It was a pity he shied away from being a father himself. With his dad's example to go by, he'd probably be a very good one.
She sighed. That was the incorrigible romantic in her talking again. Next thing she'd have him returning with her coffee and saying he'd changed his mind about what he wanted in life, after which he'd declare his undying love and beg her to marry him.
Fat chance!
'Here's your coffee, lover. Now, stop all that sighing and drink up. Oh, for pity's sake, you haven't even taken your headache tablets yet. Or drunk the water. How do you expect to feel better unless you rehydrate yourself? No, no coffee for you till you've done the right thing. And there'll be no more drinking to excess in future. It's no good for you.'
Isabel glared at him. 'And there I was, thinking you weren't the bullying bossy pain in the neck I'd first met. But I was deluding myself. The only reason you want me to feel better is so that you can have more of what you got last night.'
He grinned the cheekiest sexiest grin. 'You could be right there.'
Isabel glowered at him as she popped two tablets into her mouth and swallowed the water.
'A shower or the sea?' he said, eyeing her rather salaciously where the sheet had slipped down to her waist.
Isabel didn't have to look down to know what he was seeing. Maybe she wasn't too perky this morning, but her nipples still were.
And she was so wet down there it wasn't funny.
'I think a spa bath is in order,' she said. 'Alone,' she added firmly.
'I could scrub your back,' Rafe offered.
'No.'
'Spoilsport.'
'And then, after breakfast, I'd like to do something unenergetic. I noticed there was a pack of cards in the cupboard over there.'
'Cards,' he repeated drily. He hated playing cards. His mother was a fanatic at euchre and cribbage, and used to rope him in when she couldn't find another partner. She always won so there hadn't been much fun in it for him.
'There's plenty of other games in there as well, if you'd prefer,' she went on, no doubt hearing his reluctance.
Rafe eyed her with determination. The only games he aimed to play today were those of the erotic kind. He couldn't afford to waste the whole of this very critical twenty-four hours. She might be ovulating at this very second.
But then an idea came to him.
'Okay,' he agreed. 'But, to make it interesting, let's bet on the outcome of each game.'
She frowned. 'For money, you mean?'
'Don't be silly. What would be the fun in that?'
'What, then?'
'If I win, you have to do whatever I want. And vice versa.'
Her eyes widened. 'Are we talking sexual requests here?'
'Not necessarily. I might ask you to go for a swim with me. Or cook me a meal. Or give me a massage.'
Yeah, right, she thought ruefully.
'I won't agree to anything, Rafe, especially sexually. There has to be limitations.'
'Nothing too kinky, then. Nothing you think the other person wouldn't like.'
That was far too broad a canvas! 'I...I don't want to be tied to that hammock again.' Not in the daylight. That would be just too embarrassing for words.
'Fair enough. What would you rather be tied to?'
'Rafe!'
'Only kidding.' Hell, he didn't want to tie her up. He just wanted to make her a mother.
Isabel could feel the heat spreading all through her body. This was just the kind of thing which turned her on. Oh, he was wicked.
'Let me have that bath and some breakfast first, then,' she said, trying not to sound too eager. 'You find whatever game you think you would prefer.' And hopefully one that he was darned good at playing. Because she didn't want to win, did she? She wanted him to win.
He chose an ingenious little game called Take It Easy, and by eleven they were sitting on the terrace, playing. The trouble was luck rather than skill played a large part and, even if you didn't try, sometimes you still won. Each game didn't last all that long and the rules suggested you play three games then totalled up the scores to see who won.
Isabel won the first round, by one point, despite not concentrating at all.
'Oh,' she said, trying not to sound disappointed by the result.
Rafe eyed her expectantly across the table. 'Well? What cruel fate awaits me, oh, mistress mine?'
'You said nothing kinky,' she reminded him.
'No, I said nothing too kinky.'
'You also said it didn't have to be a sexual request.' Surely she would lose next time and then she would be forced to do what he wanted. That would be much more fun. She would wait. 'So I'd like a toasted ham, cheese and tomato sandwich, please. And a tall glass of iced orange juice.'
'What?' he snapped, his face frustrated. 'You just had breakfast half an hour ago.'
'I'm sorry but I'm still hungry,' she said blithely.
When he just sat there, scowling at her, she crossed her arms. 'Are you welching on your bet already?'
'You'll keep, madam,' he muttered, then went to do her bidding.
Five minutes later he returned with the sandwich on a plate and a very tall glass of frosted orange juice. The fridge and freezer really were very well stocked, especially with the ingredients for easy-to-make snacks. Honeymooners and illicit lovers—who were the likely bookers of the private bures—apparently didn't surface back at the main resort for meals all that often.