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‘I arranged to have a few supplies brought in.’ Rafael’s voice came from inside the fridge. ‘What do you fancy?’
‘I don’t know.’ Momentarily sidetracked by his rear view, Lottie looked away. ‘Omelettes?’
‘Good idea.’ Coming out with the eggs, he proceeded to open every drawer and cupboard in the room before coming up with a bowl, a frying pan and a whisk.
Lottie perched herself on a stool at the island unit as Rafael moved around the kitchen gathering his ingredients. She was secretly enjoying this—not just the novelty of having him cook for her but being able to watch him do it, to let her eyes follow him around when he was too distracted to return her stare, match it with his own.
‘Anything I can do to help?’
He was chopping peppers now, the knife coming down hard and fast on the wooden board. This was the point when Lottie had to look away—she’d never liked the sight of blood.
‘You can open the wine if you like.’
‘I think I might stick to water.’
Suddenly the knife paused, the blade glinting in mid-air. As Rafael pushed the hair back from his marked forehead Lottie could see the enormity of the day’s events reflected in his eyes.
She gulped back a sudden lump in her throat. ‘But I will pour a glass for you.’
One smoke alarm, a medley of half-cooked vegetables and a burnt omelette later, their meal was finally finished.
Laying down her knife and fork, Lottie looked across at the man on the stool beside her, trying to figure out what was going on in his head. Dark, complicated, charming, ruthless, passionate, controlling—he was all of those things and more. He hadn’t changed, and no matter how much she tried to ignore it, Lottie knew that neither had her desire for him. He looked so handsome when he was relaxed like this, one leg bent, a scruffy leather boot resting on the bar of the stool, his faded jeans pulled taut against his powerful thigh. He was like a deadly potion, begging to be drunk.
‘Well, thank you. That was....interesting.’ Eyebrows raised innocently, she blinked at him.
‘It was terrible, wasn’t it?’ Tearing at a hunk of dry bread, Rafael, obviously still hungry, put a piece in his mouth and chewed, his strong jawline moving rhythmically. ‘But before you mock don’t forget it’s your turn tomorrow. Your chance to show me these new-found skills.’
‘I never said they were culinary skills.’ Letting her guard slip for a moment, Lottie batted back what was meant to be a light-hearted quip, but Rafael instantly stiffened, twisting round on the stool to face her.
‘So what other skills might we be talking about?’ His voice was suddenly hard, probing, the whole mood having changed in an instant.
‘None—nothing.’ Lottie frowned at him. ‘I was just messing about.’
‘Have you been messing about, Lottie?’ Rafael’s eyes bored into her, scanning her face for answers. ‘That’s what I want to know.’
‘Rafe, stop this. That’s not what I meant and you know it.’
‘But there have been other men?’
Suddenly angry, Lottie reared up. ‘I think you will find that is none of your damned business.’ She could feel the heat sweeping across her cheeks, temper mixed with indignation and defiance shooting violet sparks into her icy blue eyes as she held her body taut. ‘And besides, why do you even need to ask? Haven’t your nasty little private investigators already given you all the information you need? In fact, why don’t you tell me what I’ve been up to? You probably know more than I do.’
‘Now you are being ridiculous.’
‘So nothing, eh? Your grubby little spies could uncover nothing?’ She glared at him. ‘But it’s still left you wondering, hasn’t it? Whether maybe they missed something—maybe I do have a lover tucked away that you know nothing about?’
‘And do you?’ His voice was lethally low, his eyes warning her that she was entering very dangerous territory with this taunt.
‘No. I don’t, as it happens. But what if I did? What right do you have to poke your nose into my love-life when no doubt you have had a string of women in your bed?’ She paused, her pent-up breath swelling her breasts as she dared him, willed him to deny it.
But he just continued to glower at her, his egotism, his gall, the downright sexual arrogance of him fuelling her outrage and jealousy, bringing bile to the surface.
‘Any women I might have had are none of your damned business.’ The weight of his words broke the cruel silence.
Slipping off her stool, Lottie knew she had to get away from him. She was not going to fling herself into that bear-pit of torture. Not today, at any rate.
