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‘My aim is to accelerate the recovery process,’ Rafael informed her, smooth as silk.
‘But you’re intruding. I’m trying to do my wallowing in grief bit, and nobody wants to do that with an audience!’ Her head was spinning a little from the combination of night air and peach wine.
‘I’ll be an objective companion.’
‘But you shouldn’t be here…this is a girlie ritual…play the music, wallow and weep, and burn the photos!’ Harriet slung at him shakily.
Rafael hunkered down beside the sizeable pile of memorabilia and surveyed it with a raised black brow of polite enquiry. ‘How long were you with the little guy? A lifetime?’
Harriet flushed and hunkered down to say urgently, ‘Look, he wasn’t a little guy…Oh, for goodness’ sake! I’ve known him for eight years. First we were friends, but we were a couple for five of those years.’
‘All that time…’ Rafael shook his arrogant dark head in genuine wonderment at the longevity of her attachment. ‘That’s sick…almost obsessional in my terms.’
‘I loved him!’
‘You’ll note that you are already using the past tense,’ Rafael remarked with satisfaction.
‘Do you think I don’t know I have to get over this? But it’s not that easy to get by without someone who was so much a part of my life. Haven’t you ever been hurt?’
His gleaming dark eyes narrowed and caught the leaping gold of the flames. ‘Once, when I was a teenager…never again.’
‘Right, so here you are offering advice when really you’re an emotionally damaged individual who doesn’t fall in love like other people!’ Harriet tossed back, unimpressed.
Taken aback, Rafael vented an abrupt laugh of disagreement. ‘There’s nothing damaged about me. I’ve seen the angst romantic nonsense causes, and I decided a long time ago that I would not repeat that mistake. May I?’
Harriet nodded in assent and watched him taste the wine direct from the bottle. She had to fight off a ridiculously guilty hostess-like urge to offer to go indoors and fetch him a proper glass from which to drink.
‘Too sweet for my palate…but it’s strong,’ Rafael commented. ‘I suspect it will give you a punishing hangover.’
In defiance of that uninvited warning, Harriet reclaimed the bottle for another rebellious swig. She rarely indulged in alcohol, but refused to worry about the morrow. She was sick and tried of always opting for the safe and sensible line. Alice had never played safe and sensible and she was the one Luke loved and was soon to walk down the aisle to the ‘Wedding March’! Feeding another CD into the player, Harriet turned down the volume only because her companion winced.
‘How did you manage not to fall in love again?’ Harriet asked with helpless interest, for the mere thought of ever daring to risk her heart again was anathema to her. On the other hand the prospect of being alone for ever, with only Samson and Peanut for company, was not as attractive an option as she felt it ought to be.
‘That’s simple,’ Rafael declared with absolute confidence. ‘It’s a question of self-discipline.’
Harriet was very impressed by that answer, for she had often suspected that the root cause of her biggest regrets was a lack of sufficient will-power. She needed more strength of mind, she told herself squarely. Having studied for a degree she hadn’t really wanted to satisfy her stepfather’s respect for academia, she had then settled for a high-pressured job she’d found less than fulfilling to make Luke happy. Time and time again other people’s wishes had influenced her choices. Why did she have this awful urge to please others more than herself? But hadn’t those other people been people she loved?
Now she tried to imagine having the self-discipline to enjoy a relationship without yielding to the dangerous desire to love that person and hold on to them for ever. That was definitely the way to go, she reflected painfully, studying a photo that depicted her with Luke at a university dinner and consigning it hurriedly to the flames. She had been so happy that night, so naïve, that she would have trusted Luke with her life. But she did not want visual memories of Alice’s bridegroom. Nor did she wish to be tempted to retain keepsakes from a past that was better forgotten. After all, Luke had let her down very badly, and was quite unworthy of fond recollections and sad longings.
‘A question of self-discipline?’ Harriet allowed herself to look at Rafael properly for the first time since he had unceremoniously invaded her girlie grieving session.
She was immediately absorbed by her entrancing view of the long, lean, relaxed sprawl of his powerful body. No, there was no denying the obvious, Harriet reflected abstractedly: Rafael Cavaliere Flynn was completely gorgeous. In fact just looking, lingering to admire the striking charismatic potency of his lean bronzed features, could easily become an addictive habit. But an addictive habit of the most innocent kind, Harriet reasoned with confidence. After all, as long as she was still in love with Luke she was totally safe from making the even bigger error of falling for a male so out of reach he might as well have been an alien on a distant planet. A male, moreover, whom no sane woman would ever believe cherished even the smallest wish to settle down. Thus reassured by his essential unsuitability as even a possible life partner, Harriet went back to admiring the smouldering depths of his dark eyes, which were nothing short of spectacular.
‘When did Luke take up with your sister?’ Rafael was conscious that he finally had her full attention. He was carelessly amused by the reality that he could not recall when he had last had to make an effort to hold a woman’s interest.
Harriet told him, and how she had found out, and how devastated she had been. In fact, after being encouraged to expand on several points, she told him the entire history of her relationship with Luke. From its inception to the bitter end, it erupted from her in a confessional, though any temptation to linger on irrelevancies was ruthlessly suppressed by her interrogator. He refused to be impressed or shocked or even sympathetic—until she divulged the bridesmaid offer.
His steady gaze hardened. ‘That’s a joke…right?’
‘No. I suspect that it’s my mother and Alice’s way of trying to pretend that Luke and I were never an item in the first place.’ Sadness flooded Harriet and she tipped a whole pile of photos and a penguin soft toy emblazoned with ‘Be My Valentine’ across a red satin heart on the fire. ‘I don’t want her to marry him. That’s so mean and selfish of me…’
Rafael tried not to smile while he surreptitiously set the wine bottle out of view and nudged the CD player behind his back before she could register that the whining tinny songs of heartbreak and betrayal had finally fallen silent. ‘I don’t think you have a handle on pure malice yet.’
‘What would you know about it?’
‘Probably more than you.’ Rafael was thinking of the women he had known. Harriet was painfully honest, and in obvious daily contact with her conscience. Meeting enquiring eyes with the unspoilt clarity of bluebells, he decided not to shock her with tales of extreme female guile and greed. He lifted an assured hand to brush a silky straight strand of copper hair back from her cheekbone.
Her pupils dilated, her breath tripping in her throat. ‘I’m supposed to be burning stuff…and I keep on talking instead…’
