The Thorn in His Side (7 page)

How many other families had he casually ruined? He didn’t care—men like him were geared to achieving a goal and to hell with whom they hurt in the process.

She sat down in the chair that was pushed behind her, just managing to bite back the polite thank you—good manners were as hard to break as bad habits and frequently much more inconvenient.

Not as inconvenient as her weird physical response to this man.

It wasn’t just the fact he was very easy on the eye, the most beautiful man she had ever seen or even imagined. She could not have reacted more strongly if she had
turned her head and seen a jungle cat standing in the air-conditioned office.

Or is it just me? Libby pushed away the half-formed thought.

His dark brows sketched upwards in mock admiration. ‘An impressive trick with the tears, although one you can only employ once.’ Far from being moved by women’s tears, he usually reacted to such displays of emotion with irritation.

Ironically it was her bogus tears that had got to him.

‘It always worked with my brother.’ The reminder of Ed brought a fresh rush of tears to her eyes, this time for real. Her shoulders slumped as exhaustion washed over her, taking with it her appetite for the fight.

Why had she come? What do I really expect to achieve? she asked herself dully.

‘This is pointless. I shouldn’t have come. I should get back … they’ll be wondering …’ Her voice trailed away. Had she even told anyone where she was going?

She banged her head with the heel of her hand and screwed up her face in a mask of concentration as she struggled to recall the exact sequence of events that had brought her here.

She was able to recall getting the idea of confronting the man responsible for the nightmare on her way back to the hospital with a change of clothes for Ed; presumably those clothes were still in her car. Her next clear memory was of landing outside this building, but no matter how hard she tried the in between remained fuzzy.

‘You were limping?’

Libby glanced down with lack of interest at her throbbing foot. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

‘Because I value your opinion so much?’ She laughed scornfully at the suggestion and added, ‘I turned my ankle, that’s all.’ It seemed a very long time ago.

‘Let me see.’

She looked at the dark head of the man kneeling at her feet and wondered how he got there. She closed her eyes but the room carried on spinning.

‘Your foot.’

Libby extended her leg. She was unable to repress a wince of pain as he eased the shoe off her swollen foot.

‘That looks painful.’

‘It’s not too bad.’

Ignoring her protest, he continued to turn her ankle from side to side, viewing the extent of the damage. His touch was clinical but surprisingly gentle. It took him a few minutes before he ventured an opinion.

‘I don’t think anything is broken.’

‘I could have told you that.’

He flashed her a look. ‘But I think you’d be a lot more comfortable with a supportive strapping.’ He aimed an assessing look at her pale face. ‘Wait there.’

Rafael was relieved to find that Gretchen was back at her post. She raised a brow of enquiry. Who knew what garbled story the other woman had told her? But she didn’t waste time asking questions when he told her what he needed.

Back in the office he found Libby where he had left her looking if anything even paler. Her expressive eyes turned his way but remained worryingly blank.

He cursed softly under his breath. She had been running on adrenaline and hate and the tank had finally run dry.

‘You’ll be more comfortable here, I think,’ he suggested, nodding towards a sofa—one of a pair set against one wall of his office. He had slept on it himself on more than one occasion when after a late meeting it had not seemed worthwhile going home only to return a couple of hours later.

He was laying her down when Gretchen walked in carrying everything he’d asked for.

‘Been making maidens swoon again?’

Rafael acknowledged the riposte with a twisted grin. ‘I think it might be a good idea to bring some tea—make it sweet.’

‘I’ll make it now, and a couple of aspirin?’ Gretchen said, glancing at Libby. ‘Hello again.’

Libby had to blink hard to bring the woman’s face into focus and wondered why the beautiful blonde looked familiar.

‘I’m just going to put some ice on this. It will help the swelling.’

Libby winced as the ice touched her bruised skin.

Leaving the compress in place, he selected an appropriate bandage from the first-aid box Gretchen had brought.

Gretchen herself returned a moment later carrying a tray. ‘Tea is … too late.’ She nodded towards the sleeping girl. ‘Out flat. A friend of yours?’

‘More an acquaintance,’ Rafael said shortly.

‘Any idea how she got like this?’

Rafael considered her pale sleeping face, refusing to identify the emotion he felt break free as tenderness. ‘Some …’

Gretchen produced a printed slip from her pocket. ‘Does this offer any clues?’

It was a boarding pass for a transatlantic flight. Rafael studied the time and date.

‘So she was getting off a flight from New York at …’ His eyes widened as he bit out a curse. His mental calculations suggested that his vengeful redhead had been on her feet for a hell of a long time.

The surprise was not that she was out for the count, it was that she’d stayed upright as long as she had! Refusing to acknowledge the emotion he felt tighten in his chest, Rafael turned abruptly away.

He had made it a point never to place himself in a position where he felt responsible for someone else; to this end he had successfully avoided emotional ties.

This woman might need a keeper, but it wasn’t him.

L
IBBY
shook herself free of a deep sleep, stretching like a kitten as she tried to work out where she was and how she got here.

Rafael saw the moment her memory returned.

‘Oh, God!’ she whispered, sitting bolt upright.

Libby turned in the direction of the drawled, ‘Hello there.’

‘What have you done to me?’

‘Other than drugged you and had my wicked way with you, you mean?’ Rafael, who was slouched elegantly in a leather-backed swivel chair, closed the lid of the laptop open on the desk in front of him and got to his feet.

Libby felt the embarrassed colour rush to her cheeks; to say she felt at a disadvantage would have been putting it mildly. She watched under the screen of her lashes as the tall figure shrugged on the jacket slung across the back of his chair and approached exuding an aura of energy. Feeling utterly drained and flat, she felt exhausted just watching him.

If exhaustion was the only thing he made her feel she would have felt a lot happier.

Had he been sitting there watching her? The possibility made her feel vulnerable.

She covered her mouth, unable to repress the drowsy yawn. ‘What happened?’ It was frustrating not to be able to remember.

‘Nothing dramatic. You fell asleep.’

Libby shook her head. ‘Why would I fall asleep?’

He raised a brow. ‘A tough one that, but let’s think, shall we? Could it possibly have anything to do with jet lag, no sleep, no food? Or even all three.’ He watched her flush and added as an afterthought, ‘And then a large dose of emotional pyrotechnics.’

‘Oh!’

He arched an ebony brow. ‘Coming back, is it?’

Libby gave a tight-lipped nod and flung a murderous glare his way for good measure.

‘I’m very sorry to have inconvenienced you,’ she began, swinging her legs to the ground. She broke off, catching sight of the bandage on her ankle.

‘Before you ask, I put it there. I think I did a good job but I’d get it checked over with your doctor if I were you.’

‘You!’

His stern classical features relaxed into a smile. ‘It was my good deed for the day.’

Libby reminded herself that under the smile—it made him look years younger—he was still the same ruthless, cold-blooded predator.

‘Am I meant to say thank you?’ she enquired, adopting an air of studied disinterest.

‘I’d prefer it if you took a deep breath!’ He accompanied the command with a cutting motion of his hand. ‘And tell me slowly and clearly this time why you are here without the histrionics.’

‘I’ve already told you and I might just as well have talked to that wall.’ She nodded towards the white wall
lined with a row of artistic monochrome photographs that portrayed wild and rugged seascapes. ‘Well, you might not listen but I’m sure there are a lot of people who will.’

Had she felt so inclined she knew it would not be hard—success and scandal were two things that people liked to read about.

She had no intention of taking a route that would expose her own family to the glare of public scrutiny but she saw no reason to share this information with him—let him worry.

Rafael pinned her with a stare that would have made ice cubes look warm.

‘A word of advice.’

Libby got stiffly to her feet and planted her hands on her hips. ‘You know where you can stick your advice, don’t you?’ She doubted anyone she knew would have recognised this rude Libby; she barely recognised herself.

‘I can guess.’ The flicker of amusement again, but this time it seemed forced, only momentarily lightening the grim cast of his extraordinarily handsome face.

But even the suggestion was enough to fuel the flame of her ire, she was being as nasty and abusive as she knew how and he thought it was funny! Short of kick him in the shins—he’d probably kick her back—how did you inflict damage on someone like him?

‘I was going to say that if you are going to defame a person’s character make sure there are no witnesses. It makes you extremely vulnerable to legal action.’

‘Am I meant to be intimidated?’ Laughing, Libby tilted her head back to direct her defiant glare at his face. ‘I’m only “vulnerable”, as you put it, if what I say is not true, so bring it on!’ she challenged, wagging a finger
at him. ‘I’m sure the media would just
love
the story,’ she observed as she wiped a hand across her gritty eyes. She had to look a total wreck.

For a split second their eyes connected, glowing gold on swimming blue; suddenly the air between them shimmered with the explosive tension that materialised without warning.

Libby’s heart rate quickened; in the moment before he turned abruptly away she saw the shock flicker in his amber eyes and knew he was feeling it too.

Her breath still coming in breathy, uneven gasps, Libby dropped her accusing finger and watched as he walked unhurriedly across to a leather swivel chair set beside his desk. The quiver of appreciation that tightened her stomach muscles as she observed his progress made her deeply ashamed.

She could deal with his threats; the raw, rampant sexuality he exuded was another matter.

Libby barely registered the discomfort as the half moons of her pearly fingernails gouged reddened grooves into the flesh of her palms. She dashed a white-knuckled fist across her eyes. It seemed such a massive betrayal to allow herself to notice that he moved with the innate elegance of a feral creature, let alone be fascinated by it or excited by the leashed power suggested in his smallest action.

Not that it was a matter of
allow;
allow implied there was some sort of choice and Libby did not have choice. That was the scary part—she had no control whatsoever over her reaction. The realisation filled her with a mixture of shame and alarm as she felt her body react to him.

Her firm jaw clenched. She
hated
this happening, and she hated Rafael Alejandro. She struggled to gain
some sort of objectivity. This wasn’t about the man, it was about the intense physical magnetism he exuded.

Sanity and self-respect lay in separating the two … It
sounded
easy. Who knew she could even feel this way? Who knew that she could look at a man she loathed and think about his hands on her skin, his mouth on her—? Libby shook her head, refusing to complete the thought.

It seemed a good time to remember that she wasn’t a very highly sexed person, she never had been—imagine how bad this could be if she were!

She squared her jaw. It was mortifying but it was just something she’d have to endure until this temporary insanity passed or he vanished from her life, whichever came first. She had no doubt at all that both would happen.

She lowered her lashes in a protective screen as he slipped the button of his beautifully cut grey jacket. Underneath he wore a white shirt with a thin silver stripe running through it. His narrow silk tie was the same shade of silver.

The man might be a total reptile, but there was no doubt that he had style and no morals, she reminded herself as she dragged her gaze from the suggestion of muscular ripple as he lifted a hand to rub it back and forth across his dark hair, causing short strands to stand up before he smoothed them back with a preoccupied expression.

What, she wondered, was he preoccupied by—the next person he intended to grind beneath the heel of his handmade leather shoes?

It was massively frustrating, she decided as she struggled and failed miserably to gauge the expression
on his lean face. All she could see mirrored in his eyes was her own reflection looking back at her.

Libby sighed. Had she really expected to see a flicker of remorse from the heartless bastard—
beautiful
bastard, she corrected silently as he gracefully folded his long lean length into the chair.

The taut silence that had built up grew thicker as Rafael Alejandro, who appeared oblivious now to the nerve-shredding tension, stretched his long legs out in front of him and leaned further back, pushing his head into the leather headrest as he rested his chin on the platform of his steepled fingers.

Rafael’s initial response to her earlier harangue had been outrage—she had offended him on every level—but as she had continued to throw the ludicrous heated accusations at him outrage had receded to be replaced by an equally strong desire to wipe that haughty look of disdain from her face and see it replaced by desire.