At the Italian's Command

by Cathy Williams

  ‘Rafe’s waiting in the sitting room for you,’ Claudia continued. ‘And I don’t want you two to even think of coming into the kitchen! You’re to enjoy yourselves.’

  ‘And leave us four to at least try and concentrate on the bridge, if we can get past the chat!’ This from Edith, who was pouring the wine. Sophie doubted concentration was going to stand much of a chance if the glasses were topped up quite so generously. But she wasn’t allowed to waste time debating the point. They were all sending her out and none of them, she concluded, was a mind-reader. Including her mother. If they were, they would have realised that the very last thing she wanted was a romantic meal with Rafe Loro.

  Rafe was waiting for her in the sitting room.

  ‘Ah. You’re here. It seems we have been manoeuvred.’ His eyes flicked over her. She looked…edible, like a feisty, wilful child wrapped up in elegant clothes and the most appealing thing was that she was so unaware of it. Unaware of the impact she made on men. He wanted to kiss the scowl off her face, but he remained just where he was, looking at her. She would come to him.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ Sophie demanded.

  ‘Yes. About half an hour ago when my mother came up to my room and revealed that a meal would be laid on for us. Why don’t you stop hovering by the door and sit down? I’ll get you a drink.’ He didn’t wait for her answer. Instead, he stood up and strolled over to a table, on which was an ice bucket holding a bottle of wine, and some glasses. Sophie accepted the drink and waited for him to return to his chair.

  He looked dazzlingly attractive. The casual look had been jettisoned in favour of dark trousers and a black crew-necked jumper, which made him look rakishly handsome.

  ‘You might as well enjoy it,’ he advised, and Sophie frowned suspiciously.

  ‘Enjoy what?’ She opted for the sofa, which was close enough to avoid having to shout at him across the width of the room and far enough so that any accidental physical contact was out of the question.

  ‘Tonight.’ He shrugged. ‘They’ve put themselves out and, whether you like it or not, it would be churlish not to at least put on an act of appreciation.’

  Sophie drank a long mouthful of wine and sighed. ‘I hate being manipulated.’

  ‘So do I.’ Rafe shrugged and sipped some of his drink, watching her carefully over the rim of his glass as he did so. ‘But we can humour them while we’re here, at any rate. When we’re on our own, you can drop the act and talk about work if you like.’

  ‘It doesn’t bother you, does it?’ Sophie asked bitterly. ‘You don’t really care that this whole thing is spiralling out of control, do you? I had my mother with me for the better part of an hour this evening and she’s…well, her head is in the clouds!’ Sophie drank the remainder of her wine, which, at least, was having the desired effect of bucking up her spirits.

  ‘Then just put up with it until we leave.’

  ‘Easier said than done.’

  ‘No. Actually, it’s not.’ He stood up and walked over to where she was sitting and proceeded to position himself right next to her. ‘Instead of whingeing and moaning, why don’t you just relax? You won’t change anything by tying yourself in knots. They think that we’re an item and it may be a bit uncomfortable for you but, face it, their opinions don’t actually commit us to anything. It’s not as though we’re going to be talked into the nearest register office over the space of two days.’

  ‘Thank you for that,’ Sophie said coldly. ‘But I’m not as accustomed as you are to ignoring how other people feel and just doing what I want.’

  Rafe muttered an oath under his breath and looked at her steadily. ‘I am not going to initiate a war of words with you,’ he said coolly. ‘But what I will tell you is this: we are going to go into that dining room and enjoy the meal that has been kindly and lovingly cooked for us and we are going to converse with each other like two civil adults and you are not going to bristle because of those damned principles that you are chained to!’

  Sophie’s face drained of colour. He had taken small stabs at her before, but this was the first time he had flatly told her exactly what he thought.

  ‘I am not chained to my principles!’ she defended herself angrily, expecting retaliation, but there was none. He just continued to look at her with that steely glint in his eyes before rising to his feet and heading to the door.

  ‘I’m not about to argue with you, Sophie. We’ll eat dinner, we’ll compliment the chefs and tomorrow we’ll leave first thing in the morning.’

  Sophie followed him into the dining room. It was small and cosy and decorated in deep reds and burnished golds that lent it a warm, intimate air. And the table was set with the best crockery and candles. A spirited effort for the young lovers, or so Claudia and Grace would have imagined.

  She suddenly saw things from Rafe’s perspective. He hadn’t been out to deceive them, merely to accommodate them until the time came when they could be let down gently.

  She, on the other hand, had taken the straightforward approach of being as honest as she could within the confines of the situation and so had ended up being…sounding…at least to Rafe, childish and mutinous.

  She looked at his cold face and her heart sank. The lighthearted teasing and the flirting, which she had warned him not to do, because her beloved principles wouldn’t allow it and because she was so damned terrified of what it did to her, had gone. The man facing her across the table was the same man she had first set eyes on when she had appeared in his office on an assignment neither of them had wanted. He had, quite simply, got fed up of her and she wondered whether she could blame him.

  It was like having a source of warmth suddenly removed, and the removal was not of her doing, and the icy chill left behind hurt her more than she thought possible.

  She fiddled with the stem of her empty wineglass. There were two wineglasses, one for white and one for red, and an assortment of cutlery, which made her think that the hurriedly prepared meal must have taken longer than her mother had intimated. While she had been gently encouraged up to her bedroom to rest and relax, they had been scurrying around the kitchen preparing a meal and happily sharpening their matchmaking knives.

  She expected that Rafe, too, would have been urged to maybe disappear and relax. She doubted he would have nodded off, which was what she had done. He might have worked. In fact, he probably had, and emerged to discover the same as she had, but, instead of railing against fate, he had calmly accepted it and now…now he was just plain fed up with her, fed up with her incomprehensible behaviour. One minute she was flinging herself at him, the next minute she was backing away as though her life depended on it.

  ‘If I’ve spoilt your short break, I’m sorry,’ Sophie mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes.

  ‘Forget it.’ He poured them both some more wine. ‘I should have realised that staying on here was a mistake.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What are you apologising for this time?’

  Sophie took a deep breath and met his eyes across the table. With just four candles illuminating the room, it was impossible to read any expression on his face, but his voice told its own story. ‘I gave you mixed messages. I don’t know what you think of me, but…’

  ‘Drop it, Sophie. What I think of you isn’t important.’

  But it was. Right now it felt as though nothing in the world was as important as what he thought of her. ‘Of course it is. I wouldn’t want you to think that I’m not a professional.’ Or a prissy, screwed-up mess, she added to herself. Someone old enough to know her mind but still incapable of moderating her behaviour. Someone whose veneer of professional competence was constantly being hijacked by her own stupid, immature, emotional inconsistency.

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t run to your boss and spill the beans about us having slept together. Rest assured that you’ll walk away with your assignment successfully completed and your pride intact.’

  Annie came in with their starters, which she nervously set
in front of them, accompanied with a monologue about how nice it was to see the cottage being used, and Sophie stared down at the bowl of soup, dismally aware that she had no right to pursue any kind of personal conversation with Rafe and, if she did, even less right to assume that he would respond. Why should he? The soup was freshly made daily and sold in one of the shops in the town, and it smelled delicious, but her appetite seemed to have deserted her.

  ‘Eat it,’ Rafe ordered icily. ‘You won’t be sending any food back untouched.’

  ‘Stop ordering me around!’

  ‘Then start acting like an adult!’

  Sophie glared at him, infused with a sudden burst of anger, which was a damned sight easier to handle than the miserable sense of guilt she had been feeling.

  ‘By which you mean listen to what you have to say and do exactly what you want?’

  ‘You can translate it any way you like.’

  He, at any rate, seemed to have no problem with his appetite. He was clearly enjoying the soup and bread, if not the company. And he was looking at her as if she were a stranger, someone he had found himself having to share a meal with, and who required effort.

  ‘And you don’t give a damn what I think either way. Is that it?’

  His silence only infuriated her further. He had picked her up, she hadn’t played the game his way and so now he had discarded her. She attacked her soup with one of the rolls and enjoyed her anger. It was so much easier being angry with him than with herself.

  ‘I’ll let you know when I read your finished article,’ Rafe said noncommittally, shoving his bowl and saucer to one side and leaning back in his chair so that he could give her the full benefit of his hard, remote face. ‘Did you enjoy the soup?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Amazing what you can buy from a shop nowadays. Almost makes the culinary arts redundant, wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘I haven’t given it much thought.’ This was what she had wanted. Nothing personal. Now that she was on the receiving end of it, though, it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as she would have expected. She didn’t want to see his tight, closed face. She didn’t want to converse about nothing in particular.

  ‘No?’ His voice was mildly interested. In a minute she expected him to glance at his watch. Nothing too obvious, but just a quick reminder of how much longer he would have to endure her company.

  Not, she told herself quickly, that she wanted him trying to get her into bed. Oh, no! He might laugh at her boring principles, but they would save her from being hurt, and that was a very good thing.

  ‘I thought that, being on your own, you would have discovered all the short cuts when it comes to food.’

  ‘I might say the same about you,’ Sophie retorted.

  ‘I rarely eat in on my own.’

  ‘No, sorry, I forgot. That would be because you’re not chained to any dreary principles!’

  ‘Didn’t care for that remark, did you, Sophie? Was it just a little too close to the truth for comfort?’

  ‘Yes, I have principles. I work by my own set of right and wrong codes—’

  ‘And when a little genuine emotion shoves them through the window, you just can’t cope with it. And yet you tell me that you’re not chained to your principles! A little hypocritical, wouldn’t you say? Has it occurred to you that even your mother is pleased to see you having a good time? Maybe more pleased than thinking that you’re cooped up in London, spending Saturdays on your own while you wait for Mr Permanent to walk through the door and ask for your hand in marriage!’

  Sophie felt colour crawl into her face. She linked her fingers together on her lap and, however much she hated him for the accusations he had just thrown at her, her mind refused to treat them with the contempt they so rightly deserved. Instead, it played with the possibility that he might be right. Was that how her mother felt? That she, Sophie, was holed up somewhere in cloud-cuckoo-land, waiting for her Prince Charming to appear, and until such time was content to sit it out somewhere, gathering cobwebs and eating TV dinners on her own?

  ‘She’s only pleased because she thinks that we’re going to get married!’ Sophie snapped. ‘Which isn’t that surprising given the sterling act you’ve put on for their benefit!’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake.’

  There ensued ten minutes of charged silence as Annie entered to take away their bowls and lavish praise on the main course that she was about to bring in.

  His accusations of hypocrisy had time enough to ferment in her head.

  What was it about him? Why did he make her behave in ways that astonished her? She fought to hold onto the reins of self-control before they deserted her completely, and by the time Annie had placed the fish in front of them she found that she could manage a halfway decent smile. Just so long as she didn’t concentrate too hard on the unforgiving angles of his face.

  ‘I think it’s wonderful what you did to Bob,’ she said neutrally, harking back to a topic of conversation that had come and gone because it was the least incendiary one she could think of. ‘I know you would rather that I don’t mention anything specific in my article, but would you allow me to use that?’

  ‘If you like.’

  Silence. Sophie resisted the urge to bristle. ‘This fish is delicious.’ She took another stab at innocuous conversation. ‘I’ve always thought that Maggie missed her calling as a chef.’ More silence. ‘And I suppose you’re going to sit through the rest of this meal in silence?’ she asked politely. ‘A bit childish, wouldn’t you say?’

  Childish? Rafe nearly choked on his mouthful of food. Apart from anything else, he couldn’t remember having ever been labelled childish by anyone. Not even as a child.

  Green eyes tangled with blue. ‘You,’ he said, ‘are the most complicated, unpredictable woman I have ever met in my entire life!’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ Sophie returned. ‘It’s better than dull, boring and prim.’

  ‘I don’t recall having used those adjectives to describe you.’

  The relief of having him talk to her made her feel giddy. Anything but that flat, cold look and that dismissive tone of voice.

  ‘You implied it,’ she said, tucking into the fish with more gusto than she had done with the soup. ‘Well, you implied that I was a country bumpkin who needed looking after. How many riveting, scintillating country bumpkins do you know?’

  ‘You’re not experienced when it comes to the ways of the world. Adrian would have eaten you up and spat you out for breakfast.’

  And you wouldn’t? Sophie wanted to know. Yes, of course he would, but there was a big difference. In his case, she would have enjoyed the experience, would have sacrificed the misery of being rejected as a fair trade-off for the joy of being wanted, even for a short space of time. Her desperation to run away from him was fear, and what kind of life would she have if she allowed her head to make every emotional decision for her? An ecstatically happy and exciting life with someone who fulfilled all the right requirements on paper, but never in practice?

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So what?’ Rafe exploded. He pushed his plate away and Sophie raised her eyebrows wryly.

  ‘I thought we had to finish every scrap of food?’

  Rafe ignored her. He folded his arms and if it weren’t for the way his teeth were clamped tightly shut, he would have almost passed as being in control.

  Was he jealous? she wondered. Just thinking along those lines made her stomach lurch in sharp excitement.

  ‘He was rather good-looking…’ she said, cupping her chin in her hand and staring off into the distance. ‘Dashing.’

  ‘Which just goes to show how green around the gills you are when it comes to judging the opposite sex,’ Rafe inserted bluntly. ‘Even if his reputation didn’t precede him, most women with even a fraction of experience would be able to tell at a glance that Adrian Walsh is a player.’

  ‘And you aren’t?’ Sophie asked with interest, her eyes sliding over to his face and noting
that he had the grace to flush.

  ‘I’m honest in my dealings with women,’ he countered without missing a beat. ‘And when I’m with them…’ his eyes did a long, leisurely appraisal of her ‘…I give everything, or so I like to think. Tell me if you don’t agree…’ His smile was as lazy as the expression in his eyes and it brought a wave of hot colour to her face. ‘Good Lord, you seem to have been rendered speechless.’ The wicked ghost of a smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

  ‘You mean you want me to rate you as…as a…’

  ‘You can say it,’ Rafe coaxed softly, watching her. ‘Lover. I know you want to distance yourself from the situation, but you can’t make the reality of what happened between us disappear…’ He could feel himself hardening, craving the release of making love with her, plunging into that sweet, honeyed wetness that he knew he could arouse. He wondered whether she was feeling it too, feeling herself moisten down there, wanting him… Thank God for the table separating them because his erection was blatantly obvious.

  Sophie inhaled deeply and looked him straight in the eye. ‘You want me to rate you as a lover? Is that it? That’s a little bit conceited, isn’t it?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Rafe drawled.

  ‘I haven’t given you my opinion yet.’

  ‘Oh, but you have. Why else would you think me conceited if I wasn’t going to hear what I wanted to hear?’

  Sophie was barely aware of Annie coming in and clearing away their second course. She heard background chatter, knew that something was being placed in front of her, presumably the store-bought dessert that Maggie had apologised for earlier on, knew too that coffee and cups were being laid out on the sideboard, but all that was happening in her peripheral vision. She couldn’t take her eyes off Rafe’s face. Right now, though, she didn’t feel like a rabbit trapped in the headlights of a fast-approaching car. Right now, she felt empowered. She wasn’t going to run away again, scuttling in panic to find the safest corner to hide behind, from which she could peer at Life without dipping her toes in if she didn’t want to. Her fear of disappointment and unhappiness was a damn sight more bearable than the sickening fear she had felt when he had withdrawn from her.