out, he pulled her to her feet and brought her up close against his body, his hands cupping her buttocks so that she could feel the hardness of his erection. And she did. He could tell from the sudden dilation of her eyes and he half expected her to object as he bent his head to kiss her. To pull away and demand to know more about Sharla, because curiosity was part of human nature and women were far more curious than men.
But she didn’t. Was she intuitive enough to guess that right then he needed her kiss, in the way a starving man needed food? Was that why her lips parted, as if silently begging him to crush them with his own? And why, when he did, she kissed him back with a hunger which matched his, as if realising that in this, at least, they were properly equal? His tongue laced with hers and he could feel the urgent rush of blood to his groin as he skated his palm down over her hips. ‘Sophie—’
‘Shh,’ she said urgently, pushing her breasts hard into his chest, her breath hot against his. ‘Just do it.’
The unexpected earthiness of her response only fuelled his spiralling hunger and Rafe tugged the cardigan over her head, not bothering with the tiny buttons. Granted access to the silky camisole beneath, he rubbed his palm over her hardening nipple and felt her shiver as she began tugging urgently at his belt. His mouth dried. She might be a novice, but she certainly wasn’t shy. He liked the murmuring sound of approval she gave as she tugged down the zip of his jeans and wrapped her hand around his rock-hard shaft. But when she started to slide her fingers up and down, he gave a swift shake of his head to stop her.
Picking her up, he carried her over to the bed, his hands unsteady as he laid her down and pulled off the rest of her clothes. Curve after silken curve was revealed and he resisted the urge to let his fingers linger and caress her until they were both naked and warm beneath the duvet. He wanted to put his head in between her legs but he wanted to be inside her even more. Somehow he found a condom and although she seemed eager to take responsibility for the task, he shook his head.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Let me do it. I don’t trust myself if you put your hands anywhere near me when I’m in this state.’
Moments later and she was giving an exultant gasp as he thrust deep into her moist heat and that wild little sound set off something deep inside him. It kick-started a level of lust which grew and grew, threatening to blow him away. He did it to her hard and then he did it to her slow. He licked her skin and sucked on her flesh. He was on the very edge of control as he cupped her buttocks and drove into her, deeper and deeper and deeper. He never wanted it to end and yet for once he found he couldn’t hold back any longer. His body stilled for one exquisite split-second before finally he began to jerk inside her.
Eventually he turned his head and looked at her lying back against the pillows, her eyes closed. His voice sounded as if he was speaking from a long way away.
‘Did you come?’
‘Yes.’ Her eyelids fluttered open and she smiled. ‘Didn’t you notice?’
Rafe stared up at the ceiling. Not really. It had been... He shook his head. He thought a burglar could have walked in and ransacked the room and he doubted he would have noticed. What was it about Sophie Doukas, this woman who’d had sex just a handful of times who could bewitch him like this? Lifting his forearm, he forced himself to glance at his wristwatch and to ignore the renewed lust which was hardening his groin again. He yawned. ‘I ought to go and help my brother clear the snow from the paths.’
‘Can I help?’
He turned to look at her, propped up on one elbow, her glossy hair spilling down all over her bare shoulders and flushed face.
‘You?’ he said.
‘Is that such an extraordinary proposition?’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Totally serious. What’s the matter, Rafe—do you think the Princess isn’t capable of hard, physical work?’ Her blue eyes gleamed. ‘I travelled halfway across the globe to get to Poonbarra. Even you were surprised that I’d sailed across the Pacific. Shifting a little snow will be child’s play.’
IT WAS EASY to be nonchalant about your lover’s ex-girlfriend when he had just given you the most amazing orgasm, but not quite so easy once that euphoric blitz of hormones had subsided and you were confronted with the reality. And the reality was sitting right in front of her in church—an ex-girlfriend known as one of the most beautiful women in the world, and Sophie could instantly see why.
She tried to focus her attention on baby Oliver, who was swathed in a shawl of cobwebby white, and not stare at the eye-catching vision who was drawing her gaze like a magnet, but it was proving impossible. She’d seen pictures of Sharla, of course—who hadn’t? You didn’t get to command thousands of dollars a day without having a high profile, but nothing could have prepared her for actually seeing the supermodel in the flesh. Sophie had met some beautiful women in her time—indeed, her brother had dated a seemingly endless stream of them—but Sharla was in a league of her own. Sophie found herself thinking how weird it was that twin sisters with identical colouring could look so different. Molly was exceptionally pretty, with her strawberry-blonde hair, pale skin and wide green eyes—but Sharla took those same characteristics and turned them into something quite breathtaking.
Maybe it was the high maintenance of her appearance which made her so mesmerising, because she looked as perfect and as glossy as an airbrushed magazine photo. Unlike Molly, Sharla’s hair was shot with highlights of deep gold and rippled down to her waist. And unlike Molly, her endless legs were enhanced by a tiny pair of leather shorts and black thigh-length boots. This bizarre combination was topped with an iconic Chanel jacket and a kooky hat, which was an explosion of black and dark pink feathers. It should have looked ridiculous for a family christening in a small country church and in a way it did—yet the overall effect was one of beauty and originality. In her ice-blue cashmere jacket and skirt, Sophie felt strait-laced and conservative in comparison.
She risked a glance at Rafe but, judging from his cold expression, it was difficult to believe that a little while ago he’d been making love to her. Back then he had been animated and alive but he now seemed to have been carved from a block of dark and unforgiving stone. The ebony material of his overcoat hugged the broad width of his shoulders and echoed the blackness of his hair. There was stuff going on—she could tell. Stuff to do with Sharla. And much as she had been longing to ask more questions about the relationship he’d had with the supermodel, Sophie had bitten them back. She’d sensed he would tell her only as much as he wanted to. That she should be careful how far she pushed him because his defences were up and she wasn’t sure why.
She had seen the unfathomable look Sharla had slanted him when she’d sashayed into the fairy-tale church with its high grey walls and flagstone floors. Was that a normal look for a former lover to give? Sophie didn’t know. Would she, one day—in the unlikely event of ever running into Rafe Carter again—give him a similar look?
Apart from the godparents, the only other guest who had made it through the snow in time for the ceremony was Rafe’s father, Ambrose, a towering man with greying hair and piercing eyes, which were very like those of both his sons. Sophie felt as if she was being given a glimpse of what Rafe might look like one day and she was unprepared for the wistful way that made her feel. Afterwards, as they crunched their way over the salt-sprinkled path back to the house, Ambrose confided in her that he’d recently called off his engagement to a young yoga teacher.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said
