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‘No,’ Celeste said. ‘I’ve not been here before.’
‘Good,’ said Rafael. ‘I’m pleased to be able to offer you a new experience.’ He picked up his glass of water. ‘To new experiences,’ he said.
There was a glint of mordant humour in his dark eyes.
Celeste bit her lip, but did not reply. Rafael reached for the menus, opening one and offering it to Celeste, who took it and busied herself studying it.
It saved her from studying him instead. Which, she knew with a little plunge of her stomach, was what she badly wanted to do. She wanted to study him—take in every one of his features and understand, finally, what it was about him that had such an effect on her. Why him? Why this man?
Why, why, why...?
‘Will you eat as little as you did at the charity show?’ he asked, making her lift her head from the blurring words on the menu.
She frowned slightly. ‘Oh, no—I skipped lunch today, as I was working, so I have a full calorie allowance tonight.’
He nodded. ‘So you’ll go for the baked Camembert, followed by confit of duck, and a very large chocolate mousse with cream to finish—is that it?’
He said it straight-faced, and just for a moment Celeste thought he meant it. Then she saw the glint of humour in his eyes.
‘I wish...’ she said. She looked quickly at the menu again. ‘Undressed prawns, and sole with green vegetables—no sauce.’
‘Hmm...really splashing out, I see,’ Rafael murmured. ‘Do you have any calories to spare for wine?’
‘Dry white,’ she answered, then promptly wished she hadn’t. Rafael Sanguardo was disturbing enough to her without the aid of alcohol...
But he was beckoning the wine waiter and going through the wine list with him in a knowledgeable fashion. Then, their dinner order given and the ritual of the arrival of the wine performed, she was left facing him with no other distractions.
‘What do you think of the wine?’ Rafael was asking, and she took a grateful sip—that would occupy a few moments of time.
‘Very good,’ she said, for it was crisp and tart and perfectly chilled.
‘I’m glad,’ he said. Then, glancing at her, he said, ‘I’m saving the champagne for our breakfast in bed tomorrow morning.’
She choked, clunking her wine glass down on the table. As she recovered, her eyes flew to his face. It was completely deadpan. Then, a second later, that glint in his eyes came again.
‘It’s what you think of me, though, isn’t it?’ Rafael said. He took a breath, his expression changing. ‘You know,’ he said slowly, ‘I’ve never met anyone as...as wary...as you are. I’m truly astonished that I’ve actually finally got you sitting here, of your own free will, having dinner with me.’ His eyes rested on her. ‘Can it be that you’ve finally decided I’m safe?’
Celeste blinked, her eyes flaring. Safe? Rafael Sanguardo sat there and called himself safe? A man who was getting past every defence she possessed? Defences she had never even needed till now!
She pulled herself together. He was giving her the perfect opportunity she was looking for. To inform him, as clearly as was needed, that this was not the start of something—it was the end of it.
‘Mr Sanguardo—’ she began.
‘Rafael,’ he corrected.
She couldn’t bring herself to say his given name. It would create a level of familiarity that was exactly what she was trying to distance herself from.
‘I really do have to make something clear to you,’ she went on. She fiddled with the stem of her wine glass, steeling herself. Why was it so hard to say what she had to say? It wouldn’t be the first time. Usually it never came to this, because men who were keen on her had backed off long before now—frozen out by her lack of response to their overtures—but from time to time she’d had to spell it out with capital letters. This was definitely one of them.
