Forbidden to His Touch Page 11

  But when it came to Sophia, rational thought had no impact. He wanted her. He wanted to catch her head between his palms, kiss her soft mouth and feed on her sweetness until the craving finally went away. He wanted to drag her to his bed, strip her down to nothing but softness and light and lose himself between her welcoming thighs.

  He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t wanted her, when he hadn’t been driven by the need to keep her close. The summer she’d turned sixteen, when her year away at school had transformed her from a child to a woman, he’d felt poleaxed by his unexpected desire for her. From that moment on, his nights had been filled with painful, aching fantasies from which there was no release, his days with furtive, stolen glances at the woman he could never have.

  Swearing beneath his breath, he spun on his heel and strode to the minibar. A stiff shot of Scotch did little to help his mood, but it blunted the edge of his desire. It granted him a semblance of reason. Yes, he wanted Sophia. Yes, his body reacted whenever she was in the same room. It didn’t mean he had to act on it. He could keep himself in check. He might not be able to control his feelings, but he could control his behavior. He could keep his distance.

  He owed her that, at least. The second swallow of Scotch heated his gut while he stared out at London’s skyline. He’d vowed to protect Sophia, to keep her safe from the evils of the world.

  To keep her safe from him.

  He needed to stay away from Sophia Turino. Partner or not, having her near was playing with fire.

  If he didn’t allow her to widen the distance between them, if he didn’t allow her to leave, it would burn them both.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE event Sophia staged for London’s premier restaurant owners promised to be a raging success. Attendance surpassed her hopes, Turino wines flowed freely and the excellent musicians she’d hired provided the perfect backdrop of subtle, expansive harmonies. She’d dressed in a sleeveless gold sheath with a boned bodice and fitted skirt, lots of gold jewelry and matching high-heeled sandals. It wasn’t the most comfortable outfit, but with her hair up in a French twist and understated makeup that highlighted her eyes, she felt elegant, beautiful and confident.

  If Rafael’s reaction were any indication, she’d chosen her clothing well. The moment he saw her, his expression transformed from glowering to shell-shocked. For several endless seconds, his gaze had tracked from her coral-tipped toes, up her bare legs to the high hem of gold, to her loose chignon. He’d lingered for one suspended moment at her breasts, pressed high within the corseted bodice, before finally lifting his gaze to hers.

  Deep within his onyx eyes, a hot flame of awareness burned. Her body responded with swift shivers, the small hairs at her nape rising and her pulse galloping into an uneven beat. It took supreme effort for her to recall the evening’s purpose, for her to drag her eyes away and feign composure.

  “Are you ready to be entertaining and engaging?” she asked as she swiveled to survey the throng of prospective patrons. The venue she’d rented offered a glittering view of the city and enough space for the crowd to mingle without feeling claustrophobic. It was a perfect combination of elegance and contemporary chic.

  “I hate parties,” he growled, tugging at the snowy white collar of his tuxedo.

  “Then why did you come?” she quipped, lifting one brow.

  His only response was a disgruntled glare.

  Determined to make a success of the evening, she ignored his mood and left his side to circulate.

  It should have been a wonderful event, filled with ample opportunities to network, converse and entertain. And had Rafael behaved more like a human being than a mulish, overprotective brute, it would have been.

  But no. He hovered near Sophia constantly, interfering with every conversation she began and intimidating anyone courageous enough to approach her. On at least five different occasions, she made significant contacts with interested restaurant owners, only to forfeit the prospective sale when Rafael appeared at her side and scowled the grinning males into a quick retreat.

  He was compromising possible contracts faster than she could flush them out.

  “Are you deliberately trying to sabotage our business efforts?” she hissed at him after his glower had discouraged yet another potential customer from discussing the various wines he wished to acquire.

  “We’re not going to do business with someone like that,” Rafael muttered darkly.

  Sophia glared at him. “He coordinates all the wine lists for five of London’s top restaurants. What possible excuse do you have for sending him away?”

  “He has shifty eyes.”

  “Shifty eyes?” She gaped at him, her composure dangling from a swiftly fraying thread. “You can’t be serious.” “I don’t trust him. And I don’t want to do business with him.”

  “You don’t even know him! And I do! He’ll do nothing but enhance the marketability and reputation of Turino wines.”

  He scowled. “Find someone else.”

  Maintaining her equanimity in the face of his irrationality was becoming more and more of a challenge. “If you’re trying to ruin our chances of selling any wine in the entirety of England,” she scolded on a whisper, “you’re succeeding brilliantly. And personally, I’d like to end the evening with at least one contract so that the entire night isn’t wasted.”

  “Find an acceptable customer, and I won’t stand in your way.”

  “Acceptable!” she blurted, her irritation making her voice slip into an audible range. “They’re all acceptable, you infuriating beast! I wouldn’t have invited them if they weren’t!”

  When he didn’t budge, looking like a slab of irritated, implacable granite, she huffed out an exasperated breath.

  “Stay here,” she ordered as she left his side. “I’m verifying that the sample tables are restocked. And then I’m circulating. Don’t follow me.”

  “Ms. Turino?” asked the handsome and attentive owner of Chez JT, who’d already commented on the superior flavor of their most popular red. “Is it possible to—”

  “Of course, Mr. DuBois,” she answered before he could even ask his question. She looped her hand through his arm and beamed up at him. “And please, call me Sophia.”

  “Will your partner be joining us again?” he asked while casting a worried glance toward the huge, dark and threatening Rafael.

  “No. Come. I was just on my way to ensure the whites have been replenished,” she said, gesturing toward the stacked cube sculpture and its circle of sample tables residing in the center of the large space. She chattered with Mr. DuBois as they wound their way through the clustered mass of restaurant owners and head chefs. Stealing a glance over her shoulder, she cast a warning look at Rafael, who stared after her with a scowl.

  Swallowing back the pressure of a wholly inappropriate laugh, she decided that Rafael Chaves was the most frustrating, infuriating male on the planet. He didn’t want her in California, yet was willing to sacrifice the success of their expansion just to keep her from moving to London. It was enough to drive her stark raving mad.

  “Have you been in business with Chaves for long?” asked the man as he gestured with his chin back toward Rafael.

  “He was my father’s partner for years,” Sophia said, trying to sound flippant despite her irritation. “His interpersonal skills need a bit of polish, but he’s a wizard with the wines. Here,” she offered, “try the Pinot Grigio. It’s divine.”

  She felt herself relax as the owner sampled one wine after another, closing his eyes and smiling with unabashed pleasure. By the time he’d finished tasting a fourth slender flute, she knew she’d made serious inroads toward a lucrative contract. A heady rush of success eclipsed her anger and made her feel as effervescent as the finest champagne. “You’ll find our prices are very reasonable,” she confided, “and we’ve set up a world-class distribution that will ensure you never have to wait for an order to arrive.”

  “Excellent,” he said as he eyed the other sa
mples on her tray. “And though my head chef prefers to have input on all wine orders, I’m sure he will agree yours are superior. May I send him a bottle of the Sauvignon before we decide?”

  “Of course,” she said with a smile. “I’ll go fetch you one.”

  She’d almost made it to the kitchen and its supply of fresh bottles when Rafael intercepted her, commandeering her elbow and halting her progress with angry precision. “We’re leaving,” he ordered. “Now.”

  Sophia’s temper flared. “Absolutely not,” she said, yanking her arm free of his grasp. “You may not care about generating new business, but I do.” She skewered him with a scornful glower. “Now move.”

  “We don’t need this kind of business,” he snapped.

  The head caterer exited the kitchen and drew to an abrupt halt before them, his eyes flickering from one angry face to the other. “Is everything all right?”

  Sophia, who considered herself quite mature when it came to controlling her emotions, felt a crazy impulse to screech her frustration at the top of her lungs. With effort, she forced a pleasant smile to her lips. “Everything’s perfect. It’s just that Mr. Chaves and I are having a minor disagreement.”

  The man glanced from Rafael’s grim expression to hers. “Are you sure?” he asked slowly.

  “Yes.” She kept her voice steady despite the temper roiling beneath the surface of her skin. “Could we possibly use your office for a few moments? Mr. Chaves and I need to discuss a few items privately.”

  “Of course,” he hedged. “It’s unlocked. You remember where it is?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she assured him, grateful for the civilized surroundings that kept her from losing her temper altogether. “We won’t be long. I promise.”

  “Take your time,” he answered with a wave of his hand. “I’ll keep an eye on things out here.”

  She didn’t track the caterer’s withdrawal, she was so intent on Rafael. As soon as they were alone, she stalked toward the empty office and with an irritated twist of the doorknob, ripped the door open. Gesturing into its dimly lit interior, she ordered Rafael inside with a furious glare. “What is your problem?” she exclaimed as soon as the door was closed. “I’m trying to build our business, and you’re doing everything you can to sabotage me! You’re being unreasonable and ridiculous and I’ve had enough! You have to stop!”

  “I’m being ridiculous?” he raged. “You’re the one who’s trying to rush our expansion to London when we’re not ready.”

  “Not ready?” she repeated on an outraged exhale. “Are you insane? We already bottle enough wine to supply the entire continent, and all that’s needed is to solidify the contracts and coordinate the distribution.”

  “Which you know nothing about,” he said, towering over her with a murderous expression tightening his features. “And I won’t stand by while you undermine my business’ expansion just because you want to return to London now.”

  Infuriated, Sophia shoved at his chest. “I wouldn’t want to return to London if you’d allow me to do anything in California. You’re the one who’s undermining our business by treating me like an unwanted obligation instead of an asset! You’re the one who’s too stubborn to accept that I might actually bring something to the table, or that a partnership between us could actually work if you’d break down your stupid walls and let me be part of your life!”

  “You can’t be part of my life!” he thundered.

  “Well, you’ve certainly made that painfully clear!” Anger and frustration blazed through her, sparking a futile desire to hurt him. “And you know what? I’m not going to fight it anymore. I’ve been trying to scratch my way through your walls, thinking that beneath the shields you hide behind, you have the capacity for reason and warmth. For feeling. But I was wrong. You’re incapable of feeling anything but anger and resentment toward me. Your soul is an arctic wasteland, and I’m finished with you. Done.”

  He moved toward her so swiftly, the breath caught in her throat. His furious expression testified to the way her words had wounded him, to the dark layer of rage she’d exposed. Alarmed, she stumbled back a step. A little shock winnowed through her veins as he seized her in a savage grip.

  Jerking her to her toes, he leaned over her. “You think I don’t feel?” he asked. “That I’m arctic and cold?”

  “Raf—”

  “You only think that because I don’t allow you to see what’s inside.” He gave her a little shake, while his eyes flashed like black fire. “Should I give my emotions free reign, you’d never survive. They plague me more than all the fires of hell combined and are a torment I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “So don’t talk to me about my capacity for warmth. Don’t you dare talk to me about feelings, because if you felt even one hundredth of what I feel, it’d burn you to ash.”

  Rafael granted her no time to process the dizzying implications of his confession before he claimed her mouth with a brutal hunger. For an immeasurable span of time, she remained frozen in place, too stunned to do anything but fall apart within his arms. His lips slanted over hers, devouring and demanding and taking, his tongue dancing a drugging invitation against hers. Utterly lost, she sank against him and allowed him inside.

  Knowing it was wrong and not caring, she succumbed.

  How could she not? She’d never stopped wanting him. Needing him.

  Faint and breathless, she reached for his neck, for the sturdy cords of muscle beneath the raw silk of his black hair. Her fingers fluttered helplessly from hairline to collar, unconsciously trying to gentle his savage fervor. And then something schooled the swift tempo of his breathing, and he quieted. Became tender. His fingers trembled as he brushed them over her cheek and brow, his rough palms cradling the sides of her face. Tipping her head back, his voracious hunger eased as he lifted his mouth from hers to skim the crest of her cheeks, her eyelids and the tilted tip of her nose with tiny, nibbling kisses.

  His initial drive for closeness had pressed her tight against the door, and she slowly became aware of the chilled surface against her bare upper back. The contrast between cold metal and scalding male made her shiver. Arching beneath him, her head drifted to the side as he fed upon her with a delicate exploration of her throat, the low neckline of her gold dress, the swell of breast and hint of cleavage.

  Rafael’s hands skimmed along the transition from fabric to skin, the pads of his calloused fingertips brushing faint circles over the straining tips of her corseted breasts. She closed her eyes and arched her back, offering no protest as he pulled at the gilded edge of her bodice with impatient, restless tugs. Like an utter wanton, she moved her hands to help him, yanking at the constraining dress until her breasts tumbled free. He gave a low growl of approval and lifted her to her toes, dipping his head to close his hot mouth over her beaded nipple. She squirmed beneath him, biting her lips to keep from moaning aloud, and hooked one leg over his thigh to draw him closer.

  A soft groan of satisfaction accompanied the move, and he reached for her other leg. Before she knew it, he’d lifted her up against the cold door and pinned her with his hips. She felt the heat of his flexed waist between her spread thighs as he brought her breasts level with his slick, wet mouth. He circled one taut, pointed tip with his tongue, sending rivulets of pleasure to her throbbing center. And then he formed her sensitive flesh with one wide hand as he sucked her deep into his mouth. When he withdrew to have his thumb flick over the dampened peak of her breast, she jerked reflexively against the granite plane of his body. His mouth returned to trace heat along her throat, kissing, tasting, soothing, while his fingers continued their dizzying exploration of her nipple. Softly, softly, he pinched and squeezed, rolling the exquisitely tender tip while she struggled for breath and writhed in mindless pleasure.

  When everything, everything was tight and yearning, he pulled back enough to look at her from beneath hooded eyes. “Sophia,” he groaned in a rough voice. “We shouldn’t
—”

  “We should,” she whispered, squirming lower until their hips aligned, and then she kissed him into silence. He returned the kiss, deep and fevered, while an aching desire and emptiness and longing filled her body. She drove her hands beneath the shoulders of his jacket, needing to feel his skin.

  “Sophia …” His voice was ragged and his breath heaved between them. His fingers, as if they had a mind of their own, continued to brush delicately over the bare skin of her shoulders, her throat, her arms. “We can’t—”

  “Hush,” she told him, tightening her thighs about his hips and plucking at the jet buttons of his tuxedo shirt.

  “We can.”

  He closed his eyes as if he were in pain and his hands moved to her buttocks. Stilling her. But she refused to be stilled. She tipped against him, rocking against the hard ridge of his arousal. He exhaled in an uneven gust while his fingers dug into her flesh, pulling her closer. Closer. She reached to kiss his throat, his neck, the rough landscape of his jaw while her frantic hands yanked his shirt free from his pants. Tension climbed within her while she ran her hands under the warmed cotton and over his bare, burnished flesh. She wanted to forget all the reasons they couldn’t be together, to climb inside him and never, ever be apart from him again.

  “Not here,” he panted into her hair while he ground against her willing flesh. “Anyone could … could walk in….”

  She reached blindly for the door handle and twisted the lock into place. “I don’t care,” she breathed as she returned her hand to his nape. “I just want you. Tell me you want me, too.”

  “Soph …”

  “Say it,” she demanded.

  “God help me,” he whispered as he buried his face against her neck. “I do. It’s all I can think about.”

  A heady thrill went through her at the words. “Then show me,” she urged, turning to accept his hot, seeking mouth. “Show me, Raf.”