'Elaborate, niňa.' It was a command she chose to ignore, refusing to be intimidated when his expression hardened. 'Sara?' The threat of anger made his voice silky-smooth, and she wondered at her temerity. There were definitely times when it paid to take the line of least resistance, but she was spoiling for a fight.
'Did you enjoy your luncheon date?'
For an infinitesimal second his eyes gleamed in sudden comprehension, then they became hooded as he lazily took a generous swallow of whisky. 'Are you jealous, niňa, because I happened to lunch with someone other than you?'
'I couldn't care less who you lunch with—or dine with, for that matter,' she dismissed swiftly, and her lips took a bitter twist. 'You don't deny that you had a luncheon date with Renée?'
'Why should I?' Rafael countered smoothly. 'Her father is a valued business associate, and Renée has been dabbling in real estate quite successfully for the past five years.'
'No doubt due to your excellent advice.'
'She has consulted me on several ventures—yes.'
'My God!'. Sara declared piously. 'I wouldn't put it past her, to have developed an interest in property solely for the purpose of hiring your services. She'd be in your bed given the slightest opportunity.'
Rafael gave an imperceptible shrug; but she was all too aware that beneath half-lowered lids his eyes were dangerously alert. 'Don't make any accusations you can't substantiate, niňa,' he drawled, and she flew into a temper at once.
'Stop using childish nicknames! It sounds endearing with someone of Ana's age, but I left the schoolroom years ago!'
'It's a pity you didn't achieve an enviable maturity to complement your status.'
Sara felt her voice rise in rage. 'You diabolical fiend—what's that supposed to mean? That I should condone your liaison with another woman?' Her eyes sparked green fire and her cheeks were alive with colour. 'If that's maturity, then I'll pass!'
His expression was deliberately enigmatic. 'A few minutes ago you stated you didn't care who I lunched or dined with.'
'Renée is different,' she muttered trenchantly, unable to meet his gaze.
'Whom you would prefer me not to see—in any capacity?'
'You're a married man,' she flung bitterly, and could have wept at the devilish cynicism she glimpsed in those dark eyes.
'Ah, I see,' Rafael mocked quietly. 'You were upset.'
'No—yes, damn you!' she choked. 'If you're going to have an affair, at least have the decency to do it discreetly!'
His faint chuckle was definitely quizzical. 'My dear Sara, we conduct a very satisfactory sexual relationship every night, and most often in the early morning hours as well. Where do you imagine I'd find the energy, let alone the inclination, to bed someone else on the side?'
'I'm sure you'd manage, given sufficient provocation.'
'Do you want my oath of fidelity?'
'As a salve to your conscience?' Sara parried. 'Only to continue innumerable clandestine meetings with the glamorous Renée—who, incidentally, couldn't give a fig for anyone other than herself.' She shook her head slowly from side to side. 'It never, ceases to amaze me how blind men can be in the face of a beautiful woman.'
'The reason is fairly basic, wouldn't you agree?'
His drawling cynicism was the living end, and she erupted into angry speech.
'You—bastard!' Words tumbled from her lips in a torrent of loathing. 'I've already been given well-meaning advice about your—rakish reputation.'
'You're over-reacting, Sara.'
'Am I?' she queried sadly. 'I notice you don't bother denying it.'
His silence was enervating, then he offered hardily, 'Would you believe me if I did?'
She swallowed painfully, and her eyes didn't falter as they held his gaze. 'The evidence is stacked against you, Rafael.'
His eyes narrowed fractionally, and a muscle tensed along his jaw. 'What the hell are you talking about?'
Her gaze remained steady. 'Renée was quite lucid in her recount of every sordid detail. Dates, places— even time to the precise hour on occasion,' she revealed stoically, and saw his features tauten into an iron mask.
'That young woman has a lot to answer for,' he growled harshly.
'It takes two,' Sara reminded him bitterly.
'For the love of heaven!' Rafael swore emotively. 'My relationship with Renée was over long before you left the schoolroom.' His eyes seemed to pierce right through to her very soul. 'The Renées of this world are like birds in a gilded cage—constantly in need of attention and admiration. They are as false as their existence,' he added pitilessly.
'How, sad,' Sara declared with wry cynicism. 'My heart bleeds for her.'
'Go and get changed,' Rafael ordered brusquely. 'We'll go somewhere for dinner.'
A stray lock of hair fell forward, and she brushed it back with an impatient gesture. 'I'd rather not, if you don't mind. I don't think I'd be very good company.'
'Nonsense. It will do you good.'
She gave him a baleful look. 'You ride roughshod over everyone, don't you?'
'I know a very good seafood restaurant where the food is superb,' he drawled. 'We could go on to a nightclub afterwards.'
'One of your favourite haunts?' she taunted, her glance derisory. 'And risk running into Renée? Thanks, but no, thanks.'
He straightened and moved towards her with an indolent grace, and she watched in idle fascination as he paused directly in front of her. 'Sara, do as you're told, hm?' He reached out a hand and brushed his fingers down her cheek in a strangely gentle gesture. 'I'd like to take you out so that we can enjoy a few hours together, with some excellent food, a good palatable wine. We could dance, or watch a floor show. Doesn't that have any appeal?' He leant forward and lightly brushed his lips over the top of her hair, then trailed them down to caress her temple.
It was a flagrant seduction, and against her will she felt her senses begin to stir at his potent magnetism. Oh God, would it always be like this? she moaned silently as his lips began a slow downwards trail over her cheekbone to the edge of her mouth. She could feel all her fine body hairs tingle in aware-ness, and without being aware of it she swayed towards him, her face lifting of its own volition for his kiss.
Rafael's mouth teased along her lower lip, tantalising with an evocative sensuality that set the blood pulsing warmly through her veins. She was melting, drifting way but of her depth, and with unashamed capitulation she clung to him, winding her arms up round his neck as her mouth opened beneath his like a flower to the morning sun.
There was hunger in his touch that met an answering response as the kiss deepened to a consuming passion that knew no bounds, and she gave a tiny moan of entreaty when he caught her up into his arms.
'Rafael—no!' The protest was half-hearted at best, and they both knew it.
'Sara—yes,' he mocked gently, and his dark eyes smouldered as he glimpsed the mixture of conflicting emotions chasing across her expressive features. With a husky laugh he pulled her close and strode purposefully from the lounge towards the stairs leading to their elegantly-appointed bedroom at the far end of the hallway.
With an adroit movement he closed the door behind them, then moving towards the bed he gently lowered her to stand at its edge.
'What about dinner?' she murmured, and his answering smile did strange things to her equilibrium.
'Who cares about food?'
She stood transfixed by the deep slumbrous ardency of his gaze, and there wasn't a thing she could do to stop him as he slowly divested her of every last vestige of clothing.
'Undress me,' Rafael instructed, and when she didn't comply he caught hold of her hands and placed them against his broad chest. 'Don't be shy, querida.' His lips descended to each eyelid in turn, then trailed the slope of her nose before seeking the sensitive hollows at the base of her throat. Each pulsebeat was the recipient of that warm probing mouth as it traversed the gentle swell of her breasts to tease first one tautened rosy peak before crossing to
render a similar treatment to the other.
Just when she thought she could stand no more his hands began a slow feathery path over her supple young body, his touch akin to a virtuoso as he played each sensitive nerve to its ultimate sensual pitch, so that she became an enchanted wild thing, ready and willing to do anything he asked of her.
As if in a dream she reached for the buttons on his shirt, and when they were undone she pulled it from him, easing it off his powerful shoulders and letting it fall to the carpet as her fingers sought the buckle at the waist of his trousers.
'Touch me, querida, as I touch you,' he directed softly, smiling a little as she hesitated. 'Don't be ashamed. Making love is more than just the joining of two bodies in sexual copulation. It is the mutual giving of pleasure, heightening the senses to a degree beyond mindless passion.' .
Sara wanted to cry from the sheer physical bliss he was able to create as his mouth and hands took hitherto unexplored liberties until she arched against - him like a wanton craving fulfilment.
'Rafael, please! I can't stand any more,' she moaned, uncaring that she begged a merciful release.
He didn't comply at once, and her breath rasped in her throat as she unashamedly sobbed his name, frustrated tears spilling from her eyes to run unnoticed down her cheeks until with a husky growl he covered her body with his own.
The wild creature that rose and twisted beneath him to meet and surpass his passion confounded and dismayed her in the aftermath as she lay in his encircling arms.
Drowsiness was soon replaced by sleep, and even in its unconscious state her body curved into his, almost as if they were twin halves of a whole.
CHAPTER NINE
It was late when Sara woke next morning, and she moved cautiously, stretching with the supine laziness of a cat who has been satiated to the fullest extent. Slowly she turned her head and saw that she was alone in the middle of that great bed, and she twisted round to glimpse the time from the bedside clock.
It couldn't be ten, surely? She raised herself on an elbow and leaned closer, her eyes widening with disbelief as she was presented with the proof. With a groan she rolled on to her stomach and buried her head beneath the pillow.
Lake a kaleidoscope, events from the previous night appeared before her in a wild complexity of sequence, and with a gesture of impotence she curled her fists into a ball and beat them against the unprotesting mattress.
How could she have submitted to such decadent lasciviousness? It didn't bear thinking about:
One thing was certain, she couldn't lie in bed all morning commiserating her fete. Bed—the instrument of her downfall. Oh, how she wished she'd never been born!
Then she sobered, shivering slightly in the knowledge that if that were so, she would never have experienced the heights of sensual awareness in the arms of a man she had come to love. Love? Was that the emotion responsible for the way she felt? A deep pulsing ache that gnawed at her subconscious until she could think of little else? Love was supposed to be a warm merging of two spirits, an affection that brought two people together on a plateau far above the bonds of friendship. The wild physical passion she shared with Rafael could only be lust, which when flaked left her hating him with all of her former fervour.
Sara gave a groan of despair. Whenever he was within sight she couldn't even think. How was she ever going to get anything into its proper perspective seeing him every day, every night?
With sudden clarity she knew there could be only one remedy. She had to get away, somewhere where she could be alone and free from his disturbing, presence.
The question was—where? Not with Selina. That would be the first place he would look. Not the penthouse suite either, for undoubtedly that would come under search as well. It had to be a nondescript motel, somewhere remote in likelihood, if not in distance.
Sliding out from between the sheets, Sara made for the bathroom, emerging several minutes later to dress, then, satisfied with her appearance, she extracted a suitcase and chose clothes at random, sufficient for three or four days.
Her main concern was leaving the house undetected; but neither Tomas nor Clara were in evidence as she descended the stairs and slipped out the door. Now she had only to put her suitcase into the boot of whichever car Rafael had left in the garage. A slight grimace pursed her lips. She hoped he'd taken the Lamborghini, for she was loath to take the wheel of that powerful machine, or if it came to that, the Mercedes.
Luck was in her favour, for the Porsche rested in its usual place in the large garage, and without undue haste she deposited her suitcase, then slid into the driver's seat and reversed out on to the wide sweeping driveway. Minutes later she was motoring towards the main highway south.
Unsure of her destination, she simply drove, her only concern being to put as many miles between herself and her formidable husband as possible. Later she would have time to reflect on such a rash decision, but now she put it firmly out of her head.
The consequences of her actions weren't something she wanted to dwell on, for instinct warned that Rafael would be a dangerous man to, cross, and his anger would doubtless bring retribution upon her head.
Dear God, she hadn't left so much as a note telling him of her intention. If he contacted Selina as to her whereabouts, her mother would become anxious, and that was something to be avoided at any cost.
Tugan, Bilinga, Coolangatta—she drove through each without noticing, slowing slightly in obedience of the imposed speed limit, then letting the needle ease up again without conscious awareness.
From Tweed Heads she drove via Murwillumba and Byron Bay to Ballina where she turned in to the first motel on the outskirts of town. After booking in, she followed the manageress to a small cheerfully decorated unit, and as soon as she was alone she caught up the phone and dialled the boutique.
'Selina? Have you a few minutes in which to talk, or are you busy?'
'One customer, darling, but she's only browsing. What is it, Sara?'
'I've decided to have a few days on my own,' Sara began without preamble. 'Rafael doesn't know—I forgot to leave him a note.'
'That's very remiss of you,' her mother chided. 'You'd better ring him at once. He'll be concerned.'
Would he? She doubted it! Angry that she'd had the temerity to go against him—but concern? Only people who cared became concerned over another's actions.
'It may be difficult for me to contact him,' she declared matter-of-factly. 'Would you mind assuring him that I'm okay?'
'Sara, this isn't at all like you. 'What's the matter? Have you and Rafael quarrelled?'
Oh lord, what could she say? 'Nothing like that,' she said quickly. 'Look, don't worry—I'll ring him myself. I just thought I should warn you that he may contact you, and I didn't want you to worry. I'm perfectly fine—really.'
'You don't sound it, darling. Hadn't you better tell me where you are?'
'There's no point, I may be moving on in a few hours.' This was getting more difficult by the minute.
'Look, I have to go. I'll ring you again tomorrow.'
Sara replaced the receiver slowly, then turned to gaze sightlessly round the room.
It was late afternoon, and her rumbling stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten all day. She felt lightheaded and rather strange. If she was going to gather sufficient strength to contact Rafael, then it would be better to do it on a full stomach!
She crossed to the small kitchenette and checked cupboards and the refrigerator, seeing at a glance there was little more than sachets of coffee, sugar and milk powder. Damn! A motel this size probably wouldn't run to an adjoining restaurant, and she hadn't thought to stop on the way to pick up any provisions.
There was only one answer, and suiting thought to action she collected up her purse and keys and went out to the car. Takeaways didn't hold much appeal, and it was almost half an hour before she returned, complete with her assorted purchases.
At six o'clock she sat down to an appetising meal of grilled steak, fried mu
shrooms, and freshly tossed salad. There was a crisp bread roll to go with it, and followed by strong black sugared coffee it did much to restore her libido.
Now she felt ready to tackle Rafael, although she didn't exactly relish the task. Tomas answered, and she had barely identified herself when Rafael came on the line.
'Sara? Where in the name of heaven are you?' His voice was deep with suppressed fury, and she winced and held the receiver away from her ear. 'Enjoying a well-earned break,' she answered with succinct sarcasm. 'I have every intention of returning before Ana gets back from her school camp at the end of the week, so there's no cause for alarm.'
Rafael's answering oath was muffled, and she could sense his anger emanating down the line. 'Sara,' he warned dangerously, 'come home at once—do you understand?'
'No.' Dear God, how could she sound so calm? 'I'm quite capable of taking care of myself for a few days.'
'Where are you?' he demanded emotively.
'Oh no, Rafael,' she refused with a hollow laugh. 'If I tell you that, you'll appear and drag me back.' A lump caught in her throat and it took a few seconds for her to continue. 'The whole idea is for me to get away from you.'
'What do you hope to achieve, for God's sake?'
'You—stifle me,' she answered shakily. 'I'll be back on Friday—I promise.'
His silence frightened her, and she quickly replaced the receiver, almost as if by holding on to it she gave him the power to determine her whereabouts.
The simple chore of clearing the few dishes she'd used didn't succeed in wiping out. his compelling image, and in desperation she crossed to the television set and switched it on in the hope that one of the many channels might provide some light entertainment.
Figures danced across the screen with colourful movement, and she forced herself to view a comedy show before changing to a documentary, which in normal circumstances would have held her undivided, attention.
Damn, damn, damn! What was the matter, with her? She felt sick, sickened, and totally disorientated. All she could think of was Rafael. The way his dark hair curled back from a powerful forehead. Eyes as dark as ebony in a face whose rugged lines were intensely masculine. His mouth, whose sensual lips could tease and tantalise, or alternatively bruise with cruel intent. She knew every nuance in that faintly-accented voice, could sense his mood as if it was an extension of her own.
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