The Thorn in His Side (8 page)

Rafael wanted to see those beautiful eyes shimmer, not with loathing, but with helpless lust; he wanted to see those lips, not tight with condemnation, but soft and tremulous in anticipation of his kiss.

Rafael did not doubt his ability to bring about these changes, but why would he? Why should he? She was
exactly
the sort of high-maintenance female he avoided.

There were any number of women who were flatteringly grateful for any attention he gave them, women who were only too eager to tell him how marvellous he was.

Rafael was suddenly filled by a compelling need to hear this spitting red-headed virago tell him how marvellous he was. It was almost as powerful as the desire he felt to feel her soft body beneath him, to hear her
soft moan as he parted her lips and plundered all the hot sweetness within.

Libby felt the slow sweep of his eyes as they journeyed with excruciating slowness up from her toes, she felt it like a burning brand. It took all her will power to stand there and endure the insolent leisurely appraisal.

It seemed to Libby it just went on and on. Finally unable to maintain her defiant pose, she snapped.

‘Are you marking me out of ten?’ The moment the cranky remark left her lips Libby realised she was inviting a massive put-down, and she firmed her slender shoulders in preparation.

The moments stretched and as no put-down was forthcoming she watched warily as his dark lashes lifted, exposing the dark bands of colour along the angles of his high cheekbones. The impact the molten heat burning in his stare had on her drew a gasp from low in her throat and made her stomach muscles clench viciously.

‘Fishing …?’

Libby blinked to clear the buzzing in her head. ‘A compliment from you?’ She made a sound of scorn and curled her lip.

Head tipped a little to one side, he studied her flushed furious face before concluding, ‘The sneer could do with some work, but the self-righteous diatribe, now that,’ he admitted, shaking his head slowly from side to side in an attitude of mock admiration, ‘I was impressed and I am not easily impressed.’

‘I can die a happy woman.’ And if her heart rate didn’t slow, Libby thought, clamping a hand to her chest, that might be sooner than later!

‘I particularly like the way you managed to ignore inconvenient things like facts.’

‘One fact,’
she bit out fiercely.

Rafael’s laconic drawl cut across her retort. ‘Yeah, I know,
querida,
I am the devil’s spawn.’ He gave a grin that was dangerously close to the role he cast himself. ‘And responsible,’ he continued, expanding on the mocking theme, ‘for everything from global warming to the national debt situation.’

‘Responsible,’ she corrected grimly, ‘for the destruction of my family.’

His brows lifted at the dramatic pronouncement. ‘You do not look very
destroyed
to me.’ His eyes drifted to her mouth. ‘A bit shaky on your feet.’ The indent between his dark brows deepened as Rafael noted the almost transparent pallor of her skin, a pallor that emphasised the violet smudges beneath her eyes.

Her vulnerability shone clear through the bolshy pose. Hate and pride were the only things that had got this woman back on her feet, Rafael realised as he fought off a strong and totally uncharacteristic urge to pull her into his arms.

Rafael had learned, admittedly not quickly enough to save himself from a couple of beatings and being left literally penniless, to subdue his compassionate instincts. Falling for a sob story and a sad face, even a pretty one, was not a good survival instinct for a teenager fending for himself.

Instead of opening his arms Rafael pulled out a chair. It was far safer and he was no longer a boy with chivalrous ideals intact.

Libby, even though her knees were shaking, ignored the unspoken invitation with a sniff.

‘Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?’

Libby swallowed the knot of emotion lodged like a boulder in her aching throat, her jaw tightening as she
silently vowed not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

‘I did not come here for a cup of tea.’

‘So why did you come?’

Libby blinked and thought, Good question. ‘We’ve already covered that and the really tragic thing is you still don’t have a clue.’ She shook her head slowly from side to side in an attitude of weary disbelief.

‘Have you ever cared about anyone but yourself? You haven’t even got the guts to admit when you’re in the wrong,’ she charged in disgust. ‘You’re completely …’ She stopped and thought, What’s the point?

His brows lifted. ‘Completely what?’

‘Forget it.’

‘It’s a bit late to worry about my feelings. Say what you think, don’t hold back,
querida,’
he drawled.

His mockery sent a fresh rush of re-energising adrenaline through Libby’s body. ‘I’m not worried about your feelings!’ It was news to her that he had any. ‘Fine!’ He wanted to know, she’d tell him. ‘I think you’d do anything including sell your own grandmother to make a profit, you don’t care who you hurt getting what you want, wouldn’t know a scruple if it bit you and … and … and …’ suddenly intensely weary, she felt her anger drain away, leaving her feeling flat and utterly exhausted ‘… and don’t call me that!’ she finished lamely.

He raised a sardonic brow and got to his feet in one lazy fluid motion. Libby took an involuntary step backwards, sucking in a shocked little breath.

Rafael’s glance slid to the blue-veined pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. In his mind he was running his tongue across the skin there, tasting the salt, tasting her … He blinked to clear the distracting image,
unable to recall when he had been so totally consumed by hunger for a woman.

He refused to over-analyse. It was no mystery, just sex. And sex had never been a problem for him. It was relationships that Rafael ran shy of, at first because they required time and energy he had needed to focus to succeed, and later when he had established himself he realised that a life with no emotional encumbrances, no emotional dramas, suited him.

He had lived pretty much all his life out of a suitcase, rarely staying in one place more than a few months, never long enough to put down roots or form close friendships, and domesticity held very
little charm for him.

He was always upfront with women, never pretended he wanted more than a physical relationship. Rafael had become an expert at reading the signs, knowing when a woman felt she was
the one.

Her reaction appeared to amuse him. ‘I don’t bite,
querida.’
His sensuous lips tugged upwards into a lazy smile that sent Libby’s stomach into a lurching dive. ‘Unless of course requested.’

Libby shivered even though the purring addition had sent her core temperature up several degrees. She wanted to respond to the voice in her head that was shrieking, ‘Run,’ but pride wouldn’t allow her to.

Libby, eyes narrowed, took a step forward to regain the ground lost by her retreat both literally and figuratively, determined to show that she wasn’t intimidated by him in any way.

A gleam flashed amusement and his grin deepened as he murmured approvingly, ‘Good girl.’ She might be a spoilt little rich girl, but if Marchant had as much
guts and loyalty as his daughter the situation might have turned out very differently.

‘Your
approval
—my life is complete,’ she said sarcastically.

‘T
HAT’S
going a bit far, but I do think you have … potential. And I really don’t think you want to get into the game of assigning guilt because if you did the subject of your father’s loose grasp of the most basic rules of business arise.’

Rafael’s scorn stung Libby. ‘My father is twice the man you will ever be!’

He appeared unperturbed by the charge. ‘Possibly,’ he conceded.

‘And it’s not Dad’s fault, a lot of businesses are suffering, it’s the economic downturn, he just needed time—’

‘To do what? Play another round of golf?’

Libby reacted angrily to the scorn in his voice. ‘My father blames himself for what has happened. He feels responsible for the people who are losing their jobs.’

‘He is right to blame himself,’ Rafael, who had studied the numbers, retorted.

Libby responded with protective anger. ‘If my father is such a loser why did your grandfather have faith in him?’

‘I am sure he had his reasons.’

The contempt etched into his face made her see red. ‘None that you’d understand,’ she flung back. ‘Your
grandfather was a decent man. It’s a pity you didn’t inherit some of his integrity.’

During the short static silence that followed her outburst Libby watched the muscle in his lean cheek clenching. She could actually not take her eyes off it—or him.

His expression was like stone as he turned and began to walk over to the big antique desk that dominated the room.

Libby watched him warily, mystified as much about the suppressed emotions he was emanating as his actions. Her bewilderment deepened as he took a key from his pocket and, without a word, fitted it to a drawer in the desk.

His dark lashes lay across the sharp angle of his jutting cheekbones, effectively screening his expression from her curious gaze. Frustrated, Libby watched as he appeared to scan the top sheet of the sheaf of papers he extracted from the drawer. She started slightly as he turned on his heel and began to walk back across the room towards her with them in his hand.

There was a pronounced sneer of distaste stamped on his lean patrician features as Rafael dropped the papers in her lap. ‘This is my grandfather’s integrity,’ he drawled. ‘Go on, take a look,’ he urged. ‘I think you will find it educational.’

Libby stared at the papers. ‘I don’t understand.’ Her face lifted to his. ‘What are they?’

‘It is a contract between my grandfather and a development company.’

She gave a bewildered shrug. ‘What has that got to do with me?’

Rafael leaned across and, turning to the second typed page, he stabbed his forefinger on the relevant
word. ‘Does that look familiar?’ he asked, lifting his hand away.

Pushing the damp curls from her face with one hand, she looked down at the passage he had pointed to. ‘Is all this mystery stuff really necessary?’ She picked up the papers and waved them at him. ‘Why can’t you just say what is so …?’

A word on a fluttering page caught her attention and Libby stopped mid-sentence, snatching the page in question free of the binder.

‘How … how is this possible? The house … What—’ she demanded in a quavering voice ‘—is this?’ She lifted her gaze, her eyes brushing his before dropping back to the paper.

‘It is an agreement drawn up between my grandfather and a development company signed, sealed and just awaiting the signatures. Unfortunately for Aldo he died before he had a chance to call in the loan he gave your father, which had always been his intention.’

Pale as paper, Libby shook her head in a negative motion of rejection. ‘No!’

The muscles along Rafael’s strong jaw tightened as he drew in a shuddering breath through flared nostrils. Her refusal to abandon her belief in his grandfather’s integrity and her readiness to assign the worst possible motives to him evoked a seething frustration.

Libby’s fingers trembled as she turned a page, and she gasped when she saw the figure that leapt out at her. ‘But it’s not worth that much—nowhere near,’ she protested as she breathed through a wave of nausea.

Rafael met her startled gaze and provided a simple explanation for the staggering amount on the page.

‘With planning permission for an out-of-town shopping complex a formality, it is worth that much … almost
certainly more. My grandfather had an over-inflated opinion of his ability but any half-decent businessman would have got a better price.’

Libby, white-faced and shaking with the impact of these revelations, struggled to take on board this information. The home she had loved was to be turned into a shopping centre?

‘They want to knock down our house?’ If this was true, did Rafael plan to follow through with this diabolical scheme? ‘But this
can’t
be right. Your grandfather was helping Dad—he was his friend.’

‘My grandfather never put friendship ahead of profit in his life. When he offered your father a loan he knew that he would be unable to repay it and your father didn’t examine Aldo’s motives too deeply because he wanted an easy way out, and not one that required any sacrifice or work on his part. He is a lazy man who inherited a healthy business and ran it into the ground. He enjoyed seeing his name on the letterhead that appears to have been the limit of his enthusiasm.’

‘My father put his family ahead of his work.’ Unlike some of her friends’ fathers, her dad had always been there; he never worked late.

‘Your father put
everything
ahead of his work.’

Libby, shaking her head, lowered her gaze.

There was some sympathy in his eyes as he studied her downbent head. ‘You know what I’m saying is true.’

Libby compressed her lips and felt guilty as hell because he was right; she had recognised that there was a grain of truth in his accusations. ‘At least my dad wasn’t a crook!’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And he’s
not a callous bastard like you.’

‘Oh, my grandfather never did anything illegal.’
Aware that the charge of callousness had been aimed at him, Rafael did not attempt to deny the charge.

Her eyes shot wide. ‘And you think that makes it all right? How proud your grandfather must have been of you. A regular chip off the old block,’ she jeered.

Unprepared for his reaction to her words, Libby physically recoiled from the lick of white-hot rage she glimpsed in his compelling deep-set eyes. But more disturbing than this was the low, almost feral sound that was dragged from Rafael’s throat. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

‘I was nothing to him, and he was less than nothing to me.’ Nostrils flared, he snapped his fingers expressively.

Conscious that she had inadvertently hit a nerve, Libby knew the sensible thing would be to back off; instead she heard herself say belligerently, ‘It looks to me like you had no problem steeping into his shoes.’