LYNNE GRAHAM - Millionaires - Rafaello's Mistress / Damiano's Return / Contract Baby

‘I was hoping provocation would get you to the crux of the matter.’ Rafaello’s glinting, lustrous dark gaze rested on her. ‘Fiona’s parents own a villa just along the coast. She’s a regular visitor and I wasn’t expecting her. You’re throwing a tantrum because Fiona was here when you arrived and she embarrassed you … or you embarrassed yourself.’

Glory’s lovely face flamed as if he had lit a bonfire inside her. So much had passed between them in the last few minutes that she did not know where to begin in arguing or defending herself. ‘I don’t throw tantrums like some spoilt brat demanding attention. But, whether you like it or not, I do have standards—’

‘But offer you enough cash and you drop them,’ Rafaello slotted in with lethal timing.

‘Oh … so we’re back to the cheque I accepted when I was eighteen, are we?’ Although Glory felt severely undermined by his referring to that episode again, she squared her slight shoulders and tossed her honey-blonde head high. ‘I suppose it’s time that I told you the truth about that. I let Dad have that money because he needed it. Your father forced me to leave my home.’

‘And how did Benito do that?’ Rafaello enquired with extreme dryness and the kind of outrageous aura of unspoken disbelief that made her want to scream and force him to listen to her with an open mind.

‘For goodness’ sake, Dad was drinking at the time. I know you never mentioned it but you must’ve known about his alcohol problem,’ Glory asserted in a strained undertone. ‘Your father threatened to sack him unless I moved away and broke off all contact with you. Dad would never have stopped drinking if he’d lost his job and his home as well.’

Silence had fallen. Rafaello was very still, his fabulous bone-structure defined by hard tension. But his ice-cool dark eyes were now bleak and unimpressed. ‘How very distasteful it would be if you were telling the truth. But I have very good cause to know that Benito would never have sacked your father or left him and your brother homeless,’ he asserted with harsh conviction. ‘You’re talking about blackmail. You’re lying in your teeth.’

Although Glory had known that Rafaello would not easily credit her story, it was none the less a blow when he rejected her version of events with such immediacy. Furthermore she neither understood nor believed his assurance that Benito Grazzini would never have sacked her father and put him out of the cottage. After all, any employer would eventually sack a drunken worker and would feel little need to defend their action. Why would Rafaello’s father have felt any different? Compassion only went so far.

‘Why try to wrap up what really happened?’ Rafaello was now studying her with derision curling his wide, sensual mouth. ‘You got the offer to be a model and you couldn’t wait to grab at what you believed was your chance for fame and fortune. You had already decided to leave home, so you simply accepted the financial bribe my father offered you.’

So that was how he had reasoned it all out to satisfy himself as to her guilt and greed. It was a tidy reading of past events but it was not what had happened. Then she had been foolish to hope that Rafaello would even consider accepting her word over his father’s.

Letting his allegations lie unchallenged, for she saw no good reason to continue a losing battle, Glory said flatly, ‘I meant what I said downstairs … I’m leaving. If you’re so keen to have a mistress, why don’t you ask Lady Fiona? She seemed more than willing!’

‘For no good reason that my brain can comprehend, I want you much more.’ Rafaello strolled away from the door at a leisurely pace.

‘I’m not getting mixed up with a man who is carrying on with other women—’

‘As far as I can see, my bed’s empty … Fiona and I have a history, but that’s not something I intend to discuss with you, cara .’ Rafaello came to a halt only inches away from her and reached for the long plait curling over her shoulder with a calm hand.

‘What are you doing?’ Glory spat, feeling threatened by his proximity.

‘I like the mermaid hair loose.’

‘Do you think I care what you like?’

‘I believe you can learn if I give you lessons in easy stages, bella mia .’

She encountered sizzling dark golden eyes and her breath snarled up in her throat. His fingers were busy unravelling her hair. All she had to do to bring an end to that liberty was put some distance between them, but she stayed where she was. ‘I’m no good at learning what I don’t want to learn.’ Glory recognized the edge of desperation in her own voice. ‘Let me go home. This is not going to work, Rafaello—’

‘Let me be the judge of that—’

‘But you said you wanted an experienced lover,’ Glory reminded him in a last-ditch attempt to persuade him that she was not the kind of woman he really wanted. ‘I’m an amateur—’

‘Well, I didn’t want a professional,’ Rafaello told her, quick as a flash with the repartee.

Her colour heightened. ‘I’m a virgin.’

The lean fingers engaged in slowly disentangling her hair stilled. ‘That’s not even funny.’

She gritted her teeth. ‘I wasn’t trying to be—’

Rafaello cupped her elbows to hold her still in front of him. He gazed down at her with wondering eyes. ‘If you were Pinocchio, your nose would reach as far as the front door. A virgin? You? Even five years back, I wasn’t entirely convinced by the purity pleas but I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I could hardly argue.’

Glory breathed very deep. ‘What makes you so sure that I’m not?’

‘You’re too sexy,’ Rafaello responded without hesitation. ‘You move, you walk and you talk like a woman who knows her own body—’

‘I’ve lived inside it a long time—’

‘Virgins are a rarefied species. I’ve never met one your age—’

‘You ask every woman you meet, do you?’ Glory snapped, out of all patience and increasingly offended and angry rather than embarrassed. As she pulled her arms free Rafaello settled his lean, strong hands onto her rigid shoulders instead. ‘Well, it’s about time you woke up to the fact that there are quite a few women who don’t believe in putting sex on a level with having a takeaway—’

‘I don’t eat takeaways either. I am irredeemably attached to the gastronomic delights provided by my French chef. Tell me, are you trying to make me feel guilty about our arrangement? Is that why you’re suddenly telling whoppers the size of Jonah’s whale?’ Rafaello enquired with sardonic bite. ‘If I thought you were a virgin I’d run like hell. But I know you can’t be. I know it the way I know the earth is round.’

That seemed fairly conclusive. But he had hurt her. It hurt her even more to realise that he had even doubted her innocence five years earlier. He was such a cynic, but more than anything else he was revealing that he had always seen her just as other men saw her: in the most demeaning light. As a blonde bombshell, a sure thing, not too bright and bound to be promiscuous. But at least he had explained Fiona Woodrow’s presence to her satisfaction, hadn’t he?

Glory worried at her full lower lip with her teeth and looked up at him in sudden Stark appeal. ‘I just don’t want to be your mistress—’

‘You really ought to stop me taking your dress off, then. I warn you, once I catch a glimpse of delectable bare skin I will use every trick in the book to get you horizontal.’

So intent on her troubled thoughts had Glory been that she hadn’t noticed that he had unzipped her dress. Now she gazed down in frank confusion as he eased the garment slowly from her shoulders and down over her slender arms, exposing the pouting swell of breasts cupped in white lace. ‘Rafaello, n-no …’