His Suitable Bride: Rafael's Suitable Bride / The Spaniard's Marriage Bargain / Cordero's Forced Bride

‘Next time I’ll come better prepared.’ Rafael, never having seen himself as the sort of man who went around rescuing damsels in distress, felt quite pleased with himself.

‘I’ll be fine next time. Really.’ They fell into step, leaving the grounds behind him.

‘Where was the Martin character?’

‘Oh, he introduced me to the girls, but then he had to rush off for a netball match. Not his fault.’

‘You’re too generous,’ Rafael said shortly. ‘The very least the man could have done was to stick around and show you the ropes on your first day.’

‘I know,’ Cristina said vaguely. ‘But his match had been arranged a long time before he knew that I would be coming here. I’m just happy that he gave me the chance to do this.’

Rafael frowned, not caring for the way she immediately rushed into the man’s defence.

‘You’ll be royally taken advantage of with an attitude like that,’ he told her darkly, and he felt her briefly touch his arm.

‘You’re far too cynical, Rafael. Why would Martin take advantage of me? I’m volunteering to do this! It’s hardly as though he’s going to rope me in to do all manner of school activities. He knows I’ve got a full-time job with the flower shop.’

‘You can never tell. You’re far too trusting.’

‘Well, that’s not such a bad thing, is it?’

Rafael laughed dryly. ‘I wouldn’t know. It’s not a trait I’m familiar with. In the cut-throat world of business, having a trusting nature is like loading a gun and pointing the barrel at your head.’

Cristina shuddered. ‘Which is why I will never get involved in that world.’

‘No. I can’t say I can see you there.’ Rafael, imagining her sitting in a board room discussing mergers and acquisitions, couldn’t resist a smile. It felt surprisingly good to be walking along the busy London streets with his shoes muddy, his suit fit for the bin and his trench coat whipping around him. ‘There’s no point my going back to the office,’ he told her suddenly. ‘I’ll take you out to dinner.’

‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘I realise that.’ He stuck out his hand and magically a taxi appeared. He pulled open the door, gave the cab driver her address and turned to her. ‘Well?’

‘Yes!’ Cristina said breathlessly.

This wasn’t any kind of date. She knew that. Rafael was not the sort of man to be attracted to her. But still … it felt like a date and she showered quickly and dressed accordingly, making it casual, but as sexy as she could given the restrictions of her figure. Instead of her usual oversized jumper, she wore a tightly fitted knitted long-sleeved top in a pale apricot colour. The jeans remained the same but with boots, and she finger-brushed her hair and left it loose.

It took her less than forty-five minutes from start to finish and her eyes were bright when she rejoined him in the kitchen, where he had helped himself to some water while he waited.

She looked good.

Rafael gazed at her in astonishment because the figure only briefly glimpsed before now revealed itself as curvaceous and ultra-feminine. A tantalising strip of cleavage pouted provocatively at him from between the folds of her coat.

Sweet natured, naive and from the right background. She would never demand anything, and would never see him as a bank balance in need of depleting. If there was one thing he had established beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was that she was uninterested in money. She had plenty at her disposal, thanks to her parents, and yet no one would ever have guessed it. He continued to look at her speculatively until she began to squirm under his scrutiny.

‘What?’ she laughed nervously. ‘Have I got something on my face?’

‘You look good.’ This was the first time Rafael had ever contemplated approaching a relationship with longevity in mind. At least, the first time since his disastrous marriage all those years ago. Then, he had made a terrible mistake. It had been a vital learning curve, and Rafael had no intention of repeating his error. He had never allowed his mother to dictate his love life, but this time he was prepared to allow that time was marching on. The vision of a lonely old man had spread before him in all its dubious glory and he hadn’t cared for it.

This woman fitted the bill of a suitable wife. The icing on the cake was that the union would be given full approval by his mother, who had uniformly disliked every single woman he had ever brought to see her, and that, he had always known, included his ex-wife.

‘Thank you.’ Cristina went bright red and reminded herself that this was not a date. Like he had said, neither of them could have really returned to work, and he’d probably had nothing better planned for the evening.

‘Now to my place so that I can shower, and then we could head off. What kind of food do you like?’

‘All kinds!’ She chattered happily as they jumped into another taxi for the twenty-minute trip to his apartment. She confessed to having a sweet tooth, filled him in on the numerous diets she had sampled over the years, talked about what she wanted to do to her football side, and then anxiously asked him whether he thought it was a good idea or not.

She was simple and uncomplicated and he knew, instinctively, that she would not put him in the pressurised situation of having to dismiss her because she had overstepped her brief.

‘Did you mean what you said about coming back for another go at the football?’ she asked suddenly. ‘You told me that the next time you would be better prepared.’

Rafael had enjoyed the game. He had not really played, just stood on the sidelines giving her a hand, but now he thought that maybe he would make the time. He had played both rugby and football all the way through school and university and had excelled at both. However, along with most other leisure activities, he had promptly dropped both the minute his working life had taken over. Now, perhaps, he would redress the balance.

He nodded slowly and looked across at her expectant face. ‘Why not? I can arrange to come along at least now and again, especially if your so-called buddy is going to do another runner.’

It felt good to be accommodating, and he knew that his efforts would be worth it. He would court her the good old-fashioned way. Marriage as a business proposition would not be her style, and he wouldn’t blame her. But it certainly would work for him. Love was a complication, and after years of unforeseen complications in his dealings with women he was ready to concede that what he needed was a marriage of convenience.

‘Really?’

‘You sound shocked.’ He gave her a half smile that made her pulses race.

‘I am,’ Cristina told him truthfully. ‘I got the impression that you didn’t make time in your life for very many leisure activities, least of all football with a bunch of high-school kids.’

‘I’ll have you know that I was a pretty impressive player in my time.’

‘What happened?’

‘Work happened.’

‘Well, it’s never too late to loosen those chains,’ Cristina said gently.

‘Chains?’

‘The ones that are keeping you tied to your desk.’

They had reached their destination. Was it her imagination or were they beginning, against all odds, to bond? She could scarcely believe it. He was utterly out of her league, at least in terms of physical attraction and social savoir faire. She, like him, came from a privileged background, but there the similarity ended. And yet she could feel something tentative between them. It was scary and exhilarating at the same time, and it made her head spin, as if she was twelve again and on one of those terrifying rollercoaster rides she had gone on with her friends.

Having no experience on which to fall back, Cristina contented herself with some pleasurable fantasies in which Rafael played the starring role.

When he emerged, dressed, they had already had two children and a couple of dogs.

She flushed guiltily, relieved that he couldn’t read her mind.

They went to a Thai restaurant, and it was only when they were nearly through a bottle of wine that Rafael asked her casually how it was that she had never had a boyfriend.

‘Of course Fve had boyfriends!’ Cristina told him hotly. ‘I just never met anyone I wanted to settle down with.’

‘And that would be because …?’

‘I must be fussy,’ she responded airily, pleasantly heady after the wine.

‘Oh, yes?’ Rafael leaned forward. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright. She wasn’t flirting with him, but there was something undeniably sexy about her—they way her lips were parted, the way her heavy breasts bounced when she gesticulated, which she did a lot. He reached out, forked one of the prawns on her plate and placed it to her mouth.

Cristina went a brighter shade of pink and nibbled the proffered delicacy. Such a small gesture, but it sent her pulses racing and made the hairs on the back of her neck tingle.

‘You’re blushing,’ he said, flirting outrageously but keeping his expression perfectly serious. ‘Why? Do I make you nervous?’

‘A little, I suppose,’ she confessed. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Anything you like.’ Rafael sat back, sipped his wine and watched her carefully over the rim of his glass.

‘Are you flirting with me?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Are you flirting with me?’

Rafael, taken aback by the directness of the question, was stumped for words. ‘What if I were?’ He finally answered her question with one of his own.

‘I would ask you why.’

This was not a conversation Rafael had ever conducted with a woman before, but then he had to concede that this woman was not exactly like any woman he had ever dated before. Next she would be asking him if this, in fact, was a date, and if so could he please give her his definition of a date!

‘Well?’ It took some courage, but Cristina was determined to find out where exactly she stood. There would be nothing more mortifying than to conduct herself in a manner that suggested she wanted more from him than he was prepared to give. He was a man of the world. The last thing he needed was to lend a helping hand only to find the subject of his noble attentions was becoming a nuisance.

‘If it’s flirting when I tell you that you look sexy, then I’m flirting.’ The roundabout approach was, he was finding, strangely enjoyable. Something of a turn-on, in fact.

‘Sexy? Me?’

Rafael leant towards her, his face still serious. ‘I’m a connoisseur of women and you have a very delectable body, Cristina.’

‘I’m … I’m not sure that I approve of … of having my body looked at … in that way …’ she stuttered, swallowing a deep breath. ‘I’ve never appreciated men who—who treat women like objects.’

‘And I apologise if that was the impression I gave you.’ Their food was placed in front of them, lots of little taster dishes, with the delicious aroma of coconut and peanut.

Cristina stared down at the fragrant selection, dismayed to find that, although she had been sticking up for her principles, she wished that she hadn’t wrecked the atmosphere in the process. And why kid herself? She had liked his remark. It had been out of order, but she liked that he had been looking at her body. Her mind had gone into overdrive and she had pictured him touching her. Just thinking about it now made her feel hot and bothered.

‘Okay.’ She smiled shyly at him. That was her way of flirting. She thought it might have been more coy if she hadn’t gone bright red, but she was new to this game.

Rafael, smiling lazily back at her, knew that he was winning, and a very pleasant game it was turning out to be too. Not for a moment did he think that he was being unfair, that he was using his tremendous and powerful appeal to sneak under her skin and break down her defences. Indeed, he thought that he was doing her a favour in not sitting her down and discussing with her, rationally and thoughtfully, the pros and cons of marriage as a business transaction. If that wasn’t respect for her values, then what was?

He raised his glass to her in an indolent toast and kept his fabulous eyes pinned to her face as they sipped their wine.

‘Do you know?’ Cristina confided as she finally closed her knife and fork on what had been a superb meal. ‘I feel as though I’ve known you for ages. Isn’t it weird?’

‘Weird,’ Rafael agreed. She was as transparent, he mused, as a pane of glass. There was no teasing ‘getting to know you, getting to know me’ game, no suggestive remarks designed to get his appetite whetted, no come-hither looks to pique his curiosity.

‘Except,’ she frowned, ‘I don’t really, do I?’ She linked her fingers together and stared at him, thrilling at the sheer beauty of his face, his sensational sexual allure. He was flirting with her, teasing her, and although she didn’t know why, because he could have snapped his fingers and had any woman he wanted on the face of the planet, she was happy to just accept the situation as it presented itself to her. She wasn’t someone who spent a lot of time analysing things. What good did that ever do? Growing up, she had had friends who’d analysed relationships into an early grave, and she had learnt that trying to read too much into things was usually a cause of unnecessary stress. Aside from that, her sunny personality was not given to brooding on possibilities.

Something about this man—and she knew it went way beyond the fact that he was stunningly, shockingly beautiful—went straight through her sexual reserve and struck at the very core of her.

‘How well do we ever know someone else?’ Rafael was amused by the ease she felt in his company. He wasn’t a fool. Even when women had been chasing him, even when they had been lying in bed with him, he had known that they had tiptoed around him, as though apprehensive that the man who made love to them could suddenly turn into a monster.

‘That’s a silly answer,’ Cristina said bluntly, and Rafael burst into laughter, highly amused at her response.

‘A silly answer … Nooo …’

‘No what?’

‘Nope. I’ve searched through my memory bank and I can’t recall anybody ever telling me that something I’ve said is silly.’

‘You’re making fun of me.’

‘Perish the thought!’ He ordered them both coffee and then sat back, relaxed, to hear where she would go from here. Surprisingly, they had managed to consume between them the better part of two bottles of very fine white wine indeed. Italian, naturally.

‘It’s just that you pretty much know everything about me. I’ve told you about my family, my sisters, my schooling, my flower shop. But you haven’t told me anything about yourself. I know you work hard and do something clever in business, but what else?’

Rafael thought of the never-ending hours of work he put in running companies that stretched across the world, and was amused to have it all reduced to doing ‘something clever in business’.

‘Went to school, did economics, physics and psychology at university, left with a first-class degree …’

‘You did psychology? Frankie wanted to do psychology at university, but dad told her that it was a soft option so she did history instead. As it turned out, she never actually used her degree cos she got married and had children. I guess you find it useful in business, though—you can interview people and know exactly what they’re really thinking.’

‘Psychology, Cristina,’ Rafael said dryly, ‘As opposed to mind-reading.’ He fell silent for a few seconds and then made a decision. ‘And, yes, I guess it is useful in business. Knowing how people tend to think gives you a headstart on figuring out their moves, which can come in handy when you’re sitting round a table trying to hammer something out. Aside from that, it’s been less effective than you might think.’

‘What do you mean?’ She was hardly aware that she had finished her coffee and was watching him intently, sensing that he was on the brink of a revelation of some kind. Was she holding her breath? She forced herself to breathe evenly because this was really no big deal. He was probably on the brink of disclosing something really trivial, like he hated cooking or didn’t know how to use his washing machine, or had cried when his pet rabbit had died when he was a kid.

‘I was married once …’ Rafael gave her a crooked smile. He had decided to embark on this topic because his marriage was no secret, and sooner or later she would find out about Helen from his mother. He wanted to set the record straight from the start. However, now that the words had left his mouth, he discovered that confiding was a talent he lacked, never having put it to any use.

‘You don’t have to go into any details,’ Cristina said hurriedly, partly because she could sense his difficulty in talking about it and partly because, in this little fantasy world she was busily spinning for herself, hearing about a woman who could turn out to have been the love of his life was not what she wanted. ‘I mean,’ she continued quickly, ‘I know men aren’t very good at expressing their feelings …’ She had read that somewhere and in her limited experience it was certainly true. ‘Well, obviously some men are,’ she ploughed on for the sake of accuracy.

Rafael experienced one of those moments of slight disorientation that conversing with her seemed to generate.

‘Some men can be very sensitive.’ She frowned earnestly. ‘Of course.’

‘Of course,’ he agreed blandly, once more back in control. ‘Men who cry in front of sad movies and think that knitting shouldn’t be a sexist thing.’

This time it was Cristina’s turn to laugh, which drew a smile from Rafael.

‘I got married to a woman called Helen when I was … Well, put it this way, young enough to be fooled into thinking that it was love.’

‘And it wasn’t?’ Cristina asked hopefully.

‘It was a catastrophe.’ This was the real version of events and one he had told no one, not even his mother. This was the version of events which he had had no intention of telling her, but somehow his brain had failed to transmit that message to his mouth—and here he was, recounting a story that was older than time, but that still filled him with sour bile whenever he thought about it. Which was seldom.

He would keep it brief, he decided. ‘We met at university,’ he said in a clipped, impersonal voice. ‘At one of those clubs where too much beer gets drunk and everyone rolls back to halls of residence way too late, stopping for a curry on the way back.’

Cristina tried to imagine a wild and reckless Rafael, drunk and eating a curry, and found that she couldn’t.

‘Helen was there. Unlike everyone else, she was stone-cold sober, just standing a little apart from her group, looking around her.’ Rafael remembered that look. It had been cool and detached, as if she’d been examining the crowd and had possibly found it wanting, and it was that look that had drawn his attention. The look and her amazing beauty: hair platinum-blonde, body tall and languid, eyes of a most incredible green. He had wanted her the minute he had laid eyes on her and, even at the age of twenty, had known that he would have her.

He heard himself explaining that moment to his rapt audience, the moment he had felt something way beyond anything he had ever felt before. Had continued feeling it, like a man in a trance, even when little snippets of information had emerged that should have had the alarm-bells ringing.

‘She was older than me, as it turned out,’ he said dispassionately. ‘A little something she kept to herself, and the fact is I probably would never have been the wiser if I hadn’t come across her passport buried in one of her drawers. Nine years older, to be precise. Nor was she a university student. She actually worked at a department store in the city.’ He shook his head, and although he couldn’t detect the bitterness in his own voice Cristina had no trouble in hearing it, and her tender heart reached out to him.

‘We married as soon as I was out of university, by which time she naturally was well aware of the extent of my personal fortune. My ex-wife,’ he said heavily, ‘Was instrumental in showing me the truth behind the saying that all that glitters is not gold. It wasn’t long before I realised that she was long on good looks, but pretty short on fidelity.’

‘How awful for you,’ Cristina said softly, which reminded Rafael that he was in the process of pouring his heart out, a self-indulgent exercise for which he had no taste. But she made a good listener, and it felt oddly liberating to talk to her.

‘To cut a long story short …’ He signalled for the bill and briefly scanned it before handing over his credit card. ‘It wasn’t long before she began casting her net elsewhere, while continuing to enjoy the sort of lavish lifestyle she must have been quietly searching out all her life. She was involved in a fatal car crash in America, and only I am aware of the fact that she wasn’t the driver of the car. I believe he was the ski instructor she had met the year before.’

‘That’s just awful,’ Cristina said softly and, far from being irritated by a clichéd response, Rafael was touched by the depth of feeling in her voice.

‘That’s just … life. So, now you have been treated to a slice of my past, it’s time for us to head home. You have work tomorrow and I have a do later tonight which, I might add, I am already late for.’ He stood up, surprised at the speed with which the evening had progressed.

‘Won’t they be a little put out? It’s after nine!’

‘It’s not the sort of affair that requires strict adherence to time,’ Rafael said, thinking without vanity that he would be welcomed whatever time he decided to appear because they had more need of him than he had of them. ‘But …’ Yet another uncharacteristic decision. ‘You are right. The thought of walking around an art gallery and trying to look interested in splashes of random colour on a canvas might be a bit of a struggle at this hour.’ He quickly made a couple of calls, and by the time he had clicked off his mobile his appearance at the gallery had been cancelled.

It was beginning to rain outside, an icy rain that spiked their faces like thin needles. Against this penetrating cold Cristina’s coat was defenceless and she was glad to step into a taxi and sit back, eyes closed as she rehashed in her mind her extraordinary afternoon and evening. The football coaching had started off with such lack of promise, and had ended in her sharing a meal with a man to whom she was—and she didn’t mind admitting it—strangely and intoxicatingly attracted. A man who was attracted to her!

He had confided in her. Had that been a turning point for him?

‘You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you?’ Rafael asked as he heard her try to stifle a yawn.

‘Sorry.’ She shifted in her seat and looked at him drowsily. ‘Must be all that wine after running around coaching. I feel exhausted.’

Rafael started to say something and then noticed that her eyelids were drooping. It dawned on him that she was nodding off in his company. Was this what they meant by sending someone to sleep?

By the time the taxi was outside her apartment, she was leaning against him, breathing evenly, sweetly asleep. Her hair smelled fresh and clean. He gently nudged her, and Cristina woke with a little start and straightened up, apologising profusely for falling asleep.

Her eyes were still drowsy. She looked like a little rumpled puppy.

‘I’ll see you in, and before you tell me that I don’t need to I know I don’t. But I will anyway.’

‘Am I that predictable?’ she asked, waking up more fully as she stepped out into the rain.

‘No,’ he drawled slowly. ‘Predictable isn’t a word that could be used to describe you.’

It was only when they were in the lift that Cristina, fully alert now, became aware of the atmosphere between them. Something had changed, although she couldn’t precisely say what. They both knew something about each other that was unique to them. She knew about a slice of his past which he had shared with no one else, and he knew that she was a virgin, and this intimacy seemed to have altered something. Altered it in a thrilling and very charged way. She kept her eyes studiously averted in the lift, but every nerve in her body was aware of him standing next to her, his hair damp from the rain, his hands thrust into the pockets of his trench coat.