Millionaires: Rafaello's Mistress / Damiano's Return / Contract Baby. LYNNE GRAHAM
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her, wasn’t trying to please her. Caring concern and tact were not on his agenda. Suddenly she was facing unpleasant truths shorn of the hazy romantic images which had come from her own imagination alone. Of course Rafaello had not been on the flight out from England with her, of course he had not put himself out to come and meet her at the airport! All that he wanted from her was the use of her body. Casual, uncommitted sex. He had spelt that right out upfront. How had she managed to avoid facing that reality?
‘Please don’t be offended when I say that you don’t fit the usual mould,’ Jon Lyons confided in a wry undertone. ‘You’ll be history with Rafaello the minute he realises you’re emotionally involved.’
‘I’m not emotionally involved with him.’ Wanting to boil Rafaello in oil and make him suffer the tortures of the damned while she watched and gloated was not emotional involvement on Glory’s terms. In any case, she was not staying in Corfu to be a temporary distraction in any harem in the hills! Her brother, Sam, was safe. The theft charge had been withdrawn and her father had been reinstated. The crisis was over, the pressure on her already at an end. She had been able to confirm that on Saturday.
Sam had phoned her first thing that morning. She had been very surprised to learn that Rafaello had stayed talking with her father and Sam until well after midnight. What about the urgent business that had supposedly cropped up that same evening? Evidently, Rafaello had shown no apparent desire to cut his visit short. She had been even more surprised when Sam confided that Rafaello was, ‘OK … in fact, quite a cool guy and very talkative.’ To be frank, she had almost toppled over in shock when her kid brother had gone on to tell her that Rafaello had stated that in retrospect he felt that he might have rather overreacted to the whole situation.
Indeed, Rafaello had gone to extraordinary lengths to smooth matters over and Glory had been planning to thank him from the bottom of her heart for lying in his teeth. For, of course, he had been lying. She remembered how he had talked about having his home and his property ‘violated’ and had quite understood his feelings. But Rafaello’s generous attitude of forgiveness had released her brother from his brooding depression and anxiety. She had not expected Rafaello to recognise and understand just how vulnerable Sam could be.
That same evening Sam had phoned his friend, Joe, and, once reassured that confessing to stealing the snuff box would not result in his being charged in Sam’s place, Joe had come over to own up and apologise to Rafaello face-to-face. Joe had taken the box on impulse, thinking it would make a nice present for his mother’s birthday, but within half an hour of succumbing to temptation the teenager had panicked. He had hidden the tiny item in the Littles’ fuel shed sooner than retain possession of it and had hoped that something so very small would not even be missed at the Park.
Emerging from the recollection of that enlightening phone call from her brother, Glory lifted the tall glass and let her parched mouth rejoice in the refreshing fruit drink. Sam might be all right now but it really was time that she grew up and let go of her old memories of Rafaello Grazzini. Fanciful girlish memories based on what? A mere six weeks with him? She would be much better recalling the manner in which he had humiliated her at the end of that brief relationship. He had been cruel, unnecessarily cruel. Just as he was being now in a far more careless way.
‘If you want me to make that last flight, I should leave now,’ she heard Jon say.
Turning her head to glance at him in confusion, Glory only then realised that Jon had been addressing Rafaello, who was poised several feet away. She set down her glass and tilted up her chin, shutting out those dark golden eyes which could exercise such frightening power over her. ‘I might as well catch a lift with Jon if he’s going to the airport. I’m not staying.’
The younger man dealt her a startled glance before he walked back indoors, discreetly removing himself from the proceedings.
‘You’re not going anywhere, cara,’ Rafaello delivered with formidable cool.
‘And how are you planning to stop me?’ Glory enquired tightly, hanging on to her temper and her pain with fierce concentration, determined not to betray either or to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he had hurt her by allowing her to meet Fiona Woodrow.
‘With brute force if necessary.’
Glory opened her violet-blue eyes very wide to show how unimpressed she was by that threat. ‘You wouldn’t dare. I’d scream the place down.’
‘Noise doesn’t bother me. Being ripped off does, though.’
The tension sparked like invisible warning flares between them.
‘That’s right, be a real gentleman!’ Glory snapped. ‘Remind me about the callous agreement you forced on me—’
A winged black brow was elevated. ‘Forced? Didn’t you trek all the way to Montague Park on Friday night dressed like a tart just for my benefit?’
‘I was not dressed like a tart!’ Glory hissed at him in outrage.
‘Isn’t that just like a woman?’ Rafaello jerked loose his tie and cast it on the table. Her gaze widened slightly as, having undone his shirt collar, he proceeded to shrug with fluid grace out of the jacket of his suit. ‘Parade the bait and then go into pious denial when the victim bites—’
‘You are no woman’s victim, Rafaello Grazzini!’ Glory was infuriated by his line of argument. She had been desperate. She had believed that temptation was the only means of persuasion within her power. But whose fault was it that she had felt that she had to lower herself to that level? Who had spelt out those demeaning parameters? Who had made it brutally clear that in his opinion her looks were her only currency?
‘That’s right,’ Rafaello confirmed, his smouldering dark golden eyes holding hers full force. ‘Glad you’ve divined that fact. Do you recall how you tried to play me for a fool five years ago? Do you also remember how that ended? I wasn’t the one who fled in tears.’
‘You bastard …’ Glory framed in shaken outrage and pain. The very last thing she needed just then was the recollection of how devastated she had been at eighteen when he paraded her replacement, the merchant banker’s daughter, in front of her.
Rafaello discarded his jacket on the table alongside his tie. ‘I don’t let anyone call me that,’ he intoned in a lethal low-pitched drawl.
‘Well, I just got away with it!’ Glory slung in helpless triumph.
‘You’re not getting away with anything. It’s all going on an account to be rendered with your name at the top. Dio mio, you think I’m a fool?’
‘Look, I’m not going to waste time arguing with you.’ That unsettling reference to an account being rendered had chilled Glory to the marrow. ‘I’ll get a lift with Jon back to the airport.’
‘I said no.’
‘Oh, wow …’ Glory sounded out with syllabic thoroughness and all the scorn she could muster.
‘I warned you.’ Striding forward with an expression of calm intent stamped on his lean, strong face, Rafaello settled his hands to her waist and swept her off her feet.
In furious disbelief Glory swung back her arm and attempted to land a resounding slap on one hard male cheekbone but he ducked his head before it could connect. ‘How dare you do that when I want to hit you?’ she raged at him.
‘If you try to hit me again I might just dump you in the pool to cool off,’ Rafaello threatened with immovable cool as he hoisted her over his shoulder to prevent her flailing fists from doing any damage.
‘I can’t swim!’ Glory gasped in horror.
‘I’ll get into the water with you, then, but dip you I will,’ Rafaello swore, striding through the vast lounge into the hall.
‘I’ll call the police if you don’t put me down!’ Glory threatened in a rising screech.
‘What with? Alien antennae?’ Rafaello enquired.