She lifted her face, her lips seeking his, eager for a kiss which would blot out the urgent cries which wanted to bubble up from her throat. But there were other reasons for wanting to kiss him. She liked the way his lips made her feel. Because even if it was nothing but an illusion, they made her feel cosseted. But it was too late for kisses because suddenly her body began to spasm and just as suddenly he began to buck inside her with a ragged groan of his own, as he made those last few, final thrusts.
She waited for him to say something which might imply an ending of the undoubted hostilities which were still shimmering between them. Something to acknowledge that what had just happened had been beyond fantastic. Again. He’d told her she didn’t have the experience to know that the sex was amazing, but she could just about work out for herself that it was.
‘Better go and freshen up,’ he suggested softly, giving her bare bottom a light tap. ‘And then I’ll ring for some coffee.
Her heart contracted with disappointment at his careless reaction but she made sure she didn’t show it, silently picking up her rucksack and carrying it to one of the bathrooms at the far end of the cabin. She emerged some time later, with her hair neatly brushed and a clean T-shirt tucked into her jeans, but the cursory gaze he flicked over her wasn’t particularly warm.
‘You’re going to need something to wear for the ceremony,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got anything suitable in your rucksack?’
‘Not a thing, I’m afraid.’ She forced a smile, wishing he would at least acknowledge the intimacy they’d just shared, instead of staring at her so coolly. ‘I left all my silks and satins behind at the palace.’
Rafe nodded as he reached for the phone. ‘In that case I’ll contact one of my assistants and arrange to have some suitable clothes brought to the aircraft when we land.’ He paused. ‘And in the meantime, perhaps you could find something to amuse yourself with for the rest of the flight. Something which doesn’t involve looking at me alluringly with those big blue eyes and asking personal questions. Because I have work to do and you’re distracting me, Sophie.’
CHAPTER SIX
THEY ARRIVED AT just past midnight when huge white flakes were tumbling from the night sky as if someone were having a celestial pillow fight. Rafe’s limousine negotiated the final bend of the narrow road and it began to inch its way up the long drive towards his brother’s Cotswold mansion.
Sophie peered out of the window at the night-time English countryside, thinking that if circumstances were different she might have enjoyed the snowy beauty of rural England—especially in contrast to the beating heat of Australia. But for now she was just grateful for the fact that the big house was shrouded in darkness—the faint, fairy-lighted glow gleaming behind the glass over the front door indicating that everyone had gone to bed. Thank heavens. She wasn’t sure if she could face a reception committee and wondered if Rafe had arranged that deliberately by insisting they stop at a small pub for dinner on the way here. Perhaps he’d been delaying the inevitable meeting with his family because he didn’t know how to introduce her. It meant she’d eaten her first ever meal in a British pub, enjoying the shepherd’s pie the landlord had recommended though less keen on the warm beer Rafe had insisted she try.
In the back of the car were a large selection of clothes which he’d ordered to be delivered to the plane when they touched down in England—and she was now wearing some of them. Gone were the cheap jeans and T-shirt and in their place was an exquisite cashmere dress, which clung to every curve of her body, along with a pair of beautiful leather boots. They were the kind of clothes she was used to wearing, but along with her sudden change of image came that familiar sense of being on show again. She stared straight ahead, realising how much she had enjoyed her uncomplicated life of anonymity and realising it was about to come to an abrupt end.
‘You okay?’ Rafe questioned as the car slid to a halt in front of the house.
‘Not really. I feel as nervous as hell,’ she said truthfully.
‘You?’ In the shadowy light, his eyes narrowed. ‘But you must have met hundreds of new people over the years.’
Probably thousands, she thought—but never like this. Meeting somebody’s family on equal terms was something she’d never had to do before. Mostly people knew who she was and had prepared accordingly and everyone was always on their best behaviour when a princess was around. She stared out of the window again and it seemed that the sleeping house had been nothing but an illusion, because the moment their car swished to a snowy halt the front door opened and a woman appeared in the doorway as if she’d been listening out for them. Her greying hair matched a dress which was clearly a uniform and Sophie saw immediately what the glow behind the front door had been—a giant Christmas tree, dominating a vast and imposing wood-panelled hall.
Rafe smiled as the woman in the uniform stepped forward.
‘Sophie, I’d like you to meet Bernadette, our housekeeper,’ he said, ‘who has been with different factions of this family for many years. And if she wasn’t the soul of discretion, she could earn a living writing about the exploits of the infamous Carter family, couldn’t you, Bernadette?’
‘Sure, and who would want to read anything about you lot?’ answered Bernadette, her accent warm and Irish. ‘And aren’t you forgetting your manners? Who’s this beautiful young lady?’
Rafe introduced her simply as ‘Sophie’ and Bernadette seemed content with that. And at least Sophie was able to chat easily to the housekeeper. Six months ago and her observations would have been stiff and formal, but working at Poonbarra meant she could now identify with the housekeeper in a way which would have been unthinkable before. She had learnt how to mix with ordinary folk, she realised—and for that she must be grateful.
‘Is everyone else here?’ Rafe was asking.
‘No. You’re the first.’ Bernadette closed the heavy oak door on the snowy night. ‘Some of the others are flying in tomorrow. Your father’s got the four-by-four so he’ll be okay. And Sharla rang to say she’s coming by helicopter, so she’ll be here about midday.’
Sharla.
It was an unfamiliar name which sounded vaguely familiar, but Sophie’s interest was heightened by the sudden tension which had made Rafe’s body stiffen. She glanced up to see a hardness distorting his taut features—and a darkening look which made him seem like a stranger.
But he is a stranger, she reminded herself fiercely. You don’t really know anything about him. All they’d done had been to fall into bed where he’d made her feel stuff she hadn’t thought she was capable of. Made her long for things which were way out of her reach.
A sense of unease whispered over her but she said nothing as they were shown up a grand staircase into an enormous bedroom, dominated by a king-size bed covered with a brocade throw in deep shades of claret and gold. Beside the bed, crimson roses glowed in a bronze bowl and, against huge windows, velvet curtains were drawn to blot out the snowy night. A huge crackling fire had been lit in the grate, scenting the air with the crackle of applewood, and the glitter of the flames was reflected in the overhead chandelier. The overall effect was almost medieval and Sophie unbuttoned her new coat and hung it up in the old-fashioned wardrobe before slowly turning round.
‘Who’s Sharla?’ she questioned.
Rafe was reading something on his cell-phone and didn’t look up as he answered. ‘You’ve probably heard of her. She used to be a model.’
Wondering if his reply had been deliberately casual, Sophie nodded as she realised why she’d half recognised the name. Of course. How could she have overlooked that rare level of fame achieved when somebody was known simply by their first name? ‘You mean the Sharla?’ she questioned. ‘The supermodel with the endless legs—the one who’s married to the rock star?’
‘That’s the one.’ He looked up then and the expression in his grey eyes w
as curiously flat. ‘And just for the record, she isn’t married to him any more.’
‘Right.’ She looked at him. ‘But why is she here? I thought you said it was just family. A low-key affair.’
‘She is family.’ There was a pause. ‘I told you. She’s my sister-in-law Molly’s twin, although I don’t tend to think of her as family.’
She wondered how he did think of her. Why a sudden harshness had distorted his voice and why he’d tensed when Bernadette had mentioned the supermodel’s name. But it was none of her business. She was here because they were supposedly doing each other a favour. And yes, they’d had sex on the plane, but that didn’t mean anything—he couldn’t have made that more apparent if he’d tried. He hadn’t exactly pushed her away afterwards but he might as well have done. His attitude had been cool and distant. Careless might be the best way to describe it, as he’d tapped her bottom in that rather insulting way—which hadn’t stopped her wanting his fingers to linger there a little longer. So did sexual intimacy give her the right to quiz him about his thoughts or his feelings? It did not.
She peeped out behind one of the heavy velvet drapes. The snow was coming down hard now—great drifts swirling down and covering the ground by the second. Rafe switched on one of the bedside lamps and the rich brocade of the counterpane was illuminated by a golden glow. Yet Sophie felt awkward as she watched him moving around the elegant room. He looked so far away, she thought. Any closeness they had shared now seemed to have been forgotten. He hadn’t touched her once in the car and now she was supposed to be sharing a room and a bed with him and she didn’t have a clue how that was going to work. How any of this was going to work. What did other women usually do in this kind of situation? But she had wanted normality, hadn’t she? Maybe now was the time to embrace it.
Pulling the band from her hair, she shook her ponytail free. ‘What have you told them about me?’
‘Nothing. I told my brother I was bringing someone, but that’s all. They can find out who you are when they meet you.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Given your great love of understatement, I thought you’d prefer no forewarning.’
‘And they won’t think it’s odd that you’ve turned up with a runaway princess?’
He gave the ghost of a smile. ‘I come from an unusual family, Sophie. Where the odd is commonplace and people break the rules all the time. They might remark on it but they certainly won’t have their heads turned by it. And don’t worry—people won’t bother you or ask you predictable questions, if that’s what you’re concerned about. Now,’ he added softly. ‘It’s late. Aren’t you going to get ready for bed?’
His words sounded scarily informal, which seemed crazy when she remembered being pinned to the floor of the plane, her jeans trapped around her ankles. But that didn’t prevent a sudden flash of nervousness as Sophie grabbed her wash bag and went into the bathroom. The clothes which Rafe had ordered to be delivered to the plane contained nothing as warm or practical as a nightshirt—but there was no way she was walking back out there naked. So she kept her knickers on and pulled a T-shirt over her head. Rafe’s eyebrows rose when she returned and climbed quickly into bed, though he said nothing as he went into the bathroom himself.
She switched off the bedside lamp and lay shivering beneath the duvet, listening to the sounds of taps being run and teeth obviously being brushed. The minutes ticked by excruciatingly slowly before the bathroom light was eventually turned off and Rafe came back into the bedroom. But it was long enough for her to see that he had no similar qualms about nudity and the image of his powerful naked body seemed to burn itself indelibly onto the backs of her eyes.
His words filtered through the air towards her. ‘Why are you hiding away in the darkness?’
‘I’m not hiding.’
‘Really?’ A hint of amusement touched his voice. ‘Are you suddenly turning shy on me, Sophie?’
‘Of course not.’ How could she tell him that this felt...weird? That she didn’t want to leave the light on because she didn’t know what to say or what to do. She wondered what had happened to the woman who’d been so uninhibited on the plane. Why she’d suddenly morphed into someone who was feeling swamped by hazy fears. The bed dipped beneath his weight and she held her breath as she heard the rustle of bedclothes.
‘Maybe you’re jet-lagged?’ he suggested.
‘I think I am, a little,’ she said hopefully, because surely sleep would blot out the tension which was growing by the second and making even the tiniest sound seem amplified. Surely the best thing would be to close her eyes and pray for oblivion to come, so she could wake up in the morning refreshed and able to cope with what lay ahead.
But sleep didn’t come. She lay there stiff and unmoving, terrified to move in case she rolled against his hard, warm body—wondering how she was going to get through a whole night like this—when a soft laugh punctured the semi-silence.
‘I know you’re not asleep.’
‘How?’ she questioned indignantly, before realising that her answer had given the game away.
‘Because you’re trying to make your breathing sound regular and shallow and people don’t really breathe like that when they’re asleep.’
‘I suppose you’re an expert on women’s breathing habits in bed?’
‘I do have some experience.’
‘I’ll bet you do.’
And then his hand slid around her waist and Sophie froze.
‘Just relax,’ he said softly, as he cupped her breast with his other hand. ‘Lie back and think of Isolaverde.’
And unexpectedly, Sophie started to giggle. ‘You’re...oh!’ His thumb grazed across her nipple and she swallowed. ‘You’re outrageous.’
‘So they tell me. Now, isn’t that better?’ he said as his hand slid down over her belly, and then down further still. ‘Why are you wearing knickers in bed? They’re going to have to come off.’
‘Rafe,’ she said thickly.
‘Shh. What did I just tell you?’
‘I...d-don’t remember.’
‘Then try.’
He slithered the panties down over her thighs and, with his foot, kicked them away from her ankles. But he left the T-shirt on as his fingers returned to burrow in the tangle of hair at her groin before slipping down to find her molten heat. Now the only sound in the room was the increasing rise of her unsteady breathing. He didn’t say a single word, just continued to touch her with a lightness and delicacy which was sending her out of her mind.
‘Rafe,’ she said again, only now an urgent desperation was making her voice crack.
‘What?’
‘I...oh!’ Her nails dug into his shoulders. ‘Oh, oh, oh!’
Her hips arching upwards, her body jerked with helpless spasms as he lowered his head to kiss her. She felt the honeyed rush of heat as reality splintered into countless unbearably bright pieces and then dissolved into a dreamy daze. Afterwards she lay there, sucking ragged breaths of air back into her lungs. She felt lazy. Luxurious. Heavy and wonderful—but as her eyelids began to grow weighty, some nagging notion of inequality made her stir. Peeling her lips away from where they were glued to his bare shoulder, she touched her fingertips to the rough rasp of growth at his jaw.
‘You must show me how to...’ She hesitated, too shy to say the words. Or maybe it was because she didn’t know how to say the words, and maybe he guessed that.
‘Pleasure me?’
She licked her dry lips. ‘Yes.’
‘Go to sleep, Sophie.’ He sounded almost kind as he brushed away the lock of hair which had fallen over her cheek and dropped the briefest of kisses onto her nose. ‘Just go to sleep.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHEN RAFE WOKE next morning it took him a minute to work out where he was—a habitual dilemma for someone who travelled the globe as frequently as he did. But u
sually he liked that sense of uncertainty. Transitory was his default setting. Most people were fearful of change but he wasn’t one of them. It was the only thing he’d ever known.
He hadn’t been lying when he’d dismissed Sophie’s sympathetic words after he’d told her what a gold-digger his mother had been. It didn’t hurt. How could something hurt if you had nothing to compare it with? Just as it didn’t hurt that he’d always been pushed aside whenever the latest love interest had appeared in his glamorous parent’s life. Why he’d spent school holidays in vast and empty hotel rooms, while his mother went out on the town. He’d learned to order room service and put himself to bed when there were no more cartoons on TV. He had learned to play the cards he’d been dealt and he’d done it by building a wall around his heart. At first the foundations had been rocky, because what did a small boy know about emotional protection and self-reliance, when it went against the natural order of things? But the more you did something, the better at it you got—and these days nothing touched him. His mouth hardened. Nothing.
He glanced around the bedroom, realising he was in his brother’s Cotswold home. Only then did he acknowledge the warm and sated feeling which came after a night of particularly good sex. He turned his head to find Sophie’s side of the bed empty.
Lazily he stretched, his body hardening as he listened for sounds of running water or any suggestion she might be tidying her hair in preparation for an early morning kiss, but there was nothing. He bashed one of the pillows with his fist and comfortably rearranged his head on it, thinking maybe it was better this way. Better than her snuggling up close trying to do that thing women always did after a night like that—stroking their finger in a slow circle over his belly and wondering what made him tick.
Because they had reached for each other in the darkness before dawn—caught in that strange half-world between waking and sleeping. Two naked bodies, doing what came naturally. He stared up at the ceiling—at the fractured light and shadows cast by the antique chandelier. Only it hadn’t felt like that. Her skin had been silky-soft and her body as warm as soft candle wax you could mould with your fingers. She’d felt so tight when he entered her.
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