Carin buried her face in Rafe’s pillow.
It was silly to blush when you were all alone but she was sure that was what she was doing, blushing a bright red from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. It was just that Rafe was the most wonderful lover. Sex, what little she’d experienced of it, had never been anything like this. Rafe had stroked her, kissed her, touched her everywhere. The last time, she’d refused to let go of him and when they’d fallen asleep, he was still inside her.
She smiled. She felt sated, boneless, ecstatically happy.
She felt—she felt loved.
Carin’s smile faded. She turned over, drew the covers to her chin and stared blindly at the ceiling.
They’d made love. That didn’t mean she was loved. Not that she wanted Rafe to love her. Why would she? They could have a perfectly good marriage without love…whatever “love” was.
Her mother had loved her father, once, and he’d loved her, but would two people who really “loved” each other have ended up hating each other, instead? Her stepfather professed to have loved all his wives…Yeah, right. Carin huffed out a breath. Jonas’s definition of the word wasn’t worth thinking about.
Okay. So Amanda and Nick were crazy about each other. Being in the same room with them could even be embarrassing, because you always had the feeling that as much as they were polite and gracious around other people, what they really wanted was to close the door and be alone.
It was like that with her stepbrothers and their wives, too, but none of that was love.
It was lust.
Carin got out of bed, grabbed the robe that lay at the foot of it, pulled it on and went into the bathroom.
And that was fine. “Lust” was what had brought Rafe into her life; it was what had sent them into each other’s arms, last night. And if they were lucky, it would be what kept them together, that and their devotion to their little girl because yes, Rafe was right, Amy was entitled to a home with both a mother and a father.
She sighed as she did all the mundane morning things that were anchors to reality, then plucked a brush from the top of the shiny black marble vanity.
“Love” was what she thought she’d found with Frank.
I love you, Carin, he’d said, not just once but often. She’d never used those same words to him but she’d thought them, and look how that had turned out. Frank’s idea of “love” had led him into another woman’s arms. Hers had left her jilted, nursing a broken heart…
Her hand stilled. Slowly, she opened the bathroom door and walked back into the bedroom.
That wasn’t the way it had been. She hadn’t nursed a broken heart, only an angry one. She’d never loved Frank. If she had, she’d have wanted to spend the nights in his arms. She’d have felt a little rush of joy whenever she saw him. She’d have dreamed about him, longed for him, been angry at him, sometimes, but with a passion that made loving him all the sweeter.
And she’d have longed for his kisses, as she longed for Rafe’s. She’d have sighed when he touched her, as she’d sighed all this morning. She’d have stood wrapped in his robe, as she was wrapped in Rafe’s, and buried her face in the collar, and inhaled his scent and wished, oh, wished, that she were in his arms…
Carin lifted her head and stared blindly at the window. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. What she felt for Rafe was—it was desire. It was respect, too, she could admit that, now, though she’d have denied it only yesterday. And she liked him. Why wouldn’t she? He was intelligent, he was funny, he was generous…
But she didn’t love him.
She didn’t want to love him. Love was dangerous. It was uncertain. It made you vulnerable to the worst kind of pain…
“Bom dia, querida.”
She swung around and saw Rafe in the doorway, a silver serving tray in his hands.
“Did I startle you?” Smiling, he elbowed the door shut and came towards her. “I thought you might be like me. I am not worth bothering with until I’ve had my morning coffee.”
That wasn’t true. He was very much worth bothering with. Her heart gave a quick, crazy thud. Rafe’s hair was tousled; his jaw was shaded with early-morning stubble. He was wearing jeans, zipped but unbuttoned, and nothing else except that sexy, devastating smile…
“Don’t look so worried, querida.” He grinned, put the tray on a small table near the windows and sat down on one of the two love seats that faced it. Carin sat down opposite him. He poured two cups of coffee from a silver pot, got up, went to where she sat and handed her one. “I didn’t make it myself,” he said, sitting beside her, “Elena did.”
“Oh.”
Oh. She raised the cup to her lips and buried her groan of dismay within it. Was that the best she could muster, for morning conversation with her husband? With the man she’d fallen in love with? Except, of course, she hadn’t. She couldn’t possibly have…
The cup wobbled. She put it on the saucer, put both carefully on the table and gave him a smile she hoped was steadier than her hand.
“Well,” she said brightly.
“Well,” Rafe said, and smiled back at her.
“I, um, I have to check on Amy.”
“I already did. Her nanny gave her a bottle, and now she is fast asleep.”
“Oh.”
“I said we would be in to see the baby at lunchtime.”
“Lunchtime? But what will we do until…”
Carin’s eyes met his. It would have been difficult enough, facing him without embarrassment this morning. She’d known that. After all, she’d never awakened in a man’s bed before.
It was worse, now. It was impossible. She was scared, not of him but of herself. He could never know that she—that she thought she might love him. She’d never tell him, never let him suspect. You gave a man so much power over you, if you did that…
“Carin.” He took her hand, laced his fingers through her. “What’s the matter?”
Her lips felt bone-dry; she ran the tip of her tongue across them. “Nothing. I guess—I guess I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“You’re supposed to just let me look at you, esposa.” He brought her hand to his lips, turned it over and kissed the palm. “You are so very beautiful. I came close to waking you, to tell you that.”
She smiled unsteadily, tugged her hand back and put it in her lap.
“Thank you.”
“Something is wrong,” Rafe said quietly. “Are you feeling unwell?” His eyes darkened. “Did I hurt you, querida?”
“No! No, I’m fine. It’s just…It’s just that I’m not very good at this—this morning-after thing.”
His face went blank. “Why not?”
“Well…” She took a steadying breath. “Because—because I never awakened in anyone’s bed before.”
He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then he nodded, as if she’d told him no
thing more important than that it was going to rain.
“Didn’t you?”
“No.” She dropped her gaze, suddenly knowing she had to tell him this, that he had the right to know it, that she wanted him to know it, even if he didn’t sound as if he gave a damn, she thought with a sudden flare of anger. She looked at him. “Frank was the only other man I’ve ever been with.”
Rafe’s expression remained unreadable. “I see.”
She shot to her feet. “Am I boring you, Rafe? Because if I am—”
“Carin.” He caught her wrist and stood up. She could see something in his eyes now, some little flash of light. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Actually, I’m beginning to wonder.” Her chin lifted. “I had some silly idea you might be interested, that as my husband you’d want to know that I’m not—not promiscuous, that when it comes to sex—”
“Don’t stop now,” he said softly, with a little smile she couldn’t read. “Not when it’s just starting to get interesting.”
Color rushed into her cheeks. “What I’m trying to tell you is that I never spent an entire night with Frank, and that sex with him wasn’t—it wasn’t ever—”
Her voice faded. Rafe drew her to him, put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up.
“We made love last night, querida. There’s a difference.”
The breath sighed from her lips. “Yes,” she said softly, “yes, there is.”
“For a minute there, I was afraid you were about to tell me that Frank had been a lover you would never forget.”
“Is that what you…? No. Oh, no. That’s not it, at all. What I was trying to tell you was—was…” She stopped, bit down on her lip, then flashed him a bright smile. “Sit down. Let me pour you some more coffee.”
He nodded, then sat. She filled his cup and handed it to him. He was awash in coffee already but maybe, if he sat here long enough, he could figure out what in hell was going on. Carin had just told him she’d only been with one other man, and that it hadn’t been as good with that man as it had been with him.
Why had she told him that? Not that it wasn’t good, hearing it. She’d told him, very clearly, that the ghost that had hovered over their marriage had been put to rest. But if that were true, why did she look so unhappy?