His Private Mistress Page 3

  Her tongue darted out to moisten her suddenly dry lips, and the unconscious gesture caused him to tense, the silence between them thrumming with electricity. For one dizzy, terrifying moment she imagined the feel of his mouth on hers, the shattering force of his kiss, but for the sake of her own self-respect she couldn’t go there again and she tore her eyes from his face.

  ‘No, thanks; I told you I have another appointment.’

  ‘Cancel it.’ His arrogant assumption that she would do so made her hackles rise and she gave him a scathing look.

  ‘I don’t do threesomes,’ she snapped, with a pointed glance at the bedroom door.

  ‘Anyways, it’s not an appointment exactly—I’m meeting a friend for lunch.’

  Rafe’s eyebrows rose quizzically. ‘Who is he?’ he demanded arrogantly, and Eden glared at him.

  ‘I don’t know why you assume it has to be a man, but his name’s Neville Monkton, he owns an estate-agency business in Wellworth.’

  ‘Not to mention an enormous pile called Monkton Hall,’ Rafe drawled.

  ‘How on earth do you know that?’

  ‘I know a lot of things,’ he told her coolly. ‘Is that the reason for your interest, Eden—you fancy becoming lady of the manor?’ He paused for a heartbeat before murmuring, ‘Does he have a brother?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she blinked at him dazedly. ‘Why?’

  His smile chilled her soul and she shivered at the savage bitterness in his eyes. ‘I think I should warn him that you like to keep things in the family,’ he murmured silkily, and her fury exploded, her hand lifting, but he caught it before it made contact with his cheek. ‘You seem to have developed a temper, cara, but then you were never the sweet-natured innocent you had me believe, were you?’

  ‘I was a gullible fool, especially where you were concerned, Rafe. I trusted you but you had your own agenda, didn’t you? It was in your interests to believe I was involved with Gianni—that’s why you refused to listen to me.’ She took a shaky breath and opened the door. ‘I was young and painfully naive and you walked all over me, but you won’t do so again. I’ve grown up, Rafe, I’ve seen you for what you really are, and quite frankly, I’m not impressed!’

  Chapter 2

  Rafe scoured the ballroom, his smile towards the numerous people who sought to catch his attention barely concealing his impatience. Eden hadn’t arrived. Maybe she wasn’t coming to the after-race party, although his personal assistant had issued an open invitation to everyone at the local Press office. Maybe she deemed an event to celebrate his win at the British Grand Prix beneath her, he thought darkly as he remembered the cool indifference in her voice when she informed him that she found him to be frankly unimpressive!

  Never in his life had he felt so insulted. He was no angel—Dio, he was the first to admit that—but he was five times Formula 1 World Champion, he spent his life thrilling packed crowds as he hurtled around a circuit. Yet Eden Lawrence was not impressed. She hadn’t been referring to his driving skill. In his heart he knew that, but the fact that she was unimpressed by the man, the real Rafael Santini, sat uncomfortably on his shoulders because she knew him better than most.

  He didn’t know what he had expected her reaction at seeing him again to be, but a healthy dose of gratitude that he was prepared to overlook the past and speak to her wouldn’t have come amiss. The trouble was, he hadn’t been able to dismiss the past as easily as he’d thought. Her appearance at the Press conference had startled him. Even though he knew she was back in Wellworth working as a journalist on the local paper he hadn’t really expected to see her at the hotel and he’d been unprepared, thrown off balance at the sight of her after all this time. He’d forgotten just how beautiful she was, or maybe not forgotten, just tried to bury the memory of her creamy, satin skin, eyes the colour of the sky on a summer’s day and that wide, full mouth. Even now he could feel the softness of her lips beneath his, he could taste her, but every time he closed his eyes he could see her kissing Gianni.

  ‘Rafe, do we have to stand here all night?’ Misa pouted prettily and glanced at him appealingly from beneath her lashes in a coquettish gesture that left him cold. After three months their relationship had run its course; all that loomed ahead were the tears and tantrums when he ended it, with the gift of a suitable trinket as recompense, he concluded cynically.

  ‘I’m quite happy standing here,’ he replied coolly, his gaze skirting to the ballroom entrance once more, ‘but obviously you’re free to go where you please.’

  ‘I don’t know why you decided to hold the party in this dump anyways,’ Misa muttered sulkily. ‘Where is Wellworth anyways? It doesn’t even have any decent shops.’

  Aware that she did not have Rafe’s attention, she clung to him and threw back her hair so that her breasts almost escaped the tiny scrap of material that masqueraded as a dress, but to no avail. Rafe’s gaze was focused on the woman who had just entered the ballroom.

  In contrast to Misa’s over-exposed charms, Eden looked as chaste as a nun in a simple navy-blue sheath that skimmed her breasts and hips. The long skirt had a discreet split that revealed one slender leg and when she turned Rafe saw that, although the bodice was high-necked at the front, the back was cut away, leaving an expanse of tantalising, silky skin.

  Elegant, sophisticated—Eden had grown up, he conceded, and felt a tug of primitive longing in his gut, so intense it was a physical ache. The most responsive, generous lover he had ever known, she wore her sensuality like a cloak, and his feet moved of their own accord towards her, pausing when he noticed that idiot estate agent, Neville Monkton, had beaten him to it. Abruptly he swung away and headed for the group of promotional models who worked for the various sponsors. They at least found him impressive and no way did he want Eden to think he had been waiting for her. If and when he decided to resume their relationship, it would be on his terms, he would be in control, and it was time his rampaging hormones understood that fact.

  ‘Eden, great to see you; you look stunning.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Eden smiled as Neville Monkton strolled across the ballroom to greet her. The obvious admiration in his eyes boosted her confidence, which was decidedly shaky. She hadn’t wanted to come to the after-race party. She remembered them too well from the year she’d spent with Rafe—but Cliff had pleaded and she hadn’t had the heart to refuse him.

  ‘I can’t go, not with Jenny about to go into labour any minute,’ he’d said. ‘A few details about the aftermath of the Grand Prix will round off your article nicely, especially if you can grab an interview with Santini.’

  ‘I can’t promise anything,’ Eden had muttered, recalling the interview she had already had with Rafael Santini, which was definitely not for public consumption.

  The party was exactly as she had expected, the ballroom packed with nubile blondes who made her feel distinctly overdressed. She couldn’t see Rafe and had no intention of looking for him; she was through with acting like a lovesick puppy and she smiled warmly at Nev.

  ‘If I’d known you were coming, I’d have offered you a lift,’ he said as he led her over to the bar.

  ‘It was a last-minute decision. Jenny was having twinges and Cliff didn’t want to leave her. But I didn’t drive, I came by taxi.’

  ‘Sensible if you want to have a drink,’ Nev agreed, ‘but I did bring the car tonight, so I’ll give you a lift home.’

  Nev was nice, Eden decided as she took a sip of deliciously cold Chardonnay. He was affable and uncomplicated, two of the characteristics she would look for in a man if she ever considered a serious relationship again. She was done with volatile, passionate, sexy Italians. She didn’t want a man who would take her to the edge of ecstasy—the inevitable fall was too painful and it had taken her four years to recover.

  ‘It’s quite a do,’ Nev commented as he eyed the magnificent buffet set out at the far end of the room, ‘but I guess Santini can afford it; he must be loaded.

  Didn’t you know him at one time?’
he asked curiously and Eden shrugged noncommittally.

  ‘Briefly, a few years ago.’

  ‘What about the brother, Gianni? The news of his death was pretty tragic. They said he couldn’t come to terms with being left unable to walk after his accident, and took his own life. Rafe must be gutted, especially as it was rumoured that he caused the accident.’

  The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled and Eden knew with absolute certainty that Rafe was close—she could feel him with every fibre of her body—and for a second she closed her eyes in despair. She didn’t want to feel like this, it had taken her a long time to get over him and she wouldn’t let one meeting ruin all that hard work.

  ‘I wouldn’t believe everything you read in the gutter Press,’ she told Nev coolly. ‘Rafe wasn’t responsible for Gianni’s crash; that fact was proved irrefutably.’

  ‘There was an intense rivalry between them though, wasn’t there?’ Nev pressed.

  ‘I understood they weren’t on speaking terms at the time of the accident.’

  ‘They were friends as well as brothers,’ Eden said shortly. ‘That’s all I know.’ It was not for her to reveal that alongside the competitive rivalry between the Santini brothers had existed a deep, enduring love that had seen Rafe believe Gianni over her. It was in the past, she reminded herself, fighting the memory of Rafe’s furious face and his scathing denouncement of her as a cheap whore who had played him and his brother for fools. She had barely tried to defend herself, too shocked by Gianni’s lies to even think straight, and afterwards, on the flight back from Italy, she’d concluded that Rafe had his own reasons for wanting to believe the worst of her. He’d been looking for an excuse to get rid of her.

  ‘Do you fancy something to eat?’ Nev asked as he steered her towards the buffet, but one glance at the mountain of food made Eden’s stomach churn.

  ‘You go ahead,’ she murmured, ‘it’s too hot in here for me, I’m going out on the terrace for a while.’ She swung round and her heart missed a beat as her eyes were drawn to the group standing a little ways off, with Rafe at its epicentre.

  He was taller than any man in the room but it wasn’t just his height and the breadth of his shoulders that drew attention, it was his air of authority, his power and magnificent arrogance. He was the world’s number one and it wasn’t just his skill on the racetrack that elevated him to hero status. He possessed a charisma that drew people to him, men and women alike, although inevitably it was women who surrounded him now, the usual array of groupies who were fawning over him while he took their attention as his God-given right. He glanced over at that moment, and she flushed at the sardonic amusement in his eyes that told her he was aware of her scrutiny. She swallowed and hastily dropped her gaze as he dipped his head in a silent, mocking greeting, and, dragging her eyes from him, she headed for the door to the terrace.

  The night air was cool on Eden’s skin, the mingled scent of honeysuckle and roses soothing her until a familiar voice shattered her peace.

  ‘All alone, Eden? Where’s your faithful lapdog?’

  No man had the right to look so decadently sexy, she thought bleakly as she sought to control her racing pulse. His black silk shirt emphasised the width of his shoulders, the top couple of buttons left unfastened to reveal the gold chain around his neck. He looked every inch the stud he was reputed to be, she decided with a grimace that she convinced herself was of distaste, not jealousy of all the women who had shared his bed. Wealth and magnetic sex appeal combined with stunning looks; Rafe had it all and she very much doubted that he had spent the last four years celibate. He’d been her first and only lover, but to him she had been just another notch on the bedpost. Why, then, did her subconscious cling to the belief that she was his woman, and why did her body instantly react to his presence as if she had been waiting and longing for him all this time?

  ‘If you’re referring to Nev, he’s inside and he’s hardly my lapdog. I don’t even know him that well. He’s a friend, that’s all.’

  ‘Not to mention the owner of Monkton Hall,’ Rafe murmured silkily. ‘Are you sure you’re not aiming to become the lady of the manor, Eden?’

  ‘You’ve already made that insulting suggestion, but to be honest I really don’t see that it has anything to do with you,’ Eden snapped, taking a step backwards when she realised how close Rafe was standing. For such a big man he moved with the stealth of a big cat, silent, menacing, waiting to pounce. Looking at him was a mistake, she realised as her breath snagged in her throat. If anything it was even worse than this morning, this awareness of him, this recognition of her soul mate. He was not her soul mate, her mind screamed. One-time bed mate, that was all he had ever been, but out here on the shadowed terrace the moonlight seemed to be mirrored in his eyes, calling her, drawing her back to him.

  ‘So tell me, cara,’ Rafe murmured, his deliciously husky accent shivering across her skin, ‘if you’re not back in Wellworth to snag a rich husband, what are you doing? You gained a reputation as a respected journalist with your work in Africa; why settle for a job with the local rag?’

  ‘I need a break,’ Eden admitted quietly, her eyes shadowed. ‘The last three years have been…hard.’ Culminating in the land-mine explosion that had nearly blown away her left leg, although she refused to reveal that snippet of information to Rafe. After he had ended their relationship so savagely she had returned to England, determined to bury herself in her career, and had been lucky enough to find a job as a reporter with a national paper. She’d been young, free and single and life in London should have been fun, but she had missed Rafe with a clawing desperation that seemed to get worse with every passing day, and the regular features about his love life in the tabloids hadn’t helped. The trip to Africa to visit her parents had seemed a good way of exorcising him from her mind; she hadn’t known that it would change her life.

  The poverty she had witnessed had been appalling, even before the military coup that had plunged the area into a violent battleground, and there certainly hadn’t been time to think of anything other than basic survival. Afterwards, when some semblance of peace returned, she had stayed on, so moved by the plight of the gentle people she had met that she had been desperate to help them rebuild their shattered lives. Even now, thinking about them hurt, and the realisation that Rafe believed her to be some sort of gold-digger hurt more.

  She took a step back, distancing herself from him mentally as well as physically, and Rafe cursed silently, frantically trying to control the violent emotions that surged through him. ‘I read your newspaper reports and saw the documentary you made,’ he said huskily as he recalled his feeling of helplessness and his fear for her safety. ‘How could you have put yourself in such danger that your life was at risk on a daily basis?’ His voice was harsh, rasping over her skin, and she could feel the tension in him, could see it in his eyes, which had darkened with an anger that seemed to be directed at himself. ‘If you had been with me I would not have allowed you to go.’

  Eden gave a brittle laugh. ‘You were the one to end our relationship, Rafe.’

  ‘With good reason, namely that you were screwing my brother!’ His temper was at simmering point again; she could see it in the rigid line of his jaw, his eyes burning like hot coals in his hard-boned face. ‘I couldn’t believe it when a year later I saw the news reports you managed to smuggle out of West Africa.

  What were you trying to do, atone for your sins? A two-timing harlot transformed into Mother Teresa!’

  ‘You bastard.’ Eden swung away from him, blinded by sudden tears that she was determined would not fall. She’d cried a river over Rafe Santini but she was over him; he couldn’t hurt her again.

  Rafe forced himself to uncurl his clenched fists and laid his hands flat on the low wall that ran the length of the terrace, resisting the urge to shake her.

  Like thousands of others, he had read the reports that had filtered out of the African state, detailing the violent clashes between opposing groups. He ha
d been horrified by the stories of barbarism inflicted on the local tribespeople caught in the midst of the conflict, but more shocking to him had been the realisation that it was Eden who had been trapped in the area, who had actually been taken hostage at one point and who’d risked her life to smuggle out her reports that alerted the outside world to the crisis. His first instinct had been to save her but he didn’t have the right to interfere in her life. He’d ended all involvement with her when he’d bundled her on the first flight back to England after finding her in Gianni’s arms, and he’d cursed himself for his weakness as he scanned the television channels in the hope of seeing her face.

  Eden spun round to face him and his heart clenched at the over-brightness of her eyes. Beneath that air of sophistication lurked the vulnerability he remembered so well and he fought the urge to pull her into his arms and hold her close.

  ‘I don’t have to stay here and listen to your insults. You never would listen, would you, Rafe? You were always so damn sure you were right. But I no longer care what you think; I’ve nothing to be ashamed of. I know the truth and so did Gianni.’ She waited for his anger to break over her, for the caustic words that in the past had tripped so easily from his tongue. His silence shocked her and the shadows in his eyes caused a tug of compassion in her chest. Rafe was hurting. He had loved his brother, and the tragic circumstances of his death must still be an agonising memory.

  ‘What if I was to listen now?’ he asked huskily, and for a second her heart stopped beating. ‘It’s too late to talk to Gianni, but you…’

  ‘You’re too late for me, too,’ Eden replied, hardening her heart against him although she was breaking up inside. ‘Four years too late. So if you’ve been attacked by a belated sense of guilt you’ll just have to suffer, and I hope you do.’ As she had, but no more—if Rafe had expected to find the pathetic pushover she had once been, he was in for a shock. It had taken a long time to win back her self-respect and she wasn’t about to lose it, however much her heart ached for him.