‘He seemed perfectly all right to me.’ She raised her head and looked him straight in the eyes, which made it difficult for her to stay in control of her wits which he had an unnerving ability to scatter.
‘If by “perfectly all right”, you mean he spent the evening leering at your breasts …’
‘I suppose now you’re going to give me that talk about how unsuitable my dress was. I suppose you’re going to tell me that what I’m wearing now is unsuitable as well …’
That focused Rafael’s gaze exclusively on her body, which she was offering to his scrutiny, her hands hanging limply at her sides as she awaited the expected verdict.
Like an accumulated and unstoppable force, Rafael felt a charge of desire so powerful that he balled his hands into clenched fists in an attempt to control it. But his head was running wildly out of control, remembering the feel of her under his hands, and the taste of her as she’d writhed beneath him.
His nostrils flared and he heard himself asking, in a harsh undertone, ‘Is this the first time you’re seeing him this week? Did he touch you? Have you been to bed with him?’ These were questions which in all fairness he couldn’t ask the man himself, not without sounding like an enraged and jealous lover, but he found himself asking them now and hanging on for her response.
‘Of course I haven’t been to bed with him! When do you imagine that would have taken place? I only met him last weekend!’
‘That says nothing,’ Rafael dismissed scathingly.
‘I’m not that type of girl. I thought you knew that much about me.’
‘Look at you! I once imagined that you weren’t the kind of girl who dressed to impress men, but I was wrong about that, so I can be wrong about everything else as well!’
‘I’m not dressing to impress men!’
‘Okay. Just Goodman.’ He waited in the expectation that she would deny such a provocative accusation, and was even more furious when she failed to do so. If she had just accepted his marriage proposal and everything it entailed, he would not be in this position now. It almost seemed to Rafael that she had taken a stance and then had proceeded to turn herself into a completely different human being. He had thought her perfect wife material: docile, good-natured, uncomplicated, with the added bonus of being very sexy indeed, especially in comparison to his usual diet of stick-thin women. She was, he had thought with satisfaction, the ultimate traditional woman and as such just the sort of person to compliment his demanding lifestyle, to accept his unpredictable work hours with no hint of complaint.
He looked at her now, felt that stirring in him again, and tactfully backed away out of natural reach.
He cursed himself for having been such a fool. He might have known that nothing in life was as simple or as straightforward as it appeared. As they said, there was no such thing as a free lunch.
‘Well?’ he demanded aggressively, unable to relinquish the sour taste in his mouth when he thought of her getting dressed in the turquoise cling-film with the sole intention of appealing to that toad Goodman.
‘Well what?’
Rafael caught himself in the nick of time. He was travelling down a dangerous road. He knew that. He was, above all else, supremely self-controlled and yet here he was, behaving like a kid with a severe temper tantrum.
‘Well …’ He turned away, in the mood for another glass of wine. ‘I came here out of concern. You’re new at this game, but if you dress like that …’ he informed her bluntly as he poured them both another glass. ‘You’re going to be sending out all the wrong messages.’
‘Rafael …’ Cristina remembered how complimentary Anthea had been on the subject of her new wardrobe, and really who was better equipped to judge a woman’s wardrobe than another woman? Anthea would have told her if anything she had tried on was wrong. She had been more than frank when it had come to telling her that she looked too round in something, or too drained of colour, or too short, or too anything else for that matter. ‘Loads of other women dress in tight clothes.’
‘Loads of other women don’t have your shape.’ Rafael thought of the ultra-thin women he had dated. They had certainly worn tight clothes and had looked good, but never as sexy as she did.
‘I realise I could lose a few pounds …’
‘You misunderstand me.’ He swallowed a couple mouthfuls of wine and watched her narrowly over the rim of his glass. ‘On you, with your body, tight dresses are a temptation no man in his right mind could resist. You’ve seen how Goodman couldn’t keep his eyes off you, and he wasn’t the only guy.’