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But she had been. Of course she had. After all, modelling had been going to make her fortune. The fortune she’d wanted so much...
Like a guillotine, she sliced down the steel door in her head that she kept forever locked. Seeing that young girl, so like herself once, had let it start to open.
But it wasn’t just the young model who had turned the key in that door. Like an unwelcome intruder, Rafael Sanguardo’s image formed in her mind, as disturbing now as it had been from the start.
What power does he have to do that? Why does he get to me the way he does? Why can’t I just delete him and never think about him again?
The answer was as disturbing as the man himself.
And one thing was for sure: Rafael Sanguardo’s image did not come with a delete button...
* * *
Rafael’s brow was furrowed in concentration as he focussed on the figures his laptop screen was displaying. Calculations ran rapidly through his head.
‘Sorry to disturb you, but Miss Philips has just turned the corner.’
His driver’s voice interrupted his concentration, but he looked up at once.
‘Thank you,’ he said crisply, shutting his laptop lid. He twisted his head very slightly to look out of the window of his parked car. He saw her at once.
She was wearing jeans, a grey sweater and sneakers. Her hair was in a long plait to one side, and she had a capacious leather bag on her shoulder. She looked fresh and fit, her face without a trace of make-up, clean and clear, her figure slender and long-legged.
Rafael watched her a moment, analysing his feelings. They had not changed. Even casually dressed, as she was now, she had an impact on him that went straight to the same place as when she was dressed to the nines. Holding his gaze totally. Filling his vision.
He got out of the car, watching her register his presence. Watching her stop dead.
Casually, he walked up to her. ‘You really do take evasion to the limits, don’t you?’ he said pleasantly.
Celeste glared at him. ‘What are you doing here?’ Her heart had started to slug, and she hated him for it. Hated herself.
‘Asking you to dinner,’ Rafael answered, unconcerned by her aggrieved tone.
The grey-blue eyes flashed. ‘Thank you—but no, thank you,’ she said. Then she frowned. ‘I thought you were in the Far East?’
‘I came back early,’ Rafael said smoothly. His voice changed. ‘I found I didn’t want to be away.’ He paused. ‘From you,’ he finished.
His eyes were resting on her. She was flustered, he could see. More than flustered. Her skin had flushed—that pale, translucent, flawless skin that he wanted to reach out a hand and smooth with the tips of his fingers...
Her skin betrays her—her own body betrays her...
Celeste Philips could stonewall him all she liked. She could ignore his calls—ignore him—but what she could not do was hide her response to him.
‘So,’ he went on, his voice still smooth, his eyes still resting on her, ‘are you busy tonight?’
He saw her square her shoulders.
‘Look,’ she began, ‘I really don’t think—’
‘Then don’t,’ he interrupted.
His voice wasn’t smooth any more. Something had changed within it—something that reached into her, past all her defences.
‘Don’t think, Celeste. Just smile and say, That would be lovely! And then I will smile, too, and we’ll agree what time I’ll send the car for you, and then you’ll go up to your flat and spend the next couple of hours making yourself even more beautiful than you look right now. And I will drive off and bury myself in work, the way I’ve been doing since I last saw you, because that’s the only way I’ve kept functioning.’ He drew breath, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘So, that’s all agreed, then. The car will be here for you at eight.’
