'Must it be tonight?' The prospect was daunting, and one she would have preferred to face with more than some fifteen minutes' notice.
'The sooner the better, if I am to tell her of our impending marriage.'
'What if I don't meet with her approval?' Her concern wasn't feigned, and her forehead furrowed in doubt.
'Ana will wish only for my happiness,' Rafael Savalje assured her. 'I ask that you make it appear convincing.'
'Dear God!' Sara breathed piously, and incurred his twisted smile.
'There's more. Ana's grandmother is a member of my household, a respected old lady who has the welfare of her son and granddaughter very much at heart.'
'Who will examine a future daughter-in-law to the nth degree. You really are placing a cat among the pigeons, aren't you?' Sara demanded warily, then spared a rueful glance at her attire. 'I'm not exactly dressed to meet the family.'
'You'll do.'
'Thank you,' she acknowledged wryly. 'Just what I need to boost my confidence!'
'Dinner will be an informal affair,' Rafael revealed, smoothly. 'We are not expecting guests.'
Sara stifled a sigh of resignation as she crossed to the desk, and sparing him a cursory glance she indicated the telephone. 'May I?'
'You can use the one in my car,' he drawled.
'Of course—how foolish of me,' she said dryly, and incurred a dark spearing glance.
'A word of warning,' Rafael intoned silkily. 'Behave, Sara. You wouldn't like the consequences should you dare to thwart me.'
'I shall be a model of docility,' Sara assured him with seeming sweetness as she preceded him into the passageway. 'Suitably enthralled with her very new fiancée, his splendid home, his doting mama, and his dutiful adoring daughter—both of whom obviously regard him as God, Santa Claus, plus a clutch of saints too numerous to mention!'
'You are a virago, aren't you?'
'I don't want to have dinner with you—in fact, I don't want to have anything to do with you at all!' She drew a deep breath and gave him a baleful glare. 'In my book, you're nothing less than despicable!'
'My heart aches,' he drawled mockingly, and Sara clenched her hands against a fresh tide of anger.
'You don't have a heart,' she cried vehemently, and his gaze became wholly cynical.
'I assure you I have all the normal requisites.'
'Oh—go to hell!'
CHAPTER THREE
Rafael Savalje's car was a stunning white Porsche, and to Sara's jaundiced view the vehicle was a mechanical extension of the man himself.
Heading south, he handled its leashed power with disturbing ease, negotiating the early evening traffic with consummate skill.
'Call your mother.'
Sara cast him a cursory glance before accepting the outstretched receiver from his hand, and was careful to avoid any contact.
'Dial straight through,' he instructed brusquely, not taking his eyes from the road, and she suppressed a grimace as she punched the required buttons, her lips pursing as she waited for Selina to answer.
Aware that he could hear every word, she kept the ensuing conversation brief, and replaced the receiver with an almost silent click. 'Your turn.'
He slanted her a startlingly direct glance. 'It isn't necessary.'
Sara feigned surprise. 'An extra guest requires no advance notification? I'd have to take anyone's share.'
The subtle sarcasm didn't pass unnoticed. 'Rest assured you will not.' His tone was dismissive, and she observed sweetly, 'Really? You must employ a very capable cook.'
'My household is efficiently run.'
'I'm sure it wouldn't dare be otherwise!'
'We're less than ten minutes away from my home,' Rafael informed her with dangerous softness. 'I'm sure you don't need me to remind you about your behaviour in the presence of my daughter. One word out of place, Sara,' he warned silkily, 'and you'll answer to me.'
'I'm petrified,' she answered glibly.
'Don't start something you've no hope of finishing,' he cautioned with grim implacability, taking his eyes from the road to shoot her a forbidding glance.
'Oh, for heaven's sake!' she snapped crossly. 'You sound like the classic heavy in a "B" grade movie! All that's missing is a gun pushed against my ribs!'
'Now you're being melodramatic.'
'Am I?' Sara demanded. 'I'm here under duress,, which is almost the same thing!'
'You were given a choice,' he stated hardily, and she uttered a bitter laugh.
'The odds were all in your favour, Mr Savalje. Don't even try to insult my intelligence by insinuating otherwise!'
'Rafael,' he insisted. 'Ana will think it strange if you address me other than by my given name.'
'I'll probably choke every time I have to say it!'
'Practice will assuredly make it easier.'
'Never,' she vouchsafed vehemently, and could have slapped the acknowledging wry smile from his sardonic features.
The Porsche eased imperceptibly and turned in towards an impressive set of wrought-iron gates which swept open and then closed with smooth remote control precision the instant the car's wheels cleared the aperture.
Sara gave a faint grimace as she noted the solid brick wall stretching wide to enclose spacious grounds that were landscaped to perfection, and her eyes widened with reluctant admiration as she caught sight of the elegant mansion resting in architectural splendour at the head of the gently curving driveway.
Mediterranean in design, its double-storied construction was of rough-faced cream stone, with glazed terracotta tiles covering its sloping roof. Numerous wide arches graced the forecourt and splendid balconies hedged with wrought-iron lent an air of dignity that was a silent endorsement of its owner's considerable wealth.
'You're taking an awful risk,' Sara murmured as she stepped out from the car, and her features became serious as the complexities of what she was undertaking assumed mammoth proportions. 'What if Ana hates me?'
His dark eyes were startlingly direct as he crossed round to stand beside her. 'My daughter is already aware of your existence.'
Sara's surprise was genuine. 'I've never met her,' she said positively. 'I would have remembered the name.'
'Ana was a guest at a children's party you attended several weeks ago.' His mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. 'You have been lauded with amazing frequency ever since.'
There were two possibilities, and her brow creased in concentration.
'The Albertsons',' he enlightened, and taking her elbow in a firm grasp he indicated a central impressively panelled door. 'Shall we?'
Sara pondered what would happen if she dared pull away from him, and almost instantly his fingers tightened until she emitted a gasp of pain. 'For heaven's sake!' she breathed angrily. 'I'm not going to run away!'
His grip lessened without expressed apology, and she wondered if he ever excused his actions, dismissing such, an eventuality almost instantly. He was too pitilessly indomitable to provide a reason for anything he did.
Either their arrival had been witnessed, or the exterior of the house was equipped with an electronic scanning device, for the instant they reached the tiled entrance the door swung open to reveal a correctly-attired man of middle years whose deferential manner immediately identified him to be a servant.
Sara stifled the idiotic mirthful bubble that threatened to destroy her composure. Why shouldn't Rafael Savalje employ a butler? There was probably a cook as well as a housekeeper, she thought wryly. Ana's grandmother doubtlessly reigned supreme as a dowager matron, whose solitary aim was to ensure her son's household ran with the utmost precision. A black-clothed martinet of severe proportions rose unbidden to mind, and Sara gave a mental grimace. It was going to be difficult enough dealing with one opponent—heaven preserve her from two!
'Papa, you brought her!'
A tiny figure broke into a run across the tiled foyer and with a gentle laugh Rafael swung the child high into his arms and shared an affectionate embrace before settin
g her down to stand at his side.
Sara successfully hid her initial surprise at her first glimpse of Rafael Savalje's daughter. Aged between seven and eight, she was an exquisite child, with liquid brown eyes set in a delicately-boned face. Long sable brown hair flowed down past her shoulders, sleek and well-groomed, and her frock of sprigged cotton had obviously been chosen with care.
'Ana, I'd like you to meet Miss Adams.'
'I'm very pleased you could come,' said the little girl with a delightful mixture of well-mannered formality and engaging frankness.
Sara glimpsed the warning darkness behind Rafael's smiling gaze and cheerfully ignored it by switching her attention to the child at his side. 'Hello, Ana. I'm looking forward to having dinner with you.'
Dark eyes glowed, and an irrepressible smile lit her delicate features as she tilted her head towards her father. 'Does Grandmama know Miss Adams is dining with us?'
'I'm sure Tomas will have acquainted her with the fact that I have brought a guest,' Rafael told her solemnly before querying gently, 'How was school today?'
'Quite good, Papa,' the little girl responded dutifully, while darting a quick smile towards Sara. 'Sister Monique is pleased with my test results, and I have done my homework—even finished tomorrow's assignment,' she rushed on breathlessly, so that Rafael gave a low chuckle and trailed a gentle finger down the slope of her small nose.
'Well done, pequeňa! So there can be no reason why you shouldn't be permitted an extra half hour beyond your normal bedtime this evening with which to help me entertain Miss Adams, hmm?'
'Thank you, Papa.' Excitement radiated from her small frame, and Sara could only wonder at the rapport father and daughter shared.
There was no hint of harshness in Rafael's ruggedly-chiselled features, and a warmth was apparent in the depth of his eyes, affection tugging the otherwise stern fines of his sensual mouth.
'How was your day, Papa?' There was touching earnestness in the query, and Sara was unable to prevent a feeling of affinity for Rafael Savalje's daughter.
'Varied, little one,' Rafael answered blandly. 'A few unexpected developments, but nothing untoward.'
Arranging a demonic marriage could certainly be termed unexpected—but untoward? Sara marvelled at his mask-like facade, at the same time chilled by the manner of man she was committed to marrying.
'Shall we join your grandmama in the salon? I suspect she will be wondering what can be keeping us.'
Sara felt a sinking feeling as Rafael indicated a double set of doors to his left, and it needed considerable courage to step across the parqueted floors Very little registered, although she was fleetingly aware of elegantly carved furniture and ornately-framed paintings adorning the walls.
Silvia Savalje was the antithesis of the stern-faced matriarch Sara had envisaged. Fine-textured olive skin, finely-moulded bone structure, and exquisite grooming denoted a gentlewoman whose correct manner, although slightly daunting at first, proved surmountable, and after fifteen minutes of polite conversation together with the added help of some excellent sherry, Sara began to feel that two members of Rafael Savalje's family were at least human!
Dinner comprised several courses, with Tomas' wife, Clara, in unobtrusive attendance. Conversation rarely lagged, its flow conducted with such skilful adroitness that Sara could almost believe her presence had been motivated by express invitation. It made her wonder how many other women of Rafael's acquaintance had been accorded the privilege of dining exclusively with his family, then instantly discounted it, aware that his feminine friends would be discreetly entertained elsewhere.
Ana proved a delightful companion throughout the meal, her contributive comments and queries being advanced for her tender years. The natural empathy with her elders, and their treatment of her as an equal, was something Sara could only admire. There was no doubt that as a father, Rafael Savalje was without fault. In fact, Sara found herself trying to reconcile the man as she knew him to be with the smiling urbane host seated at the head of the table.
After the completion of dessert, Ana excused herself from their presence, albeit a shade reluctantly, and was escorted from the dining-room by the sympathetic-faced Clara.
'You will come again, won't you?' the little girl appealed with touching concern after bidding Sara goodnight.
'I'd like that very much,' Sara said gently, and received a beaming smile in return.
'I told you Miss Adams was nice, didn't I, Papa?'
Rafael leant forward and ruffled her dark shining hair. 'Indeed you did, pequeňa,' he acknowledged tolerantly, 'I'll be up later, hm?'
'I probably shan't still be awake.'
'Pleasant dreams, chica? His hand slid down to gently brush her cheek. 'Sara will visit with us very soon, I promise.'
'Lovely!' Intense satisfaction wreathed her expressive features, and placing her hand happily into that of the waiting Clara Ana gave everyone an en-chanting smile. 'Goodnight.'
As a child; she was irresistible, and proved a favourable weight on the scale Sara mentally had tipped against the dynamic head of the Savalje household.
'Shall we adjourn to the salon for coffee?'
Sara met Rafael's studied gaze, and glimpsed that faint tinge of mockery evident. 'Thank you,' she acknowledged politely, preceding him as he moved from the room. Now that Ana had departed, she felt it unnecessary to remain. 'I must leave soon,' she told him with quiet determination. 'I have books to mark for tomorrow's lesson.'
Silvia Savalje murmured a conciliatory response, and graciously declined to join them for coffee. 'It keeps me awake,' she excused with a faint twinkle. 'That's an advantage of advancing years—one can claim almost any indulgence against social precedence!' Her lips parted in a warm smile. 'It has been a pleasant evening, Miss Adams—one I look forward to repeating. Goodnight.'
Alone with her aggressor, Sara said briefly, 'I'd prefer to forgo coffee, if you don't mind.' She spared a glance at her watch. 'It's after nine, and I've more than an hour's drive ahead of me. If you would be good enough to call a taxi, I'll get on my way.'
'I will take you home,' Rafael indicated, his dark scrutiny intent and vaguely forbidding that she should consider any other alternative.
She shook her head in silent denial. 'Don't be ridiculous! There's—'
'No need?' One eyebrow rose in cynical enquiry, and his lips twisted into a wry smile. 'I beg to differ. Neither Ana nor my mother would forgive me if by chance some harm should befall you.'
'I'd appreciate a lift to Surfer's—'
'Direct to your door, Sara,' he insisted with dangerous softness. 'I won't hear of any arguments.'
'My car—' she began, only to have him interject smoothly, 'will be delivered by the time you need it in the morning.'
'Eight o'clock?' she queried with open disbelief. 'How will you manage that?'
'Without any problem at all,' Rafael drawled sardonically.
'It must be nice to have so many underlings awaiting your slightest command,' Sara remarked dryly, and incurred his faint mocking smile.
'Shall we go?'
'An excellent suggestion. I can't wait to get out of your company.'
'The spitting kitten is back, I see,' he observed silkily, 'Likewise the diabolical barbarian,' she added with seeming sweetness.
'With no hint of a truce in sight, eh?'
'None whatsoever.'
They had reached the foyer, and when Rafael opened the heavy panelled door Sara moved quickly across the tiled forecourt and slipped into the passenger seat of the waiting car.
'Afraid you won't survive another hour in my company unscathed?' Rafael taunted as he slid in behind the wheel. The engine purred into life at a deft turn of his wrist, and once past the gates he sent it moving swiftly along the curving stretch of road.
There was no moon to be glimpsed in the night sky, and the only illumination was from regularly-spaced street lights providing a winking glow between wide-branched trees as they sped past.
Tr
y as she might, Sara was unable to dismiss the cynically ruthless man at her side. A wry smile momentarily twisted her lips. Face it—Rafael Savalje wasn't a man any woman could successfully ignore! Living with him would be akin to sharing residence with a container of dynamite—highly volatile, and totally unpredictable!
'Ana shows herself willing to, become your devoted slave.'
Sara turned slightly and could glean nothing from his dimly-reflected features in the darkness of the car's interior. 'She appears to be a delightful child,' she essayed with quiet sincerity.
'Unlike her father, him?'
'It hasn't ceased to amaze me that she came from—'
'My loins?'
She gave an involuntary gasp at his bluntness.
'Have I shocked you, Sara Adams?'
'Did you want to?' she countered calmly, darned if she would allow him to think he had. Envisaging that virile body naked and engaged in lovemaking was enough to quicken her pulse and bring a telling blush to her cheeks.
His soft chuckle did little to restore her composure, and with an inaudible Sigh of vexation she turned to gaze out the window.
Reaching the Gold Coast highway the vehicle gained speed, and Sara lapsed into reflective introspection as the enormity of what she was undertaking began to assume nightmarish proportions.
'Let me guess,' Rafael's voice drawled with sardonic cynicism across the darkness of the car's interior. 'Your second thoughts with regard to our— alliance have begun to accelerate beyond conceivable count.'
'Brilliant,' she said stiffly. 'You read minds.'
'Yours is particularly transparent.'
'I'd like to punch you!' she snapped with punctuating clarity. 'Preferably senseless.'
The engine was reduced from a husky purr to a well-tuned whisper in a matter of seconds, then cut out to nerve-racking silence.
'Why have you stopped?' Her voice rose with incredulous demand as she swung round to face him.
He shifted slightly in his seat and rested an arm on the steering wheel as he turned to regard her. 'I guess now is as good a time as any for you to display a little healthy reaction.'
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