‘Anyway!’ she called up, shoving aside visions of him horrified by this show of domesticity, which he had not once suggested. ‘I thought I’d just …’ she caught her breath and watched him as he stood there in the small kitchen, surveying the carefully laid table, complete with the hateful candles … ‘.whip up a meal for us. Nothing fancy.’ She bit her lip nervously and hovered. ‘I don’t mind if you’d rather go out,’ she finished lamely, but when he turned to her he was smiling, a slow smile as though something had clicked in his head.
‘No way. Smells too good to pass up.’ He walked towards her and gathered her in his arms. ‘I didn’t realise that cooking was another of your specialities.’ Another tick in what had become a pleasingly traditional package. Cristina was a home-maker, and as far removed from the women he had dated in the past as chalk was from cheese.
Cristina breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I wouldn’t say a speciality.’
‘Have I got time for a shower?’ She had dressed for him. She had cooked for him. Normally those two things in combination would have had him running a mile, but with home and hearth on the agenda, they added up to just what he needed. A woman programmed to put her man first, a woman set in completely the opposite mould to that of his first wife. The fact that she turned him on was a distinct bonus, and he didn’t dwell on what would happen when his boredom threshold was breached. That bridge would be crossed when he came to it. ‘I don’t suppose you fancy another?’ His eyes swept appreciatively over her. He enjoyed showering with her, enjoyed their slippery bodies rubbing together under the fine, warm spray.
‘I’ll start with the meal.’ She remembered what Anthea had said about modern women expecting duties to be shared equally with their men. ‘You can come and help when you’re ready. If you want. I’ve pretty much done it all, as a matter of fact.’ She wondered where she was going with this. And now he was looking at her with that indulgent expression he sometimes wore, which she’d interpreted as the grown-up tolerating the antics of a kid.
She was ready with the starters by the time he emerged twenty minutes later from the shower, his hair still damp and swept back, and wearing a pair of jeans and a black tee shirt. He had never brought clothes to her house, but over time she had accumulated some, left and laundered and carefully put in one of the cupboards in the spare room. She had taken it, subconsciously, as a hopeful sign that he hadn’t removed them, but had dipped into them, taking it for granted that he would have one or two essentials on tap.
Rafael felt wonderfully relaxed. He made a token effort to do something with a bowl of lettuce leaves and some spring onions, but in the end contented himself with pouring them both a glass of wine and sitting down at the kitchen table so that he could watch her as she bustled around the kitchen, checking things and fetching crockery down from the cupboards.
He found her tide of chirpy chatter as entertaining as it was soothing. For someone who worked in a flower shop and did football coaching once a week, she always seemed bursting with news—things she had seen during her day, the random people she had chatted to, thoughts and plans that had flitted through her head and which she’d told him she liked to discuss with him. He was amazed that it didn’t irritate the hell out of him, but it didn’t. She was easily pleased and he found that he liked that. In the general scheme of things, the less easily pleased the woman, the shorter the relationship.
Now she was chatting to him about the starter, which was a combination of various seafoods in a spicy tomato sauce and served in a large glass bowl stuffed with crisp lettuce and tomatoes.
‘Am I boring you?’ she asked out of the blue, and Rafael looked at her quizzically.
‘Why would you ask that?’
‘Because I seem to be the one doing all the talking, and …’ She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at him earnestly. ‘I just wondered whether you find it a bit dull listening to me rattle on about the silly things that happen in my life, when you’d probably much rather be talking about more important stuff.’
Rafael speared a prawn on his fork and held it out to her to nibble. She had a very sexy mouth and a very sexy way of eating food. She didn’t view it as a plateful of calories waiting to pounce. She enjoyed every mouthful of what she ate, and it was a turn-on just watching her.
This time, however, she shook her head and stared down at her plate for a few seconds.
‘I enjoy not talking about “important stuff’,’ Rafael told her. ‘I spend countless hours talking about important stuff. It’s great to get here and listen to you tell me about the latest drama in your life.’
‘I don’t have a dramatic life, Rafael. You do.’
‘On the contrary.’ He finished his starter and stood up to clear the table. ‘I listen to stockbrokers and bankers and lawyers discuss technicalities of management buyouts and takeover bids and foreign currency markets. Hardly drama.’
That sounded pretty dramatic to Cristina, whose mind seemed to shut down the second it was presented with a financial problem. Anthea had turned out to be a godsend in that area, handling all the accounts efficiently and expertly. Normally she would have chattered away to him about her lack of ability when it came to sorting out money matters. He’d often teased her about that. But now, on her pressing bandwagon of trying to find out where they were going, and with Anthea’s warning words ringing in her ears, she lapsed into anxious silence.
‘What did you talk to … your other girlfriends about?’ she asked eventually, and he frowned at her.
‘How am I supposed to remember?’ She seemed to be lost in a little worried world of her own, so he fetched the fish from the oven and gestured for her to remain seated while he dished out. ‘Now.’ He sat down and looked at her steadily. ‘What’s this all about?’
Now or never. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she had never been the sort of girl who was willing to be dangled on a string, waiting for a day that might never arrive. She had old-fashioned principles, and already she was in the process of jettisoning them by sleeping with Rafael when she had no real idea where they were heading. She had fallen instantly and madly in love with him and, while that love was glorious and uplifting, it had also cleverly ambushed a lifetime’s worth of romantic convictions and beliefs.
‘Rafael … I really need to know where we’re going. I mean,’ she continued hurriedly, ‘I never planned to get involved in a relationship that was going nowhere.’ Underneath the kitchen table, she wrung her hands together and mentally told herself that she was absolutely doing the right thing. ‘I’ve told Mum and Dad about us, and they haven’t said anything, but I know that they don’t approve. This may sound silly to you, but …’ Those amazing blue eyes were narrowed on her and she didn’t have a clue what was going on in his head. She had seen that look a few times when he had taken work calls in her presence, that inscrutable, shuttered look that lent him an air of chilling foreboding. Directed at her, she felt her stomach spasm into painful knots as she desperately tried to hang on to her courage.
‘But …?’
‘But I haven’t been brought up to sleep my way through a series of meaningless relationships.’ Another lungful of air. ‘I …’ She almost slipped up and told him that she loved him, but she bit back the words which, even more than the carefully planned meal, would have guaranteed him running scared within seconds. He had not once mentioned love, and she wasn’t going to ask for declarations, just for the hope that they could progress the relationship in the right direction.
‘And that’s a good thing,’ he surprised her by saying. He leaned across the table towards her. The first time he had proposed marriage, he had done it in style—bended knee, his mother’s engagement ring. That marriage had been an illusion. This, however, was reality and there would be no foolish romantic gestures. ‘I don’t expect you to continue sleeping with me, assuming the position of mistress. I knew that the very first time we slept together it was a matter of great significance for you.’ He paused. ‘I