by Nina Croft
Rafe cared for her, maybe even loved her. Despite their differences, or maybe even because of them. She had no clue what he was going to tell her. But it was something big. Something he believed would change the way she felt about him—did he think her so shallow?
He’d always been her friend, but over the weeks they’d been together, he had grown to be far, far more. Her friend, her lover, her chance for a future. She wanted to run to him. Tell him she loved him, and that for her, home was wherever he was.
In the end, though, she didn’t return to the villa. She found a notebook in her bag, scribbled a note, and tacked it to the workshop door.
Then headed up the track behind the ruined house.
…
His grandfather had awoken and was as stubborn as ever, refusing to even consider going into hospital. Instead, the doctor had hired a nurse so he’d have around-the-clock attention. He would be fine; the old man was tough.
Rafe left him to sleep and headed out to find Bella, coming to an abrupt halt as he caught sight of the ruins of her home. He moved closer, but all was quiet.
“Bella?”
No answer.
He shouldn’t have let her come alone. First, she’d lost Gary, and now this. She was probably totally devastated, not thinking straight. Where would she go?
He glanced in through what had been the front door, but Bella wasn’t inside. He turned, searching the area for some sign. Gary’s workshop was still in good condition, and he wandered over and saw the note on the door.
He ripped it free, read the words.
Gone swimming.
Crumpling the note, he shoved it in his pocket. Then headed up the steep track at the back of the house.
Chapter Fifteen
She was seated on the bank, her legs dangling in the water, her eyes closed. Rafe stood for a minute and watched her, his chest tightening. She’d given herself so sweetly and so completely on the plane. How could he let her go?
As though sensing him, she blinked and turned her head as he stepped out of the shadow of the trees.
“I used to come here when I was a boy,” he said. “It was the one place I loved, but I never expected to find my own dryad here. That first time, I thought I’d dreamed you up, that you were some magical creature.”
“I’m real.”
“I know. I knew then. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe if you weren’t real, I was allowed to touch you…kiss you.”
“You were allowed anyway.”
He shook his head. “I’d been fighting so hard, for so long, not to think of you that way.”
“And did you succeed?”
“You know I didn’t. One look and I was lost. I want you now more than I ever did.”
“You can have me, Rafe. I’m yours.”
Blood sank to his groin at the words, and for a moment he was tempted. Just one more time. He sighed and ran a hand through his already-ruffled hair. “We have to talk.”
“I know.” She patted the sand beside her. “Come sit with me.”
He sank down onto the ground, positioning himself so he could watch her face. How to begin? “I’ve never spoken of this to anyone before, but my father didn’t die of pneumonia as my mother always told people. He died of a blood disease that’s been in our family for generations.”
Her eyes widened, and she reached out a hand to him. “Are you ill?”
“I’m fine. I never had the disease.” He picked up her hand and toyed with her fingers, rubbing his thumb over her palm. “But I am a carrier.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I could pass it on to any children I have.”
Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh. That’s why…?”
He nodded. Now that he’d started, he needed to purge this from his system. “My grandfather is a carrier like me, though a bit more so. My grandmother had the disease. It’s prevalent in the area, all around the Mediterranean actually, but back then people didn’t really understand it. My grandmother had numerous miscarriages and stillbirths before my father was born. The baby after him killed her.”
“Your poor grandfather.”
At least she wasn’t recoiling in horror. All he could see in her face was sympathy. “He doesn’t talk about it much—it hurts too badly. Anyway, my father was fine growing up. I think Grandfather hoped it had passed him by and put off telling him—he’d thought he could leave it until he decided to marry. And then my mother became pregnant.”
Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. She blinked and dashed them away with the back of her hand. He hated that he’d made her sad.
“You’re sure you’re not ill? You won’t suddenly get sick?” She swallowed. “Is this disease treatable?”
“It can’t be cured, but there are things that can be done to control it, blood transfusions, other things. But there’s no risk I’ll get it.”
“Whew.” She gave a weak smile, then chewed on her lip. “It’s not so bad, then.”
He closed his eyes for a second, a sensation of lightness washing over him. Why had he ever believed she would turn from him? He searched her face, trying to analyze what she was feeling. Sympathy, hope, maybe more…
He needed to touch her, and he cupped her cheek in his hand, stroking her soft skin with the pad of his thumb. Leaning across, he kissed her lightly on the lips. “I wish my mother had been more like you. I grew up thinking it was some dark, horrible secret I couldn’t talk about. Not even to Gary. I know now I built it up into more than it was, let it have too much control over me.”
She squeezed his fingers. “I think you’re perfect.”
“Nobody’s perfect.” He sighed. “I was going to come back to London and ask you to marry me,” he said. “After the party. I was going to tell you all this first, and then ask you.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but he hurried on, needing to get everything out in the open. Scared of what she might say. “I’ve been having some research done. So far it’s not good news, and I can’t promise you the children you want. I always swore I would never have children, never risk passing this on. I swore to myself it would end with me, but I know what having a family means to you”—he took a deep breath—“and I’ll do everything I can to give you that family. There have been a lot of advances in gene manipulation over the last couple of decades, and they’re finding new methods all the time.”
His heart was racing, and he studied their joined hands, twining her fingers with his. “And I’ve already contacted a contractor about rebuilding your house. He’ll start right away, make it exactly as it was. If you want to live here, we can.”
“You hate it here.”
His gaze shot to her face, where a little frown was forming between her eyes. “I’ll cope, if you’re here with me. Or if you still want to take that job—then we can move to San Sebastian.”
She shook her head. “You’d do that for me?”
“I’d do anything for you. Anything I can,” he added, because he still couldn’t give her what she really wanted. Would it be enough?
When she remained silent, he forced himself to go on. “You don’t have to say anything right now. You need to think about what I’ve said. What you want.” But there was one more thing he had to say. The most important thing. Because none of what he’d said mattered, not without this.
He took a deep, steadying breath and said the words he hoped she wanted to hear. “I love you.”
The world stopped as he waited for her to say something. Anything.
Instead, she tugged her hand free and rose to her feet. His heart stopped beating. Had he lost after all?
Then holding his gaze, she slowly stripped the clothes from her body. He couldn’t move as each beautiful, familiar curve was revealed. By the time she stood before him naked, he was breathing fast. The blood throbbed in his veins, sinking to his groin, making him hot and hard. She turned, and with a last glance over her shoulder, she dived into the water.
He closed his eyes brie
fly and exhaled.
Madre de dios. Thank you.
His hands fumbled as he dragged the clothes from his body, excitement making him clumsy. Finally, he lowered himself into the pool beside her. Reaching for her, he drew her close.
Resting her hands on his shoulders, she looked up into his face, her eyes filled with desire and more.
Say it. Say it.
“I love you,” she said.
The air left his lungs. It was enough. The words would last him through whatever came next.
He kissed her gently, then harder. He’d never get enough. Finally, he had to breathe. “I love you.”
“How long?” she asked. “How long have you loved me?”
“From the moment I met you.”
His hands slid down under the water to circle her waist, and then lower to cup her ass and draw her closer. “I dreamed of this so many times,” he said. “Dreamed of the night we first kissed, and in my dreams it always ended here with you in my arms.”
“I dreamed as well. And my dreams brought me to this place. With you.”
Rafe lowered his head and kissed her, giving himself up to the feeling of rightness, of coming home. They moved together without conscious thought and soon were joined as one.
“I love you.” The words were torn from his throat as he stiffened, shuddering inside her, then he was kissing her again, devouring her.
Afterward, he pulled her out of the water and they lay on the sandy bank for a long time, her arms wrapped tight around him. Above them, the sun descended and the stars came out. Finally, she pulled free of his arms and sat up. “Rafe, will you marry me?”
For a second, shock held him still, then his lips curled into a huge grin he couldn’t seem to control. “Si, querida.”
“Good. That’s settled then.”
Still, he had to be sure. “Have you thought it through? What it could mean? I know all you wanted was a home, a family. You might not get that.”
“I have thought, and I want children, but I want you more. The whole you, with whatever problems you bring along. From now on, my home will always be where you are.”
“We’ll have a family, querida. Somehow, I’ll give you everything you’ve always wanted.”
She shook her head. “Don’t make promises. Don’t make our lives about that one thing.”
“You know, if they’d known more in the past, then my grandparents would never have married. It’s crazy—if they’d only understood more, so much heartbreak could have been avoided.”
“And your father would never have existed. You would never have existed. I’m glad they didn’t know. Besides, maybe your grandfather loved her and would have married her anyway.”
“Maybe.”
“I like to think so.” She leaned across, cupped his face in her hands. “You’re all I want. All I’ll ever want.”
He slid his hand beneath her hair and pulled her closer. “Then kiss me, querida. Kiss me like you did that night. Like you’ll never, ever get enough of me.”
And she did.
Epilogue
Three years later
“He’s perfect,” Mark said.
Bella reached down and stroked the soft skin of her baby’s cheek. “He is,” she murmured.
And he was perfect in every way. She would have loved him anyway, but she was glad for Rafe’s sake that Miguel was totally free of the disease that had killed Rafe’s father.
Despite her telling Rafe not to worry, he’d poured endless energy, not to mention money, into finding a solution, and Miguel was the result. Having vast amounts of money did come in useful sometimes. But the research would be used for all sufferers of the disease, would help countless lives.
Miguel was three months old, and they had just had the christening. Now they were back at the house in Belgravia, and Miguel lay in the cradle Gary had carved for their baby. Rafe had had it brought from Spain for her. She hadn’t thought she could love him any more.
Mark was godfather, handsome in his uniform. And all Rafe’s family was present, including his grandfather—the first time he had left Spain.
Rafe came up beside her and slipped his hands around her waist, pulling her against him. He tugged her backward into the hallway, away from the guests, and turned her in his arms, pressing her up against the wood-paneled wall.
Looping her hand around his neck, she pulled him down toward her. “Kiss me,” she murmured.
And he did.
The End
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Acknowledgments
A huge thank you to everyone at Entangled Publishing for persevering with my Spaniard. And to all the great women at Passionate Critters for reading my stories and letting me know what they really think. And finally, to my husband Rob, who puts up with me, and encourages me, and does a great job of hiding it when he’s totally fed up with me vanishing into my imaginary worlds and filling the house with imaginary people.
About the Author
Nina Croft grew up in the north of England. After training as an accountant, she spent four years working as a volunteer in Zambia, which left her with a love of the sun and a dislike of nine-to-five work. She then spent a number of years mixing travel (whenever possible) with work (whenever necessary) but has now settled down to a life of writing and picking almonds on a remote farm in the mountains of southern Spain.
Nina writes all types of romance, often mixed with elements of the paranormal and science fiction.
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www.ninacroft.com
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Also by Nina Croft…
Blackmailed by the Italian Billionaire
Losing Control
Out of Control
Taking Control
Bittersweet Blood
Bittersweet Magic
Bittersweet Darkness
Break Out
Deadly Pursuit
Death Defying
Temporal Shift
Operation Saving Daniel
Betting on Julia
The Descartes Legacy
Remember Me
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