His Suitable Bride(23)

‘If it’s flirting when I tell you that you look sexy, then I’m flirting.’ The roundabout approach was, he was finding, strangely enjoyable. Something of a turn-on, in fact.

‘Sexy? Me?’

Rafael leant towards her, his face still serious. ‘I’m a connoisseur of women and you have a very delectable body, Cristina.’

‘I’m … I’m not sure that I approve of … of having my body looked at … in that way …’ she stuttered, swallowing a deep breath. ‘I’ve never appreciated men who—who treat women like objects.’

‘And I apologise if that was the impression I gave you.’ Their food was placed in front of them, lots of little taster dishes, with the delicious aroma of coconut and peanut.

Cristina stared down at the fragrant selection, dismayed to find that, although she had been sticking up for her principles, she wished that she hadn’t wrecked the atmosphere in the process. And why kid herself? She had liked his remark. It had been out of order, but she liked that he had been looking at her body. Her mind had gone into overdrive and she had pictured him touching her. Just thinking about it now made her feel hot and bothered.

‘Okay.’ She smiled shyly at him. That was her way of flirting. She thought it might have been more coy if she hadn’t gone bright red, but she was new to this game.

Rafael, smiling lazily back at her, knew that he was winning, and a very pleasant game it was turning out to be too. Not for a moment did he think that he was being unfair, that he was using his tremendous and powerful appeal to sneak under her skin and break down her defences. Indeed, he thought that he was doing her a favour in not sitting her down and discussing with her, rationally and thoughtfully, the pros and cons of marriage as a business transaction. If that wasn’t respect for her values, then what was?

He raised his glass to her in an indolent toast and kept his fabulous eyes pinned to her face as they sipped their wine.

‘Do you know?’ Cristina confided as she finally closed her knife and fork on what had been a superb meal. ‘I feel as though I’ve known you for ages. Isn’t it weird?’

‘Weird,’ Rafael agreed. She was as transparent, he mused, as a pane of glass. There was no teasing ‘getting to know you, getting to know me’ game, no suggestive remarks designed to get his appetite whetted, no come-hither looks to pique his curiosity.

‘Except,’ she frowned, ‘I don’t really, do I?’ She linked her fingers together and stared at him, thrilling at the sheer beauty of his face, his sensational sexual allure. He was flirting with her, teasing her, and although she didn’t know why, because he could have snapped his fingers and had any woman he wanted on the face of the planet, she was happy to just accept the situation as it presented itself to her. She wasn’t someone who spent a lot of time analysing things. What good did that ever do? Growing up, she had had friends who’d analysed relationships into an early grave, and she had learnt that trying to read too much into things was usually a cause of unnecessary stress. Aside from that, her sunny personality was not given to brooding on possibilities.

Something about this man—and she knew it went way beyond the fact that he was stunningly, shockingly beautiful—went straight through her sexual reserve and struck at the very core of her.

‘How well do we ever know someone else?’ Rafael was amused by the ease she felt in his company. He wasn’t a fool. Even when women had been chasing him, even when they had been lying in bed with him, he had known that they had tiptoed around him, as though apprehensive that the man who made love to them could suddenly turn into a monster.

‘That’s a silly answer,’ Cristina said bluntly, and Rafael burst into laughter, highly amused at her response.

‘A silly answer … Nooo …’

‘No what?’

‘Nope. I’ve searched through my memory bank and I can’t recall anybody ever telling me that something I’ve said is silly.’

‘You’re making fun of me.’

‘Perish the thought!’ He ordered them both coffee and then sat back, relaxed, to hear where she would go from here. Surprisingly, they had managed to consume between them the better part of two bottles of very fine white wine indeed. Italian, naturally.

‘It’s just that you pretty much know everything about me. I’ve told you about my family, my sisters, my schooling, my flower shop. But you haven’t told me anything about yourself. I know you work hard and do something clever in business, but what else?’

Rafael thought of the never-ending hours of work he put in running companies that stretched across the world, and was amused to have it all reduced to doing ‘something clever in business’.