Rafael's Suitable Bride (9 page)

She shrugged off her coat, hung it over the banister and without giving him time to frame an answer headed up the narrow stairs, her heart beating so loudly that she swore that, had there been complete silence, she would have heard it over the patter of the rain outside.

As it was, she could hear him following up the stairs, and when he was standing framed in the doorway of the small kitchen she was already fetching two mugs down from the cupboard.

He had disposed of his trench coat and of the beige cashmere jumper and had rolled the sleeves of his shirt to the elbows.

‘I know.' She thought her voice sounded jumpy and she cleared her throat. ‘It's really warm in the flat. I can't bear to be cold inside, so the heating's always turned up.' She gave a nervous little giggle. ‘I can't imagine what I'm doing for the
global warming situation. You know, you see these adverts on telly: carbon footprints…should wash clothes at thirty degrees instead of forty…' She was talking too much. She blushed and stared down in a fixated fashion at the coffee which she was now spooning into the mugs.

In the silence, her eyes skittered across to him. He hadn't moved from his position by the door, although he was now leaning against the door frame and smiling at her.

‘Would you believe me if I told you that I'd never met anyone like you before?' he asked lazily.

‘Would you say that that's a compliment?'

‘Isn't it always a compliment to be told that you're unique?' he said, and for a few seconds Cristina thought that he hadn't exactly answered her question, at least not in a very satisfactory way. But her thoughts scattered at his expressive, glinting smile. It transfixed her and brought all coherent thought skidding to an abrupt stop.

Rafael walked towards her and rescued the kettle from her shaking hands, then he poured boiling water into the mugs.

‘There you go again,' he murmured softly. ‘Acting like a cat on a hot tin roof. Are you nervous because I flirted with you over dinner?'

Cristina, lost in the depths of those fabulous blue eyes, shook her head dumbly. It was impossible to think straight when she was looking at him, when he was looking at
her
, like that. It was as if time had stood still, and in that moment everything seemed heightened: every sense, every noise, the faintest flutter of her heart.

Her hand reached up and she soundlessly stroked the side of his face, tracing the harsh, beautiful contour of his cheek-bone. And then, standing on tiptoe, her eyes closing as she neared him, she softly covered his mouth with hers.

R
AFAEL
didn't know whether it was the hesitancy of the gesture or the implication behind it, but the result was explosive. One minute he was coolly playing with the notion that this woman, unexpectedly, might very well be the one who made sense when it came to settling down…and the next minute his body was reacting to a simple touch as if she were the first woman to have laid hands on him.

He didn't stop to question his reaction.

Coffee was forgotten as he returned that tentative kiss with one of his own. He curled his fingers into her hair, tilting her head back so that he could plunder her sweet, eager mouth with his tongue, until her body curved against his. He could almost feel her heartbeat, and when eventually they surfaced for oxygen he held her back, breathing thickly,

‘Are you sure you want this?' he questioned unevenly. Never before had he asked a woman whether she wanted to sleep with him. In that game called love—or rather, as far as he was concerned,
lust
—the rules were perfectly understood. It had always been a ritual, a courtship routine, the only difference being that the routine had never led to permanence.

How ironic that he should now give this woman the chance to back out when she was the chosen one.

He would also not be making the inevitable speech about not getting involved, about enjoyment without strings. He was filled with a strange sense of liberation. Also, the realisation that his mother had been right, that he had reached an age to settle down—and he counted himself fortunate that he was mature enough to view the situation in a cool-headed manner, to work out the most appropriate partner, thereby eliminating the possibility of failure. It was comforting to know that he could rationalise a relationship in the same way that he could rationalise a spreadsheet.

He wished that he had had that knowledge at his disposal all those years ago when he had leapt into marriage because of that non-existent, illusory and ludicrously overrated misconception called
love
. He wished that someone had told him then what he knew now, which was that there was no such thing as love. There was common sense, and that, above all else, was the lubrication that kept the wheels of a relationship turning.

Cristina looked at him with absolute conviction and nodded. She couldn't help but be impressed by the fact that he hadn't just taken what had been on offer, but had given her the opportunity to change her mind had she so wanted. How many men would have done that?

She half closed her eyes and this time, when his mouth touched hers, it was with devastating tenderness. She wrapped her arms around his neck and moaned very softly as he trailed kisses over her fluttering eyelids and damp cheeks before recapturing her mouth.

‘I think we should continue this in the bedroom, don't you?' he asked softly and Cristina sighed in wordless agreement.

Once there, she stared at him in open fascination as he began removing his clothes, and when he looked at her with
wry amusement she blushed, but didn't look away, and nor did he seem in the slightest bit bothered by her absorption.

Only when he was down to his boxer shorts did her nerves begin to kick in and she was overcome with sudden, horrendous shyness.

‘Don't worry,' Rafael murmured, oddly touched by the nervous, wary expression on her face. He walked slowly towards her, not wanting to frighten her. He was massively and unashamedly turned on, could feel his erection pushing up against the boxers, but he was going to take his time.

‘I'm not worried.' Cristina chewed her lip, dragging her eyes away from that bulge, which was both a heady turn-on and a source of fear. ‘Okay, I
am
. Just a bit. I'm not…I don't know…'

‘I'll take care of you,' Rafael said gently.

Cristina nodded gratefully, and continued staring at him, at his powerful, masculine beauty—the broad, brown shoulders, the narrow, tapering waist, the latent strength in his body that was visible every time he moved. There was something so graceful about him even though he was so impressively built. He was so much more experienced than she was, had had so many lovers. That was a little scary, as was the knowledge that all those lovers would have been as physically perfect as he himself was.

Cristina determined to put that out of her mind and focus instead on the extraordinary and exhilarating fact that he found
her
attractive.

‘I've never actually undressed in front of a man before,' she confessed.

‘And it turns me on to think that I'm the first,' Rafael told her truthfully. He would have liked to place her hand firmly on his erection, have her feel him, but he knew that he would
have to wait for that, and he was happy to do that. He began undressing her and, as eventually skin touched skin, he was aware of her trembling apprehension.

Through the window, the ever-present London night-light filtered through so that they weren't in pitch blackness.

He curved his hands to cup her breasts, which were still in the lacy bra that, in the half light, was like a tattoo on her skin. He knew that his breathing was unsteady, his body violently aroused by the lingering disrobing. Rafael had to steel himself against rushing, but it was damned hard taking his time, tracing a lazy outline of her breasts, when he wanted to rip aside that thin barrier of fabric so that he could lose himself in what they so barely contained.

His taste in women had been formed from habit: leggy, rake-thin, exquisite clothes-horses with no spare flesh. They had looked good and had turned heads, but they had not felt like this. This woman's body proclaimed her femininity, with all its curves and abundance. He ran his hands along her sides where her waist dipped in, giving her an exquisite hour-glass shape, and felt the waistband of her matching underwear. He slowly slipped his fingers under the elasticated waistband and felt her indrawn breath.

He knew that she would be wet for him, but instead he removed his hand and began to gently unclasp her bra, murmuring soothing noises into her ear.

The sight of her naked breasts filled him with a savage adrenaline rush. He couldn't stop a groan of pure pleasure from escaping him as he cupped them and began massaging them, rolling his thumbs over her stiffened nipples, taking it very slowly until her rapid breathing slowed to low whimpers of satisfaction.

By the time he edged her towards the bed, she was more
than ready for the feel of his mouth as it covered one of those tempting circles.

Cristina had been saving herself all her life for this, and it was glorious. She gazed down at his dark head nuzzling her breast and writhed, now closing her eyes, at the sharp, delicious sensations evoked by the feel of his mouth and tongue working against the sensitive bud. Her entire body was aflame with a weird, wonderful, exquisite pleasure that made her want more. She arched up and wriggled instinctively against that exploring mouth, guiltily ashamed of this unforeseen wanton side that was suddenly and shatteringly released.

She was desperate to rip off her briefs, unable to contain her own body's response to his caresses.

As he left her breasts to trail hot kisses along her stomach, Cristina sat up and pulled him up to her. ‘What are you doing?' she squeaked and he grinned with boyish charm.

‘Relax. I won't be doing anything you won't enjoy.'

Cristina wondered how she could possibly relax when he was about to touch her
there
, her most intimate place, with his mouth. She was unprepared for her electrifying response as he parted those delicate folds and began caressing her with his tongue. The glory of what she was feeling stopped all her incipient inhibitions dead in their tracks, and she began moaning as he continued to lick that wildly sensitised nub until she could feel her own inevitable climax approaching.

No! Even in her innocence, she knew that love-making should be a two-way process, and she limply tried to struggle up, but her efforts were useless against the inroads he was making with his expert lathering. She dropped back against the pillows, unable to do anything but watch his head moving between her thighs, and then she was lost in wave upon wave
of shameless pleasure which had her arching back, crying out at the intensity of her fulfilment.

‘I'm sorry,' she whispered, mortified at her lack of control over her own body.

Rafael, still recovering from the intensity of satisfaction he had derived from pleasuring her, gave her a bemused look. ‘You're sorry?' It dawned on him that regrets were beginning to sink in with her. She had been swept away on those notoriously unreliable wings of temptation and now she was fast recovering her senses. ‘Sorry about what?' He levered himself up so that he was alongside her and, once there, he had to make use of all the will power at his disposal not to touch those breasts, which could drive a man wild with desire.

‘It…it shouldn't have happened like this…' Cristina whispered, truly devastated that a man of his experience had been doomed to end up with a partner like her, someone utterly clueless between the sheets. She could feel the onset of tears forming at the back of her throat, and she swallowed them down shakily.

‘Like…what? Do you regret what's just happened between us?' As confident in the bedroom as he was in the board room, Rafael now felt himself floundering in unmarked territory.

‘I don't regret it,' Cristina said miserably. ‘But…but I…It can't have been very satisfying for you…'

Rafael almost laughed but he contained himself, suspecting that she might interpret such a response in the wrong light. Instead, he stroked the side of her cheek and smiled.

‘I have no idea what you're talking about,' he told her gently, which induced another watery smile.

‘I've read articles. Men like to be satisfied through full intercourse…if they aren't…' Cristina tried to remember what
happened if they weren't. ‘Doesn't that lead to dangerous blockages? Or something…?'

Rafael felt his lips twitch and he cleared his throat noisily. ‘That's not a consequence I've ever heard of before,' he said seriously. ‘And I happen to be completely satisfied.' He leaned forward and kissed her very gently on the lips. ‘Believe me when I tell you that your response to being touched was immensely gratifying, and I feel privileged to have…given you pleasure.'

Cristina felt the sun burst through the clouds and this time her smile was full of shy warmth. He was a generous lover. Had she really expected him to be otherwise? Hadn't she known, somewhere deep inside, that that would be the case? Hadn't she known that this man, however wrong he might seem on paper, and however vastly different their levels of experience were, was right in every sense of the word?

Fate, she now thought, had seen fit to throw them together for a reason, and the reason was
this
.

She took his hand and placed it on her breast, and she loved as he drew in his breath sharply, as if in the grip of something over which he had no control. When he guided her hand to him, it was completely natural and when, after a blissful and leisurely foreplay, they made love, it was glorious. Wonderful. If she could have made time stand still, she would have done so. She would have liked to bottle the memory and kept it close to her for ever, so that she could breathe it in whenever she wanted.

‘What are you thinking?' Rafael asked, propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at her.

‘I'm thinking that I'm normally in bed at this hour.'

‘You
are
in bed.'

‘In bed and asleep,' she amended, laughing contentedly, the cat in full possession of the cream.

‘And would you say that you're happy doing without your beauty sleep?' he asked lazily. She had satisfied him beyond expectation. After her initial apprehension, because the unknown was always so much scarier than the reality, she had been sexily and mind-blowingly responsive, thrilling at each touch, whimpering with the enjoyment of having him lavish her fulsome body with caresses. There was not an inch of her that he hadn't explored, and he had enjoyed every second of the exploration.

‘I think it's made a very nice change,' she said demurely, and then laughed when he took offence and nipped her on the neck. He placed his hand squarely between her thighs and worked her flesh so that his knuckles grazed that already sensitised area.

She would have liked to be more expressive on the subject, but a part of her was still finding it hard to believe that this magnificent man was really interested in
her
. There was also a part of her that was nursing a small thought which had taken root at some point during their very long and very languid love-making session. It was a thought that filled her with a warm glow and for the moment she wanted to keep it to herself because, after all, this was the first night they had spent together. What if he got bored with her? He seemed to have a short attention span when it came to women, but Cristina wasn't going to dwell on that. Instead, she thought of how great it felt being in love, because she knew, with complete certainty, that she was in love with him.

Maybe he
had
had plenty of women in the past, maybe he had had an unhappy experience when he was young and foolishly married the wrong woman—but he was older now, and she liked to think that the very fact that she was so unlike the women who littered his past was promising.

‘“Nice” is such a non-word,' Rafael chided. He replaced his hand with his thigh which he moved rhythmically between her legs.

‘That's not your ego talking, is it?' she teased, half her attention focused on what was going on with her body, which was stirring into arousal even though they had barely stopped touching each other for the past few hours.

‘We males are a fragile breed,' Rafael returned silkily.

‘Perhaps I should say that it was earth shattering.'

‘Now
that
is a definite improvement.' He cupped one heavy breast and then bent so that he could lick her nipple, which stiffened in immediate response. When he began suckling on it she gave a stifled groan and began moving against him, and this time they made love with hunger and urgency, their hands and mouths uniting as they explored each other's bodies. She did to him what he did to her, tasting him and enjoying his hardness, every inch of it.