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But Celeste gave a quick, jerky shake of her head. ‘No—no brandy.’ Her voice was slightly high-pitched. In her head she could hear Karl’s foul words snarling at her again. Hear his vile accusation...
She fought to stay calm, at least on the surface. Inside was different...
‘Coffee, then—you need something. You’re white as a sheet.’
She lifted her face, made herself look at the man who had rescued her. The man she couldn’t get out of her head. Who was now here, beside her, dominating her consciousness. ‘I’m fine. It was just—’ She stopped. Swallowed painfully.
‘Damn,’ said Rafael feelingly. ‘I should have hit him. Trouble is...’ his voice was deadpan ‘...I might have spoilt his looks.’
For a moment Celeste was on a knife-edge. Then the balance tipped, giving her a safety net, letting her pull herself together. The laconically uttered insult to the drunken, obnoxious Karl had retrieved her sufficiently for her to manage to find the darkly wry humour clearly intended in the remark.
She bit her lip. ‘That’s a low blow,’ she heard herself murmur.
‘The lower the better,’ Rafael agreed. ‘Low enough to...ah...quell his unwanted ardour.’
She gave a shaky smile, not quite meeting his eyes. She might be pulling out of the shock of what Karl had snarled at her, but that only meant she was now having to cope with this completely unanticipated encounter with Rafael Sanguardo. And cope she must—somehow.
And she must start with the most important priority. Gratitude.
She lifted her eyes again. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you for what you did back there.’
For just a moment, as her eyes met his, she felt weak—as weak as a kitten. The blood seemed to be flooding back into her ashen cheeks, heating them. She could not drag her gaze away—his eyes were holding her...holding her as if there was a physical link between them...as if they were bound together...
She saw something shift at the back of his eyes—his dark, basalt-black eyes. Something that seemed to set every nerve-ending in her body jangling.
Then, with a quick movement of his head, he broke the moment. ‘De nada,’ he said lightly. His tone of voice changed. ‘So, coffee?’ he said enquiringly. ‘Or tea, maybe? Isn’t that what the English drink to settle their nerves?’
‘China tea would be lovely, thank you,’ she assented, grateful for something so normal. She needed to feel normal again—needed it badly.
As Rafael Sanguardo relayed her request to the barman she felt the backwash of what Karl had said to her start to fade. Her state of shock was ebbing, and so, too, finally, was the sense of incessant strain she’d been under all evening. But even as it ebbed a new emotion replaced it—the shimmering awareness of the man beside her.
Who had appeared out of nowhere to wrest Karl Reiner off her—
‘I don’t understand,’ she heard herself say. ‘How did you come to be here like this?’
There was bewilderment in her voice.
‘I’ve been meeting one of my UK CEOs for dinner,’ Rafael replied. ‘But I have to say...’ His tone of voice changed again, and his gaze rested on her. ‘I now understand the meaning of that English proverb that it is an ill wind that blows no one any good.’
He looked at her, but Celeste was blank. Rafael enlightened her.
‘Even though I would not wish Karl Reiner on anyone, at least he has given me the opportunity not only to be of some small service to you—he has also provided exactly the opportunity I have been wanting to take since the weekend.’ He paused deliberately, still looking at her. ‘To see you again,’ he said.
A troubled expression lit her face.
