at night. She’d done what he’d asked her to do. She’d kept out of his way as much as possible—leaving him frustrating and restless, with a painful ache between his legs.
Yet human nature was a conundrum, that was for sure. When you were used to women flinging themselves at you, it was curiously exciting to discover one who was actively fighting that attraction. In fact, it was the biggest turn-on he knew and it had never happened to him before. He wondered if it was necessary for her to fuss around the bubbling pans quite so much and found himself almost resenting Andy and the other workers as they trooped in and sat round the table. All through dinner the ov
erpowering scent of liberally applied aftershave hung cloyingly in the air. Suddenly, the room seemed overcrowded.
Were they in complete thrall to her? Rafe wondered—caught midway between amusement and irritation—as he watched the men lavish praise on her food. Was that why they were acting like tongue-tied adolescents whenever she spoke to them, or appeared with yet another steaming dish held enticingly in front of those magnificent breasts?
He ate and drank very little and when the meal was finished, the men all got up to leave and Andy turned to her.
‘You coming to the pub with us, Soph? Let us buy you a beer as a thank you for all your delicious cooking?’
With a smile, she shook her head. ‘Not for me, thanks. I’m going to clear up in here and get an early night.’
But Rafe could see her unmistakeable look of...was that alarm?...as the men trooped out and he remained seated. He saw the uneasy flicker of her tongue as it edged rather nervously along her bottom lip.
‘You’re not going to the pub with the others?’ she questioned, a touch too brightly.
He shook his head. ‘Not me. I’ve got a long day ahead of me tomorrow.’ He gave the ghost of a smile. ‘And besides, I might cramp their style.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, you’ll excuse me if I get on.’ She clattered a pile of plates together and carried them out to the kitchen.
Rafe stretched his arms above his head and knew he ought to move. To go to bed and sleep and figure out how the hell he was going to get through Oliver’s christening, especially now that Sharla’s presence had been confirmed. The trouble was he didn’t want to go anywhere. Not when it was so comfortable sitting here, watching Sophie clear away the dishes. Watching as she busied herself around the table and studiously tried to avoid his gaze. The only trouble was that meant he could stare at her without censure. His eyes lingered on the gleam of her shapely calves and the way the blue cotton dress swished about her bottom as she moved. He found himself thinking longingly about sex and how it might blot out the darkness of his thoughts—and the idea of having sex with Sophie was becoming something of an obsession.
Yet these days he avoided one-night stands—even if he hadn’t always made it a rule never to get intimate with employees. Women were tricky enough as lovers without the added complication of them being on the payroll. He’d seen friends and peers get their fingers burned by over-familiarity with staff. Seen how a formerly cool colleague could morph into a bunny-boiling maniac once she’d slipped between the sheets and discovered there wasn’t going to be a big rock on her finger as a result. Even if you were honest with a woman from the start and told her you just wanted a no-strings fling, they never believed you. They always thought they’d be the one to change your mind. And how could you escape a rejected lover’s wrath if you had to stare at her vengeful face across the other side of the boardroom, or when her manicured fingers were flying across the keyboard?
Or when she was leaning across the table to grab an unused serving spoon and you could smell a trace of her perfume?
Nope. That was an area he had always steered clear of.
So stop looking at her breasts. Stop imagining what it would be like to part those delicious thighs and slip your fingers inside her panties and see how long it would take to make her wet.
‘Would you like some coffee, Rafe?’
Her unfathomable accent punctured his thoughts and Rafe met the question in her eyes as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
‘No,’ he said, more curtly than he’d intended. ‘I don’t want any more to drink. Come and sit down. You’ve been working all evening. Have you eaten anything?’
‘Honestly—I’m fine. I had something before I started serving.’
‘Have some chocolate, then. Surely there isn’t a woman alive who can resist chocolate?’
‘I’ve still got some clearing up to do.’
‘You’ve done most of it. Leave the rest for now. And that’s an order. For heaven’s sake, relax, Sophie—or is that such an outrageous suggestion?’
Sophie edged towards the chair he was indicating, her heart crashing against her ribcage. Relax? He had to be joking. She felt about as relaxed as a mouse which had just glanced up to see a metal trap hovering overhead. Which was slightly ironic for someone who’d spent her whole life being introduced to strangers and putting them at their ease. But for once she was the one feeling nervous in the company of a man who was currently pouring her some wine—though she noticed he’d barely touched his own glass all evening.
‘Here,’ he said, pushing it across the table towards her.
She took the drink and sipped it, grateful for the sudden warmth which flooded through her veins. ‘Mmm. This is excellent.’
‘Of course it is. Australia produces some of the best wine in the world.’ His eyes glittered. ‘As well as having the kind of wild beauty which takes the breath away.’
Sophie swirled the wine around and watched it stain the sides of the glass. ‘You sound as if you love it. The country, I mean.’
‘That’s because I do.’ He shrugged. ‘I always have.’
She looked up from the glass to stare directly into his eyes. ‘Was that why you bought a cattle station here, so far away from England?’
Rafe didn’t answer her question straight away because it was a long time since he’d thought about it. What had started out as a bolt-hole from the unbearable had become one of his favourite places. He’d always revelled in the extreme conditions of the Outback and whenever he returned—less and less these days—he settled in right away. He’d come here first for sanctuary, far away from the brutal world he’d left behind. He’d needed the hard work and sweat and toil which had helped heal his shattered heart and broken soul. It had been his first stop in a series of places to lay his head without ever really considering any of them home. But then, he’d never had a real home during his childhood, so why should adulthood be any different? His description of himself as a modern-day gypsy had been truthful, though he knew from experience it was an image which turned women on.
Had it turned Sophie on? he wondered. Was that why she was staring at him now, her blue eyes shadowed in the candlelight and those amazing lips slightly parted, as if she wanted him to kiss her? And wasn’t the desire to do so almost overwhelming? ‘Aren’t I supposed to be interviewing you,’ he said acidly, ‘rather than the other way round?’
‘Is this an interview, then?’ She put her glass down. ‘I thought I’d already got the job.’
‘Yes, you’ve got the job. Yet it’s interesting,’ he mused as he leaned back in his chair, ‘that when I asked Andy about your background, he knew nothing about you. And that after several days in your company, I find myself in exactly the same boat. You’re a bit of a mystery, Sophie.’
‘I thought my role here was to feed the men, not entertain them with my life story?’
‘True.’ Rafe frowned, thinking that her casual tone was failing to disguise her sudden air of defensiveness. ‘Yet apparently, when you arrived, you didn’t know one end of a frying pan from the other.’
‘I soon learned.’
‘Or have a clue how to load the dishwasher.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s an industrial-sized dishwasher.’
‘And you looked at the tin-opener as if it had just landed from outer space.’
‘Gosh,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Just how long did you and Andy spend discussing me?’
‘Long enough.’
‘And did you come to any conclusions?’
‘I did.’
‘Which were?’
He stretched out his legs. ‘I came to the conclusion that you’re someone who’s never had to get her hands dirty before,’ he observed softly. ‘And that maybe you’ve led a very privileged life up until now.’
Sophie stiffened. How perceptive h
e was, she thought—her unwilling admiration swept away by a sudden whisper of fear. Because wasn’t this what she had dreaded all along—that the cool and clever Englishman would guess she wasn’t what she seemed? That he would blow her cover before she was ready to have it blown, and force her into making decisions she still wasn’t sure about.
So brazen it out. Challenge him—just as he is challenging you.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘But none of the men—or you—have any complaints about my work, do you?’
His eyes glittered. ‘Are my questions bothering you, Sophie?’
‘Not bothering me so much as boring me, if I may be frank.’ She lifted her eyebrows. ‘Didn’t you tell me when you first arrived that you’d prefer it if I left you alone? That you didn’t want me to engage you in conversation just for the sake of it.’
‘Did I say that?’
‘You know you did,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘Yet now you’re doing exactly that to me!’
‘Well, maybe I’ve changed my mind. Maybe I’m wondering why a young and beautiful woman is hiding herself in the middle of the Outback without making a single phone call or getting any emails.’
She froze. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Andy says you don’t use a cell-phone. That you haven’t received a single letter or card since you’ve been here—and that you only ever use the Internet very occasionally.’
‘I didn’t realise I was being constantly monitored,’ she said crossly. ‘Surely my life is my business.’
‘It is, of course. But I’m always intrigued by people who are reluctant to talk about themselves.’
And Sophie suddenly realised why that might be. Because a man like Rafe Carter would have people falling over themselves to tell him everything he wanted to know, wouldn’t he? She wondered how he would react if she blurted out the truth. If she told him who she really was. Something told her he wouldn’t fawn all over her, the way most people did when they came into close contact with a royal. Something told her he would stay exactly the same—and that was a very tantalising prospect.
A Royal Vow of Convenience Page 3
