Kate Walker - His Suitable Bride - Rafael's Suitable Bride / The Spaniard's Marriage Bargain / Cordero's Forced Bride

‘There’s a coffee shop a few minutes away. I passed it on the way here.’

‘Aren’t you on your way to work?’

‘Have you forgotten that I own the company?’ No one would guess that, though, Rafael thought with a sense of irony, because he never took time off. In fact, his PA would have to be persuaded not to send round an ambulance crew when he told her that he would be in later than expected.

‘I’m going to give you a sermon about how women should be treated,’ Cristina felt compelled to tell him, even though the thought of having coffee with him had filled her with a suffocating sense of excitement. ‘Do you still want to take me out for a cup of coffee?’

‘Give me five minutes to call my secretary …’ As expected, Patricia seemed to hyperventilate when informed that he would have to miss his meeting. Was he really that predictable? he wondered. A man who so consistently put work ahead of everything else that the slightest deviation from the norm was enough to bring about heart failure in his employees?

What on earth would they all do if he disappeared for a week’s holiday without warning? Self-implode?

‘Okay. Let’s get the sermon out of the way.’

‘I know I don’t have any right to preach to you …’

‘No, you don’t.’ Rafael looked at her over the mug of cappuccino, which she was now attempting to drink even though it was piping hot. A Danish pastry lay on the plate in front of her. In an era of diets and size zeros, it made a refreshing change.

Her outfit today was beyond casual, teetering into the realms of the truly bizarre. Workmanlike overalls and a broadly striped jumper which seemed intent on magnifying the generous proportions of its wearer. Since lack of money didn’t lie behind her choice, he could only conclude that this was yet another quiet rebellion against those supposedly perfect sisters of hers.

‘I don’t usually preach to people.’

‘Then why break the habit of a lifetime?’

‘Why had she outstayed her welcome?’ Cristina asked. She carefully rested the mug on its saucer and bit into the Danish pastry, which crumbled on her lips and was absolutely delicious. ‘What did she do that was so wrong?’

‘Do you live in the real world, Cristina?’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘She didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘You just got tired of her?’

‘This is what sometimes happens in relationships. People get tired of each other. Delilah was … unsuitable.’

‘That’s very harsh, Rafael.’

‘You have crumbs on your mouth.’ He picked up her napkin and brushed them away and Cristina jerked back, startled. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not about to make a lunge for you.’ He laughed, amused at her reaction. ‘And I wasn’t being harsh,’ he continued. ‘Delilah and I enjoyed a brief relationship. I never made promises, and it’s unfortunate that she didn’t understand the boundaries of what we had. Believe me, it wasn’t for lack of clarity.’

‘How sad.’

‘What? What’s sad?’ Rafael frowned, not caring for the unwanted sympathy in her voice. ‘Sad,’ he told her, leaning forward, ‘Is when two people get together hoping for the fairytale ending only to find that no such thing exists. Sad is when hope and expectation disintegrate. If there’s no hope and no expectation, then what you get is an uncluttered relationship with no strings attached.’ He didn’t know why he was bothering to give her a protracted explanation of his theories on the malefemale conundrum, especially when her only response was to look at him earnestly as if each word constituted a mound of earth towards the pit which he was digging for himself.

‘Have you never been in love?’

Rafael’s face tightened. Love? Oh yes. He’d been there, or at least he’d thought he had. In his mind he saw his ex-wife, Helen, beautiful, ethereal, wild with love and promising the earth. How quickly time had dissolved that illusion.

‘Have you?’ He threw the question back at her and watched her eyes grow dreamy.

‘Never. I’m saving myself for the right one. I mean,’ she amended hurriedly, ‘I don’t fling myself into relationships just for the sake of it.’

‘What do you mean by saving yourself for the right one?’ He raised his eyebrows with rampant cynicism and then mused, with some amusement, ‘Don’t tell me that you’re a virgin.?’ Not that he’d believed that for a minute, but from the expression on her face, he realised that he had unwittingly hit the bull’s eye, and Rafael was strangely shocked by the thought of that.

‘No!’ She cast an agonised look around her and then concentrated on the cappuccino in front of her. ‘Okay. So what if I am? There’s nothing wrong with that!’

He gathered himself and said casually, ‘It’s just a little unusual …’ For a man who never indulged in discussing feelings—which he personally considered the prerogative of namby-pamby men who would rather talk than act—Rafael was surprised to discover that he was enjoying their conversation. It just went to show that a little novelty was good for the soul.

Cristina was horribly, sickeningly mortified by the admission. She had never uttered that confidence to anyone, not to her sisters nor to her friends. To find now that she had uttered it to a man who thought that sleeping around was par for the course was almost beyond belief. The fact that he hadn’t roared with laughter only made matters worse, because she could smell his incredulity beneath the silence.

‘I realise you must think me a complete loser.’ She stuck her chin up, but holding back the tears of embarrassment was an act of will.

‘Loser … no.’ He leaned forward, both elbows on the narrow table separating them. ‘Were you never tempted?’ he asked curiously.

‘I don’t want to talk to you about this,’ Cristina whispered. ‘Honestly, I don’t know how … I’ve never spoken to anyone about this.’ But there was something about this man. A part of her responded to him, and her responses seemed to be totally beyond her control. How was that possible? It was as if he had reached inside of her and tugged at something strong and hitherto unknown, some secret side of her as yet untapped. ‘It just slipped out,’ she said defensively.

‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

‘I guess you haven’t a clue why … well, why …’

‘It’s a little hard to get my head around.’ He had wondered about her, about the feel of her body. Now those meandering and passing thoughts took on a sharp intensity that surprised him. He reminded himself why he had been tempted to take her for a coffee and it was even more relevant now.

‘So now we’ve bared our respective souls …’

‘I wouldn’t say that you’ve bared yours.’

‘You still haven’t told me who that man was, the one closeted in your office with you while your hapless shop assistant was outside taking the flak.’

‘Anthea happens to very capable,’ Cristina said, temporarily distracted. ‘She always handles the business if I’m not around. I’ve been very lucky to have found her—’

‘I can’t say I’m overly interested in hearing your shop assistant’s CV,’ Rafael interrupted, before she headed off down one of those conversational tangents which she seemed so fond of following. ‘What I am interested in is the man in the shop. He wasn’t there helping with the delivery, was he?’

‘Who, Martin? No, no he wasn’t.’

Martin? Rafael’s ears pricked up. She was already on a first-name basis with the man. She had zero experience of the opposite sex, was a foreigner to the London scene, ignorant of the ways of the average predator—no wonder his mother had been concerned about her and had more or less asked him to keep any eye. No wonder she had seen her as a candidate for the role of wife. Cristina’s gentle innocence would have appealed to his mother’s traditional heart.