MELANIE MILBURNE – Cinderella's Scandalous Secret (страница 6)

She took another sip of her lemonade. ‘So, why are you interested in this hotel? I didn’t realise Scotland was on your radar.’

‘It wasn’t until I met you. You awakened my interest.’ Rafe lifted his small dram of whisky to his mouth and took a measured sip, savouring the taste for a moment before he swallowed. Isla couldn’t tear her gaze away from the up and down movement of his tanned throat, her eyes drifting to the dark stubble around his mouth and jaw. She tightened her hand around her glass, remembering how it felt to run her fingertips over that sexy regrowth, remembering the way it felt grazing against the soft skin of her breasts. On her inner thighs...

She glanced at him again with her making-polite-conversation expression in place. ‘So, are you going to buy it?’

He cradled the whisky glass in two hands, his long strong fingers overlapping. That was another thing she remembered—how those clever fingers could wreak such havoc on her senses when they got down to business on her body. His gaze tethered hers in a lock that made her inner core contract like the tightening of a small fist. ‘I like what I’ve seen so far.’ Somehow, she didn’t think he was still talking about the hotel.

Isla released a shuddery breath and took another sip of her lemonade, acutely conscious of his probing gaze. She was too warm from still wearing her jacket, or maybe it was being within touching distance of the man who had scorched every inch of her body with his touch.

Rafe leaned forward and put his whisky glass on the small table between their chairs and then sat back, his hands resting on his thighs. ‘Tell me why you quit your Fine Arts degree.’

Isla shrugged one shoulder and rolled one of her ankles to burn off restless energy. You should have told him by now. Her conscience was jabbing at her but she couldn’t work up the courage. ‘I lost interest after I came back to the UK. I’d already missed half of one semester by staying in Italy with you. I only planned on going for a two-week sketching holiday if you remember.’

‘But you could have made it up, surely?’

‘I couldn’t be bothered.’ She looked into the contents of her glass rather than hold his gaze. ‘It was a pipe dream to think I could make a career out of painting portraits. I decided it wasn’t worth the effort of trying.’

His frown deepened. ‘But surely cleaning hotel rooms isn’t going to satisfy you long-term?’

Pride stiffened Isla’s shoulders and sharpened her gaze. ‘Careful, Rafe. Your privileged upbringing is showing. Anyway, my friend Layla has made a career out of it—or is starting to.’

‘But you’re an artist, not a businesswoman.’

Isla affected a laugh. ‘You make it sound like you know me. You don’t.’

‘I know you well enough to know you will not be satisfied unless you express your creativity.’ Rafe leaned forward so his forearms were resting on his thighs, his gaze trained intently on hers. ‘I have a proposition for you. Business, not personal.’

Isla raised her brows. ‘Oh? Let me guess... You want me to paint your portrait?’

He gave a twisted smile. ‘No. My grandmother, actually. My mother’s mother. She’s about to turn ninety. She’s difficult to please. I don’t think she’s liked a single thing I’ve bought for her. But I thought a portrait would make a nice birthday present for her.’

Isla chewed at one side of her mouth. How ironic her first ever commission offer came from Rafe. Of course, she couldn’t accept. But the thought of the money he might be prepared to pay her gave her pause. Why would he want to commission her, though? Did he think he could talk her into another fling with him? But, even so, she couldn’t help feeling intrigued about his family. He had rarely mentioned anything about his background and she’d been deliberately evasive about hers. They had somehow come to a tacit agreement to leave the topic of families alone.

‘Surely there are other artists, much more established artists, you could commission?’ she asked.

‘I want you.’ His eyes glittered with something that seemed to suggest it wasn’t just her artistic ability he was solely interested in.

The thought of resuming their affair was strangely exciting. Thrilling and exciting and dangerous.

But completely and utterly out of the question.

Isla leaned forward to put her drink on the table and began to rise from her chair. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not available.’

Rafe placed a hand on her knee before she could stand, locking his gaze with hers. ‘Think about it, Isla. You can name your price.’

She was close enough to him to smell his citrus-based aftershave. Close enough to see the flecks of brown and green in his eyes that made his irises look kaleidoscopic. The warm press of his hand on her knee sent a wave of heat straight to her core, stirring wickedly erotic memories in her flesh.

The air seemed to vibrate with energy. Sexual energy so powerful she could feel its tug-tug-tug on her insides, reminding her of the wickedly erotic delights she had experienced in his arms. Delights she had not been able to erase from her memory. They were seared into her brain and body so that every time he was within reach of her, her flesh tingled and prickled with excitement.

Isla knew she had to put a stop to this. Right here. Right now. She couldn’t agree to spending time with Rafe—not under any circumstances. He’d said she could name her price but wouldn’t she be paying the biggest price in the end? She pushed his hand off her knee. ‘Rafe, there’s something I need to tell you...’

‘What?’

She brought her gaze to his and swallowed against the restriction in her throat. ‘The reason I left you so abruptly...’ Oh, God, why was this so difficult? ‘I was scared about how you’d react and I—’

A frown carved into his forehead. ‘Did you cheat on me? Tell me, Isla. Were you unfaithful?’ His tone contained more hurt than anger. It seemed to bruise the atmosphere like mottled clouds.

Isla had a strange desire to laugh at the absurdity of the notion of her being unfaithful. He was the most amazing, exciting, thrilling lover and she had missed him every day since. And probably would for the rest of her life. No one would ever rise above the benchmark he had set. ‘No, of course not. No, it wasn’t anything like that.’

‘Then what was it?’

She took a deep breath and slowly released it. ‘I’m...pregnant.’

He looked at her blankly as if he hadn’t registered what she’d said.

‘Rafe, I’m having a baby.’ She undid the ties from around her waist, gradually revealing the swell of her abdomen. His eyebrows drew together as realisation slowly dawned on his features, leaching him of colour, stiffening every muscle on his face.

‘You’re...pregnant?’ His voice sounded nothing like his. Locked. Tight. Strangled. His Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, a host of emotions flickering over his face—shock, horror, anger. And, yes, hurt. Waves of it rippling like an eddying tide.

Isla pressed her hands together in her lap. Here it comes. The rejection. Cold dripped into her stomach, the icy shards slicing at her insides. I’m so sorry, little baby. This is all my fault. ‘I didn’t want to tell you because—’

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times as if his voice had momentarily deserted him. ‘Is it...mine?’

‘I...’ Her voice deserted her for a moment as the pain of his question hit home. Of course, he had every right to ask but it hurt to think he thought her capable of such betrayal. She might not have been honest with him about her background but she would never cheat on a partner. It went against her moral code.

His eyes drilled into hers. ‘Answer the question, damn it.’

Isla gave a single nod. ‘Yes. Of course, it is. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before—’

Rafe shot to his feet like his chair had exploded. ‘Wait—I’m not having this discussion in a freaking wine bar. Upstairs. Now.’ His voice had that commanding edge that never failed to put her back up like a cornered cat.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea right now—’

‘You will do as I say. You owe me that, surely?’ His mouth was pulled so tight his lips were almost bloodless, his eyes flashing with livid sparks of anger.

Isla put up her chin. ‘You can tell me to get out of your life here. You don’t need me to go up to your room.’

He flinched as if she had struck him. ‘Is that how poorly you think of me?’

Isla no longer knew what to think. He wasn’t acting the way she’d expected. He was angry, yes, but for some reason she sensed he was angrier with himself than with her. She didn’t want to create a scene in a public place so gave in with as little grace as possible, not wanting him to think he could boss her around like one of his employees. She rose from her chair like a sulky teenager being sent to her room, her mouth set in a stubborn line. She hoisted her tote bag strap onto her shoulder and sent him a mutinous glare. ‘You can cool it with the caveman routine. You should know by now it doesn’t work with me.’

‘Nothing seems to work with you, does it?’ Rafe’s tone was so cutting it shredded her already frayed nerves like a sword slashing satin ribbons. He led her to the private elevator that went to his penthouse, his fingers firmly cupping her elbow. He stabbed at the call button, his expression thunderous, but underneath that dark brooding tension Isla could see tiny flickers of hurt. And it shamed her. She hadn’t thought in any detail about how he would feel if he ever found out about the pregnancy. Or at least she had tried not to think about it. She had been too concerned about protecting him from her past, protecting herself from the shame of it being splashed over every newspaper or online news or gossip outlet. She had fooled herself into thinking Rafe would be better off not knowing about his love-child—that it was easier for her to disappear than to risk him demanding she marry him or insist she have an abortion.