Ruthless Tycoon, Innocent Wife

The air outside was cooler than it had been for some weeks and Marianne was glad she’d brought her cardigan. As she slipped it on, Rafe assisted her, his hand touching the soft skin at the base of her neck for a moment. It was a fleeting touch and without intent, but her skin burnt for some seconds from the contact.

They began to walk, passing couples sitting outside a pub enjoying a drink, then a few shops and business premises which were closed for the night before reaching a brightly lit jazz bar. Music drifted on the air from the open door and Rafe glanced in interestedly as they passed. ‘Looks a nice place,’ he murmured. ‘Ever been in there?’

Marianne nodded. ‘Once or twice. I like jazz.’

‘Me, too.’ It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest they might go together some time, but he restrained the impulse. It would send out the wrong signals. Not that he thought she’d agree anyway. She wasn’t sexually indifferent to him—that kiss back at Seacrest had told him that—but Marianne wasn’t the sort of woman to be guided by her baser instincts. She would require mental and emotional fulfilment from a lover, not just physical stimulation. She would have to like a man, love him even, before she went to bed with him. Not the sort of woman he wanted to get involved with. Not in a million years.

They stopped outside a tall terraced house in a street full of identical properties. ‘I’m home,’ Marianne said brightly. ‘And thanks again for a lovely meal. I’ll wait for you to contact me about the alterations to the plans which we discussed, shall I?’

‘Sure, I’ll be in touch.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Was the landlord OK about you leaving? He wasn’t difficult, was he?’ What are you doing? he asked himself, aware he was making conversation in an effort to delay the moment of departure. Say goodnight and get the hell out of here.

‘He’s a she and, no, she was fine. She understood about Mum and Dad and couldn’t have been nicer.’

‘Good.’ He stared down into her heart-shaped face. The breeze had wafted a strand or two of silky blond hair across her cheek. His hand reached out of its own accord and brushed the shining strands back into the sleek curtain. ‘You must miss them a great deal,’ he heard himself say.

He couldn’t blame her for the surprise on her face. He watched as she hesitated, then said, ‘Yes, I do. More as the days go by, actually, which is strange.’

‘Not really. I think initially the mind is cushioned, especially in circumstances like yours when an accident’s occurred and there was no warning.’ OK, he told himself silently, you’ve done the comfort bi

t. Now leave. ‘It’s a process, grieving. You can’t rush it.’

She nodded. ‘Is that how it was for you? With your mother?’

‘I guess so.’ He didn’t want to talk about his mother or his father or her parents. He wanted…Suddenly he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her hard before stepping back. ‘Goodnight.’

He turned before she could respond, hearing her small ‘Goodnight,’ as he walked away. He had no idea if she was still standing there when he reached the corner of the street because he didn’t allow himself to glance back.

CHAPTER SIX

MARIANNE saw and heard nothing of Rafe in the short while before she left London for good, and she was grateful for the respite. The evening she’d spent in his company and particularly the last minutes of it had unsettled her far more than she liked. She’d found she couldn’t put him out of her mind for more than a few minutes at a time and it unnerved her. His kiss had unnerved her. Rafe unnerved her.

She had dealt with Rafe more easily when he was being obnoxious, she admitted to herself a day or two after their meal together. She hadn’t wanted to enjoy being in his company but she had found herself doing just that. And his kiss. Why was it this man only had to touch her for bells to ring? It was humiliating, the response he triggered in her body with no effort on his part whatsoever. She was sure he had meant the kiss as a polite goodbye, that was all. Admittedly, an English person would have probably confined themselves to a peck on the cheek, but then Rafe was not English. He was American. And Americans were altogether less formal than their English cousins.

Thoughts like these continued to whirl in Marianne’s head during the final days in London and the drive home to Seacrest. She had driven down to Cornwall the last couple of weekends, but now, with her bridges well and truly burnt behind her, this last journey felt different.

By the time she arrived at Seacrest with her personal belongings and suitcases filling every inch of space in her little Fiesta, she felt mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted. The weather didn’t help. It had been raining on and off for days and the roads were wet and grey and misty.

After ascertaining that she and Crystal were seeing Tom the next day to go through some documents which needed her signature, Marianne pleaded a headache and went for a walk on the beach below the house to clear her head.

A wet shroud coated the landscape and it was unseasonably chilly. She spent a miserable hour or two wandering along the cold seashore, the sea mist turning the coastline a hazy grey and the small rock pools into slippy traps. There was the odd brave family on the beach, determined to make the most of their summer holiday whatever the weather, she supposed, but by the time she arrived home at teatime the sand was deserted.

She walked in like a drowned rat, water dripping from her coat and off her nose, and it was like that—with small pools of water at her feet—that she met Rafe in Seacrest’s wood-panelled hall. He had just left the drawing room as she walked in through the front door and for a moment neither of them spoke.

Rafe recovered first. ‘Damp out, is it?’ he drawled with a magnificent lack of expression.

Marianne decided she couldn’t win this one except by playing along, even if the piercing blue eyes were telling her she looked like something the cat would drag in. ‘Just a trifle. Bracing, though.’ She smiled sweetly, wishing him anywhere but here. And he would have to look totally drop dead gorgeous, without a hair out of place. Of course. ‘I didn’t see your car,’ she added enquiringly.

‘Came by taxi. I’ve been in the States for a couple of weeks and only just got back, I’m picking up a hire car tomorrow. I called by on the off chance you’d be around to discuss a few things. About—’ he consulted the gold watch on one tanned wrist ‘—half an hour ago, and Crystal said you wouldn’t be long and to wait. I’ve been eating her homemade fruit cake,’ he added with schoolboy relish, ‘and getting to know her a bit better.’

How cosy. And how very kind of Crystal to keep him here so he could witness her return. Through gritted teeth, Marianne said, ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go and change before I join you.’

‘No problem. I’m just on my way to the cloakroom.’ As she made to pass him, he caught her arm. ‘I’ve always wondered what a sea nymph might look like,’ he said softly. ‘Now I think I’ve got a good idea.’

Utterly taken aback, Marianne could only gape at him before recovering her aplomb enough to smile lightly and say, ‘A sea nymph in a cagoule and wellington boots? I don’t think so. I’ll see you in a minute or two,’ before scampering off to her room.

Once there, she stripped off her clothes, finding she was soaked right through to her bra and pants. After slipping into jeans and a warm jumper, she towel-dried her hair and pulled it up into a ponytail. She stood surveying herself in the full-length mirror, frowning slightly. What was it about Rafe Steed that made her overwhelmingly aware of his masculinity? It wasn’t just his height and powerful build, although these were impressive, but there was a subtle kind of dark energy about him, a magnetism which was totally male and sensual. He was a disturbing man to be around and the more she got to know him the more disturbing he became. That last remark, for instance, about her looking like a sea nymph. A hundred men could have come out with something like that and she would have laughed in their faces, but not with Rafe. With Rafe she went weak at the knees.

Oh, for goodness’ sake! The frown turned into a glare. This was crazy! If she didn’t get a handle on this ridiculous feebleness it would become her Achilles heel, with the potential to make things more than a little awkward in the future. This venture was a business proposition, pure and simple. No time for girlish fancies. Too much was at stake.