extremely relieved when I told them I had it in hand.’
Isobel looked at Rafael. She was stunned. Everything had just been tipped on its axis, and suddenly her last remaining hope of any possible way out was being ripped from under her feet.
As if to ram it home, Rafael spelt it out. ‘When we marry, the estancia will become half yours, as my wife. Your parents will receive their sizeable inheritance and your family will be fine. And there’s something else you should know—the agreement says that I only have to pay half of what the estancia was worth, but I’ve agreed to pay your parents half of what it’s worth now. Needless to say, we’re talking a difference that runs into millions. But I’m prepared to do this as I have no wish for my wife’s family to struggle financially in the future.’
And then he stuck the knife in even deeper. ‘How can you turn your back on your family when they need you? Or turn your back on receiving the legacy of your grandmother’s ancestral home for your own children?’
Isobel had let go of the counter and her fingernails were scoring half-moons in the palms of her hands. She hated Rafael for the sense of responsibility that washed over her in a sickening wave.
Isobel realised she was shaking like a leaf. ‘Get out of myapartment, Mr Romero. You’ve said what you came to say, now get out.’
‘Isobel, you know you don’t have a choice.’
‘Of course I do,’ she said desperately, refusing to give up even now. ‘There’s always a choice. And I’m not going to ask you again to get out.’
She walked over to the door and opened it wide. To her intense relief Rafael moved towards it. But he stopped just at the threshold. Isobel tried desperately to ignore the way her skin felt hot and seemed to be stretched tight. She avoided Rafael’s eyes.
‘I’ll come for you tomorrow afternoon, Isobel. It’s time to come home and fulfil your duty—to me and your family. Your fate was written a long time ago, and it’s bound up with mine—irrevocably.’
‘Get out,’ Isobel said, almost pleading.
Finally he’d gone, and she heard his steps descending the stairs. Closing the door, she sagged back against it and then her legs gave way. She slithered to the ground and sat like that for a long time, her brain blissfully frozen in a state of shock.
Across Paris Rafael stood at the window of his dimly lit bedroom suite. The Eiffel Tower shone and glistened like a giant bauble outside. He had to admit that he admired Isobel more and more after meeting her again. She was still fighting. A dart of panic gripped his gut for a second. He couldn’t be sure that she wouldn’t have run again by tomorrow.
He knew, though, that the news of her father’s dire straits would have made her stop to think. Rafael frowned. He’d truly never been in this situation before, where a woman patently wanted nothing to do with him. His ego wasn’t dented…he knew Isobel wanted him. And after that kiss the depth of hisown attraction for her had stunned him slightly. It had been near impossible to pull back and not give in to the urge to keep going—to caress her slender curves, pull up her dress to inch his hand up those quivering thighs.
He frowned. If he wasn’t mistaken, he’d even hazard a guess that she was still innocent. It was in every skittish move she made when he was near, in the way she’d look at him when she thought he wasn’t watching. The way that telling colour stole into her cheeks whenever he got too close. While he couldn’t be certain she hadn’t had a lover, there had clearly been no one significant.
The thought that she might be a virgin sent a frisson of pure masculine thrill through him and it surprised him. He’d never entertained any kind of romantic notion of bedding a virgin bride. He’d always made sure to gravitate towards women who were experienced and knew how to pleasure him.
One thing was sure: he hadn’t lied when he’d promised he would be
Isobel looked at Rafael. She was stunned. Everything had just been tipped on its axis, and suddenly her last remaining hope of any possible way out was being ripped from under her feet.
As if to ram it home, Rafael spelt it out. ‘When we marry, the estancia will become half yours, as my wife. Your parents will receive their sizeable inheritance and your family will be fine. And there’s something else you should know—the agreement says that I only have to pay half of what the estancia was worth, but I’ve agreed to pay your parents half of what it’s worth now. Needless to say, we’re talking a difference that runs into millions. But I’m prepared to do this as I have no wish for my wife’s family to struggle financially in the future.’
And then he stuck the knife in even deeper. ‘How can you turn your back on your family when they need you? Or turn your back on receiving the legacy of your grandmother’s ancestral home for your own children?’
Isobel had let go of the counter and her fingernails were scoring half-moons in the palms of her hands. She hated Rafael for the sense of responsibility that washed over her in a sickening wave.
Isobel realised she was shaking like a leaf. ‘Get out of myapartment, Mr Romero. You’ve said what you came to say, now get out.’
‘Isobel, you know you don’t have a choice.’
‘Of course I do,’ she said desperately, refusing to give up even now. ‘There’s always a choice. And I’m not going to ask you again to get out.’
She walked over to the door and opened it wide. To her intense relief Rafael moved towards it. But he stopped just at the threshold. Isobel tried desperately to ignore the way her skin felt hot and seemed to be stretched tight. She avoided Rafael’s eyes.
‘I’ll come for you tomorrow afternoon, Isobel. It’s time to come home and fulfil your duty—to me and your family. Your fate was written a long time ago, and it’s bound up with mine—irrevocably.’
‘Get out,’ Isobel said, almost pleading.
Finally he’d gone, and she heard his steps descending the stairs. Closing the door, she sagged back against it and then her legs gave way. She slithered to the ground and sat like that for a long time, her brain blissfully frozen in a state of shock.
Across Paris Rafael stood at the window of his dimly lit bedroom suite. The Eiffel Tower shone and glistened like a giant bauble outside. He had to admit that he admired Isobel more and more after meeting her again. She was still fighting. A dart of panic gripped his gut for a second. He couldn’t be sure that she wouldn’t have run again by tomorrow.
He knew, though, that the news of her father’s dire straits would have made her stop to think. Rafael frowned. He’d truly never been in this situation before, where a woman patently wanted nothing to do with him. His ego wasn’t dented…he knew Isobel wanted him. And after that kiss the depth of hisown attraction for her had stunned him slightly. It had been near impossible to pull back and not give in to the urge to keep going—to caress her slender curves, pull up her dress to inch his hand up those quivering thighs.
He frowned. If he wasn’t mistaken, he’d even hazard a guess that she was still innocent. It was in every skittish move she made when he was near, in the way she’d look at him when she thought he wasn’t watching. The way that telling colour stole into her cheeks whenever he got too close. While he couldn’t be certain she hadn’t had a lover, there had clearly been no one significant.
The thought that she might be a virgin sent a frisson of pure masculine thrill through him and it surprised him. He’d never entertained any kind of romantic notion of bedding a virgin bride. He’d always made sure to gravitate towards women who were experienced and knew how to pleasure him.
One thing was sure: he hadn’t lied when he’d promised he would be
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