Helpfully he scooped up some more items and tossed them on the fire. ‘Do you always do what you’re supposed to do?’
The dark, husky timbre of his rich voice had an intimacy that skimmed down her taut spinal
cord like a caress. She shivered, and slowly, as though she was afraid of breaking out of the spell she was under, moved her bright head in affirmation. ‘Yes.’
‘That’s too predictable.’
‘You mean boring.’
‘Your slant on the word, not mine. You worry too much. You can’t make every decision by some rigid rulebook,’ Rafael censured, soft and low, his breath fanning her cheek. ‘You need to learn how to enjoy yourself again.’
His stunning eyes burned tawny gold in the firelight. She dragged in another stark breath. ‘Why aren’t you doing what billionaires usually do on a Friday night?’
His lean, startlingly handsome face remained maddeningly deadpan. ‘Which is?’
Harriet shifted slim shoulders to signify that she had only the sketchiest idea of what billionaires did on their weekends. ‘Something with a yacht or a private jet…at least a helicopter! You should be gambling at a casino…or waterskiing…or throwing a big party with loads and loads of beautiful women. Instead you’re watching a bonfire in an Irish field—’
‘I’m watching you…’
His intent gaze made her mouth run dry. He angled his proud dark head down and kissed her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He tasted of woodsmoke and wine and sex. She shivered in response, shocked, excited, half terrified of what she was feeling. Even light-headed from the peach wine she had imbibed, she recognised that she was in the hands of a sensualist with a technique to die for.
As Rafael released Harriet she looked up at him with a flattering degree of appreciation and muttered without thinking, her words running together a little, ‘You really are perfect fling material.’
Rafael went very still. ‘Meaning?’
Harriet turned pink. ‘My goodness—did I say that out loud?’
His strong jawline squared. ‘You did…so explain.’
Harriet loosed an edgy laugh, and then concentrated on not slurring her speech. ‘What’s to explain? You’re a guy with a wild, roving reputation—’
‘And you’re the “faithful unto death” type?’
‘I was with Luke.’
A faint smile of amusement was playing over his firmly modelled mouth. ‘You picked him for a lifetime, but you think I’m only good for a fling?’
As Harriet registered that his oddly chilling smile did not quite reach his eyes, she swallowed hard. Had she offended him? How could she possibly have offended him? He had a notorious reputation as a womaniser. He had already admitted that it was a lifestyle choice: not to love, not to be hurt. And she envied his detachment, longed to emulate it so that she could forget Luke and the pain of his betrayal and her sister’s. Why should passion without strings be strictly a male preserve?
‘Please don’t be insulted,’ she whispered wistfully, for at some stage she had begun to enjoy the stimulation of his presence.
Rafael shifted a dismissive shoulder in a fluid movement that was supremely Italian. ‘How could I be insulted by such inspiring honesty?’
‘You’re a fabulous kisser,’ she added, and then clamped a stricken hand to her parted lips and groaned out loud. ‘Shouldn’t have said that either. Close your ears…don’t listen!’
Rafael studied the photos of her ex that still needed burning and pitched them onto the embers, prodding them into blazing destruction with a deft booted foot. She was in despair over a guy who could model for catalogues selling garden gnomes. She had drunk only the equivalent of two small glasses of wine but clearly had a low tolerance level for alcohol, since she was talking drivel. In vino veritas? It meant literally truth in wine. Perfect fling material? Was that how she saw him? As the male sexual equivalent of a bimbo? Suitable only for a one-night-stand? A casual encounter? He was outraged. There and then he decided that he had no intention of living down to her rock-bottom opinion of him.
As Harriet sat up her head swam, making her feel a touch dizzy. ‘Oops…’
Springing upright to his full imposing height, Rafael reached down a lean hand and pulled her upright. ‘I’ll see you indoors before I leave.’
‘You do have great manners. I like that,’ she mumbled, swaying slightly until he braced an arm over her spine and managed to steady legs that seemed briefly to want to move in opposing directions.
‘I’m thrilled that you noticed.’
Tugging free of his support, to be the new and brave independent woman she was determined to be, Harriet plotted a reasonably straight path through the rough grass on her own. But Rafael helped her over the fence, and vaulted over the same barrier with the intimidating ease of an athlete to escort her across the yard.
‘I’d invite you in but I’m very sleepy,’ Harriet confided. ‘When are we going to have a business meeting?’