by Julia James
And never, never like that!
No one could create that touch—that softness, that magic!
Only Rafael. Only him—
She pressed a hand to her breast. Beneath her ribs her heart was beating fast, not just from the stairs but from the hectic pulse in her throat.
I should have stopped him! I should have said no. I can’t do this—I must not!
But even as she adjured herself she knew it would have been impossible to have stopped him! Impossible to have resisted the velvet caress of his fingertips, his mouth. Impossible to resist the magic he had woven on her lips.
As if he’d broken a spell...
Freeing her from a prison that had held her for too long.
She gave a little cry. Half anguish, half disbelief. Lurching forward, she hurried into the kitchen, busied herself deliberately with filling the kettle, setting it to boil. Tea—that was what she needed! Tea—strong and hot and comforting and normal—that would scald away the last remnants of his touch upon her lips. Because scald it away she must—of course she must.
She closed her eyes. A great anguish filled her.
What he wanted she could not give.
And what she wanted she could not take.
Barred for ever...
Bleakly she made her tea, disposing of the teabag, rinsing the sink out with the remainder of the boiling water, scouring it as if she were scouring her skin, killing his touch.
It didn’t matter—it didn’t matter that he’d kissed her. How could it? It changed nothing...nothing at all. What she felt, what she wanted...longed for...did not matter.
With unseeing eyes she started to sip the scalding hot tea, sip after sip. Obliterating the taste of his mouth from hers. While, inside her, her heart ached with an unbearable anguish for what must not be—could not be.
* * *
Celeste was asleep and dreaming. Despite her fears that it would not, sleep had come immediately after she’d gone to bed, barely staying up long enough to take her make-up off before pulling her nightdress on and slipping under her duvet. She was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.
And then she started to dream.
But not about Rafael’s kiss.
Hands—hands all over her. And she could not stop them. There was a voice, too, talking at her, and she had to hear it, could not block her ears. She could feel her dress falling off and she could not stop it. And then the touching started...the stroking...and the hot breath on her skin. And she could not stop that either.
She could not stop anything.
And there was one more thing she could not stop.
She could not stop remembering.
* * *
Rafael replaced his phone in its cradle on his desk, a look of grim satisfaction on his face. The conversation he’d just had had been off the record, but it had confirmed that Karl Reiner was not popular even on his own company’s board.
Louise was the first teenage model he had plied with what a lab analysis of the water Rafael had taken from him last night had confirmed as Rohypnol. Reiner’s unsavoury reputation had become a liability, and his fellow directors were going to take action—Karl Reiner was about to be removed from the board and sidelined from the running of the company.
Wanting to pass on the good news, Rafael phoned Celeste. As ever, it went to the answer machine, but he was unfazed by it. He was used to it by now. He kept his tone casual and conversational, with only an underlying trace of concern.
‘How are you? Have you heard anything from Louise? Let me know if there’s anything I can do on that front. And I have some welcome news about Karl Reiner. Give me a call some time and I’ll tell you about it.’
He had no very great expectation that she would do so, and he was not disappointed. Instead, addressed to him at his London office, there arrived a card adorned with a Dutch still life from the National Gallery’s collection on which she’d handwritten, ‘Thank you for your help the other evening. It was very good of you’.
It was signed simply ‘Celeste’.
The glint came to his eyes again. Then he picked up his phone and called her number. Not her landline, her mobile.
She answered it promptly, simply saying, ‘Hello?’ in a businesslike tone.
‘Celeste—I’m glad I’ve reached you.’
There was a choking sound at the other end. The mordant glint in Rafael’s eyes intensified.
‘How did you get this number?’ Celeste demanded. She did not sound businesslike now. She sounded agitated.
‘Louise. She was very helpful.’
‘Louise?’ Celeste expostulated.
‘Yes. I called at her flat yesterday evening, asking how she was. She said you’d talked to her and had been “really sweet” and she said how sorry she was, and how grateful to us both, and how she’ll never be such an idiot again. I took ruthless advantage of her gratitude and asked if she had your mobile number.’ He paused. ‘She was thrilled to give it to me, and said you were “really lovely” and “really friendly” and hoped we’d be “really happy” together.’
There was another choking sound.
He waited for it to subside, then continued smoothly. ‘So, in order to fulfil her rose-tinted romantic expectations, I would therefore like to invite you to the theatre one evening. Will you come?’
There was a moment’s silence at the other end. Then, ‘It’s very kind of you, but it isn’t possible.’
She spoke with what, Rafael could tell she intended to be, an air of finality.
‘Louise will be extremely disappointed,’ he replied. ‘How will you possibly explain to her that you turned me down? She’s played cupid, and this is her reward?’
‘If you hadn’t conned her into giving you my number she wouldn’t know anything about it!’ Celeste bit back.
‘What’s done is done,’ Rafael replied, unconcerned. ‘What sort of theatre do you like? Drama? Musicals? Opera? Tragedy...comedy...kitchen sink—is that the right expression in English?’
Celeste shut her eyes. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘I explained to you—I don’t do this. I just...don’t, and you have to accept it. Please. It isn’t...personal.’
She had to make herself speak. Her throat was narrowing and it was painful. More painful than it should be.
There was silence for a moment. Then Rafael spoke. The lightly teasing tone was gone. In its place was a quiet resolve. ‘I’ll give you time, Celeste, all the time you need. But I won’t give you for ever. Take care of yourself for now.’ Then he rang off.
She stared at the silent phone. Then slowly turned it off.
Her heart seemed to be thumping heavily in her chest.
* * *
Rafael kept himself busy. It made passing the time until he could get back in touch with Celeste easier. He wanted to give her the time he knew she needed, and didn’t want to spook her by being too pushy about how much he wanted to get to know her more, wanted to woo her.
He habitually worked at a punishing rate, clocking up long hours, but now he upped his schedule, taking in a gruelling round of meetings with his existing companies, and with the prospective recipients of his investments, and with financial institutions that might co-fund them as appropriate. Then he flew to New York and did a similar round, heading back to the UK via Barcelona before arriving in London.
The time away had done nothing to lessen his resolve. In the non-stop schedule of meetings and socialising he’d undertaken, Celeste’s image had hung perpetually in his mind. And more than her image. It was as if he could still taste the sweetness of her lips, feel the soft silk of her skin, the delicate structure of her cheekbones and jaw.
When, on the return flight, he chanced to be sitting next to a female passenger perusing a fashion magazine, his eyes dropped to one of t
he adverts for Blonde Visage. Celeste—in all her pale, pure, ethereal beauty! His breath caught and stilled, his eyes devouring her.
How hauntingly beautiful she was! And yet... His eyes shadowed. There was a hauntedness about her, too.
What happened to her in that long-ago trauma that has set her on this isolated course she steers?
Whatever it was—whether or not it was akin to the fate she had saved the young and naive Louise from—he would release her from its haunting! Because the promise of release was there—he had tasted it on her lips, in the sweetness of her mouth.
I can free her from it! I can take her to the place she should be free to go to fulfil the desire that flares between us! I can lead her back from her lonely world, lead her at my side—so she no longer has to be apart, no longer has to keep the world at bay.
Back in London he phoned her, leaving a message on her landline. He heard nothing, and the following morning he tried her mobile number. It went to voicemail. He instructed his PA to send flowers. But at the end of the day she told him the florist had been unable to deliver, and that the occupant of the ground-floor flat had told them she was away.
By noon the next day, courtesy of a call to a harassed-sounding individual at the agency he knew represented Celeste, Rafael knew exactly where she was. Not just away, but abroad. A glamorous shoot on a glamorous tropical island. It had been arranged at short notice, and it was about as far away from England as you could fly.
He leant back in his leather executive chair and stretched his legs under his desk, looking out into the middle distance. Turbulent emotion speared through him. He had thought—hoped!—that his kiss would tell her more than words ever could just what could be between them if only she would let him take her to the place he longed to take her—to the intimacy he knew would light them both. But yet again she had fled from him. Yet again she had disappeared—
He frowned, frustration biting at him. Had she taken work abroad simply to get away from his attentions? It was likely—and he feared it was so.
Thoughts swirled within him. Should he simply accept, heavily, that what he wanted was impossible? Should he simply relinquish her to the sterile, lonely world she wanted to go on living in? That sad, isolated place she lived her life in—alone and solitary.
But every sentiment within him rebelled at such defeat.
No! I can’t let her do it to herself! I can’t let her shut out the emotions, the physical joy, that should be hers! If she is haunted by her past I will exorcise it for her! I will rescue her from her isolation...her bleak, sad, self-imposed prison.
And in doing so he knew he would find a joy that only she could give to him.
He sat forward energetically, with renewed vigour. He would not—could not—let Celeste languish without making one final attempt to reach her. Convince her that he could bring a joy to her that would free her from her lonely life.
He leant forward, picking up his phone to speak to his PA. Seeking out Celeste one last time would mean a long flight and clearing his diary ruthlessly.
But he would do it.
To win Celeste, Rafael was fast coming to realise, he would do a great deal.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CELESTE CRANED HER neck to look out of the tiny porthole. The plane was banking, bringing into view plunging cliffs lapped by the deep cobalt of the Pacific, vividly contrasting with the verdant green of the island ahead. She felt a little rush of pleasurable anticipation. It was an extravagance, she knew, coming here for a fortnight’s holiday to this tiny Hawaiian island after the hectic shoot on Oahu, but she didn’t care.
The other models had chosen to stay on at the large, lively Oahu hotel, but Celeste had opted for this small—if fearsomely expensive!—luxury resort on an island so small its airstrip could only take propeller-powered planes. She didn’t want nightlife and entertainment and crowds—she wanted peace and quiet and the awe-inspiring beauty of Hawaii.
And when the deluxe SUV delivered her and the other incoming guests to the hotel she knew she had made the right choice. Her breath caught as she walked into the wide, open-air atrium of the low hacienda-style green-roofed hotel. A refreshing fountain tinkled at its stone-tiled centre, and beyond, framed by sprays of vivid crimson bougainvillaea, was a fabulous vista of lush verdant gardens, leading down to the sea beyond. She stood entranced, the delicate blossoms of her welcoming lei around her neck, drinking it all in, her eyes alight with wonder and pleasure.
Half an hour later, checked in and unpacked in her room—which might have been the cheapest in the resort but was still absolutely beautiful, with its little balcony overlooking the gardens at the side of the hotel—and having anointed her pale skin with the sunblock that was obviously going to be essential when she was outdoors in daytime, she headed out.
Delight filled Celeste as she walked down towards the beach past the azure freeform swimming pool, through landscaped gardens. Little paths meandered past rivulets and miniature waterfalls, lush with verdure and foliage, and vivid white and pink and red flowers grew everywhere, with sweeping beds of birds of paradise and other exotic blooms she could only guess at. It was hot, but not oppressively so, with a light, fresh breeze off the ocean.
As she arrived at the silken-sanded beach an attendant glided forward to usher her to a parasol-shaded lounger, arranging the towels and headrest for her. Gratefully she settled herself down, accepting his offer of a refreshing fruit juice and iced water. Moments later she was sipping as she gazed, entranced, out over the dark blue ocean, which was lapping the soft sand with gentle waves. A sense of peace enveloped her. She was away from everything else in her life—away from the clatter and noise of London, away from her work, from the frenetic pace of the fashion world.
Away from the man who had intruded into her life even though she didn’t want him to.
Into her head leapt his image—as potent and powerful as it always was, as vivid and as real. As disturbing...
And more than just his image.
Like a tactile brush against her mouth, it was as if she could feel the soft, seductive graze of his lips on hers, arousing in her such sweet, tempting sensations that even now she felt her body tremble with the recollection.
Her peace was shattered. She must not let herself think—remember—feel! She must not! She must only remind herself of the impossibility of what he wanted—how it could never, never happen!
Abruptly, she picked up the resort’s activities guide and started to peruse it. One activity in particular caught her attention. It was a stargazing expedition to the deserted side of the island—a nature reserve where there was no light pollution from the resort. There would be an astronomer to instruct them, and professional-level telescopes to view the heavens through. Early booking was recommended, owing to its popularity. The cost was high, but it would be worth it, Celeste knew.
As she made the decision to book the expedition she found herself remembering, yet again, how she’d gone out to look at the stars that evening of the charity show at the country house near Oxford. And how Rafael Sanguardo had simply strolled up to her and into her life...
She turned the page decisively. Well, he was out of her life now. And he had to stay that way. It was essential. She could not risk any further contact with him. His impact on her had been too powerful, urging her with every instinct of her being to respond to what she knew he sought from her.
Sadness haunted her eyes. She could not respond—must not respond. However much she might try and forget the past it controlled her still—dictated the terms on which she could now live her life. And that meant she had to abide by what she had told Rafael that evening in the restaurant.
‘I don’t do relationships...’
The stark, harsh truth was indelible. She had to stick to it—had to. And now she was nine thousand miles from him and it must stay that way! But e
ven as she reminded herself of that, another thought slid into her head.
It would have been good to watch the Hawaiian stars together...
She snapped the guide shut. Put her drink back on the table. Got to her feet. She would go for a swim. Change the inside of her head, as it clearly urgently needed to be changed.
Carefully removing her lei and her sarong, Celeste stepped over the hot sand and down to the cooling waters of the ocean. She was here to relax, to indulge herself, to rest, to have ‘me time’ in a fabulously luxurious place.
And that was all she was going to do.
* * *
And for the next few days that was exactly what she did. She slid into the lazy routine of the resort, keeping to herself except for casual chats with other guests. She drew male eyes, as she always did, but the clientele here were not the kind to plague her with uninvited attentions. Most guests were couples, anyway, either young honeymooners or older couples enjoying a leisured retirement.
Yet although she kept to her customary solitude, sometimes, with a little pang, she felt a flicker of envy as she watched their companionship, their affection to each other, their togetherness...
Then she would look away again. That was not for her and she must accept it.
Must banish, too, the thoughts that followed—thoughts that saw, clearly and disturbingly, the tall, magnetic figure she must not let herself think about. For he had gone from her life now, as she had told him to.
She must be content with what she had. Which, right now, was this magical resort and all it offered.
She’d booked the stargazing expedition and enjoyed the facilities of the spa, had gone out on a courtesy outrigger ride, seen turtles swimming over the reefs and tried a little gentle bodysurfing. Other than that she had done absolutely nothing except laze and swim and pass the days in peace and quiet.
I could stay here for ever, she thought as she lay on her sunbed, half drifting off to sleep in the shaded warmth, soothed by the murmur of the breeze in the palm fronds, the lap of the waves on the sand. Other than that, there was silence all around her.
