‘You’re awake,’ Rafael said, surprising her because she hadn’t even been aware that he was looking at her. He looked across at her and his lips curved into a smile of pure sensuality. It was enough to make any woman do that impossibly Victorian thing of swooning.
‘How much longer before I’m home?’ was her response, and Rafael frowned, momentarily taken aback by a certain coolness in her voice. Immediately and generously, however, he put that down to simply waking up in a grumpy mood.
‘Half an hour at the most,’ he said. ‘But why don’t you come back to my place? We can carry on where we left off earlier …’ Just the thought of that was enough to put a smile on his face.
Cristina watched that sexy smile, and felt a sinking despair inside her. She had to remind herself that she was doing the right thing. It wasn’t even just that marriage, for her, was so much more than a sensible conclusion. There was also that niggling suspicion that if he didn’t love her, if he could never love her, then what would happen when the lust tapered off? Would he begin to regret his decision? Worse, would he seek entertainment elsewhere? Would he justify infidelity by telling himself that he had never promised her love, that his bargain had been to take care of her, provide for her and the children which he had already mentioned he wanted, and nothing else? He was very hot on making sure that no woman he dated ever got the wrong message. That way, she later thought, he could break their hearts without compunction.
‘I don’t think that would be a very good idea, Rafael,’ she murmured unhappily.
‘Don’t tell me that you’re going to start back on that bandwagon?’ he said tensely. He put his foot on the accelerator, switched off the music, which was now getting on his nerves, and stared ahead, swerving down a side road to escape the build up of traffic. ‘I thought all that had been sorted out!’
‘You mean because we had sex in your car?’
‘Don’t be crude.’
‘I’m not being crude. I’m being honest.’
For the second time, Rafael felt himself back on the treadmill, walking fast but going nowhere. This time, though, he wasn’t going to argue the toss. There was only so much any reasonable man, such as himself, was prepared to take. He had already argued his case and he wasn’t going to treat her to a repeat performance. He told himself that, suitable though she was for the role of his wife, there were plenty more fish in the sea. His mother would, naturally, be disappointed. She had taken an instant liking to Cristina, but then again his mother would not be the other half of the partnership.
He also told himself that it would be futile hitching his wagon to a woman who wanted declarations of love. It wouldn’t be long before the demands would begin—the complaints that he wasn’t attentive enough, the petulance and sulks. He thought of his ex-wife. Well, Cristina probably wouldn’t go down the road of throwing money down the drain on expensive trinkets, but who knew whether or not the infidelity would set in?
‘Fine.’ He shrugged in casual dismissal. Her distinguished converted Georgian house was now in view, and he turned down the wide, elegant street to pull up directly in front of her block.
‘Fine?’
‘Look, I’ve told you the parameters of this whole arrangement. If you can’t accept it, then you can’t accept it. You’re right. If you want to chance your future on a man who can promise you everything you want, then feel free to pursue the dream. As you pointed out, it’s no good being tainted by my take on marriage.’ Rafael grimly wondered what sort of man she had in mind to fill the woolly, candy-floss fantasies in her head. Some limp-wristed nerd who would help her arrange flowers in her shop and promise her happy endings that would never materialise?
‘However—’ he gave her a lazy, assessing look ‘—it’s going be tough finding Mr Right when you’re in love with me, isn’t it?’
Cristina felt her whole body begin to burn as those amazing eyes bored into her, making a mockery of feelings that she held precious, she thought. He was beyond cynical. Was that why he had pursued her with such confidence, had felt so guaranteed of success? She had been careful not to mention the ‘love’ word, but of course he would have known how she felt!
She wondered whether it had turned him on, knowing how powerful the effect he had on her was. Hadn’t she read somewhere that that was sometimes how it worked? You could physically be attracted to someone, at least for a while, not because they were your type, but because they were so mad—keen on you that it was an irresistible tug on the ego. Of course, after a while, it just became boring.