She was surprised when he sprang out of the car and silently accompanied her into her shabby hotel, but she chose not to comment. Why lower herself to talk to him? She strolled ahead of him, every tiny swing of her hips an art-form. Presumably he was intending to take her straight to his sister. Maria Cristina was probably home again by now. But how on earth was Georgie to settle her hotel bill? Her missing handbag had contained not only her passport, but all her money as well.
Her room looked as though a bomb had hit it. Yesterday, she had gone out in a rush. Reddening, Georgie grabbed up her squashy travel-bag and snatched up discarded items of clothing and stuffed them out of sight. Rafael lounged back against the door, like a bloody great black storm-cloud, she found herself thinking, suddenly made nervous and grossly uncomfortable by his presence in the comparative isolation of the small room.
You can wait outside while I get changed, she muttered, because there was no en suite bathroom, just a washbasin.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Rafael murmured very drily.
‘I am not being ridiculous,’ Georgie returned tautly, her colour heightening even more. Dear heaven, surely he wasn’t seriously expecting her to strip in front of him?
Intent black eyes collided with violet bemusement. Whoosh! It was like grasping a live wire, plunging a finger into a light-socket. Violent shock thundered through Georgie’s suddenly taut body. She was electrified, wildly energised, before she strained mental bone and sinew to shut out the rich dark entrapment of his gaze, badly shaken by that terrifying burst of raw excitement.
No… no, it simply couldn’t happen to her again. She was immune to all that smouldering Latin-American masculinity now. She had not felt like that, she told herself frantically. She had not felt that stabbing, shooting sensation of almost unbearable physical awareness which had reduced her to such mindless idiocy in the past. That was behind her now, a mortifying teenage crush in which hormones had briefly triumphed over all else.
Rafael bent down fluidly and lifted a silky white pair of very brief panties off the worn carpet and tossed them to her. Already sufficiently on edge, Georgie failed to catch them and ended up scrabbling foolishly on the floor, stuffing the wretched things into her bag with hands that were trembling so badly that they were all fingers and thumbs.
‘You wouldn’t have given me a knee in the groin,’ Rafael murmured very softly.
Crouching over her bag, Georgie slewed wildly confused eyes in his direction, chose to focus safely on his Italian leather shoes.
He moved forward. She froze, the sound of her own breathing loud in her ears.
‘You would have knocked me flat with enthusiasm,’ Rafael completed thickly.
Bastard, she thought, absolutely shattered by his cruelty. She had believed she was in love, had held nothing back, had often told herself since that she was lucky he had dumped her before she ended up in his bed. But now shame drenched her and she hated him for that. He didn’t have to make her sound so cheap, did he? In the most essential way of all, she had been innocent, and there had been nothing calculated about her response to him.
Teenagers aren’t very subtle when they have a crush on someone.’ Determined not to show that his cracks had got to her, Georgie even managed a sharp little laugh.
‘But it wasn’t a crush,’ Rafael breathed, subjecting her to the full onslaught of deep-set dark eyes that disturbingly lingered and somehow held her evasive gaze steady. ‘You were violently in love with me.’
Georgie very nearly choked. The bag in her hand dropped unnoticed as her fingers lost their grip. Abruptly, she turned away, sick inside. What kind of sadist was he? Did it give him some sort of perverse kick to throw that in her teeth? It had not been love, it had never been love—she had told herself that ever since.
‘And the vibrations are still there…1 feel them,’ Rafael delivered in a purring undertone that still sliced through the throbbing silence.
‘I feel nothing… nothing!’ Georgie threw back tremulously over her shoulder, wildy disconcerted by the direction of the dialogue, it having been the last subject she would have believed him likely to refer to. She had thought herself safe from any reference to the past, had been grimly aware of his aloof detachment. Now the tables were turned with a vengeance.
Rafael reached out a strong hand and spun her back to face him. ‘Why pretend? We’re both adults now, and I know that you take your pleasure where and when you find it… and with any man who attracts you.’
Oxygen rasped in her throat and she trembled under the onslaught of that character assassination, fighting off the memories threatening to assail her. ‘How dare you?’
Insolent dark eyes mocked her ferocious tension and her sudden pronounced pallor. He lifted his other hand calmly and ran a forefinger along the full curve of her taut lower lip. ‘Does it scare you that I know you for what you are? Why should that matter? We don’t have to like each other, we don’t even have to talk,’ he murmured in a deep, dark voice. ‘I just want you in that bed under me once…and I really don’t care if it is sordid, I’ll still be the best lover you’ve ever had.’
The fingertip grazing her lip was sending tiny little shivers through her. Georgie tried and failed to swallow. She couldn’t believe what he was saying to her. She just couldn’t get her mind round the shock of such a proposal. ‘You have to be joking…’
He laughed softly. ‘You were always so honest… in this, if nothing else,’ he breathed, with a sudden edge of harshness roughening his intonation. ‘You want me. I want you. Why should we not make love?’
Georgie shuddered with barely concealed fury, but beneath the fury was a pain she flatly refused to acknowledge. ‘Because I don’t want you! I’m not that desperate!’ she spelt out hotly, and jerked free of him, ashamed that her breasts were swollen and full beneath her wispy bra, ashamed that it should actually have taken will-power to step back, and ashamed that for a split-second she had allowed herself to think of that intimacy she had once craved with the man she loved.
Yes, loved—why continue to pretend otherwise when even he knew just how deeply she had been involved? A small sop to pride? ‘We’re both adults now.’ The ultimate humiliation and he just hadn’t been able to resist the temptation. She was good enough for a sleazy roll in a grotty hotel room, not good enough for anything else, and even with all that smooth sophistication and experience at his fingertips he hadn’t bothered to wrap up that reality.
‘I’d like you to leave,’ Georgie said with as much dignity as she could muster, and it was not a lot.
‘I’ll won’t visit you in London. There will be no second chance. You see, I know where you live,’ he spelt out with sizzling bite, his dark golden features rigidly cast.
Georgie lived in a tiny attic flat of a terraced house which belonged to her stepbrother, Steve. But the significance of Rafael’s reference to that fact quite escaped her. What did where she lived have to do with anything? she wondered briefly, but she was in such turmoil that the oddity of the comment as quickly left her mind again.
She was enraged by the awareness that Rafael had not expected her to refuse that sordid proposition. Rafael had actually expected her to spread herself willingly on the bed. Her narrow shoulders rigid, she turned back to him. ‘Just forget where I live’
‘I try to.’ Rafael dealt her a chilling look of derision, his nostrils flaring. ‘But why else did you come to Bolivia? You knew we would meet again…and that was what you wanted, es verdad?’
Georgie was stunned by his arrogance. ‘Like hell it was! I want nothing to do with you… absolutely nothing!’