Page 23 of Emergency Engagement

‘It’s okay to sit down, Sammy. We can go down in a while. No rush; breakfast is informal here. People grab what they want and at ten-thirty the day’s work begins. We retire to one of the sitting rooms downstairs which is equipped with a conference table and all the gizmos to make transatlantic communication a breeze. Everybody else does whatever they want, although as I said today the partners will be on a day trip out and I’ll take some time out to come with you to the market.’

‘I’ll see if I can get hold of some fresh fish and prawns. It wasn’t the original plan for today, which was chicken, but ...seafood would be nice.’

‘There’s an excellent fish market. Opens every day bar Monday.’

‘When was the last time you were here, just out of curiosity?’

‘Sorry?’

‘When were you here last? I know it’s not part of my brief to ask personal questions, but it might help if I know just a tiny bit about you, seeing as you’re the love of my life.’

Their eyes met and Sammy held his dark gaze.

Rafael hesitated. He had got her to this place, and it made sense for them to have some background information about one another, but intense privacy was so embedded in his DNA that he honestly didn’t know where to begin when it came to sharing anything about himself.

Her clear green eyes were only mildly curious.

She was so slight, and her dark hair was so short, that she should have looked boyish—but she didn’t. She was all soft femininity underneath the tough, prickly exterior, a contradiction, and all the more unsettling and fascinating for it.

He poured them both a cup of coffee and nodded to the sofa, encouraging her to sit and then sitting next to her, inclining his body to face her and extending his long, muscular legs.

‘Okay, you’re right. I suppose it makes sense for us to find out a bit more about one another. I don’t come here often, as it happens. Not as often as I’d like. Of course it gets used: my father comes on a reasonably regular basis, and brings friends sometimes. And I open it up to my employees on a regular basis—a kind of bonus if they’ve done a particularly good job. For me, though, time is money.’

‘How did you get to that place?’

‘Come again?’

‘The place where time is money. I don’t remember you being particularly impressed by money or material stuff when you were young. Old jeans...old rugby shirt... You always looked like you couldn’t care less about fancy clothes.’

‘I didn’t then,’ Rafael said gently, lowering his lashes. ‘And I still don’t, but I found that what I do care about—which ismaking the sort of money that gives me freedom—comes with the fancy clothes and the material stuff.’

‘It’s a tough life.’

Rafael burst out laughing and, when he looked at her, his dark eyes were warm and appreciative.

‘Never thought about making lots of money, Sammy? Buying freedom from small-town living?’

‘No,’ she said politely. ‘And frankly I’m shocked that, having met me, anyone out there is actually falling for this act of ours. Two minutes of questioning and they’d know what I thought of people who put money ahead of everything. I hope you don’t think I’m rude in saying that.’

‘Borderline rude, now that you mention it, but I’m getting used to that side of you.’ His dark eyes were amused. ‘I should point out, though, that I don’t think anyone will be asking for your definition of what you look for in a soul mate. You’re over-thinking conversations that won’t take place. Between work, being a tour guide for the other halves and you buried in the kitchen, long, meaningful conversations are going to be few and far between. If the going gets tough, I’ll rescue you.’ He paused and then, to his surprise, said, ‘Anyway, everyone cares about money.’

‘Yes, well, maybe in your world.’

‘Money is freedom. Who doesn’t want to be free?’ He reached for his phone and ordered up some breakfast, courtesy of one of the assistant chefs on call: local coconut bread with scrambled eggs and fresh juice. His eyes didn’t leave her face. ‘But, getting out of the realms of abstract thinking and returning to your original question, I’ve had the place for years. It was...’

‘It was...?’

‘A celebration of making my first million, as it happens.’ He looked at her, but her returning gaze was bland and matter of fact. She was listening, but she wasn’t hanging onto what hehad to say. Something stirred inside him, something darkly tempting, a sensation that was as fleeting as quicksilver, gone before he could recognise it. Somewhere inside, a spark had been lit, and it left him with an uneasy feeling, one he dismissed as soon as it surfaced.

What was the big deal in sharing perfectly straightforward information because they happened to be in a situation that demanded it?

‘My ancestry on my father’s side harks from this island, as it happens. It was briefly colonised by the Spanish, hence the connection. My parents came here on a belated honeymoon when I was three.’ He flushed darkly becausethatbit had slipped out before he could edit it.

‘Okay, makes sense—I’ve read that it’s tough buying land or property here without connections. How is your dad, by the way? I remember him...a bit.’

‘Is that it? No more probing questions about my past in a quest for background information to add authenticity?’

‘I can ask some if you like.’ Sammy shrugged and then smiled. ‘I thought we’d stick to the basics.’

---