Isobel could feel waves of censure still emanating from Rafael, and felt acutely self-conscious in the fussy designer dress. She hitched up the strapless side, feeling too exposed, and nearly jumped a foot high when she felt Rafael’s warm hand come onto her knee, sending a bolt of sensation straight between her legs.
‘Stop fidgeting,’ he growled.
He took Isobel’s hand and lifted it up, forcing her gaze around his. She had to suck in a breath at the intensity in his dark eyes, and could see how his gaze moved down to her throat, where she could feel the beat of her traitorous pulse underneath her skin. A slow smile curved Rafael’s sensual mouth and, aghast at the liquid pooling of heat in her belly, Isobel finally managed to wrench her hand away.
Rafael let her go, but didn’t let her turn away from him. He brought a hand up to cup her jaw, the skin so silky-smooth and soft that he had to repress a groan of need. ‘Remember our truce. We’re in this together. We’ve both got something out of this.’
Her face in the dim light of the back of the car looked as if it was carved out of marble. ‘I’ll be the perfectly attentive wife, Rafael, don’t worry.’ And she jerked her chin out of his hand and looked away again.
In the interval of the performance Isobel went to the powder room—as much to escape Rafael for a few minutes as to repair her non-existent make-up. It was happening again. He was using the excuse of being in public and putting on a front to touch her at every opportunity and her nerves were shredding fast.
To her relief the powder room was empty, and she splashed some water on her face. She heard someone come in and only half looked up, but froze when she saw a stunningly beautiful woman looking stra
ight at her. As she watched, she saw the woman lock the door behind her so no one else could come in.
Isobel didn’t feel fear, she just felt bemused. She stood up and shook her hands out, wiped at her face with a towel.
‘So how does it feel to know you’ve married the most elusive bachelor in Argentina?’
A foreboding chill crawled down Isobel’s spine as she met the woman’s dark slumberous eyes in the mirror. ‘I’m sorry—do I know you?’
The woman came closer, to stand before the mirror, admiring her own reflection. Isobel moved back, but had to admit she was gorgeous. Long midnight-black hair, sultry feline features and a body that was poured seductively into a gold lamé dress. It was a bit too obvious for Isobel’s tastes, but…
‘I’m Rafael’s ex-fiancée.’ She turned around and held out a hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
Isobel’s throat went dry as she wondered for a sickening moment how she had not recognised her. And how had Rafael let a temptress like this walk away from him? She was everything Isobel wasn’t, and Isobel was too stunned to castigate herself for thinking like that.
Isobel ignored her hand and sidled towards the door. The first bell rang for people to go back to their seats and she breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I’d better get back. Rafael will be wondering where I am.’
The other woman crossed her arms and her eyes went to cat-like slits. ‘So you got him in the end? You know, his arranged marriage to you was one of the things I used to show him how trapped he was.’ The woman’s full mouth went into a bitter line. ‘But then I was greedy, and when he lost everything it was too much of a risk to stick around. How could I know he’d make it all back and then some?’
Isobel’s brain throbbed. ‘Lost everything…?’ What was this woman talking about?
The woman laughed harshly and sent a scathing glance up and down. ‘Look at you. You’re not even wearing make-up. You could never have hoped to get Rafael without an arranged marriage. He’s only ever felt passion for one woman—me. Why do you think he was about to elope with me?’
The warning bell rang again outside and, feeling overwhelmed, Isobel grabbed blindly for the lock on the door and turned it, all but falling out in a heap. She felt clammy. To her utter surprise Rafael was waiting on the other side.
He took her arm. ‘I was just coming to look for you. Is something wrong? You look ill.’
Just then the door opened again, and the woman sauntered out. Unable not to watch, Isobel took in Rafael’s reaction with sick fascination. His eyes narrowed and his face flushed. Clearly he was not immune to this woman. Isobel felt even more nauseous.
‘Ana,’ he bit out.
‘Rafael, darling,’ the woman purred. T wanted to come and introduce myself to your lovely new wife. After all, we almost had so much in common.’
Rafael’s hand had tightened on Isobel’s arm so much that she bit back a cry.
‘Actually, Ana, you’ve got so little in common it’s almost funny.’
And with that Rafael strode away, dragging Isobel in his wake. When she could finally speak she managed to get out, ‘Rafael—my arm. You’re hurting me.’
He finally stopped, and she wrenched her arm from his grasp, rubbing it. Now she was feeling mortified and angry. ‘What on earth was that all about?’
He looked a little shell-shocked, and something curiously like hurt ripped through Isobel’s chest.
He ran a hand through his hair with an impatient gesture and then said curtly, ‘Nothing. I just haven’t seen her in a long time. Come on, or we’ll miss the second half.’
That night Isobel lay in bed and couldn’t sleep. Her insides roiled and all she could keep thinking about was Rafael saying to his ex-fiancée, ‘You’ve got so little in common it’s almost funny.’