thought you could come and live with me.’
‘What?’
Unable to believe she had heard right, Serena shook her head disbelievingly.
‘Live with you! No way!’
‘And what else do you propose to do?’ he came back at her swiftly, abandoning his indolent pose and pushing himself to his feet in one easy, lithe movement. ‘You have no money, nowhere to live, no way of supporting yourself…’
‘Do you think I’m not aware of that?’
The fact that only a short time before she had detailed exactly those points to herself did nothing to ease her edgy state of mind. If anything, it made her feel worse.
‘So you had some alternative to suggest?’
The Spanish Inquisitor was back, with a vengeance. Uneasily Serena took a step or two backwards, edging away from his imposing height, the sheer physical force of his presence.
His movement had brought a wave of scent to her nostrils. The clean, crisp tang of some light cologne he wore, and underneath it the deeper, muskier, more intensely personal scent of his body. A perfume that brought all her senses onto red alert, making her head swim, hazing her thoughts.
‘Not yet,’ she hedged warily.
‘Then what is wrong with coming to live with me until you decide what you want to do?’
‘You know what’s wrong with it!’
‘Enlighten me.’
It seemed that the more her temper grew, the more impassive and withdrawn Rafael became, until she felt as if she was banging her fists hard against an unyielding brick wall in a vain attempt to get through to him.
‘I know what you want—what you’re thinking!’
‘Oh, so now you’re a mind-reader. So tell me, Señorita Martin, just what it is that you believe I want from you?’
‘I—you…’ she floundered, unable to find a way to put her thoughts into words.
He must know what she meant. He had to!
Wasn’t he aware of what was between them? Couldn’t he feel it, sense it in the air around them, like the heavy, lowering build-up in the atmosphere just before a violent electrical storm? That the storm hadn’t broken yet was more by luck than good management.
Away from the restricting confines of her present surroundings, it could be a different story entirely. Just the thought of moving into his house made all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up, her skin prickle with tension.
‘Are you going to say what you mean?’ Rafael demanded sharply. ‘Or are you going to stand there all day, throwing out veiled hints because you don’t have the nerve to be honest?’
Not have the nerve! Serena thought indignantly. Right, he’d asked for it.
‘I think you have strong sexual feelings for me!’
There! It was out now, and no matter what she did she couldn’t wish it back. Emboldened by his silence, by the fact that nothing had blown up in her face, she rushed on.
‘Th-that you want me in your bed. I can see it in your eyes, in the way that you look at me when you think I’m not looking. Sometimes I can hear it in your voice too. And don’t tell me I’m imagining things because…’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Rafael inserted silkily, taking her breath away. ‘Why should I deny something that must be obvious to anyone who looks at me? I’d be all sorts of a fool even to try.’
His voice had deepened, dropping a couple of octaves, becoming huskily sensual so that it coiled round her like warm, perfumed smoke.
‘I don’t want to try.’
She hadn’t seen him move, but suddenly he was close, so close. His awesome height and strength was intimidating, making her breath catch in her throat. If she wanted to, she could reach out and touch him, feel that warm velvet skin beneath her fingertips, slide her fingers through the black silk of his hair.
If she wanted to! Serena almost laughed aloud at the thought.
Oh, she wanted to! She wanted it so much that it was like a pain in her heart. But she didn’t dare. Some inner sixth sense warned her that if she gave in to the yearning, the need that clenched in her stomach, coiled round her body, then the repercussions of that simple act would be cataclysmic. It would be a case of light the blue touchpaper and stand well back. And when the smoke and debris of the resulting explosion cleared there would be nothing left that she recognised, no trace of the world she had known, the life she had lived.
‘You’re a very beautiful woman, Serena Martin. So beautiful that you twist my guts into knots, make me ache to possess you. From the moment I saw you I had one thought in my mind…’
‘One th-thought?’ Serena could only echo his words, her mind refusing to function so that she could form any of her own.
‘In the instant that I saw you there, in that hospital bed, I knew I could never rest until I’d held you, kissed you like this…’
Rafael suited actions to the words, reaching out and folding his arms around her, gathering her close. And she went into his embrace like a sleepwalker, feeling as if this had been meant, as if it had been ordained from the moment she had been born. She had no thought of resistance, of asking why. She only knew that this was how it had to be.
So when that arrogant dark head lowered, she automatically raised hers to meet it, her mouth already softening for his kiss.
But when that kiss came, it had nothing of gentleness. Instead it was as fierce and demanding as the touch of a flame, searing over her skin, scorching her senses, taking, plundering right to the depths of her soul. A raw, shaken cry was driven from her as she swayed on her feet, her arms reaching up to clasp around his neck, slender fingers digging into the powerful muscles that corded his shoulders, clinging on for support.
The whole of her mind was a red, heated haze, burning away all trace of coherent thought under a blazing inferno of sensation. Every inch of her skin seemed to be suffused with the stinging pins and needles of heightened awareness, yearning for his touch, and deep down, at the most feminine centre of her body, a pulsing hunger made her stir restlessly against the hard power of his lean frame.
On a groan of hunger Rafael brought his hands up to fasten on her hips, bronzed fingers stroking the curving line of her waist, the softness of her buttocks, pressing her closer against him. There was no escaping the heated, swollen pressure that indicated the power of the passion that gripped him, the hungry need for her body that he couldn’t conceal.
Wild, crazy images filled her mind. Images of walking, step by step, backwards towards the bed, taking this man with her. Of tumbling down onto the peach-coloured bedspread, imprisoned under the heavy, glorious weight of him. Of his hands following the example of her own and tugging at her clothing, impatiently pushing aside the unwanted garments that came between his touch and her naked flesh. Of…
But there her imagination failed, short-circuited
