series of disturbing scenarios flashed before her and she clenched her fists as a wave of determination swept over her. Because that wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t let it. For the first time in her life she’d been enjoying the simple pleasures of anonymity and the rewards of honest hard work and was feeling cautiously optimistic about the future. Nobody knew who she was and nobody cared. There were no eyes following her every move. She was on her own—properly on her own—and it was both daunting and exciting. It couldn’t last. She knew that. Her brother had given her an ultimatum and time was fast running out. He wanted her back in Isolaverde—preferably by Christmas, but certainly by the time of her little sister’s nineteenth birthday at the end of February. In a couple of months it would all be over and she was going to miss the sense of peace and freedom she’d known in this out-of-the-way place. She was going to have to return to the world she’d run away from and face up to the future, but she wanted to do it on her own terms. To leave here in the same way she’d arrived—without fuss or fanfare.
Leaving the heat which hung over the veranda like a heavy blanket, Sophie hurried into the kitchen where the air-conditioning did little to cool her heated skin. She fanned her face with her hand as she heard the heavy tread of masculine footfall and tried not to let her nerves get the better of her.
‘Sophie? Come and meet the boss.’
Andy’s broad Australian accent shattered her thoughts and suddenly it was too late for any more reflection because the station manager was walking into the kitchen, a smile wreathing his face—in stark contrast to the expression of the man who followed him. And try as she might, Sophie still couldn’t tear her eyes away from the newcomer, even though her upbringing had taught her it was rude to stare.
Close up, he was even more spectacular. His hard-boned face was shockingly beautiful and so was his body. But his physical perfection was underpinned by a dark quality which shimmered around him like an aura—an edge of danger which was making her feel self-conscious. Did he know the effect he had on women? she wondered. Did he realise that her mouth was as dry as the dust in the yard outside and that her breasts had started to swell, so that they were pushing against the suddenly constricting material of her cheap underwear? She wondered how he managed to look so cool in a suit and, as if reading her thoughts, he slid the jacket from his broad shoulders so she was confronted by the hint of hard, honed torso—shadowy beneath the pristine silk of his white shirt.
Another bead of sweat trickled down her cleavage and soaked into her T-shirt as she met the steely grey eyes which were trained in her direction. He narrowed them in contemplation as he looked her up and down and Sophie’s apprehension gave way to indignation because she wasn’t used to men looking at her that way. Nobody ever stared at her so openly. As if he had every right to do so. She swallowed. As if he knew exactly what she was thinking about him and his beautiful face and body...
‘Rafe.’ Andy’s voice was relaxed as he gestured in her direction. ‘This is Sophie—the woman I was telling you about. She’s been cooking for us for nearly six months now.’
‘Sophie...?’
It was the first word he’d spoken—a lash of dark silk which whipped through the air towards her. Rafe Carter raised his eyebrows in question and Sophie gave a nervous smile in response. She knew she shouldn’t hesitate because hesitation was dangerous. Just as she knew she should have had this answer all pat and ready—and she would have done if she hadn’t been so distracted by the lure of his deep, mellifluous voice and the effect that paralysing stare was having on her.
‘It’s Doukas. Sophie Doukas,’ she said, using the surname of her Greek grandmother, knowing that nobody would be able to contradict her, because she hadn’t shown anyone her papers. A wave of guilt washed over her. She’d managed to distract them for long enough to forget they’d never seen them.
The steely gaze became even more piercing. ‘Unusual name,’ he observed.
‘Yes.’ Desperate to change the subject, she cleared her throat, mustering up a smile from somewhere. ‘You must be thirsty after your flight. Would you like some tea, Mr Carter?’
‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he drawled. ‘And it’s Rafe.’
‘Rafe,’ she repeated, aware that his cool tone contained the hint of a reprimand. So pull yourself together. Start remembering that he’s the boss and you’re supposed to be pleasant and obedient. ‘Right.’ She forced a smile. ‘I’ll make some right away. Andy, how about you?’
‘Not for me, thanks.’ The station manager shook his head. ‘I’ll wait for the morning smoko. See you outside when you’ve had a brew, Rafe. Take you on a quick tour.’
Sophie’s self-consciousness spiralled as Andy walked out, leaving her alone with Rafe Carter in a room whose walls seemed to be closing in on her. And even though making tea was a task she performed countless times every day, she felt like a coiled spring as she busied herself around the kitchen, aware of his eyes following her every movement. His grey gaze seemed to laser through her as she lifted a kettle which suddenly felt ridiculously heavy. Why was he even here? she thought as she poured boiling water into the teapot. Andy had said he wasn’t expected until springtime—by which time she would be gone and nothing but a distant memory. He certainly wasn’t expected this close to Christmas—which was now only weeks away.
She took a cup down from the dresser. It had been easy to forget Christmas in this exotic and tropical area of Australia, with its lush foliage and steamy heat, and the kind of birds and mammals which she’d only ever seen in nature documentaries. Yet because the men had demanded it, she’d made a stab at decorating the homestead with paper chains and plastic holly and a cheap tree made out of tinsel which she’d bought from the local store. The effect had been garish but it was so different that it had allowed her to forget all the things she was used to.
But now the familiar images of what she’d left behind came crowding into her mind, as she thought about Christmas on her island home of Isolaverde. She pictured mulled wine and golden platters piled high with sugary treats. She thought about the enormous tree which took pride of place in the palace throne room, which was decorated with real candles and diligently lit by the legions of faithful staff who served her. And beneath it the huge pile of presents, which she and her brother would hand out every year to the children of the city. She remembered the eager looks lighting up their little faces and, without warning, a wave of loneliness came washing over her. Suddenly she felt vulnerable. She knew how easy it would be to just throw the towel in and go home, but she didn’t want to do that. Not yet. Not until she’d worked out what she wanted her new future to be...
Giving the teapot a quick stir, she hoped Rafe would take his tea outside, or go to his own lavish quarters, which were in a separate part of this giant homestead. But her heart sank as he rested his narrow hips against the window sill with the look of a man who wasn’t going anywhere. And, unlike most people, he seemed content to let the silence grow. Didn’t he realise she was getting more flustered by the moment despite the fact that she’d spent her whole life being stared at? It just didn’t usually affect her like this. It didn’t make her breasts tingle, or a slug of disconcerting heat begin to gather low in her belly...
So say something. Pretend he’s one of those countless strangers you’ve spent your life meeting and exchanging polite words with.
‘Have you flown in from England today?’ she questioned, pouring milk into a china jug.
He didn’t smile back. ‘No. I’ve been on an extended trip to the Far East and I arrived in Brisbane yesterday. I was so close that it seemed crazy not to visit.’ His grey eyes gleamed. ‘And just for the record, I don’t live in England.’
She met the steely gaze. ‘But I thought—’
‘That my accent was English?’
She gave a weak smile. ‘Well, yes.’
‘They say you never really lose the accent you were born with, but I haven’t lived there in a long time. Years, in fact.’ He frowned. ‘And speaking of accents—I can’t quite work yours out. I don’t