Emerald Mistress (15 page)

Harriet strove not to betray disappointment when he released her as casually as he had pulled her to him minutes before. ‘Was that Irish? Do you actually speak the language?’ she asked him.

‘Like a native…it annoyed the hell out of Valente!’ Brilliant eyes full of vibrant amusement, Rafael tightened a loose stirrup on Snowball and helped her mount again.

The woods petered out into the rough grazing land above the sand dunes. She could smell the sharp salty tang of the sea. The gelding broke into an enthusiastic trot, but Snowball picked a much more cautious path down on to the beach.

‘Next time you ride my mare,’ Rafael pronounced with finality.

‘I’m no good at accepting favours.’

‘It’s not a problem…I’ll find something for you to do for me in return.’ His silken mockery whipped fresh colour into her cheeks.

The Atlantic was blue as the sky, but lively. Waves were hitting the rocks, sending up cascades of water droplets in the bright sunlight before crashing down on the sand and then washing in across the pale strand with a soft rushing hiss.

Harriet urged Snowball into a trot, enjoying the cooling breeze. Her mount could not keep up with his, and she watched him unleash the gelding’s surplus energy in a gallop across the sands. He was a superb rider. When she slid off Snowball to investigate a rock pool he cantered back to join her.

‘I’m a total child about these,’ Harriet admitted cheerfully. ‘The water is so clear it’s like a tiny sea world in miniature.’

As she straightened, Rafael caught her to him and covered her parted lips with deep, devastating urgency. The earthy force of his passion startled and excited her. An arrow of white hot heat pierced low in her belly, setting up a chain reaction that made her shiver.

He framed her cheekbones with spread fingers
and stared down at her with unashamed desire. ‘I want you so much it hurts.’

She felt hot, and unbearably tense. Her own wild response shocked her, but being separated by so much as an inch from him was a torment that overpowered other considerations. She squirmed closer, blindly seeking that contact that her body craved. With a roughened masculine groan he backed her up against the rocks behind her and hauled her to him, to crush her eager mouth beneath his while she clung to his hard-muscled shoulders.

He ran his fingers through the tumbled copper strands of her hair. He explored her trembling length with sure hands, roved below her jacket and loose T-shirt to toy with the outrageously sensitive rosy tip of one rounded breast. A moan breaking at the back of her convulsed throat, she snatched in an agonised gasp of air below his marauding mouth. She could not get enough of him. When her mobile phone started ringing, she stiffened in surprise.

‘Ignore it,’ Rafael instructed thickly, lifting his tousled dark head and shaping her swollen lower lip with a caressing thumb. With every nerve in her body still pulsing with reaction, the mesmerising sexiness of his smouldering golden eyes held her entrapped. ‘We’re heading back to the Court to enjoy a long leisurely breakfast.’

But the pressing need to always answer a ringing phone was too engrained in Harriet to be ignored. It was Davis, calling to let her know that her presence was required back at the yard, and she finished the call in a rush. ‘I’d no idea we’d been out so long. I’m going to have to run…I have a customer waiting.’

Rafael looked down at her with an attitude of profound disbelief that required no verbal expression to hit home.

Embarrassed by her own intense reluctance to leave him, Harriet added in a taut tone of apology, ‘She’s a new client and she’s arrived early—’

‘Then it’s not your problem,’ Rafael informed her.

‘But it would be a problem if the lady chose to put her two horses in livery somewhere else.’

‘Let Davis deal with her.’

Her clear eyes urged his understanding. ‘I’m selling a service, and she’s entitled to expect my personal attention on her first visit.’

‘But this is insane.’

Having recaptured Snowball, Harriet broke the simmering silence. ‘It’s going to take a lot of effort on my part to build up a big enough customer base for the yard. That can’t be helped.’

‘I understood that you’d moved to Ireland to embrace the simple way of life.’

‘The simple way of life became much more complicated when I took on a partner and the need to raise my profit margins,’ Harriet pointed out ruefully.

‘If that’s all that’s dragging you away, take the loss out of my side of the balance sheet,’ Rafael advised smoothly.

The nature of that careless offer dismayed Harriet. ‘Please don’t make suggestions like that—’

With easy dexterity he captured her hand in his to hold her. ‘You want to be with me. You think I don’t know that?’

Harriet pulled her fingers free. ‘But I don’t want to be with you so much that I’d let you virtually pay for my time!’

Her mobile phone went off again just before she reached the yard and she dug it out.

‘Forgive me…I’m hopelessly spoilt by always getting exactly what I want when I want,’ Rafael admitted, without a flicker of embarrassment. ‘Dinner tonight?’

At the sound of his dark, deep drawl the troubled light in her blue eyes vanished. ‘OK…’

As excited as a teenager, and thoroughly embarrassed by that reality, Harriet finished her working day as early as she could and raced back to the cottage to rustle through her wardrobe and paint her nails. Right on the dot of eight Rafael hit his car horn
to alert her to his arrival. She fled into the kitchen, for pride demanded that she did not respond to the blast of a horn. Two minutes passed, slowly and painfully. Now she wanted to go to the door, but felt she couldn’t, and to distract her frantic nerves she threw Peanut’s ball.

She was disconcerted when the back door opened as she had forgotten it was unlocked. Rafael appeared to a chorus of frantic barks from Samson, who then went into ingratiating mode. Tall, dark and extravagantly handsome in a casual dark pinstripe suit worn with a collarless silk shirt, Rafael studied her with tawny intensity, his impassive face unnerving her. ‘I saw you vanish in here.’

Harriet blushed as hotly as a schoolgirl caught in the act of misbehaviour.

Rafael angled his arrogant dark head to one side and continued to survey her, all masculine control and cool. ‘Is it possible that you are trying to train me?’

Harriet struggled to keep a straight face, but his astute guess was too much for her and a helpless laugh bubbled from her throat.

Peanut dropped her ball hopefully in front of him.

‘Why do you have a pig in your kitchen?’ Rafael enquired with commendable calm.

‘Shush…Peanut doesn’t know she’s a pig. She thinks she’s a dog.’

Peanut nosed the ball encouragingly right up to the toes of his Italian leather loafers. He pushed it back. Tiring of his intransigence, the little pig picked up the ball again and dropped it down right on top of his foot.

‘I think the pig may be trying to train me too.’ Brilliant eyes alive with amusement, Rafael sent the ball flying across the tiled floor.

With an exaggerated gallantry that made her smile, he tucked her into the fabulous sports car parked outside. She had to squint at the logo to appreciate that it was a Lamborghini, and she was suitably impressed. He took her to a tiny restaurant overlooking a rocky sea inlet with water so dazzlingly blue it might have been a tropical lagoon. They appeared to be the only diners, and the service was so silent and discreet that she never quite managed to see the person whose hand topped up her wine. Or perhaps it was the company that made it excessively hard for her to stay aware of what was happening beyond the charmed circle of their table. She ate her way appreciatively through a delicate salmon terrine, dallied over wafer-thin slices of lamb and baby vegetables that melted in her mouth, and savoured the thorough indulgence of being urged to enjoy two puddings instead of one.

Stunning golden eyes watched her with appreciation. ‘It’s so novel to be with a woman who eats.’

‘Luke was happiest when I was starving and showing off my skeleton,’ Harriet admitted, in a sudden rush of confidence over the Brazilian coffee that was served with liqueurs.

Rafael skimmed a sensual forefinger along the back of her hand in self-assured reproof. ‘You are blessed with heavenly curves…don’t lose them.’

Her gaze meshing with the tawny glow of his, she was suddenly as out of breath as if she had run up a steep hill. ‘I can safely promise you that the curves are here to stay for the foreseeable future.’

‘With me you can be yourself.’

Harriet let the sweet rich honey of the liqueur touch her tongue, and longed for the taste of his passionate mouth on hers. As if he could read her mind, he rose unhurriedly upright and escorted her back out to the car.

A mixture of panic, bewilderment and guilty excitement was now in control of her. She was no longer thinking about Luke every five minutes. In fact the painful memories of her former fiancé and his affair with Alice, she registered in surprise, had begun to fade from her conscious mind without her actually noticing the fact. Even so, there was not a smidgeon of commonsense in what she
was
feeling: she was as mad for Rafael Cavaliere Flynn as a reckless teenager. Yet wasn’t that exactly what she had
told herself she wanted and needed? A silly fling that counted no costs and looked for no future?

But in a moment of stark self-doubt Harriet feared that if she slept with Rafael she would still want him in the morning, and keep on wanting him for far longer than could be considered cool, controlled or casual. That knowledge scared the heck out of her, for Rafael would not offer her any form of commitment. He had been upfront about that, and she could not criticise him on that score. Yet the same male could make an art form out of creating a romantic ambience, she acknowledged ruefully. But that was only artifice, and she would be foolish to forget that reality. Her emotions still seemed to be all over the place. Was that why she felt so agonisingly vulnerable? Suddenly she was terribly afraid of being hurt again.

Rafael drew up outside the cottage, took the key from her nerveless fingers and sprang gracefully out to unlock the door for her.

Caught unprepared by the smooth dexterity and speed with which he carried out those manoeuvres, Harriet scrambled out less fluidly in his wake.

‘I enjoyed myself very much.’ Golden eyes veiled, Rafael bent his handsome dark head and pressed a non-committal kiss to her cheek, much as though she was a maiden aunt.

‘Me too…’ Watching him stroll back to the
Lamborghini, Harriet went very pink: she was mortified by the conviction that he was giving her the brush-off.

Just before Rafael swung back into the driver’s seat, he paused to say casually, ‘Next weekend I’ll be at my stud farm in Kildare. I’ll take you to the races at Leopardstown on Friday. I’ll be in touch about the arrangements.’

Like a marionette with a stiffly wired neck, Harriet nodded and backed slowly indoors. When the door closed, he drove off. She wanted to punch the air and shout. Yet at the same time she felt weak and tremulous with relief, as though some great and terrifying danger had passed, leaving her unscathed. He could take her high and the very next minute send her spirits flying down into a sudden low. She had not a clue where she was with him. But wasn’t that supposed to be part and parcel of the excitement that supposedly went with having a fling? So why had he made no attempt even to kiss her?

Even Rafael was surprised by his own restraint. Having sensed her doubts in her preoccupied silence, he had immediately wondered if she was thinking about her ex-fiancé. It was extraordinary how much that suspicion had annoyed him, for he was not a possessive lover. He had never cared whether or not a woman’s thoughts were centred on
him. After all, it was the passion he went for, not the emotional connection. But a stubbornly perverse part of him was determined that Harriet should want him so much that she had no reservations whatsoever, and no spare mental energy to waste on the past…

* * *

Determined to give Rafael no reason to regret his invitation, Harriet made an enormous effort to dress up for the races. She drove all the way down to Cork to visit an exclusive little boutique where she purchased a smart dress in tobacco-brown and pink, and a hat that flattered. In between times she worked endless hours preparing the tack shop for opening. Although she planned to initially sell only basic supplies, she was a touch dismayed by the amount of time that was swallowed up by the ordering, delivery and setting out of stock.

Una called her only once, and was so uncommunicative that Harriet became concerned and tried to find out if something was worrying the teenager. She was guiltily grateful that she had not yet mentioned her dinner date with Rafael, and relieved when Una finally grudgingly divulged that she had exams the following week. Ringing her back a couple of days later, Harriet did her best to cheer her up by reminding her that school would soon be breaking up for the summer.

On the day of the races a helicopter landed on the purpose-built pad at Flynn Court to pick up Harriet. Leopardstown racecourse was about six miles out of Dublin. Feeling like royalty, she boarded with Samson—Rafael had assured her that the little dog was allowed to come too. While she admired the breathtaking aerial views of the Irish countryside, she wondered a tad nervously if she was quite up to the challenge of seeing a guy who used air travel as casually as other people used buses. When she clambered out again, with Samson tucked in a capacious handbag from which only his bright eyes and perky ears showed, Rafael was waiting a few yards away with a limousine, and all of a sudden she felt as though the sun had risen inside her: all light and bright and shining.

In the limo she found it hard to drag her attention from his lean, darkly handsome face, and as a distraction she asked him about the racecourse. While Samson danced across the leather seat to introduce himself to their host with all the panache of a little dog who had regained his confidence, Rafael told her that Leopardstown had been modelled on the Sandown course in southern England, and built in 1880.