Modern Romance - The Best of the Year. Miranda Lee
expressive fine features made him even angrier. Did she really think it would be this easy?
‘We leave Milo where he is, at home with me. And you can come and see him...we’ll work something out while you’re here in England...and then, once we see how it goes, we can work out a longer term arrangement. After all, you won’t be here for ever...’
He could see her spying her bag nearby and she moved to get it. His eyes were drawn against his will to her tall, slim form as she bent and then straightened, her breasts pushing against her shirt, reminding him of how badly he’d ached to touch them for the first time, and what it had felt like to cup their firm weight, made perfectly to fit his palms. The fact that the memory was so vivid was not welcome.
Sam was the only woman who’d ever had this ability to make him feel slightly out of his comfort zone. Coasting on the edge of extreme danger. And not the kind he liked, where he ultimately had control, say in a car.
Danger zone or no danger zone, something primal gripped Rafaele deep inside at seeing Sam preparing to leave, looking so relieved—as if she could just lay it all on the line like this and he’d agree.
She was backing away, tucking some loose hair behind her ear, and it was that one simple familiar gesture that pushed Rafaele over an edge. ‘Do you really think it’s that easy? That I’ll simply agree to your terms?’
She stopped. ‘You can’t do this, Rafaele—insist on having it your way. It’s not fair on Milo. If he’s going to get to know you then it should be in his own safe environment. He’s going to be confused as it is.’
Rafaele moved closer to Sam, almost against his will. ‘And whose fault is that?’ he reminded her, as an audacious plan formed in his brain. ‘What do you hope for, Sam? That after a couple of visits I’ll grow bored and you’ll be left in peace?’
She swallowed visibly and looked faintly guilty. ‘Of course not.’
But she did. He could tell. She hoped that this was just a passing display of anger and might. She was probably congratulating herself on the fact that he now knew and that she and her son—his son—would be left in peace to get on with their lives once he’d lost interest.
Suddenly Rafaele wanted to insert himself deep into Sam’s life. Deep into her. He remembered what that had felt like too—that moment of exquisite suspension when neither of them could draw in a breath because he was embedded so deep inside her—
‘This will work my way or no way,’ he gritted out, ruthlessly crushing those incendiary images, exerting a control over his body he rarely had to call on.
‘Rafaele—’
‘No, Samantha. I will concede that you are right that Milo must come first, so I agree that he should stay where he is most secure.’
‘You do?’
Rafaele didn’t even bother to agree again, he just continued, ‘So, with that concern in mind, I will compromise.’
She swallowed again. Now she looked nervous. Good. She should. Rafaele smiled and got a fleeting moment of satisfaction from the way her eyes dropped to his mouth and flared with something hot.
‘I’ll move in with you.’
Sam’s eyes met his and grew wider. He saw her struggling to compute the information. She even shook her head slightly.
‘I’m sorry... I don’t think I heard you properly... You said you’ll what?’
Rafaele smiled even more widely now, enjoying himself for the first time in days. ‘You heard me fine, Samantha, I said I’ll move in with you. Then you will have no reason to deny me access to my son as I’ll be doing everything in my power to accommodate you—isn’t that right?’
Sam felt as if she was suspended in time, disbelieving of what she’d just heard. But then the smug look on Rafaele’s face told her she hadn’t misheard. Twice.
‘But...you can’t. I mean...’ Her brain seemed to have turned to slush. ‘There’s no room.’
Rafaele quirked a brow. ‘It looks like a decent-sized house to me. I would imagine there’s at least three bedrooms? All I need is one.’
Sam cursed his accuracy and diverted her thoughts away from remembering Rafaele’s palatial bedroom in his palazzo, with the bed big enough for a football team. They’d covered every inch of it.
Stiffly she said, ‘It’s not a good idea. You wouldn’t be comfortable. It’s not exactly up to this standard.’ She gestured with her arm to take in the surrounding opulence.
Rafaele grimaced. ‘This place is too big for just me.’ And then his eyes glinted with sheer wickedness. ‘I find my preferences running to much more modest requirements all of a sudden.’
Sam felt old bitterness rise. No doubt he meant much in the same way his preferences had become more ‘modest’ when he’d found himself briefly in thrall to her. Seduced, presumably, by her complete naivety and innocence because he’d become momentarily jaded by the far more sophisticated women he usually went for. This had been evidenced by the fact that he’d never even taken her out in too public a social setting, preferring to keep their dates secluded and secret.
Sam shook her head, the mere thought of Rafaele in her house for an extended period making her seize inwardly. Not to mention the fact that he expected her to work for him.
‘No. This is not going to happen. Maybe if you moved closer—’
Suddenly Rafaele was far too close and Sam’s words faltered. Any hint of wickedness was gone.
‘No, Samantha. I am moving in with you and there is nothing you can do or say to put me off this course. I’ve missed important milestones already in my son’s life and I’m not about to miss another moment.’
Shakily Sam said, ‘Please, there must be another way to do this.’
Rafaele stepped even closer. Sam could smell him now and see the lighter flecks of green in his eyes. See the dark shadowing of stubble on his jaw. He’d always needed to shave twice a day. Her insides cramped.
‘The reason you don’t want me to stay, Sam... It wouldn’t be because there’s still something there...would it?’
Had his voice grown huskier or was it her imagination? Sam just looked at him and blinked. His eyes were molten green, hot. And she was on fire. It was only when she saw something very cynical and dark in their depths that she managed to shake herself free of his spell. She was terrified he’d touch her again, like earlier, and stepped back, feeling cold all over.
The thought that she’d given herself away, that he might analyse her reaction and suspect that there had been something deeper there than anger made her sick with mortification and shame.
In as cool a voice as she could muster, Sam said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Rafaele. I’m no more attracted to you any more than you are to me. That died long ago.’
His eyes flashed. ‘So there should be no problem with my sharing your house to facilitate me getting to know my son, who you have kept from me for the last three years?’
It wasn’t really a question. Much as in the way he had ridden roughshod over her department at work, ensuring she would be under his control. With a sinking sense of inevitability Sam knew that if she fought Rafaele further he’d only dig his heels in deeper and deeper. And perhaps he’d even feel like toying with her again, proving a point, and perhaps this time she’d really give herself away.
The thought made her go clammy. She must never forget his cruel rejection or let him know how badly he’d hurt her.
She reassured herself that he was a workaholic, after all, so she’d probably barely see him. And for all his lofty talk she didn’t seriously see him lasting for longer than a week in the leafy but very boring London suburbs.
A man like Rafaele—son of an Italian count and a