by Janet Dailey
‘Would you excuse me?’ she asked lightly as she reached for her evening bag, ‘while I freshen my make-up?’
As she rose to her feet, Rafael was there holding her chair, his gaze flicking over her face as if to decry her need for artifice, but he made no protest. Her pulse beat rapidly in her throat. Erica had to force herself to walk slowly in the direction of the powder room.
By a stroke of luck, a telephone was located near it. In her extremely limited, phrase-book Spanish, she succeeded in having the operator connect her with the hotel. In a nervous, breathless voice, she asked for Vance Wakefield’s room.
Triumph glittered in her eyes as she imagined her father’s anger when he discovered she had married a fortune-hunter. Any thought of his supposedly vital business deal would be vanished at the news. In the blink of an eye he would have the marriage annulled. No doubt there would be a violent scene in which he would vent his wrath on her for doing such a stupid thing, but her father wouldn’t be able to ignore her. This time his business would take a second place to Erica!
‘Señor Wakefield is not here,’ the operator’s voice informed her.
Icy fingers of panic gripped her throat. ‘What do you mean, he isn’t there? Have him paged,’ she ordered. ‘This is his daughter and it’s imperative that I reach him.’
‘One moment, por favor,’ was the reply.
Her fingers curled tightly over the black receiver as the seconds dragged by. He had to be in the hotel, she told herself.
Another voice came on to the telephone, this time a male’s. ‘Señorita Wakefield?’
‘Yes, this is she. Where is my father?’ she demanded, hysteria edging her voice.
‘Señor Wakefield has returned to the States — ’
‘That’s impossible!’ Erica broke in. ‘There isn’t a flight back at this hour!’
‘I believe he chartered a jet, señorita,’ the man replied patiently. ‘He has made reservations for you to return tomorrow and has left a message at the desk for you. Would you like me to read it?’
‘No,’ she answered numbly, more to protest the truth of what was being said. ‘No, that won’t be necessary.’
‘I believe it was an emergency, señorita.’
‘Yes.’ A bitter laugh stopped in her throat. ‘A business deal. Thank you. Thank you very much.’
Her mouth was twisted in a grimace of irony as she replaced the telephone. His business had won and she had lost. Erica stared at the ring on her finger. She was married and her father wasn’t here to rescue her. What was she going to do? What could she do?
Her first instinct was to flee. To get as far away from Rafael as she could, as soon as she could. She could send him a message explaining that it was all a mistake. She hadn’t much money in her personal account, but to a man like him, it would be a great deal. But how would she go about getting a divorce? She pressed her hands to her temples, fighting the panic that threatened to surface. She desperately needed time to think. But Rafael was waiting in the dining room for her to rejoin him.
With the same impulsiveness that had got her into this situation, Erica decided to leave a message for Rafael that she was returning to her hotel. The manager could summon a cab for her. In the sanctity of her room, she would come up with a solution. As she turned to carry out her decision Rafael appeared before her.
The colour drained from her face at the sight of the compelling figure. Her eyes noted the hard line of his mouth that was momentarily softened by a smile of concern. Cowardice reigned supreme inside her. There was something very indomitable about his personality. Her father might be a match for Rafael, but she wasn’t.
’didn’t you think I was coming back?’ she asked with forced gaiety as she glided towards him.
‘Should I have thought that?’ he returned, thoughtfully watching her swift change from pallor to high colour.
‘Well — ’ Erica’s smile was tremulous as she answered as truthfully as she dared — ‘I admit to a few jittery nerves like any ordinary bride!’
His regard switched to one of indolence, wicked glimmers of arrogant amusement behind the lazily veiled dark lashes. The firm touch of his fingers on her elbow seemed to enforce his right of possession as he led her into the restaurant proper.
‘Those nerves I will allow,’ he stated. ’do you wish to leave or would you like a drink in the lounge?’
‘May we go to the lounge?’ Erica requested, stalling for a time to cope with this new problem.
The flamenco guitarist was still performing, his agile fingers caressing the strings. The throbbing notes coming from the instrument matched the wild song in her heart. Erica restively held the marguerita, a tequila cocktail that Rafael had ordered for her, taking quick sips of the tart liquor, hoping the alcohol would have a calming effect on her jumbled nerves. Her attention was determinedly centred on the musician to avoid the wide shoulders only inches from her own.
’do you enjoy the music?’ Rafael inquired.
‘Yes, he’s very good.’ Her gaze bounced away from his face. The aristocratic lines were thrown into sharp relief by the dimness of the room.
‘Would you like another drink?’
Erica glanced in surprise at her empty glass and quickly agreed. Time elapsed with unnerving slowness. She consumed the second cocktail and a third, yet she was no nearer a solution than when they had entered the lounge. She didn’t dare have another drink since her head was already swimming with the potency of the others. There was no alternative except for her to agree when Rafael suggested they leave.
The freshness of the night air increased the effects of the alcohol. Her nerves were now too relaxed and her mind refused to function properly. Her muteness was traitorous evidence of her cowardice. She sat silently as Rafael started the car and drove away from the restaurant. The bright lights of the hotel row beckoned them, but he was not heading towards them.
‘Aren’t we going to the hotel?’ Erica murmured. A lightning thought occurred to her and she seized upon it immediately. ‘My things are there. I’ll need them.’
Once at the hotel, she would be safe. It was suddenly essential that Rafael take her there. In her room she would be able to assert her father’s authority. If Rafael should dare to attempt to force his way into her room, she had only to notify the management.
‘Not yet,’ Rafael replied, glancing swiftly at the oncoming traffic as he turned down a street. ‘I thought I would take you to the yacht. Have you ever been aboard one?’
‘None of that size,’ she admitted, her heart sinking as she realised that short of ordering him to take her to the hotel, she had no alternative but to agree. ‘Isn’t Helen there?’ she asked hopefully.
‘One of the motors is being overhauled, so she is staying with friends,’ he explained, amusement glittering in the upward curl of his lips at her hesitant question.
‘I see,’ Erica murmured. If Helen had been there, she would have had grounds for refusing to go to the yacht. As it was, she had to resign herself to taking a tour of the ship.
Minutes later they were at the yacht basin and Rafael was switching off the ignition. Erica waited nervously as his tall figure walked around the silver nose of the car to open her door. Again his hand was firmly holding her arm, guiding her along the dock past the silent ships towards the majestic monolith at the far end.
The heel of her satin slipper caught on the ridge of the ship’s gangplank, causing her to stumble. Instantly Rafael’s arm was around her as he swung her off her feet and carried her the few steps on to the polished deck. It all happened so swiftly that Erica didn’t have time to protest, the unexpected contact with his steel-strong frame depriving her of the power of speech. The power of his attraction was never more formidable than at that moment. When he set her on her feet, she leaned weakly against him, her head curved back over his arm.
‘Welcome aboard, Señora — ’ Rafael murmured caressively, his dark head inclining towards her, but his sentence was incomplete as brisk foots
teps approached them and he straightened.
‘Buenos noches, señor.’
Erica blinked rather bewilderedly in the direction of the voice that had granted her a reprieve. A man in a gleaming white uniform stood in front of them, obviously one of the yacht’s crew. In spite of the deferential attitude, Erica sensed the curiosity when the man’s gaze shifted from Rafael to her.
‘Buenos noches, Pedro,’ Rafael replied. The rest of his swift Spanish Erica couldn’t follow, but she thought she guessed accurately that he was explaining who she was and his purpose in bringing her aboard.
Rafael introduced the man as a crew member, Pedro — and the rest of the name escaped Erica in the fluent roll of his Spanish. Unbidden the thought came to her that she was going to have to learn Spanish since she was married to a Mexican. There was a moment of horror as she realised how permanent she was making the marriage sound. When the man nodded respectfully towards her, she was incapable of speech and her head inclined stiffly in answer.
Sobering instantly, Erica succumbed readily to the pressure of Rafael’s hands at her back, eager to complete the tour of the yacht and be taken ashore to her hotel. The change in her manner brought his quizzically watchful gaze to bear on her. She attempted to conceal her haste as he led her into the main salon.
‘What is the name of the ship?’ she asked, the barest tremor of nerves in her voice.
‘She is called Mañana — tomorrow.’ His enigmatic dark gaze held hers. ‘A suggestion of sweet promise, no?’
There was something suggestive in his statement. Her skin stretched with white tautness over her knuckles as her vice-like grip on the pearl evening bag increased. It seemed to her that tomorrow would never come and not with any promise of sweetness.
Turning away from him, she made a show of studying the salon, admiring, in spite of herself, the bold clean lines, the Spanish decor that was elegant and bright. She would never have associated the vivid colours with Rafael’s blonde mistress. The bold background would not be complementary at all, she decided with some satisfaction.
There was a desire to linger in the tastefully furnished room, but Erica resolutely denied it, and her feet led her into the dining room. She kept her comments to a minimum as Rafael showed her the lounge, the well-equipped galley, and pointed out the direction of the crew’s quarters. Her interest was aroused by the book-lined study, but she forced herself to glance around with indifference.
‘Lastly, the staterooms,’ Rafael announced.
Erica paused in the carpeted passageway, her gaze sliding away from his lean, aristocratic features. ‘I don’t want to see . . . hers.’ The admission came out tautly, a strange anger burning in her chest.
‘As you wish.’ Amusement lurked in the mocking edges of his voice.
Rafael opened the doors of two guest rooms for her to see, pointedly ignored a third and fourth door and led her to the last one in the passageway.
‘These are my quarters,’ he told her as he opened the door.
Female curiosity pushed her inside, but the startling decor took her a step further into the spacious room. The abundant use of rich browns and blacks was arresting, their darkness relieved by a shade of muted gold. There was nothing dreary about it as the atmosphere it generated was luxurious, sensuous and masculine.
Erica pivoted sharply, needing to escape before some mystical spell was weaved. Rafael was standing behind her, his wide shoulders blocking her view of the door. Undercurrents of emotion vibrated the air between them to rivet her feet to the floor. The unwavering gaze pinned to her face, the tapering length of his build, the expensive material of his tan slacks stretched over muscular thighs, the raven blackness of his hair and eyes, the aura of regal arrogance kept her motionless. The air was so charged that Erica hardly dared to breathe.
With slow, deliberate movements, Rafael’s hand reached out to touch her cheek, his thumb caressing the bone. His touch released a torrent of desires and her lashes fluttered down to conceal them, steeling herself not to react, not to melt in his arms as she had done before and as Helen had undoubtedly done many times before in the same room. Unexpected pain pressed her lips tightly together.
‘No one has been in this room except myself and the crew, Erica.’
His uncanny perception of her thoughts opened her lash-shuttered eyes in surprise. The look in his bronzed face Erica couldn’t define, but it sent her heart pounding like a triphammer. His thumb moved down to the corner of her mouth and traced the outline of its feminine softness. When his hand moved to the side of her neck, her lips trembled in unwilling protest to its departure.
The descent of his dark head was unhurried, her lips parting in anticipation of the moment when Rafael would claim them. His kiss was a lick of flame, igniting her already kindled desire. Possession was immediate with no tender, probing search for a response by Rafael.
A swirling mist of lascivious weakness swayed Erica against him. Her shoulders were seized as she was pulled to the rock wall of his chest. The mastery of his embrace was a seduction of the senses. The total exploration by his mouth of her face and neck and shoulder was beyond her power to halt had she wanted it to stop. He alternately gave and took, demanded, received, and returned her ardency.
In a moment, she would be lost beyond recall, absorbed by a personality more forceful than any she had come in contact with. It was this fear that enabled her to whirl away from him when every other warning had been swept aside.
Her freedom of his touch was only for an instant as her hair was brushed aside and his mouth sent tongues of wildfire along the sensitive cord of her neck. Erica gulped for life-giving air, her trembling fingers closing over the lean hands spreading across her stomach, drawing her back against his rising male hardness. One hand allowed itself to be pushed away. Her success was met by failure when Erica felt the nearly silent sound of the zipper sliding open down her back. She ached to feel his touch against the nakedness of her flesh. The intoxicating desire to submit was overpowering.
She turned back towards him, her hands clutching the bodice of the cream silk gown that threatened to slip away. Her face reddened as she saw his gaze lingering on the tantalising shadow between her breasts. Mutely she beseeched him with her luminous eyes.
’do not be ashamed.’ His seductively soft voice caressed her. ‘You are my wife, Erica.’ Again the smouldering light in his eyes swept over her breasts, the intimacy of the look causing her to draw a deep breath that only made the light burn brighter when it returned to her face. ‘Every inch of you is beautiful to me. Don’t be frightened, querida.’
Strangely Erica wasn’t frightened. Her arms willingly wound themselves around his neck as he carried her to the bed, setting her on her feet beside it. ‘She was his wife’, he had said. A delicious sensation of bliss washed over her. It was right that he had such power over her.
His jacket was off, his shirt unbuttoned and being tugged free of his trousers. The sight of the golden tan chest, the naked skin being revealed as he removed the shirt, brought the last vestige of resistance. Her fingers tightened convulsively on her loosened gown.
‘I . . . I have to go back to the hotel . . . now,’ she said huskily.
Rafael looked at her for a long moment, his arms gently circling her. ‘If that is what you wish, querida, I will take you there,’ he murmured. ‘Speak now or let us speak no more.’
But the fruit of temptation was there before her and the age-old desire to bite into its sweetness was supreme. Her hands slipped around his waist as she tilted her head to receive his kiss.
Later Rafael kissed the blood from her lips inflicted by her teeth when she attempted to bite back her cry of pain. He cradled her in his arms, murmuring reassuring words in Spanish that she didn’t understand. Tenderly, patiently, he waited for the agony to subside before he initiated her to the dizzying rapture a man and woman can attain. When the last sigh of ecstasy shuddered through her, he possessively held her against his own chest, pressing her head to t
he uneven beat of his own heart.
‘Esta mañana, querida,’ he whispered softly.
Five
* * *
Erica stirred restlessly beneath the leaden band that held her down. The pressure eased slightly and she shifted into a more comfortable position on her side. In a state of near-wakefulness, she became conscious of an alien warmth against her breast. Instantly all her senses were alert, her skin tingling where the hand possessively cupped the rounded firmness of her breast. Then the rest of her body became aware of Rafael lying beside her.
Gently she rolled away from his unresisting hand, hugging the edge of the bed in case she had awakened him. Her mind raced in panic as she stared at the shadow-darkened form in the bed. What had she done? Horror and shame ate at her insides. How could she have been so permissive as to go to bed with this man, this virtual stranger, simply because some Mexican official had mumbled a few legal words that she hadn’t understood?
This man who had erased her innocence for ever was an adventurer, a fortune-hunter! How could she have allowed herself to be seduced by him? Her father would have forgiven her for marrying him if he had arrived in time. But now — once he learned how weak she had been, Vance Wakefield would never forgive her.
Erica backed away from the bed in terror. Frantically she grabbed at her gown lying on the floor and the rest of her garments scattered nearby. Keeping an eye on the still figure in the bed, she dressed with fear-driven swiftness. Her muscles were stiff and resisting. Guilt turned her stomach with sickening movements at the cause for the soreness.
Carrying her shoes and evening bag in her hand, she tiptoed into the hallway, quietly closing the door of the stateroom behind her and listening for any sign that Rafael might have heard her leave. The only sound in the entire yacht was the waves licking the sides of the structure. Pausing in the doorway to the deck, Erica glanced furtively around, afraid of running into one of the members of the crew. Nothing. She hurried as quickly as she dared to the gangplank and didn’t stop running until she was ashore.
