A FEW hours later Isobel knew that it was sheer grit keeping her from collapsing in a heap. Her face was numb from smiling, her hand aching from shaking hands. And at every step of the way Rafael was at her side, carrying her along. After the photographs had been taken, with her parents and his mother, who had seemed friendly enough, Rafael had led Isobel and her parents back into his study, where their respective lawyers had been waiting.
There, the basic and sordid reality of their marriage had hit home. Hard. It had been nearly too much to take in—to think that this deal had been born out of her grandfather’s desperation to save the estancia at all costs, and Rafael’s father’s manipulative machinations.
Rafael had presented a cheque for an astronomical amount of money to Isobel’s parents, and they’d signed a contract to say that the deal was now closed, all terms and conditions met.
Isobel had been disgusted by her parents’ unashamedly avaricious response. They were seeing only the dollar signs of their inheritance coming their way at last, and not the fact that their only daughter was being forced into a marriage she didn’t want. She’d felt intensely alone.
One of the women who had helped Isobel into her dress earlier in the day had appeared as they’d come out of the study and taken her upstairs, where she’d taken off her veil and shown her a little wrist-tie on the train of the dress so she could keep the dress up and out of her way while she danced with Rafael for the traditional first dance.
Not knowing what to expect for that first dance, she’d been surprised when Rafael had spoken to the band and then started the crowd clapping rhythmically to the music of ‘La Chacarera,’ a traditional Argentinian folk dance. He’d taken off his jacket and tie, opened the top button of his shirt, and he looked so rakishly handsome that for a second Isobel had felt seriously overwhelmed.
Her chest had felt tight. She’d always found the simple dance impossibly romantic, its trademark being the intense eye contact between the man and the woman as they circled each other, with arms held high, turning without touching in a mesmeric series of back-and-forth steps to the beat of the music. It was a game of advance and retreat, and Isobel couldn’t help but feel that it mirrored how she felt about Rafael, being alternately drawn to him and wanting to get as far away as possible.
The truth was she couldn’t have broken eye contact even if she’d wanted to, and there had been something incredibly intimate about it. Eventually, when Rafael had caught Isobel into him at the end, and everyone had clapped raucously, he’d just said, ‘I’ve got you now …’ And it truly did feel as if he had caught her, for good.
The band had switched to a different number then, to Isobel’s intense relief. The dance had had a more profound effect on her than she cared to admit.
Now, Isobel felt a little removed from everything. The fact that she was the joint owner of her grandmother’s estate still hadn’t fully sunk in. Nor the fact that her parents would not have to worry about money for a long time, if ever again. Nor the fact that she was now married to the man who’d made countless women stare at her jealously all evening. She wanted to shout at them the truth of her sham marriage and tell them that they were welcome to him. But the fact was not one of them would expect that their marriage was anything more than arranged. Two great families coming together. Strategically sharing assets. Love? People would guffaw at the thought.
And then the tiny hairs stood up on the back of Isobel’s neck. It was the extra-sensory response that was becoming annoyingly familiar whenever Rafael had left her side for longer than a few minutes. She saw him approach her through the crowd, another tall, dark man by his side. It was only when they drew closer that she could see the startling resemblance; they were both breathtakingly handsome. Rafael confirmed her suspicions.
‘Isobel, I’d like you to meet Rico Christofides—my older brother.’
Isobel held in a gasp of recognition. She’d had no idea that the legendary Greek industrialist was Rafael’s half-brother. They were similar in many ways, mainly in height and build, but where Rafael’s eyes were dark, Rico’s were a steely-grey. And unnervingly direct. There was something unbearably harsh about his features and it surprised her, as in comparison it made Rafael seem a little softer. That made her belly quiver. She didn’t want to think of Rafael as soft. The man she’d read about in the papers was not soft.
She held out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Likewise.’ He shook her hand, and Isobel felt nothing at his cool, impersonal touch. This brother did not have the same cataclysmic effect on her. Isobel was almost disappointed—as if she’d wanted some reassurance that Rafael’s touch wasn’t uniquely disturbing to her equilibrium.
‘Business in Europe delayed me, so I couldn’t make the church.’ His voice was deep and attractively accented, but nevertheless it, too, had little effect on Isobel. All Rafael had to do was say her name and her bones melted.
Rafael had come round to pull Isobel into his side. She automatically stiffened against his possessive hold. ‘It’s nice that you could make it to the reception.’
Rico sent a mockingly amused glance to Rafael. ‘I congratulate you both and wish you luck, but don’t expect a reciprocal visit to my wedding any time soon. I won’t be so easily caught.’
Isobel all but rolled her eyes at this further evidence of the insufferable arrogance running in the family. She elbowed Rafael in the ribs when he moved to pull her closer, and smiled sweetly at Rico. ‘Oh, believe me, after today I’m over weddings myself.’
Rico tipped his head back and let out a shout of laughter, before shaking his head and saying to Rafael, ‘I think you may have met your match, little brother.’
Their mother came along then to greet her oldest son, and a very definite tension spiked the air between the three of them. Isobel guessed that while Rafael and Rico undoubtedly got on and respected each other, there was a slight uneasy wariness between them, too, and she found herself wondering about their history, about who Rico’s father was, and if that was why he hadn’t taken over the Romero business.
After a few minutes of conversation Rafael’s mother made her excuses, pleading tiredness, and left. A lot of the guests had already left, too, and Rico had drifted away to talk to a stunningly beautiful woman.
Rafael followed her look and said tightly, ‘I wouldn’t go there, if I were you. My brother has a notorious reputation.’
Isobel snorted delicately and looked up at Rafael, trying not to let his sheer dynamism affect her. But already she felt a little breathless. ‘No more notorious than you.’
He came round in front of her and lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss against it. ‘Ah, but now I’m a reformed, happily married man who has eyes only for his wife.’
Everything about him was mocking, but still Isobel couldn’t help a quiver of longing rushing through her. She was so disgusted with her reaction that she ripped her hand from his. ‘I’m quite tired now. I think I’d like to go to bed.’
Rafael’s eyes smouldered. ‘My thoughts exactly.’
Panic flared. ‘Alone.’
Rafael’s face went stony-hard; his eyes turned to black. In that moment Isobel amended her previous thought that he wasn’t as harsh as his brother. Now they could be twins.
‘You are my wife, Isobel, and we will be sleeping together. This will be a proper marriage—in bed and out. Now, are you going to come and say goodnight to our guests and walk out of here like the dignified woman that you are? Or are you going to make me put you over my shoulder? Either way, I don’t think the spectators would be disappointed. The latter option would give us a nice romantic edge and keep the coffee mornings buzzing for a few days. It’s up to you.’
Isobel tipped up her chin and looked at Rafael coolly, belying her nervousness. ‘You don’t have to carry me anywhere like Tarzan.’
‘Pity,’ he drawled, ‘I was hoping you’d give me an excuse.’
Within minutes he’d led Isobel around the wedding marquee as they made their goodbyes to the remaining guests—including his brother, Rico, who now had the beautiful woman clinging to him like a limpet and looking as if she’d just won a lottery ticket worth millions. The avaricious glitter in her eyes was unmistakable.
In that moment Isobel caught a glimpse of how a man like Rafael could grow cynical. And then, with her hand caught firmly by Rafael’s, he led her through the moonlit garden and into the house. Panic was like a frantic caged bird beating against her breastbone as they drew closer and closer to the bedroom doors.
Rafael opened his door, and then turned and picked Isobel up into his arms so fast that her breath caught and she felt dizzy. ‘What are you doing?’
As if she weighed nothing, Rafael said, ‘Carrying you over the threshold.’ And he did just that, before putting her back on her feet on the other side. His bed loomed large and threatening through the door of the bedroom, just feet away. Rafael kicked the door closed.
Isobel backed away and watched as Rafael started to open his shirt, to reveal the start of a bronzed chest, a few whorls of dark hair. She put up a hand, panic strangling her voice. ‘Wait—stop.’
Rafael’s fingers halted on his buttons. Intense irritation spiked through the burn of desire rushing through his blood. All he could see was Isobel, standing before him, her pale shoulders bare, gleaming in the dim light. The delicate swells of her breasts were tantalisingly visible just above the bodice of her dress. Something caught his eye, and he looked down to see her twisting her hands.
He breathed deep, sensing a delay in having his needs met. His suspicion that his new wife was playing the game of a tease made him grind out, ‘Isobel? What is it?’
The confidence and fiery bravado that he’d become used to was gone, and suddenly she looked very young. Through the make-up he could see dark shadows under her eyes, and something clenched in his gut. But he quashed it. She was acting. That was all. Testing her control over him. He was certainly not about to let her see how much he wanted her.
Isobel bit her lip, her eyes darting to Rafael and then away again. More concerned than irritated now, despite himself, he said, ‘Isobel—’
She blurted out, ‘I just … I really want to go to bed alone. This has all happened so fast, and I’ve barely even seen you since we came back to Argentina. Two weeks ago I was living in Paris and yet here I am … It’s a lot to take in.’
Isobel forced herself to look at Rafael, her hands wringing together even tighter, knuckles showing white. She couldn’t do this—couldn’t just let him take her to bed like this. For so many reasons—not the least of which was her response to him, and how much it confused her, and how she had to get it under some kind of control so that she could cope. But right now she couldn’t. And she was terrified he’d touch her and scramble all her thoughts. He’d done that in the church earlier with his kiss. And then when he’d kissed her again in her bedroom she’d very nearly lain back and given herself up completely.
Rafael just looked at her, his face unreadable in the shadows of the dark room. Eventually he let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. Tension vibrated off him in waves, enveloping Isobel.
‘I’m not in the habit of forcing unwilling women into my bed, Isobel, and I’ve no intention of starting now with my wife. Please, by all means, go to your own bed.’
Isobel looked at him warily, suspicion coiling deep within her that he was giving in too easily. There had been an element to his voice she hadn’t missed but couldn’t place—almost as if he wasn’t entirely surprised. He’d stuffed his hands into his pockets, and his face was as blank as before, but a muscle twitched in his jaw.
Sensing that she was on a very short leash, Isobel backed away towards the connecting door. ‘Thank you.’
But when she reached it she realised that it was still locked from when she’d locked it earlier. Flushing with embarrassment, she stalked back and past Rafael to go out through his main door, and heard his softly mocking, ‘You really don’t need to lock me out, Isobel. Soon enough you’ll be welcoming me with open arms.’
Isobel’s hand was on the knob, and her heart hammered when she heard Rafael call her name. Back straight, she tensed even more when she realised he was right behind her. Panic nearly made her sway. Had he changed his mind?
She started to turn around, to plead if she had to, but every word died on her lips when she felt his hands at the top of the back of her dress. She couldn’t move.
‘I don’t think you’re going to be able to get out of that by yourself … let me help.’
Speechless, and feeling as though she was burning up from the inside out, she felt Rafael take the zip and slowly pull it down—all the way until the knuckles of his fingers touched the bare, sensitive skin just above her buttocks. She still had a hand on the knob of the door, and her other hand held the now gaping dress to her chest. Burning all over, she managed a strangled sound of something vaguely coherent and pulled the door open.
All she heard as she fled to her own room was a soft, dark chuckle. She shut her bedroom door behind her, resting against it for a long moment before a curiously unsatisfied ache down low in her abdomen registered. It was an ache that she didn’t want to think about, and she resolutely ignored it as she undressed and crawled into bed.
The morning came with a somewhat rude awakening: the sound of a tray banging down by Isobel’s bed. She sat up in a panic, not knowing for a second where she was. It all came flooding back, though, when she saw the sour features of Juanita as the housekeeper drew back the heavy curtains and allowed sunlight to flood the room.
‘Good morning,’ Isobel said faintly.
Juanita all but ignored her, turning at the door to say curtly, ‘Your husband is in the dining room. He is waiting for you.’
And then she was gone. On the tray that Juanita had delivered was a glass of orange juice. As much as Isobel would have liked to ignore the summons, she was wary of antagonising Rafael.
After a quick shower, and dressing in her own jeans and a faded check shirt, she went downstairs, bringing the tray down with her. She found the dining room when she saw Juanita emerge through a heavy oak door. The housekeeper barely acknowledged Isobel, just took the tray and gestured with her head to the door.
Isobel went in and saw Rafael’s impressive back facing her. She slipped into the seat to his right, at the head of the table, and tried to ignore the way butterflies had erupted to life in her belly. If she’d been more in control of herself perhaps they would really be man and wife now, in every sense of the word.
He was reading a paper and sipping coffee from a small cup which should have looked ridiculous in his huge hand, but didn’t. Isobel avoided his eye and shook out her napkin. ‘Good morning.’ She reached for a fluffy-looking croissant. ‘I think your housekeeper has it in for me.’
Rafael tutted and shook his paper. ‘Nonsense. She’s just a romantic at heart, and I don’t think she’s under any illusions as to the nature of our marriage.’
His voice was dry. He was clearly referring to their separate beds last night. He turned back to his paper, leaving Isobel seething with a tumultuous mix of emotions in her breast. She took a bite out of her croissant and chewed disconsolately. It had looked so delicious, but now it tasted like sawdust.
After a couple of minutes’ silence, Rafael put down the paper and fixed those dark eyes on her. She couldn’t look away.
He ran his eyes over what she was wearing and Isobel flushed.
‘I knew I should have told Juanita to dispose of your own clothes.’
Isobel gasped, but before she could say anything, Rafael continued.
‘We’re leaving for our honeymoon in a couple of hours. I’ll have Juanita pack for you. I told you before, Isobel—I won’t have you making a mockery of me and our marriage.’
‘Honeymoon?’ Trepidation laced Isobel’s voice as visions of deserted beaches and vast villas and just the two of them flooded her mind. Trepidation and something much scarier.
Rafael grimaced. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not enough of a masochist to seclude us on a desert island just yet. I thought you might like to see the Estancia Paradiso, and I could do with catching up on things. I haven’t been there in a couple of months …’
Isobel felt a little winded, and then all sorts of nebulous feelings rose up. What could she say? She’d love to see the estanica. ‘Well … That is, of course I’d like to see it.’
A tug of nostalgia for her grandparents made her look away to concentrate on her plate. He was surprising her. She’d fully expected to wake up today and have an empty house welcome her. Her parents had always maintained a good distance in their marriage, meeting only for stilted dinners in the evening and agonising social events where they and many other couples like them projected a false image of unity.
After a few minutes Rafael excused himself to get his things ready and left Isobel sitting there, still dazed. On automatic pilot she got up and started to clear the table, but Juanita came in and tutted.
‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ she said.
Still not a glimmer of friendliness. Isobel said firmly, ‘Fair enough. But you don’t have to pack for me, Juanita. I can do that myself.’
The woman just nodded her head and busied herself clearing the table. Isobel went upstairs. She looked wistfully at her own bag of clothes, but remembered Rafael’s threat that he would dress her himself. She shivered and reluctantly started to go through the clothes in the closet. To her surprise she found that most of the clothes weren’t too far off the mark from what she would have chosen herself.
Wondering uncomfortably if Rafael had been involved with picking out the wardrobe, she changed into a pair of cargo pants and a classic white shirt. She couldn’t forget that here in BA they were in the middle of winter. Even if the temperature didn’t drop the same way it did in Europe, there was still a nip in the air.
When she came downstairs with her bag, an older smiling man took it out to where a luxury Range Rover waited. Isobel wandered out and breathed deep, and then spotted something that had piqued her interest before. The vintage cars parked up in one corner of the huge forecourt.
She walked over, her pulse quickening at seeing one in particular. She walked around it and touched it reverently.
‘It’s a 1951 Bugatti.’
Isobel jumped minutely. How did Rafael do that? Creep up on her when he was such a big man? She looked at him warily and took in properly that he was dressed in jeans and a casual shirt. Her pulse sped up, and it had nothing to do with the car. She looked away, willing down the heat that threatened upwards.
‘I know. There are only eight in the world.’ And each one was worth the equivalent of the national debt of a small country.
He quirked a brow. ‘I’m impressed. You like vintage cars?’
Isobel nodded, focusing on the sleek and gorgeous lines of the car. ‘I got it from my grandfather. He was fanatical about them. He always coveted one of these—he showed me pictures in a magazine.’ Isobel smiled wryly. ‘I used to promise him that when I grew up I’d make enough money to buy him one. I was only about twelve.’
‘You could now … but it’s too late.’
Isobel smiled sadly. ‘Yes.’ She looked at Rafael and her breath caught at the look in his eyes.
‘Your grandfather sounds like he was an interesting man.’
Isobel fought his seductive pull valiantly. She had no doubt he was just turning on the charm, and was no more interested in her grandfather than in the inner workings of her mind. She was a challenge to him, that was all. And thinking about her grandfather was making her feel far too emotional.
‘He was.’ She cut off any further line of enquiry, and could see Rafael’s jaw clench in response. Ridiculously, she felt guilty.
He stepped back and gestured to the Range Rover with his arm. ‘We’d better get going. It’s a four-hour drive and I want to get there before it gets dark.’
Still feeling wrong-footed as Rafael expertly negotiated the heavy Buenos Aires traffic, Isobel was taken aback when he asked casually, ‘Where did you learn how to tango?’
She shot him a look, but he was facing forwards. After a long moment, her fingers plucking at her trousers, she said, ‘My grandparents both loved it. My grandmother started teaching me when I was tiny, and then after she died my grandfather used to dance with me …’ She snuck another glance at him, curiosity getting the better of her. ‘You said in Paris that your grandmother used to take you and your brother to milongas?’
Rafael cast her a quick look and quirked a small smile, making Isobel’s breath hitch. ‘She was crazy about it—even though when she was growing up tango was still not considered entirely appropriate for her class. She used to sneak us into milongas and get her friends to teach us.’
Isobel nodded. ‘For my grandparents it was the same, but they used to dance it anyway—usually when they were alone. So that’s how you know the old milonguero style … like my grandfather?’
He nodded.
Isobel sat back and looked out of the window. She could feel her guard dropping, although a part of her couldn’t believe it was so easy to talk to Rafael like this. ‘I used to watch them dance. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen …’ She smiled faintly. ‘I can remember feeling like such a voyeur—as if I was intruding on something incredibly intimate.’
Dry humour laced Rafael’s voice when he said, ‘Where you saw white picket fences springing up, with roses around doorways and true love, all I saw was a way to impress beautiful girls … You really are just a romantic at heart, aren’t you, Isobel?’
Isobel shot him a withering look and crossed her arms. She faced away and shut her eyes on his far too amused face by pretending to go to sleep.
She woke to a gentle shake and her name being called with a seductively husky voice. ‘Isobel … wake up. We’re here.’
Isobel sat up to see Rafael move back. She felt exposed at having slept so easily beside him, and in her sleep she could see that she’d gravitated towards him. She moved a hand through her hair, ruffling the short silky strands, feeling disorientated. ‘Did I sleep the whole way?’
Rafael nodded, his eyes intense on her. ‘Pretty much. Once we hit the outskirts of Buenos Aires you were gone.’
‘I’m sorry …’ Isobel said stiffly, coming more awake. ‘You must be tired, too.’
Rafael quirked an incredulous brow. ‘Concerned, Isobel?’
Thankfully, Isobel saw some people approach the car and Rafael turned and got out before he could make sense of what Isobel couldn’t make sense of herself. A smiling man opened her door and she got out, smiling back.
It was only then that she noticed where they were, and the stunning surroundings, and the fact that she was breathing in clean, pure air. Rafael was instructing staff to carry their bags in, but Isobel was frozen, a wave of déjà vu washing over her.
He came to stand beside her, where she was looking at the mountains in the distance.
‘We’re in the foothills of the Sierras Chicas. Do you remember it?’
Isobel shook her head. ‘Barely. I only came here a couple of times when I was small. I think my mother always felt it was too far out of Buenos Aires. And then my grandmother died when I was six, and we never came back.’ She looked at Rafael. ‘That must have been when my grandfather sold it.’
He nodded. ‘It was a couple of years after that.’
It struck Isobel forcibly in that moment just how long ago their fate had been decided. Avoiding Rafael’s penetrating look, she turned around and gasped as she took in the sheer understated elegance and beauty of the estancia. Cream walls and a terracotta-tiled roof made it look warm and inviting. The one-level storey was very traditionally colonial, and the columns gave it an air of grandeur.
‘It dates from the eighteen-thirties, but has been added to over the years …’ Rafael pointed to an extension which looked slightly out of sync with the rest of the building, but still worked somehow. ‘That’s a neo-classical Italian addition, probably from around the late eighteen hundreds.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ Isobel’s voice was husky. ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful it is.’
The land around the house was verdant and lush. Isobel could see what looked like a lake surrounded by trees towards the back of the estancia. She felt a wave of sadness then, at knowing that they’d lost this for so many years. No wonder her grandfather had wanted to make sure this returned to them eventually. She could see how losing this must have pushed him even closer to despair.
‘And it’s now yours as much as mine.’
Isobel felt tongue-tied. The enormity of the reality of her situation overwhelmed her for a moment. Luckily Rafael didn’t seem to expect her to say anything, and started to stride towards the house with loose-limbed grace. Isobel forced herself to move and follow him when he said, ‘Come on. I’ll show you around.’
Her head was reeling about an hour later when Rafael led her back into the impressive reception area. Twenty-three bedrooms. Two private suites. A dining room fit for royalty … and kitchens that would put a five-star hotel to shame. One formal living area and a more informal one, complete with TV, sound system and shelves heaving with books.
Unaware of Isobel’s inner meltdown, Rafael was striding out through the main door again, beckoning her to follow him. She followed him back to the car speechlessly and got in when he held the door open. They drove down a rough path hidden in the undergrowth by the side of the house and came out into a large clearing, where a helicopter stood waiting.
Isobel was seriously afraid she wouldn’t be able to process much more, but already Rafael was at her door and helping her out. The helicopter was starting up.
‘I thought this might be the best way to give you an idea of the estate. We have some time before it gets dark.’
Within what felt like seconds they were in the helicopter and lifting into the air. It was Isobel’s first time, and her hands gripped the armrests. She was connected to Rafael via headphones and speakers, and as they flew over the fifty-thousand-hectare estate he pointed out the polo grounds and the stables, the livestock area, and where the land had been turned over to agricultural use. It went on and on and on, no end in sight.
Isobel was feeling more and more nauseous. Not helped when Rafael looked at her sharply and said, ‘Are you okay?’
All Isobel could do was shake her head numbly. Rafael gave a signal to the pilot and the helicopter started to turn around and head back. As soon as they landed Isobel clambered out of the small craft and staggered slightly.
Rafael caught up to her and took her arm. ‘What’s wrong?’
At first Isobel couldn’t get any words out. She was terrified she’d throw up there and then. She sucked in big breaths, feeling clammy and sweaty all at the same time. ‘I just … It’s a bit much to take in.’ The enormity of the disparity between her simple life in Paris and her life here now was overwhelming.
When Isobel emerged from her room a little later her belly was still in knots. Thankfully, when a woman had shown Isobel to her room she’d seen that she wasn’t expected to share with Rafael. But the evidence that he was sticking to his word wasn’t making her feel any less threatened.
The woman appeared again, seemingly out of nowhere, and shyly took Isobel out to a terraced area at the back of the house. Isobel had put on loose-fitting wide trousers and a similarly loose top. She felt covered up and safe, unaware of how the luxuriousness of the fabric clung to her body provocatively.
Her trepidation spiked when she took in the nonchalant figure of Rafael, surveying his empire, hands in pockets, looking out over the beautiful lake at the bottom of the lush lawn. It suddenly hit home, in these beautiful and rarefied surroundings, that she was a trophy wife, joining her disgustingly powerful and wealthy husband for pre-dinner drinks, dressed to please him.
The scene was so reminiscent of what she’d witnessed growing up that Isobel felt nauseous for a second, because she knew how empty it was. A facade. And a part of her couldn’t believe she hadn’t tried harder to get out of it.
Rafael turned to face her then, and Isobel had to steel herself not to be distracted by him.
‘Drink?’
She shook her head, and then changed her mind because her throat felt dry. ‘A sparkling water, please.’ What was it about this man that instantly reduced her to something so primal?
She accepted the glass, careful not to let their fingers touch, and took a deep gulp, moving so she too could look out on the view. That nausea seemed to grow inside her. She felt stiff and cold. She could see now how everything had fallen into place for him so easily. He’d decided he wanted a convenient wife, and a legal agreement had dictated it should be her. Rafael was happy because he had achieved the respectability and stability he needed. Isobel had nothing—not one atom of what she’d ever really wanted.
She could feel Rafael looking at her, and then he said tightly, ‘It wouldn’t kill you to smile, Isobel, and at least look like you’re the happy bride.’
‘What’s the point?’ she said in a brittle voice. She turned to look up at him. ‘I mean, seriously, what’s the point?’ She waved a hand outwards. ‘Who is going to see us here? I can understand back in Buenos Aires it might be necessary, but who cares here?’
She was growing more and more agitated as the reality of everything seemed to be hitting her all at once. The luxurious feel of her clothes against her skin chafed like a hair shirt.
Rafael’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘I care, Isobel. I care about this marriage. I believe it can work, that we can be good together, but not if you walk around looking as if you’re going to your own funeral all the time. This is your life now. You have to come to terms with that.’
Rafael looked down at the woman beside him and a violent need throbbed through him, hardening his body. She looked like a sexily tousled elf, all slim limbs and shadows and hollows. Her mouth was tight and tension radiated off her. It irked him how well he seemed to be able to read her when no other woman had inspired that ability within him … not even Ana, the one woman he had thought he’d loved. His mouth tightened at the thought of his ex-fiancée and the humiliation he’d suffered at her hands.
‘I never asked for this,’ Isobel said faintly now, mesmerised despite herself by Rafael’s eyes.
His jaw clenched. ‘Neither did I—or has that escaped your notice?’
Isobel’s nausea surged again. Of course he wouldn’t be married to her if he had a choice—no matter how conveniently things had worked out. Suddenly to think of him hating this as much as her, despite their very real reasons for needing to marry, was no comfort.
She tore her eyes from his and put down her glass of water jerkily. ‘You could divorce me, Rafael. You won’t want to stay married to me. You don’t love me.’
Rafael grabbed her wrist in a burning hold and pulled her close to him again. ‘Of course I don’t love you. This has nothing to do with love. And you’re wrong. I’m quite happy with my new wife. I told you before, we will not be getting divorced. So whatever little plan you have, you can forget it. Do you think that by teasing me, leading me on only to deny me at the last moment, I’ll grow impatient enough to seek another woman’s arms and give you grounds for divorce?’
Isobel was genuinely confused, and she couldn’t understand the lancing pain she felt at the thought of him going to another woman. ‘What are you talking about?’
His mouth was a grim line. ‘I mean the way you look at me, with those big expressive eyes which tell me you want me. Only then you plead for space, as if you don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t have that power over me. No woman does. The only reason you’ve been given space is because I’ve allowed it. We both know you go up in flames the minute I touch you.’
Isobel moved away jerkily, realising they were standing too close, but he wasn’t relaxing his grip for one second. She couldn’t speak. She felt breathless, completely distracted. What was he talking about? She wouldn’t know how to tease a man if her life depended on it. She was caught again by Rafael’s eyes, which glowed molten brown. She could see the flecks of green, enticing and mysterious.
‘It’s time to give up your romantic dreams, Isobel. I’m the only man you’re going to be married to, so you’d be wise to invest your energy in me. Do you forget so easily that without our marriage your parents would be facing financial ruin and social ostracism?’
His words hit her like body blows, but before she could betray the soft, tender core of her that pulsed to a very secret beat that spoke of her deep desire to find true love, she pulled herself together. She hadn’t needed Rafael to spell out in no uncertain terms that her chances of finding that kind of relationship were all but gone.
She finally ripped her wrist from his grip and glared up at him. ‘You will never truly know me or have me, Rafael. You make me sick. You’ve been handed everything your whole life, been pampered and waited on hand and foot. I hate everything you represent, and I hate you! You think you can just snap your fingers and it will all fall into place. I could never fall in love with someone like you. And as for teasing—’
Isobel’s words were cut off under Rafael’s brutal kiss. His arms were around her like steel bands and she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Slowly, though, her treacherous reaction to his touch started. She tried to remain stiff and unresponsive, but it was impossible. Especially when his mouth softened, broke away for a moment and then came back, firm and yet soft. Coaxing and seducing her to respond.
If Isobel had been offered all she wanted in that very moment she wouldn’t have been able to articulate it. She was in Rafael’s arms, and her world was quickly shrinking to the way he was making her feel. Things seemed to escalate with scary swiftness. His hand was spearing through her short hair, massaging her skull, his tongue sliding deep to duel with hers.
She could feel his other hand reach under her baggy top and explore upwards to the bare skin above her trousers, curving over her waist and hip. As if on cue her breasts tightened and swelled, hungry for his touch. Against his mouth Isobel’s breath came quick and fast, as if she couldn’t contain it.
His hand was finally there, cupping her breast, and then almost roughly he pulled down the lace cup of her bra and his thumb found her puckered nipple, sliding back and forth, making Isobel wrench her mouth away completely to suck in air. Her arms were locked around Rafael’s neck, and she had no idea how or when she’d done that.
All she knew was that there was a fire in her blood and only one person capable of putting it out. She felt all at once slumberous and yet as energised as she’d ever felt. Rafael’s dark eyes held her captive. His hand dropped from her head and reached down for her leg, lifting it up so that it hooked slightly around his waist. And then, with a big hand on her bottom, he pulled her right into him—into where she could feel the throbbing, hard heat of his arousal.
His other hand was still on her breast, teasing that aching, tingling tip. And then reality hit. The very hard reality of just how much she wanted him. How easily he’d seduced her.
Everything he’d just thrown at her had been true. She was weak. She had no control. Immediately, Isobel started to struggle, and struggled even harder when she saw the mocking look of triumph cross Rafael’s flushed face. He dropped her leg and let her go. To Isobel’s intense embarrassment, she could barely stand on two legs.
He reached behind him for his drink, which he had put down, and drained the glass in one gulp. He arched a dark brow. ‘I rest my case, Isobel. The only reason we’re not horizontal on that carpet right now with the door locked against interruption is because of me. Your control is just an illusion. And next time you try this game we won’t be stopping.’
Isobel felt wrung out, utterly exposed. He thought she was playing with him? He couldn’t be further from the truth. She was terrified that sleeping with him would crash through her already flimsy defences. The problem was, she only seemed to be able to come to her senses when things had already gone too far. And he was right. He’d just shown her exactly who wielded the control and it wasn’t her.
‘You kissed me just now. I never asked for it. I hate you, Rafael.’ But her voice trembled and her conscience struck her, telling her that the person she really hated was herself, for not being able to resist him even though he embodied all the greed and excess of a world she never wanted to be a part of.
‘You did ask for it—with those big expressive eyes, Isobel. Perhaps you need to work on hiding your true desires a little better.’
Isobel opened her mouth to refute his words, but just then a discreet cough sounded nearby, and they both looked around to see a uniformed man waiting. ‘Señor and Señora Romero, your dinner is served. If you’d like to come through to the dining room …’