The Spaniard's Kiss Page 2

  In the end, she convinced herself to wait until he approached her. But he’d better come quickly, or he’d be sorry.

  Lifting her damp ponytail off her neck, she fanned herself.

  She’d always loved the sun, but she didn’t think she’d ever get used to the heat of a Spanish summer. Even sprawled under the dappled shade of a huge fig tree, where she could keep an eye on the main house, it was too hot to eat. Besides, her appetite was nonexistent, so she split the crusty bread between Sam and Joe, the two Doberman guard dogs sharing her shady siesta spot.

  She’d done a lot of thinking since that night. Obviously, the whole naked thing had prompted the kiss. Rafe was a total player; she’d always known that. It was probably like Pavlov’s dogs—the sight of a naked woman just triggered him to a sexual response. It was nothing personal.

  And totally irrelevant that it had done all sorts of weird things to her insides. She was probably hormonal, and he’d had a lot of practice. He probably kissed all his women like his life depended on it, like he never wanted to stop.

  And when she’d finally done the sensible thing and stopped it, he’d promptly vanished. She’d gotten up the next morning, determined to reassure him it meant absolutely nothing. But he’d already gone.

  As the weeks turned into months, she came to suspect something—Rafe was avoiding her. But why?

  Maybe he was worried she’d read too much into that kiss. Gary once told her that Rafe would never marry. He hadn’t known why exactly, but it had something to do with Rafe’s parents splitting when he was a boy. If he’d stuck around she could have put his mind at rest.

  The kiss meant nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  Yeah, she’d reacted, but he was a man, and she was a woman who hadn’t been kissed in over two years. What did he expect?

  And she could have used a friend to talk to. She’d thought about phoning him so many times, but something had always stopped her.

  Sam raised his head from the ground, his growl quickly turning into a yip of greeting. Bella sat up abruptly.

  “Crap,” she muttered, as something hot and needy twisted low down in her belly. Had he always been that gorgeous? Or had that damn kiss rewired her brain?

  Rafe strolled toward her across the vast expanse of green lawn, moving with the controlled arrogance of someone who owned the place. Which, of course, he did.

  He was heading straight for her. At last.

  Rafael Sanchez.

  She’d first met him when she was seventeen, but she’d known about him for a lot longer. Rafe’s and Gary’s mothers had been best friends, and they’d grown up together.

  Gary was three years younger than Rafe and had hero-worshipped him, talked about him incessantly. He’d been twenty-two and the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, with an air of raw sexuality she’d never encountered before…or since. All the same, it had never occurred to her to think of him as anything but Gary’s friend and later hers. Maybe because he’d always treated her like an irritating kid sister. Besides, she’d known even then that one day she was going to marry Gary. She’d proposed to him when she was twelve and he was fourteen, and she’d never let him forget that he’d said yes.

  As always, Rafe appeared cool and elegant in a pale gray suit and white shirt open at the throat. And as usual, Bella had to fight the urge to go over and muss him up, ruffle his hair, maybe leave some muddy fingerprints over his spotless silk shirt.

  She scrambled to her feet and glanced down, taking in her bare legs, scratched and marked by mosquito bites, the tank top stuck to her damp skin. She’d also taken off her boots and was barefoot. She couldn’t begin to imagine what she must look like, but she was 100 percent convinced “cool and elegant” didn’t come close.

  Rafe halted a few feet away, leaned one shoulder against the tree beside him, folded his arms over his chest, and regarded her from behind designer shades. “Bella, you look”—a slight smile curved his lips, and his gaze raked her from head to foot—“a mess.”

  What did he expect? She’d been working, it was hot, and, oh yeah, she hadn’t been near a hairdresser in over two years. She didn’t need Mr. Perfect, not a hair out of place, tall, dark, and handsome, to tell her that.

  He was so unbelievably stunning. Well over six feet, broad at the shoulders but lean everywhere else. Immaculately cut black hair was brushed back from his face, his skin tinted with gold and drawn taut over to-die-for cheekbones. He reached up and took off his glasses, revealing the most sinfully erotic blue eyes she had ever seen. His lips were full with a sensual curve, and she had a flashback to the feel of his mouth on hers, his tongue—

  “Earth to Bella…you can remember how to talk, can’t you?”

  Great. He was back to the old teasing Rafe. Did he honestly think he could pretend he hadn’t kissed her?

  Not in this lifetime.

  They were getting this out in the open. Otherwise it would fester and ruin their relationship. She wanted her friend back. Unless he’d forgotten all about the kiss. Maybe he kissed so many women, and she was just one more.

  She took a step closer, put her hands on her hips, and narrowed her eyes. “You kissed me.”

  Shock flashed across his features. No doubt he’d expected her to go along with him and not mention that night.

  He pursed his lips. “It was a momentary aberration.”

  Her shoulders stiffened, her hands fisting at her sides.

  How dare he call kissing her an aberration?

  When she remained silent, he gave a casual shrug. “You were naked, I was distracted. It won’t happen again.”

  That’s right—put the blame on me.

  She ground her teeth together. She’d see about that. “You kissed me, and then you ran away.”

  “I did not run away. I had to return to London.”

  “And you didn’t come back.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “I can’t believe you kissed me and ran away. Now you’re trying to act like it never happened.”

  He took a step closer, picked up her left hand, and rubbed the gold wedding band she still wore. “It never should have happened.”

  “Gary is dead,” she said. She could actually speak of her husband now without pain. That had taken a long time.

  “I know. And I once promised him that if anything ever happened to him, I would look after you, make sure you’re okay.”

  She frowned. “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.” But that wasn’t the point. “How exactly would kissing me again make me not okay?” She didn’t know why she was pushing this. Isn’t that what she wanted? To get past the stupid kiss and move on?

  “Right now, we’re friends, Bella. Do you want to lose that?”

  “Friends don’t run away and hide for six months. And anyway, why would I?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “My relationships last about three months. I like variety. I’m never in one place for long, and I value my personal space. I’m not going to change.”

  “Jeez. Did I ask you to change? As it happens, I don’t want a relationship.”

  She turned away for a moment to get her thoughts together, work out how to make this right. He was obviously putting way more importance on that kiss than she was. When she glanced back, she caught the first real expression on his face.

  Hunger.

  She clamped her lips closed before he noticed her shock.

  As if he couldn’t help himself, his gaze slid over her body, lingering on the curves of her breasts beneath the fitted top, and her traitorous nipples hardened to little peaks. Heat washed over her, and her bare toes curled into the grass.

  Time to make a discreet exit while she considered strategy, but first, she had to be certain of one thing. “You’re not going to do another disappearing act on me? You won’t suddenly get called away by some vitally important paper clip that’s gone missing, or some equally huge catastrophe?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be here for a few days, unti
l I’m sure my grandfather is okay.”

  “Good.” Then she gave in to an urge, closed the space between them, and hugged him. “I missed you,” she said, stepping back.

  Not giving him a chance to answer, she turned around and headed off across the smooth green lawns feeling his eyes bore into her back with every step she took.

  That evening, after she’d finished the jobs around the farm, Bella poured herself a glass of red wine and sat on the wooden bench in the garden to watch the sun set behind the mountains. Normally, this scene filled her with peace and had given her strength after Gary’s death in a car accident, but tonight, nothing could settle her.

  She’d known her husband since she was nine, and they’d married when she was eighteen, right after her dad died. She’d been alone, and they hadn’t seen any reason to wait. His father hadn’t agreed—he’d said they were both too young—but they’d done it anyway. A small service with only Rafe and Bella’s best friend, Amy, as witnesses.

  Then they’d moved to Spain and bought the farm. Partly because Gary had always loved the area, but also because Spain was cheaper, and they could afford to buy the property outright. Bella had paid for the farm with money her father had left her, and they’d done the place up together. They’d been happy here, even if she’d been a little restless.

  Draining her wine, she rose to her feet, crossed the garden, and opened the door to Gary’s workshop, breathing in the lingering scent of cut wood. The place should have been cleared out months ago, but she’d never gotten around to it. She stepped inside and came to a halt beside the cradle Gary had been working on.

  A familiar pain twisted her guts, and she slid her hand over her stomach. She’d been three months pregnant at the time of Gary’s death, and a week later she’d lost the baby. Physically, she’d hardly suffered from the loss. Mentally, it had been like losing Gary all over again.

  She stroked her fingers along the smooth wood and imagined a baby lying there, black tousled hair, eyes the color of the summer sky. The image stopped her short. Where the hell had that come from? Gary had been fair with gray eyes.

  Staring at the cradle—the baby’s image still clear in her mind—an idea began to take shape. A really bad idea that she recognized had been niggling at the back of her mind ever since that kiss.

  A prickle ran up her spine and raised the hairs at the back of her neck. She turned slowly. Rafe stood in the open doorway, his tall figure outlined in the fading light. Heat washed through her as though he could actually see into her mind and her guilty thoughts.

  She headed to the door and he stepped aside to let her leave. As she passed, she brushed against him, the contact sending a shiver rippling through her. Once outside, she turned to face him. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay. You left so suddenly this afternoon.”

  “There didn’t seem to be a lot to say. And I needed to think things through.”

  “And have you?” He sounded wary.

  “Maybe.” She’d come to the conclusion Rafe was definitely running scared. From her. It seemed impossible, but she could think of no other explanation. While he believed the kiss had been an aberration, he still wanted to do it again. He wanted her. And he wasn’t happy about it.

  “The kiss was a mistake,” he said when she remained silent.

  “Why? We’re both single.” She really wanted to understand where he was coming from with this. Was he worried she’d get all clingy? He should know her better than that.

  He ran a hand through his thick dark hair. “Because we want different things out of life. You want marriage, children, and a home. I’ll never marry, and I seldom stay in one place longer than a few days. We might have a fling, but then the differences would tear us apart. And you’re too important to me for that. I don’t want to lose your friendship.”

  Bella strolled to the table and poured a glass of wine. She held up the bottle to Rafe, but he shook his head. Taking a sip, she studied him over the rim of her glass.

  She’d been trying to work out the details of her future. She needed a job, a career, but there was one thing she wanted above everything else. An image of that black-haired baby flashed in her mind. She thought of all she had lost, all that she now yearned for, and the really bad idea that had been floating in her subconscious crystallized into something tangible.

  Rafe desired her. And that desire changed everything. It would be an honest exchange. A win-win situation. Placing her glass on the table, she took a deep breath. “You’re wrong,” she said.

  “I am?”

  She almost smiled at the wary note in his voice. She suspected not many people had the nerve to tell Rafe he was wrong. But she bit back the smile and nodded solemnly instead. “I’ll never marry again.”

  His brows drew together as if he was trying to find the catch in that statement. She decided to help him out.

  “No one will ever replace Gary. I don’t even want to try—it wouldn’t be fair. He was far more than a husband; he was also my best friend.” And he’d left her like everyone else. No way would she risk that again.

  “One day, you’ll find someone else.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Yes, you—”

  She held up her hand to stop him before this got into a ping-pong match of an argument. “Believe me. No one will take Gary’s place. But Rafe, there is something I want.” She stepped close and tilted her head so she could look into his face. A tic jerked in his cheek. She placed her hand flat against the hard wall of his chest and felt the thud of his heart against her palm. Panic flared in his eyes, but he didn’t back away. “Something I need,” she continued. “Help me get it, and I won’t ask for more than friendship from you.”

  The panic faded, and a smile curved his lips. “What do you need? You know I’ll help you any way I can.”

  She suspected he might want to retract that statement any second now.

  “I want your baby,” she said, and watched as the smile slid from his face.

  Chapter Two

  “Who the hell is she talking to now?” Rafe growled.

  He gritted his teeth as he stared down at the green lawn below the window. Bella was talking to a man. The man didn’t look like much—middle-aged, medium height, dark-skinned—but even so, Rafe’s hands balled into fists at his side.

  She was wearing the same skimpy cutoff shorts as yesterday, this time topped with a white tank top. Rafe’s eyes narrowed. The shirt bordered on indecent, almost see-through, clearly outlining the shape of her breasts. It didn’t help that she had her hands shoved into the back pockets of her shorts, which had the effect of almost thrusting her nipples into the poor guy’s face. Not that he appeared to be complaining.

  Pete came to stand beside him. “That’s Antonio Perez,” he said. “The local shepherd. He’s just been in to visit your grandfather.”

  At that moment, Bella laughed at something the man said, and Rafe’s blood pressure soared until it pounded at his temples. “So what’s he still doing here?”

  “We did a full security check—he’s quite safe.”

  Pete sounded puzzled. Rafe ignored it—he didn’t pay his employees to be puzzled. “Is he married?”

  “Yes.”

  Rafe grunted. “Good.”

  “And he has six children,” Pete added.

  That little piece of information set alarm bells ringing. The man was obviously stud material, and he’d bet Bella knew it. Why else was she flirting with him? What was she asking him down there? He could just imagine it—I want your baby. He turned to Pete.

  “The man looks shifty to me, definitely a security risk. Get him off the property.”

  Pete opened his mouth and then sensibly shut it again. He didn’t pay his employees to argue, either. Rafe watched as he left the room and then forced himself to move away from the window. Collapsing into the chair behind his desk, he ran a hand through his hair.

  A dull ache throbbed behind
his eyes, no doubt caused by lack of sleep and exacerbated by the onset of insanity. That was all it could be—Isabel Sinclair was driving him mad. It was two days since she’d made her preposterous proposition, and he hadn’t felt entirely sane since.

  Every time he turned around she was there—talking to some man. He hadn’t realized there were so many men about, tall ones, short ones, fat ones, thin ones. Their appearance didn’t seem to matter to Bella. Perhaps he should give her a little lesson in genetics, point out that she should be a bit more discerning if she was looking for someone to father her children.

  His mind went back to that night. He’d reacted badly to her proposition. First, he’d accused her of wanting to trap him into marriage. Which was stupid. He’d never measure up to Gary in her eyes, but she’d caught him off guard and his mouth had overtaken his brain. She’d actually had the nerve to tell him that even if she had wanted to get married again—which she didn’t—he would hardly be considered suitable husband material.

  What was wrong with him?

  He hadn’t had to wait long to find out. She’d gone on to tell him he was immoral and a womanizer. She’d actually been nice about it, told him she didn’t hold it against him—it was just the way he was. That he made a great friend, but she’d want other things in a husband. Dependability, responsibility, and faithfulness.

  He was perfectly dependable. What did she know about it?

  Actually, probably quite a lot, if Gary had talked to her as much as he had to Rafe. But no way was he a womanizer. He had a perfectly normal sex drive. His relationships might not last long, but they were always one at a time. Well, except for the twins. Christ, Gary hadn’t told her about the twins, had he? Hell, what nineteen-year-old could have resisted that offer? Probably only Gary.

  Rafe pressed his fingers against his eyes trying to ease the ache, and behind his closed lids he could see Bella standing there in her tiny shorts and equally tiny T-shirt.

  He shifted in his chair. It felt as if his dick had been hard since their last meeting. And no relief in sight. If he had any common sense at all he’d leave that afternoon. Just get in his helicopter and fly away. His grandfather was well out of danger. Rafe should get back to London and find himself a nice willing woman. One who appreciated him. One who didn’t fill him with such conflicting emotions that he felt as though his dick and his head might explode simultaneously.