The Spaniard's Kiss Page 8

  She shrugged, the movement raising her breasts beneath her T-shirt. At least she was wearing a bra, though he could still make out her nipples beneath the thin material.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it except as a means to an end. But I guess so. I’m a normal woman, after all, and you’re….”

  “I’m?”

  “Well, I suppose you’re good-looking and you’ve been around.”

  “I think I’ve just been insulted.”

  She grinned. “I didn’t mean to, but you’re my friend. I never thought about you like that. And then you kissed me and suddenly…” She shrugged, and he held his breath. “And suddenly I did.”

  And his dick just got a whole lot harder.

  “But don’t worry about it,” she continued. “It’s not your problem.” She pursed her lips. “Hey, maybe I’ll get a vibrator.”

  He’d been about to swallow. Now he spurted champagne across the table. “Sorry,” he muttered as his mind flooded with a deluge of totally inappropriate images. She obviously had no clue of the effect she had on him. He wondered if anyone would notice if he poured the rest of the champagne in his lap.

  Maybe he’d buy her a vibrator. Then he could fantasize… Damn, he was one sick bastard.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” she asked.

  Her pizza was finished. He’d barely touched his. He wasn’t hungry, at least not for food. “Help yourself,” he said.

  She picked up another slice. “I suppose if we decide to go ahead with this baby, then we’ll have to have sex. You’re just going to have to close your eyes and think of England.”

  He cleared his throat. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of artificial insemination.”

  The half-eaten slice of pizza dropped from her fingers.

  Chapter Seven

  Artificial insemination?

  In the two days since he’d uttered those terrible words, they had never been far from the forefront of Bella’s mind. Now, as she paced the hotel room while she waited for Rafe, they repeated themselves over and over in her head.

  Yesterday, they had spent the whole day together. They’d visited London Zoo. It had been fun, and for a while they’d come close to the relaxed relationship they’d shared while Gary was alive. Apparently, Rafe had never been to a zoo—and she’d thought her childhood had been deprived. He’d teased her, and laughed with her, and treated her like his kid sister. Actually, from what she had seen of his interaction with Gina, he treated her better than his kid sister. But he didn’t touch her. Afterward, he’d taken her to dinner in a crowded restaurant, kept the conversational subjects strictly impersonal—he was so good at that—and then left her at her hotel room door with a totally asexual peck on the cheek.

  She’d fallen asleep with the words “artificial insemination” reverberating in her mind, souring her mood.

  It went against the whole substance of their agreement. He was supposed to get the pleasure of sex with a woman he desired, namely herself, and she got the baby she dreamed about. Though she was beginning to realize that the pleasure would not be one-sided. Rafe was obviously really good at the sex thing. She wanted him, and she’d been so sure he wanted her. Now it appeared she had been deluded after all. What the hell was wrong with her?

  She was hurt and confused and then hurt again.

  Today, despite being Sunday, he’d had to go into work in the morning, but this afternoon, he was going to take her on a tour of the city. He’d suggested the limousine and driver. She quashed that idea and requested an open-topped double-decker bus. But first she was going to insist he talk to her, get everything out in the open. When he came up to collect her, she would invite him in politely, then lock the door and sit on him until he explained to her the convoluted workings of his brain. She felt marginally better once she had a plan.

  The hotel phone rang and she picked it up.

  “I’m down in reception,” Rafe said.

  A frown tugged at her brows. “Aren’t you coming up?”

  “No.” And he ended the call. Just like that.

  For a moment, she glared at the phone in her hand. So much for her plan, thwarted at the first hurdle. She ground her teeth together, then slammed the phone down, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door.

  It occurred to her as the elevator glided down that for the last two years, since Gary’s death, she’d been numb. Now at last she was awake. Like a prince in a fairy tale, Rafe had kissed her and woken her up—in mind and body. Something else occurred to her—maybe it wasn’t Rafe in particular; maybe he had just been around at the right time, and she’d respond in the same way to any good-looking guy.

  Holy shit. She was a cliché. A sex-starved widow, desperate for a man. Rafe was right to be afraid. If this was a fairy tale, she wasn’t the princess, she was the wicked witch or the evil stepmother.

  Maybe I should kiss some other men while I’m here. See what happens.

  Then the door slid open and there he was. Crap. Her heartbeat stuttered and then began to race. Even in black jeans and a white linen shirt, he appeared glamorous and gorgeous, his expression hidden behind dark aviator glasses.

  She gave a dramatic sigh.

  Her prince.

  …

  She was alone in the lift when the door opened, and for a few seconds she didn’t move, just stood staring at him, and then she sighed, loudly.

  “What?” he asked.

  She took the few steps toward him. “I was just thinking, coming down in the elevator, that you’re like a fairy-tale prince.”

  He snorted and then studied her for a moment. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Of course not. But don’t worry. I decided it was maybe just a proximity thing. I haven’t exactly come into contact with many potential princes. I probably just need to get out more.”

  He didn’t like the sound of that, though hadn’t it been the original plan? Get her back here, show her that life could be fun and her dreams were still within her grasp. That maybe her fairy-tale prince was waiting around the corner. But it wasn’t him.

  She was dressed in jeans and a black lace-trimmed tank top, her hair in a ponytail, her face free of makeup. She looked beautiful, and he had to fight the urge to push her back into the elevator and kiss her senseless. That wasn’t going to happen.

  She was watching him speculatively, lips pursed.

  He was quite aware she was still pissed at him for the artificial insemination comment. That she’d been itching to talk about it yesterday, but he hadn’t been ready to talk. He had no clue what to say.

  It had been another of those little trips into crazy land. With hindsight, he could see that the suggestion had been some subconscious, totally mad idea that if they went the artificial insemination route, then he could pretend the donor sperm was his, and tie her to him with this baby she wanted so desperately. It had only taken seconds for him to realize the insanity of the idea. But he hadn’t been able to take the words back. He was seriously losing it.

  “Let’s go,” he said. The car was parked in front of the hotel, and the doorman hurried across and opened the back door for them.

  Bella came to a halt short of the car. “We can walk to the pickup point,” she said, pulling a map out of her bag and waving it under his nose. “It’s only around the corner.”

  Ten minutes later, he was admiring the sway of her ass as she climbed the stairs to the second level of the bus, then led him down the narrow space between the seats. She grinned as she plonked herself down on the backseat and patted the cushion beside her. “Best seats on the bus,” she said with such obvious glee that he couldn’t help but smile.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been on a bus,” he murmured, taking the seat beside her.

  “I’m so glad I’m extending your horizons, Mr. Sanchez.”

  The bus filled up quickly, and soon they were driving slowly through the streets of London. Bella had the earphones in, listening as the tour guide told her about London, but he wa
s content to relax and watch her. After half an hour she turned around and looked behind them, then frowned and removed the earphones.

  “Tell me that’s not your car following us,” she muttered, peering over her shoulder at the road behind them. He followed her gaze; the limo was clearly visible behind a black cab.

  He shrugged. “I wanted to be prepared. I thought you might get bored and want to get off.”

  “Hoped I might get bored, you mean.” She studied him for a second. “Are you bored?”

  “No.” And it was the truth.

  He waited for her to put the earphones back on. Instead, she studied him, a calculating expression flashing in her eyes, and his muscles tightened in anticipation.

  “So,” she said, “I’m wearing some of the clothes you bought me.”

  “You are.” He looked her over, but was pretty sure neither the jeans nor the top were new.

  “Hmm.” She licked her lips as she watched him, and heat coiled in his stomach. Lowering her voice, she added, “The black lace bra with red ribbons.”

  He couldn’t help it—his gaze dropped to her breasts. Was it his imagination, or did she thrust them out just a little bit?

  She inched nearer on the seat, so her thigh touched his, and leaned in close to whisper, “And the matching thong. Though I’ve got to say, it’s not the most comfortable thing I’ve ever worn.” She wriggled a little on the seat, and his dick jerked in his pants. He had a strange idea that this was some devious payback for the artificial insemination comment. And for his refusal to talk about the artificial insemination comment. But he wasn’t going to rise. A double-decker bus was not the place.

  “Stop it, querida.”

  “Stop what?” she asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

  “You know what.” Reaching across, he picked up her earphones and placed them gently on her head.

  She scowled, but turned her attention to the sights of London. He sat staring straight ahead, legs crossed to hide his growing erection, doing his best to banish the image of Bella in nothing but a black lace thong from his mind. And once again failing miserably. He had finally gotten himself under control when she turned to him and grabbed his arm. “Look, there’s Buckingham Palace. Can we get off?”

  “Do we have to get on again?” But he was only teasing. He was enjoying himself. At least when he wasn’t suffering the extreme discomfort and potential embarrassment of an erection on public transport.

  She eyed him up. “We can go somewhere and talk instead.”

  “We’ll get back on.”

  …

  Bella put her hand over her mouth to cover the yawn. They’d stopped off at Buckingham Palace, Saint Paul’s Cathedral, and the Tower of London. Her feet ached, and her head was stuffed full of history. Now they were in a private capsule on the London Eye, slowly rising as the huge wheel rotated, carrying them up above the city.

  She’d had a wonderful day. At least once she’d finally given up on getting him to talk or kiss her. After that she’d had fun. He made a good friend. She cast him a sideways glance. He stood at the front of the capsule, hands in his pockets, staring out.

  “Have you ever been here before?” she asked.

  He turned to her. “No.”

  “You grew up in London and you’ve never been to the zoo, or the tower, or Saint Paul’s?”

  “My mother wasn’t really into sightseeing. But I only lived here until I was ten. Then we moved between Rome and New York.”

  His life was just so different from hers. From anyone’s, she guessed.

  “I’ve enjoyed myself,” he said.

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” she countered.

  For a few minutes they stood side by side in silence. The sun was going down, the lights coming on across the city, reflecting off the dark water of the River Thames far below them. It was a magical sight. Without thought she turned to him, took a step closer, and wrapped her arms around his waist. She sensed his hesitation, then his arms enveloped her and he pulled her tight against him. Beneath her cheek, his heart beat steadily, and his warm breath ruffled her hair. For the first time since he’d uttered those awful words, she felt at peace. He shifted back slightly, and his hands cupped her cheeks.

  She raised her face to him as the door at the rear of the capsule opened and the hostess stepped in, wheeling a trolley with glasses and a bottle of champagne.

  Damn. Damn. Damn.

  Rafe stepped back, his hands dropping to his sides.

  “Are you ready for dinner, sir, madam?”

  Grrr. No.

  She wanted Rafe to kiss her. Had he arranged this, so even up here they wouldn’t be alone? Then her stomach rumbled. She was starving, and she exhaled loudly.

  “Bring it on,” she muttered.

  Rafe rested a hand on her back as he steered her to the table and waited until she was seated, then took the chair opposite.

  She scowled and narrowed her eyes. “Saved by dinner.”

  He gave her a rueful smile. “Have some champagne.”

  So she did. Then inhaled deeply. How could she stay mad in such beautiful surroundings? He’d arranged all this for her. “So, tell me about the first time you met Gary.”

  He raised a brow as if she’d surprised him. “It wasn’t very exciting. He was a baby, an ugly little thing. I was four.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  By the time Rafe dropped her back at the hotel, she was too tired and fuzzy to make a fuss when he dropped an entirely too chaste kiss on her forehead and stepped back.

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night,” he said.

  “Can’t. I’m seeing Amy.”

  For a second she thought he might argue, then he gave a curt nod. “Tuesday, then. Sleep well.”

  And once again he was gone.

  She closed the hotel room door behind her and sank down on the sofa. It had been bittersweet talking about Gary, but in some ways the conversation had cleansed her. Rafe was the one person who had known her husband as well as she did. Had loved him as much.

  She recognized that on some deep level, she had felt guilty about this thing with Rafe. As though she still owed her loyalty to Gary. Tonight had made her remember him more clearly. Above anything else, he would have wanted her to be happy.

  She stared down at the gold wedding band she still wore and blinked away a tear. Then she slipped the ring from her finger.

  Chapter Eight

  “Okay, I’ll give you the benefit of my expertise,” Amy said. “But first you’ve got to explain where you’re going with this. Because I think there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Bella took a sip of her wine. “Going?” she asked as innocently as she could manage.

  “Come on, Isabel, you ask me for advice on how to seduce a guy and you expect me not to want details.”

  “Not expect—no. More of a hope, really.”

  “Never going to happen.”

  They were in Amy’s bedroom at her house in Notting Hill. Bella had actually come over to borrow some clothes. She was going to try to get a temporary job tomorrow and needed to look smart. Or at least smarter than she did right now. There was certainly nothing suitable for an interview among the stuff Rafe had bought for her—it was all silk and lace.

  They’d gone through Amy’s wardrobe and picked out a couple of business suits. They fit perfectly. They’d added a couple of silky tank tops to the pile and a pair of three-inch heels. They’d always been able to interchange clothes.

  Afterward, Bella had pulled her jeans and T-shirt back on, while Amy opened a bottle and insisted on hearing the details of everything Bella had been up to. It occurred to her, somewhere after they’d finished the first bottle, that maybe she could get some constructive advice while she was here.

  “So come on,” Amy said. “Spill the beans. Just who exactly are you planning to seduce? Tell me everything.”

  Amy was an investigative journalist and the nosiest person Bella had ever met. And she loved her like
a sister. They’d met at boarding school when they were both thirteen. Amy had just been expelled from the swankiest girls’ school in England for writing an exposé on the sex lives of teachers. She’d ended up at the less-than-swanky institute where Bella spent her school days. They’d become immediate friends.

  The problem was, she was pretty sure Amy would consider her current situation beyond crazy. She squirmed as she worked out the best way to phrase her words.

  “Hmm, you don’t want to tell me,” Amy said. “Now, why is that, I wonder?” She took a sip of her wine and regarded Bella over the glass. “Spill.”

  Bella took a deep breath and blurted. “I’m here with Rafe.”

  Amy put down her glass and sank onto the bed. “Rafe? As in Rafael Sanchez?”

  “The one and only.”

  “And when you say you’re here with Rafe, what does that involve? Are you and he…?” She waggled her eyebrows in a suggestive manner. “Though wait a minute, if you’re asking me for seduction advice, I’m guessing no.”

  Bella nodded glumly. “You’d be guessing right.”

  “But you want to. I thought you were just friends.”

  “We were. We are.”

  “You don’t seem too sure.”

  Bella refilled her glass with red wine, handed the bottle to Amy, and leaned back against the headboard. “I asked him…” She ran a hand through her hair, took a deep breath. “It all started because he kissed me. Before that, I never thought he’d ever seen me as a woman, but he wanted me, really wanted me. Or so I thought.”

  “And you want him.”

  “Not at first. He was just a means to an end.”

  “What end?”

  “A baby. I wanted a baby.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Amy reached across and gave her a quick hug. “One day you’ll find someone else.”

  “I don’t want another husband. But I do want a family. And Rafe seemed perfect, and he wanted me, so it would be a fair exchange. So I asked him and he—”