language changed. And how. She picked up a teaspoon she’d left lying on the table and carried it over to the sink as if it would explode if she didn’t quickly plunge it into a bowl of water.
‘I...hadn’t really decided,’ she said, still with her tensed back to him. ‘Soon. Just after Christmas, probably.’
‘But won’t your family miss you at Christmas?’ he probed. ‘Or maybe you don’t celebrate Christmas?’
She turned to face him then and Rafe saw that her face had grown pale. Her blue eyes had darkened so that suddenly she looked almost fragile and he felt an unexpected kick of guilt—as if he’d done something wrong. Until he reminded himself that all he’d done was ask her a straightforward question and, as the man who was paying her wages, he had every right to do that.
‘Yes, I celebrate it,’ she said quietly. ‘But my parents are dead.’
‘I’m sorry.’
She inclined her head. ‘Thank you.’
‘You don’t have brothers, or sisters?’
Sophie thought how persistent he was—and how she wasn’t used to being interrogated like this. Because nobody would usually dare. She wondered why he was so interested. Did he realise that his station manager had been less than meticulous when he’d interviewed her—or was there something else? She stared at the teapot and watched it blur in and out of focus. She was innocent, yes—but she wasn’t completely stupid. She’d seen the look he’d given her when he walked into the kitchen—a look of surprise which had swiftly turned to one of appreciation. She had been subjected to a brief but very thorough evaluation of her face and her body—one she doubted he would have done if he’d known who she really was. But he didn’t know, did he? And he wasn’t going to find out.
Because her first instincts had been the right ones, as instincts so often were. She’d felt apprehension when she’d first seen him and she hadn’t known why. But now she did. As he’d looked at her, she’d felt something alien. A feeling which had nothing to do with the fear of being found out, but which was just as disturbing. A sudden heaviness in her breasts and a melting sensation low in her belly. Her skin suddenly felt as if it were too tight for her body and her cheap underwear seemed to be digging into her flesh.
And just as she would have recognised sunburn if she’d never experienced it before, she knew that what she was feeling for Rafe Carter was desire. Hot and very real desire, which was making her heart pound so erratically. Making her wonder what it would be like to be held by Rafe Carter and have him touch her. For him to run those long olive fingers over her newly sensitised skin and take away some of this terrible aching. And she’d never felt that before, not with anyone.
Guilt rippled over her.
Not even with Luciano.
She realised he was still waiting for an answer and she struggled to extract some coherent answers from the unfamiliar erotic fog of her thoughts. ‘I have a younger sister and a brother.’
‘And won’t they be expecting you home?’
Sophie shook her head. After she’d left Isolaverde, she had phoned to let her brother, Myron, know she was safe and well—and begged him not to send out any search parties. She’d told him she needed to escape the pressure of what had happened, and so far he had heeded her request. On the few occasions she’d managed to get online and search the news outlets, there had been no public acknowledgements regarding her sudden disappearance and her younger sister, Mary-Belle, had stepped in to take over all her official engagements. Maybe Myron understood that her pride had been hurt and she’d needed to get away to lick her wounds after her very public rejection by the man she’d been meant to marry. That she was more than happy to resume all the responsibilities of her role as princess, she just wanted a little time to get her head together. Or maybe he was just too busy ruling their island kingdom to pay her much attention. He took his position as King of Isolaverde very seriously and for too long now had been coming under pressure to find himself a suitable bride.
‘You’ve got exactly six months to have your little stab at rebellion,’ he had clipped out, over the crackly phone line. ‘And if you’re not back by February, then I will send out search parties to bring you home again. Make no mistake about that, Sophie.’
Remembering her brother’s sense of control—and the way that people had always tried to control her all her life—Sophie turned round to meet Rafe Carter’s inquisitive stare, knowing she had to stop him doing the same. So be strong. Ask him something, she thought. Put him on the spot.
‘And how about your Christmas? You’ll be sitting around the Christmas tree with your own family, will you?’ she questioned. ‘Pulling crackers and singing carols in the old traditional way?’
His face hardened and Sophie saw something in the depths of his eyes which looked almost like pain. She blinked. Surely not. She couldn’t imagine a powerful man like this ever hurting.
‘That kind of Christmas only exists in fairy tales,’ he said and suddenly his voice grew harsh with cynicism. ‘And I never did believe in fairy tales.’
Abruptly he stood up and moved away from the window and suddenly he was close enough for Sophie to touch. Close enough for her to notice that his jaw was dark with the hint of new growth, even though he could barely have been out of bed for more than a few hours. As a symbol of virility, he couldn’t have sent out a more potent message and another rush of unfamiliar desire pulsed through her.
‘Why look,’ he observed, his steely eyes glittering before they were shaded by his ebony lashes as he glanced down at her fingers. ‘Your hands are trembling. What’s the matter, Sophie? Is something bothering you?’
She suspected he knew exactly what was bothering her but she concealed her embarrassment behind a shake of her head.
‘Actually, there is,’ she said. ‘I get nervous if someone stands around watching while I work—especially if that someone happens to be the boss. I’m about to start making the men their mid-morning smoko and you know how hungry they get.’ She gave a quick smile, hoping it hid the way she was feeling. Hoping he wouldn’t notice the fact that her nipples were pushing like little hard stones against her T-shirt or that her cheeks were getting hotter by the second. ‘So if you’ll excuse me?’
‘I get the distinct feeling I’m being dismissed,’ he said silkily. ‘Which is something of a first. Still, since dedication to work is a quality I’ve always admired, you won’t find me objecting.’
But before he reached the door he paused, and suddenly he was no longer the mildly curious boss asking idle questions about her background or pointing out that her fingers were trembling. Suddenly he was the billionaire station owner with the shiny helicopter, who was regarding her with a certain sense of entitlement.
‘I have no objection to sharing the homestead with you, just as long as you realise that I like my own company. So please don’t feel you have to seek me out or engage me in conversation, especially if I’m working. If it happens to be a beautiful day, we’ll take that as a given, shall we?’ His voice hardened. ‘I certainly don’t need to hear your views on the sunshine levels or having you brightly enquire how I’m planning to spend my day. Understand?’
Sophie met his piercing grey gaze, thinking that was possibly the rudest thing anyone had ever said to her. Engage him in conversation? Why, she’d rather talk to one of the large bugs which regularly scuttled across the veranda each morning! But her face
