Yet she couldn’t risk it. No matter how normal he might be in those circumstances, things would inevitably change. He might be angry she hadn’t mentioned it before. And what if he inadvertently mentioned it to one of his friends, who mentioned it to someone else—and the wretched press got hold of it? That would be a disaster.
But it was more than his reaction which made Sophie want to keep her secret. She just didn’t want to pop this bubble of feeling so normal. Of feeling just like anyone else. Why shouldn’t she talk about herself without mentioning her status? Unless being a princess was the only thing which defined her.
‘What exactly do you want to know?’ she questioned.
Pushing his wine glass away, Rafe sat back in his chair as he considered her question, but in his heart he knew the answer. He didn’t want facts. He wanted her. He’d wanted her from the first moment she’d turned round and looked at him with those big blue eyes. He wanted to crush those amazing lips with his own. To peel that cotton dress from her body and see what delicious treasures lay beneath. To hear her gasping his name as he pushed deep inside her...
He shifted his weight to try to ease his discomfort, realising he was sitting there like some frustrated teenager with a hard-on—and suddenly common sense overrode the primitive needs of his body. What the hell was he thinking of? He forced himself to stand, reminding himself he was leaving tomorrow and that in a week he would scarcely remember her name. ‘It’s okay, Sophie. You’re right. Your life is none of my business.’ Suddenly, he smiled. ‘But for what it’s worth—you’re doing a pretty good job.’
It was the praise as much as the smile which got to her and Sophie blinked at him, stupidly moved by his words. She was naturally suspicious of praise because usually it was delivered with some sort of agenda, usually because people were trying to ingratiate themselves with her. But Rafe’s words were genuine. He didn’t know she was a princess. He was saying those things because he meant them. His praise was real.
And suddenly she knew she had to get away from him—before another small act of kindness had her rolling over like a puppy wanting its stomach stroked. Her chair scraped loudly against the wooden floor as she also stood up. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I appreciate it. And in order not to blot my brilliant record, I guess I’d better finish clearing up.’
She went into the kitchen and started washing the glasses, feeling stupidly disappointed when he said goodnight and left her to it. The room felt empty without him. She felt empty without him. What had she wanted to happen? For him to remove her hands from the soapy water and take her into his arms and start to kiss her?
Yes. That was exactly what she wanted.
Frustrated, she went to her room and took a quick shower before climbing into bed. But despite all her hard work and the thought of the early-morning start, she spent countless minutes lying wide awake in the darkness. Every time she shut her eyes, she was haunted by Rafe’s image. By his hard-boned face and powerful body. By the way those steely eyes swept over her, making her stomach turn somersaults. She pushed the cotton sheet from her hot body, going through all the relaxation techniques she knew but nothing seemed to work, until eventually she gave up and got out of bed.
Walking over to the window, she peered out at the beautiful night, where the moon had risen high in the clear and unpolluted sky. She could see its milky glimmer on the surface of the pool and suddenly the thought of a swim seemed irresistible. If she was very quiet she would disturb no one. She could cool herself down and wear herself out and, afterwards, crawl back into bed exhausted.
Pulling on her swimsuit, she slipped her feet into a pair of flip flops and padded quietly outside. Switching on the pool’s floodlights, she scanned the surroundings for any of the ubiquitous cane toads who sometimes swam there until the chlorinated water poisoned them, but there were none. Everything was silent except for the ghost-like wailing of a curlew in a distant tree.
Slipping into the water, she swam with strong, regular strokes which were the result of hours spent practising in the palace pool. She swam until she was pleasantly tired. Floating on her back in the water, she was just thinking about getting out when she heard a splash and, glancing down to the other end of the pool, she froze as she saw a powerful male body swimming beneath the surface of the floodlit water towards her. She held her breath as the man emerged beside her, wet dark hair plastered to his head—his muscular torso painted silver by the moonlight.
‘Rafe!’ Her heart crashed violently against her ribcage. ‘You scared the life out of me!’
‘Who did you think it was?’
‘A cane toad!’ she declared furiously.
‘Pretty big cane toad,’ he said, a smile curving the edges of his lips.
He dived beneath the water again—swimming several lengths of the pool and back again. It was an impressive display, thought Sophie reluctantly. A deliberate and very macho display and she would have needed to be made of wood not to have responded to it. And Sophie was not made of wood. Far from it. Right then she felt like cream which had been whipped up into soft peaks. Suddenly he emerged beside her again, shaking his head so that little droplets of water showered over her skin.
Tilting his head back, he looked up at the bright canopy of stars. ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’
Sophie forced herself to follow his gaze. To try to concentrate on the glittering constellations overhead when all she wanted to do was to stare at the magnificence of his wet body. He was so near. So very near. The danger which whispered over her skin was followed by a potent sense of excitement. A sense that she was standing on the edge of the unknown. ‘Very beautiful,’ she said. The shiver she gave wasn’t faked, but it had nothing to do with the temperature and suddenly Sophie felt out of her depth in more ways than one. ‘It’s...getting cold, isn’t it? I’d better go in.’
‘Please. Don’t let me curtail your swim,’ he said softly, his hooded eyes gleaming. ‘I’d hate to think I was driving you away. Or that my presence was bothering you.’
Of course it was bothering her. He must have known that. Even if his voice hadn’t suddenly dipped, the tension which had been growing between them for days now seemed to be reaching a climax. Her breathing had grown so shallow that she barely seemed capable of taking any air into her lungs and Sophie was aware of the blood beating hotly through her veins. He was coming onto her and she wasn’t doing a thing to stop him and it was crazy. She knew that.
And yet...
She swallowed.
Why shouldn’t she respond, when it had been nearly killing her to keep out of his way as much as she had been doing? She’d never done this before. Never had an intimate late-night swim—not even with the Prince to whom she’d been promised in marriage. In fact, she’d never been alone with a man like this—half dressed and totally unguarded—because her life on Isolaverde had been like living in the Dark Ages. She wondered what Rafe Carter would say if he knew she was a stranger to seduction and everything which went with it, but right now she didn’t care.
Because for the first time in her life she felt unencumbered by protocol and acutely aware that this opportunity wouldn’t come her way again. Her time here was limited and she was hurtling towards an unknown future—a bit like one of the cyclones which would soon dominate and threaten this very region. But none of that seemed to matter now. It was as if everything which had happened in her life up until that moment was about to be tossed aside by a powerful force of nature—in the very alpha shape of her half-naked boss.
With a splash she flipped over, bobbing underneath the water so he couldn’t see the pointing of her nipples. But he wasn’t looking at her breasts. He was looking at her face and suddenly she was looking right back at his. In the moonlight his eyes gleamed with an intense brilliance which made her stomach flip.
‘Rafe?’ she said uncertainly, but he silenced her with a shake of his head.
She knew he was going to kiss her even before he pulled her against him, against the hard wet planes of his muscular body. She could feel her breasts being crushed against his bare chest and the warmth of his breath just before he crushed her lips beneath his. Her eyelids fluttered to a close as he deepened the kiss and his thumb flicked over the wet stud of her hardening nipple through her swimsuit, making her moan with disbelief that something could feel this good. Because nobody had ever touched her before. Not like this. He slid his hand further down, before letting his fingertips skim over her belly and she wriggled impatiently, wanting him to touch her where she was hot and molten. Made weightless by the water, her thighs parted as if her body was programmed to know exactly how to respond and she sucked in another disbelieving breath as he slipped aside the panel of her swimsuit and pushed his finger deep inside her.
‘Rafe,’ she gasped against his lips, writhing her hips against him. ‘Oh, Rafe.’
Her breathless use of his name seemed to break the erotic spell and when he pulled his hand away she immediately found herself wanting his finger right back where it had been. His eyes were unreadable in the moonlight and his features were harder than she’d ever seen them—his cheekbones two taut slashes against the obvious tension in his face.
‘I want to have sex with you,’ he said unsteadily. ‘And clearly you feel exactly the same way. But there are a few things you need to understand.’
Her heart was thundering so loudly she felt as if she might faint. ‘What kind of things?’
‘You’re staff,’ he said bluntly. ‘And I don’t usually sleep with employees.’
‘Oh.’ There was a pause as she licked some of the chorine off her lips. ‘Well, I guess that’s honest, at least.’
‘I’m nothing if not honest, Sophie,’ he said. ‘And if we’re going to do this, it has to be on my terms.’
She met his gaze. ‘What terms are they?’
‘One night. That’s all,’ he told her, his gaze raking over her. ‘No more. No dates. No promises. No happy ever after or follow-up emails. No Christmas present or surprise ticket to New York. And you certainly won’t be getting love because I don’t do love. I’m out of here tomorrow and it’s goodbye. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Sophie bit her tingling lips as she considered his question. She was caught in the perfect storm of moonlight and desire and opportunity, even though the voice of common sense was urging her to get out while she still could.
But hadn’t she always played by the rules and done what was ‘right’? And look where it had got her. Deserted by the Prince her people adored and left a laughing stock. She had been placed on a pedestal from the moment of her birth. She was the Princess. People could look but they could never, ever touch. But Rafe had touched. She stared at him. Rafe didn’t have a clue who she really was and he didn’t care. All she could see was desire in his eyes and a hard, tense body which was calling out to her on the most primitive level of all. He wanted her. Not Princess Sophie. Just Sophie. More than that, she wanted him. Not the billionaire in his shiny helicopter but the elemental man who was making her feel like a real woman for the first time in her life. Him. Rafe Carter.
‘I understand,’ she said quietly.
His wet brow furrowed into a frown. ‘Just like that?’
‘Exactly like that.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe I want exactly the same thing as you do, Rafe. One night. No strings.’
There was the glint of something predatory in his silvery eyes as he lowered his mouth to kiss her again, only now the kiss was underpinned with a new urgency, which sent the blood beating hotly through her veins. As the water lapped around them he kissed her hard and deep before raising his head, his eyes smoky with lust. ‘Then what the hell are we waiting for?’ he said roughly, splaying his hand possessively over one wet buttock.
CHAPTER THREE
SOMEHOW RAFE GOT her out of the pool and set her down onto the dripping tiles, his fingertips brushing wet strands of hair away from her face.
‘Let’s get you inside,’ he said, his voice unsteady.
But Sophie hesitated. It seemed so perfect right where they were. She was terrified that moving away from that moonlit spot might break the spell—and she couldn’t bear that to happen.
‘Why do we have to go inside?’ she whispered.
He gave a low and silky laugh. ‘Call me old-fashioned, but I’d prefer the first time to be in private. Maybe you’re one of those women who gets turned on by the prospect of discovery, but if that’s the case, don’t worry. I can promise you won’t need any added extras to make this a night to remember.’ He lowered his head to graze his mouth over hers. ‘Plus, I didn’t exactly arrive carrying condoms. It might have looked a little presumptuous, don’t you think?’
His introduction of such an intimate topic silenced her and Sophie let him take her by the hand through a side entrance to an area of the house which she’d never used before and which took them directly into his private quarters. Her damp feet were cooled by the marble floor as she looked around her, blinking in amazement, feeling as if she’d fallen asleep and woken up in another country. It was an incongruous sight—to find such luxury and opulence on an Outback cattle station—and she tried to take it all in as he led her through the different rooms. A study lined with rare, old books led into an enormous sitting room, the walls covered with beautiful paintings of the country he loved so much.
But her admiration of the fixtures and fittings dissolved once he took her into a bathroom as big and as luxurious as any found in her Isolaverdian palace—although with decidedly more masculine overtones. ‘It’s huge,’ she said dazedly.
He paused in the act of sliding a strap of her swimsuit down over one shoulder, his eyes glittering with devilment as they sent a glance slanting in the direction of his groin. ‘I assume that wasn’t just a flattering innuendo?’
She prayed he couldn’t see the faint rise of colour in her cheeks. She prayed he wouldn’t discover that she was new to all this. ‘I’m talking about your suite of rooms,’ she said primly.
His fingers moved towards the second strap. ‘You mean you didn’t come peeping, before I arrived?’
‘No, I...oh...’ She bit her lip as he tugged the damp fabric down over her breasts. ‘I certainly did not.’
He bent to fasten his lips over one cold nipple and then the other, tantalising the acutely sensitised and puckering skin with the faint graze of his teeth. She looked down to see his dark hair contrasted against her pale skin and spangles of pleasure rippled over her body as she buried her fingers in the damp tendrils.
A sudden fervour seemed to grip him as he finished peeling off her swimsuit before removing his own wet shorts and towelling her dry. And before she really had time to register that they were both naked, he picked her up and carried her into a vast bedroom, putting her down on a king-size bed. Part of her felt like a sacrificial lamb as she lay there, outlined against his sheets in the silvery moonlight—but the heated hunger of her body was powerful enough to make any anxieties melt away. Plus, he was just so beautiful. Powerful and strong, with long, muscular legs and narrow hips, his buttocks a paler colour than the deeper olive glow of his skin.
Sophie licked her lips. She’d never seen a naked man before—not unless you counted the famous statues which brought visitors flocking to the Isolaverdian national museum during the winter months. And those naked men were made of marble, usually with a fig leaf covering their modesty. It occurred to her that Rafe would have needed an entire bunch of fig leaves to cover his most intimate part and that maybe she should have been daunted by the stiff, proud column of his erection. But she wasn’t. As he moved over her, she just felt...eager.
‘Well, just look at you,’ he said unsteadily, as his fingertip trailed a slow path from h
er neck to her belly button. ‘Aren’t you gorgeous?’
She gave a wriggle of pleasure. ‘Am I?’
‘You know damned well you are. A million men must have told you so.’
His remark brought reality creeping into the room but Sophie didn’t want reality. She wanted to feel, not to think. She wanted to feel a man’s fingers on her skin. To be intimate with a man who desired her, not because of her position or her status—but because they had a powerful chemistry which could not be denied.
So she coiled her arms around his neck and looked up at him, invitation vying with reprimand in her voice.
‘I don’t want to talk about other men right now,’ she said honestly.
His smile was hard as he cupped one breast with possessive arrogance, grinding his hips a little, so that she could feel the hard brush of his erection against her skin.
‘Me neither,’ he said.
He began to stroke her, the slow graze of his fingers exploring her. She gasped when his thumb first brushed against the tight bud above so much honeyed warmth, but within seconds she was hungrily anticipating more. Each practised stroke of his finger took her deeper—deep into a place of almost unimaginable pleasure and she heard him laugh as she gasped his name out loud. It felt as if her body was opening up to him, sensation flooding through her with relentless, rhythmical beats, and Sophie began to move restlessly, wanting more. And although he must have sensed her impatience, he took his time—eking out the pleasure, second by delicious second. He stroked her until she was writhing beneath him and, although she was eager to explore his body, she was shy about touching him there. Because what if she did the wrong thing? What if she destroyed the magic with some clumsy caress? Her lips sought his as she lifted her hips up, so that she could feel the weight of his erection pressing into her belly.
He made some little curse beneath his breath as he drew away and reached inside the drawer of the nightstand and Sophie stiffened as he tore open a little foil packet, scarcely able to believe that it was going to happen. After all the years of waiting, of saving her innocence for a man whose parents had bartered with her parents for her hand in marriage, she was about to lose her virginity in the anonymity of the Australian Outback, with the man who was paying her wages. A man who had promised her no tomorrows and scorned the idea of love. And yet she didn’t care. It was as if she’d been living in a dark cave which was about to be flooded by something brilliant and beautiful—and her life would never be the same again.
A Royal Vow of Convenience Page 4
