She had no abnormal aches or tenderness anywhere. No horrible headache or yucky taste in her mouth. No certain intuition or fear... Only embarrassment.
Yes. The embarrassing truth was she’d been working insanely long hours and yesterday she’d had too little food and just enough champagne to cause a temporary case of narcolepsy. Mortifying.
She glanced across the large room and saw her blouse, skirt and underwear on the plush chair where she’d left them last night, only now her phone was with them. Rafael must’ve put it there for her. So he definitely knew she hadn’t been wearing underwear with this dress.
The cool air from the ceiling fan did nothing to stop the last of her pride smouldering into cinders. He’d put her to bed because she’d fallen asleep on the drive home and apparently he hadn’t been able to wake her. She’d probably been snoring. Or drooling. Or both. She slumped back on the bed, hauling the blanket up like a shroud, willing immediate death.
Her heart denied her, not only refusing to stop but actually sprinting faster, while her equally fickle mind circled back to the highlight of the night.
Not the fireworks. That kiss.
She closed her eyes, toes curling as the merest whisper of memory sent sensations cascading through her. She sighed and resolutely opened her eyes again. This reaction was over the top. It wasn’t like she’d never kissed a guy before. In fact, she’d kissed four—though they’d all turned out to be frogs, no fairy-tale charming princes. It had been a bit like kissing frogs too—cold and slimy—and she’d not been tempted to go further with any of them.
But with Rafael? He was definitely no fairy-tale for ever prince, but what did that matter when with that one kiss he’d obliterated all her preconceived ideas of intimacy? Everything she’d thought—that she needed to be in love, that she needed to truly know and trust a guy before she’d be able to experience real pleasure in intimacy—wasn’t true. It turned out she didn’t need all that. She just needed a man of experience, talent and arrogance. She just needed Rafael. And she was so much shallower than she’d believed herself to be. Fallen angel good looks were all it took.
She might be mortified by her exhaustion, but she’d been saved by it too. Because it would’ve taken only another ten minutes in his company and she’d have tossed caution to the wind and let him do anything he wanted—she’d have cheered him on, in fact.
What had happened to her rational, sane, completely careful self?
Her hidden impulsive side reared again—hitting out at the control she’d just sought to retrieve again. She’d wanted that wildness. She could kick herself for falling asleep so quickly and deeply, like some overtired toddler. She’d wanted what she’d instinctively known he could give her. That was why she’d gone with him in the first place. But that kind of recklessness wasn’t truly her, was it?
She flung the beautiful blanket off once more and this time snapped right out of bed. Fool. She’d had the opportunity for one amazing night, for one blistering moment, and she’d muffed it. He must think her so weird, like Sleeping-freaking-Beauty in reverse, falling into a deep sleep after the kiss of her life. But maybe he hadn’t tried that hard to wake her. Which meant he hadn’t wanted more kissing...
Even more mortifying.
She wriggled out of the beautiful dress and hung it over the back of another plush armchair. In two minutes she was back in her own clothes and tiptoeing through the vast villa, offering thanks that her knee was only slightly stiff. She had to escape without facing Rafael Vitale again. It was early enough for her to get to work on time and no one would know she’d stayed here. Not that she’d be embarrassed, but...well, she’d be a bit embarrassed.
She made it outside, but she had to take a second to appreciate the truly cinematic view. Dawn bathed the lake and garden in that golden magic. She couldn’t resist darting across the lawn to breathe in the beauty of Alex’s roses one last time. The gentle warmth of that just rising sun released their light, sweet scent. Impulsively she decided to take Alex not just a photo, but an actual flower—a perfect example of his amazing work would make his morning. She reached out to pick one of the distinctive creamy-coloured roses, but the plant wasn’t keen to relinquish one of its prize blossoms. She tugged harder to snap the stem.
‘What are you doing?’
The question sounded right in her ear. With a yelp she spun around, releasing the rose but scratching the fleshy part below her thumb on a thorn as she did so.
‘Ow.’ She shook out her hand and glared at Rafael. ‘Why must you sneak up on people?’
Why must he always look so impossibly handsome? Why was he even dressed? He was all in black—jeans, T—and his hair was a touch damp as if he’d had the time to shower already. But it was super early—shouldn’t he still be in bed? She froze as her reckless imagination instantly conjured up accompanying images to that tantalising thought. A wave of extreme heat scorched her cheeks and her chest and other places too personal to mention.
The freeze gave way to the fidgets as she practically paced on the spot, seeking a way to get past him. But he was planted on the narrow grass path like an immovable plinth of pure masculinity.
‘Why must you sneak around my garden?’ he countered easily, his eyebrows lifting as he watched her wriggle like a damn fish on a line in front of him. ‘What are you doing?’
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’
‘Stealing.’ He grabbed her hand, lifting it to inspect the damage she’d just so uselessly done to herself.
A thin line of blood was rapidly filling the annoyingly deep scratch. Though once more she didn’t feel a damn thing. It was official, Rafael Vitale was the embodiment of the best anaesthetic ever.
But he was frowning. ‘We need to get a plaster on that.’
She tugged her hand from his, as electricity sent her pulse to attack point. ‘It’s not fatal.’
‘I wouldn’t want to take any chances on that.’
She braved a glance back up at him. That handsome smile? The warmth in those bewitchingly dark brown eyes? The man was back to flirt mode and it was too unfair of him to sneak up on her when he was looking so fine. He hadn’t shaved and his morning stubble made him look more like trouble than ever. Devastating, delicious, sinful trouble. She bit her lip, holding back all the apologies. No nervous babbling now.
‘Come back inside,’ he invited, confirming his position as the greatest temptation of her life. ‘We’ll cover that cut and have breakfast.’
‘That’s very kind, but no, thank you,’ she replied, trying to hold on to some sanity.
Naturally, however, her stomach chose that exact moment to rumble with volume and vigour. She stared into his eyes as her stomach growled on. No way could he not hear the thunder of her disloyal digestive system. Would nothing go right? Could she not even manage a simple escape from him and be left with even a snippet of dignity?
‘I thought you were always honest?’ he teased softly.
She cleared her throat awkwardly. ‘I didn’t say I’m not hungry. I just can’t stay for breakfast. I need to get going.’
‘You’re trying to get away from me?’
‘It’s not just you,’ she corrected dryly. ‘I have to get to work.’
His smile was a devastating combination of smug and boyishly cute. ‘But I make you uncomfortable.’
‘I’m embarrassed,’ she corrected. ‘I fell asleep in your car. For all I know, I was drooling when you carried me into your house—again. And I’m not a featherweight. It’s a wonder you didn’t put your back out.’
‘There was no drooling. No snoring. And I liked carrying you. You were very sweet and snuggly.’