Evasion of the truth was hardly wise, for there was already visible evidence of bruising. ‘No.’
He said something vicious beneath his breath in Spanish, then lifted a hand to cup her jaw. His finger traced a gentle pattern over her lower lip, probing slightly before moving to caress her cheek. His eyes became dark, their depths unfathomable as he searched her features.
‘My relationship with Savannah was…’ He paused fractionally, then said deliberately, ‘Mutually convenient.’
Mutual need, Elise qualified, sickened at the picture that conjured up.
‘Marriage was not something I had considered until you stormed into my office in a state of fury and began hurling accusations and making allegations.’ His smile held wry cynicism. ‘Over dinner that same evening I decided I wanted your loyalty, your fierce pride, your honesty.’
He had deliberately tested her, and it rankled unbearably.
He brushed her mouth lightly with his own. ‘Eventually—your love,’ he added quietly.
He had placed the chess-pieces on a board, and played the game with infinite patience and skill. She hurt too much to let him know that he had won.
‘Along with good health, love is something that money can’t buy,’ Elise declared carefully, and glimpsed a flicker of pain in the depths of his eyes, so fleeting that she wondered if she had imagined it.
‘The time between being informed of your accident and discovering the extent of your injuries were the worst minutes I have ever spent,’ he assured her ruminatively as he took possession of her mouth in a kiss so incredibly gentle that she simply closed her eyes and gave herself up to the sensual eroticism of his touch.
It seemed an age before he broke contact and slowly lifted his head.
It took enormous will-power to step away from him, and her voice was not quite steady as she offered, ‘Ana will be ready to serve dinner.’
‘Then let us go in and eat.’
IT WAS a week later that Elise entered the elegant Double Bay salon and checked with Reception.
‘Raphael will be five minutes, Elise,’ the stunning blonde told her with a bright smile. ‘He’s running a little late. Perhaps you’d care to take a seat? Would you like some tea or coffee? Orange juice, mineral water?’
Elise shook her head in silent negation, adding a polite, ‘Thanks,’ before selecting a chair.
A year ago—make that nine months ago, she corrected mentally—she wouldn’t have been able to afford to walk into this exclusive hairdressing salon. To have had Raphael himself apply his artistic cutting expertise to her hair would have been unthinkable.
The name Santanas opened doors, commanded respect, and produced a desire to pander to any whim with such obsequious effusiveness that it was almost obscene.
Elise reached for one of several thick glossy magazines and began flipping through the pages, noting the elegant models, the beautiful clothes, designer make-up, articles written in stylish prose, a feature profile on one of Australia’s social doyennes, another profile on a top designer, and the usual society pages with a run-down on recent events with accompanying photographs.
She skimmed over them without interest, only to be riveted by a frame depicting Alejandro with Savannah at his side.
Her stomach gave a painful lurch, and she took a deep breath as she willed herself to check the magazine’s date of issue. The event highlighted was a dinner organised specifically to raise money for a well-known charity.
Oh, hell. Why did she have to pick that particular magazine? She could have remained in ignorance. Besides, she silently attempted to reassure herself, the photograph was probably the result of coincidence, taken when Savannah just happened to be standing at his side.
And pigs might fly, she added mentally. There was nothing innocent in any one of Savannah’s actions. The way Savannah was gazing at him in open adoration was positively sickening.
‘Elise. How are you, darling? Sorry to keep you waiting.’
She closed the magazine and rose to her feet with a ready smile. ‘Raphael.’
An extrovert, he delighted in the portrayal of exaggerated mannerisms, creating an erroneous image that was in direct contrast to his true personality. White harem-style trousers and a fine white muslin artist’s shirt with numerous tiny pleats fanning out from a deep yoke gave the illusion of adding to his lean frame. A diamond stud adorned one ear, he wore a diamond signet ring on his left hand, and a religious medallion suspended from a thick chain hung low against his chest. Long black hair was sleekly plastered against his scalp and caught together at his nape to form a ponytail.
‘Your hand? It is still giving you pain?’ He drew her towards the far end of the salon and seated her at a basin.
‘It aches a little.’
Raphael’s personal attention was rare, and Elise, by virtue of being Alejandro’s wife, appeared to be one of the favoured few.
She wrinkled her nose as he sluiced water over her hair and applied shampoo, rinsed and repeated the process with conditioner, then towelled it dry before leading her to a mirrored cubicle.
‘You are able to drive again?’
‘The specialist says I can. Alejandro would prefer José to continue in the role of chauffeur. Although he has compromised and bought me another car.’
‘He is being protective, hmm?’
‘You could say that,’ she agreed with suitable dryness.
Raphael picked up his scissors and comb, and went to work. ‘Don’t knock it, darling,’ he cautioned wryly. ‘Men are not usually protective unless they care.’
Alejandro’s brand of caring was linked to their unborn child. She was merely a secondary consideration.
Or was she? From the beginning his lovemaking had generated a desire for her pleasure as much as his own, and there had never been an occasion when she had felt—used.
When had she fallen in love with him? Sadly, Elise couldn’t pinpoint a single moment when the revelation had hit. She was aware only of its stealthy possession, and the agonising knowledge that her life would never be the same without him.
‘Tonight is the exhibition of fine art held in one of the Woollahra Galleries,’ Raphael informed her. ‘You are attending, of course.’
Alejandro was a known patron of the arts, and he had a reputation for adding one or two paintings each year to his collection of works by Australian artists.
The evening’s event included cocktails and horsd’oeuvres, and attendance was strictly by invitation.
‘Yes.’
‘A notable occasion,’ Raphael proffered as his scissors moved with crafted expertise.
Without doubt, she agreed mentally. The social glitterati would be present, together with members of the Press, and several photographers, each attempting to outdo the other.
She had even bought a new black gown. Sleeveless, its simple slim-fitting style was enhanced with intricate silver embroidery on the bodice. A high scooped neckline precluded jewellery, and there were matching shoes and evening bag.
Raphael reached for several fat rollers and positioned them in place, collected a magazine for her to read, then moved towards Reception to greet the next client.
It was almost four when Elise emerged, another half-hour before she brought the Mercedes to a halt beside the main entrance of Alejandro’s