Forbidden To Her Spanish Boss by Susan Stephens

CHAPTER SEVEN

WITHTHEFAIRYTALE well and truly over, Rose slipped out of bed, grateful that Raffa slept on while she debated what to do. Should she wake him and tell him the news? Didn’t he have enough on his plate? Leaving a note was better, she decided, but how to explain in a few dry words what last night had meant to her? There weren’t enough words—or enough time, she realised with a glance at her watch.

Hunting around, she found pen and paper in the nightstand, and wrote a quick note.

Please forgive me. I didn’t want to disturb you. A text from my brother says there’s trouble at home. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. In touch as soon as possible. R

A member of the crew, accustomed to ferrying strangers of one ilk or another, took her to shore in one of the small, fast boats stored in the hull of the superyacht. From there it would be a cab ride to the airport, and a swift journey home. Fretting as she stared back at the sleek, shadowy form of the Pegasus, Rose wished she’d said thank you on the note to Raffa for the opportunities he’d given her...for everything.

She should have known the roller-coaster ride she’d seen her parents take was pretty much the same for everyone. Tightening her hands around the frigid steel rail, she determined to find her way back to the upside of that ride. Wallowing in self-pity was a complete and utter waste of time. What she needed now was resolve and the strength to turn things around.

If you’ll have me back once I’ve found a solution for my father, I’ll see you in Spain.

She cast this thought into the wind whipping her hair about, which was about as effective as trying to stem the tears pouring down her face. Action was what was needed now.

A curse of regret, of frustration, of determination, flew out of her mouth. Knuckling her eyes, she stemmed the tears. No way would she stop searching, until she found the answer for her father’s addiction, and a way forward for herself.

He woke slowly, basking in sensations of complete satisfaction from the previous night. Reaching for Rose, he found her side of the bed cold. Instantly alert, he sat up to see the sheets had been straightened. The entire suite was silent. Was she back in her stateroom, swotting for that morning’s interrogation, as Rose liked to describe his probing into her experience with horses? No one was more dedicated to her work than Rose, and he had yet to find a gap in her knowledge.

Rolling over on the bed, he picked up the phone to call her room. It rang out. His next call was to the purser. It shot him out of bed. Add resourceful to Rose’s list of accomplishments, but in this instance, she’d taken things too far, leaving the Pegasus by motor launch some time shortly after dawn. His first response was stone-cold anger. How could she leave him without a word after all they’d shared? Was it possible he’d misread her character so badly? He’d told Rose things he’d never told another soul. And she’d trusted him. He had believed the confidences they’d shared had connected them on a deeper level. Obviously, he was wrong.

Had she thrown away the chance to work on his ranch? Was that all it meant to her? ‘Gran Dios en el cielo!’ If this was what it meant to have feelings, feelings could go to hell!

He showered and dressed, and only then saw the note. Snatching it up, he read it quickly, then brought it to his face.

What the hell am I doing?Do I think it might contain a trace of her scent?

He gave a bitter laugh at his foolishness.

Trouble at home? What did that mean? Rose had cut him out when he could have helped her. Obviously, she didn’t agree. Was this anger the result of a blow to his pride? If Rose was in trouble, she needed him. As a concerned employer he had a duty of care to his employees.

To hell with that! Rose came first, employee or not.

Whatever nightmares the past had held, Rose would never abandon her responsibilities without good reason. She had put her family first, which was exactly what he would have done in her place. Making a call, he filed a flight plan to Ireland.

How would Raffa feel when he read her note? Hurt? Puzzled? Angry?

Rose ground her jaw as the cab took her to the Garda station where her father was being held, knowing it would likely be all of the above. He’d trusted her, and confided in her, and she’d walked out on him, as if the things they’d shared had meant nothing to her. She’d tried texting him, but for some reason the texts wouldn’t send. Was Raffa blocking them? Who could blame him? He could only think the worst of her.

She had to put those thoughts aside as the cab slowed and parked up. She’d promised her mother to look after the family, and that was exactly what she’d do.

Spain seemed like a distant dream when Rose learned how bad things were. The officer in charge explained that her father, who was currently sleeping it off in a cell, had assaulted his carers during a drunken rage, and it had taken two strapping members of the Garda to subdue him.

‘You can’t expect anyone to take care of him outside of a hospital facility,’ the officer insisted. ‘It’s not safe to be around him.’

‘I’ll take care of him.’

How?How?

The question banged in her brain. This was so much worse than she had imagined. She’d been thinking she’d have to find new carers, now it seemed she might have to take their place, which meant giving up her career—never seeing Raffa again. But, what else could she do, when family was everything?

Lifting her chin, she stared into the officer’s eyes. ‘He’s my father. I love him, and I’m here to take him home.’ The how, when and where would have to wait. The deathbed promise Rose had made to her mother would always come first.

She would sort this out, whatever it took, although the bank manager she’d called from the cab had said there was no money in the farm’s account. There were no magic wands, either, so she’d begged him for a couple of weeks to sort things out. Thankfully, he’d agreed, but she had two weeks and no longer.

The irony was that Rose had left Ireland in the first place in order to earn enough to keep the farm afloat and pay for her father’s care, but now—Her heart lurched with pity and love as her father shambled along the corridor towards her. Everything would have to change, she realised. ‘Come on, Dad. Let’s take you home.’

Piloting an aircraft calmed Raffa. Learning to fly as a teenager had been a revelation. He’d become a better planner because of it, thorough and more meticulous. Logical decisions became instinctive, when patience was vital, rather than a virtue. The circumstances of his parents’ death had brought out the worst in him. Flying had improved his angry resentful clay, fashioning it into something close to a decent human being. Forgiving himself for leaving them that day would never happen, but becoming a pilot had given him the calm he needed to go on. He’d need those qualities in Ireland. His team had supplied more information about her father, which made him even more concerned about Rose.

His jet sliced through the brightening sky on autopilot, giving him the chance to reflect on their time together. Not just the sex, but the quiet times in between, when they’d talked and shared and listened. That was new to him. Zany, beautiful, unique and caring, Rose was a completely new experience for him. She’d willingly sacrifice everything she’d worked so hard for to take charge of her father’s care, and she had opened a window on the part of him that had been shuttered for years. Far from regretting the feelings she’d stirred up inside him, he understood why she was racing back to save her father. Family was everything to him too. What that meant for his ranch, and Rose’s unparalleled work as his head groom, was something he’d soon discover.

Love was a strange and indelible curse, but overall it was a blessing, Rose concluded, feeling the warm glow of familiarity, with all its upsides and downsides, as the cab splashed through the mud in the yard to pull up outside the familiar ramshackle farmhouse. It had taken all her powers of persuasion to get the driver to take them anywhere with her father still marinated in booze.

Love didn’t rely on being fed with regularity, or even handled with care, Rose concluded as she glanced at her father slumped in the corner of the cab. Love just was, and she loved her father. He wasn’t a bad man. He was a weak man. What made it easier to face the future ahead of them was remembering the man who’d cried in her arms when her mother died, the man who knew full well how sick he was. That was the man she’d come home for, the man she’d search heaven and earth for to find him a treatment.

Not that a moment of panic didn’t grab her as the taxi driver helped her to manhandle her father out of the cab. But then she remembered Raffa’s words. You don’t know how strong you are until you’re tested.

‘Come on, Dad. We’re home.’

Rose opened the farmhouse door with her father trailing behind. It was hard to know whether to follow his bleary stare and discover where he was hiding the bottles, or go straight on in. Feed him first, she decided, and then go and hunt the bottles.

There could have been no bigger shock when she opened the door. Far from the neglected, cold stone hearth she’d been expecting, a fire was roaring, and the ancient scrubbed table in the centre of the room was loaded with food.

The noise that greeted them was tumultuous. Half the village seemed to have turned up to welcome them home. The warmth of good neighbours embraced her, her father too, and not as the local drunk but as someone in need of compassion and love.

‘Ah, you didn’t think we’d leave you on your own,’ Máire, the warm-hearted owner of the local bakery, exclaimed as she wafted away Rose’s thanks. ‘I knew your father when we were at school together, before the drink turned him bad. I’ll be taking him to live with me and my boys when you go back to Spain.’

‘I can’t let you do that,’ Rose exclaimed. Her best guess was that Máire’s five strapping lads ate the profits of the bakery as it was, and if her father was as violent as the Garda said he was, would any of them be safe?

‘But you are going back to Spain?’ Máire asked with a worried frown.

‘I don’t see how I can,’ Rose said, shaking her head. ‘He’s my responsibility—’

‘You’ve got your own life to lead,’ Máire said firmly. ‘Your father won’t get into trouble with me,’ she added, wrapping a capable arm around Rose’s shoulders. ‘My boys will keep him in line. If we can’t be neighbourly in a small place like this, what hope is there for the world? And my lads will be only too glad to help you with the horses.’

Great riders, all of them, and kind to their animals, Rose quickly assessed. ‘That would be wonderful—’ All of Máire’s suggestions would be wonderful, but Rose had never turned her back on a problem yet. ‘Maybe in the short term,’ she reluctantly agreed. ‘And I can’t tell you how grateful I am, but I’ll be paying for your time—’

‘That won’t be necessary.’

Everyone turned to face the door.

‘Raffa?’

Stunned rigid, Rose’s brain simply refused to compute the fact that Raffa Acosta was framed in the doorway of the ramshackle farmhouse where she’d grown up.

Her face heated up in response to his level black stare. The last time she’d seen him, he was sprawled naked across the bed they’d shared. ‘You’re here,’ she managed lamely.

‘Evidently,’ he agreed blandly.

Private jet.Fast car waiting on the tarmac, Rose’s brain rapidly deduced. The sight of him, hair rumpled as if he’d got out of bed and come straight here, not even bothering to tuck in his top properly, sent a bolt of lust straight to her core. Jeans, boots and a leather jacket with the collar both up and down completed the picture of a man whose world could shift at the speed of light.

‘Let me get you a drink,’ Máire offered, stepping in between them to break the awkward moment. No one else spoke. They were too busy staring at superstar Raffa Acosta, a man of myth and legend in a village where horses, and everything connected to them, were practically a second religion.

‘Would coffee be possible?’ Raffa suggested, his gaze not wavering from Rose’s face for a moment.

‘Why don’t I get you a glass of water while you wait for the coffee to brew?’ Rose suggested, glad of any excuse to escape that burning stare.

‘Did you know he was coming?’ she whispered discreetly to Máire.

‘Declan said—’

‘Declan?’ Rose interrupted with surprise. ‘Raffa’s been speaking to my brothers?’

‘There’s no law against it, as far as I know,’ Máire told her with a shrug. ‘Apparently, your man has business in Ireland.’

‘He’s not my man,’ Rose whispered hotly, and just as fast she regretted the outburst. ‘Sorry, Máire—I just didn’t expect to see him here.’

Was she that business, or did Raffa have other plans? Rose wondered, conscious of his stare on her back. When she handed him the water, he was careful not to touch her, she noticed. She couldn’t blame him. Lifting her chin, she confronted the harshness in his eyes. ‘Well, this is a surprise,’ she murmured.

‘Isn’t it?’ he bit out.

‘You read my note?’

‘I wouldn’t be here otherwise.’

‘I’m sorry for the way I left.’

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’

Rose opened her arms in a helpless gesture. ‘What could you have done?’

‘I could have brought you here, for a start,’ Raffa ground out as he backed her into a shadowy corner, out of earshot of the rest.

‘I can—’

‘Manage very well on your own?’ he suggested with impatience. ‘Can you care for your father, when he’s in one of his drunken rages?’

Raffa knew everything, Rose realised. His team must have filled him in. How it must have hurt him to be reminded of the dangers of drink. The fury she could see in his eyes was that of a much younger man. He was remembering a tragedy from years back. The incident with her father had only increased his pain tenfold.

‘Will you stay home twenty-four-seven to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself—or you?’ he raged. ‘Are you prepared to sacrifice everything you’ve worked so hard for? How do you intend to magic up the money for his care? And he will need care. Your father needs professional help, Rose. You can’t help him, or you’d have done it long before now.’

‘I can love him,’ she countered fiercely. ‘And Máire’s offered to help—they were at school together. She’s one of the few people he trusts, and her sons can handle him until I find him the type of care he needs.’ Touching Raffa’s arm to reach him, to offer him consolation, only resulted in him shaking her off.

‘That’s a very kind offer from a neighbour, but you know it’s only a short-term solution. What about your job with me, Rose?’

‘Can we talk outside?’ She understood why Raffa sounded so harsh, and why there was no warmth in his eyes, so it was a relief when he agreed.

She led the way, and didn’t stop walking until they’d left the farmyard behind, and were at least half a mile down the road. There was a tree that looked a bit like an umbrella. It acted as a sunshade in the summer. Today it was a leaky umbrella, and Rose hadn’t thought to bring a coat.

‘Here. Take this,’ Raffa growled when she hugged herself and shivered. Shrugging off his jacket, he draped it around her shoulders. It still held his warmth.

‘I will need time off,’ she admitted, dragging the jacket closer, ‘but I promise to make it up to you.’

There was no reaction from Raffa. This was worse than talking to the boss. It was like talking to a stranger. It was impossible to believe she’d been wrapped in his arms only a few hours before, when he was as remote and aloof as this.

The past had done that. It had damaged them both, and now she was hanging on to her career by a rapidly fraying thread.

‘What if I take my holiday leave to try and sort this out?’ she offered. ‘Would you allow me to do that?’

‘And you’ll restart, when?’ Raffa asked, still without a shred of warmth in his voice. ‘At your convenience?’

‘No,’ Rose protested. ‘I’ll stick strictly to schedule.’

‘And how will you make that happen? You can give me no guarantees,’ he exclaimed angrily. ‘A few lines on a scrap of paper to explain your sudden departure? Why should I trust you?’

‘I promise I’ll return as soon as I can.’

His look chilled her. ‘You say that now,’ he rasped.

The distance between them had never seemed greater. The closeness they’d shared seemed to have completely disappeared, but she couldn’t let it go without a fight. ‘How long are you staying in Ireland?’

Raffa’s brow furrowed. ‘Why do you want to know?’

She had no right to know, but having him close to her was like having a rock to moor her ship to. A ship that had been well and truly holed beneath the waterline. She’d picked herself up many times before, but not like this, not with her heart in tiny pieces.

‘You should go back to the house,’ Raffa insisted in the same emotion-free tone. ‘Your neighbours have gone to a lot of trouble to welcome you home.’

‘You’re not leaving already?’ Rose’s voice hitched on the words.

‘No, but the party isn’t for me, and I’ll only distract you from the welcome your friends want to give you, and that wouldn’t be right.’

‘We’ll speak again, though?’ She’d be begging next.

‘We will,’ he confirmed.

Where and when was never mentioned, leaving nothing but doubt in Rose’s mind. Career or family? Those were her choices, and family won through every time. There’d been a glimmer, just a glimmer of possibility that she could finally live her own life, love, and thrive, and... Do what? Live selfishly? Was that what she wanted? No. Of course it wasn’t. She’d sacrificed all thought of romantic relationships in the past, and that was what she’d do again now.

Is it the right thing to do, or is it cowardice?Am Ifrightened of risking my heart?My parents’ relationship turned into a living hell. Am I incapable of believing I can do things differently?Where’s my courage gone?Where’s the determination that brought me to Spain, to support that very family and further my career?Is that all spent now?

‘You’ll find me at the inn,’ Raffa said, shaking Rose back to reality. ‘If you need me, call.’

I need you now, thought the woman who’d always managed everything on her own. ‘I have your number,’ Rose confirmed.

‘And meet me tomorrow. Nine o’clock at the inn.’

Raffa raised a hand as he walked away. He didn’t turn around.