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He was wearing an exquisitely tailored dove-grey suit, cut continental fasion. The subtle sheen of the fabric screamed expense, shaping broad shoulders and long, lean thighs, smoothly accentuating the indolent grace of his carriage. Aside of that disturbingly exotic quality that was intrinsically his own, he looked like a wealthy European businessman, polished, sophisticated and very self-assured. A couple of typists on the way past almost broke their necks giving his dark, virile physique a second glance.
‘Who told you where I worked?’ Sarah was infuriated by the breathless edge to her voice. She hated being taken by surprise.
‘Your neighbour was very helpful when I called at your apartment,’ Rafael imparted with a careless cool that mocked her own heat. ‘I understand that the children are otherwise occupied this afternoon, so you are free for lunch.’
Sarah’s jaw dropped inelegantly. ‘Lunch?’
Black-lashed golden eyes rested narrowly on her flushed face. ‘Am I not suitably dressed? Why do you stare at me like this?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘If you have made other arrangements, unmake them.’
For two pins she would have thrown caution to the winds and lied but a native streak of sense prevented her from making that mistake. Rafael had the whip-hand. To antagonise him unnecessarily would be foolish. ‘Give me a couple of minutes.’
But the submissive note stuck in her throat. She stalked into the cloakroom and took several deep, sustaining breaths. What did he want? Had he already been to see his lawyer? That would explain the suit on a male who had not even worn a tie at his own wedding. Glancing in the mirror, she grimaced. Heavens, she looked drab! Her short-sleeved white blouse and narrow green skirt looked exactly like the uniform it was. In a sudden burst of rebellion she released her hair from its tidy pleat and let the pale golden strands fan down on to her shoulders in silken disarray. She wished that she were wearing something scarlet and sleek and shocking to set Rafael back on his arrogant heels. Her forehead indented. What on earth did her appearance have to do with anything? Thoroughly irritated with herself, she raked a brush roughly through her hair.
His eyes wandered over her at a leisurely pace as she walked across the floor to join him. She reddened, furiously conscious of the odd little spur of excitement twisting in her stomach. Hopefully by the time lunch was over prolonged exposure to Rafael’s chauvinistic attitudes would have taken care of that problem for her.
‘How long have you been working?’ he asked.
‘Since I got the twins into nursery school.’
His mouth hardened. ‘What do you do with them in the holidays?’
Sarah bridled. ‘What do you think I do? I pay someone to look after them!’
‘I think you should be at home with them,’ he delivered harshly.
‘Women actually got the vote this century, Rafael.’
A hard hand cupped her elbow, forcing her round to face him. ‘Do you forget that I know exactly what the disadvantages of such an upbringing are? I know what it is like to be dragged up without a father, dependent on a mother who has neither the time nor the inclination to put her child’s needs first!’
Enraged, Sarah flung her head back the better to stare up at the overpoweringly tall male holding her captive. ‘I’m neither illiterate nor promiscuous, Rafael. It’s highly unlikely that either of my children will end up stealing their next meal!’
A dark flush slowly stained his golden skin. Sarah dropped her head, shocked to the core by her own instinctive cruelty. Rafael’s father had died before he was born. His mother had been a gypsy, a teenager who had found a baby an onerous burden. She had trailed him round the Spanish countryside like a piece of excess baggage, occasionally working to keep them but more often than not depending on the generosity of a series of casual lovers.
The love and security that Gilly and Ben took for granted Rafael had never had. Instead he had had to learn how to fend for himself on the streets and at the tender age of seven he had been caught stealing from a market stall. While he was in the temporary care of an orphanage, his mother, with a gypsy’s fear of bureaucracy and repercussions, had taken flight. Rafael had never seen his mother again.
The authorities had traced his grandparents and handed him over to them. They in turn had passed him over to a reluctant uncle and aunt with no desire for the responsibility. Even as a child, Rafael had probably understood far too much of what was going on around him. She could picture him as a little boy with a shock of black unruly hair and bold dark eyes that challenged and just dared the world to pity him. Her throat ached, hurting her. Rafael didn’t like talking about his childhood. It was his one streak of vulnerability. And once, so long ago it seemed now, she had seen that as a bond between them.
Biting back her pain, she murmured, ‘I can’t afford to stay at home.’
His astonishment was unhidden. ‘You refused my financial support when we separated!’ he reminded her angrily.
Sarah sent him a driven glance. ‘At the time I didn’t think you cared about me or the children. I didn’t want your conscience money.’
‘Conscience money?’ he repeated, incensed.
‘All right,’ she conceded wearily. ‘It probably wasn’t the cleverest decision I ever made. It hasn’t been easy to manage on my own but I do appreciate my independence. I live my life without interference from anybody and that’s how I like it.’
He frowned down at her incredulously. ‘Your parents…?’
She tilted her chin in unconscious defiance. ‘If I went back to live with them, they’d keep me in the lap of luxury. But at my age I’m a little past looking to my parents for support.’
‘So my children must pay the price for your false pride.’ Rafael was viewing her with smouldering censure. ‘If this is an example of your maturity, I am not impressed by it.’
Oh, dear heaven, give me the strength not to embark on another blazing argument, she pleaded inwardly. She had to reason with Rafael. She had to convince him that she was a good mother. But Rafael was unlikely to approve of any facet of their lifestyle. He was probably already convinced that he could offer the twins more than a small city flat and a working mother. He might even be planning to marry again. As that possibility took her by storm, she was filled with a sick, tortured fear that she did not want to examine.
A taxi dropped them at a restaurant within walking distance of her flat. ‘I was not sure how much time you had,’ he explained.
‘I’ve got all afternoon.’ Afraid he might translate that as some sort of fatuous hint, she muttered hurriedly, ‘But I’m sure this won’t take long.’
High-backed seats discreetly sectioned off the tables into little pockets of privacy. It was scarcely the setting for a detached, businesslike discussion, she thought irritably. The atmosphere was dark, intimate and candlelit. Giving the menu a cursory glance, she picked a salad. She should have been hungry. After all, she had skipped breakfast but her appetite had vanished when Rafael appeared. Stress had scared it off. As the waiter moved away, she helped herself to a glass of wine from the bottle that had already been brought to them at Rafael’s instruction.
It was a good wine. Rafael would be incapable of choosing anything less. Mellow and dry, the clear liquid bathed her tight throat in cooling silk. He had developed some very expensive tastes in the past five years, she reflected. A Lamborghini, an apartment that was the last word in location and elegance. They had to be rented, she decided. He was a rare visitor to London.
‘I assume that we both intend to put the children’s needs before our own personal inclinations,’ Rafael drawled lazily.
It was the opening salvo of an attack but she couldn’t yet figure out from which direction the attack might be coming. Still, he was much calmer and cooler than he had been yesterday. ‘That has always been my policy.’ She was pleased with her dry response.
‘I want to meet them this afternoon and tomorrow I would like to take them out somewhere.’
Alarm stole away her short-lived satisfaction. He was not even giving her time to adjust to the prospect of his presence in their lives. Then why should he? a saner voice asked. Perhaps he was leaving London soon. Naturally he would want to make immediate use of whatever time he had left.
‘Sarah…do you object to this?’
In the flickering candlelight, his golden skin was stretched prominently over his superb bone-structure, delineating hard angles and proud curves. He had a Renaissance face. He could have worn silks and velvets and gold earrings to the manner born. As the alien thought came to fruition, she shifted uneasily on her seat, a little like someone trying to wake up surreptitiously from a disturbing dream. She clutched her glass tautly between her fingers, frantically questioning the cause of her disorientation.
In his fierce, compelling gaze lay the full force of his energy and his ruthless determination. Acute intelligence powered his direct scrutiny. A curious weakness assailed her, her mouth running dry. ‘Would there be any point if I did?’
‘None.’ He lounged indolently back into the corner, a lean hand cradling a glass with natural grace. He could relax. He had won the first round, she acknowledged bitterly.
‘If you hurt them, I’ll never forgive you,’ she said tightly.
‘Why should I hurt them?’
‘You can’t walk into their lives and then walk back out again when it suits you.’
He took a calm, reflective sip of wine. ‘That is not my intention.’
Sarah stiffened. ‘I’m afraid I tend to judge by experience.’
An ebony brow elevated. ‘You sound bitter.’
‘How could I be? I got rid of you!’ Sarah drained her glass, set it down with a distinct snap.
‘So you were aware of what your parents did,’ he said softly, dangerously softly.
‘No, I wasn’t!’ she contradicted vehemently. ‘I was here and you were in New York. My mother was ill and I was worried sick about her…’
