Dark brows arched upwards. ‘You seem obsessed by babies.’
‘I was playing with your nephew, Rafe,’ she said, from between gritted teeth. ‘That’s what people do when they meet a baby for the first time. What am I supposed to have done which is so wrong?’
‘Did you tell them why you were here?’
‘Yes. I explained I was hiding from the press and you were helping me. Was that the right thing to say—or the wrong thing? Should I have run a list of correct responses before you? Perhaps you could have written me a few guidelines.’
But he was saved from having to answer by the return of Nick, his half-brother—who was brushing stray flakes of snow away from his face and hair.
Tall as Rafe and almost as eye-catching, Nick Carter had the same black hair and sculpted features as his brother. Sophie watched as the two men greeted each other.
‘How are the roads?’ Rafe asked.
‘What roads? It’s like a wasteland out there,’ said Nick grimly. ‘And I’ve just heard they’ve closed all the major airports.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘I wish I was. I haven’t dared break the news to Molly.’
‘Can’t you postpone the service?’
‘At this time of year? With non-stop carol services and a vicar who’s run ragged?’ Nick pulled a face. ‘Fat chance. Which means most people aren’t going to be able to get here in time. Just Dad and whoever his current squeeze is.’
‘And Sharla, of course,’ said Rafe, after a barely perceptible beat. ‘She’s coming by helicopter.’
Something in his tone alerted Sophie’s senses again. Something which had started troubling her last night though she couldn’t for the life of her work out what it was. What wasn’t he telling her? What was it about Sharla which was making him so edgy? Or was she simply in danger of reading too much into a casual conversation because she wasn’t used to being inside a private home like this? Sharla was probably as lovely as her twin sister—and Molly was a complete delight.
So she sat and chatted as Rafe ate buttered eggs and he and Nick drank their way through a pot of strong black coffee. And when Nick said he was going to speak to Molly, Rafe suggested to her that they go back upstairs. Sophie nodded, but her emotions were all over the place. He’d been very cool with her and she needed to remember that. To remind herself that he could be cold and curt, and it was only during sex that he seemed to show any emotion. But they weren’t real emotions. She needed to remember that, too. Even she, with her laughable lack of experience, could work that one out.
Back in their room the bed had been made and a fresh fire lit in the grate. Someone had put a huge spray of seasonal holly in a jug on one of the window ledges—its spiky green leaves and scarlet berries contrasting with the dramatic whiteness of the snow outside. It looked beautiful, almost tranquil, but tranquil was the last thing Sophie was feeling as Rafe closed the door. She went straight over to the dressing table, sat down in front of the mirror and started to unpin her hair.
In the reflection of the glass, she saw him frown—as if her reaction wasn’t what he’d been anticipating. He walked across the room and put his hands on her shoulders, starting to caress them in a way which instantly made her want to melt, but she forced herself to wriggle away.
‘Don’t,’ she said.
‘Really?’
She supposed it was an indication of his arrogance that the note of surprise in his voice sounded genuine. ‘Yes, really.’ Meeting his gaze in the mirror, she picked up the brush and began to attack her hair.
‘You’re bored with sex already?’
She gave a short laugh. ‘Don’t be disingenuous, Rafe. I’m sure there isn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t find you physically attractive but my emotions aren’t something you can turn on and off, like a tap.’
‘Why bring emotion into it?’ he questioned carelessly.
‘Well, what about simple manners, then?’ She put the brush down and turned on him. ‘You were cold and accusatory towards me downstairs, yet the minute we get back to the bedroom I’m supposed to fall straight into your arms?’
He seemed taken aback by her frankness. ‘You seemed to be getting very cosy with my family.’
‘So? Would you have preferred it if I’d been aloof? Don’t you realise that’s what people expect me to be? It was actually lovely to meet people who treated me normally. People I didn’t have to put at ease, the way I usually do. Who didn’t seem to care that I was a princess. What’s your problem with that?’
‘I just don’t want them getting any false ideas about our relationship,’ he growled.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry your head about that.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘I’m sure your attitude towards me will be enough to convince them that we have no lasting future. It’s just a pity you’re managing to ruin the present in the process. Great way to live your life.’
For a moment he stilled, as if he was going to object to her making such a personal comment, but he didn’t. Instead his eyes narrowed. ‘Is that what I’m doing?’
‘Yes.’ She could hear the powerful pounding of her heart as it slammed against her ribcage and knew she couldn’t keep avoiding the question she was burning to ask. ‘Tell me, do you and Sharla have some kind of history?’
There was a fraction of a pause.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘It was a simple question, Rafe. A yes or a no will do.’
Rafe heard the persistence in her voice as he looked into her luminous blue eyes. At those rosy lips, which were plump and parted. He could lie to her—of course he could. She’d told a few lies herself, hadn’t she—so what would a few more matter? Except that their conversation on the plane had made him understand why she’d been so reluctant to reveal her identity. Even why her virginity had become a millstone around her neck—something which had been saved for a man who had ultimately chosen someone else. Maybe there had been some justification for those lies she had woven, but the same could not reasonably be said of him if he chose not to answer her question directly.
And surely he could give her the bare facts. He didn’t have to give her chapter and verse.
‘We were an item a long time ago.’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘Over a decade ago, in fact, and it lasted less than a year.’
‘And did you—?’
‘No, Sophie,’ he said, because he was discovering that some things could still hurt, no matter how deeply you buried them. That when you pulled them to the surface they could still seep like a dark stain over your skin. Still make you want to smash a frustrated fist against the nearest wall. ‘That was a lot more than the yes or no you initially demanded and it’s all you’re going to get.’
He saw confusion on her face along with a softness which affected him even though he didn’t want it to. And although he knew he should resist touching her
