Rafael's Love-Child

The whole of her mind was a red, heated haze, burning away all trace of coherent thought under a blazing inferno of sensation. Every inch of her skin seemed to be suffused with the stinging pins and needles of heightened awareness, yearning for his touch, and deep down, at the most feminine centre of her body, a pulsing hunger made her stir restlessly against the hard power of his lean frame.

On a groan of hunger Rafael brought his hands up to fasten on her hips, bronzed fingers stroking the curving line of her waist, the softness of her buttocks, pressing her closer against him. There was no escaping the heated, swollen pressure that indicated the power of the passion that gripped him, the hungry need for her body that he couldn’t conceal.

Wild, crazy images filled her mind. Images of walking, step by step, backwards towards the bed, taking this man with her. Of tumbling down onto the peach-coloured bedspread, imprisoned under the heavy, glorious weight of him. Of his hands following the example of her own and tugging at her clothing, impatiently pushing aside the unwanted garments that came between his touch and her naked flesh. Of…

But there her imagination failed, short-circuited by the sheer mind-blowing reality of her fantasy made fact.

Rafael’s strong, tanned fingers had pushed the cream tee shirt away from the waistband of her trousers and were insinuating themselves underneath the fine cotton, scorching her skin where they touched, drawing heated erotic circles as they moved slowly, inexorably upwards. And the reality was so much better than anything her imagination had invented

Better, and more pleasurable, and more arousing. Reality made her heart race out of control, her skin sting with excitement, as his touch slid over her narrow ribcage to close over the slight curves of her breasts, cupping and supporting their warm weight.

‘Rafael…’ His name was a choked cry, smothered under the pressure of yet another, even more demanding kiss.

Answering the hunger that suffused her, she pushed her hands up between their bodies, pulling roughly, urgently on the buttons that fastened his shirt, yanking them apart in her impatience to be able to touch him in return. The feel of his hot flesh drew a deep, ragged sigh of satisfaction from her, a sigh that blended into a little gasp of pleasure as his hands moved against her breast again. That gasp became a moan as the warm, hard pads of his thumbs unerringly found the sensitive points of her nipples and set up a slow, circular motion that made every nerve waken into screaming need.

She was oblivious to the fact that the door was still partially open, to the sound of movement in the corridor outside. The warmth of the sun coming through the window at her back was just another sensual delight in a bombardment of such pleasures that made her head spin out of control. It wasn’t until a voice spoke, just beyond the door, that any sense of reality impinged on her at all.

‘…I believe Mr Cordoba’s in there right now.’

At the sound of his name, Rafael snapped up his dark head sharply, his stance that of a disturbed predator, every muscle taut, his breathing ragged and uneven, listening intently. Only when the owner of the voice moved away down the corridor did he shake off the wary mood, looking down into Serena’s dazed brown eyes with a twist to his mouth that was half-rueful, half-amused.

‘This is neither the time nor the place for this,’ he told her, releasing her from the seductive imprisonment of his hold and stepping back a couple of paces, smoothing down the ruffled tee shirt as he did so.

From being the ardent, demanding caress of a lover, his touch was now all distance and matter of factly businesslike, the contrast between the two moods so sharp that it drew a cry of protest from her.

‘Rafael…’ she began, but he shook his head to silence her, raking both hands through the dark disarray of his hair to smooth down the disorder her clutching fingers had created.

‘Not here, not now,’ he insisted, with a cold precision that fell onto her heated skin like drops of ice, shattering the glowing mood of moments before. ‘Not ever, if I am wise.’

‘Not…’ Serena choked on the words, unable to believe what she had heard. What had he said? Why had he said it?

Her aroused body still sang in excited expectation, the heightened rate of her pulse still sending the blood speeding through her veins. But slowly, unwillingly, a terrible sense of let-down was creeping over her, cooling the warmth of her skin, making her ache in frustration for the delights she had known and that were now denied her. She felt as if she had been reaching for the stars, only to have them snatched away from her with brutal cruelty.

‘N-not now?’

She couldn’t say the other phrase she thought she had heard. Couldn’t make her tongue form the words ‘not ever’.

‘Miss Martin—Serena…’

In the blink of an eye, it seemed, Rafael had himself once more completely under control. His appearance was near perfect again, his hair smooth, his shirt fastened, his tie restored to order around the tanned column of his throat. And it seemed that in those moments he had also erased every trace of all that had happened between them as easily as he had wiped away the faint trace of lipstick that had transferred itself from her mouth to his.

‘Forgive me. That should never have happened. I apologise for my actions.’

The stiff formality of his words, his stance, stabbed at her harshly. There was a nasty, bitter taste in her mouth and her stomach roiled queasily. How could he take something that had been so—so special, so wonderful, and turn it into a monstrous mistake, all in the space of a moment?

‘There’s no need to apologise…’

Her tone matched his in its stiffness, in the distance she deliberately put between them. Unconsciously, she mirrored his actions of moments before, straightening her clothes, stroking down her hair.

‘I wasn’t exactly forced. I was well aware of what was happening.’

‘Serena!’

His use of her name was a sound of pure exasperation.

‘You have no memory of the past year. Anything could have happened in that time. Until you know what there was in those twelve months, who you were with, you can’t make any decision about the future.’

‘Who I was with—do you know something?’

She watched in something close to despair as his face closed up, heavy lids hooding the brilliant eyes, hiding his thoughts from her.

‘If you did, you wouldn’t say anything, right?’ she continued despondently. ‘Don’t tell me—doctor’s orders.’

‘I had no right to touch you.’

‘And if I wanted to give you that right?’

She knew the answer before the question had even left her lips, anticipated the unyielding shake of his head that took away the last grain of hope she had left.

‘There can be nothing between us while your memories remain elusive.’ Cold and inflexible, his words had the force of a slashing steel blade. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘Then you—you won’t want me to come and live with you?’

‘On the contrary. I still think my original plan is for the best.’

‘Your—your original plan? But if you don’t want me…’

The look he turned on her was pure scorn, blazing over her skin with the force of a laser beam.

‘Madre de Dios! You believed that was the reason I invited you to my home?’

He was pure Spaniard now. Tall and arrogant as any matador, head held high, strong jaw set, his handsome features forming a mask of cold anger, furiously rejecting the implications behind her question. She had insulted him, Serena reflected miserably. Insulted and appalled him and although he hadn’t actually moved away from her she knew that he had mentally taken several major steps away from her.

‘I’m sorry…’ she began miserably, but he brushed aside her interjection with the brusque flick of his hand she had seen him use before.

‘That was not it at all. I was thinking of Tonio…’

‘Tonio!’ Serena almost choked on the word. ‘What has Tonio to do with this?’

‘Everything,’ Rafael snapped. ‘I am a businessman, Serena. I have interests in England, Spain—all over Europe. I work long hours—I could be called away at any time to deal with some crisis. Tonio is just a baby. He needs love and care, someone who can be there with him…’

At last Serena saw the direction in which his thoughts were heading.

‘Someone like me.’

A swift, curt inclination of his head acknowledged the accuracy of her guess.

‘You want me to be some sort of nanny…’