as if each word constituted a mound of earth towards the pit which he was digging for himself.
‘Have you never been in love?’
Rafael’s face tightened. Love? Oh yes. He’d been there, or at least he’d thought he had. In his mind he saw his ex-wife, Helen, beautiful, ethereal, wild with love and promising the earth. How quickly time had dissolved that illusion.
‘Have you?’ He threw the question back at her and watched her eyes grow dreamy.
‘Never. I’m saving myself for the right one. I mean,’ she amended hurriedly, ‘I don’t fling myself into relationships just for the sake of it.’
‘What do you mean by saving yourself for the right one?’ He raised his eyebrows with rampant cynicism and then mused, with some amusement, ‘Don’t tell me that you’re a virgin.?’ Not that he’d believed that for a minute, but from the expression on her face, he realised that he had unwittingly hit the bull’s eye, and Rafael was strangely shocked by the thought of that.
‘No!’ She cast an agonised look around her and then concentrated on the cappuccino in front of her. ‘Okay. So what if I am? There’s nothing wrong with that!’
He gathered himself and said casually, ‘It’s just a little unusual …’ For a man who never indulged in discussing feelings—which he personally considered the prerogative of namby-pamby men who would rather talk than act—Rafael was surprised to discover that he was enjoying their conversation. It just went to show that a little novelty was good for the soul.
Cristina was horribly, sickeningly mortified by the admission. She had never uttered that confidence to anyone, not to her sisters nor to her friends. To find now that she had uttered it to a man who thought that sleeping around was par for the course was almost beyond belief. The fact that he hadn’t roared with laughter only made matters worse, because she could smell his incredulity beneath the silence.
‘I realise you must think me a complete loser.’ She stuck her chin up, but holding back the tears of embarrassment was an act of will.
‘Loser … no.’ He leaned forward, both elbows on the narrow table separating them. ‘Were you never tempted?’ he asked curiously.
‘I don’t want to talk to you about this,’ Cristina whispered. ‘Honestly, I don’t know how … I’ve never spoken to anyone about this.’ But there was something about this man. A part of her responded to him, and her responses seemed to be totally beyond her control. How was that possible? It was as if he had reached inside of her and tugged at something strong and hitherto unknown, some secret side of her as yet untapped. ‘It just slipped out,’ she said defensively.
‘Your secret’s safe with me.’
‘I guess you haven’t a clue why … well, why …’
‘It’s a little hard to get my head around.’ He had wondered about her, about the feel of her body. Now those meandering and passing thoughts took on a sharp intensity that surprised him. He reminded himself why he had been tempted to take her for a coffee and it was even more relevant now.
‘So now we’ve bared our respective souls …’
‘I wouldn’t say that you’ve bared yours.’
‘You still haven’t told me who that man was, the one closeted in your office with you while your hapless shop assistant was outside taking the flak.’
‘Anthea happens to very capable,’ Cristina said, temporarily distracted. ‘She always handles the business if I’m not around. I’ve been very lucky to have found her—’
‘I can’t say I’m overly interested in hearing your shop assistant’s CV,’ Rafael interrupted, before she headed off down one of those conversational tangents which she seemed so fond of following. ‘What I am interested in is the man in the shop. He wasn’t there helping with the delivery, was he?’
‘Who, Martin? No, no he wasn’t.’
Martin? Rafael’s ears pricked up. She was already on a first-name basis with the man. She had zero experience of the opposite sex, was a foreigner to the London scene, ignorant of the ways of the average predator—no wonder his mother had been concerned about her and had more or less asked him to keep any eye. No wonder she had seen her as a candidate for the role of wife. Cristina’s gentle innocence would have appealed to his mother’s traditional heart.
The girl was not just wet behind the ears, she was positively archaic. Whether he liked it or not, she needed some sort of protection, if only from her own naivety.
Rafael decided that he would take on the onerous task of making sure she put into position one or two defence mechanisms which would help her deal with unfortunate situations, such as the one in which she found herself.
‘Martin.’ Rafael sighed and sat back so that he could study her flushed face. ‘Forgive me if I sound like a know-it-all, but I have considerably more experience than you.’
‘I realise that.’ She was catapulted back into staring at her misguided and very private admission to him a few minutes earlier.
‘Which is why I am going to ask you how long you have known this man.’
‘Who? Martin?’
‘Who else could I possibly be talking about?’ Rafael said irritably.
‘Well … not very long.’ Cristina blushed. ‘In fact, he only answered my ad in the local paper last night.’
‘You put an ad in a newspaper?’ Rafael was horrified. His opinion of her as archaic in her approach to the opposite sex was disintegrating rapidly. He wondered how her parents could have merrily waved her off to foreign shores when she was so clearly incapable of holding her own. Maybe they had thought that she needed the experience of standing on her own two feet, but frankly she was like a minnow swimming among sharks. ‘Have you any idea how bloody dangerous that can be? Didn’t you learn anything when you were growing up? How protected were you?’
‘I don’t know what you’re implying, Rafael!’ Cristina told him defensively.
‘I’m implying,’ he said in the voice of someone explaining what should have been glaringly self-evident to a halfwit, ‘That you should have realised that putting adverts in newspapers in search of the perfect partner is playing with fire. Only two weeks ago there were headlines in the paper about a girl who had travelled to meet a so-called blind date, some lowlife who had answered an advert in a newspaper, only to discover that Prince Charming was actually Ted Bundy. I don’t know what this Martin character is like but he looks like a thug. He also wears an earring.’
‘I haven’t placed an ad—’
‘You’re inexperienced, Cristina. You’re also of a trusting nature. It’s a lethal combination.’
‘I’m not a complete idiot, Rafael.’
‘No, you’re not an idiot, and I’m not trying to tell you what to do. F’m just giving you a bit of friendly advice.’
‘I don’t need your friendly advice!’
Looking at her, Rafael thought differently. The
