Shocked, she stared at him. That hit hurt. ‘Do you really think you were the first man to show interest in me? That you were the only chance I’ve ever had?’ She pulled herself up haughtily. ‘Don’t go thinking you did me a favour. I picked you.’
‘So pick me again,’ he dared coolly. ‘Come to Paris.’
‘I don’t want to go to Paris. I don’t want to go anywhere.’
‘You just want to fritter away your life doing nothing here? You’re letting your skills go to waste. You should have your own bakery, not work all hours building a business for someone else. And you’re never going to meet the man of your dreams while living with a bunch of oldies in this sleepy little village.’
His words slapped because the cruel irony was she’d done exactly that. She’d met him. But she was nothing more than his summer holiday fling—merely a way to pass the time while he decided what to do with his latest possession. In fact, wasn’t she just another of those?
‘Perhaps I only want short affairs with tourists passing through,’ she sniped.
‘Gracie, please.’ He looked wild, then visibly tried to recover his temper. ‘You need a rest. You know you do.’
‘Yes. Maybe now is a good time for us to have a rest from each other,’ she said quietly, ignoring the tightening in her lungs. She needed to know she could have that break from him.
He glared at her. ‘I offer you the chance to go to Paris and you’re angry with me.’
‘And you’re angry with me,’ she replied tightly, trying to hold on to her emotions. ‘It seems we’ve disappointed each other.’
‘I just wanted to do something nice. Us. Together.’ He growled. ‘Something that isn’t...’ He gestured in futility.
But there was no ‘us’, and they weren’t going to be together. Not for long. He’d made that perfectly clear from the start and she knew he wasn’t going to change his mind. He was messing this up and she couldn’t let him. She felt more at risk than she’d been even in those years abroad with her mother, and it scared her.
‘What is it you don’t like about Paris?’ he prodded with a forced smile. ‘The food?’
‘Of course not,’ she said. Sadness rose within her—the sadness she’d always suppressed. ‘For years my life was uprooted on a whim. Mum allowed me one bag and we had to steal away in the middle of the night countless times. I had to leave all the things I’d tried so hard to build. I don’t want to just jump to someone’s orders like that ever again.
‘I know you didn’t mean it that way, I know it’s only a few days...but I’m still... I’m still mastering the art of navigating my own ship. I don’t want to jump just because you’ve asked me to.’ She looked into his face, willing him to understand. ‘And that dress, for that party at the palazzo—that was a one-off. I’m not Cinderella, you’re not my fairy godmother or my Prince Charming, I don’t want to take things from you in that way. This thing between us isn’t like that.’
‘This thing?’
‘Yes. This affair.’
‘It’s an affair?’
She flushed and anger gleamed in her eyes. ‘I don’t know what to call it. I just don’t want it to become any more complicated.’
Somehow he was irritated again as well. ‘So I’m not to come back with an emerald bracelet or diamond necklace for you, my current lover?’
‘Of course not.’ She was appalled at the thought. Was that what he did for other women he’d slept with? She hated that idea—she didn’t know that side of him at all. And she didn’t want to.
‘You don’t like gifts?’
‘No.’
‘So, no gifts, no travel. What do you like?’
She liked him. Her heart pounded as she answered. ‘Control.’
‘Really?’ His eyebrows arched. ‘You don’t want anything else from me apart from this?’ He drew her closer.
‘I really don’t.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘I only want what we agreed. Only you. Only now.’
For some reason Rafe was even angrier when he really should have been relieved. She was holding fast to their initial agreement. But once again, when she delivered what he’d thought he wanted from her, he found he wanted the exact opposite.
‘So have me, then,’ he challenged her bluntly.
He didn’t want to talk any more, didn’t want to question. He wanted to make her pay. He’d tease and torment her so she’d be unable to forget him for these few days he’d be away. He wanted her to regret this rejection.
‘I don’t want to fight,’ he muttered, stripping her out of her underwear.
But in a way he wanted exactly that. Here and now.
He hoisted her into his arms, holding her so he could kiss her exactly where and how he knew she liked it the most. Making her moan, making her shake with urgency and need until she was twisting beneath him. But he wouldn’t give her what she wanted. Not yet. Not when she frustrated him so completely. He was irritated with himself for wanting her so badly, as much as he was irritated with her refusal to go away with him. He couldn’t hold back the emotion he felt from her rejection and he demanded recompense. He wanted to make her want him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. Hell, he was turning into a complete egotist.
He’d leave for Paris immediately—get his meetings concluded quickly so he could come back and burn this out entirely and then he’d go back home to Manhattan. He’d been here too long already anyway. That’d leave her free to find whatever it was her heart wanted. Because he knew it wouldn’t be him for much longer. But in kissing her, in touching her, it was his own control that slipped.
‘Rafe. Rafe,’ she begged him. ‘Please, please.’
She was so responsive, so welcoming, so damn hot. And so deliciously quick. In the end he couldn’t resist his own driving need to get close to her again. To make peace. He wanted her too much. His plan to make her pay was shredded as emotion claimed control of his mind and body. He didn’t want her to be angry, but happy. Content. Glowing. To welcome him, to move with him. Together. In the end, the only thing he could gift her in this moment was himself.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GRACIE RUBBED HER bare wrist again, annoyed at the emptiness. In her dishevelled panic to get to work on time after that crazy, passionate moment, she’d left her watch in his bedroom. Not wearing it irritated her completely.
Okay, it wasn’t just the missing watch irritating her. She missed him more than she’d have believed possible. Not only the intense sensuality they shared but the shared amusement. She thought of him, dreamed of him...wanted to talk to him. She missed his conversation, his insights, his astuteness.
Yeah, she was in such trouble. That last time, the morning when he’d asked her to go to Paris with him, had been unbearably intense. If that was make-up sex, then maybe she wanted to fight with him more often. Truthfully, she’d been afraid of fighting. She hadn’t wanted to lose him before their time was up. But she hadn’t.
Though she hadn’t realised he was going away so soon either. He’d left that morning. And sure, he’d called her a couple of times—teasing that he wasn’t going to any parties for fear of pictures of him being snapped and posted on social media that could be misconstrued. But she knew he was working hard. She suspected he worked too hard.
Yet again she rubbed her wrist, missing being able to see the time. She’d bike to the villa and pick it up after taking Alex a pastry from her morning shift.
* * *
A few hours later she cycled to the villa. As she punched in the security code, she heard a car slowing behind her. Her pulse spiked—was Rafael home?
She turned, but it wasn’t his flashy fast car. It was a sedate number and the driver’s window wound down as she watched.
‘Good afternoon.’
It was the man who’d mislaid his father the other day. Rafael’s nephew. His father was seated in the passenge
r seat of the flash car that had pulled up outside the secured gates. She chilled, despite the warmth of the afternoon and her ride. If she was right, these people had been horrendous to Rafe.
‘Hello.’ Her small smile was automatic, but her pulse was thundering. ‘May I help you?’
‘You’re going into the Villa Rosetta?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She refused to babble, but she was super-nervous.
‘You work there?’
She shouldn’t be bothered by his assumption that she was hired help, but she didn’t correct him.
‘My name’s Maurice. You remember my father Leonard from the other day? You helped him.’
‘Of course I remember.’
‘My father would like to see the villa one last time,’ Maurice said quietly. ‘He’s unwell. This is the last time he’ll make it to Italy.’
Gracie glanced at the passenger seat of the car and saw the distant look in the older man’s eyes. It was a look she recognised. He was stuck in another time—in fragments of memories. Her sympathy rose for him.
‘Yes, I understand,’ she said quietly. ‘But I can’t let you in—’
‘Just the gardens,’ Maurice interrupted. ‘He only wants to see the gardens. Not go inside the villa, of course. He used to stay there years ago when he was a boy.’
So Maurice was Rafael’s nephew and the old man his half-brother. She bit her lip, feeling both dread and empathy.