The Italian's Future Bride(27)

'Well, I want to fight with you,' Daniella said fiercely. 'Isaw you  throw yourself at Raffaelle the other night. Isaw his rage. I think you  and Elise are trying to blackmail him!'



Apart from the fact that she was so close to the truth it was scary,  Rachel had to feel for Daniella if only because she looked and sounded  so worried and protective of Raffaelle.



'And you aren't drinking alcohol!' Daniella said suddenly. 'Are you  pregnant, is that it? Did you have a fling with him, as well as your  sister, and now you're demanding marriage?'



Rachel stared at the other girl as if she had just grown two heads. Was  she psychic or what? 'I don't drink.' She iced out the lie with as much  calmness as she could. 'And repeat your accusations to Raffaelle, if you  dare,' she challenged.



Then she turned and walked out of the ladies' room. Raffaelle took one  look at her flushed angry face and stood up before she could sit down.



His arms came around her. 'Problems?' he asked.



Rachel shook her head, aware of the others listening. 'Just a-headache,' she offered as a very weak excuse.



'Then we will leave.'



It was not a suggestion and Rachel did not argue with him. As they made  their farewells Daniella came back to the table. One slicing glance at  her stepbrother and her chin shot up in defiance.



To make everything feel even worse, a camera flashed as Raffaelle was  helping Rachel on with her jacket. He'd lowered his head to kiss the  side of her neck in one of those loving displays he'd been putting on  all evening.



'What was it with Daniella?' he demanded the moment they were back in the car.



'She knows,' she responded.



'She knows what?'



'Everything,' she answered heavily. 'She thinks I'm blackmailing you over your affair with Elise.'



'You were blackmailing me,' he pointed out dryly.



'She also accused me of being pregnant because I wasn't drinking  tonight, and of having a fling with you at the same time you were with  Elise.' She grimaced. 'Great reputation you have there,Signor , when  even your own family can believe you are capable of swinging it with two  women at the same time.'



'She's fishing for information, that's all,' he answered coolly. 'And she-cares about me.'



'Lucky you,' Rachel mumbled.



'Do you say that because your family shows so little concern for you?'



That hit her right below the belt. 'My family care,' she insisted.                       
       
           



       



'Your uncle, maybe,' Raffaelle conceded. 'But even he made the quick  getaway once he believed he had established that I was not your  heartbreaker from Naples. I could have been lying to him. He did not  hang around long enough to put me to the test.'



'He's a busy man.' She shifted tensely on the seat next to him.



'Like your half-sister and-brother are so busy they have not had time to  check if I have chopped you into little pieces and dumped you in the  Thames?'



'Sh-shut up,' she breathed.



They finished the rest of the journey in silence. As they travelled up  in the lift to Rafaelle's apartment, Rachel stared fixedly down at her  feet and he-well, she didn't know what he was looking at but she had an  itchy feeling it could be her.



Once inside the apartment she headed for one of the spare bedrooms  because there was just no way she was going to sleep with him tonight.



He didn't try to stop her, which only stressed her out more. She slept  restlessly beneath a navy-blue duvet wearing only her bra and panties,  woke up early the next morning and remade the bed, then crept back into  the other bedroom to get some fresh clothes before Rosa arrived.



The plum-covered bed was empty and, by the look of it, Raffaelle had  enjoyed a restless night too. She glanced at the closed bathroom door to  listen if the shower was running, hoping to goodness that he'd already  got up and dressed and taken himself off to work and out of the firing  line.



'Discovered your sense of fair play,amore ?' a smooth voice murmured.



She spun around to find him standing in the dressing room doorway  wearing only a towel slung low around his hips. It was like being hit by  that high wattage charge again.



'I-thought you would have left by now,' she said without thinking.



He just smiled then began walking forward. Rachel started to back away.



'Slept well?' he asked her.



'Yes, thank you.'



'Need any help tying that robe?'



She glanced down, then released a gasp when she saw the robe she had  pinched from the other bathroom was hanging open revealingly. It was too  big, a man's full-length heavy towelling bathrobe that trailed the  floor at her feet and engulfed her hands. She'd thought she'd tied the  belt, but the stupid thing had slid undone.



'Go away,' she shook out, trying to fight with the sleeves so she could grab the two ends of the belt.



But Raffaelle Villani wasn't going anywhere. He just kept coming until  he was standing right in front of her. Then, while she mumbled out a  protest, he pushed her fingers away and calmly cinched the belt around  her waist. His fingers brushed the skin of her stomach as he did it. She  breathed in sharply. He ignored the revealing breath, finished his  task, then calmly turned away, dropping the towel from around his hips,  and strode like the arrogant man he was back into the dressing room and  closed the door.



It was the same as a slap in the face. She refused to sleep with him and  he was showing her that it made little difference to him.



Rachel ran into the bathroom and wished she was dead, because her body  was such a quivering mass of frustration that if he'd stripped the robe  from her and thrown her to the bed, she would not have stopped him.



Her day was long and she was tired by the time she trailed into the  apartment again. Rosa had gone home hours ago. Raffaelle was still out,  which allowed her some time for herself to take a long bath behind a  firmly locked bathroom door in an effort to relax some of the tension  grinding at her every nerve and muscle.



She stayed in the bath longer than she'd meant to. By the time she let  herself back into the bedroom she could sense more than hear that  Raffaelle was home, though he was not in the bedroom, thank goodness,  which gave her a chance to pull her jeans back on and a fresh T-shirt  before she heaved in a breath and went looking for him.



He was in the kitchen making himself a sandwich, the jacket to his suit  gone, white shirt-sleeves rolled up. He turned at the sound of her step.  Her stomach dipped. She found herself running self conscious fingers  through her curls.



'Ciao,' he said lightly. 'You look-pink.'



'I stayed in the bath too long,' she explained as naturally as she could.



He turned back to what he was doing. 'Want a sandwich?'



Her stomach gave a hungry growl. 'What's in it?'



'Take your pick,' he invited, pointing to the variety of salad things he  had already sliced up. 'There's cheese in the fridge, some chicken and  ham.'


                       
       
           



       
Choosing the ham because she saw it first, she took over and handed it  to him. Then surprised herself by staying there watching as he layered  fresh bread with salad stuff.



'Not going to offer to do it for me?' He arched a look at her.



'Not me,' she said. 'I might grow the produce but I can't cook it,' she  confessed. 'Ask me to make a sandwich like that and it will fall apart  the moment you pick it up.'



'No culinary skills at all, then.'



'Not a single one.'



'Any good with a coffee machine?'



'Hit and miss.' She grimaced. 'I'm an instant coffee girl.'



'Tragic,' he murmured. 'Give it a try anyway.' He nodded to where the  coffee machine stood. 'It's loaded and ready to hit the cup like the  instant stuff does, only it tastes better.'



'That's an Italian opinion.' She moved across to the machine and fed it a cup as she'd done two days before.



Two days, she then thought suddenly-they felt like years. How had that happened?



'Tony tells me you have been treading the miles again,' he murmured.



She turned to look at him curiously. 'How often does he report in to you?'



The wide shoulders gave a shrug inside expensive white shirting that  didn't quite stop the gold of his skin from showing through. 'Each time  you stop somewhere.'



'Do you think it's necessary? I mean, I haven't seen a glimpse of a reporter in the two days I've been out and about.'



'Then you would make a lousy detective.' Turning he pointed to the newspaper lying on the table.



Going over to it, Rachel saw a photo of herself sitting at a table in a  top Knightsbridge restaurant drinking morning coffee with its famous  chef owner. A flush arrived on her cheeks because, not only was she  aware that she had not seen the lurking reporter but she'd now realised  that the only reason why she had been sitting there at all was because  the chef had recognised her and his curiosity had been piqued.