Читать книгу Crime Of Passion - Линн Грэхем, Lynne Graham - Страница 7

SUDDENLY cold, even in the sunlight, Georgie stilled. Two dark-skinned men were attending to their luggage. Rafael spoke to them in a language that was definitely not Spanish and then strode forward to greet the older man who was approaching them.

He was Rafael’s estate manager, Joaquin Paez. He shook hands with her. ‘Sefiorita Morrison,’ he murmured gravely, with an old-world courtesy much in keeping with their gracious surroundings.

The estancia was a beautiful white villa, built in the Spanish style. The rambling spacious contours hinted at the alterations made by different generations. Fabulous gardens, lushly planted with shrubs and mature trees, ringed the house, and beyond she could see a whole host of other buildings stretching into the distance. Maria Cristina had told her that the ranch was a self-contained world of its own, with homes for its workers and their families, a small school, a church and even accommodation for the business conferences which Rafael occasionally held here.

A small, plump woman in a black dress appeared as they reached the elegant veranda at the front of the house. As Rafael addressed her in Spanish, the little woman’s smile faltered. She shot a shocked glance at Georgie and then quickly glanced away again to mutter something that just might have been a protest to Rafael.

Georgie hovered, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Of course they weren’t talking about her…why should they be? She was here at the Berganza home on sufferance until such time as her passport could be replaced. Rafael had come to her aid when she got herself locked up in prison purely because she was his sister’s friend and Maria Cristina would have been deeply shocked had he done otherwise. In the same way, Rafael’s sister would doubtless also expect her brother to offer hospitality to Georgie in her own unfortunate absence.

So, Rafael was grimly going through the civilised motions for the sake of appearances, Georgie told herself, Maria Cristina had no idea how her brother and her best friend felt about each other and, at this late stage, neither one of them could wish to be forced to make pointless explanations. Georgie’s passport would be replaced within record time if Rafael had anything to do with it… she was convinced of that fact.

‘My housekeeper, Teresa, will show you to your room,’ Rafael drawled.

Teresa, whose wide smile had almost split her face on their arrival, now bore a closer resemblance to a little stone statue. With a bowed head, the housekeeper moved a hand, indicating that Georgie should follow her.

Georgie entered the impressive hall and stepped on to an exquisite Persian rug, spread over a highly polished Wvooden floor. Rafael swept off through one of the heavy, carved doors to the left. A wrought-iron staircase of fantastically ornate design wound up to the floors above, Georgie climbed it in Teresa’s rigid-backed wake. The walls were covered with paintings, some of which were clearly very old. They crossed a huge landing, Georgie’s heels clicking at every step. A door was flung wide with a faint suggestion of melodrama.

‘What a heavenly room,’ Georgie whispered helplessly, absorbing a level of opulence which quite took her breath away. And the décor was so wonderfully feminine, from the delicate contours of the gleaming antique furniture to the gloriously draped bed awash with lace. Lemon and blue and white—her favourite colours.

Doors led out on to a balcony, adorned with tubs of riotously blooming flowers.

Unselfconscious in her enchantment, Georgie walked past the silent older woman and opened a door that revealed first a fully fitted dressing-room and then, beyond it, a positively sinfully sybaritic bathroom with a marble Jacuzzi bath, gilded mirrors and gold fitments shaped like…mermaids. Mermaids? As a child Georgie had been fascinated by fantasy tales of mermaids and unicorns. A peculiar sense of déjà vu swept her, a funny little chill running down her taut spinal cord.

‘Ees crazy bathroom,’ Teresa said almost aggressively, and Georgie spun. ‘You like crazy bathroom, señorita?’

Georgie moistened her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue and simultaneously caught a glimpse of the wonderful painting on the wall opposite the bed. Unless she was very much mistaken—and closer examination told her she was not—the exquisitely detailed oil portrayed a unicorn in a forest…

Realising that Teresa was still awaiting a reply, Georgie mumbled weakly, ‘I like the bathroom, the room…everything, but I feel a little—a little tired.’

‘Dinner is served at nine. If send maids to unpack,’ Teresa announced with a stiff little nod, and indicated a bell-pull on the wall. ‘You wish anything, you call, senorita.’

On cotton wool legs, Georgie sank down on the edge of the bed. It was coincidence that the d£cor should mirror her own taste to such an extent. What else could it be but coincidence, for goodness’ sake? Kicking off her shoes and dispensing with the coat, Georgie lay down, smothering a yawn. In a minute, she would get up and wash and change and explore. She intended to make the best of this unexpected stay at the estancia. After all, she was on holiday and, had the concept of

being grateful to Rafael not been utterly repellent to her, she would have thanked him for making it possible for her to spend at least a few more days abroad.

A lamp was burning by the bed when she woke and the curtains had been drawn. Checking the time, Georgie rose in a hurry. Her pitifully slender wardrobe had been hung in a capacious closet in the dressing-room while she slept and every crumpled garment had been ironed as well. A single drawer contained the rest of her clothing and she sighed. Her collection of neat skirts and jackets which she had worn on teaching practice had all been winter-weight and, when it had come to packing for a hot climate, Georgie had had to fall back largely on outfits last worn in Majorca two years earlier on a family holiday. Beachwear, strictly speaking, she conceded, fingering a pair of Lycra shorts with a frown.

She was desperate for a bath but there was only time for a quick shower. Then, donning her one smart outfit, the elegantly cut fine white dress which she had worn for her graduation ceremony, Georgie brushed her rippling mane of curls and dug through her few cosmetics to add some delicate colour to her cheeks and lips. A maid passing through the hall showed her into a formal drawing-room which she found rather oppressive. She was studying a portrait of a forbidding but very handsome man when the door opened behind her.

‘You find your accommodation comfortable?’

She turned, her wide hesitant gaze falling on Rafael and, although she had told herself that she would be perfectly composed, her stomach cramped instantly with nerves. The sight of Rafael in a dinner-jacket, a white shirt accentuating the exotic gold of his skin and the darkness of his eyes, took her back in time and she tensed, tearing her attention from him and sliding down on to the nearest seat. ‘Very,’ she said stiffly.

‘What would you like to drink?’

Georgie tensed even more and she was furious with herself for being so over-sensitive. ‘Any thing,’ she muttered.

Taut as a bowstring, she watched him cross the room to a cabinet and listened to the clink of glass. How did he contrive to make her feel that every sentence he spoke to her was a put-down? A someone’s-walking-over-mygrave sensation seemed to take over more strongly with every minute she remained in his radius. Angrily, she bent her head. She hated him. Naturally it was a severe strain to be forced to accept his hospitality and feel the need to be at least superficially polite.

Indeed, Georgie only had to think of the damage he had done when she had been at a very impressionable age, and her blood boiled. Rafael’s deliberate attempt to reduce her to the level of a promiscuous slut back in her hotel room had simply provided fresh fodder for the bitterness of the past. But it had also brought alive again raw emotions which she had put behind her a long time ago, and she was finding that experience unexpectedly painful.

Right now, she was recalling the staggering response she had given him when he had kissed her, a response she had been too confused even to think about earlier in the day. Now that memory haunted her, shamed her. Four years ago, Rafael had taught her things about herself that, afterwards, she would have given anything to forget. She was a very physical person, or at least she had been with him. In his arms, she had never been in control. She had been entrapped by an uncontrollable passion which made mincemeat of every moral principle Jenny had dinned into her while she was growing up.

Had he so desired, Rafael could have gone to bed with her on the first date and, long after he had gone, Georgie had tortured herself with the fear that that wanton ability to forget everything when he touched her had actually laid the basis of Rafael’s cruel misjudgement of her. Angels and whores… Steve’s reading of Rafael had often returned to haunt her. And she had told herself that if Rafael was that primitive, she had had a very lucky escape indeed.

But what did she tell herself now? How could she have stood there and allowed him to kiss her in that horribly intimate way? She wasn’t a besotted teenager any more. Admittedly, she was still sexually inexperienced, she allowed grudgingly, but then, having been scorched as badly by passion as she had been at nineteen, that was not really surprising. So why hadn’t she objected to being manhandled this morning?

Because you liked it, a dry little voice put in to her flood of inner turmoil. She froze, her pallor suddenly washed by hot colour. Rafael chose that same moment to slot a tall glass between her nerveless fingers.

‘A Tequila Sunrise,’ Rafael drawled softly, ‘I have an excellent memory and I can only hope that you have no ambition to get seriously sloshed tonight.’

Georgie stared at the glass in stricken horror. The offer of a cup of poison could not have made her feel more threatened. One sip of that mixture and she was convinced she would throw up. His brutality absolutely devastated her. That evening, that ghastly final evening four years ago… Her narrow shoulders clenched as though he had laid a whip across them. The lousy sadist, she thought wildly, burning tears of sheer humiliation lashing her lowered eyelids. If there had been a gun within reach, she would have shot him dead without remorse.

‘I see you remember too,’ Rafael murmured smoothly.

Georgie threw her head up, a blaze of raw hostility leaping through her veins. She put that glass to her lips and she drank like a sailor on shore-leave after six months of sobriety. In her rage, she tasted nothing. ‘Thanks,’ she said tautly. ‘I needed that!’

‘Evidently, you did.’ A hard smile curved Rafael’s sensual mouth.

If he fondly imagined she was about to hang her head in shame because one time in her life she had got stupidly drunk, he was wrong!

‘Do you think there would be time before dinner for another one?’ Georgie murmured hopefully, taking up the challenge with a vengeance. If he chose to think that she was a drunk as well as a slut, he was quite free to do so. Anything was better than letting him see that he could still get to her. And displaying a total lack of concern for Rafael’s prehistoric ideal of how a ‘lady’ ought to behave was surely the best way possible to demonstrate her complete indifference to him?

Recalling her own eagerness to please in the past could only make her cringe. All her life she had been extrovert, fiery and opinionated. But Rafael had put a clamp on such emotional excesses, making her feel that to be acceptable she had to tone herself down into a paler version of herself. Afraid that if she couldn’t be what he wanted, she would lose him, Georgie had done a very fair imitation of a doormat until inevitably she had begun to resent his arrogant assumption of supremacy.

Another drink arrived. Georgie swallowed hard in a silence that was beginning to slice along her nerveendings and made herself sip through clenched teeth.

‘I have often wished that I had taken you up on your offer that night,’ Rafael delivered, fixing brilliant golden eyes to her openly transfixed face. ‘But it would have meant breaking every honourable instinct I possessed. I’ve never made love to a woman under the influence of alcohol before, but with you it would have paid dividends. I would have known then that I wasn’t your first

lover—’

‘And I dare say I would have known that I wasn’t yours either!’ Georgie slung back at him in growing outrage. In throwing up her reckless behaviour that night, Rafael demonstrated a savage, unashamed desire to humiliate her.

‘Naturally not… what would you expect?’ Rafael demanded shortly, after a decidedly stunned pause that such an irrelevance as his sexual experience should be mentioned. Dark colour accentuated the fierce angles of his hard cheekbones, his handsome mouth a compressed line.

Georgie tossed back another swig of alcohol, well aware she had disconcerted him. ‘Oops, to think I had one chance in my entire life to be ravished in a Ferrari and I blew it!’ She fluttered her lashes in an attitude of deep regret, beginning to enjoy herself as much as she had thoroughly enjoyed herself in the amateur dramatic society at college. ‘That one perfect spontaneous moment missed… But then, you’re not a spontaneous kind of guy, are you?’

‘Not in a public car park…no,’ Rafael breathed in a driven undertone, with more than a suggestion of gritted white teeth to the reply as he studied her with lancing dark eyes. ‘I find it hard to believe that you can refer to that night so casually.’

Georgie flicked him a glance, adrenalin fairly roaring through her. A determined smile tilted her mobile mouth as she regarded him from below her thick copper lashes. ‘Why not? After all, you weren’t the only one deceived four years ago… I was as well.’

‘You were?’ Rafael breathed, with an incredulous expression.