The Forbidden Touch of Sanguardo (7 page)

‘I think you would have been considered exotic,’ she said. ‘And mysterious.’

And you’d have had Victorian maidens swooning by the dozen...

Rafael gave a laugh, the lines around his mouth deepening.

Make that by the hundreds...

Celeste dragged her mind away. She’d set him clear on what she was not going to do—get involved with him in any way—so she had to stop,
right now,
thinking any thoughts at all that countered that.

But it was hard to sit here, only a few feet away from him, and not think such thoughts. Not to feel again the confusion, the incomprehension, about just why it was that he could make her think such things. Feel such things...

‘You make me sound like a character in Dickens,’ he replied.

‘More like Joseph Conrad, I think. You know—
Nostromo,
’ she went on. ‘It’s a novel set in your part of the world. About a town that has vast mountains of silver and how that wealth tempts everyone. Corrupts many.’

‘There was such a mountain,’ he told her. ‘In Peru. And it tempted and corrupted, and in the end caused the death of many. Including the wretched miners forced to mine it for their masters.’ His expression changed. ‘It may sound ironic, but it’s actually been a blessing that Maragua has very little mineral wealth to exploit, since such exploitation has so seldom been for the benefit of the mass of inhabitants of the countries.’

She looked across at him. ‘Is there great poverty still in Maragua?’

‘Substantial—but it is diminishing. There was a change in government in Maragua a few years ago,’ he continued, clearly approvingly, ‘to one that is more moderate, less extreme. It has helped considerably. It understands that prosperity is built on investment—investment in infrastructure, the environment, education, entrepreneurship—and a lot of hard work by everyone, not just the
peones.
’

She looked at him curiously. ‘But you live and work in Europe and the USA, don’t you?’

‘It’s where I made my money, yes,’ Rafael allowed. ‘But the habit of sending remittances home by those working abroad has a long tradition in Latin America and it actually contributes signally to the economy of the region
en masse.
However, at my level those remittances can take the form of specific investments in targeted projects for long-term national benefit. I work closely with several other Maraguans who, like myself, have “made good”, and we now intend to grow our native economy and welfare for the benefit of all our fellow citizens.’

‘That sounds very...admirable...’ Celeste sought for the right word.

He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘It makes sound economic sense. Wealth begets wealth—as the Western world learned last century. If the masses become prosperous they drive the economy further upwards in a virtuous circle.’

Celeste frowned. ‘But isn’t there a danger of pollution and environmental degradation as living standards rise with consumer demand?’

‘Yes. Which is why we now focus on sustainable development and reversing the damage that has been done in the past.’

He warmed to his theme, describing reforestation programmes to extend areas of native rainforest, which went hand in hand with developing ecotourism—an area he was investing in himself. Rafael could see her listening attentively, and she asked intelligent, penetrating questions.

Just as Madeline had used to.

Emotion flickered through him. He wanted Celeste to be completely different from Madeline, yet in this she was proving similar.

Or was she?

He had come to realise that the superb grasp of economics that Madeline possessed, allowing her to soar in the business world, did not extend to being overly concerned about the very issues he was now talking about with Celeste. The shadow in Rafael’s eyes changed to something harder—more critical. He could still hear Madeline arguing with him, refuting his enthusiasm for such projects as ecotourism and long-term sustainable development and natural resource conservation.

Her assured, confident voice sounded in his head now.
‘Rainforests are a prime capital asset that have to be exploited to get anything useful out of them! You can’t hold back economic growth by sentimentalising over a bunch of trees and the monkeys living in them! Get real, Rafe! It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, and we both know it! You and I both came from nowhere, and look at us now! We’ve made good by following the money—using our talents to get our share of it! Being sentimental would have got us nowhere!’

He heard her vehement, scornful voice—knowing now, although he had once ignored it, that her callous attitude should have been a warning sign to him long before she had revealed her true character and finished their relationship for good.

Celeste’s reaction to his environmental concerns was very different. Sympathetic, enthusiastic, approving. Sharing his values.

His eyes rested on her warmly, darkening momentarily with desire. He wanted to do more than share his environmental values with her...he wanted to share his bed...
Fold her to me, hold her in my arms, embrace and caress her...

He felt frustration mingle with desire. She was so set on rejecting him—rejecting all men!

But then, he reasoned, if the kind of men she came across were all of the same stamp as Karl Reiner, was that so surprising? Rafael’s thoughts darkened. And if men like Karl Reiner were used to models sleeping their way into lucrative contracts, exploiting their beauty with rich and influential men to further their careers, no wonder Celeste did not want to run the slightest risk of being tainted by embarking on any kind of relationship with anyone who could be considered in that light.

Such as himself, Rafael acknowledged. His wealth, as he knew only too well, made him a target for just such women, and he also knew that it was precisely the fact that Madeline had already made her own money—huge amounts of it!—that had been a key factor in their relationship. There had been no question that Madeline had wanted him only in order to further her career!

But he didn’t want to think about Madeline—he wanted to think about Celeste—

Is she worrying that people might think she turned down Reiner for a man even richer? Is that the reason for her reluctance? Because it would show her to be no better than that other model who did have an affair with Reiner to advance her career?

If so, it was a tribute to her character, demonstrating yet again how right he was to want her as deeply as he did! He could be confident that he could trust her not to be venal or corrupt—not to be the kind of woman who would trade herself for financial advantage!

His eyes shadowed. In his country of birth, still teeming with impoverished masses, there were women so abjectly poor they had no choice but to sell their bodies simply to survive. But here in the rich Western world there was seldom such desperate need. Here it would simply be a matter of making easy money...

In his head, the harsh sound of mocking laughter echoed viciously...

His mouth tightened to a whipped line and forcibly he wiped his mind of all such tainted, toxic thoughts. Celeste was nothing like that—
nothing!
That was all he had to know. All he needed to know.

Apart from the most important thing of all—how to win her. How to allay her reluctance and wariness and get her, little by precious little, to relax with him. To enjoy his company as he was enjoying having hers this evening.

He put aside such troubling thoughts, focussing instead on making this a pleasant, easy meal to share together, without stress or strain.

He nodded at her with a slight smile. ‘Sole OK?’ he checked as they began to eat.

‘Beautiful,’ she assured him.

‘And I can’t tempt you to a modest spoonful of hollandaise sauce?’ He indicated the silver jug containing the butter-rich sauce that went with his own salmon.

‘You can tempt me,’ she said lightly, ‘but I won’t succumb.’

Even as she spoke she realised it was a
double entendre.

Long lashes dipped down over his obsidian eyes. ‘I shall live in hope,’ Rafael murmured, the now familiar humorous glint in his eyes.

She gave a resigned shake of her head even as her lips twitched with unconscious amusement. She was coming to appreciate that this uniquely disturbing man had a beguiling sense of humour that could tease gently—but not threateningly.

He might radiate the sense of powerful self-assurance that sat on many a wealthy man’s shoulders, and beneath the hand-tailored suit there might be an innate underlying toughness that came, she suspected, from the struggles he had faced in his life to make himself what he now was, but for all that—perhaps
because
of that!—there was a chivalry about him that could only warrant her respect and her appreciation. She felt warmed by it. His intervention in that horrible, ugly scene with Karl Reiner was proof of that—as was the open contempt he displayed towards the man.

No, she acknowledged, with wrenching self-awareness, Rafael Sanguardo posed one threat to her only: he attracted her—attracted her as no other man had ever done!

That is his threat to me! That! And that is why I cannot—must not!—let myself be beguiled by him! However much I want to be! I am not free to be beguiled by him! I am not free to want him as I do!

It was impossible. Always impossible. Which was why this evening could not be the start of anything—only the end.

And so I must make the most of it! Have it as a good memory for the future. The memory of what might have been but cannot be...

That was all she could have. All she could
ever
have.

She took a breath, made some polite, praising comment about the quality of the food they were eating, and the conversation moved on. It was easy and yet mentally stimulating, too, as well as pleasant and enjoyable—let alone that it quickened her pulse so powerfully, so beguilingly, to talk to Rafael Sanguardo, whatever the subject.

The single glass of crisp white wine she’d allowed herself helped, she knew, and she sipped it carefully as she ate. Quite what they talked about she wasn’t aware—only that they ranged over a variety of subjects. Rafael proved a skilful conversationalist, his wry comments infused with glinting humour, and yet when he was serious—as when they talked about his work and his country—she could see a clear sense of commitment and passion about him.

More and more Celeste found herself thinking well of him, even beyond the oh-so-potent physical attraction that so disturbed her senses.
He is an enlightened, upright man, with sound principles and a sense of the responsibility that comes with the kind of wealth he has made for himself—and made for others, too.

A man she could respect. The little stab of anguish came again. And a man she could easily, so dangerously easily, start to feel much more for than respect.

But that reaction must be quashed. She must not give in to her silent urge to hold his eyes, to let her own eyes dwell on the strongly planed features of his face that drew her gaze so much, to let herself feel that shimmer of response to his effortlessly compelling masculinity. She must restrict and restrain herself to being cool and composed and letting no emotion well up from the core of her being.

But as they neared the end of their meal Celeste’s determined composure was overset by a quite different source. She had just made an interested reply to something Rafael had said about the new eco-friendly beachfront resort in Maragua that he was investing in when her eye was abruptly caught by a couple taking their place at a table at the far end of the room. They were almost concealed by the red velvet drapery—but not enough to stop her recognising, with a sudden tautening of her stomach, that the man was Karl Reiner.

Then another ripple of unpleasant recognition went through her. The woman he was with was Louise, the young model she’d met the day before.

‘What is it?’ Rafael asked quietly, seeing her expression.

Celeste swallowed. ‘Karl Reiner’s just turned up with a model I know is only a teenager and is totally new to modelling,’ she said tightly.

She looked as if she was going to jump to her feet. Rafael stayed her, loosely cupping her wrist for a moment. ‘Do you think she’s underage?’ he asked, in the same low voice.

Celeste shook her head. ‘No, but she’s made up to look my age—which she is not. I don’t want—’ She stopped.

‘Just keep an eye on her,’ Rafael advised. ‘Has Karl Reiner seen you?’

‘No, and now he’s out of my vision—he’s hidden behind that drape.’

‘Well, he’s not the important one—she is.’

They resumed eating and conversation returned, but Celeste was constantly aware of Louise on the far side of the room.

As the waiter cleared their plates and she glanced again towards Louise she frowned. The expression on Louise’s face had changed. She was looking vacant, and there was a slackness about her posture. She lifted the glass at her setting and drank from it. Water? thought Celeste. Or vodka? Then, as Louise bent her head to fork her food in a suspiciously slow-motion way, Celeste saw Karl Reiner’s hand extend from behind the drape and drop something into Louise’s glass.

She was on her feet in a second. Crossing the restaurant in moments. Standing in front of Louise.

‘Hello, Louise,’ she said. She kept her voice friendly.

Louise lifted her drooping head and smiled. ‘Hi!’ she slurred. Her eyes were glassy, but at least she’d recognised her, Celeste noted.

‘What the hell are
you
doing here?’ Karl Reiner leant forward belligerently.

Celeste’s eyes lasered him. ‘You’ve put something in Louise’s drink. I saw you! And, looking at the state of her, it’s not the first time this evening!’

Karl’s face darkened. ‘You make accusations like that and I’ll see you in court!’ he attacked belligerently.

A voice behind her spoke. Cool, but with an edge to it that cut like a blade. ‘One moment—’

Rafael’s hand cupped Celeste’s tensed shoulder and he reached forward to pick up Louise’s glass. It looked clear and pristine, but he raised it to his nose.