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‘The pretty dress. The loose hair. The make-up.’
‘You don’t like it?’
His lips curved into a smile, which suddenly looked wolfish. Dangerously and attractively so.
‘Don’t fish for compliments, Sophie. You look very beautiful as I’m sure you’re perfectly aware. And the dress is...’ he seemed to be having difficulty completing the sentence ‘...quite something.’
She grabbed another napkin and turned away. ‘Thank you.’
Rafe frowned, wondering why her abrupt reaction to a simple compliment was so perplexing—as if she wasn’t used to a man telling her she looked beautiful. But then, everything about her was perplexing and he couldn’t work out why. He glanced around, taking in the flowers and candles and a starched white tablecloth she must have got from heaven only knew where. Paper chains were looped from one side of the ceiling to the other and, on the plastic Christmas tree, fairy lights gleamed. The overall effect was tacky and yet it was also homely. It was unmistakeably a woman’s touch—as if she’d been trying very hard to make the place look comfortable. Something inexplicable twisted at his heart, because Poonbarra was supposed to be about basics. About hard work and getting back to nature. It wasn’t supposed to be about comfort.
He’d ended up staying longer than planned because he was dreading going back to England for the christening of his half-brother’s son. Given his reputation for being the family’s habitual no-show—for reasons which were painfully private—nobody could believe he’d agreed to attend in the first place. And in truth, neither could he. He swallowed down the acrid taste which had risen in his throat. He knew that dark and bitter memories were going to be unavoidable, but he told himself he couldn’t keep avoiding them for ever. That maybe he needed to ride out the pain once and for all. That maybe you never properly healed unless you faced the reality of what you had done.
But one day had bled into two and then three and delaying his trip had become more...complex. He’d underestimated the effect of Poonbarra. Of the peace and calm which always descended on him there—a feeling which had been magnified by the decorative presence of Sophie Doukas...the woman who didn’t flirt. The woman who spent her time avoiding him—something which was both novel but ultimately frustrating.
He tried to concentrate on the bottle of wine he was opening, but couldn’t seem to stop his gaze from straying to her, no matter how hard he tried. Because she was...a challenge? Was that why he couldn’t stop thinking about her? Why his hot and erotic dreams had featured plenty of X-rated images of his aloof cook? She must be as aware as he of the sizzling attraction which had sparked between them from the get-go, yet she hadn’t acted on it as most women in her position would have done. There had been no unexpected sightings of her around the homestead wearing just a skimpy bath towel. No unexplained ‘nightmares’ intended to bring him running into her room late at night. She’d done what he’d asked her to do. She’d kept out of his way as much as possible—leaving him frustrating and restless, with a painful ache between his legs.
Yet human nature was a conundrum, that was for sure. When you were used to women flinging themselves at you, it was curiously exciting to discover one who was actively fighting that attraction. In fact, it was the biggest turn-on he knew and it had never happened to him before. He wondered if it was necessary for her to fuss around the bubbling pans quite so much and found himself almost resenting Andy and the other workers as they trooped in and sat round the table. All through dinner the overpowering scent of liberally applied aftershave hung cloyingly in the air. Suddenly, the room seemed overcrowded.
Were they in complete thrall to her? Rafe wondered—caught midway between amusement and irritation—as he watched the men lavish praise on her food. Was that why they were acting like tongue-tied adolescents whenever she spoke to them, or appeared with yet another steaming dish held enticingly in front of those magnificent breasts?
He ate and drank very little and when the meal was finished, the men all got up to leave and Andy turned to her.
‘You coming to the pub with us, Soph? Let us buy you a beer as a thank you for all your delicious cooking?’
With a smile, she shook her head. ‘Not for me, thanks. I’m going to clear up in here and get an early night.’
But Rafe could see her unmistakeable look of...was that alarm?...as the men trooped out and he remained seated. He saw the uneasy flicker of her tongue as it edged rather nervously along her bottom lip.
‘You’re not going to the pub with the others?’ she questioned, a touch too brightly.
He shook his head. ‘Not me. I’ve got a long day ahead of me tomorrow.’ He gave the ghost of a smile. ‘And besides, I might cramp their style.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, you’ll excuse me if I get on.’ She clattered a pile of plates together and carried them out to the kitchen.
Rafe stretched his arms above his head and knew he ought to move. To go to bed and sleep and figure out how the hell he was going to get through Oliver’s christening, especially now that Sharla’s presence had been confirmed. The trouble was he didn’t want to go anywhere. Not when it was so comfortable sitting here, watching Sophie clear away the dishes. Watching as she busied herself around the table and studiously tried to avoid his gaze. The only trouble was that meant he could stare at her without censure. His eyes lingered on the gleam of her shapely calves and the way the blue cotton dress swished about her bottom as she moved. He found himself thinking longingly about sex and how it might blot out the darkness of his thoughts—and the idea of having sex with Sophie was becoming something of an obsession.
Yet these days he avoided one-night stands—even if he hadn’t always made it a rule never to get intimate with employees. Women were tricky enough as lovers without the added complication of them being on the payroll. He’d seen friends and peers get their fingers burned by over-familiarity with staff. Seen how a formerly cool colleague could morph into a bunny-boiling maniac once she’d slipped between the sheets and discovered there wasn’t going to be a big rock on her finger as a result. Even if you were honest with a woman from the start and told her you just wanted a no-strings fling, they never believed you. They always thought they’d be the one to change your mind. And how could you escape a rejected lover’s wrath if you had to stare at her vengeful face across the other side of the boardroom, or when her manicured fingers were flying across the keyboard?
Or when she was leaning across the table to grab an unused serving spoon and you could smell a trace of her perfume?
Nope. That was an area he had always steered clear of.
So stop looking at her breasts. Stop imagining what it would be like to part those delicious thighs and slip your fingers inside her panties and see how long it would take to make her wet.
‘Would you like some coffee, Rafe?’
Her unfathomable accent punctured his thoughts and Rafe met the question in her eyes as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
‘No,’ he said, more curtly than he’d intended. ‘I don’t want any more to drink. Come and sit down. You’ve been working all evening. Have you eaten anything?’
‘Honestly—I’m fine. I had something before I started serving.’
‘Have some chocolate, then. Surely there isn’t a woman alive who can resist chocolate?’
‘I’ve still got some clearing up to do.’
‘You’ve done most of it. Leave the rest for now. And that’s an order. For heaven’s sake, relax, Sophie—or is that such an outrageous suggestion?’
Sophie edged towards the chair he was indicating, her heart crashing against her ribcage. Relax? He had to be joking. She felt about as relaxed as a mouse which had just glanced up to see a metal trap hovering overhead. Which was slightly ironic for someone who’d spent her whole life being introduced to strangers and putting them at their ease. But for once she was the one feeling nervous in the company of a man who was currently pouring her some wine—though she noticed he’d barely touched his own glass all evening.
‘Here,’ he said, pushing it across the table towards her.
She took the drink and sipped it, grateful for the sudden warmth which flooded through her veins. ‘Mmm. This is excellent.’
‘Of course it is. Australia produces some of the best wine in the world.’ His eyes glittered. ‘As well as having the kind of wild beauty which takes the breath away.’
Sophie swirled the wine around and watched it stain the sides of the glass. ‘You sound as if you love it. The country, I mean.’
‘That’s because I do.’ He shrugged. ‘I always have.’
She looked up from the glass to stare directly into his eyes. ‘Was that why you bought a cattle station here, so far away from England?’
Rafe didn’t answer her question straight away because it was a long time since he’d thought about it. What had started out as a bolt-hole from the unbearable had become one of his favourite places. He’d always revelled in the extreme conditions of the Outback and whenever he returned—less and less these days—he settled in right away. He’d come here first for sanctuary, far away from the brutal world he’d left behind. He’d needed the hard work and sweat and toil which had helped heal his shattered heart and broken soul. It had been his first stop in a series of places to lay his head without ever really considering any of them home. But then, he’d never had a real home during his childhood, so why should adulthood be any different? His description of himself as a modern-day gypsy had been truthful, though he knew from experience it was an image which turned women on.
Had it turned Sophie on? he wondered. Was that why she was staring at him now, her blue eyes shadowed in the candlelight and those amazing lips slightly parted, as if she wanted him to kiss her? And wasn’t the desire to do so almost overwhelming? ‘Aren’t I supposed to be interviewing you,’ he said acidly, ‘rather than the other way round?’
‘Is this an interview, then?’ She put her glass down. ‘I thought I’d already got the job.’
‘Yes, you’ve got the job. Yet it’s interesting,’ he mused as he leaned back in his chair, ‘that when I asked Andy about your background, he knew nothing about you. And that after several days in your company, I find myself in exactly the same boat. You’re a bit of a mystery, Sophie.’
‘I thought my role here was to feed the men, not entertain them with my life story?’
‘True.’ Rafe frowned, thinking that her casual tone was failing to disguise her sudden air of defensiveness. ‘Yet apparently, when you arrived, you didn’t know one end of a frying pan from the other.’
‘I soon learned.’
‘Or have a clue how to load the dishwasher.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s an industrial-sized dishwasher.’
‘And you looked at the tin-opener as if it had just landed from outer space.’
‘Gosh,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Just how long did you and Andy spend discussing me?’
‘Long enough.’
‘And did you come to any conclusions?’
‘I did.’
‘Which were?’
He stretched out his legs. ‘I came to the conclusion that you’re someone who’s never had to get her hands dirty before,’ he observed softly. ‘And that maybe you’ve led a very privileged life up until now.’
Sophie stiffened. How perceptive he was, she thought—her unwilling admiration swept away by a sudden whisper of fear. Because wasn’t this what she had dreaded all along—that the cool and clever Englishman would guess she wasn’t what she seemed? That he would blow her cover before she was ready to have it blown, and force her into making decisions she still wasn’t sure about.
So brazen it out. Challenge him—just as he is challenging you.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘But none of the men—or you—have any complaints about my work, do you?’
His eyes glittered. ‘Are my questions bothering you, Sophie?’
‘Not bothering me so much as boring me, if I may be frank.’ She lifted her eyebrows. ‘Didn’t you tell me when you first arrived that you’d prefer it if I left you alone? That you didn’t want me to engage you in conversation just for the sake of it.’
‘Did I say that?’
‘You know you did,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘Yet now you’re doing exactly that to me!’
‘Well, maybe I’ve changed my mind. Maybe I’m wondering why a young and beautiful woman is hiding herself in the middle of the Outback without making a single phone call or getting any emails.’
She froze. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Andy says you don’t use a cell-phone. That you haven’t received a single letter or card since you’ve been here—and that you only ever use the Internet very occasionally.’
‘I didn’t realise I was being constantly monitored,’ she said crossly. ‘Surely my life is my business.’
‘It is, of course. But I’m always intrigued by people who are reluctant to talk about themselves.’
And Sophie suddenly realised why that might be. Because a man like Rafe Carter would have people falling over themselves to tell him everything he wanted to know, wouldn’t he? She wondered how he would react if she blurted out the truth. If she told him who she really was. Something told her he wouldn’t fawn all over her, the way most people did when they came into close contact with a royal. Something told her he would stay exactly the same—and that was a very tantalising prospect.
Yet she couldn’t risk it. No matter how normal he might be in those circumstances, things would inevitably change. He might be angry she hadn’t mentioned it before. And what if he inadvertently mentioned it to one of his friends, who mentioned it to someone else—and the wretched press got hold of it? That would be a disaster.
But it was more than his reaction which made Sophie want to keep her secret. She just didn’t want to pop this bubble of feeling so normal. Of feeling just like anyone else. Why shouldn’t she talk about herself without mentioning her status? Unless being a princess was the only thing which defined her.
‘What exactly do you want to know?’ she questioned.
Pushing his wine glass away, Rafe sat back in his chair as he considered her question, but in his heart he knew the answer. He didn’t want facts. He wanted her. He’d wanted her from the first moment she’d turned round and looked at him with those big blue eyes. He wanted to crush those amazing lips with his own. To peel that cotton dress from her body and see what delicious treasures lay beneath. To hear her gasping his name as he pushed deep inside her...
He shifted his weight to try to ease his discomfort, realising he was sitting there like some frustrated teenager with a hard-on—and suddenly common sense overrode the primitive needs of his body. What the hell was he thinking of? He forced himself to stand, reminding himself he was leaving tomorrow and that in a week he would scarcely remember her name. ‘It’s okay, Sophie. You’re right. Your life is none of my business.’ Suddenly, he smiled. ‘But for what it’s worth—you’re doing a pretty good job.’
It was the praise as much as the smile which got to her and Sophie blinked at him, stupidly moved by his words. She was naturally suspicious of praise because usually it was delivered with some sort of agenda, usually because people were trying to ingratiate themselves with her. But Rafe’s words were genuine. He didn’t know she was a princess. He was saying those things because he meant them. His praise was real.
And suddenly she knew she had to get away from him—before another small act of kindness had her rolling over like a puppy wanting its stomach stroked. Her chair scraped loudly against the wooden floor as she also stood up. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I appreciate it. And in order not to blot my brilliant record, I guess I’d better finish clearing up.’
She went into the kitchen and started washing the glasses, feeling stupidly disappointed when he said goodnight and left her to it. The room felt empty without him. She felt empty without him. What had she wanted to happen? For him to remove her hands from the soapy water and take her into his arms and start to kiss her?
Yes. That was exactly what she wanted.
Frustrated, she went to her room and took a quick shower before climbing into bed. But despite all her hard work and the thought of the early-morning start, she spent countless minutes lying wide awake in the darkness. Every time she shut her eyes, she was haunted by Rafe’s image. By his hard-boned face and powerful body. By the way those steely eyes swept over her, making her stomach turn somersaults. She pushed the cotton sheet from her hot body, going through all the relaxation techniques she knew but nothing seemed to work, until eventually she gave up and got out of bed.
Walking over to the window, she peered out at the beautiful night, where the moon had risen high in the clear and unpolluted sky. She could see its milky glimmer on the surface of the pool and suddenly the thought of a swim seemed irresistible. If she was very quiet she would disturb no one. She could cool herself down and wear herself out and, afterwards, crawl back into bed exhausted.
Pulling on her swimsuit, she slipped her feet into a pair of flip flops and padded quietly outside. Switching on the pool’s floodlights, she scanned the surroundings for any of the ubiquitous cane toads who sometimes swam there until the chlorinated water poisoned them, but there were none. Everything was silent except for the ghost-like wailing of a curlew in a distant tree.
Slipping into the water, she swam with strong, regular strokes which were the result of hours spent practising in the palace pool. She swam until she was pleasantly tired. Floating on her back in the water, she was just thinking about getting out when she heard a splash and, glancing down to the other end of the pool, she froze as she saw a powerful male body swimming beneath the surface of the floodlit water towards her. She held her breath as the man emerged beside her, wet dark hair plastered to his head—his muscular torso painted silver by the moonlight.
‘Rafe!’ Her heart crashed violently against her ribcage. ‘You scared the life out of me!’
‘Who did you think it was?’
‘A cane toad!’ she declared furiously.
‘Pretty big cane toad,’ he said, a smile curving the edges of his lips.
He dived beneath the water again—swimming several lengths of the pool and back again. It was an impressive display, thought Sophie reluctantly. A deliberate and very macho display and she would have needed to be made of wood not to have responded to it. And Sophie was not made of wood. Far from it. Right then she felt like cream which had been whipped up into soft peaks. Suddenly he emerged beside her again, shaking his head so that little droplets of water showered over her skin.
Tilting his head back, he looked up at the bright canopy of stars. ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’
Sophie forced herself to follow his gaze. To try to concentrate on the glittering constellations overhead when all she wanted to do was to stare at the magnificence of his wet body. He was so near. So very near. The danger which whispered over her skin was followed by a potent sense of excitement. A sense that she was standing on the edge of the unknown. ‘Very beautiful,’ she said. The shiver she gave wasn’t faked, but it had nothing to do with the temperature and suddenly Sophie felt out of her depth in more ways than one. ‘It’s...getting cold, isn’t it? I’d better go in.’
‘Please. Don’t let me curtail your swim,’ he said softly, his hooded eyes gleaming. ‘I’d hate to think I was driving you away. Or that my presence was bothering you.’
Of course it was bothering her. He must have known that. Even if his voice hadn’t suddenly dipped, the tension which had been growing between them for days now seemed to be reaching a climax. Her breathing had grown so shallow that she barely seemed capable of taking any air into her lungs and Sophie was aware of the blood beating hotly through her veins. He was coming onto her and she wasn’t doing a thing to stop him and it was crazy. She knew that.
And yet...
She swallowed.
Why shouldn’t she respond, when it had been nearly killing her to keep out of his way as much as she had been doing? She’d never done this before. Never had an intimate late-night swim—not even with the Prince to whom she’d been promised in marriage. In fact, she’d never been alone with a man like this—half dressed and totally unguarded—because her life on Isolaverde had been like living in the Dark Ages. She wondered what Rafe Carter would say if he knew she was a stranger to seduction and everything which went with it, but right now she didn’t care.
Because for the first time in her life she felt unencumbered by protocol and acutely aware that this opportunity wouldn’t come her way again. Her time here was limited and she was hurtling towards an unknown future—a bit like one of the cyclones which would soon dominate and threaten this very region. But none of that seemed to matter now. It was as if everything which had happened in her life up until that moment was about to be tossed aside by a powerful force of nature—in the very alpha shape of her half-naked boss.
With a splash she flipped over, bobbing underneath the water so he couldn’t see the pointing of her nipples. But he wasn’t looking at her breasts. He was looking at her face and suddenly she was looking right back at his. In the moonlight his eyes gleamed with an intense brilliance which made her stomach flip.
‘Rafe?’ she said uncertainly, but he silenced her with a shake of his head.
‘Come here,’ he said, his voice a sudden growl.
She knew he was going to kiss her even before he pulled her against him, against the hard wet planes of his muscular body. She could feel her breasts being crushed against his bare chest and the warmth of his breath just before he crushed her lips beneath his. Her eyelids fluttered to a close as he deepened the kiss and his thumb flicked over the wet stud of her hardening nipple through her swimsuit, making her moan with disbelief that something could feel this good. Because nobody had ever touched her before. Not like this. He slid his hand further down, before letting his fingertips skim over her belly and she wriggled impatiently, wanting him to touch her where she was hot and molten. Made weightless by the water, her thighs parted as if her body was programmed to know exactly how to respond and she sucked in another disbelieving breath as he slipped aside the panel of her swimsuit and pushed his finger deep inside her.
‘Rafe,’ she gasped against his lips, writhing her hips against him. ‘Oh, Rafe.’
Her breathless use of his name seemed to break the erotic spell and when he pulled his hand away she immediately found herself wanting his finger right back where it had been. His eyes were unreadable in the moonlight and his features were harder than she’d ever seen them—his cheekbones two taut slashes against the obvious tension in his face.
‘I want to have sex with you,’ he said unsteadily. ‘And clearly you feel exactly the same way. But there are a few things you need to understand.’
Her heart was thundering so loudly she felt as if she might faint. ‘What kind of things?’
