The Spaniard's Kiss

by Nina Croft

  What would she be doing now? It was three in the morning back in London. She’d be asleep. Was she lying in bed dreaming about him? Doubtful.

  He exhaled and then pushed open the doors. The room was huge, surrounded by glass walls, and all around them the lights of New York sparkled. But not as much as the people inside. All glittering and perfect. At least on the surface. Like him.

  He couldn’t see his mother, and he made his way across to the bar. A few people murmured greetings as he passed, but something about his mood tonight must have warned them off, because they didn’t pause to talk.

  “Whiskey,” he said to the barman.

  He gulped down the first and held out his glass for a refill. He was on his third, the alcohol a buzz in his head, when someone sat at the barstool next to him. Rafe glanced up. It was John, his lawyer, probably one of the few people who would risk approaching him in this mood.

  “How’s the baby-making going?” John asked.

  “Fuck off.”

  “That well, huh?” He peered around. “So where is she? I take it she’s here tonight.”

  Rafe shrugged. “She didn’t want to come.”

  “To the most celebrated party in the New York social calendar?”

  “Bella’s not like that.”

  “Well, your mother will be disappointed. She was grilling me earlier on your new girlfriend.” When he didn’t answer, John continued, “Of course I told her my lips were sealed.”

  Rafe had never doubted for a moment that John would keep quiet about his arrangement with Bella.

  “Tell me,” John murmured, “did Bella really tell your sister she was having your baby?”

  “Not exactly.”

  At that moment, he caught sight of his mother’s blond hair through the crowd. Without saying anything else, he placed his empty glass on the bar, got to his feet, and headed over. His gut tightened with every step. His mother was not going to take this well. He hated to hurt her, but he could no longer keep quiet. Not to Bella.

  As he halted by the small group of people, they parted to allow Rafe to greet his mother. She looked as beautiful as ever, her hair and makeup perfect. Bending toward her, he kissed her cheek. “Mother, happy birthday.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flat gift-wrapped box.

  His mother took the package and clutched it in her hand. “Rafe, are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could I talk to you for a moment? Somewhere quiet.”

  “Of course.” They definitely needed quiet for what he had to say.

  He followed his mother into a small room off the main ballroom. Closing the door behind them, he turned and faced her.

  Her hands were clenched in front of her. “Gina said—”

  “I’ve a good idea what she said,” he interrupted. “And no, Bella is not pregnant.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “But you’re seeing her. And it’s serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you told her about…?” she asked.

  “No. But I plan to.”

  “Why?” A hint of panic laced her voice. “When you’ve never told anyone else?”

  “Because she deserves to know the reason I can’t marry her, give her a family.”

  Her hand flew to her chest, and she sank down onto the chair behind her. Rafe crossed to where a table held a decanter and glasses. He poured them both a drink, then handed her one. She took the glass and perched on the edge of the chair. Finally, she took a deep breath. “You love her?”

  “Yes, but it will never work between us. She wants children.”

  “I’m sorry. But there are ways…”

  He knew there were ways. Just not for him right now. Bella had said she would wait. But for how long? He couldn’t ask her to wait indefinitely.

  “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this since your sister told me what Bella said…about the baby.” His mother interrupted his thoughts. “All these years, I’ve managed to ignore it.”

  His heart sank as he realized his mother was on some sort of guilt trip. Again.

  “All those years ago, I should have questioned why Miguel was ill.” She took a sip of her drink. “But I’ve always hated illness, and I just pretended it wasn’t happening. And when he left me, I truly believed it was because we wanted different things.”

  “Instead he was going home to die.”

  “Yes.”

  In the past, his mother had only ever talked about his father when it was absolutely necessary. Rafe knew now that it wasn’t disinterest, but guilt. “Would it have made a difference if you’d known?” he asked.

  She jumped to her feet, knocking her glass so it shattered on the marble floor. They both ignored it.

  “I don’t know. I still can’t believe Miguel didn’t tell me. I believed he didn’t care enough to stay and try to work things through. Instead, he thought I wasn’t strong enough, that maybe I wouldn’t love him enough to stand by him, and all I could do was go on about how I wanted more babies.”

  Rafe crossed the room and poured her another drink. It occurred to him the similarities between his situation and his father’s. Except perhaps that was being unfair to Bella. She was a much stronger character than his mother.

  He still loved his mother—that’s why he had tried so hard to be what she wanted. The perfect son. But no more. He was ready to smash that image to pieces.

  “Sit down,” he said, handing her the glass.

  She took it and sank onto the sofa. Rafe sat beside her and took her free hand. “He didn’t tell you. You couldn’t have known.”

  “Yes, but if I’d been a different person maybe he would have risked telling me. And I can’t help thinking that if he’d stayed in London, he might have gotten better medical treatment. He might still be alive.”

  She went silent, and Rafe sat back, leaning his head against the sofa. She might be right. Maybe something could have been done to save him. Rafe had researched the disease that had killed his father. The disease he carried in his genes that had overshadowed his life from a time when he was too young to understand the full consequences. But telling her that now would hardly help. As she’d pointed out, she’d never been good around illness. Rafe had learned at an early age to keep away from her if he felt less than well. Then again, she’d stuck with his stepfather through cancer.

  “When your grandfather told me after the funeral what had really happened, I was devastated. And that you might be…” She downed the rest of her drink. “I wasn’t very supportive. But I was in shock.”

  She’d sent him for the tests, and when they’d come back positive, she’d never mentioned the subject again. His grandfather had talked to him about it. But his mother had made him feel as though it was a secret to be locked away. So he had.

  “I should have talked to you about it. Instead, I made you hide it as though it was something to be ashamed of. But it was me who was ashamed. Ashamed of what people would think if they knew, and if they knew about Miguel and that I hadn’t stood by him. And I was so scared you would get ill.”

  “There was never any chance of that,” Rafe said.

  “Maybe. But I just couldn’t enjoy my party without talking to you about it.”

  “Well, now we have. Why don’t you go back? They’ll be missing you.”

  “I think I will. I feel better now.” She put down her glass and frowned. “You’re still going to tell her?”

  “Yes. But don’t worry. Bella won’t reveal our secret to anyone else.”

  She gave a quick nod, her expression clearing. “Of course not.”

  When she’d gone, he stood, wandered over to the window, and stared at the city. He was scared. Scared Bella would reject him. That he didn’t deserve her anyway. She thought he was perfect, and he was as far from perfect as was possible. He was flawed at such a basic level.

  Through his childhood he had sought his mother’s approval, and even as an adult, he’d done the same, always ensuring he presented the illu
sion of flawlessness. He could see his reflection in the glass, and he reached up and ran a hand through his hair. He tugged his tie loose and opened his collar. He didn’t want to be perfect.

  He was leaving his mother’s glittering idea of perfection. He’d go back to London, tell Bella his secrets, and see if she’d accept the less-than-perfect person he really was.

  He was headed for the door when his cell phone rang.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A light touch on her arm dragged her from sleep.

  She was in Rafe’s bed, hugging his pillow to her breasts. She shoved it away, rolled over, and blinked. Daylight filtered through the curtains, but she could tell it was still early. A figure loomed over her.

  Charles. What the hell?

  “Mrs. Sinclair.”

  She yawned, then pulled herself up. Toby’s nose appeared from beneath the sheet, and Charles didn’t even complain. Something was wrong.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and her chest tightened. “What is it? Is it Rafe?”

  “He’s fine,” he said soothingly. “He just phoned. There’s been an incident in Spain. He wanted me to talk to you in case you heard from anyone else.”

  She frowned. “What sort of incident?”

  “A fire.”

  Fires were a yearly hazard she’d learned to live with. They were usually doused quickly and efficiently, but occasionally one would get out of control with devastating consequences.

  “Oh my God. How’s his grandfather?”

  “Apparently the fire didn’t touch the villa. But he was trying to help fight it and collapsed from the smoke. They think he might have had another heart attack.”

  Poor Rafe. “How is he?”

  “He’s alive. That’s all Mr. Sanchez knows right now. But there’s something else.”

  A cold feeling of dread filled her. “What is it?”

  “Your house. It was totally destroyed in the fire.”

  …

  It was hours later when Rafe’s plane landed. They were doing a fast turnaround and heading for Spain, so she was taken straightaway to board.

  She climbed the stairs and peered into the body of the plane, wary of seeing Rafe after their last meeting, but wanting to go to him so badly it hurt. She still wasn’t able to take it in. The whole thing seemed unreal.

  Right in front of her was a comfortable seating area, with soft leather couches around a coffee table. Beyond that was a section with rows of chairs like a normal plane. Rafe sat in one of the aisle seats, working on a laptop, but he glanced up as she approached.

  He appeared tired, dark circles under his eyes, cheeks shadowed. His perfect image was unraveling. She came to a halt in front of him, leaned down, and hugged him, pulling his head against her. His arms wrapped around her waist, and for long moments she stood holding him close, breathing in the familiar scent of him. For the first time since she’d heard about the fire, her mind stopped spinning and she felt at peace.

  “Readying for takeoff.” The words came over the speakers, and reluctantly, she pulled herself free, took her seat beside him, and fastened the belt.

  She closed her eyes as the plane took off, stayed that way until they leveled out. Neither of them had spoken yet; now she turned to Rafe. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “About the house, I mean. As long as your grandfather recovers, the rest isn’t important.”

  But she wasn’t sure she was being truthful. The thought of the home she’d shared with Gary, the love they’d put into restoring the place, all turned to ashes, caused an ache in her heart. But that had to come second to Rafe’s grandfather. She’d never known whether it was duty or love that made Rafe visit the old man in Spain. Now she could see the news had shattered him.

  “You love him, don’t you?” she said.

  “He was the only one who saw me as I really am and loved me anyway. And in return, I avoided him and the place as much as I could, because he reminded me of what I was.”

  She frowned at his words. There was more here than just the heart attack. She rested her hand on his arm. The muscles were rigid with tension. “Tell me,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Not now. Later, I’ll tell you everything.” His cell phone rang and he picked it up, listened for a minute, and some of the tension eased from his features. He ended the call and leaned his head back against the seat. “That was the doctor. He’s awake and fine and asking for wine.”

  A smile tugged her lips. The first in a while. “I’m glad.”

  He sat up, looked at her. “Will you come and lie with me? It seems like an age since I slept and…”

  She nodded.

  Without waiting for an answer, he took her by the shoulders and pulled her out of her chair and into his lap. His mouth came down on hers in a gentle kiss. Then he kissed her cheeks and her eyelids, butterfly kisses that sent heat coursing through her.

  “Make love with me,” he murmured against her skin.

  The muscles in her belly contracted at his words, but before she could answer, he shifted her in his lap and then rose to his feet. He strode through the cabin with her in his arms, kicking open the door at the rear. It led into a bedroom with a huge bed in the center that took up almost the entire width of the plane.

  Rafe lowered her gently to the mattress, then stood over her as he stripped the clothes from his body. The sight lodged any words in her throat. Bella couldn’t have told him no—even if she’d wanted to. Which she didn’t.

  He peeled her clothes from her body, kissing each part as it was revealed to him. By the time he lay naked beside her, she was shaking. “Please, Rafe.”

  “Patience,” he murmured, dropping a slow kiss on her breast, sending darts of fire down to her groin.

  His teeth grazed her throat. He kissed each nipple, his mouth hot and wet, then moved lower, and his lips pressed against her stomach. His hot breath ruffled the curls at the base of her belly, sending frissons of sensation skittering across her skin. Everything tightened inside her until she was coiled taut with anticipation, her heart racing, a pulse throbbing between her thighs.

  He parted her legs with his free hand, spreading them, leaving her open to him. She held her breath, squeezed her eyes tightly shut as he hovered over her, teasing her with his warm, velvet tongue. He devoured her, his hot mouth bringing every nerve in her body to life, adrenaline spiking in her blood, her hips jerking upward against his lips. His tongue stroked against her swollen clit, and the ability to think deserted her. Arching her back, she pushed her sex against him, needing more. He sucked the sensitive nub into his mouth and she came, stars flashing behind her tightly closed lids.

  Afterward, he crawled up her body and took her with exquisite gentleness, his gaze holding hers as he slowly pushed deeper inside, filling her totally. Bella lay beneath him, heart throbbing as the languid thrust of his body urged her upward. Wrapping her legs around his waist, her hands clung to his broad shoulders as he drove her higher, his every movement controlled, filled with leashed power.

  She was throbbing with need by the time they came together and pleasure exploded inside her, arching her back as she called out his name.

  He held her close as tremors shivered through her, then kissed her mouth.

  Words hovered on her lips, and she swallowed them. She burrowed her head against his shoulder and allowed the caress of his hands to sooth her to sleep.

  He was still holding her when she awoke, and she shifted in his arms so she could look down into his face. He was awake, watching her. “Thank you.”

  “There’s no need,” she said. “I wanted you.”

  “Charles told me you were packed. You’re still leaving?”

  “I don’t have a choice. Not if you won’t talk to me.”

  He gave a bitter smile. “I’ll talk to you. I doubt what I have to say will change your mind, though. But later. Right now, we’re coming in to land. If you want to clean up there’s a shower through there.” He nodded to the back of the cabin.

&nbs
p; When she came out of the bathroom ten minutes later, Rafe was gone, and she dressed quickly and went back into the main cabin.

  A car drove them from the airport to the villa. It was late afternoon in Spain by the time they arrived. Rafe’s grandfather was sleeping, but the doctor thought he’d wake soon.

  “Did he not need to go to hospital?” Rafe asked.

  The doctor shrugged. “You know how he is, he wouldn’t even consider it. Besides, it was a very minor attack, and you probably have more equipment here than the local surgery.”

  “I’ll wait with him until he wakes.” Rafe sank into the chair beside the bed.

  Bella went across and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to go look at the house.”

  He glanced up, concern in his eyes. “Are you sure you want to go alone?”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  “I’ll meet you there after I’ve spoken with him.”

  Outside the gates of the villa, a black line showed where the fire had stopped. So close. Beyond that, the vegetation was charred, the trees burned to the ground, and the stench of stale smoke and ashes hung in the air.

  She took the familiar path from the villa to the farmhouse, nausea gripping her stomach as she got closer to the farm. When she turned the final corner, her breath caught. The house was totally destroyed, a blackened shell. She approached slowly and peered through the empty front doorway. Nothing could be salvaged. The fire must have roared through so quickly.

  Everything was lost. She’d taken very little with her to London—she’d left all the keepsakes of Gary’s and her life together behind.

  But in a sudden blinding insight, she realized it didn’t matter. Her memories were what were important, and she would never lose them, never forget what Gary had brought to her life. The house was just a pile a bricks. It hadn’t been a home since he’d died. She’d have realized that sooner if she hadn’t been so stubborn.

  Homes were made up of people, not places.

  She turned away from the house. The main building was destroyed, but the outbuildings still stood. She crossed the charred lawn and peered through the door of Gary’s workshop. The cradle stood where she’d left it, still perfect. She thought of the little blue-eyed baby who might never be. But the thought didn’t hurt as much as she’d expected.