Forbidden To Her Spanish Boss by Susan Stephens

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘A CALLFROM ROSE? Put it through.’

A slow breath pealed out of him when he heard the familiar voice. It was like a cooling draught in an overheated desert, where playing polo for his friend the Sheikh was more of an endurance test than a pleasure. Propping his hip against an ornate gilded console table, Raffa longed for the simplicity of Rose’s kitchen. He’d just kicked off his boots, after returning to his opulent, air-conditioned suite in the Sheikh’s palace to shower and dress for dinner. But speaking to Rose was far more important than donning a tux.

‘Are you okay? Is something wrong? Do you need help, Rose? Money?’

‘I’m fine, Raffa. Honestly. I just wanted to thank you for the package you sent.’

‘It was nothing.’

‘It was everything to me,’ Rose argued firmly. ‘I learned so much from my short time with the professor, and to think you went to the trouble of getting hold of a signed copy of his book with that lovely message, saying our chat was the highlight of his evening. Of course it’s important to me. I’ll treasure it.’

Silence could be as intimate as speech, he discovered. He’d discovered a lot of things with Rose. Neither of them rushed to break that silence as he remembered how pleased he’d been to see a professor he respected deep in conversation with Rose.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve kept you from your work.’

‘You haven’t,’ he assured her. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘Honestly, Raffa, don’t worry about me.’

Someone had to. He pictured Rose and dragged in a breath, as if the air around him carried her wildflower scent. ‘Are you busy?’ he asked, wanting to keep her on the line.

‘Yeah.’ She laughed. ‘Mucking out.’ There was a pause, and when he laughed, she added, ‘Did I say something funny?’

Apart from the fact that he had to get it through his head that Rose was no shrinking violet, or precious princess, but a stand-up woman who was almost certainly leaning on a pitchfork surrounded by dung. ‘Mucking out?’ he repeated. ‘Can’t you find someone to do that for you?’

‘Why should I?’ Rose sounded perplexed. ‘No one makes my horses more comfortable than me. They’ve missed me while I’ve been away, haven’t you?’

He recalled the ancient ponies on her farm, and wondered if Rose would use them for the animal therapy project. Almost certainly, he concluded. Rose thought of everything for everyone, including her horses. The old-timers would love nothing more than having renewed an interest in their lives.

‘I really have to go now,’ she apologised. ‘These babies are waiting to be fed—’

‘You called me,’ he reminded Rose, frowning. Why would she do that, unless she had something more important to say than thank you? ‘Rose?’ He stared at the dead receiver in his hand. They knew each other well enough for him to know when she was holding back. But why? Was it because whatever Rose had wanted to say couldn’t be said over the phone?

Concern leapt inside him. What was going on?

He called his sister, who confirmed his concern was well founded. ‘Rose is working all hours, trying to do everything herself. She won’t listen to me,’ Sofia told him with concern. ‘It’s as if she’s in a race to get everything in place for her father. I’ve never known anyone to work so hard. She needs you to slow her down, Raffa. You’re the only one she’ll listen to—’

He’d heard enough. His next call was to the Sheikh. Making his apologies on the basis of an urgent family matter, he booked a flight plan to Killarney and Rose.

Rose was in the middle of interviewing potential staff for the new retreat when Raffa appeared at the door. Surprise shot her out of her seat. ‘Your timing is terrible.’

‘My timing, as always, is impeccable,’ Raffa argued with a long, assessing look. ‘I’ve sent the candidates for lunch, so you can take a break. Have you eaten anything today?’

Rose’s heart started thudding. Raffa was taking control again. ‘You had no right to dismiss the applicants. I plan to eat as soon as I finish the interviews.’

‘You look tired, Rose.’

‘I’m not tired,’ she fired back. ‘Aren’t I allowed to be surprised to see you? If I’d known you were coming—’

‘You’d have made yourself scarce?’ he suggested dryly.

‘I would have carried on as usual,’ she insisted, straightening up, ‘but with a bigger break so we’d have a chance to talk. As it is?’ She shrugged. ‘I can’t spare the time.’

Ignoring that, he scanned the room. ‘Is this your bag?’

‘Yes,’ she said hesitantly. ‘What’s this leading up to?’

‘You might want to bring it with you. My assistant will continue the interviews, leaving you free for the rest of the day—’ He held up his hand when Rose began to interrupt. ‘The man taking over from you is Sofia’s trusted colleague. It was Sofia herself who—’

‘Sent in an enforcer?’ Rose suggested with an accusatory look.

He ignored that too. ‘When did you last eat or sleep? And don’t tell me you’re fine. I can see the exhaustion in your eyes. I’m here to help, Rose. I have resources. Use them. Allow others to pick up the slack before you fall asleep on the job.’

‘I can’t just walk out of here,’ she protested.

‘Why not? Delegate the rest of your work, and come back stronger and fresher.’

A wave of tiredness hit, making Rose sway in her seat. Just the mention of taking a break was so tempting. As was the concern in Raffa’s eyes. She couldn’t take much more of caring Raffa, before she ugly-sobbed and clung to him. And he did have a point. The retreat was well on its way to completion. They’d open soon, which would allow Rose to pull back from devoting every waking hour and most of the night to the project.

‘Ready?’ he asked from the door.

‘This won’t take long, will it?’ she asked, imagining a quick bite at the pub.

‘That depends on how long you’re going to take.’

The hint of a smile on Raffa’s face drew her out of the seat like a magnet. ‘I suppose I can take my lunch hour now.’

‘No suppose about it,’ he insisted.

But they didn’t stop at the pub. He took her in the car—she thought they were going to the Old Hall, to take a look at how things were going on. He drove straight past, continuing on to a destination unknown. ‘Where are we going?’ She glanced around as she sifted through the various possibilities in her mind.

‘To Spain,’ Raffa said casually.

‘What? I can’t go to Spain! I’m needed here.’

‘If I leave you here,’ he said calmly, ‘you’ll collapse with exhaustion. Thanks to your hard work the opening of the retreat has been brought forward. I see no reason why you can’t supervise the rest of the project remotely, as I do with many of my business concerns. Your father’s in safekeeping until he takes up his place at my sister’s retreat in Ireland, so there’s no reason why you can’t take a break. I can’t be sure you’ll do that, unless you come home with me.’

Home.Home with Raffa? Rose glanced around. ‘This is my home,’ she protested.

‘You can’t have two homes? You can supervise the therapy programmes remotely. Come back for a rest. Give yourself a chance to think clearly.’

If she was honest, for once in her life she was almost glad to be offered the chance to take a breath. ‘So, I shouldn’t worry about you trying to control me?’

Raffa huffed a laugh at that. ‘I control my work and my horses. I have zero desire to control you—that’s even if I could, which, I’m happy to say, I can’t. I wouldn’t change a thing about you—apart from your stubbornness when it comes to refusing to think about yourself.’

He wanted the best for Rose. Having seen her so free in his arms, he wanted her free all the time. She was working herself to death, trying to save everyone and everything, when it was as clear as day that what Rose needed was saving from herself.

‘The airstrip,’ she exclaimed as they passed through the gates. ‘But my letter of resignation’s in the post.’

‘So? I haven’t read it yet,’ he said with a shrug. Nor would he. ‘This isn’t about work, Rose. It’s about you taking a well-earned rest.’

She gave him one of her looks. ‘You have to kidnap me to make me rest?’

‘Appears so,’ he agreed.

The look on Rose’s face pierced his heart in a thousand different places. She was too tired to think straight, but his thoughts were all in order. ‘I want you back, Rose. You don’t belong behind a desk, organising schedules.’

‘There’s a lot more to my job at the retreat than scheduling.’

‘Training therapists?’ he suggested. ‘Trying to pass on the fairy dust that makes you so special? Come on, Rose, you’re a hands-on woman with exceptional skills. Are you happy to throw all that away?’

Rose couldn’t pretend she didn’t have doubts about the direction her career was taking. Once she’d set up the therapy programme there’d be very little hands-on work for her to do. Was it the loss of control or the loss of Raffa that was turning her upside down? There’d been no controlling her father in one of his rages. Had that left its mark? Was Raffa trying to control her, or was he trying to help?

‘You don’t have to devote every waking moment to work,’ Raffa insisted.

‘Says you, who’s mired in work,’ she pointed out.

‘I would never stop you leaving if you got a better offer, though I’d fight like hell to keep you—’

As his head groom?

Of course as his head groom. What more did she expect?

She didn’t want that to be her future. What Rose longed for more than anything was a proper work-life balance, and for that balance to include Raffa on both sides of the equation. She just didn’t know how to achieve it. Work had always been her safe space that allowed her to shut out everything else—the arguments at home, and the grief at the loss of her mother, and then, more recently, her ever deepening feelings for Raffa.

‘I’ll do anything I can to stop you making a fatal mistake,’ Raffa insisted as he swung the wheel to bring the SUV to a standstill at the steps of the Acosta jet. ‘But I refuse to stand by and watch you take a disastrous path that can only lead to a dead end. I know your potential, Rose, and I can’t let you squander it. Your father’s future is secure. What he needs now is space, so the professionals have the chance to help him. He’s at a stage where guilt is his main enemy, which is why it’s important for him to know that you have a life too.’

Rose exhaled and shook her head. ‘You know just which buttons to press.’

‘I have no ulterior motive here. I’m simply being honest with you, Rose. It’s time for you to let go. It’s your turn to fly.’

‘Taking my foot off the pedal at work doesn’t come naturally,’ she admitted, wondering if they were still talking about work. Was this polo superstar Raffa Acosta making his bid for the woman he believed was the best head groom, or was Raffa asking Rose to stay for another reason? This wasn’t a movie with a happy-ever-after ending guaranteed. Life was tougher than that.

Yes, Rose’s inner critic agreed, for once. When you want something, you have to go for it. You have to take risks—not all of them calculated. Sometimes it’s necessary to act on pure instinct.

And if that means returning to Spain?

Raffa hadn’t made a fortune in tech only to live in the Dark Ages. She could still be in touch with her father’s therapists and with the programmes at the retreat, as well as with her brothers and anyone else Rose needed to contact. There was actually no excuse for her to stay behind in Ireland. She could work anywhere in the world and still keep her foot on the pedal. But there was something to sort out first. ‘Even after a letter of resignation, you’d have me back?’

‘What letter of resignation?’

When he stared at her like that, Rose knew exactly what she had to do.