The Forbidden Touch of Sanguardo (8 page)

‘Roofies don’t smell and they don’t taste—and they dissolve instantly!’ Celeste ground out.

‘There’s no damn roofies in that!’ Karl snarled angrily.

The bladed voice came again. ‘Well, if there’s nothing spiked about Louise’s drink you won’t object to drinking it yourself, will you?’

Wordlessly he held it out to Karl. Who did not take it. It was all Celeste needed. She went round to Louise’s banquette.

‘Time to go home,’ she said bracingly, and helped her to her feet.

‘I’m fine,’ said Louise, but as she tried to stand up she started to sway, and collapsed back down again.

The
maître d’
was there, having realised something untoward was going on.

Rafael turned to him. ‘Bring a small, unopened bottle of mineral water,’ he ordered. ‘Mr Reiner’s guest is feeling unwell, so we’ll be seeing her home.’

As the
maître d’
clicked his fingers to a minion, who scurried up with the requisite bottle, Rafael turned back to Karl Reiner.

‘We’ll get this analysed, shall we?’ he said. He took the bottle, emptied the water it contained into the jug on the table and carefully poured the contents of Louise’s glass into the now empty bottle, screwing on the lid and putting the bottle in his jacket pocket.

‘You can’t do this!’ Karl pushed to his feet.

‘I just have,’ said Rafael. ‘Would you like me to call the police as well?’

The
maître d’
looked aghast, and Rafael relented.

He turned back to Celeste. ‘Can she walk, do you think?’

Celeste drew Louise to her feet again. ‘Come on, Louise—let’s go.’

Carefully, they escorted her from the dining room. Rafael phoned for his car. As they passed the reception desk Rafael paused to instruct that his bill be sent to his office.

‘Oh, and cancel Mr Reiner’s room for the night,’ he added. ‘He won’t be needing it after all.’

The expression on the receptionist’s face told him that his assumption had been right.

‘The upper floors are bedrooms,’ Rafael elucidated to Celeste as he guided both her and the woozy Louise out to the pavement. ‘And, no, I was
not
planning on availing myself of the hotel facility here tonight!’ he added stringently. ‘I leave that kind of crassness to the likes of Louise’s druggist!’

He got them both into the car and helped Celeste strap in a supine Louise. Then, after Celeste’s protracted extraction of Louise’s address from her, he instructed his driver and the car moved off.

He turned back to Celeste. ‘Did you definitely see him spike her drink?’

‘
Yes!
And that analysis will prove positive!’ she bit out vehemently.

He held up a hand. ‘Celeste, I don’t know the exact legal status of Rohypnol, or anything else it might be, but proving that you saw him do it, plus that it was non-consensual on Louise’s part, is going to be very difficult—if not impossible.’

He saw the stormy expression in her eyes in the street lights and went on, ‘So let’s just get her home, shall we? You can read the Riot Act to her tomorrow. But you know...’ His voice changed. ‘You have to allow for the fact that she was there of her own free will, and might very well have been perfectly willing to go ahead with whatever it was that Karl Reiner had planned.’ He took a breath. ‘I know it’s not anything you could possibly go along with yourself, but there are women who would.’

Women who would do a lot more...

He saw Celeste’s face still. For a moment it was as if he could see the bones beneath her skin. Stark and skeletal. But maybe it was a trick of the strobing street lights.

Louise groaned. ‘I feel sick,’ she said.

Silently Rafael handed Celeste a clutch of paper tissues from the supply in the car. To his relief they were not needed, and some fifteen minutes later they were in Earls Court, pulling up outside the address Celeste had extracted. They got Louise up the steps, and eventually inside, into the hands of the flatmate who had come down to answer the door.

She stayed to explain, briefly, what had happened, sufficiently reassured by the concern of the flatmate, who seemed sensible and level-headed. ‘Probably a roofie,’ she said. ‘Possibly vodka, too. Get her to phone me tomorrow,’ she instructed. ‘Celeste Philips—we’re at the same agency. I have some ground rules to spell out to her if she’s going to survive this modelling game!’

After handing over the woozy Louise, she returned with Rafael to his car. Back in the interior, she closed her eyes. Rafael settled in his seat and looked at her. Her face was tight and stark.

‘I’ll see you home,’ he said quietly.

The car moved off and he found himself looking at her, at her pale, haunting beauty which moved him so. Her eyes stayed closed, her face averted, her taut expression not easing.

His thoughts were troubled. In his head he heard again her voice at the restaurant.

‘I don’t date,’
she’d said.
‘I don’t date and I don’t have relationships. Or romances. Or affairs. Or anything—whatever you want to call them. I just...don’t.’

The bald, blunt words echoed in his mind. Setting his thoughts running.

Had what had so nearly happened to the teenage model tonight happened to Celeste? Was that the explanation for the sad, bleak announcement she’d made? Had she been so badly scared—scarred?—that she’d played safe since then?

Does she see herself in that young, vulnerable girl? Was she once such a girl and there was no one to rescue her in time?

If that were so, no wonder she was now so wary of men!

But resolution seared through him.
Well, I must change that! I must show her that desire can be very, very different from lust! I must show her how desire should be between a man and a woman!

His eyes rested on her where she sat, so close to him and yet locked in her lonely world, so apart, so separate. He felt emotion coursing through him. Desire—sweet and strong, yet tender, too. He felt his hand lift and almost grazed her silken hair, almost cupped the sculpted turn of her cheek, brushed the tip of his thumb across the alabaster satin of her eyelids...

With an effort he drew back, waited until the car had completed its journey back to Notting Hill and drawn up outside her flat. She opened her eyes as the engine was cut, automatically turning her head towards the kerbside.

Her gaze collided with Rafael’s. For a moment her unguarded gaze poured into his. He felt his breath catch. Then, before he could stop himself, he was doing what he’d had to hold himself back from. His hand moved towards her, slid around the nape of her neck. His fingers shaped her jaw, lifting her face to his as he lowered his mouth.

As his lips grazed hers he felt her give a little gasp, almost a tremor. But it was too late. He could not stop himself. He could only give himself to the overriding impulse surging within him to move his mouth to enclose hers, to feel the silken brush of her lips against his, feel her hesitation, her uncertainty.

He wanted to sweep them away! To melt them away until she was soft and molten in his embrace! Willing and ardent!

And just for a moment he felt that melting that he sought from her! Felt her soften, yield, felt her tremulous lips start to part so that he could do what every fibre of his being was urging him to do—taste the sweetness of her honeyed mouth.

Triumph swept through him. Not the triumph of conquest but the triumph of trust bestowed, that she had chosen—
chosen!
—to let him kiss her.

And then she was withdrawing.

Instinctively he wanted to catch her to him again, to coax and persuade her silken lips to open to him again. But with a higher knowledge he knew he must not. He must relinquish her. For if he did not she would be scared away again, and what he had achieved would be lost already.

Yet even as she drew away from him his hand lingered at her cheek and the tips of his fingers threaded into her hair. His eyes poured into hers, lambent in the dim light of the interior of the car. Absently he was glad of the smoked glass between them and the driver, but even so he could not care. The whole world could have witnessed this moment! With his blessing!

For she was holding his ardent gaze, open and transparent, and he was seeing into her eyes, into the depths of her, with nothing between them.

‘Celeste...’ Her name was on his lips, husky and low, and his fingers stroked at the delicate bones of her cheek.

‘Rafael—I...I...’ She could say no more.

He did not want her to. ‘Hush...’ He spoke softly, intimately, to her alone. ‘This is my promise to you, Celeste.’ His eyes spoke with his voice, his gaze rich and full. ‘My promise is that if you give yourself to me I will give myself to you in equal measure. With me all shall be well—I promise you. Whatever scarred you long ago will be undone.’ He gave a wry smile, letting his hand fall from her while his eyes still held hers like precious pearls. ‘We will take it slowly—as slowly as you need. I promise you.’

He drew back, straightening, holding her gaze for one last moment. Then he was opening the passenger door, stepping out, turning back to take her hand in his and help her out. He made no attempt to kiss her again. He would keep his word—take this as slowly as she needed.

But for all that he knew, with an absolute conviction that coursed through him like a strong, dark current as his eyes rested on her with a last, caressing glance, that ‘slowly’ did not mean that in the end they would not reach the destination that he sought...

Celeste in his arms...his embrace...his bed...

CHAPTER SIX

I
N
A
DAZE
, Celeste walked upstairs to her flat. Her mind was reeling, her senses were reeling and the blood in her veins seemed to be alive with a spirit she could not quench or quell.

He had kissed her! Rafael had kissed her! And the touch of his lips was seared upon her own as if he were kissing her still—as if that coaxing, seductive velvet were still working its magic upon her.

Unconsciously she put her fingertips to her lips as she stepped inside her flat, leaning back breathless against the door, her vision blinking in the bright light, seeing not this light but the dim lamplight of the car’s interior, the sculpted outline of Rafael’s strong face, the dark light of his eyes as they held hers.

Her breath caught. How long—how emptily, achingly long?—had it been since she had been kissed? Years upon empty years!

And never,
never
like that!

No one could create that touch—that softness, that magic!

Only Rafael. Only him—

She pressed a hand to her breast. Beneath her ribs her heart was beating fast, not just from the stairs but from the hectic pulse in her throat.

I should have stopped him! I should have said no. I can’t do this—I must not!

But even as she adjured herself she knew it would have been impossible to have stopped him! Impossible to have resisted the velvet caress of his fingertips, his mouth. Impossible to resist the magic he had woven on her lips.

As if he’d broken a spell...

Freeing her from a prison that had held her for too long.

She gave a little cry. Half anguish, half disbelief. Lurching forward, she hurried into the kitchen, busied herself deliberately with filling the kettle, setting it to boil. Tea—that was what she needed! Tea—strong and hot and comforting and
normal
—that would scald away the last remnants of his touch upon her lips. Because scald it away she must—of course she must.

She closed her eyes. A great anguish filled her.

What he wanted she could not give.

And what she wanted she could not take.

Barred for ever...

Bleakly she made her tea, disposing of the teabag, rinsing the sink out with the remainder of the boiling water, scouring it as if she were scouring her skin, killing his touch.

It didn’t matter—it didn’t matter that he’d kissed her. How could it? It changed nothing...nothing at all. What she felt, what she wanted...longed for...did not matter.

With unseeing eyes she started to sip the scalding hot tea, sip after sip. Obliterating the taste of his mouth from hers. While, inside her, her heart ached with an unbearable anguish for what must not be—could not be.

* * *

Celeste was asleep and dreaming. Despite her fears that it would not, sleep had come immediately after she’d gone to bed, barely staying up long enough to take her make-up off before pulling her nightdress on and slipping under her duvet. She was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

And then she started to dream.

But not about Rafael’s kiss.

Hands—hands all over her. And she could not stop them. There was a voice, too, talking at her, and she had to hear it, could not block her ears. She could feel her dress falling off and she could not stop it. And then the touching started...the stroking...and the hot breath on her skin. And she could not stop that either.

She could not stop anything.

And there was one more thing she could not stop.

She could not stop remembering.

* * *

Rafael replaced his phone in its cradle on his desk, a look of grim satisfaction on his face. The conversation he’d just had had been off the record, but it had confirmed that Karl Reiner was not popular even on his own company’s board.

Louise was the first teenage model he had plied with what a lab analysis of the water Rafael had taken from him last night had confirmed as Rohypnol. Reiner’s unsavoury reputation had become a liability, and his fellow directors were going to take action—Karl Reiner was about to be removed from the board and sidelined from the running of the company.

Wanting to pass on the good news, Rafael phoned Celeste. As ever, it went to the answer machine, but he was unfazed by it. He was used to it by now. He kept his tone casual and conversational, with only an underlying trace of concern.

‘How are you? Have you heard anything from Louise? Let me know if there’s anything I can do on that front. And I have some welcome news about Karl Reiner. Give me a call some time and I’ll tell you about it.’

He had no very great expectation that she would do so, and he was not disappointed. Instead, addressed to him at his London office, there arrived a card adorned with a Dutch still life from the National Gallery’s collection on which she’d handwritten, ‘Thank you for your help the other evening. It was very good of you’.

It was signed simply ‘Celeste’.

The glint came to his eyes again. Then he picked up his phone and called her number. Not her landline, her mobile.

She answered it promptly, simply saying, ‘Hello?’ in a businesslike tone.

‘Celeste—I’m glad I’ve reached you.’

There was a choking sound at the other end. The mordant glint in Rafael’s eyes intensified.

‘How did you get this number?’ Celeste demanded. She did not sound businesslike now. She sounded agitated.

‘Louise. She was very helpful.’

‘Louise?’
Celeste expostulated.

‘Yes. I called at her flat yesterday evening, asking how she was. She said you’d talked to her and had been “really sweet” and she said how sorry she was, and how grateful to us both, and how she’ll never be such an idiot again. I took ruthless advantage of her gratitude and asked if she had your mobile number.’ He paused. ‘She was thrilled to give it to me, and said you were “really lovely” and “really friendly” and hoped we’d be “really happy” together.’

There was another choking sound.

He waited for it to subside, then continued smoothly. ‘So, in order to fulfil her rose-tinted romantic expectations, I would therefore like to invite you to the theatre one evening. Will you come?’

There was a moment’s silence at the other end. Then, ‘It’s very kind of you, but it isn’t possible.’

She spoke with what, Rafael could tell she intended to be, an air of finality.

‘Louise will be extremely disappointed,’ he replied. ‘How will you possibly explain to her that you turned me down? She’s played cupid, and this is her reward?’

‘If you hadn’t conned her into giving you my number she wouldn’t know anything about it!’ Celeste bit back.

‘What’s done is done,’ Rafael replied, unconcerned. ‘What sort of theatre do you like? Drama? Musicals? Opera? Tragedy...comedy...kitchen sink—is that the right expression in English?’

Celeste shut her eyes. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘I explained to you—I don’t do this. I just...
don’t,
and you have to accept it. Please. It isn’t...personal.’

She had to make herself speak. Her throat was narrowing and it was painful. More painful than it should be.

There was silence for a moment. Then Rafael spoke. The lightly teasing tone was gone. In its place was a quiet resolve. ‘I’ll give you time, Celeste, all the time you need. But I won’t give you for ever. Take care of yourself for now.’ Then he rang off.

She stared at the silent phone. Then slowly turned it off.

Her heart seemed to be thumping heavily in her chest.

* * *

Rafael kept himself busy. It made passing the time until he could get back in touch with Celeste easier. He wanted to give her the time he knew she needed, and didn’t want to spook her by being too pushy about how much he wanted to get to know her more, wanted to woo her.

He habitually worked at a punishing rate, clocking up long hours, but now he upped his schedule, taking in a gruelling round of meetings with his existing companies, and with the prospective recipients of his investments, and with financial institutions that might co-fund them as appropriate. Then he flew to New York and did a similar round, heading back to the UK via Barcelona before arriving in London.

The time away had done nothing to lessen his resolve. In the non-stop schedule of meetings and socialising he’d undertaken, Celeste’s image had hung perpetually in his mind. And more than her image. It was as if he could still taste the sweetness of her lips, feel the soft silk of her skin, the delicate structure of her cheekbones and jaw.

When, on the return flight, he chanced to be sitting next to a female passenger perusing a fashion magazine, his eyes dropped to one of the adverts for Blonde Visage. Celeste—in all her pale, pure, ethereal beauty! His breath caught and stilled, his eyes devouring her.

How hauntingly beautiful she was! And yet... His eyes shadowed. There was a hauntedness about her, too.

What happened to her in that long-ago trauma that has set her on this isolated course she steers?

Whatever it was—whether or not it was akin to the fate she had saved the young and naive Louise from—he would release her from its haunting! Because the promise of release was there—he had tasted it on her lips, in the sweetness of her mouth.

I can free her from it! I can take her to the place she should be free to go to fulfil the desire that flares between us! I can lead her back from her lonely world, lead her at my side—so she no longer has to be apart, no longer has to keep the world at bay.

Back in London he phoned her, leaving a message on her landline. He heard nothing, and the following morning he tried her mobile number. It went to voicemail. He instructed his PA to send flowers. But at the end of the day she told him the florist had been unable to deliver, and that the occupant of the ground-floor flat had told them she was away.

By noon the next day, courtesy of a call to a harassed-sounding individual at the agency he knew represented Celeste, Rafael knew exactly where she was. Not just away, but abroad. A glamorous shoot on a glamorous tropical island. It had been arranged at short notice, and it was about as far away from England as you could fly.

He leant back in his leather executive chair and stretched his legs under his desk, looking out into the middle distance. Turbulent emotion speared through him. He had thought—hoped!—that his kiss would tell her more than words ever could just what could be between them if only she would let him take her to the place he longed to take her—to the intimacy he knew would light them both. But yet again she had fled from him. Yet again she had disappeared—

He frowned, frustration biting at him. Had she taken work abroad simply to get away from his attentions? It was likely—and he feared it was so.

Thoughts swirled within him. Should he simply accept, heavily, that what he wanted was impossible? Should he simply relinquish her to the sterile, lonely world she wanted to go on living in? That sad, isolated place she lived her life in—alone and solitary.

But every sentiment within him rebelled at such defeat.

No! I can’t let her do it to herself! I can’t let her shut out the emotions, the physical joy, that should be hers! If she is haunted by her past I will exorcise it for her! I will rescue her from her isolation...her bleak, sad, self-imposed prison.

And in doing so he knew he would find a joy that only she could give to him.

He sat forward energetically, with renewed vigour. He would not—
could
not—let Celeste languish without making one final attempt to reach her. Convince her that he could bring a joy to her that would free her from her lonely life.

He leant forward, picking up his phone to speak to his PA. Seeking out Celeste one last time would mean a long flight and clearing his diary ruthlessly.

But he would do it.

To win Celeste, Rafael was fast coming to realise, he would do a great deal.