Crime Of Passion

And ultimately Steve had been proved right, that dreadful evening when her short-lived relationship with Rafael had been blown apart at the seams. Rafael had treated her like a whore. Scorched by that memory, Georgie sank back to the present and cast aside the sweltering blanket in a gesture of rebellion. She stretched out her lithe, wonderfully shapely legs and crossed them. She didn’t give two hoots for his opinion, did she? She wasn’t a stupid, besotted little teenager any more, was she?

‘Where are you staying in La Paz?’ he asked after a perceptible pause, firing the engine again.

She told him. That was the end of the conversation, but the atmosphere was so thick all of a sudden that she could taste it. It tasted like oil waiting for a flame: explosive. She tilted her head back, a helplessly feminine smile of satisfaction curving her lips as she noticed the tense grip of his lean hands on the wheel. So, in spite of all the insults, Rafael was still not impervious to her on the most basic level of all. A little voice in the back of her mind demanded to know what she was doing, why she was behaving in this utterly uncharacteristic way. She suppressed it.

She was surprised when he sprang out of the car and silently accompanied her into her shabby hotel, but she chose not to comment. Why lower herself to talk to him? She strolled ahead of him, every tiny swing of her hips an art-form. Presumably he was intending to take her straight to his sister. Maria Cristina was probably home again by now. But how on earth was Georgie to settle her hotel bill? Her missing handbag had contained not only her passport, but all her money as well.

Her room looked as though a bomb had hit it. Yesterday, she had gone out in a rush. Reddening, Georgie grabbed up her squashy travel-bag and snatched up discarded items of clothing and stuffed them out of sight. Rafael lounged back against the door, like a bloody great black storm-cloud, she found herself thinking, suddenly made nervous and grossly uncomfortable by his presence in the comparative isolation of the small room.

You can wait outside while I get changed, she muttered, because there was no en suite bathroom, just a washbasin.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Rafael murmured very drily.

‘I am not being ridiculous,’ Georgie returned tautly, her colour heightening even more. Dear heaven, surely he wasn’t seriously expecting her to strip in front of him?

Intent black eyes collided with violet bemusement. Whoosh! It was like grasping a live wire, plunging a finger into a light-socket. Violent shock thundered through Georgie’s suddenly taut body. She was electrified, wildly energised, before she strained mental bone and sinew to shut out the rich dark entrapment of his gaze, badly shaken by that terrifying burst of raw excitement.

No… no, it simply couldn’t happen to her again. She was immune to all that smouldering Latin-American masculinity now. She had not felt like that, she told herself frantically. She had not felt that stabbing, shooting sensation of almost unbearable physical awareness which had reduced her to such mindless idiocy in the past. That was behind her now, a mortifying teenage crush in which hormones had briefly triumphed over all else.

Rafael bent down fluidly and lifted a silky white pair of very brief panties off the worn carpet and tossed them to her. Already sufficiently on edge, Georgie failed to catch them and ended up scrabbling foolishly on the floor, stuffing the wretched things into her bag with hands that were trembling so badly that they were all fingers and thumbs.

‘You wouldn’t have given me a knee in the groin,’ Rafael murmured very softly.

Crouching over her bag, Georgie slewed wildly confused eyes in his direction, chose to focus safely on his Italian leather shoes.

He moved forward. She froze, the sound of her own breathing loud in her ears.

‘You would have knocked me flat with enthusiasm,’ Rafael completed thickly.

Bastard, she thought, absolutely shattered by his cruelty. She had believed she was in love, had held nothing back, had often told herself since that she was lucky he had dumped her before she ended up in his bed. But now shame drenched her and she hated him for that. He didn’t have to make her sound so cheap, did he? In the most essential way of all, she had been innocent, and there had been nothing calculated about her response to him.

Teenagers aren’t very subtle when they have a crush on someone.’ Determined not to show that his cracks had got to her, Georgie even managed a sharp little laugh.

‘But it wasn’t a crush,’ Rafael breathed, subjecting her to the full onslaught of deep-set dark eyes that disturbingly lingered and somehow held her evasive gaze steady. ‘You were violently in love with me.’

Georgie very nearly choked. The bag in her hand dropped unnoticed as her fingers lost their grip. Abruptly, she turned away, sick inside. What kind of sadist was he? Did it give him some sort of perverse kick to throw that in her teeth? It had not been love, it had never been love—she had told herself that ever since.

‘And the vibrations are still there…1 feel them,’ Rafael delivered in a purring undertone that still sliced through the throbbing silence.

‘I feel nothing… nothing!’ Georgie threw back tremulously over her shoulder, wildy disconcerted by the direction of the dialogue, it having been the last subject she would have believed him likely to refer to. She had thought herself safe from any reference to the past, had been grimly aware of his aloof detachment. Now the tables were turned with a vengeance.

Rafael reached out a strong hand and spun her back to face him. ‘Why pretend? We’re both adults now, and I know that you take your pleasure where and when you find it… and with any man who attracts you.’

Oxygen rasped in her throat and she trembled under the onslaught of that character assassination, fighting off the memories threatening to assail her. ‘How dare you?’

Insolent dark eyes mocked her ferocious tension and her sudden pronounced pallor. He lifted his other hand calmly and ran a forefinger along the full curve of her taut lower lip. ‘Does it scare you that I know you for what you are? Why should that matter? We don’t have to like each other, we don’t even have to talk,’ he murmured in a deep, dark voice. ‘I just want you in that bed under me once…and I really don’t care if it is sordid, I’ll still be the best lover you’ve ever had.’

The fingertip grazing her lip was sending tiny little shivers through her. Georgie tried and failed to swallow. She couldn’t believe what he was saying to her. She just couldn’t get her mind round the shock of such a proposal. ‘You have to be joking…’

He laughed softly. ‘You were always so honest… in this, if nothing else,’ he breathed, with a sudden edge of harshness roughening his intonation. ‘You want me. I want you. Why should we not make love?’

Georgie shuddered with barely concealed fury, but beneath the fury was a pain she flatly refused to acknowledge. ‘Because I don’t want you! I’m not that desperate!’ she spelt out hotly, and jerked free of him, ashamed that her breasts were swollen and full beneath her wispy bra, ashamed that it should actually have taken will-power to step back, and ashamed that for a split-second she had allowed herself to think of that intimacy she had once craved with the man she loved.

Yes, loved—why continue to pretend otherwise when even he knew just how deeply she had been involved? A small sop to pride? ‘We’re both adults now.’ The ultimate humiliation and he just hadn’t been able to resist the temptation. She was good enough for a sleazy roll in a grotty hotel room, not good enough for anything else, and even with all that smooth sophistication and experience at his fingertips he hadn’t bothered to wrap up that reality.

‘I’d like you to leave,’ Georgie said with as much dignity as she could muster, and it was not a lot.

‘I’ll won’t visit you in London. There will be no second chance. You see, I know where you live,’ he spelt out with sizzling bite, his dark golden features rigidly cast.

Georgie lived in a tiny attic flat of a terraced house which belonged to her stepbrother, Steve. But the significance of Rafael’s reference to that fact quite escaped her. What did where she lived have to do with anything? she wondered briefly, but she was in such turmoil that the oddity of the comment as quickly left her mind again.

She was enraged by the awareness that Rafael had not expected her to refuse that sordid proposition. Rafael had actually expected her to spread herself willingly on the bed. Her narrow shoulders rigid, she turned back to him. ‘Just forget where I live’

‘I try to.’ Rafael dealt her a chilling look of derision, his nostrils flaring. ‘But why else did you come to Bolivia? You knew we would meet again…and that was what you wanted, es verdad?’

Georgie was stunned by his arrogance. ‘Like hell it was! I want nothing to do with you… absolutely nothing!’

‘Prove it,’ he taunted, reaching out without warning to drag her up against him with an easy strength that shook her.

‘Get your hands off me!’ she gasped.

But his mouth crashed down on hers, hard, hungry, hot, forcing her lips apart. And, for Georgie, the world rocked right off its axis, dredging a shocked whimper of sound from deep in her throat. Every physical sense she possessed was violently jolted. His tongue expertly probed the sensitive interior of her mouth, blatantly imitating an infinitely more intimate penetration, and her bones turned to water and she quivered and moaned, electrified by the fierce excitement he awakened. He crushed her slender length to him with bruising hands and she gasped, her thighs trembling, an unbearable ache stirring low in her stomach.

Rafael lifted his dark head slowly. ‘Do I take you on that bed or do I take you to the airport?’ he prompted silkily, blatant masculine satisfaction in the narrowed gaze scanning her rapt face. ‘The choice is yours.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘THE airport?’ Georgie repeated blankly, endeavouring to return to rational thought and finding it unbelievably difficult.

‘For your flight home,’ Rafael extended, with a slashing and sardonic smile.

‘But I’m not going home.’ Georgie broke slowly from the loosened circle of his arms, still reeling from the effects of his lovemaking and trying very hard not to show just how shattered she was by the response he had dredged from her. She was in shock. ‘I’m going to stay with Maria Christina.’

‘My sister is in California.’

‘California?’ Georgie parroted after a shattered pause. Incredulously she stared at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Antonio’s mother lives there and Maria Cristina and Rosa are very close,’ Rafael explained smoothly. ‘My sister is expecting her first child and, since her own mother is dead, it is natural that she should want Rosa’s support at such a time.’

Georgie was in a daze. ‘But I received a letter from her less than two weeks ago, inviting me over here. She hoped I’d still be here when she had her baby!’

‘She only decided to go to San Francisco last week. She couldn’t have been expecting you to come.’ Rafael exhibited a magnificent disregard for her natural distress.

‘It was a last-minute decision and I got cancellation tickets,’ Georgie conceded tautly. ‘I tried to phone her the night before the flight but she wasn’t in—’

‘But you came all the same,’ Rafael drawled with an ironic lack of surprise.

‘I wanted to surprise her!’ Georgie slung back. ‘Why didn’t you tell me immediately? Obviously you knew I was here to stay with your sister—’

‘I had hoped you were not that foolish. I told you to stay away from Maria Cristina four years ago,’ he reminded her with grim emphasis. ‘It is a most unsuitable friendship and I made my feelings clear then ’

‘Stuff your bloody feelings!’ Georgie gasped, suddenly swinging away from him, her voice embarrassingly choked. ‘My friendship with Maria Cristina is none of your business.’

Her bruised eyes were filled with tears. So this was what it felt like to be at the end of her tether. She had really been looking forward to staying with her friend. This disappointment was the last straw. She also knew that, as a recently graduated student teacher, who had yet to find employment, it would be many years before she could hope to repeat such an expensive trip.

It was unlikely that Maria Cristina would come to London under her own steam. Rafael’s sister was very much a home-bird, who had only tolerated her English boarding-school education because it had been her late mother’s wish and who had freely admitted that she hadn’t the faintest desire to ever leave Bolivia again once her education was completed. Her marriage to a doctor, no more fond of travelling than she was, had set the seal on that insularity.

‘Anything which threatens my family is my business.’

‘Threatens?’ Georgie queried jerkily, fighting for composure. ‘And how do I threaten your family?’

‘I will not allow you to hurt my sister, and the day that she realises what kind of a woman you really are, she will be hurt.’

‘God forgive you.., I would never hurt Maria Cristina!’ Georgie gasped painfully, swinging back to him in a rage. ‘She’d be a whole lot more hurt if she knew that the brother she idolises is a slimy toe-rag!’

‘What did you call me?’ Dark eyes had turned incandescent gold, his savagely handsome features freezing into sudden incredulous stillness.

Georgie vented a shaky little laugh. All that bowing and scraping people did in his vicinity did not accustom him to derision. But she knew that she would never forget the depths to which he had sunk in his desire to humiliate her today. ‘If think you heard me, and let me assure you that your seduction routine leaves a lot to be desired!’ she spelt out, hot with anger and bitterness.

‘Seduction was quite unnecessary,’ Rafael asserted softly, his beautifully shaped mouth twisting with blatant contempt. ‘If I’d kept quiet, I’d be inside you now, and the only sounds in this room would be your moans of pleasure. You’d share a bed with any man who attracted you! I don’t pride myself on the idea that there is anything exclusive about your response to me.’

Georgie was trembling violently. Every scrap of colour had drained from her features, leaving her white as snow. Her hand flew up of its own volition but steel-hard fingers snapped round her wrist in mid-air.

‘Don’t you dare,’ Rafael grated down at her in a snarling undertone.

And the violence in the atmosphere was explosive, catching her breath in her dry throat. Raw aggression had flared in his smouldering gaze and instinctively she backed away, massaging her bruised wrist as he freed her, her heartbeat thumping so loudly in her ears that she felt faint and sick, but still she wanted to kill him, still she wanted to punish him for saying those filthy things to her.

‘I’m not like that,’ she murmured tightly, turning away, despising the little shake that had somehow crept into her voice, betraying her distress. ‘And even if I was, it would be a cold day in hell before I let you touch me.’

There was so much more she wanted to say but she didn’t trust herself. Once before, she had attempted to reason with Rafael in her own defence. He hadn’t listened. He had shot her every plea down in flames, immovably convinced that she had betrayed him in another man’s bed. Afterwards she had felt even more soiled and humiliated by his derision. She would never put herself in that position again.

The silence went on forever, reverberating around her in soundless waves.

‘Are you able to settle your bill here?’

Four centuries of ice in that chilling enquiry—well, what did she care? Numbly she shook her head.

‘I’ll take care of it.’

For five minutes, she simply stayed there in the empty room, struggling harder than she had ever had to struggle for control. When she had managed it, she walked down to Reception and found him just moving away from the desk. Without once glancing in his direction, she climbed back into the Range Rover. He would take her to the airport, put her on a flight back home. She really didn’t care any more.

The silence smouldered, chipping away at nerves that were already raw and bleeding. ‘I presume you can take care of the passport problem,’ she muttered, half under her breath, thinking of the bribery he had apparently employed to get her out of her cell.

‘What passport problem?’ His accented drawl was dangerously quiet.

‘Well, obviously it went with everything else in my bag,’ she pointed out, surprised that he hadn’t grasped that fact yet.

He uttered a raw imprecation in his own language.

‘Oh, don’t be shy…say it in English!’ Georgie suddenly heard herself rake back with a sob in her voice. ‘You think I’m a stupid bitch!’

‘Georgie…’ Fluent though his English was, he couldn’t quite handle the two syllables of her name coming so close to each other. He slurred them slightly, his rich dark voice provoking painful memories. ‘Don’t start crying’

‘I am not crying!’ She bit her tongue, tasted blood, blinked back the scorching tide dammed up behind her eyelids.

Soon after that, he stopped the car and got out, leaving her alone for about ten minutes. She waited, enveloped by a giant cloud of unfamiliar depression. It took Rafael to do this to her. He slammed a lid down on her usually bubbly personality. He made her seethingly, horribly angry. And he hurt her. Nothing had changed. She didn’t even lift her head when he rejoined her.

‘We’re here.’

Rafael opened the door. One of his security men already had her bag in one beefy hand.

Rafael extended a black coat.

‘What’s this?’ Georgie had yet to focus on any part of him above the level of his sky-blue silk tie.

‘I bought it for you. You cannot walk through the airport with—with your top falling off,’ Rafael shared flatly.

She wanted to laugh, because she had managed to forget that she was still wearing yesterday’s torn and dirty clothes. But somehow she couldn’t laugh. She stuck her arms in the sleeves of the expensive silk-lined raincoat. It was light as a feather but so long it had to look like a nun’s habit. Numbly she watched Rafael’s fingers do up the buttons. It took him a surprisingly long time, his hands less deft than she had expected.

His double standards were perhaps what she most loathed about Rafael Rodriguez Berganza. He had undoubtedly stripped more women than Casanova. Maria Cristina had been a gossip while they were at school. Rafael had a notorious reputation for loving and leaving beautiful women. But Georgie would have known anyway.

Many very good-looking men missed out on being sexy. But not Rafael. Rafael was a blatantly sexual male animal, flagrantly attuned to the physical. The air around him positively sizzled. So why the heck was this sophisticated, experienced Latin-American lover having so much difficulty buttoning up her coat? Unwarily she collided with glittering golden eyes, and it was like being struck by lightning.

He was so close she could smell a hint of citrusy aftershave, overlying clean, husky male. Her nostrils flared. Her nipples tightened into painful sensitivity, a spiralling ache twisting low in her stomach. Nearby, someone cleared their throat. She tore her gaze from Rafael’s and met the looks of visible fascination emanating from his bodyguards, standing several feet away. She realised that she and Rafael had simply been standing there staring at each other. Devastated by her overpowering physical awareness of him, Georgie turned away, her throat closing over.

In silence they entered the airport. Her head felt incredibly light and her lower limbs weak and clumsy. Exhaustion, stress and lack of food, she registered, were finally catching up with her.

Officialdom leapt out of nowhere at them. The crowds parted. Uniformed guards paved every step through the airport, down an eerily empty concourse, their footsteps echoing. There was no sign of other passengers. Clearly she was being put on the flight home either first or last.

As they emerged into the fresh air and crossed the tarmac, she realised incredulously that Rafael intended to see her right on to the plane to be sure she went. It made her feel as though she was being deported in disgrace. And that was when it happened—something that had never happened to Georgie before. As she fought to focus on him and say something smart on parting, her head swam alarmingly. The blackness folded in and she fainted.

‘Lie still.’ As Rafael made the instruction for the second time and Georgie attempted to defy it, he lost patience and planted a powerful hand to her shoulder, to force her back into the comfortable seat in which she was securely strapped. ‘I don’t want you to swoon again.’

If he used that word again, she would surely hit him. ‘I didn’t swoon, I passed out!’ she hissed, twisting away from his unwelcome ministrations. ‘And will you take that wet flannel out of my face?’

Dense black lashes screened his clear gaze from her view, a curious stillness to his strong, dark face. ‘I was trying to help,’ he proffered very quietly.

‘I don’t want your help.’ She turned her head away defensively.

You swooned with Rafael and you really hit the jackpot, though, she conceded. The entire aircrew seemed to be hovering with wet flannels, tablets, and glasses of water and brandy. Any minute now the pilot would appear and offer her some fresh air! Dear Lord, she hoped not! Her violet eyes widened in disbelief on the clouds swirling past the port-hole across the aisle… they were already airborne!

‘What are you doing on this flight?’ Georgie demanded, feverishly short of breath. ‘We’ve already taken off!’

Rafael rose up off his knees, smoothed down the knife

creases on his superbly tailored trousers and said something to the crew. Everybody went into retreat. He lowered his long, lithe frame fluidly into the seat opposite and fixed hooded dark eyes on her.

‘This is my private jet.’

‘Your what?’ Georgie gaped at him.

‘I am taking you home with me. Until your passport can be replaced, you are stuck in Bolivia.’

‘But I don’t have to be stuck with you!’

Unexpectedly, Rafael sent her a shimmering, sardonic smile. ‘A lamb to the slaughter… I don’t think.’

‘I don’t know what the heck you’re getting at, but I do know you could have left me in my hotel…or thrown a few backhanders in the right direction the way you did to get me out of my prison cell!’ Georgie derided, horrified at the prospect of being forced to accept his grudging hospitality.

He went white beneath his dark skin, his facial muscles freezing. ‘How dare you accuse me of sinking to such a level?’ he ground out incredulously. ‘I have never stooped to bribery in my life!’

Georgie licked at her dry lips. ‘I saw you give the policeman the money,’ she whispered.

Rafael surveyed her with growing outrage, registering with an air of disbelief that his denial had not been accepted. ‘I do not believe that I am hearing this. The policeman, Jorge, took the money straight to the village priest! The roof of the village church has fallen in and my donation will repair it, thereby enhancing Jorge’s standing in the community but granting him no personal financial gain,’ Rafael spelt out with biting emphasis. ‘I wanted to reward him for his efforts on your behalf. Although he did not believe that you were entitled to claim my friendship, and he was afraid of being made to look foolish, he telephoned me. Were it not for his persistence and his conscientious scruples, you would still be in that cell!’

His explanation made greater sense of the villagers’ response to him than her own hasty assumption that he had used cash to grease the wheels of justice. She reddened, but she did not apologise.

‘The young truck-driver had lied about you but he withdrew his story,’ Rafael continued icily. ‘You were then free to leave without any further output from me. I did nothing but straighten out a misunderstanding.’