ELEVEN
AN ICY chill chased down Rachel’s spine. ‘You know I bumped into Alonso today,’ she murmured.
The tense shape of his top lip twisted. ‘Is this bumped into an English euphemism for recklessly planned to meet with him in broad daylight on a busy street?’
Refusing to take him up on his cold sarcasm, she replied, ‘No, it means bumped into by accident.’
‘And, having spent the afternoon in his company,’ Rafaelle said coldly, ‘how would you prefer to describe that to me?’
Rachel frowned. ‘But I didn’t spend the afternoon with him.’
Shifting out of his taut stance, he walked forward, a long-fingered hand sliding into his inner jacket pocket, then smoothly out again. He halted by the bed, placed a photograph down on it.
Rachel glanced at it briefly. So someone had seen them together. She looked back at him. ‘If you want to say something, Raffaelle,’ she challenged. ‘Then just come out and say it.’
‘You drank coffee with him.’
‘Yes.’ She nodded.
‘You then moved on to his apartment situated above the café.’
‘You have photographic evidence of that too?’
He sliced the air with a hand. ‘It stands to reason.’
‘Does it?’
‘Si—!'he bit out.
Suddenly all the rage he had been holding in all evening burst to the fore. He took a step towards her. Rachel took a step back. The raking flick of contempt in his eyes as she did so tensed up her trembling spine.
‘You can give me a better explanation as to where you did spend the rest of the afternoon before you returned here?’ he demanded.
Refusing to let his anger intimidate her, ‘Can you explain where you spent your afternoon?’ she hit back.
‘Scuzi—?’ He had the gall to look shocked!
‘And then you could go on to explain how you had the rank bad taste to bring your afternoon friend into my company at dinner tonight!’
‘Francesca is—’
‘An ex-lover of yours, I know.’ She said it for him. ‘With darling Daniella around, I do tend to find these things out.’
His angry face hardened. ‘We were discussing what you did with your afternoon, not what I did with mine.’
‘Well, let’s just say, for argument’s sake, that we both did the same thing!’ she threw back. ‘As least you were saved the embarrassment of watching me fawn all over Alonso at dinner, whereas I did not warrant that much respect!’
His wide shoulders clenched inside expensive suiting. ‘I did nothing with Francesca this afternoon but spend the time negotiating the price for that photograph! She owns the damn newspaper that bought it!’
‘So she deals with the dreaded paparazzi?’ Rachel’s blue eyes lit up with bitter scorn. ‘What lovely loyal people you and I surround ourselves with. Maybe we should introduce her to my brother and between them they could happily make a mockery out of both of us in two countries at the same time!’
‘None of which explains what you did with your ex-lover,’ he grated.
Her stomach was still churning and her heart was beating much too fast. ‘I drank coffee with him, then I walked away. End of subject,’ she said and turned back to the bathroom.
‘It is the end of nothing.’ His roughened voice raked over her as he grabbed her shoulder to spin her back round again, his face hard like granite. ‘I want to know the truth!’ he bit out.
Dizzy and nauseous, maybe she was not going to need to do any test, Rachel thought shakily. ‘I’ve just given you the truth.’
‘And your coffee took four hours to consume?’
Rachel made herself look up at him. ‘Your negotiations for the photograph took just as long?’ she challenged him right back. ‘Or was your time spent on a certain kind of negotiation?’
He went white, stiffened and let go of her. ‘You will not sink me down to your level, Rachel.’
‘My level?’ She stared at him.
‘Your propensity to lie, then, without blinking an eye.’
Well, her eyes certainly blinked now and she took an unsteady step backwards. ‘I have never lied to you, Raffaelle,’ she breathed out unevenly. ‘No—think about that,’ she insisted when he parted his hard lips to speak. ‘We have a relationship built on lies, yes,’ she acknowledged. ‘But I have never lied to you!’
The way his top lip curled really shook her. This, the whole thing they had going between them, suddenly showed itself up for what it really was—a relationship built on sex and disrespect, which had never stood a chance of being anything more than the tacky way it felt to her right now.
‘Scoff at me all you want,’ she invited. ‘But while you’re doing it remember that three months ago you wanted my sister. This month you decided that you might as well have me. Next month you will probably put Francesca back into your bed. The way you are going through them, Raffaelle, there won’t be a woman left in Europe you will be able to look at without experiencing déjà-vu!’
Rachel spun away then, needing to head fast for the bathroom. But she didn’t make it that far. The room began to swim and she pushed a hand up to her head, swaying like a drunk on her spindly heels.
‘What—?’ she heard him rasp in a mad mix of concern and anger.
‘I don’t—f-feel well,’ she whispered, before everything started to blacken around the edges and his thick curses accompanied his strong arms which caught her as she started to sink to the ground.
Her own piece of déjà-vu followed, as she opened her eyes to find herself lying on the bed with him looming over her. The same look was there, the same closed expression.
A flickering clash of their eyes and she knew what he was thinking.
‘It might not be,’ she whispered across the hand she pressed against her lips.
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again—tight. Then he straightened up and she knew he was drawing himself in ready to deal with the worst.
‘I will call a doctor—’
The fatalist at work again, she recognised. ‘No,’ she shook out and, when he paused as he was turning away from her, Rachel heaved out a sigh and slowly sat up. ‘Y-you don’t need to call a doctor,’ she explained. ‘I h-have something …’ She waved a hand towards the bedside drawer.
Without saying a word, he walked over to the drawer and opened it.
