Rafael's Suitable Bride by Cathy Williams Page B

that filled her with a warm glow and for the moment she wanted to keep it to herself because, after all, this was the first night they had spent together. What if he got bored with her? He seemed to have a short attention span when it came to women, but Cristina wasn’t going to dwell on that. Instead, she thought of how great it felt being in love, because she knew, with complete certainty, that she was in love with him.
    Maybe he had had plenty of women in the past, maybe he had had an unhappy experience when he was young and foolishly married the wrong woman—but he was older now, and she liked to think that the very fact that she was so unlike the women who littered his past was promising.
    â€˜â€œNice” is such a non-word,’ Rafael chided. He replaced his hand with his thigh which he moved rhythmically between her legs.
    â€˜That’s not your ego talking, is it?’ she teased, half her attention focused on what was going on with her body, which was stirring into arousal even though they had barely stopped touching each other for the past few hours.
    â€˜We males are a fragile breed,’ Rafael returned silkily.
    â€˜Perhaps I should say that it was earth shattering.’
    â€˜Now that is a definite improvement.’ He cupped one heavy breast and then bent so that he could lick her nipple, which stiffened in immediate response. When he began suckling on it she gave a stifled groan and began moving against him, and this time they made love with hunger and urgency, their hands and mouths uniting as they explored each other’s bodies. She did to him what he did to her, tasting him and enjoying his hardness, every inch of it.
    She finally fell asleep and woke to a room flooded with sunlight and no sign of Rafael.
    But there was a note. The note informed her that he would be in touch, and she carried it with her for the remainder of the day. Just having it on her made her heart sing. She literally felt light-headed with emotion and when, the following day, she picked up her telephone to hear his dark, velvety voice on the other end of the line, it was all she could do not to tell him just how very happy she was.
    * * *
    And events over the ensuing three months moved at the speed of light.
    Rafael, she discovered, was not a man who did things in halves. He wanted her, and she was more than ready to accommodate him. Playing hard to get was not in her repertoireof feminine wiles, even when Anthea, who had viewed the proceedings with jaundiced eyes, told her that Rafael didn’t appear to be the sort of man who would feel comfortable wearing an apron and putting out the garbage.
    â€˜He’ll never have to wear an apron!’ Cristina laughed. ‘Why would he?’
    â€˜What a lucky man,’ Anthea said wryly. ‘Most women expect their guys to share the duties.’
    â€˜I really enjoy cooking,’ Cristina told her, hurt by the implication that she was somehow lacking. True, she knew that she held very old-fashioned values, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, was it?
    â€˜And have you done much of that?’
    â€˜None,’ Cristina confessed. ‘I’ve offered, but—’
    â€˜But he’s a man who prefers to dine out?’ In the time they had been working together they had become firm friends, and, although their ages were close enough, Anthea was streets ahead when it came to men. Normally Cristina would have paid great attention to what her friend said, but when it came to Rafael she would allow no criticism. Anthea, she thought, was jaded from the bad experiences she had had with men. She also was not privy to the man behind that forbidding mask: the man who treated her with respect and consideration, the man who made love to her, always making sure that her needs were met ahead of his, the man who, yes, guarded his thoughts, but still managed to laugh at the things she said, the man who’d told her that she was