At the Italian's Command

by Cathy Williams

  ‘Only to myself,’ Rafe pointed out, ‘and I’m the hardest taskmaster of the lot.’

  ‘Why would you choose Cornwall for a rest?’ she asked, after a while. ‘In winter?’

  ‘The opportunity arose. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, I like this part of the world and I particularly like it in winter when the tourists aren’t roaming around every nook and cranny and when the weather can be wild and unpredictable. It’s a very good antidote for a jaded soul. Now how about that for a confession?’

  ‘There’s no need for you to…come back up to London with me,’ Sophie said tentatively. She didn’t like the thought of depriving him of whatever time out he had managed for himself. The situation made her uncomfortable and so her solution was to escape it. It probably made him uncomfortable as well, whatever he said about still wanting her, and yet he had been prepared to see it through for his mother’s sake and because he needed a break. Lord knew, he probably never had a break if he sat down and thought about it, but, as he said, the opportunity had presented itself.

  ‘No. I really should get back anyway.’ He paused. ‘Remember Bob? One of those clients we visited. You laid into me like a bull terrier at the time because I wanted to buy his company which was sitting on some useful land…?’

  ‘Of course I remember him. His company made furniture.’

  ‘He agreed to the deal.’

  ‘To sell to you?’

  ‘Shocking, isn’t it? He worked out that going to the wall was a far worse proposition than flogging his company to me at a very generous price. In other words, he saw the light of day.’

  ‘In other words he saw the torchlight you held up and shone in front of him, while you convinced him that what he was seeing was in fact the light of day.’

  ‘I love the way you don’t pull your punches.’ Rafe laughed and she realised that neither of them had laughed since leaving that bedroom. She had sniped at him, making him pay for her own disaster, and he had stoically maintained a composed front, gritting his teeth in the process. ‘We came to an amicable agreement, put it that way.’

  ‘Which would be what?’

  ‘He sold to me and I’m still going to put up my out-of-town shopping centre, but it’s going to be more along the lines of a craft centre and Bob will have as much input as he can handle in designing it, along with my team of architects. He was, to put it mildly, happy with the outcome.’

  Sophie looked at him in amazement. ‘You mean you sacrificed your plans for his sake?’

  ‘I mean we reached an agreement. One that I am personally very pleased with. And that, amongst other things, can usefully be completed if we both return to London in the morning.’

  ‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if I stayed on for a couple of days…’

  ‘Don’t agree to anything you’re not comfortable with, but, unless you want us to break the news to the old dears that their match made in heaven isn’t quite as it seems, then you’re going to have to swallow and put up with the fact that we might have to withstand a few conspiratorial looks, and several more anecdotes about finding true love against all odds.’

  Sophie smiled reluctantly. Had she overreacted? It wouldn’t be the first time since she had been around him.

  ‘I think I can withstand it. And maybe it will give a more rounded picture of you. At work and at rest, so to speak. See what you do when you’re relaxing.’

  Approaching it from a work angle immediately made her feel more comfortable with the prospect of two or three more days in his company. She had travelled with her laptop computer and she would have ample time to completely finish her assignment and get him to proofread it. It made sense. Didn’t it?

  ‘But I don’t think it’s a good idea to give them false hope, to act as though we’re lovestruck.’ She laughed, pleased that she sounded so casual. ‘It’s not as though we’re teenagers any more. No one expects two grown adults to act like adolescents.’

  ‘Up to you.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means that I will be the perfect gentleman.’

  ‘Good.’ Did she believe him? Yes, she did. Because, however much he wanted her, he didn’t want her enough, not enough to wage a war with his self-control. She wondered whether he was capable of loving any woman enough for that. To truly love someone meant opening yourself up to vulnerabilities, and Rafe would never do that. The hopelessness of the situation in which she found herself hit her like a tidal wave of dull despair.

  They arrived back at the house to find a note pinned to the kitchen counter. Energy had been rallied, it seemed, and the four women had decided on a walk along the beach.

  ‘In the dark? And cold?’ Sophie wondered aloud, removing her jacket and walking over to the kettle. ‘What possessed them?’

  ‘A beach at night can be an extremely calming experience,’ Rafe countered.

  ‘Can it? Would you like some coffee?’

  ‘Yes to both questions.’ He had moved to the kitchen table and taken up residence there, leaning back against a chair, eyes closed.

  ‘You look exhausted,’ Sophie said, turning away and addressing the kettle.

  ‘Do I? It comes with the territory, I suppose.’

  ‘A lot seems to come with this territory of yours, Rafe.’

  ‘For instance?’ He couldn’t work out when exactly it had happened, but somewhere along the line he had become accustomed to her questions, the ones that breached his private boundaries. He half opened his eyes and watched her as she made them both a cup of coffee. Her movements were calm and measured. Until she came near him, and then it all went pear-shaped. It was an incredible turn-on.

  ‘No rest or relaxation…’

  ‘Perhaps not the rest, but I do have my methods of relaxation.’ As he expected, she allowed this ambiguous comment to go unanswered. ‘I read,’ he expanded lazily. ‘Listen to music, occasionally watch television…’

  ‘Oh!’ Sophie glanced up at him, then back down at the coffee, which was in the process of being stirred to death, ashamed of her seedy mind, which had immediately linked sex with relaxation. ‘What do you read?’

  ‘Biographies. Anything written by war reporters. Various newspapers every day. Music, any and everything, but I have a soft spot for jazz. Television—well, that’s a bit harder…’

  ‘Because once the news has come to an end, it just really leaves a diet of reality shows, soap operas and reruns?’ Sophie deposited his cup in front of him and then removed herself to the opposite end of the table.

  ‘Don’t knock those soap operas, although I confess that they do tend to either become exceedingly dreary or else ludicrously unreal in their pursuit of high ratings.’

  ‘You don’t really watch soap operas! Do you?’

  Rafe gave her one of those speciality crooked smiles that made her pulses go into mad overdrive. ‘Off and on. When I happen to be at home in the same room as a television set at the right time. Sometimes it beats the news when it comes to relieving stress. Course, that doesn’t happen very often because I’m not actually mortal and am deprived of the ability to do the sort of normal things that ordinary people do.’

  ‘If you had a family to go back to, you might find it easier to wind down. I mean, you might have a reason for not spending so much of your time working…’

  ‘Are you offering that observation in your professional capacity as someone trying to find out what makes me tick, or are you just displaying female curiosity in my single status?’ The flip side of his crooked smile was the expression on his face now, mildly attentive, but mostly on the wrong side of bored.

  ‘Does it matter? Wouldn’t the answer be the same?’ She wondered whether she was capable of asking him anything in a truly professional capacity now. Every question, every remark would be tinged with that intimate knowledge of him and her own recognition of her feelings for him.

  For a few seconds, Rafe didn’t say anything. Then he leant back into his chair and folded his hands behin
d his head, tilting back so that he was staring at her broodingly, through half-closed eyes.

  ‘Why is it that women are so damned keen to find out why I haven’t got a wife? Or, dreadful term, a significant other? I’m sure if I were being interviewed by a man, I would never get asked the question you just asked me.’ He gave her a few moments to digest this before continuing softly, ‘I enjoy my life the way it is. Maybe you’re right. Maybe if I had the little family back at the ranch, I’d be joining the mass office exodus at five-thirty every evening so that I could rush back to the warm, cosy place with the smell of home-cooked food. Unfortunately, if it worked as smoothly as that, there would be no divorce, would there? No, along with the little woman at home comes all sorts of problems. The glorious creature you imagine you want to spend the rest of your days with can quickly turn into a shrew and a harpy and the home-cooked meal…well, it starts off just fine, but how long before the recipe books get replaced by the fast-food containers? I have a very good friend whose life was perfectly uncomplicated for years. He lived in happy partnership with a very beautiful girl, and then they married. Within two years, things had become so unbearable that they found themselves at a marriage-counselling service trying to find out where things had gone wrong.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’ Sophie asked with just the right note of wry airiness that she knew would meet with his approval. ‘When they could just come to you instead, since you obviously have all the answers?’

  Sure enough, he responded with appreciation, his sexy eyes flickering with shared amusement. ‘Not all the answers,’ Rafe mused, wishing that the length of the table didn’t separate them, but grateful for it because he didn’t want to find himself suddenly out of control, unable to resist touching her, even though he knew that she would probably run a mile. Chasing a woman determined to run in the opposite direction was just not his style, but this woman…

  ‘Just sufficient for me to tell you what you probably already know for yourself. After all, you seem to be the expert on analysing my character. I’m not the marrying sort of man. In fact, the thought of marriage leaves me cold. My mother might be excited at the prospect of a girl she knows and approves of being on the horizon. Maybe you’re right, maybe she’s already dreaming of wedding bells and planning which hat she’ll wear, but…’ He shrugged, not feeling the need to finish his sentence because his meaning was as clear as daylight.

  Sophie got the message loud and clear. He was warning her off, telling her in so many words that he wasn’t up for grabs. He could do lust, he just couldn’t do love and he wasn’t about to string her along with promises he had no intention of keeping.

  There was no need for him to state the obvious! Her coffee was gently coagulating in front of her, but she still took a tiny mouthful, to give herself something to do.

  ‘Which still leaves us where we were at the very beginning, before you got spooked by my mother discovering us…in situ, so to speak.’

  ‘Which is where?’

  ‘Two people who want each other.’

  Sophie opened her mouth to vigorously deny any such thing and closed it again just as quickly. She could deny until she went blue in the face, but it would be a lie. He knew it and so did she. What he didn’t know was how much more she wanted, which was why he was so keen to set his parameters, just so that unfortunate misunderstandings didn’t occur. How thoughtful of him.

  ‘What I want is for you to do as you promised, behave like a—a gentleman.’

  ‘And what I want,’ Rafe said with a soft, assessing smile that made her toes curl, ‘is for you to stop hiding from the inevitable and come to me…’

  CHAPTER NINE

  RAFE was being the perfect gentleman. Sophie had had a full day of it and had already long gone past the point of wondering why she had ever agreed to stay on for just a few days more. Just being around him was driving her crazy, even though he was no longer using every opportunity of touching her whenever he felt the situation demanded it. Instead, he was deeply considerate and the touching was replaced by looking, which was almost as torturously seductive. He would sit at the opposite end of the table, because they had spent the day out with the rest of the party, and he would look at her. Oh, he would chat to everyone, he would be charming and witty and informative, but his eyes would be on her the whole time, as though he were somehow having a private conversation only with her, something intensely sexy that was taking place underneath the formal chit-chat that was directed to everyone else.

  And now, here she was, at a little before seven in the evening, having to listen to her mother rhapsodise about him.

  ‘The way he looks at you, darling…’ Grace was lying on the bed, watching as her daughter applied some makeup, having jollied her into wearing the new outfit she had treated her to earlier on in a shopping trip. Mother and daughter had branched out for a couple of hours, the object of which, as it transpired, was to purchase some clothes for her. Obviously the drabness of her outfit the evening before had jostled her mother into thinking that a new wardrobe was called for, despite Sophie’s vehement denials that she needed to dress up for a stay in the cottage.

  Now, kitted out in a figure-hugging woollen skirt and an even more figure-hugging short-sleeved top, Sophie met her mother’s interested gaze in the mirror.

  ‘He doesn’t look at me, Mother.’

  ‘Oh, but he does. Scorching looks.’

  Sophie all but groaned aloud. ‘He’s a very physical man. I mean, he’s someone who enjoys…well…’ She baulked at the thought of spelling it out in black and white. Some things went beyond the call of mother/daughter bonding. Instead, she chose to change the subject. ‘I thought you didn’t like these kinds of clothes, anyway.’ She stood up and made a sweeping gesture at herself. ‘I thought,’ she continued accusingly, ‘you approved of comfortable clothes, because it’s what’s inside that counts. I feel like a fool.’ Which meant that she felt on show, when what she wanted was to keep the whole thing low-key, perhaps just slide casually into the friends only bracket.

  ‘You look delightful.’ Her mother smiled approvingly. ‘And besides, what you’re wearing is practical. Lovely and warm for winter, but feminine as well. I think, and I might be wrong, that Rafe is the sort of man who likes women to be well dressed.’

  ‘I don’t care what Rafe likes!’

  ‘That,’ Grace said comfortably, ‘is probably because you feel so at ease around him.’

  Sophie nearly spluttered in sheer amazement at the ludicrous misinterpretation of what she had said. But there wasn’t much she could say as her mother swept on with an involved analysis of the importance of feeling comfortable with one’s partner, being able to just be oneself in front of them, to know that they will accept you, warts and all. Sophie was beginning to wonder whether she was the only sane person left in the world, or at least in this small cottage in Cornwall.

  ‘Just between the two of us, Claudia and I were beginning to wonder whether the pair of you would ever settle down.’

  Sophie’s mouth dropped open. ‘You mean you’ve been gossiping about us behind our backs?’

  ‘I don’t much like the word gossiping,’ Grace said calmly, standing up to rearrange her daughter slightly, then edging backwards to cast a critical but approving eye at the finished product. ‘Of course we chatted to one another about both of you. Claudia and I are good friends and we love you both so much.’ She stroked her daughter’s hair fondly.

  ‘Which is lovely,’ Sophie said, determined to keep her head and take a grip on the spiralling situation. ‘But, as I said, Rafe and I are not looking for anything permanent. He’s not a committing kind of man.’ That much, at any rate, was the utter truth. ‘He likes playing the field and, for a man like Rafe Loro, there’s an awful lot of field to play with.’ She hoped the look she gave her mother was a knowing one.

  ‘We’ll see,’ Grace murmured, which made Sophie want to scream in frustration. Instead she gave a dry laugh.

  ‘Indeed we
will!’ It was a cynical rejoinder aimed at a disappearing back as Grace headed out of the bedroom. Sophie wasn’t even sure her mother had heard.

  There was no sign of Rafe downstairs. Nor, when she went to the kitchen, was the table laid out for six.

  ‘We’ve decided to have a light supper and play some more bridge,’ Claudia said, eyeing Sophie and then nodding at Grace.

  ‘I saw that look, Claudia,’ Sophie admonished. ‘I suppose you two cooked up this whole thing? The shopping trip? The new outfit? You’re both as transparent as…as glass!’

  ‘Just two old women having fun,’ Claudia replied serenely. ‘You wouldn’t want to deny us that, would you? Now, shoo! Rafe is waiting for you.’

  ‘Waiting? Waiting where?’

  ‘It’s nothing fancy, but we all thought it would be lovely if you two had a romantic meal on your own. After all, you’ve been trekking around with us all day.’

  ‘A romantic meal?’

  ‘Joint effort,’ Maggie said briskly. ‘Fish. Quick and easy when you know how. A few vegetables, bought pudding, I fear.’

  Sophie was bewildered, until it dawned that a meal had been prepared for her and Rafe.

  ‘Best bit,’ Claudia added mischievously, ‘is that we’ve thoroughly spoilt ourselves by getting little Annie over to do the washing-up for us. Oh, and the waitressing! She was absolutely delighted. Apparently Christmas has left her with a nasty debt.’ Annie was the girl who came and cleaned the cottage out every other weekend, even when it was not being used. She aired and dusted and made sure that nothing had leaked, burst or otherwise done anything untoward.

  ‘It’s just so wonderful having the two of you here,’ Claudia said truthfully, ‘that it’s nice to spoil you a bit.’ Everyone was nodding. Sophie felt trapped in a world in which she no longer had any say over what happened to her.