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Really beautiful.
Not the kind of beauty which came from spending hours in front of the mirror or having a plastic surgeon on speed-dial. Something told him she looked that way without even trying. Her cheekbones were high, her eyes as blue as a Queensland sky and her dark hair was tied back in a shiny ponytail. She wore no make-up—but with lashes that long, he guessed she didn’t need to. And her lips. Oh, man. Those lips. His groin hardened. Just one glance at them and he could think of a million different X-rated ways he’d like her to use them—starting with that cute pink tongue working a very fundamental kind of magic.
But her appeal didn’t stop at her face. She had one of those bodies which looked amazing in clothes but probably better out of them. Even her cheap white T-shirt and unremarkable cotton shorts failed to disguise her long legs and curvy bottom, and she moved with the natural grace of a dancer. She was one very desirable female, that was for sure—and Rafe imagined Andy’s reaction when he had first seen her. What man could have resisted a woman who looked like this, turning up out of the blue as if in answer to every hot-blooded man’s dreams?
But Andy had also told him that she’d kept her distance. She wasn’t one of those foreign backpackers keen to enjoy anything new—including sex. Apparently she hadn’t flirted with the men or indicated that she might be up for some late-night hook-up. His manager had told him she seemed wary and could turn the ice on without really trying, which was why nobody had dared to make a pass at her. Rafe frowned. Yes. Wary was right. She was regarding him now in a way which reminded him of a bowerbird which had once flown into the homestead by mistake—its beautiful wings battering uselessly against the window pane as it tried to escape from its domestic confinement.
He took another sip of his tea, his interest stirred in more ways than one because he could sense she was trying to distance herself from him, and that never usually happened. He was used to instant compliance from the opposite sex whenever he wanted it. A gushing desire to tell him everything he ever wanted to know—and then more.
But not from Sophie Doukas it seemed. He wondered why she was being so cagey. And whether her reluctance to talk was responsible for the powerful beat of desire which was pooling even harder in his groin.
‘No,’ he conceded dryly. ‘Your linguistic ability is to be commended, even if you haven’t had much chance to practise your language skills out here in the bush.’ He shifted his weight a little. ‘I understand you and I are going to be sharing accommodation.’
She looked uncomfortable. ‘We don’t have to. I’ve been living in the far end of the main house since I arrived. Andy said it seemed crazy for it to stay empty and that it was much cooler in here. But now you’re back...’
She looked him straight in the eyes without any hint of the flirtation he would have expected from any other woman in the circumstances.
‘I can easily move into one of the smaller properties,’ she continued stiffly. ‘I’d hate to feel I was in your way.’
Rafe almost smiled. No. She definitely wasn’t flirting. Hell. When had been the last time that had happened? ‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said. ‘It’s plenty big enough for two people. I’m sure we won’t have any problem keeping out of each other’s way. And I’m only passing through—one night max. Which reminds me.’ He leaned back against the window and looked at her speculatively. ‘I don’t remember Andy mentioning how long you’re planning on staying?’
He watched as her body language changed. And how. She picked up a teaspoon she’d left lying on the table and carried it over to the sink as if it would explode if she didn’t quickly plunge it into a bowl of water.
‘I...hadn’t really decided,’ she said, still with her tensed back to him. ‘Soon. Just after Christmas, probably.’
‘But won’t your family miss you at Christmas?’ he probed. ‘Or maybe you don’t celebrate Christmas?’
She turned to face him then and Rafe saw that her face had grown pale. Her blue eyes had darkened so that suddenly she looked almost fragile and he felt an unexpected kick of guilt—as if he’d done something wrong. Until he reminded himself that all he’d done was ask her a straightforward question and, as the man who was paying her wages, he had every right to do that.
‘Yes, I celebrate it,’ she said quietly. ‘But my parents are dead.’
‘I’m sorry.’
She inclined her head. ‘Thank you.’
‘You don’t have brothers, or sisters?’
Sophie thought how persistent he was—and how she wasn’t used to being interrogated like this. Because nobody would usually dare. She wondered why he was so interested. Did he realise that his station manager had been less than meticulous when he’d interviewed her—or was there something else? She stared at the teapot and watched it blur in and out of focus. She was innocent, yes—but she wasn’t completely stupid. She’d seen the look he’d given her when he walked into the kitchen—a look of surprise which had swiftly turned to one of appreciation. She had been subjected to a brief but very thorough evaluation of her face and her body—one she doubted he would have done if he’d known who she really was. But he didn’t know, did he? And he wasn’t going to find out.
Because her first instincts had been the right ones, as instincts so often were. She’d felt apprehension when she’d first seen him and she hadn’t known why. But now she did. As he’d looked at her, she’d felt something alien. A feeling which had nothing to do with the fear of being found out, but which was just as disturbing. A sudden heaviness in her breasts and a melting sensation low in her belly. Her skin suddenly felt as if it were too tight for her body and her cheap underwear seemed to be digging into her flesh.
And just as she would have recognised sunburn if she’d never experienced it before, she knew that what she was feeling for Rafe Carter was desire. Hot and very real desire, which was making her heart pound so erratically. Making her wonder what it would be like to be held by Rafe Carter and have him touch her. For him to run those long olive fingers over her newly sensitised skin and take away some of this terrible aching. And she’d never felt that before, not with anyone.
Guilt rippled over her.
Not even with Luciano.
She realised he was still waiting for an answer and she struggled to extract some coherent answers from the unfamiliar erotic fog of her thoughts. ‘I have a younger sister and a brother.’
‘And won’t they be expecting you home?’
Sophie shook her head. After she’d left Isolaverde, she had phoned to let her brother, Myron, know she was safe and well—and begged him not to send out any search parties. She’d told him she needed to escape the pressure of what had happened, and so far he had heeded her request. On the few occasions she’d managed to get online and search the news outlets, there had been no public acknowledgements regarding her sudden disappearance and her younger sister, Mary-Belle, had stepped in to take over all her official engagements. Maybe Myron understood that her pride had been hurt and she’d needed to get away to lick her wounds after her very public rejection by the man she’d been meant to marry. That she was more than happy to resume all the responsibilities of her role as princess, she just wanted a little time to get her head together. Or maybe he was just too busy ruling their island kingdom to pay her much attention. He took his position as King of Isolaverde very seriously and for too long now had been coming under pressure to find himself a suitable bride.
‘You’ve got exactly six months to have your little stab at rebellion,’ he had clipped out, over the crackly phone line. ‘And if you’re not back by February, then I will send out search parties to bring you home again. Make no mistake about that, Sophie.’
Remembering her brother’s sense of control—and the way that people had always tried to control her all her life—Sophie turned round to meet Rafe Carter’s inquisitive stare, knowing she had to stop him doing the same. So be strong. Ask him something, she thought. Put him on the spot.
