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Great, she thought. Passion. Not ‘love’ or ‘darling’ or even ‘sweetheart'. Not even in the throes of abandoned sex did Rafael Cordeiro make a mistake about the nature of the relationship.
Evidently bored with the direction of the conversation, he ran a hand over his face and stifled a yawn. ‘I probably should have warned you,’ he said softly, ‘but I hate emotional scenes.’
She yanked her suit from the hanger and stuffed it into her bag. ‘I just bet you do. In fact you hate everything that has a breath of emotion connected to it because emotions make you uncomfortable, don’t they, Rafael?’ She grabbed the linen dress and stuffed it into the bag after the suit, uncaring about the future state of either of them. ‘You can walk through a jungle full of predators and it won’t raise a sweat or a kick in your pulse rate, but stick an emotion in your path and all of a sudden you’re on full alert in case it jumps up and bites you.’ She yanked the zip of the bag so violently that it was a wonder it didn’t object by breaking. Then she snapped the bag shut and slung it over her shoulder, glaring at him. She was so upset that she felt as though her whole body was on the verge of explosion. She didn’t know whether to sob or scream but she wasn’t going to do either with him watching. ‘You’re a snake, Rafael. Worse than anything the rainforest has to offer. And do you know something else? You may be an incredible lover but you’re emotionally sterile. You’re not capable of feeling anything, are you? Well, you’d better call that helicopter back, because our passion is well and truly over.’
She left the room without glancing back at him, wondering where to go while she waited for the helicopter to arrive. And it would arrive, she knew that. Now that their fragile relationship had been torn to shreds, it wouldn’t be long before she heard the sound of an engine overhead.
He’d want her out of here, away from his private hideaway, so that he could get back to licking his wounds in private.
But she couldn’t even focus on his wounds at the moment because her own were so deep.
One thing she knew, she didn’t want to be anywhere near him while she waited.
Rafael lay on top of the rumpled bed, his eyes fixed on the trees that provided the view from his bedroom as he tried to identify the unfamiliar feelings inside him.
Completely unaccustomed to reflection or self-analysis, he gave up almost instantly.
She was right, he told himself. He was emotionally sterile. Completely unable to feel anything. But why did she think that was a bad thing? As far as he was concerned, it was fine. That was the way he wanted it. In fact, he’d worked really hard to achieve that state of equilibrium.
And last night had been amazing.
The sex had been incredible. Mind-blowing. And surprising. One moment she was shy, the next gloriously uninhibited.
He gave a brief frown. There’d been a moment when he’d actually wondered whether she was a virgin but her response had been so hot and passionate that he’d dismissed the thought almost instantly. No virgin would have responded to him the way she had and he’d simply made a mental note to take things a little slower the next time.
The sexual explosion that had consumed them had been every bit as powerful as he’d anticipated and he’d found himself looking forward to a feast of endless hot sex that would continue until he grew bored with her.
Looking at the door, which she’d closed firmly behind her—so firmly that the entire building had rattled—he wondered with weary resignation what had possessed him to think that life could be that simple.
When, with a woman, was life ever simple?
And despite the fact that Grace Thacker was surprising in many ways, deep down she was the same as the others.
Not just because her goal in life was clearly financial gain without any degree of effort, but because she played the usual games that women always did when going to bed with a man. Why weren’t they ever just straightforward? Why couldn’t chemistry just be chemistry and not have to be twisted into a Happy-Ever-After?
Driven by frustration, he sprang out of bed and prowled around the bedroom, trying to sort out his thoughts.
She’d accused him of emotional sterility but couldn’t he also accuse her of emotional dishonesty?
What they shared was sex and nothing more.
So why couldn’t she admit that instead of making everything so complicated?
What possible relevance did his emotions have in the context of their relationship? Her only interest in him should be in his physical stamina and the size of his wallet and, as far as he was concerned, he excelled at both. So why did she persist in her tiresome crusade to persuade him of her innocence?
Surely taking her to bed had more than proved that he didn’t care about her intrinsic greed? That he was more than willing to accept her as she was.
What was her obsession with innocence?
Unless she was, quite genuinely, sorry for what she’d done.
Either way, as far as he was concerned, it was finished.
Today he was going to make it his personal mission to ensure that the dealer’s career in greed and deception was abruptly ended.
Like a man on a mission, he strode off to his office to make some phone calls.
CHAPTER EIGHT
