Forbidden To Her Spanish Boss by Susan Stephens
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘BROODING?’ ROSEASKED Raffa towards the end of the evening.
A helicopter beating a noisy retreat overhead spared him the need to supply an answer. It would have been necessarily brief. If he couldn’t explain to himself why his past failings still haunted him, or how he woke in the night, believing he’d effectively killed his parents, how could he put into words how he felt about Rose, or how he feared losing her, as he’d lost others he’d loved? Watching Rose’s reunion with her brothers had brought it all back to him. Seeing his own brothers—some married now, and seemingly free of the past—had made him question whether he deserved that same level of freedom.
‘Your guests are leaving,’ Rose prompted. ‘Shall I report to the helipad, or to the stern where the small boats are leaving?’
‘You’re not leaving,’ he exclaimed with surprise. ‘You’re my guest.’
‘That’s why I plan to go back with the rest of your guests. This has been one of the best nights of my life. I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘By not thanking me,’ he insisted, frowning. ‘There’s no need.’
‘Raffa?’
‘Yes?’ He stared down, then tensed as Rose put a comforting hand on his.
‘I’m happy to stay, if you’re feeling...’
As she searched for an appropriate word—one that wouldn’t cause offence, he guessed—he changed his mind about having her stay. It would only lead to more hurt for Rose. ‘You should leave on the last tender.’
‘At least you’re not saying I must leave,’ Rose qualified with a glint of humour in her eyes. ‘Can I be honest with you, Raffa?’
‘Of course,’ he said stiffly.
‘I don’t think you should be alone tonight.’
He laughed as he made a dismissive gesture. ‘Do you seriously think I’ll be alone?’
She followed his glance around the still crowded deck. ‘You know what I mean. Sometimes I think we’re like two lost souls, grieving and hurting, then shrugging it off, which solves nothing. We heal nothing,’ she stressed in a soft yet intense tone. ‘If you and I don’t talk to someone—and for me, I’d like that someone to be you—we’ll never move on. Don’t,’ she begged when he began to disagree. Reaching up, she placed her fingertips against his mouth. ‘Please don’t say there’s nothing wrong, or that you’re fine. That’s been my mantra for years now—for all the good it’s done me.’
There was another long pause, and then he suggested, ‘My study?’
The chance to share quiet time with Raffa was the only birthday gift Rose craved, but with each step closer to Raffa’s study, she worried that by the time they arrived in the privacy of his room he’d have changed his mind about opening up. Keeping things locked inside him was such a habit, there was no easy way to start talking.
He switched on the light and closed the door behind them. ‘Sit,’ he invited, indicating an easy chair. She perched on the edge, while he crossed the Persian rug, with its long history and muted shades, to a spectacular glass unit where he kept his drinks. Pouring two generous measures of brandy, he offered one to Rose. She accepted the fine crystal balloon, but even the smell of the alcohol was enough to put her off. ‘Do you think I could have a glass of water instead?’
‘Of course. Don’t drink the brandy if you don’t want it.’ Filling a tumbler with ice, he topped it up with pure spring water.
‘Won’t you sit too?’ she asked, knowing this was the best chance she had to stop Raffa strapping on his guilt even tighter. No one liked to admit to an Achilles heel. How much harder must that be for a man like Raffa Acosta? She knew what haunted him, because she felt the same need to fiercely protect everything and everyone she cared about. ‘I build barriers,’ she admitted with a shrug. ‘So do most people until they’re sure of their ground.’
‘What are you trying to say, Rose?’
‘That I understand you.’ She paused. ‘I respect you. You’re a great boss, and, of course, I want to have everything—my job with you, my place in Ireland and more besides...’
‘What more besides?’ he demanded, frowning.
‘Don’t you know?’
‘If you insist on talking in riddles, I’ll never find out.’
As he began to pace the room, she took the chance to open up a little more, in the hope of encouraging Raffa to do the same. ‘The past made me afraid to show my feelings—afraid to risk my heart. I thought I couldn’t live through the pain of losing my mother, and decided it was better not to feel anything ever again. Now I realise that nothing can erase the past, so I think of the good times—the fun we had—baking together, the laughter and charades at Christmas before she became sick. When I confronted the alternative, which was to stay home with a drunken father, getting nowhere, doing nothing, I finally came to terms with my mother’s death, and realised that what she’d wanted for me was not to stay home and take her place, but to assume a moral responsibility for the family, so I could keep her purposeful, upbeat spirit alive. But to do that meant leaving home, so I could make enough money to keep things afloat.’
‘You can see that now,’ Raffa interjected. ‘But you’re just as guilty of beating yourself up. Deathbed promises can be misleading, and it’s only natural you worry about letting your mother down.’
‘That hasn’t changed,’ she admitted, ‘but I’m equally sure your parents wouldn’t expect you to hold yourself responsible for their deaths. Forgive me, Raffa,’ she added gently. ‘I don’t want to step on your grief, I’m just trying to say, in my rather clumsy way, that we’re fighting the same demons, you and I.’
Raffa remained silent for so long, she began to wonder if it was a hint for her to leave. She decided to test the theory. ‘I apologise if I’ve overstepped the mark tonight. After such a great party, I should keep my mouth shut, and only open it to say thank you.’
Raffa’s short, humourless huff wasn’t much, but it was a start, and Rose clung on to it with relief. ‘Forgive my silence,’ he said after a few more tense moments had passed. ‘I haven’t talked about my feelings to anyone. The shock of losing my parents was overwhelming. There was no chance for a last hug, or for me to tell them how much they meant to me.’
‘There’s never enough time for that.’
Another pause, and then he met her concerned stare head-on. ‘You’ve never had a problem being forthright, have you, Rose?’
She smiled ruefully. ‘Isn’t that why you hired me?’
‘I hired you because you’re the best,’ Raffa confessed with a shrug. ‘There was nothing more to it than that, until...’
‘Until?’ she pressed.
‘I don’t like fate to notice those I care about.’
‘Fate’s pretty busy, and can’t be mean all the time,’ she countered in an attempt to lighten his mood.
‘Trust you to put a positive spin on fate’s intentions, Rose.’
‘Whatever fate has in store for me, I’ll cope. I’m here for you, if you need me, but if you’ve just brought me here to say the sex is great, but you feel nothing for me—’
‘That is not why I brought you here.’
They stared at each other for a long moment, and then crashed together, two powerful forces colliding. There was no submission or mastery, and no holding back, either. There was only matching hunger and equal need. Raffa swept his desk clear. Clothes went flying everywhere. Nudging his way between her thighs, he sank deep with a roar of satisfaction, only equalled by Rose’s cries of release. There was no finesse, none needed. They strove with full concentration towards the next staggeringly intense release. It wasn’t once, twice or even three times that Rose’s rhythmical cries of pleasure echoed around Raffa’s study, until finally she lay utterly spent in his arms.
‘Again?’ he teased.
She dragged in some much-needed air. ‘What do you think?’
When they were quiet again, Raffa mused huskily, ‘I only wish there were more time to spend with you.’
‘So, you’ve no time for sailing on your yacht, or having sex with me in your study?’
‘You deserve more than that, Rose. As for the yacht?’ He gave a casual shrug. ‘It’s useful for business.’
‘My bike’s useful for getting to the village from the farm, but I don’t make it an excuse for living in the past. I’ve seen you torment yourself, and I’ve felt the repercussions. I understand you, because I spent years being stoic, and thinking I could take it. And it was true to some extent. I could take pretty much anything until you came along and opened up a well of feeling inside me. But you helped me too, because now I know I’d rather feel and bleed and cry than remain numb and sensible. I’m hungry to experience life, with all its challenges, and learn every step of the way. And if I can eventually raise a family to do the same, I’ll count that as the greatest achievement of my life.’
‘I can’t offer you what you hope for, Rose, and I won’t take the risk of you being hurt.’
‘Isn’t that up to me?’ she demanded, frowning. ‘It sounds to me as if you’ve decided to take the easy option and quietly back away.’
‘Quietly?’ Raffa raked his hair. ‘There’ll be nothing quiet about it.’
‘Then open up,’ she challenged. ‘Offload some of your guilt. You’re always telling me to share the load. You won’t be free from the past until you do the same.’
‘I would never do anything to hurt you.’
‘Coward!’ she flung at him with frustration. ‘What do you think you’re doing now, if not hurting me? Why can’t you be honest with both of us? You refuse to risk anything but your body, and that will never be enough for me. Am I wasting my time?’ she demanded.
‘Rose—’
She brushed his comforting arm away. ‘Lots of people live busy lives and still find time for love. What I need is you, constant and unchanging, not holding back emotionally because you think you’re going to hurt me. Let me decide about that. We find it easy to laugh together, and challenge each other, why can’t we turn that into something deeper? I’m not made of rice paper. I won’t break if we go at it hammer and tongs. I’ll come back fighting. You know I will.’
Raffa inhaled and drew himself up. ‘I decided some time back that I would never have a family, because I don’t have the time a family deserves. I’m a busy man with global interests. No one benefits from being dragged from pillar to post across the world.’
‘You have your yacht,’ Rose pointed out with exasperation. ‘You can take your family and your home with you. Why can’t you adapt your life like everyone else? Haven’t you seen your brothers do that?’ Something flickered in Raffa’s eyes that drove Rose to press on. ‘Or are you just too damn selfish to compromise? I refuse to believe that. A man who cares so deeply for his siblings must, in some deep part of him, want to recreate that same sense of warmth and love.’
‘Children deserve parents who have time to lavish affection on them,’ he argued stiffly.
‘The same affection you lavish on your horses?’ Rose suggested. ‘Are you saying you can find time to do that, but you won’t be able to show your children that same level of attention?’
‘Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself, Rose?’
‘Maybe I am,’ she admitted. ‘And maybe I don’t care. You’ll marry someone one day—if only to hang on your arm at events. I care about you, Raffa. Can’t you see that?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘I have responsibilities towards the people who work for me. The families that depend on my companies for their livelihoods. What will they do if I’m distracted by a family of my own? How can I possibly—’
‘I don’t know,’ Rose flared, all out of patience. ‘Why don’t you ask your brothers? These excuses are weak. You’d find ways to make things work. Love is hard, and it can be cruel. It can hurt like nothing else, but when it’s right, it’s wonderful and transforming for those with sufficient courage to claim it.’
‘Are you calling me a coward again?’ Raffa said hotly.
‘Where romantic love is concerned? Yes.’ Maybe he wasn’t the man she thought he was. Maybe the infamous Raffa Acosta was just too selfish to spare any part of himself. ‘When I choose someone to spend the rest of my life with, it will be a man who shares everything with me, as I share everything with him—and on every level, not just sex. I don’t want some big spender who can put on a show, but who balks at the small things that really matter.’
‘Is that how you see me?’
He looked shocked. If Rose could have taken back her angry words, she would have done. Emotion so often prompted exaggeration, and right now she was drowning in the stuff. Heat flooded her face as she remembered the small, thoughtful packages Raffa had sent while they’d been apart, and then tonight, the wonderful birthday party. Maybe the fault wasn’t all with him. Maybe she was guilty too.
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘That’s not how I see you. You’re generous to a fault, and always thoughtful. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful—’
‘I don’t want you to be grateful,’ he roared. ‘I didn’t throw tonight’s party to impress you. I arranged it because I care about you.’
Raffa cared about her. Shouldn’t that be enough? What was wrong with her? Did she have to try and spoil everything? The last thing she wanted was a fight. Why was she constantly building obstacles between them as fast as Raffa dismantled them? Would it be such a terrible thing to work for him and sleep with him?
Yes. Worse. It would be a disaster. When Raffa married, as one day he would, Rose would be left pressing her nose against the glass, and that would be the end of her. She’d have to leave her job, and then what would become of her father?
Turning her face away so he couldn’t see her expression, she spoke in a false bright tone. ‘Well, I’d better be going. I don’t want to overstay my welcome. Don’t worry about me getting back. I’m a seasoned campaigner when it comes to taking small boats to shore.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Raffa stated firmly. ‘It will be more time efficient to fly back on the helicopter.’
He sounded as if he were solving a minor transport hitch for one of his employees. She’d asked for that—begged for it, by mentioning romantic love, when Raffa couldn’t have made it clearer that that was the last thing he wanted.
She hugged herself close to hide the fact she was shivering as he called up the pilot, to warn him there’d be another flight tonight. Well done, Rose. She’d ruined a perfect evening. Perhaps Raffa was right to keep his feelings in check where she was concerned. Perhaps Rose should try doing the same thing herself. He was already scanning documents on his desk, so she couldn’t see his expression, but she didn’t need to see his face when the tension in his back told its own story. ‘I’ll say goodbye, then...’
Silence. ‘Thank you again for a wonderful evening,’ she tried again. ‘I’ll never forget it—’
‘I’ll never forget you. Rose—’
She almost jumped out of her skin when Raffa swung around. ‘Go,’ he prompted with a glance at the door. ‘You don’t want to be late for your lift.’
Moving restlessly on her cosy bed in her cosy room at the ranch, feeling anything but cosy, Rose knew she had no one to blame but herself. Thanks to Raffa, her birthday celebration had been perfect, and she had to go and spoil it, by trying too hard to unlock him, while selfishly holding back on her own feelings. She wouldn’t know the extent of the damage she’d caused until he returned to the ranch. Waiting only made things worse. Why hadn’t she thought to ask him when he’d be back?
The peal of the phone shook her out of her dismal thoughts, and in one of those rare cosmic moments, she knew who it was. ‘Raffa?’
‘I’ll be home tomorrow.’
Home? He made it sound as if they lived together in an altogether conventional way. How nice would that be?
‘Call a full meeting of grooms for tomorrow at midday in the stable block.’
She shot to attention immediately. ‘Yes—’ He didn’t give her time to ask if he needed anything else, before cutting the line.
That was not a call from brooding Raffa, or sensual Raffa; that was a call from her boss. Well, at least she could get one thing right. She had a fantastic team. The stable block ran like a well-oiled machine. Noon tomorrow, they’d all be on parade.
Having delivered Raffa’s message to the other grooms, she set about cleaning out the stables. The rhythmical application of a scrubbing brush was great for ordering her thoughts. She scrubbed harder than usual today. Having parted on such bad terms with Raffa, she’d do anything she could to restore some ease between them. His phone call hadn’t been exactly reassuring on that point, but even hearing his voice was better than nothing. She was glad she’d handwritten a note to thank him for the party. Her mother would countenance nothing less. Some things from the past should be cherished, Rose had learned, while others were best discarded. It was just sorting out which was which that was the problem...a problem she and Raffa shared. It would be nice to sort that problem out together, but that was clearly a dream too far.
If she became his mistress, Rose’s inner niggler insisted, she could still have a career, and advise on Sofia’s projects. She’d be in a far better place to help her father with Raffa’s private transport at her beck and call.
Sell her soul for a free ride on a private jet? No, thank you! She wanted more than jewels and a jet. She wanted Raffa’s heart. If he still had one to give.
Dios!What was Rose Kelly doing to him? No woman had ever got under his skin like this before. He was piloting the helicopter from the Pegasus to his ranch, not even waiting long enough that morning to pack a bag, and all because of Rose. He’d called the meeting to arrange a rota to exchange staff between Ireland and Spain. Rose was crucial to both set-ups. He wanted her to be flexible and not feel trapped. Business was not the only reason he was returning to the ranch. Rose was the main reason. Rose, and the unfinished business between them.
As he hovered over his vast estate, snow-capped mountains glinted in the distance. A rip of adrenalin surged through his veins. The thrill never diminished. This was his kingdom, his passion, his life’s work.
So you are capable of feeling emotion. You just don’t want the inconvenience of anyone laying their emotional needs on you. Land just is. It doesn’t answer back. Right?
He hummed thoughtfully. Landing smoothly, he released his harness. Instinct told him where she’d be.
He found Rose exactly where he’d expected to find her, in the stable talking quietly to one of his ponies. Standing in a beam of light, she looked otherworldly, sensual, lush, ravishingly beautiful. ‘D’you mind if I join you?’ he asked.
She started at the sound of his voice, but just as quickly recovered. Her eyes analysed his manner in an instant, and a slow smile lit up her face. ‘Hello,’ she whispered. ‘Welcome back. Come on in. Be my guest.’
‘Too kind,’ he murmured wryly. ‘How are things, Rose?’
Better now, her kind eyes told him, but there was a shadow behind Rose’s eyes that spoke of something else. They’d parted badly. His fault. Wanting to protect Rose from himself was not going so well. As she began to detail everything he needed to know about the ponies, he let her continue for the sheer pleasure of watching her mouth form the words, when what he really wanted was for Rose to break off and fling her arms around him, tell him that she’d missed him. He wanted those capable, work-worn hands on him now.
This was agony, way beyond frustrating, Rose thought as she chattered away. All she wanted was to tell Raffa how much she’d missed him and loved him.
And suspected she might be pregnant with his baby?
No. Not that. Not now. Not yet. Let them have this moment first.
Rose was as regular as clockwork, never late...never two weeks late, as she’d realised last night. She’d rushed out first thing this morning and bought a pregnancy test to confirm or discount her suspicions, and would use it as soon as—
The pony standing between them in the stall stamped its hooves as if impatient for them to get on with it. Forced to blank her mind to what might or might not be, she swooped down to collect up her grooming kit. Standing up brought her face to face—or, more accurately, face to chest—with Raffa.
He stared down. She stared up. He reached out first, but his fingertips only had to brush her skin for her to launch herself into his arms. Their kiss was fierce and reassuring. She wanted it to last forever, but her fellow grooms, reliable as always, chose that same moment to arrive.
‘Wipe away those tears,’ Raffa whispered against her mouth. ‘Or they’ll think I’ve sacked you.’
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she whispered back.
‘Try me,’ he challenged with a bone-melting smile.
They weren’t healed, but this was a giant step in the right direction. To hear humour from Raffa made happiness surge through every part of her. They were back. He was back. It was back—the humour that connected them.
He’d need that sense of humour if she was pregnant.
He turned serious. ‘Have you eaten yet?’ he asked with concern.
‘I will when I’ve finished my work—and then there’s the meeting, don’t forget.’
‘You never finish work,’ Raffa remarked dryly, ‘and there’s just enough time before the meeting—’
‘To eat?’ she queried. No. She thrilled, reading Raffa’s expression.
‘Leave that now,’ he insisted.
Rose doubted anyone noticed them leaving. They crossed the yard hand in hand, fingers entwined as they walked purposefully in the direction of the cookhouse, and then on past the door.