The Forbidden Touch of Sanguardo (12 page)

‘And I you,’ she said huskily, gazing up at him, her eyes full with desire.

The desire that was pouring through her. Desire that was like
terra incognita
—a land she was exploring with a sense of wonder and release that she had never dreamt possible. A land she had thought barred to her for ever.

After so much fear, with Rafael she found there was
nothing
to fear! Only to embrace and accept and cherish. In this blissful, wondrous present the past had vanished like dark smoke on the wind—the clear, fresh wind that blew off the endless reaches of the vast Pacific here on these emerald isles, these precious jewels set in a cobalt sea.

How simple it had been—how easy! Wonder filled her— and gratitude...boundless gratitude. And desire—oh, rich, rich desire. The passion in her body so long starved now filled her every cell, set her eyes glowing with an ardent flame that fired her with a heat that set her ablaze.

She wound her hand into his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers, her body clinging to his as she kissed him deeply, arousingly.

And he responded. Responded with an urgency that only fuelled her own, that only made her hands fumble in their haste to free them of their clothes, to draw him down with her upon the waiting bed and sate her desire on his strong, sculpted body.

How beautiful that body was! How perfect in its form, its texture and its honed, vital masculinity! She let her hands roam across his muscled torso, knowing every contour, knowing, too, with a delight that enthralled her, just how the touch of his hands, his mouth, the skilfully skimming tips of his fingers, could draw from her sensations she had never dreamt of! And how his surging body could ignite her own, could fuse with hers, melding them as one single flame in which they were consumed.

And afterwards...ah, afterwards she would lie in his loosened embrace, her racing heart slowing, her hands limp on his chest, his hands slackening around her. They would lie together, limbs splayed and tangled, heated and exhausted by passion fulfilled, and she would be cradled against him and know a peace, a happiness, she had never known.

Happiness had set a glow about her, like an inner light within her, thought Rafael, gazing at her now, their heads upon the same pillow. He could see it, rejoice in it. It was there all the time—as they walked through the gardens, as they dined and lunched and breakfasted together, as they lay lazily on the beach or by the pool, even as they glanced at each other as they went out running together in the cool early hours of the newly minted mornings, as they talked and laughed and passed the long, easy days, the clinging, passionate nights.

It was a happiness he felt, too, he knew. Lifting his spirit so that this time with her here seemed to be a time out of the world—a garden of paradise found. But the world, he knew, was waiting beyond the running swell of the seas, and it must reclaim them in the end.

But not permanently. That much he knew. Knew for certain that this time with Celeste had changed him fundamentally.

I want her so much to be the one! To be the woman I want to share my life with! But not the life I know—the one filled with buying and selling and making money and yet more money.

No, he had enough money. His money-making days were over now—now was the time to slow down, take a different tack, move his life into a different orbit. Focus more on his work in his own country, improving the living standards of those he had once been one of.

That life would have Celeste in it—always.

But he had to hasten slowly. To declare himself to Celeste now might yet be too precipitate. She had come so far with him—so far from the prison of her lonely, solitary life—but she needed time. Time with him. Time to accept what he was to her—what she, he knew with every twining of their hands, every shared glance, every moment of companionship and intimacy, was to him. Time to be with him not just on holiday but to become part of his life, and for him to become part of hers.

But, however they arranged their lives together from now on, there were practical things to be attended to. They could not stay here on the island for ever. She probably had work commitments ahead of her, which she would want to honour—and he most certainly had his, which he could no longer postpone.

One above all was looming. One he welcomed. It would see justice achieved for someone who deserved it.

In his head he heard the memory of his own voice remonstrating with Madeline about her latest coup—taking over a struggling luxury brand fashion company but firing its founder. Rafael had argued strongly against such ruthless action.

‘You could pay him a royalty—just a small one—or make him an artistic consultant...keep his talent in the company,’
he’d suggested.

Madeline had not listened.
‘Rafe, the man’s a loser! A fool.’
Her voice had been scathing.
‘He should have damn well put the design trademarks in a separate company and kept it private—and he should have looked after his cash flow. Not left himself vulnerable. Now he’s paying for it.’

‘He’s an artist, Madeline, a creative,’
Rafael had pointed out.
‘Naive, possibly, and not good at business, but you own his designs now, and his brand, and with your marketing and financing skills they’ll make you a fortune—you can afford not to hammer him into the ground and take everything he values from him!’

She’d only looked at him. Her deep-set eyes, which could blaze with scorching sexual desire, make him forget everything but sating himself on her lush, threshing body, had taken on a hard diamond brilliance. Her voice had been as hard as her eyes.

‘Sentiment is for losers—and I don’t intend to lose, Rafe.
Ever.
I’ve done whatever it took to get here, and I’ll go on doing it to get further still. I always have and I always will!’

Had that exchange finally opened his eyes to her? Made him realise that despite what they had in common—their shared talent for winning the good things in life, including each other—they were very different people at heart? Madeline’s ambition drove her to the exclusion of everything else—all other values were cast aside.

Rafael’s eyes steeled. When he had finally discovered just how utterly uncaring Madeline was of anything other than fulfilling her driving ambition for wealth—when he had learnt just what she was prepared to do to achieve those ambitions—it had only finished what had already been dying between them.

And all her scornful derision of his shock and revulsion at her revelations about herself had not been able to revive it! Finally he had seen Madeline without the gloss and allure of the passion that had once burned between them. Seen her for what she was—a woman he could never in a million years consider to be someone he could make his life with.

He would never make that mistake again!

And now his gaze came back to Celeste, nestled against his chest, her beautiful face tender in repose. Emotion welled through him.

With Celeste he was not making a mistake, he knew! With Celeste he was doing the right thing, making the right choice! Her difference from Madeline could not be more absolute!

He felt his heart glow as he gazed at her sleeping figure. Celeste was the woman he wanted in his life—for all his life! And to achieve that he was determined.

The first step was to persuade her to come back with him to New York. He made himself broach the subject later that day over dinner.

‘I don’t want to leave Hawaii,’ he told her, his eyes lambent, ‘but I can postpone my return no longer. I have people waiting for me whose enterprises and livelihoods depend on my input and decisions. I cannot, therefore, indulge myself here for ever.’

He took a breath, for he could see by the sudden shadow in her eyes that she was as loath to leave as he was. He reached across the table, taking her hand in his, pressing it closely.

‘But that does not mean that we have to part.’ He took another breath. ‘Come with me to New York, Celeste! Stay with me there!’ His voice lowered, became husky, and his eyes poured into hers. ‘I want you so much, Celeste. I cannot do without you.’

There was a sudden caution in his eyes that she saw immediately.

‘If I am presuming too much, forgive me...’ he said.

She felt her heart lift—soar. Her fingers squeezed his. ‘Do you mean it? Do you really mean it?’ Her voice was a breath of hope in her throat. Her eyes widened with the same emotion.

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it—the age-old gesture of homage and devotion to a woman from a man...a man to whom she knew, without a flicker of doubt, she could entrust herself, a man to hold and to cherish.

‘Yes!’
he breathed. ‘What we have here I do not want to lose!’

‘Nor I,’ she answered. ‘I want only you, Rafael. Only you!’

He kissed her hand again, his lips pressing to her knuckles in the sheer relief of hearing her answer. Then, with an intake of breath, he released her hand, picked up his wine glass and took a mouthful.

‘We can be as flexible as you need in respect of your work commitments,’ he assured her. ‘It might get complicated, but I’m sure we can work something out.’

Celeste smiled back. Her heart was singing. Not to have to part from Rafael, as she had been increasingly dreading she must once this idyll here was over—for him to want her to go with him to New York—to be with him. Be part of his life!

How much he has come to mean to me! I could not bear to leave him.

Emotion welled within her.

‘In the meantime,’ he went on, his eyes pouring into hers, ‘we’re going to enjoy our very last days together here. And,’ he finished, ‘I think we should book our next visit before we leave! Coming back here again is most definitely on the agenda.’

He got to his feet, drawing her with him.

‘And now...’ He smiled down at her, familiar, intimate, making her heart lift as it always did. ‘Let’s take a walk along the beach and watch the moon set over the Pacific. And let’s make our wish to come back.’

She went with him gladly, at his side—the one and only place she wanted to be...

CHAPTER ELEVEN

N
EW
Y
ORK
WAS
...well, New York, thought Celeste. As full-on and non-stop as ever. Rafael had had to plunge into work to catch up with all he’d postponed while they’d been in Hawaii, so Celeste had looked in on the New York branch of her agency and managed to get some short-term work. But her heart was no longer in her career. It was, she knew, with a warm, glowing wonder, with Rafael.

Rafael...who had set her free from her past so that it could never haunt or harm her again! She had made herself anew—the past was finally gone from her life. Now there was only this wonderful present! Being with Rafael, living with him, was all she wanted!

As his backlog cleared they were able to have more time together—either spending relaxed evenings in his apartment on the Upper East Side or going out to quiet, out-of-the-way restaurants. Then one afternoon he phoned her from his office downtown and asked whether she would come to a function with him.

‘It’s an informal initial launch party for a designer I’m backing—not clothes, but handbags,’ he explained. ‘He’s had a bit of a rough time in the past year or so, but I want that to change now. If you’re OK with it I’ll have one of his evening bags sent round to you—if you could wear something that will show it off?’

‘Of course,’ she said at once. ‘I’d be glad to.’

She was, too, when the bag was delivered. It was a beautifully made clutch, in vivid royal-blue silk, with an appliqué swirl of what Celeste suspected were real sapphires. To show it off to its best she opted for a white dress in silk plissé—a simple design that would not compete with the exquisite evening bag.

Rafael was changing into black tie at his office, so she set off on her own for the small but ferociously elegant boutique hotel at the edge of Central Park. In the lobby she paused by the function board to see which room the function was in.

‘I take it,’ said a voice behind her, ‘that you, too, are heading for the Leonardo Suite?’

She half turned. It was a female voice that had spoken, with an accent that was decidedly English.

‘Yes.’ She smiled, glancing at the woman who had spoken to her.

Some years older than Celeste, she was not as tall—few women were—but her looks were as eye-catching as her voluptuous figure, moulded by a vermilion gown that set off her most striking feature: the rich auburn colouring of her hair.

She looked very faintly familiar. Celeste’s brow furrowed a moment. Actress? Socialite? The wife of someone famous? But she couldn’t place her—and it didn’t matter anyway.

The woman was returning her regard, but it was a lot more comprehensive than Celeste’s quick glance. Dark hazel eyes went to the clutch Celeste was carrying, and narrowed very slightly.

‘May I see?’ she asked suddenly, and held her hand out.

Carefully, Celeste handed it over. The woman promptly turned it around in her hands, and then opened it. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she said, without glancing at Celeste and certainly without expecting her to object. The woman looked at the discreet label within and then, with a snap, closed the bag and handed it back to Celeste.

‘Interesting,’ she said. There was the slightest bite in her voice. Then her expression cleared. ‘Shall we go up together, since we’re heading in the same direction?’

Celeste could hardly object, and they walked to the lift together.

‘It’s an effective choice,’ the woman said as the elevator doors closed on them. Her glance indicated the white gown Celeste was wearing.

‘Thank you,’ she said, adding nothing more.

‘Is it going to be a theme?’ the woman asked.

‘I’m sorry?’ Celeste looked confused.

‘Having all the models dressed in white, each with a different coloured bag. It would be very effective,’ the woman said.

Celeste shook her head. ‘Yes, I see that. But in fact, no—I’m just a one-off tonight,’ she said lightly, with a social smile.

‘Really?’ the woman replied. ‘Sounds like he’s missed a trick. Which isn’t surprising, of course. Tell me, out of curiosity, what’s your fee for an evening like this?’

Again, Celeste looked confused. Then she realised the woman had, perhaps not surprisingly, assumed first that she was a model and second that she’d been hired to carry one of the designer’s products.

‘Oh, I’m not here professionally,’ she said, again keeping her voice light. ‘I’m just a guest.’

‘Really?’ said the woman, her eyes flicking again.

Probably, Celeste thought, because she could see that the necklace she was wearing with the white evening gown was nothing more valuable than freshwater pearls.

Fortunately the elevator opened at that point and they stepped out, seeing the entrance to the function suite just opposite.

‘Let’s go in together,’ said the woman. ‘We’ll make quite a visual impact side by side, I think.’

Again, it was hard to object, so Celeste let her walk in beside her. They paused by the reception desk. Celeste gave her name, but said nothing more as a tick was put against it. Then the member of staff looked expectantly at the woman at her side.

‘Oh, I’m her bodyguard,’ said the woman with an insouciant air. Then she hooked her arm into Celeste’s and moved forward.

Alarm bells started to ring, very decidedly, in her head. She looked hurriedly around for Rafael. To her relief she saw he was already there, on the far side of the room, in a group of people.

‘Do excuse me, please,’ she said politely to the auburn-haired woman she now suspected was gatecrashing a private party.

But the woman was already disengaging herself from her arm and striding forward. As she did so people made way for her. Celeste suspected she was the type of woman for whom people always made way. Whoever she was, she was either rich enough to buy a couture gown—and sport some very good rubies with it—or something dodgy was going on.

Whichever it was, she realised that Rafael had seen the woman walking so commandingly up to him. She also realised that the other guests were looking at her and very slightly drawing back. Celeste’s antennae started to quiver. There was an air of nervous anticipation being generated. Something was going to happen.

It did. And it was pure theatre.

Rafael was standing stock-still as the woman sailed up to him. Every line of his body showed an immobility that made him look turned to stone.

So, too, did the expression on his face.

Celeste felt a little chill start deep inside her. Slowly she started to walk forward. Then the auburn-haired woman reached Rafael and stopped.

‘Rafe, how
good
to see you again!’ Her voice carried—a rich, vibrant purr—and its English accent made it distinctively audible.

Celeste watched as the woman leant forward to bestow an air kiss on his cheek, then stand back to look at him. Let him look at her.

Which he did. Celeste could see his eyes flicker very briefly. Then, almost unnoticeably, he nodded, acknowledging the woman’s greeting.

‘Hello, Madeline,’ he said.

She gave a little laugh. ‘You couldn’t
possibly
think I’d stay away tonight!’

Long lashes dipped over obsidian eyes. ‘No, I couldn’t think that, Madeline.’

His voice was very dry.

And very cold.

Another laugh came from her—rich and throaty. Then Celeste saw her turn to one of the men in the group Rafael was with. He was slightly built, not tall, and he looked, she realised, as expressionless as Rafael. But in the other man, Celeste could see with disquiet, the lack of expression could not mask the dismay in his eyes—dismay and fear.

‘I believe you know Lucien Fevre,’ Rafael said. His voice was only dry now, with an edge to it that Celeste recognised—she had heard it before, when he’d spoken to Karl Reiner. ‘He’s the creative genius that
you,
Madeline—’ he gave the slightest slashing smile, without a trace of humour in it ‘—were too stupid to realise was the core value of the company you bought.’

Celeste halted. Suddenly, with total clarity, she realised who the woman was. Realised that she should have known from the moment she’d heard Rafael call her by her name.

Madeline. Madeline Walters. Self-made multimillionairess and the woman Rafael Sanguardo had once been involved with. Belatedly, into Celeste’s head came the thumbnail sketch of him that her fellow model Zoe had given her all that time ago at the charity fashion show...

The rich, carrying tones came again. ‘The company, Rafael,’ she riposted, ‘that is now a global brand, with sales that are twenty times what they were, whose stock price has quadrupled, and whose product range is—’

‘Is a travesty of what it once was,’ he cut in.

Celeste saw Madeline’s head go back.

‘They
sell,
Rafael!’

Her voice was not a purr any more. There was a harsh note in it that sounded ugly to Celeste’s ears. ‘They sell in their thousands—their
tens
of thousands! And with the Chinese market opening up even more they’ll sell in their
hundreds
of thousands!’

Without consciously realising it, Celeste felt her feet start forward again. She walked up to the group.

‘I think this will sell,’ she heard herself saying as she held up the sapphire-studded clutch with a little gesture of display. In the same movement she turned to Lucien Fevre—who was still looking terrified, she realised. ‘
I’d
buy it,’ she said, speaking directly to him but knowing her words could be heard by everyone present—as she’d intended. ‘It is, quite simply, one of the most beautiful and exquisitely crafted handbags I’ve ever been fortunate enough to carry.’ She spoke sincerely, for what she said was true.

Lucien Fevre’s stricken face broke into a smile, and she could see appreciation for her simple compliment in his face.

‘I don’t suppose,’ Celeste asked him, ‘they come in other colours as well, do they?’

Lucien Fevre lifted his hands, turning his attention exclusively to her. ‘The spectrum of the rainbow!’ he said, with enthusiasm in his accented voice. ‘Every hue! But that is just one of my collection—over here...’

He started walking away and Celeste followed him to where he was going, which was to a large silk-swathed table with a lavish display of his designs.

‘Here,’ he went on, indicating with a flourish, ‘I have tried to capture the sea. Look.’ He picked up a blue-green clutch, made of silk shot with pale mauve. ‘Here is the pearlescence of the ocean—and the ornamentation is nacre, which I have also used for the clasp, with Tahitian pearls to enhance it.’

‘It’s beautiful!’ Celeste breathed.

‘And here,’ he went on, ‘is fire! It is the elements, you see—’

She could see immediately, and listened and looked while the designer went through his designs with her. As he did so he became more animated, the stricken look gone completely.

Until, that was, two figures approached them. One was Rafael, and the other was Madeline Walters. As if a spell had been cast Lucien Fevre froze. But it was Rafael who spoke.

‘Go on, Madeline, say it.’

He spoke pleasantly, but Celeste could hear the steel in it. She looked at Madeline Walters’s expression. She could not read it. But she could hear what she said very clearly.

‘I made a mistake,’ she said. Her voice was clipped, and she addressed the designer directly. ‘I did not understand the fashion design industry as well as I thought I did. And I...I regret the decision I took.’

‘Well done,’ said Rafael.

His voice was dry—as dry as the look he bestowed upon Madeline. For a moment Celeste could see her eyes glittering, as if she’d swallowed poison. Then it was gone.

She put her hand out to Rafael, resting it on his sleeve. ‘There,’ she said, ‘may I come off the naughty step now, pretty please?’ She spoke humorously, as though the toxic expression on her face had never been, and her glance at Rafael was teasing.

More than teasing, Celeste could see, and the realisation did not chill her—it froze her.

It was inviting.

Words formed in her head. Stark, sharp, and carved into her consciousness.

She wants him back.

* * *

Rafael pulled his bow tie clear, dropping it down on the dresser, and slid the top button of his dress shirt open. He stretched his neck, loosening his muscles, profoundly glad to be back in his apartment. It hadn’t been an easy evening...

Madeline’s calculatedly dramatic entrance had not come as a complete surprise—she’d taunted him, and he’d half expected she would try something on. Her anger would have driven her to it.

Anger because he had sought out the broke and discarded Lucien Fevre and set him back on his feet again. Even more anger because what Lucien was now producing was even better than his earlier work—work that could have been hers had she not treated him so callously when she’d acquired his debt-ridden company.

But something good had come out of her
coup de théâtre.
He’d got Madeline to apologise to Lucien. It didn’t matter that the apology had been insincere, as he knew very well that it had. Madeline made a point of never regretting her past actions.

He knew that better than anyone alive...

For a moment Rafael felt his skin crawl. He moved restlessly, picking up his discarded tie and hooking it inside his closet. From the
en suite
bathroom he could hear the sound of the shower running. His expression changed, lightened. Something even better had come out of the evening than just Madeline’s apology to a man she had treated harshly.

Seeing Madeline with Celeste could not have emphasised to him more the complete difference between them! Even if Madeline had not been what she was, he would never,
never
prefer her to Celeste! It was Celeste who drew his eye, Celeste who made his pulse quicken, Celeste whose rare, pale beauty made his breath catch!

How did I ever desire Madeline? How could I ever have thought her anything other than overblown and obvious? How was I ever enthralled by her?

He shook his head, disposing of a comparison that was not needed. Madeline was nothing to him—less than nothing—and Celeste...ah, Celeste was everything!