Wildfire Encounter

by Helen Bianchin

  'Would you consider divorce?' The stark query came out in a rush, and she held her breath at her own temerity.

  'As we're not married, such a course is irrelevant.'

  'You know what I mean!' Sara felt her voice shake with emotion, and she viewed its transgression with faint derision. Just when she needed an audible ally, her vocal chords elected to initiate strike action!

  'Think of the advantages,' Rafael reminded her cynically.

  'Like what? Being held in a security-guarded mansion with a monster of a man for a husband,, and permitted little or no freedom?'

  'You have scant knowledge as to what manner of man I am,' he drawled silkily.

  'You're an autocratic plutocrat,' she told him bitterly. 'The acquisition of a wife is merely to obtain a decorative appendage, and solely to satisfy the social graces.'

  'I can think of a more—satisfactory use,' he drawled mockingly, and Sara burst into angry ex-postulatory speech.

  'How typical of a man! Women, wine and work— it's simply a matter of shuffling the three to suit individual priority.'

  'I'm intrigued to discover in what order you regard mine.',

  Sara clenched her fingers into tight fists in an effort to control her rising temper. 'I'd reverse them,' she snapped without thought, and he gave a deep chuckle. 'Do you mind if we continue now? I don't have a hope in hell of getting to bed before midnight.'

  'Poor Sara,' he husked softly. 'Are your young pupils worthy of your dedication?'

  His amusement made her want to lash out at him, but his certain retribution acted as a temporary brake. Drawing a deep breath she threw him a baleful glare. 'I think you're detestable!'

  'My heart aches.'

  'I'll get out and walk!' The words were out of her mouth before she had time to think, and his silence nearly made her cry out as she sensed the leashed anger emanating from him.

  'I won't tolerate any further displays of childish temper. You protest too much—at length, and to such an extent that it ceases to amuse me.'

  Blind anger made her scarcely responsible for her actions, and her fists pummelled against his shoulder, his chest, and aimed for his arrogant jaw.

  His husky string of muttered epithets were barely discernible, uttered in his native Spanish, and his actions to counter her attack bore suppressed violence as with appalling ease he caught each of her hands and held them.

  'Will you never learn?'

  'Go to hell!'

  'By the sacred Virgin Mother, I may just take you with me!'

  His mouth fastened over hers with punishing, bruising force, taking possession and invading hitherto unexplored depths until it seemed as if he plundered and pillaged her very soul. In an agonising, timeless void she prayed for merciful oblivion, and gave a guttural moan of despair when her request went unheeded.

  Almost in silent supplication her hands fluttered in an involuntary bid for freedom, then retreated as tortured spent neck muscles threatened to snap at her jaw.

  Subtly, and beyond her conscious awareness, the pressure eased, slackening gradually to a provoking ravishment of a mouth too numbed to assimilate or appreciate the change.

  She eventually gained her freedom when he withdrew, and he thrust her from him with a gesture of self-disgust. Eyes impossibly blurred with unshed tears failed to see the smouldering bleakness in the depth of his dark eyes as he subjected her to an intent gaze, evaluating the visible effect of his devastation.

  Like a disembodied spectator Sara heard the muted roar as the Porsche leapt alive, and she was aware of its controlled speed as it took her even closer to home.

  She didn't utter a word during the journey, and as the car whispered to a halt in the deserted suburban street she stirred and mechanically .went through the motions of releasing her seat-belt.

  Sliding from the seat, she stepped on to the kerb and pushed the door, hearing its dull clunk as it closed, then she turned and made her way up the path to the flat.

  She didn't realise she wasn't alone until she paused at the door and delved into her bag for the key. Damn! It would prove elusive just when she wanted the wretched thing!

  Without a word Rafael took the bag from her hand, and within seconds he slid the key into the lock, releasing the catch.

  Silently Sara took the key from his outstretched palm and stepping past him into the lounge she turned and closed the door behind her, shutting him out of her sight.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  For the first time in weeks Sara had trouble concentrating during class, and more than once she had to ask a pupil to repeat a question.

  'Are you all right, Miss Adams?'

  Sara collected her thoughts as she glanced down at the little girl regarding her with earnest concern and forced a bright smile. 'I have a headache, Suzy, that's all.'

  'My mummy gets those all the time. Perhaps you should take some aspirin.'

  'I'll do that during afternoon recess,' Sara declared reassuringly, and directing her attention to the assembled class she said, 'Now, shall we do some reading?'

  There Was an audible chorus of groans at this announcement, and she picked up a book from her desk and flipped through the pages until she found the appropriate chapter. 'Page fifteen. Brent, will you begin, please.'

  The remaining few hours until school finished seemed interminable, and never had she been more thankful when the electronic buzzer denoted the end of the day. As the children filed from the room she collected together some essays for marking and placed them into her briefcase, then stepped out into the corridor and made her way towards the main entrance.

  The heat of the afternoon sun rose like a wave from the asphalt pavement, and Sara automatically reached for the sunglasses reposing in the thickness of her hair, slipping them down to rest on the bridge of her nose as she made her way towards the bus stop.

  'Get in, Sara.'

  How could she have possibly missed seeing the white Porsche parked at the kerb, almost right in front of her nose?

  'I'm on my way home,' she said coolly, studiously avoiding looking any higher than his forceful chin. Her fingers tightened on the handle of her briefcase as she made to step past him. 'The bus is due any minute. I'll miss it if don't hurry.'

  'I'll drive you,' Rafael stated brusquely. 'There are some things we must discuss.'

  'Such as?'

  'The time and place of our forthcoming marriage.' One eyebrow slanted with cynical mockery. 'You hadn't forgotten, surely?'

  'I wish I could!'

  'Get in the car, Sara. It wouldn't do to let any of your young charges witness their beloved Miss Adams in a fit of temper.'

  'I've had a difficult day,' she informed him with unaccustomed bluntness. 'I don't need any battles, verbal or otherwise.'

  'Then do as I suggest and get in the car.'

  Sara eyed him warily, unsure whether or not to comply. There was a chilling glint in his dark eyes and supreme arrogance emanated from his tall frame. Attired in immaculate beige trousers and an open-necked shirt he looked totally invincible. Short sleeves revealed an expanse of well-developed muscle and darkly-tanned skin, and he had hooked over one shoulder a jacket that had obviously been discarded in deference to the heat.

  'Wouldn't a cool drink in pleasant surroundings persuade you?'

  At his drawled query she gave a careless shrug and stepped towards the car. There didn't seem any point arguing with him—the memory of last night's punishment was much too vivid in her mind to want a repeat performance.

  As they left the Brisbane suburbs and headed south Sara spared him a puzzled glance. 'Where are we going?'

  'Trust me.'

  A mixture of colours rose above the parched dry ground of midsummer; the cool pastels of painted timbers mingled with brick as houses lining the highway flashed past her gaze. Frequently there was a glimpse of carefully-tended lawn and borders of flowers, sprinkler-fed with life-giving water.

  They passed Beenleigh and came into Southport, and Sara turned a cool querying gla
nce towards her captor.

  'I have to call in to my office,' Rafael told her briefly. 'Five minutes, I promise you.' The car slowed down and turned into an adjacent parking area.

  'I'll wait here,' Sara declared evenly, and he slanted her a sudden hard glance.

  'Dare I trust you?'

  'Not to. escape?' she countered bluntly.

  'I doubt that you will,' he observed dryly, and she stifled the retort that rose to the surface.

  Damn him! she cursed helplessly. Like a butterfly she was pinned to the wall with no hope of escape.

  True to his word Rafael slid back in behind the wheel after five minutes' absence, and his dark eyes raked her features in swift appraisal as he tossed a small jeweller's box into her lap.

  'Your ring,' he indicated smoothly. 'Put it on.'

  'I don't want it!' Sara declared with unnecessary vehemence, regarding the plush velvet case with about as much enthusiasm as if it contained an insect of suspect species.

  'Now or later, it's all the same,' he drawled with a careless shrug, then he put the car in motion and eased it into the late afternoon traffic.

  'You're impossible!' she snapped emphatically, enraged at his arrogant highhandedness. 'I must be out of my mind to have been swayed by your proposition. God!' She raised her eyes heavenward with pious disregard. 'It's nothing less than a hellish misalliance!'

  'Which you can't foresee succeeding?'

  'Not in a million years!' she denied with faint hysteria. The events of the previous few days were beginning to have an effect, and she felt shaky and impossibly fragile.

  The drive from Southport to Surfer's Paradise took only a matter of minutes, although Sara was scarcely aware of anything as mundane as time. Her thoughts were too full of the inimitable, savage man who had taken over her life with as much precision as if it represented little more than another business deal.

  Rafael slowed the Porsche before a high-rise hexagonal apartment block and eased it down into the underground car park, bringing it to a smooth halt in an allotted space.

  Turning towards her he took the jeweller's box from her lap, flipped it open and extracted a ring, then he reached for her left hand and slid it on to the appropriate finger.

  A solitaire set in platinum, the deep-set many-faceted diamond scintillated fire and ice, and Sara viewed its magnificence; with wry resignation. Inherent good manners forced an acknowledgment, and she voiced the words with polite formality. Thank you, it's perfectly splendid.'

  'Let's go up, Sara,' Rafael suggested imperturbably. 'I could do with a relaxing drink—preferably something cold and very dry.'

  Her eyes widened as realisation dawned, and the look she spared him was openly accusing. 'You've brought me to your apartment.'

  'You sound almost afraid,' he drawled. 'Are you?'

  'After last night, can you blame me?'

  'A Spaniard,' he began silkily, 'even by descent, possesses an inherent cruelty when provoked. You would do well to remember it in future.'

  'That's an apology?'

  'An explanation.'

  'Are you insinuating that if I bow down to your every wish, I'll lead a blissful life?' Incredulity was replaced by a tinge of bitterness as she met his steadfast gaze. 'We react against each other like adverse alchemy.'

  'You have only one option if you want my assistance in waiving your late father's debts and restoring Selina to her former home,' Rafael declared pitilessly.

  'You're detestable!' she tossed in a stormy whisper, and he answered in a harsh drawl.

  'It is not so much me you hate, but the circumstances that brought us together.'

  Her tortured gaze met his dark impenetrable profile, and with a choking sob she reached for the doorclasp and slid out from the passenger seat.

  A key-operated elevator whisked them swiftly to the uppermost floor, and in the lush-carpeted foyer there was only one entrance to be seen.

  A thick panelled door opened to reveal a suite that was the epitome of luxury, from the deep-piled off-white carpet to the collection of expensive modern furnishings. Prints gracing the walls showed a taste quite at variance with those in his palatial mansion, and Sara couldn't help giving a startled gasp of surprise.

  'Does that denote pleasure, or polite rejection?'

  'Who could reject it?' she countered simply. 'Do you spend much time there?'

  His gaze was startlingly direct. 'The occasional night or two. Ana accepts that the pressures of business necessitate my absence.'

  'Ah, business,' Sara acknowledged with delicate emphasis, and saw his lips slant in mocking cynicism.

  'I don't pretend to lead the life of a monk,' he drawled significantly, and she managed a nonchalant shrug.

  'Of course not.'

  'What will you have to drink?' He crossed the lounge to the bar, and Sara gave an expressive sigh.

  'Something long and cool with a bit of a kick.' She needed some assistance to get her through the next few hours, and alcohol would effectively ease her shattered nerves.

  'Why not take a seat and relax?' Rafael suggested with unaccustomed tolerance.

  Relax? He had to be joking! Disregarding several deep-seated couches, she selected one of the single upholstered chairs and sat down.

  Rafael moved towards her with a leisurely pantherish stride and placed a glass in her hand. 'Salud.' His gaze was faintly mocking, and she quickly raised the sparkling liquid to her lips.

  It was extremely palatable and very refreshing. 'This is nice,' she said with genuine appreciation. 'What is it?'

  'Fresh orange juice and vintage champagne,' he revealed lazily. 'Its seeming innocuousness tends to be misleading.'

  'Are you saying I can have only one?'

  'For now. When we come back you can drink your fill.'

  Puzzlement creased her brow. 'Back from where?'

  'A shopping expedition,' Rafael enlightened her blandly. 'It is my intention to see you have a wedding gown that lives up to Ana's expectations.'

  Sara's eyes flew open. 'You've told her?'

  'She has high hopes that such a happening will eventuate,' he declared urbanely.

  'I see,' she said faintly, and took another generous swallow for courage. Heaven knew she needed it!

  'Do you?' The fact that the query was double-edged didn't escape her.

  'Yes.' Her monosyllabic reply held resignation, and his ensuing silence seemed to become magnified out of all proportion, so that she rushed headlong into conversation without much conscious thought. 'I've met your family, but I still know very little about you. Shouldn't I be more informed if I'm to be your wife?'

  A slight smile tugged the edges of his mouth. 'What do you want to know?'

  'Anything—everything you think I should be aware of,' Sara answered helplessly. The alcohol must be going to her head. She felt quite light.

  'Ana's mother died in childbirth,' Rafael disclosed without any visible display of emotion. 'Beatriz was eight months pregnant when she became involved in a car accident. They were able only to save the child, and for a while is seemed even her life was held in the balance. Praise be, she survived.' His features assumed a mocking tinge. 'Does that satisfy your curiosity?'

  'It wasn't my intention to pry,' she declared civilly, and his lips twisted into a musing smile.

  'Perhaps not.'

  Sara finished her drink and placed the glass down on to a nearby table.

  'Shall we go?' he slanted, his dark eyes unfathomable as he regarded her.

  In one fluid movement she stood to her feet, and together they left the apartment.

  At an exclusive boutique—so exclusive only one fashionably attired mannequin graced the showcase window—Rafael's presence gained such enthusiastic response from the well-preserved, elegantly dressed vendeuse that Sara began to wonder at the volume of his patronage.

  'Margarita, allow me to introduce my fiancée, Sara.'

  Much to Sara's consternation he draped an arm round her shoulders and subjected her to an i
ntimate warm smile. It was all she could do not to blink with surprise.

  The older woman's smile was genuine as she extended a hand in formal greeting. 'Sara,' she acknowledged. 'It is a pleasure to meet you.' Her dark eyes sparkled with sudden humour. 'I have been waiting a long time for someone to capture this amigo's heart. So you are the one he has chosen, eh?'

  Her attention swung to Rafael. 'You are to be congratulated,' she said gently. 'The little Ana is gaining a beautiful mama'

  'Gracias.' His eyes held a devilish gleam as he sensed Sara's discomfort, and as if to compound it he teased, 'And Sara, Margarita—is she not acquiring something other than a daughter?'

  The older woman's answering laugh was decidedly wicked as she glanced towards Sara. 'I hope you know how to handle him, my dear. He is quite a man.' Her meaning was unmistakable, and Sara felt a faint tide of telling colour warm her cheeks. 'For shame, amigo,' she chided gently. 'Between us, we have made her blush.'

  Rafael's eyes narrowed in musing speculation. 'Indeed.' He lifted an idle finger and let it trail down Sara's cheek. 'Perhaps it is time to get down to business, hmm?'

  'Si.' Margarita nodded her approval. 'Come into the private salon, for it is there I have had placed a selection of gowns.' Her eyes narrowed fractionally as she scanned Sara's figure. 'You were right, Rafael. Sara is a perfect size ten.'

  During the following two hours a resident model showed a seemingly endless parade of clothes. At one point Sara leaned towards Rafael and whispered in a scandalised undertone, 'I do possess an adequate wardrobe. I thought we came for a wedding gown!'

  'So we did,' he concurred with equanimity. 'Are you bored?'

  'Of course not,' she denied hastily.

  His gaze held hidden mockery. 'Then appear suitably appreciative. It isn't everyone who has the opportunity to witness a private showing of Margarita originals.'

  The selection of a wedding gown was narrowed down to the choice between two, and in the end Rafael bowed to Margarita's superior judgment. Sara found herself hiding an amused smile—Rafael Savalje conceding defeat was something she thought never to see!

  It was after seven o'clock when they left the boutique and headed back towards the penthouse suite atop the modern apartment block.