She made him crazy.
Deus, she was making him crazy again, and under his own roof. Well, that was done with. He no longer felt desire for her but she had a role to fulfill. She was his wife. His commands were to be obeyed.
Rafe whistled softly to the stallion. The horse pricked its ears and looked at him. He opened his hand so it could see the shiny red apple on his palm. The stallion tossed its head and trotted to the fence. Rafe smiled and rewarded its behavior by giving it the fruit.
The horse had been difficult, when he’d first brought it to the ranch. It had been headstrong, almost wild, but, with patience, he had changed that. Now, the stallion came when he called it; it no longer nipped his fingers. Simple training had worked wonders. Good behavior warranted a reward. Bad behavior warranted none.
Rafe rubbed the horse’s ears. Women were not so different, when you came down to it. They could learn, the same as horses.
Carin would learn, too.
If she wanted her life to continue as it had gone these last weeks, if she wanted her own rooms, her privacy, then she would learn to come when called, smile when required, dine at his table if he had guests, and carry on a civilized conversation. She would treat him with respect in private, with deference in public, cling to his arm if he demanded it. She would say the right things and pretend she was happy.
If she didn’t behave, there were ways to bring her to heel.
He could fire the nanny who spoke American English, tell the grooms his wife was not permitted to visit with his horses, demand she give up the room she slept in, alone, and force her to share his room, his meals, his bed…
His bed.
Rafe stepped back from the fence.
What was he thinking? He didn’t want Carin in his bed. Even if he did—and he didn’t—since when was that a method he would use, to get her there?
Behave yourself, or I’ll take you to bed. I’ll take off your clothes, slowly, until you’re writhing in my arms; I’ll make you stand before me while I kiss my way down your body and when I reach that sweet, secret place between your thighs, I’ll open you with my fingers, taste the bud that flowers there, torment you until you clutch my hair, cry out my name, beg me to lay you back on the bed and sheathe myself deep, deep inside you…
Deus.
He was hard as stone. And it was crazy, because he didn’t want Carin, didn’t desire her, didn’t…
Hoofbeats thundered towards him. He stared in disbelief as his wife rode past on a stallion so huge it dwarfed her. Carin’s dark hair flew behind her; she was laughing, bent low over the horse’s neck as she rode into the narrow, cobbled courtyard that separated the two wings of the stables. The animal snorted and obeyed when she pulled back on the reins, though it still danced impatiently as Rafe ran towards it.
“Are you insane?” he shouted, and grabbed the bridle. “Do you have any idea of the power of this stallion?”
The horse whinnied nervously and tried to toss its head. Rafe tightened his hold.
“Get down!”
His wife’s smile disappeared and she shot him a look filled with loathing. “Don’t you dare speak to me that way.”
“I’ll speak to you any way I please, dammit. Get off that horse!”
Carin threw her leg over the pommel. One of the grooms had come hurrying into the courtyard. Rafe handed him the reins and reached for his wife. She tried to bat his hands away but he ignored her and lifted her from the saddle. She kicked hard as he lowered her to the ground; one boot caught him just below the knee and he grunted with pain but he didn’t let go. Instead, he manacled her wrists with his hand.
“Who saddled this beast for you?”
“That’s none of your damn business.”
“Ricardo?” Rafe looked at the groom, who was cowering against the horse. “Was it you?”
In his rage, he spoke in English but the boy seemed to understand. He nodded his head in mute misery.
“Collect your things,” Rafe snarled. “Tell Joao to give you your pay. You’re fired!”
“It’s not the boy’s fault,” Carin said, as she struggled to free herself of Rafe’s grasp. “I chose this horse. I told him to saddle it.”
“He should have known not to do anything you asked. I am his master, not you.”
“What you are is a savage and a brute. And I hate you!”
Rafe smiled through his teeth. “That is not news, senhora, nor does it distress me. Hate me all you wish but it will not change the facts. I am your husband. If you wish to ride, you must first ask my permission.”
He knew he sounded like a monster but he didn’t give a damn. This was his wife. She had ignored him, made a fool of him, tormented him long enough. Deus, she might have hurt herself. Killed herself. She could be lying in his arms, broken and bloodied…
Rafe took a deep breath.
“Ricardo!”
The groom looked at him. “Sim, senhor?”
“You are not fired. Take this animal and cool it down. And remember, I am the only one who gives orders around here.”
“You—you bastard,” Carin hissed. “You no good son of a—”
Rafe had had enough. He mouthed an obscenity, picked up his wife and tossed her over his shoulder. Carin shrieked in fury.
“Put me down!” Her fists pounded, hard, against his back. “Damn you, Rafe! Put—me—down!”
He strode up the hill, towards the house. He could hear his breath whistling because he was breathing hard but it was because of anger, not because of his wife’s weight. She was light. Too light, he thought furiously; wasn’t she eating properly? The doctor had said she was fine but what did he know? Nothing, for clearly, he had not forbidden her to ride a horse.
“You are not well enough to ride,” he said grimly, as he banged open the massive front door and marched through the big tiled foyer, then up the stairs. “Didn’t the doctor tell you that?”
“I specifically asked him if I could ride,” Carin panted, as Rafe kicked open the door to her bedroom. “He said I could.”
“The man is an idiot. You are an idiot. Or didn’t you tell him your plan was to ride an elephant?”
“For God’s sake…Oof!” The air rushed from her lungs as Rafe dropped her on the bed. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. I can ride. I’ve been riding since I was a little girl. The doctor gave me a clean bill of health. I…” Carin’s eyes widened. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he said coldly, as he ripped her clothes from the closet and tossed them on the floor. “Elena? João! Where in hell is everyone?”
His roar echoed from the walls. His housekeeper rushed into the room. She stared at Carin, who sat against the headboard of the bed, then averted her eyes as if the sight were too awful to watch.
“Sim, Senhor Raphael?”
Rafe swung towards her, legs planted apart, hands on his hips. He looked wild and angry, and Carin’s heart lurched at the sight of him.
“Find João. Have him help you move all my wife’s things to my rooms.”
“No,” Carin said quickly. “Elena. You are to leave my things right where they are.”
“Didn’t you understand what I said before, Carin?” Rafe stalked to the foot of the bed and glared at her. “I am master here.” He jabbed his thumb against his chest. “I make the rules. You are my wife, and I am tired of playing games. Elena!”
“Sim, senhor.”
“You will have the senhora’s things moved by dinnertime. Is that understood?”
The housekeeper shot a quick look at Carin, then nodded. “Sim.”
“And you will plan a meal appropriate for a small dinner party, for tonight.”
“Oh, that’s it,” Carin said. She sat up straight and folded her arms. “Celebrate my humiliation with a party. What are you going to do with me while you and your pals are laughing it up, huh? Chain me to a wall?”
“Six people,” Rafe said, ignoring her outburst. “The se
nhora, myself…” He paused. “I shall decide on the other four. Yes, that sounds fine.” He turned to Carin, a cold smile angling across his mouth. “Don’t you agree, wife?”
Carin swung her legs to the floor. “What I agree is that you’ve lost your mind. I am not attending a dinner party, not unless you’re being served up as the centerpiece. You want to have a party? Fine. Have one. Elena?”
“Sim, senhora?”
“I will have my dinner here, in my room. Actually, in my sitting room.” Carin addressed the trembling Elena, but her eyes never left Rafe’s. “Something light, please. A salad, some iced coffee…”
“Prosciutto with melon,” Rafe said. “Then prawns with that sauce I like so much. Tell João to bring up some of that French white wine from the cellar.” He turned a polite smile on Carin. “Drinks at eight, I think. How does that sound? And dinner at nine, on the patio.”
“Dinner in hell, you son of a—”