Emerald Mistress (25 page)

‘It feels like a hundred years since I touched you. I was planning to go slow, but I’m too hungry for you to wait that long.’ With that roughened admission Rafael hauled her to him with strong hands and devoured her mouth with fiery urgency.

Her heart leapt and her pulses raced like he had punched in a special code that set her alight. He reached below her T-shirt and battled with her bra to find the swollen peak of a sensitive nipple and make her moan in sensual shock below his marauding
mouth. She shivered and knotted her fingers in his luxuriant black hair. Her hunger equalled his, and she could not hide it. She was wild for the sweet hot force of his body into hers.

‘If we had stayed in the car I would have ended up on a charge of public indecency,’ Rafael groaned, peeling off her clothes and his own with a masculine impatience that thrilled her. As each fresh expanse of pale skin was revealed he would pause to explore that part of her with the expertise and single-minded concentration of a highly sensual lover.

‘If you make me wait any longer, I’ll die,’ she told him helplessly, breathless and squirming against the pale linen, tormented by the hunger he had roused and honed into an unbearably tight knot of need.

Through slumberous dark eyes, Rafael surveyed her. ‘I want to give you endless pleasure.’

‘Just pleasure will do.’ Her hips shifted up to him in a tiny pleading movement. She was hot, aching.

He took her by surprise, entering her hard and fast. A shockwave of delight possessed her. Before she could recover he withdrew, and slammed back into her again. His fierce passion gave a raw edge to their lovemaking. Lost in that wild excitement, she reached a tumultuous climax of shattering pleasure. In the aftermath she experienced pure joy. Secure in his arms, she felt so happy that tears pricked below her eyelids.

Rafael kept her spread beneath him and shifted with earthy satisfaction against her damp responsive heat. Dazed with pleasure, she gave him a languorous smile. He pressed his mouth softly to her brow. The very smell of her skin intoxicated him. The feel of her, the way she fitted against him, was amazing. That fast he wanted her all over again, and he closed his hands over hers to hold her doubly imprisoned in his arms while he kissed her.

‘Again?’ she gasped in astonishment when he let her up for air.

‘Again,’ he said thickly.

Much later he slept, and she lay awake watching him. His black lashes almost hit his cheekbones. He looked fabulous from every angle, she decided. Against the white linen, his bronzed skin was rich as gold, a sleek covering for the lean, hard, muscular power of his masculine frame. She loved to look at him. She was on a high of satisfaction and self-discovery. She let her lips drift down to a broad shoulder in a whisper soft expression of affection. She couldn’t keep her hands off him.

She wondered when she had fallen in love with him, and marvelled that she had been able to hide that truth even from herself. She knew she wanted to own him body and soul, and that that was a terrifying ambition pretty much destined to lead to disappointment
when she hit ground level again at some time in the future. But she saw no reason why reality should intrude just then and spoil things. She intended to live the utmost out of every day she spent in Umbria.

CHAPTER NINE

M
UNCHING A PIECE
of bread fresh from the oven, and savouring the aromatic taste of herbs, Harriet lay back on the lounger and sipped her red wine. She wondered lazily what had happened to her earnest desire to work all the time, and to feeling horribly guilty when she enjoyed herself instead.

Above her an ancient cedar spread a wide arc of shade that protected her from the late afternoon sun. From the terrace beyond the infinity pool that shone like a mirror she could see the fields of ripening golden corn and tobacco on the far side of the valley and, nearer, the orchards and vines heavy with fruit and the silvery green groves of olive trees.

It was a moment of perfection and she knew it—a moment when happiness had no bounds and felt like the summer sun, captured inside her. Her body was heavy from the sweet pleasure of Rafael’s lovemaking.
A smile kept on sliding over her ripe pink mouth. One week had drifted into two. Two weeks, she thought absently. Where had it gone? It had passed by in an idyllic haze of endless drenching sunshine and a lover like no other.

Every day a glorious selection of freshly prepared dishes and newly baked bread appeared as if by magic in the homely farmhouse kitchen. A pair of sisters, Donata and Benedetta, took care of the house, and so scrupulously observed their privacy that Rafael and Harriet had scarcely seen them. Their brothers, who farmed the land, were equally discreet.

Rafael and Harriet had left the
fattoria
on only a few occasions. In the cool of the evening he had taken her to medieval hill towns, to wander through steep narrow streets and dine at tiny restaurants that catered to only a handful of customers. He knew all the special places to eat and to shop. If she looked at anything he wanted to buy it for her, so she had been forced to point out that that was rather inhibiting for someone who wasn’t a gold-digger.

‘But I like giving,’ Rafael had complained without hesitation. ‘You’re inhibiting me.’

So she had accepted the gold necklace adorned with an exquisitely fashioned St Francis, which he’d given her to commemorate her only requested visit to Assisi and the basilica there, and a gold watch that
had literally walked out of the jewellery shop into his pocket because it was so ‘her’, according to him. Told that there was an embargo on further expensive presents, he’d given her a hand-painted scarf so fine it could have passed through the proverbial wedding ring, a handbag of such exquisite workmanship it was a work of art and much too fancy for actual use, and a little carved crystal horse that her eyes had only lingered on for a split second in a shop window.
Enough
, she had groaned, and had persuaded him to concentrate his desire to give on his sister instead.

Tomorrow would be their last day—absolutely their last. And Rafael was as reluctant as Harriet to leave Italy. But it seemed appropriate that they would finally share a day with other people, as Rafael had accepted an invitation for both of them to attend the wedding of one of his cousins. Since her arrival, the only other person Harriet had spoken to had been Una. The teenager rang her every couple of days, and phoned Rafael on alternate days, making a cheeky game of never, ever asking a nosy question, or mentioning that they were actually in Umbria together.

That evening Rafael and Harriet strolled through the oak woods behind the house. ‘I have a favour to ask,’ Rafael murmured. ‘As you know, Flynn Court is in the process of renovation. I have any number of professionals at my disposal, but I must confess
that I was very disappointed with the results of a similar programme at my other house in Kildare.’

‘But why? From what I saw of the interior, it was perfect.’

‘Exactly. It was like a museum. I want the Court to remain a warm and welcoming place, rather than a showpiece. It’s very much a private dwelling, where I will only ever entertain my closest friends. Would you be willing to act as an advisor on the redecoration?’

Taken aback, Harriet shot him a questioning glance. ‘I’m not qualified to offer my opinions to a designer—’

Rafael turned her round to face him and trapped her hands in his to bring her closer. ‘I think you are. I like the colours you wear. I like your taste. Don’t be offended when I say that the folly looked like a hovel when your cousin lived there. You’ve somehow transformed it, with paint and cushions, into cosy and inviting.’

An involuntary laugh fell from her lips. ‘Rafael…you can’t do
cosy
in a Georgian mansion with fifteen bedrooms!’

‘Why not? Possibly “advisor” wasn’t the right label to employ. You would be the ultimate authority on colour schemes and so forth. I’m no good in that line.’

‘You mean, you’re not interested…’

An unashamed grin of acknowledgement slashed his lean, dark features. ‘You know me so well. Are you worrying about the time factor?’

‘Well, no, I hadn’t got that far—’

‘You needn’t. I’d keep the current manager on at the yard, to ensure that you had more free time for the Court.’

‘Stop trying to steamroller me into agreement. Why are you asking me to do this? There must be loads of more suitable choices.’

‘No. I trust only a very select circle of people.’ Dark golden eyes held hers levelly. ‘This is a personal request, and as such unusual for me. I admit that I would hesitate to approach any other woman with it…’

Bewilderment made her frown. ‘But why?’

‘I know you’ll accept it in the spirit it’s intended, without imagining that it’s a prelude to wedding bells,’ he extended dryly.

Will-power kept her smile from freezing round the edges.

‘I won’t ever marry,’ Rafael imparted flatly.

Hurt and embarrassment tipped into a momentarily powerful desire to slap him. Why was he talking in such a way? Had she seemed too keen? Too affectionate, too happy, too caring? Last night she had given way to temptation and picked up his discarded shirt. Did he sense love, like an earthquake warning, on the periphery of his precious single life? Had she spooked him into feeling that such an in-your-face warning was necessary?

‘I think that’s a very wise decision on your part,’
Harriet assured him, with all the warmth she could muster. ‘You’re just not marriage material.’

Rafael had always thought that too, but for some reason when Harriet agreed with his own view of himself he felt grossly insulted, and valued at far less than his deserved worth. ‘Why not? How do I differ from other men?’

‘You’re very self-sufficient—’

‘Next you’ll be saying you go for guys that cry, and stuff like that,’ Rafael derided. ‘I wonder how enthralled you would be with some weak, needy character who always needed to lean on you for support!’

‘Thankfully, I have no idea.’ Harriet had nothing more to say. She had felt the urgency of her own hurt, stepped back from it, and resolved not to let her thoughts travel in forbidden directions.

‘So what else is wrong with me?’ Rafael asked with lethal cool.

‘I didn’t say anything was wrong with you. You are the one who told me that you don’t do love or commitment.’

In the middle of the night he listened to the deep, even timbre of her breathing. She was enjoying the sure, sound and thoroughly irritating slumber of someone with an untroubled mind. In the moonlight, he punched his pillows and shifted position for the fiftieth time. He wanted to shake her awake and demand to know in what terms she saw their affair. He might not do love and commitment, but he did not
do cheap, meaningless sexual flings either. He possessed deep emotions. He might not be in the habit of showing them, but the feelings existed nonetheless. He could be sensitive, considerate, caring. He could be anything he wanted to be. He made a real effort to please her too—although he was willing to admit that that was no sacrifice, as pleasing her invariably meant pleasing himself equally.

After all, what other woman could happily talk about horses all day? Search cheerfully through thoroughbred bloodlines and discuss breeding options with sincere interest? She might not have known much in that area to begin with, but she was a fast learner. What other woman would happily occupy herself while he worked, without a single whine of complaint or any attempt to regain his attention? She liked to read and go for long walks. Simple pleasures. And she seemed so straightforward, tranquil and undemanding…Yet here she was, sending him up the walls with frustration!

Harriet found a text waiting on her mobile the next morning. It was from Alice—her first communication after months of silence.

Must c u 2 talk. Wen?

Harriet was delighted, and messaged straight back to say she’d be in London within thirty-six hours.
Rafael made no comment, but he disapproved of Harriet’s enthusiastic response and willingness to forgive the younger woman’s betrayal. In his mind Alice was one link short of Luke, and as such a highly suspect element in Harriet’s life, liable to cause grief.

The wedding celebrations of his third cousin, Teresina, and her bridegroom, Alfredo, began early, with a sumptuous buffet breakfast for the bride’s relatives at her home. Harriet was overwhelmed by the friendliness of her welcome.

There was only room for close family in the tiny church where the ceremony was held. Teresina, a shy brunette, emerged on her new husband’s arm to preside over the wedding banquet laid out on long trestle tables below the chestnut trees in the village square. Course after course was served, each dish seemingly more elaborate than the last. One of the guests got up to sing, several had brought musical instruments to play, and at one stage most of the children present formed into a choir to serenade the blushing bride and groom. The entertainment was delightfully informal and great fun.

‘Una should be here,’ Harriet whispered to Rafael. ‘Do your Italian relations know that you have a half-sister?’

‘Yes. I asked her to come on a visit last year, but she wasn’t interested.’

‘I bet she thought you were only asking out of politeness. She’d be scared she wouldn’t be accepted. She’s very insecure about being illegitimate.’

‘You do realise that you’re becoming the equivalent of a walking oracle on touchy teenage girls?’

‘Rafael…right now I’m so stuffed with food I couldn’t
walk
anywhere!’ Harriet confided. ‘You’ll have to carry me back to the car.’

Glittering eyes rested on her teasing smile. Before she could guess his intention, he claimed a kiss, and there was a burst of laughter and hand-clapping, and amused comments were passed in Italian.

‘What are they saying?’

Rafael shrugged and she reddened, guessing that the normal jokes that were made at weddings had been exercised on their behalf. She was enormously tempted to inform him that she wouldn’t marry him if he got down on his knees and grovelled for a century, but she knew it would be cooler to leave that sentiment unvoiced.