The Wedding Ultimatum. Helen Bianchin
His gaze raked her slender curves. ‘Dinner is almost ready.’
She made an instant decision. ‘I’ll only be a few minutes.’ With smooth movements she entered her walk-in wardrobe, selected a dress at random, then hastily exchanged the ivory suit for a red shift, cinched a gilt belt at her waist, touched up her lipstick, then emerged into the bedroom.
Rafe was waiting for her, and she met his brooding scrutiny with equanimity, then preceded him from the room.
Calm, poise. She possessed the social skills to employ both, and she slipped into the familiar role as he seated her at the dining-room table.
There was more champagne, and Danielle toyed with the idea of sinking into a pleasant alcoholic haze, only to discard it in favour of alternating the champagne with mineral water sipped slowly between each few mouthfuls of food.
Elena had prepared a veritable feast, and Danielle attempted to do justice to each course.
‘Not hungry?’
She met his piercing gaze and held it. ‘Not particularly.’
‘Relax,’ Rafe bade brusquely. ‘I’m not about to sweep all this—’ he paused to indicate the china, crystal and various serving dishes ‘—to one side, and ravish you on the table.’
He watched her eyes widen, then become veiled as her lashes lowered. He was adept at reading an expression, skilled in the art of mind-play.
Most women of his acquaintance would have slipped into seduction mode, teasing with the promise of sensual delights beneath the sheets. Sure knowledge of the sexual act and the mutual pleasure each could derive.
Yet the young woman seated opposite him was consumed with nerves. It was evident in the fast-beating pulse at the edge of her throat, the careful way she consumed each mouthful of food.
‘I’m relieved to hear it.’ She replaced her fork, unable to face another morsel. The image of that broad male frame sweeping the table’s contents to the floor, then crushing her beneath his weight…
‘Dessert?’
‘No.’ Was that her voice? It sounded so calm and controlled, when she was anything but. ‘Thank you,’ she declined.
Elena entered the room, gathered their plates, nodded as Rafe relayed they would take dessert and coffee later, then she left.
The need for conversation prompted Danielle to query, ‘At what age did you leave Andalusia?’
One eyebrow lifted. ‘Question-and-answer time?’
She toyed with the stem of her glass, her gaze level. In this light she could see the tiny lines fanning out from his eyes, the faint groove slashing each cheek. His facial features bore a chiselled look, and his mouth… She could still feel the touch of his lips as he’d claimed her as his wife, sense the slow sweep of his tongue on hers.
‘Anything I know of you amounts to hearsay,’ Danielle qualified evenly.
‘Will the knowing make a difference?’ His faint mockery held a cynical edge, and there was a hardness evident she was loath to explore.
‘None at all.’
‘Yet you’d prefer to delve into my background, discover what shaped and made me the black-hearted devil I am today,’ Rafe drawled. ‘With what purpose in mind?’ A slight smile curved his lips, but didn’t reach his eyes. ‘To better understand me?’
Two could play at this game, and she didn’t hesitate. ‘To separate fact from fiction.’
‘Fascinating.’
‘Yes, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t stop, Danielle.’
She ignored the warning purr in his voice. ‘Fiction tags you as having lived on the Chicago streets, a gang member who walked the wrong side of the law.’
‘You believe that?’ The tone was silk-smooth and dangerous.
She studied him carefully, attempting to see beneath the façade, aware he would permit only a chosen few to get close. ‘I think you did whatever was necessary to survive.’
‘A chequered past, hmm?’
To have acquired great wealth in his lifetime meant risk-taking, and living on the edge.
‘Is any of it fact?’
His expression didn’t change. ‘Some of it.’
A street warrior, shoulder-length hair tied back, dark clothes, with attitude. A leader, rather than a follower.
‘Somewhere along the way you cleaned up your act. One assumes crime didn’t pay?’
He had a hard-nosed cop to thank for turning his life around. A man who had seen potential beneath the bravado, and fostered it, directing the anger towards oriental combat skills in a back-street dojo, where discipline was of the mind as well as the body, a spiritualism that channelled energy into something meaningful. That, and one man’s faith in his ability to succeed.
He had gone back to school, gained a college scholarship and worked his butt off, graduating with honours. The cop had pulled in a favour that gave him a chance…and the rest was history.
No one knew he’d arranged a retirement package and heavily supplemented the cop’s superannuation plan. Or that he’d organised privately funded assistance to provide street kids with sports centres. Centres he personally visited each time he returned to the States.
‘Let’s just say I made the decision to walk on the right side of the law,’ Rafe declared with thinly veiled mockery.
‘That’s all you’re going to tell me?’
‘For now.’
‘You didn’t answer my original question,’ she pursued.
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘I was nine years old.’ And life, as he knew it, had changed forever. Tension, friction, and a disenchanted father unable to get steady work had eventually split the family. Lack of money had ensured a downhill spiral that fashioned his youth and robbed him of both parents at an early age.
Dusk encroached, and Danielle watched as the day’s colours began to fade. There was almost a surreal quality as night descended, an eery stillness before electric lights sprang to life, providing illumination.
‘More champagne?’
Danielle met his gaze and was unable to determine anything from his expression. ‘No, thanks.’
‘We’ll move into the sitting-room, and I’ll have Elena serve coffee.’
‘Does Elena live in the house?’
‘No. She comes in Tuesday through to Saturday with her husband, Antonio. Elena looks after the house, prepares and leaves me an evening meal when required, and Antonio takes care of the grounds, the pool, any minor maintenance.’
Danielle took her coffee sweet and black, and she sipped the brew slowly. How long before he would suggest they go to bed? An hour…less?
There was a part of her that wanted the sex over and done with. Another that wished she could slip into an accomplished seduction mode.
‘The Toorak boutique is ready for Ariane to move in her stock,’ Rafe informed. ‘I’ve organised for transportation tomorrow.’
‘I’ll ring and arrange to meet her there.’
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
She looked askance at him in silence.
‘You’re now my wife.’
‘Ariane and I are business partners. It wouldn’t be fair of me to expect her to set up stock alone in our new premises.’
He examined her features, taking