Page 42 of Emergency Engagement

The plan to remain on the island had been a good one. They’d been here for ten days in total, and he knew from the conversations they’d had that her mother had come down from the sharp anxiety she had felt when she’d first found out about their so-called engagement.

For a brief second, he frowned because something else occurred to him: where was the boredom? When was that due to set in—shouldn’t it be round about now?

Sure, he had had longer-lasting women in his life in the past but, thinking about it, he’d never spent so much undiluted time with any of them. He and Sammy were practically together on a twenty-four-seven basis. They’d fallen into a routine of going to the hotel, doing all the due diligence together before it opened. She practised cooking, and the same sous chefs he had hired when his business associates had been there worked alongside her in the hotel restaurant, getting familiar with the appliances. They cooked together for the team in place at the hotel for when it opened and, lately, for some VIP families on the island.

While she did her thing, he did his, working remotely from the conference room at the hotel, on call for anyone who might require his input. So it was a little bit puzzling that he was in her company for so much of the time and yet still got a kick from looking at her. He was still so horny for her that he couldn’t get enough of her. She could have been wearing sackcloth and ashes with a side order of hobnail boots and he would still have wanted her.

She had set a wonderful table on the veranda. They would be dining al fresco, she’d told him, and it was going to be a very special meal because he had yet to see what she’d been getting up to in the kitchen. All the stuff she’d made so far had been relatively casual and light.

He looked round as he heard her approach from behind. Rafael stared. The light from the conservatory behind illuminated her. She had dressed for the occasion in a frothy lilac dress that he hadn’t seen before that skirted her slender thighs and was belted at the waist with a thin, golden cord, and wore flat, strappy sandals and a little necklace with a shell thathe had bought for her on impulse at a market they had gone to a few days ago.

She looked like a figure from Greek mythology—a very sexy one.

He slowly walked towards her, smiling as he neared her. ‘I like the outfit.’

‘Thank you. I got it yesterday at that shop—the one by the boutique that sells those paintings.’

‘I didn’t see you escape to do that.’

‘Because you were working at the hotel and I went to get some stuff from the supermarket. I thought...’

‘That you would try and distract me from eating whatever delicacies you’ve prepared because all I’d be thinking is how much I wanted to eatyou?’

‘That’s a very corny line, Rafael.’

But Sammy was smiling as he drew her against him, one hand behind her neck, the other curved possessively over her bottom. Her body curved against him in a way that was exciting and familiar at the same time. She felt the tell-tale dampness spread between her thighs and the sensitivity of her breasts brushing against the silky material. She wasn’t wearing a bra; she’d stopped that ages ago. He’d told her that he liked to be able to touch her, lift her top as she walked past in the villa, suckle against her nipple and enjoy her without the faff of having to unclasp bra straps. Since she liked that situation as much as he did, she’d been more than happy to comply.

‘I know,’ he agreed, grinning. ‘I’ll try and think of a few better ones. I like the table. You know, there was no need—nothing wrong with us eating in the kitchen.’

‘You need to see my talents as a chef!’ Sammy smiled. ‘Now, if you sit, I’m going to bring our starters out and also the wine.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He was grinning. ‘I never knew how much I would enjoy taking orders until you came along.’

Sammy smiled and held back as he strolled towards the table and sat, eyes still on her, hungry and hot. She was surprised and relieved that he hadn’t asked her what this special meal was all about. She’d glibly told him that she just wanted to prove her skills, which was true enough, although only part of the story.

Truth was that time was flying by. One week was turning into two. They’d set a time limit but it had been a vague one—two weeks or thereabouts.Thereabouts, however, didn’t stretch into ‘for ever’ land.Thereaboutsmeant that they would probably have roughly another week left before he started making noises about returning to the fast lane in London.

When Sammy thought about that, her blood ran cold. Should she wait until he said something—maybe told her that they needed to talk? Was there any way she could brace herself for that kind of conversation? What would she say? Would she just nod, shrug, laugh a bit and then say something vague about it being good while it had lasted?

If she were true to herself, then would that be her response? She had spent the past ten days making sure to hide her growing feelings from Rafael, needing to think things through without him suspecting anything. But now, with their timeline drawing to a close, thinking things through had to come to an end. She would have to take the bull by the horns, do what she had to do and then stand back and see where the cards fell.

She’d chosen the wine, and he rose to relieve her of it as she headed to the table, doing a balancing act with the wine cooler and two bowls of prawns in a spicy pepper sauce. The prawns on the island were the size of lobsters, and just as delicious.

‘So, chef, will you tell me about this dish?’

‘Try it and you can tell me what you think is in it. It’s a game I sometimes play with some of the families I’ve cooked for in the past. Occasionally service is formal, but a lot of the time I’ve cooked for stressed out working couples and served up in the kitchens. ’Course, the kitchens aren’t quite the sort of kitchens most people are used to—they’re kitchens fit for kings and queens.’

‘You like that—cooking privately as opposed to in a restaurant?’

‘It’s a lot more personal, but there’s also a lot more resting on what you produce, and sometimes people can be quite difficult. If they’re paying, they think they own you.’

‘It’s like that in any job,’ Rafael mused quietly. ‘You get paid to do a service and the person paying is always aware of that. You’re working for them and they own you. I saw that with my dad. When we moved to Yorkshire, he got a job, but he was still pretty fragile. There were days when he could barely make it out of bed, but he forced himself, because he knew that he was on a payroll and the minute he stopped doing as he was told the pay would stop.’

‘Whenever you talk about your dad, your tone of voice changes.’

‘Does it?’

‘Hardens.’

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