CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS STRANGE THAT having Rafe in her house should feel like the biggest betrayal to Steve of all. Given what she’d shared with Rafe, and that Steve was marrying someone else, why should it matter that the handsome Spaniard was moving through the rooms with a proprietorial manner that was obviously innate to him?
She watched as he went from room to room, his manner grim, his body taut.
She padded behind him when he walked into her bedroom, and tried to see it through his eyes.
She’d removed the photos of Steve from in here. It had hurt too much, and she’d been angry as all hell. But still, he was everywhere. The colour scheme, the masculine bed, the DeLorean model, the still-empty side of the wardrobe, left in abeyance as though waiting to be filled.
Rafe spun around to face Ivy, and now, there was a palpable pulse of energy moving between them.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing of consequence.” She followed him with a frown. “What are you doing?”
He pulled a dress from her wardrobe and held it out to her. It was a casual maxi dress she’d bought a couple of summers ago. “Put this on.”
“What? Why?”
“Because we’re going out.”
“Out?” She shook her head. “I don’t really feel like going out.” She moved towards him, her intention clear, her palms lifting to his chest.
“No.” He gripped her wrists. “You want me to sleep with you. Because you’re upset about him. Right?”
She swallowed, doubts, uncertainty, and confusion making her eyes cloud. “I’m … isn’t that what you want?”
Rafe’s laugh was a harsh rejection. “I want to sleep with you, yes. But not with his damned shadow everywhere I look.” He dropped the dress to the bed. “Get dressed, Ivy.”
“Rafe…”
“I swear to you, I will walk out that door right now and that will be the end of us if you don’t do what I damned well say.”
He was angry. No, he was furious. She had felt the heat of his emotions, but this, this was unexpected.
“Rafe,” she followed him to the door but when he looked at her, it was with an implacable frustration.
“Do you trust me?”
She looked up at him, the question lodging right in her chest. She nodded without realising what she was admitting to.
Rafe’s eyes glowed with triumph. “My car will leave in five minutes. Get ready.”
She stared at his retreating back with a frown, but the sight of him walking out of her front door galvanised her into action. She stripped her jeans and sweater off and pulled on the dress, grabbing a denim jacket and light weight scarf for good measure, and a beanie too.
She slipped out of the front door with a minute to spare.
He was leaning against the side of the car, his expression grim, his eyes watching her with heated possession. She moved down the steps and approached him with a mounting sense of uncertainty.
“Where’s your phone?”
She held it up and he took it, and she was so confused that she didn’t say anything. He opened the front-passenger door. Right when she was on the brink of regaining some of her ability to think and speak, he caught her wrist and dragged her to his body, and he kissed her, hard and urgently.
“He’s a bastard,” he said into her mouth and she nodded, but it was only Rafe in her mind, on her lips, in her soul.
“Hop in.”
She did as he said, sliding into the passenger seat, waiting while he crossed to the driver’s side.
He throbbed the engine to life and pulled it out onto the street, pressing down on the accelerator. He drove expertly, confidently, and fast.
Somewhere along the way, she realised that they’d missed the turn off for his apartment. “Where are we going?”
He slid a side-long glance in her direction. “This whole thing has been about you forgetting him. Si?”
She nodded, but the description felt wrong. Strange and somehow untrue. And yet it was why she’d first gone to Rafe’s home.
“So? Today, on the day he sought to make you think only of him, you are going to do the opposite.”
Ivy had no idea what magic Rafe was planning on weaving, but she doubted his assertion was at all possible.
And yet, twenty minutes later, he drove the car through a security entrance, waving his driver’s licence at a gate who ushered them forwards. They were at City airport, but instead of heading to the passenger terminal, Rafe had taken them to a different stretch of tarmac. A private jet, large and gleaming, was waiting, and on its side it bore the emblem for Santoro Enterprises.
Ivy’s heartrate accelerated. “This is yours?”
“It’s the company’s,” he corrected. Cutting the engine and stepping from the car in one movement. He came around to Ivy’s side, pulling the door open. As soon as she straightened, he grabbed her hand, holding it tight.
The inside of the plane was the last word in luxury. White leather seats, just like in his Bugatti, a huge cinema screen, and a layout that was more like a home than a plane.
“Sit,” he nodded towards a chair, moving to the back of the plane and grabbing a bottle of wine and two glasses. He took the seat beside her and then poured two glasses of wine.
A couple of staff busied themselves with the operations of the flight, but Ivy barely noticed them.
“Where are we going?” She asked, the question strangely breathy.
“Home.” And he smiled, but it was a smile that was dark and tight, forged by the frustrations that bound them both.
“Spain?”
“Yes.” He made an effort to relax. “How are you?”
It was so silly, after the tumultuous hour they’d just spent together, that she burst out laughing. “I think I’m going to be okay.” The solicitous way he was watching her did something funny to her though, and she sobered, running a finger around the rim of her wine glass. “Why are you being so kind to me?”
He frowned. “Because I told you I was going to make you fly. Remember?”
*
There were no words that could describe the beauty of this patch of earth. Ivy stood at the top of the hill, the Spanish bungalow to one side of her, all rendered earth coloured walls, terracotta tiled roof, with cathedral windows, and sprawling bougainvillea running up one side and pots of lavender painted in Moorish colours standing out front.
Directly before them though was the hill Rafe had described, covered in vines, now spindly and barren, but for the grapes that were heavy and lush, and in the near-distance, the ocean, glistening in the afternoon sun. It was much warmer here than in London, and she shrugged out of her denim jacket. Rafe took it from her seamlessly.
“What do you think?”
She turned to look at him, catching a look of concentration on his features that robbed her of breath. “I think it’s the most amazing place on earth.”
He expelled a breath. “It is uniquely beautiful.” He lifted a hand to her cheek, and seemed about to say something but then thought better of it.
“How would you feel about swimming with me?”
“Swimming?” She looked towards the ocean and something like contentment carried to her on the sea and the salt.
“Yes. You know, bodies submerged in water, floating, paddling…”
She playfully punched his arm. “I’ll race you…”
She grinned as she began to jog towards the water, running through a straight row of vines, not going so fast that she missed the beauty of the grapes, their juicy shapes sun-warmed and almost ready to be picked.
He caught up to her easily, smiling as he passed, but he didn’t go far ahead. Ivy put on a burst of speed, and right at the bottom, where grass gave way to sand, she lunged for him instinctively, catching at his shirt so that he stopped running. She was out of breath, and her cheeks were pink. She smiled up at him, her eyes shining.
“I win.”
He grinned, but reached for her, lifting her over his shoulder easily and carrying her towards the water. His intent was clear, but it was still somehow a surprise when her toes hit the top of the ocean.
“Hey!” She laughed, but he didn’t stop. Only when he was waist deep did he slowly ease her down, sliding her against his body until her feet hit the ground.
“My dress is wet,” she pointed out, a smile tickling her lips.
His arms curved around her waist. “So it is.” He brought his face closer to hers, his lips tantalisingly close. “I suppose you will just have to be naked while it dries out again.”
She shook her head on a laugh but then she surrendered to the moment, turning away from him and diving down into the water. It wasn’t overly warm, but it was still heavenly. It had been so long since she’d swum, and never in a beach like this.
“It’s so much better than I imagined,” she said to herself as she emerged, turning to find Rafe watching her with a look that stole her breath for its intensity.
“I pictured you like this,” he said throatily, when he was close enough.
“You did?”
In response, he drew her wet body towards his, holding her to him, and he kissed her. Rafe kissed Ivy, and it was all she thought about.
He’d wanted to drive anyone else from her mind and he’d succeeded. She was lost to him, and in that moment, she was glad for it.
“Have you lived here long?” She lay on her back, staring up at the sky, grapes on either side of her, the dress still wet as it clung to her body.
“I bought the property ten years ago,” he said. “My father always wanted to grow grapes.” His lips twisted. “It seemed… appropriate.” Lying beside her, he turned his face to hers. “I named it for him, you know.”
“The property?”
He nodded. “The wine I make is called Diego. It was his name.”
The confession twisted her insides. “I’m sorry you lost him.”
Rafe shifted. “It was a long time ago.”
“That wouldn’t make it hurt any less.”
He propped up on one elbow, reaching over Ivy and plucking a single grape from the vine. He hovered it over her lips, and then pushed it into her mouth. She tasted it, the sweetness divine, and then swallowed, her eyes holding his. Awareness arced between them, hot and desperate for acknowledgement.
“You must have admired him, to name this place for him?”
His expression was relaxed, but Ivy knew there was a tension pulling at him, behind that.
“Must I?”
Ivy pulled a face. “You’re very good at deflecting my questions, you know.”
“Look who’s talking,” he fired back, a smile on his face belying the seriousness of his accusation.
“I don’t do that.” Ivy’s response was arch.
“If you say so.” He reached for another grape, this time depositing it in his own mouth. Ivy watched as he chewed and swallowed, her blood pressure sky-rocketing at the simple, sensual gesture.
She pushed up off the ground and came to straddle him, lacing her fingers through his so they were tightly connected. He watched her with the kind of intent that characterised so much of their relationship. He saw everything. It should have frightened Ivy, but it didn’t.
“And you?” He lifted their hands, pressing a kiss to the back of hers. “Are you close to your parents?”
“They’re my parents,” she said with a shrug, shutting the question down.
But Rafe squeezed her hand. “You’re doing it again.”
Her eyes flicked to his self-consciously. “I don’t mean to.” She sighed heavily. “I’m close to my parents, yes. But …”
“Si,” he prompted, when the sentence remained unfinished.
“The Steve thing…” she said with a shrug, lifting her gaze and focussing on the house in the distance. The afternoon sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting a glow of gold and mauve over the valley, and Ivy’s heart was full. It truly was stunning. London seemed very far away, suddenly, like a distant dream.
“Si,” he drawled, the animosity in his expression gone in an instant.
“They love him,” she said quietly. “Our break up has been hard on them.”
“Harder than it was on you?” He said silkily.
“Different.” Ivy shook her head. “But aren’t we here to get away from Steve?”
“You can’t get away from him,” Rafe said, the words edged with coldness. “He is in here,” he lifted his hand and pointed to her head. “And in here.”
Ivy’s heart twisted. “That’s not true.” She bit down on her lip, standing up jerkily. “Now, are you going to show me inside the house?”
Rafe watched her for another moment before he stood, and his expression was harder than stone when he turned away from her. She watched him as they walked back up the hill, the tension in his body unmissable.
As they neared the top of the hill that housed the vines, he slowed and turned to face her. “Do they still see him?”
“Sometimes.” She dipped her head forward. “He was at my father’s birthday party a few months ago.”
Rafe swore under his breath. “Did he bring his fiancé?”
Ivy paled. “God, no. Thank goodness. No, it was just Steve.”
“And you were okay with this?”
Ivy’s smile was a wry twist of her lips. “I didn’t stay long.”
He nodded then began to move once more, past his car, towards the house. It wasn’t grand, from the outside. If anything, Ivy might have described it as rustic. And utterly charming. There were three steps that led to a large archway, made of bricks. Bougainvillea scrambled over it and as Ivy walked through, she was distracted, so a long branch of the plant ran across her arm, forming an inch-long scratch.
She rubbed at it distractedly, too focussed on the house to care, but Rafe saw. He stopped walking, taking her hand in his, and studying the mark. “There’s ointment inside.”
“I’m fine,” she smiled at him, and the smile seemed to fill her chest. “It’s just a scratch.”
He nodded, and again, she had the strangest sense that he was about to say something, to tell her something important, but then he began to walk, pushing towards the house. Instead of a key, there was a number pad on the front. He pressed several digits and a low beeping noise was emitted, then a click, and Rafe pushed the door inwards, standing just inside so he could hold it open for Ivy.
Once she crossed the threshold, she saw there was nothing rustic about the interior. While original features of the house had been preserved, state-of-the-art design had been layered over, leaving high-ceilings, huge glass windows that showed the view in every direction, a skylight over the kitchen, large white tiles and beautiful, architectural furniture.
As with everything with Rafe, it was perfect.
“Everything looks so Spanish!” She cooed, her delight obvious.
He laughed. “Spanish?”
“Yes! Just like I’ve imagined.”
“You’ve never been?”
“To Spain?” She pulled a face. “No. I’ve never been anywhere, really.”
“Why not?”
Her eyes ran across his face. She didn’t want to talk about Steve. Not here, not now. But his question required an explanation. “Steve didn’t like to fly,” she said with a shrug. “So we were limited…”
Rafe’s expression was grim, and eager to avoid his condemnation – for she saw how silly she’d been to let Steve’s phobias limit her own desires, she spoke quickly, rushing to a change of subject.
“I can see why you prefer living here. Not that your London place is in any slouch in the nice-department but this is… something else.”
He nodded, apparently happy to let the conversation move on. “I’m glad you approve.”
She did approve, but what did that matter? This was Rafe’s real life. A life to which she didn’t, and wouldn’t ever, belong. It was a life full of sunshine and Spanish heat, grapes and wine, sea and glamour. Why did she care? Why did it bother her to have peeled back the covers on this life, to have seen the way he lived, and to know she was excluded from it?
She didn’t want anything else from Rafe. That hadn’t changed. Though she couldn’t deny things between them had been shifting for weeks, that they’d become close in ways she hadn’t anticipated, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t walk away from him at the end of this, her head held high.
Because she wasn’t the same woman she’d been a year ago. Seven months ago. She wasn’t the same woman whose heart was fragile and foolish, open to anyone to break.
“Hungry?”
She nodded, though she wasn’t sure if she was or not. She followed him into the kitchen, surprised to see that the fridge was fully stocked. As though reading her mind, he explained, “My staff take care of it.”
“But they wouldn’t have known we were coming here?”
“My pilot lets them know.”
She nodded, taking a seat at the bench. “This is… you really do live in a whole other world to me, you know.”
He pulled a selection of deli meats from the fridge, some cheese and olives, caperberries and bread, then lifted a large wooden board from beneath the bench.
“I’m pretty sure there is only one world, and we are both on it.”
She rolled her eyes, reaching across for an olive, as he laid the selection of food onto the platter. It was salty and oily and plump – the perfect olive. She closed her eyes as the flavours filled her mouth, and when she opened them, he was staring right at her, desire unmistakable in his face.
Ivy blinked away, the heat between them making her inexplicably self-conscious. “Only one world,” she agreed, the words thick with heat. “But they look very different.”
His frown was infinitesimal. “In what way?”
She laughed softly. “Private jets, staff, mansions in Spain, Penthouses in London…”
“This bothers you?”
Her heart thumped hard in her chest. He was right. It did bother her, and that fact was a disaster, because it spoke of a desire for permanence that was absolutely unwelcome.
“It might if I wanted anything from you other than your beautiful body,” she said with an attempt at lightness.
It failed. She saw the warning flash in his eyes, the tightening of his mouth, and she resented the stupid comment immediately.
But his reaction was just a lightning bolt; he was himself again almost instantly.
“Come.” His smile burned her all the way to the soles of her feet. “Let’s go outside.”
She reached for the platter but he shook his head. “I’ve got it.”
She followed behind him, through the enormous living space with low-line white sofas and a white baby-grand piano, through enormous glass doors that led to the kind of outdoor area that would have been at home in a six-star resort. An infinity pool gave way to views of the ocean, citrus trees grew to one side, forming a green-screen and offering fragrant shade, and sun lounges provided the perfect spot to sit and relax. Towels were rolled on each, ready to be used.
“Your staff?” she prompted, as he placed the platter in the middle of a glass table, around which white wicker furniture had been set.
“Going to hold it against me?”
She smiled and shook her head. “How can I, when I find myself in the midst of heaven?”
He leaned down and kissed her, just a brush of his lips against hers, but fire arced through her body.
Perfection seared her soul.
But, that sense of completeness was a double-edged sword, and as she watched him disappear back into the house, a sinking sensation settled upon her. She would say goodbye to him, when it was time. The devastation she’d felt at losing Steve would be nothing to how she’d feel if Rafe were to end things with her before she was ready.
She surrendered to that knowledge, even when it made no sense academically. After all, Steve had been her life for many years, and Rafe she’d known such a short time… how was it possible that he posed an even bigger threat to her happiness than Steve?
Ivy didn’t know, but she acknowledged the truth, deep in her heart, and if anything, it only served to strengthen her resolve.
She had to be ever-ready, and to leave on her terms, when it was time.
She breathed in, tasting the sea, tasting it all the way into the pit of her belly.
When Rafe returned, it was with a bottle of his signature champagne and two flutes. Ivy watched him expertly uncork it and pour two measures, handing one to her.
“Thank you.” She frowned. “For everything.”
He arched a brow inquisitively, taking the seat beside her and putting one of his strong, tanned arms around her shoulders as though the intimacy was the most natural thing in the world. Pleasure, desire, guilt flooded her system. Her cheeks flushed.
“Everything?” He reached for a piece of cheese.
“For bringing me here,” she said quietly. “Especially today.”
She felt him stiffen.
“I don’t know what I would have done.”
He spoke slowly. “You would have got mad, as you should, then you would have got over it. Because you are not a fool, Ivy, and you know that this man is a part of your past. That he reaches out to you because he can’t accept the fact that you’re not in his life anymore.”
He was right. She knew it wasn’t about her so much as Steve, and what Steve wanted. What Steve couldn’t accept. It didn’t make it any less confusing, though.
“I wanted you to see my home,” he said after a few moments of quiet reflection had passed. A bird flew overhead, with big black wings and a bright patch of colour in the middle of its chest.
“Why?” Ivy drank her champagne, the taste forever intertwined with their first night together in her mind.
“Because it’s important to me.”
Panic flooded her veins. The sense that she was being pulled off the edge of a cliff without a parachute made her knees weak.
His words were reaching under her skin, finding purchase in the blood that massaged her body. She turned to face him, intending to say something serious, something boring, something that would tether them to reality. But then she saw him, she saw the way his handsome face, now as familiar to her as her own, glowed in the evening sun, the way he was handsome and strong, smart and kind, the way he was wealthy and confident without being arrogant or elitist, and words froze in her brain and her mouth.
And so she kissed him, instead, and it was a kiss that spoke of need and want, and also of confusion, because Ivy was awash with it.