And should she substitute a complete make-up for her usual lip-gloss?
No; she didn’t want to look as though she was trying to attract…well, anyone.
Defiantly ignoring a quickening of her pulse, she chose one of Jacoba’s purchases. The relaxed cotton trousers sat lightly on her hips to emphasise her long legs, and the silk shirt’s subdued pattern repeated the soft camel colour of the trousers. The cosmetics she left at a tinted moisturiser and some lip-gloss.
Before she rang the bell for the maid she walked across to a window and looked out. Sheer stone walls fell away from the windows that opened onto an infinity of sea and sky, framed by the panelled white shutters.
The maid escorted her downstairs again and out onto the long terrace, where Rafiq de Couteveille sat in the shade of a spreading tree that carpeted the flagstones with brilliant purple petals. The sultry scent of gardenias hung heavy and erotic in the lazy air. Lexie’s betraying heartbeat kicked up another gear when her host lifted his impressive height from a chair and inspected her with one of his intent, penetrating surveys. Prickles of awareness shot down her spine.
‘Yes, that’s better,’ he said, and indicated the chair beside him. ‘Are your ribs painful?’
‘Only when I twist,’ she told him, her voice as prosaic as she could make it. She avoided that piercing scrutiny by lowering herself into the chair. ‘How is the driver?’
The sooner she got better, the faster she’d get away from this man. He attracted her in ways that scared her.
Like Jacoba, her half-sister, Rafiq possessed more than superficial good looks. Jacoba’s character illuminated her stunning face, and Rafiq’s formidable authority endowed his aquiline features with strength as well as charisma. It was a potent combination that made Lexie feel very vulnerable.
Rafiq told her, ‘She is at home with her family, recovering fast. She sent her apologies, and her thanks for the flowers you ordered for her.’
‘I’d have liked to see her, but they wouldn’t let me.’
He frowned. ‘The doctor told me you had to rest as much as possible.’
‘I will.’ Carefully steering her thoughts away from the personal, she straightened her shoulders and laboured on with brittle composure. ‘This must be a very old building. Is it where your ancestors originally settled?’
‘No, they built the much grimmer fortress that now overlooks the capital city. This began as a watchtower, one of a chain along the coasts that were always kept manned.’
‘That Arabian princess’s father must have had a long arm,’ she said flippantly.
He shrugged. ‘Moraze has always needed good defences.’
‘I didn’t realise there had been pirates on the Indian Ocean,’ she admitted. ‘I really don’t know much about its history.’
‘Why should you? If you are interested I have books I can lend you, but like most histories it is long and bloody and dominated by force. Through good luck and considerable cunning, my ancestors kept the island safe until eventually the corsairs—and other threats—were either assimilated or crushed.’ He looked up as a maid appeared with a tray. ‘I noticed that you drank tea at the hospital, so I ordered that, but say so if you’d prefer coffee or a cold drink.’
He noticed too much.
And oddly, that last meeting with Felipe popped into Lexie’s brain. How much had Rafiq seen or heard?
She should have realised that the count’s practised charm hid your average, garden-variety wolf, she thought ironically. Then she wouldn’t be feeling quite so foolish.
Oh well. She’d learned something her friends at university could have told her years ago: some men weren’t to be trusted.
‘Tea will be lovely, thank you,’ she said sedately.
What followed was all on the surface, the conversation of two people who knew little of each other, yet Lexie sensed undercurrents. Partly it was a feeling of something held back, of being swept into events over which she had no control.
But most of her tension, she decided with rueful frankness, was rooted in the explosive memory of that kiss.
WARINESS tightened Lexie’s skin. Unable to resist the temptation, she stole a look at Rafiq, colouring when she met greenstone eyes slightly narrowed against the sun and clinical in their detachment. A superstitious shiver ran through her—fierce, uncaged, almost desperate, forcing her to glance away hastily before those perceptive eyes homed in on her inner turmoil.
What would it take to break through his iron control?
More than she was prepared to risk, she thought bleakly. His air of authority wasn’t just a family heirloom handed down from hundreds of years of unquestioned rule. Sure, some of it might be due to the potent effect of strongly handsome features backed by wealth and power, but underpinning it was an indefinable aura of masculine competence.
This man could make a woman ache with desire and scream her satisfaction in his arms.
Lexie’s cup jangled musically in the saucer as she set both down, and her tone was a little too abrupt when she asked the first thing that came into her head. ‘How long have you ruled Moraze?’
‘For ten years,’ he said readily enough, adding, ‘Since I was twenty. My father died young.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, turning her head to admire the crimson blossoms of a hibiscus close by.
Rafiq’s gaze sharpened. Those clear-cut features might appear to reveal every emotion, but her silences were enigmatic.
So her father was a sore point.
Well, he admitted silently, if his sire had been notorious for his perfidy and cruelty, he too would avoid mentioning him.
He waited before saying, ‘Life can be cruel. Tell me, what decided you to become a vet?’ And he watched her through half-closed lashes, noting the tiny, almost unnoticeable signs of her relaxation.
She answered his question without hesitation. ‘I love animals, and I wanted to be able to do something for them.’
‘Very altruistic of you,’ he drawled, irritated by her pat answer.
She flashed him a direct look, following it with a cool, ‘Of course, it pays well too.’
‘The training is long and very expensive, I believe.’
‘I managed,’ she returned, her level tone a contrast to the challenge in her eyes. ‘I was lucky—I had a regular holiday job, and my sister helped a lot.’
Jacoba had worked as a model from the time she turned sixteen, determined to earn enough to care for their ill mother. Her extremely successful career had also helped with Lexie’s tuition and boarding fees.
In spite of Jacoba’s insistence that it wasn’t necessary, Lexie was slowly reimbursing her. The past year’s leave of absence had meant a hiatus in her repayments, but she’d be able to start again when she got back home.
No doubt Rafiq de Couteveille had swanned around enjoying himself with some easy option at college. Not for him the worry of sordid, boring things like where the next meal was coming from, or whether a good daughter would be staying at home to care for her mother rather than putting her own ambitions first.
She enquired sweetly, ‘Where did you go to university?’
‘Oxford and Harvard,’ he said. ‘With some time at the Sorbonne.’ He added with a twist of his lips