Rafael Sanguardo that his efforts were in vain—that there could be nothing between them.
The restaurant—a double-fronted white stucco house in Knightsbridge—was not one she knew. She was shown into the dining salon and instantly her eyes went to the man who dominated her thoughts...her senses. As she was shown to his table, Rafael got to his feet.
‘You came,’ he said.
His voice was warm. His gaze warmer. It did things to her that it shouldn’t. That she must not allow.
She looked very slightly taken aback at his greeting. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’
He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Would it have been so surprising? Given your reluctance?’
She said nothing, only took her place as the chair was drawn out for her. She settled into her seat, accepting the napkin unfurled for her and the pouring of water for her. A pair of menus was discreetly placed on the table, and then they were left alone.
The restaurant was almost full, she could see that instantly, although the tables were skilfully arranged such that none was too close to another and each seemed to have a circle of privacy around it, helped by the copious greenery that adorned the room. The decor was late Victorian, with a lot of dark red.
Rafael saw her looking around. ‘A little florid, I agree,’ he murmured. ‘But the food is outstanding, and I don’t think this restaurant features on the fashionista circuit.’
‘No,’ Celeste said. ‘I’ve not been here before.’
‘Good,’ said Rafael. ‘I’m pleased to be able to offer you a new experience.’ He picked up his glass of water. ‘To new experiences,’ he said.
There was a glint of mordant humour in his dark eyes.
Celeste bit her lip, but did not reply. Rafael reached for the menus, opening one and offering it to Celeste, who took it and busied herself studying it.
It saved her from studying him instead. Which, she knew with a little plunge of her stomach, was what she badly wanted to do. She wanted to study him—take in every one of his features and understand, finally, what it was about him that had such an effect on her. Why him? Why this man?
Why, why, why...?
‘Will you eat as little as you did at the charity show?’ he asked, making her lift her head from the blurring words on the menu.
She frowned slightly. ‘Oh, no—I skipped lunch today, as I was working, so I have a full calorie allowance tonight.’
He nodded. ‘So you’ll go for the baked Camembert, followed by confit of duck, and a very large chocolate mousse with cream to finish—is that it?’
He said it straight-faced, and just for a moment Celeste thought he meant it. Then she saw the glint of humour in his eyes.
‘I wish...’ she said. She looked quickly at the menu again. ‘Undressed prawns, and sole with green vegetables—no sauce.’
‘Hmm...really splashing out, I see,’ Rafael murmured. ‘Do you have any calories to spare for wine?’
‘Dry white,’ she answered, then promptly wished she hadn’t. Rafael Sanguardo was disturbing enough to her without the aid of alcohol...
But he was beckoning the wine waiter and going through the wine list with him in a knowledgeable fashion. Then, their dinner order given and the ritual of the arrival of the wine performed, she was left facing him with no other distractions.
‘What do you think of the wine?’ Rafael was asking, and she took a grateful sip—that would occupy a few moments of time.
‘Very good,’ she said, for it was crisp and tart and perfectly chilled.
‘I’m glad,’ he said. Then, glancing at her, he said, ‘I’m saving the champagne for our breakfast in bed tomorrow morning.’
She choked, clunking her wine glass down on the table. As she recovered, her eyes flew to his face. It was completely deadpan. Then, a second later, that glint in his eyes came again.
‘It’s what you think of me, though, isn’t it?’ Rafael said. He took a breath, his expression changing. ‘You know,’ he said slowly, ‘I’ve never
The restaurant—a double-fronted white stucco house in Knightsbridge—was not one she knew. She was shown into the dining salon and instantly her eyes went to the man who dominated her thoughts...her senses. As she was shown to his table, Rafael got to his feet.
‘You came,’ he said.
His voice was warm. His gaze warmer. It did things to her that it shouldn’t. That she must not allow.
She looked very slightly taken aback at his greeting. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’
He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Would it have been so surprising? Given your reluctance?’
She said nothing, only took her place as the chair was drawn out for her. She settled into her seat, accepting the napkin unfurled for her and the pouring of water for her. A pair of menus was discreetly placed on the table, and then they were left alone.
The restaurant was almost full, she could see that instantly, although the tables were skilfully arranged such that none was too close to another and each seemed to have a circle of privacy around it, helped by the copious greenery that adorned the room. The decor was late Victorian, with a lot of dark red.
Rafael saw her looking around. ‘A little florid, I agree,’ he murmured. ‘But the food is outstanding, and I don’t think this restaurant features on the fashionista circuit.’
‘No,’ Celeste said. ‘I’ve not been here before.’
‘Good,’ said Rafael. ‘I’m pleased to be able to offer you a new experience.’ He picked up his glass of water. ‘To new experiences,’ he said.
There was a glint of mordant humour in his dark eyes.
Celeste bit her lip, but did not reply. Rafael reached for the menus, opening one and offering it to Celeste, who took it and busied herself studying it.
It saved her from studying him instead. Which, she knew with a little plunge of her stomach, was what she badly wanted to do. She wanted to study him—take in every one of his features and understand, finally, what it was about him that had such an effect on her. Why him? Why this man?
Why, why, why...?
‘Will you eat as little as you did at the charity show?’ he asked, making her lift her head from the blurring words on the menu.
She frowned slightly. ‘Oh, no—I skipped lunch today, as I was working, so I have a full calorie allowance tonight.’
He nodded. ‘So you’ll go for the baked Camembert, followed by confit of duck, and a very large chocolate mousse with cream to finish—is that it?’
He said it straight-faced, and just for a moment Celeste thought he meant it. Then she saw the glint of humour in his eyes.
‘I wish...’ she said. She looked quickly at the menu again. ‘Undressed prawns, and sole with green vegetables—no sauce.’
‘Hmm...really splashing out, I see,’ Rafael murmured. ‘Do you have any calories to spare for wine?’
‘Dry white,’ she answered, then promptly wished she hadn’t. Rafael Sanguardo was disturbing enough to her without the aid of alcohol...
But he was beckoning the wine waiter and going through the wine list with him in a knowledgeable fashion. Then, their dinner order given and the ritual of the arrival of the wine performed, she was left facing him with no other distractions.
‘What do you think of the wine?’ Rafael was asking, and she took a grateful sip—that would occupy a few moments of time.
‘Very good,’ she said, for it was crisp and tart and perfectly chilled.
‘I’m glad,’ he said. Then, glancing at her, he said, ‘I’m saving the champagne for our breakfast in bed tomorrow morning.’
She choked, clunking her wine glass down on the table. As she recovered, her eyes flew to his face. It was completely deadpan. Then, a second later, that glint in his eyes came again.
‘It’s what you think of me, though, isn’t it?’ Rafael said. He took a breath, his expression changing. ‘You know,’ he said slowly, ‘I’ve never
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