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‘Rafe?’ It was Nick’s voice.
‘Go away,’ Rafe mumbled, his breath warm against the back of her neck.
‘I need to speak to you. Now.’
Cursing a little beneath his breath, Rafe got to his feet and pulled on a pair of jeans, still doing up the zip as he walked over and opened the door, behind which his half-brother was standing. He didn’t invite him in and Sophie couldn’t hear what was being said—only the low murmur of their voices before Rafe quietly closed the door and came back into the room.
She looked up into his face, but if she’d been hoping for some new kind of openness after the things they’d talked about, then she’d been way off mark because his features were as dark and as unreadable as ever. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘You could say that.’ His voice sounded grim. ‘My brother’s had a phone call from the landlord of the local pub. The snow has started to melt and a man and woman have checked in. He thinks they may be journalists.’
She sat up, clutching onto the blanket. ‘How—?’
He shrugged. ‘I suspect Sharla let them know you’re here—inadvertently or not, I don’t know. The question is how we deal with it.’
Sophie shook her head. ‘There’s only one way to deal with it and I can’t keep avoiding it for ever. There’s no point in me trying to concoct another life—it won’t make any difference. And maybe it’s time to stop running.’ She clutched the blanket a little tighter to her breasts. ‘To let Myron know I’m a grown-up now and can make my own decisions. To tell him that I need to forge a new future for myself.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘And do you know what that future will be?’
‘Not yet. I’d just hoped...’
‘Hoped what?’ he questioned as her words tailed away.
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. After my fairly successful stab at independence, it’s a pity I have to return being pursued by the press. I’d hoped to make a more...controlled arrival.’
‘Unless you refuse to play ball,’ he said slowly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why should the damned press back you into a corner?’ he demanded. ‘Why go back earlier than originally planned?’
‘That was pretty much on the cards the minute you returned unexpectedly to Poonbarra. I don’t really have any alternative, Rafe. I can’t stay here. And I can’t face the thought of turning up somewhere else just before Christmas, with a load of news-hungry journalists on my tail.’
There was a pause. ‘Unless you came to New York with me for Christmas.’
Sophie tried to squash the leap of hope in her heart as she met his shadowed gaze. ‘But you must have plans?’
‘None I can’t get out of. The only thing set in stone is my Boxing Day ski trip to Vermont. But New York is the most anonymous city in the world and I can have my PR people make sure nobody bothers you.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, even though she was filled with an excitement she was trying very hard to contain.
‘The city is beautiful during the holidays,’ he continued softly. ‘And I think there’s a lot more sex we need to have before I’m willing to let you go. I’m not offering you a home, Sophie—as long as you understand that. Just a temporary shelte
r.’
Her smile didn’t falter, even though the baldness of his statement left her in no doubt of his feelings for her. But surely it was better to know exactly where she stood. And he was offering her a solution, wasn’t he? Practical help in the form of a Christmas break in a city she’d never visited, rather than a scandal-wrapped return to her island home. There was no contest, really.
‘I’d like that,’ she said.
‘Good. In that case, I’ll have my jet prepared.’ His eyes gleamed as he unzipped his jeans and started walking towards her. ‘And in the meantime...why don’t you lose the blanket?’
CHAPTER NINE
THIS HIGH UP, the snowy winter light was on the harsher side of bright. A penthouse apartment high in the sky—far above the streets and away from the sounds of the New York traffic. Chosen specifically for its isolation and for the fact that nobody could see you, or hear you. An apartment Rafe had never shared with anyone.
Until now.
He stared at Sophie’s back, silhouetted against the Manhattan skyline as she watched the ant-like people far below. His home, his space, his life. A fortress of a place which up until now had always been inviolate. People came here rarely because hospitality on home turf had never been his thing. He preferred to take people out to dinner, rather than be stuck with guests who wouldn’t take the hint and go home. The same with lovers, too. Not for him the awkward morning ritual of trying to remove a woman who wanted to stay.
