Forbidden to His Touch Read online

Guilt cinched Sophia’s lungs and tightened her throat. “I came as soon as I—”

  “Of course you did,” she said, lifting both chapped hands to cup Sophia’s face. “You’re a good daughter.”

  Sophia’s heart contracted with a sharp pang. “You don’t have to lie to me. You and I both know Papa wouldn’t have wanted me here.”

  “The man was a fool, God rest his soul. The stubborn brute should have forgiven you eons ago, and I will never understand why he held on to his anger for so long.”

  Sophia knew her father had never seen her as anything but his little princess, a child to be coddled and spoiled. Having her grow up had never been part of his plans, and the fact that she’d left against his wishes was a betrayal he’d never been able to forget. Or forgive. “At least Raf didn’t disappoint him,” she offered quietly. “Papa died feeling proud of someone.”

  “I suppose,” Dolores said cryptically as she turned to enter the villa.

  “You suppose?” Sophia asked as she stepped over the threshold. She scarcely noticed the mansion’s cathedral ceilings, stained glass and imported Italian frescos, hurrying after the housekeeper with her suitcase bumping against her heels. “But I thought since taking Rafael on as a partner, Papa’s business has more than tripled its production.”

  “It has,” Dolores said as she avoided Sophia’s eyes. “That boy has done wonders with the business, and your father made an excellent choice having him as a partner.”

  From what Sophia had read in the recent tabloids covering her father’s unexpected heart attack, the partnership between her father and Rafael had done more than just make them money. Rafael had become the son her father had never had, the obedient, respectful progeny she could never be.

  She’d told herself she was glad.

  For both of them.

  Except now, she couldn’t rid her mind of the photo she’d seen of Rafael while standing in line at the market. He’d been leaving the hospital, his tortured, grief-filled expression slipping past his normal control as he’d flung up an arm to block the paparazzi’s cameras. He’d looked so stricken and raw, she’d felt an unwelcome compulsion to soothe his grief, to offer him comfort and solace when she knew he’d never accept it from her.

  “Does Rafael feel guilty about what happened to Papa?” she asked. “Did they have a falling-out of some kind?”

  “Oh, heavens, no,” Dolores said, waving away the suggestion. “Nothing like that.”

  “Papa wasn’t upset that Rafael bought his own land, was he?”

  “No, no. Of course not. Having Raf on the adjacent property just expanded things for them both.”

  “Then what?”

  Dolores flattened her lips into a tight seam and exhaled noisily. “It’s nothing. I’m just getting maudlin in my old age. Your father loved that boy. And you’re right about Raf. He’s been good for this place. And he was good for your father.”

  “But?” Sophia persisted.

  Dolores hesitated, opened her mouth as if to speak, and then closed it again.

  “Tell me.”

  Her dark brown gaze returned to Sophia’s face. “As good as the partnership was for your father, I’m not sure it’s been good for Rafael. He’s … well, he’s not the boy you once knew,” she said. “The last seven years have changed him.”

  “How?”

  “He’s … harder somehow.”

  Sophia’s heartbeat increased its pace, knocking uncomfortably against her ribs. “But I thought he’s become an unrivaled success. He’s supposed to be a veritable wizard with agriculture, finances and marketing. And what about the new winery model he developed? I read it’s turned the winery world on its head.”

  “True. But all that success and money and fame … it hasn’t made him happy. Working with your father, living to pay off a debt that he believes can’t ever be paid … it’s made him harder than he used to be. Reminds me of when your father first brought him here, when he was so angry and defensive all the time.”

  “It can’t be that bad or the business would suffer.”

  “True. But you know Rafael. He knows how to keep his feelings hidden. He’s good at acting civilized when he’s not. And he’s gotten even better at saying the right things.” Dolores pursed her lips and shook her head. “It’s only those of us who know him who can see how angry he is.”

  “Angry? What on earth for?” From all Sophia had heard about the wealthy, handsome and elusive Rafael Chaves, his grasp of business and the intricacies of wine-making surpassed everyone’s expectations. He was reputed to be equally comfortable in the fields or in a boardroom, effortlessly gaining the respect of vineyard workers and businessmen alike. “He’s achieved remarkable success by anyone’s standards and he made Papa proud in a way no one else could. I thought that was all that mattered to him.”

  “I would have thought that, too. But he’s not happy and I tell you, it just breaks my heart to see him so …” She paused and pressed her lips together again.

  “To see him so …?”

  “Listen to me blathering on,” Dolores said, waving her hand between them. “You’ll see him for yourself soon enough. Maybe you’ll even be able to figure out what’s wrong and bring him back to himself.”

  “Me?” Lingering traces of embarrassment brought a knot of denial to her heart. “I wouldn’t count on it. Raf has forgotten I even exist.”

  “Forgotten you exist?” Dolores repeated while her brow furrowed in rebuttal. “You couldn’t be more wrong, child. The only time he shows interest in anything is when I mention you. Unlike your bullheaded father, Raf stops everything to listen to news of you.”

  Sophia shook her head, unconvinced. “He’s just being polite. Trust me.”

  “Why would you say such a thing?” Dolores asked, her eyes clouded with confusion. “You two were the best of friends for years. You’re his family.”

  She had been. But then she’d changed the rules. She’d thrown herself at him, offered him her whole heart, and been thoroughly, coldly rejected because of it. He’d walked out her door and never once looked back. Not once. Seven years of no contact from the silent, uncompromising brute had taught her very well what he truly felt for her.

  He felt nothing. She wasn’t sure he ever had.

  Revisiting the realization now, when she already felt guilty and agitated, only made things worse. “Can we talk about this later? I’ve been in airports since yesterday morning and I’m—”

  “Of course,” the housekeeper interrupted. “You must be exhausted. Come,” she said, reaching for Sophia’s suitcase and bustling down the tiled hallway toward the staircase. “I’ll fetch clean bedding for your room.”

  Despite her fatigue, sleep eluded Sophia. The sounds and scents of home reminded her too keenly of what she’d left behind, of the pointless dreams and hopes that she’d put to rest so long ago. Several hours before dawn, she finally admitted defeat and left the high four-poster bed she’d claimed for the first twenty-one years of her life. Moonlight streamed into her bedroom through her opened windows, painting a lattice of silver on her rumpled white bedspread, her bare feet and the scattering of soft rugs strewn over the dark walnut floor.

  On the left, her suitcase lay open, its contents in rumpled disarray. She’d packed in a rush, and hadn’t thought to bring a robe. So it was with a hint of trepidation that she strode to the closet she hadn’t opened since bidding her past goodbye. She stood for a moment, thinking of how cavalierly she’d left everything behind, and how angry her father had been with her defection.

  Expecting her belongings to have been discarded as an unwanted reminder of her existence, she was shocked to discover her entire abandoned wardrobe still intact. Papa had kept her things, despite his claim that she was no longer his daughter. Designer clothes in their see-through garment bags, boxes of shoes in every style and hue and enough accessories to suit any mood crowded the racks and shelves. Stunned, she sank back against the molding, the marked contrast between the functional wardr
obe of her present with the lavish extravagance of her past making her senses reel.

  She opened one cedar-lined drawer and pulled out the buried ivory silk dressing gown she’d secretly bought with her twenty-first birthday money. She’d felt so grown-up in the beautiful wrap, its style so different from the flannel and cotton of her childhood. Now, she slipped it over her white T-shirt and gray drawstring shorts, savoring the comforting sensation of cool silk over bare legs.

  Easing her bedroom door open, she peered out into the hallway. Just like every night of her childhood and adolescence, sconces of faint light cast shadows on the wooden plank floor and drew patterns on the stuccoed walls. Sophia could hear the subtle creaking sounds of the house as the night’s gentle breeze buffeted its stone walls. The earthy scents of soil and weighted grapevines filtered through the opened windows at each end of the long hall, reminding Sophia of the countless nights she’d snuck out to play hide-and-seek with Rafael.

  Silently, she made her way downstairs, wandering aimlessly through the lower floor of the house that had changed so little in her absence. After a few moments, her fingertips tracked the transition from white stucco to walnut molding at the doorway of her father’s office.

  Her papa’s office had been a sanctuary of male business pursuits, the only room to which he had restricted her access. But she supposed it made sense to go there now, to reacquaint herself with the father she’d never really known. She stepped over the threshold and rounded the door that had been left slightly ajar. A small desk lamp was still on, casting shadows atop the dark desk and the edges of an open ledger. Then she lifted her gaze, and froze as recognition winnowed through her.

  Her stomach dove and every muscle went taut. Time slowed, each thudding beat of her heart taking an eon to complete. She must have gasped, but she didn’t hear the betraying sound over the thundering of her pulse. For several timeless moments, she simply stood immobile, her nerves strung tight.

  What was he doing here?

  She’d forgotten how beautiful Rafael was, how just looking at his splayed thighs, his big, square hands and the thick column of his neck could make her entire body go hot.

  The rhythmic motion of his ribs told her he slept, his head canted against the back of her father’s chair and the large account book propped atop his thighs and against the desk before him. After a blindingly long stretch of time, she finally recovered enough to move. Gripping her arms around her waist, she soundlessly crept toward him, tremulous nerves making her breath unsteady and thin.

  He was bigger and leaner than she remembered, the hard lines of his chest and shoulder imposing even in repose. He wore a white shirt, open at the neck, and her stomach clenched at the memory of all his smooth, taut skin stretched over laboring muscles as he toiled in the sun. A startling desire to touch him, to press a fingertip to the shadowed dip beneath his throat and then trail up to the scented space beneath his perfectly curved ear, tore through her.

  How could he still affect her this way, when it was obvious that time had altered the man she’d once loved, and not in a good way? Yes, he still possessed the same sensual mouth, the same austere jaw and brow, the same sweep of black, curling lashes. But the scowl that had so often claimed his expression before she left had become permanent, its lines of bitterness and anger etched into his features like seams within a stone.

  Oh, Raf, she mourned, why must you always be so unhappy? Helpless to stop herself, she inched closer, the old, futile desire to bring him peace churning deep in her gut. The heat of his big body charged the air, his vitality as breathtaking as it had always been. She curled her fingers against her palm to keep from touching him.

  His right hand, large, square and rawboned, twitched atop his lap and he suddenly jerked awake, sending the ledger toppling to the floor with a thud.

  Black eyes clashed with hers and she flinched. Before she had time to withdraw, he was on his feet, his fingers gripping her shoulders and his expression an inscrutable blend of emotions she didn’t dare label. His scent, clean and dark and masculine, catapulted her back to their shared past and weakened her knees. He smelled like the vineyard, like coiled vines and crushed grapes and sun-heated soil. He smelled like the Rafael she’d vowed never to see again.

  “Sophia?” His grip tightened while everything stopped except the flood of color that burnished his dark cheeks and brow. “Is that you?”

  She didn’t want his presence to strip her of her composure, her strength, or her intent to remain detached and aloof. But she wasn’t surprised that it did. He’d always had the power to expose her for the yearning, desperate wretch that she was. Seeing him and feeling his powerful, unyielding touch filled her with a sharp exhilaration and a raw, terrible desire for more. Logic didn’t matter. The promise of pain didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Rafael. Here. Now. “Yes,” she said huskily as the sting of tears burned her eyes and the back of her nose.

  “Impossible.” The denial came on a shuddering breath.

  Her entire body trembled between his strong hands while her vision blurred and her throat tightened. She wasn’t immune to him, no matter what lies she told herself; she never had been. And seeing him now, so different and yet still the same, completely undid her.

  His fingers rose to track the fragile ridge of her quivering jaw, tunneling beneath the hair at her nape and then tipping her head back with exquisite tenderness. Her lashes drifted closed as she felt his head dip closer. Parted lips skimmed her brow, the quivering flesh over her right eye and the sensitive swell of cheek beneath her trembling lashes. And then his grip against the back of her skull tightened and his tenderness vanished beneath an urgent demand for more. Swiftly, he reached for the curve of her buttock, the top of her thigh, and then he hauled her close against his implacable heat.

  His lips descended to claim hers with hot, pressing command. He fed upon her, giving her no time to retract the invitation of her arching body…. She reached for him, molding her hands around his lean cheeks and scraping her palms over the night’s growth of bristle. A low growl of pleasure, of unmet need, rumbled deep in his throat as he pulled her up to her toes and ground his hips against hers. Grateful for the support of his steely embrace, she clung to him, tasted him, burned for him.

  Breaking for breath, Rafael lifted his dark head and stared down at her with dazed black eyes. “You can’t be here.”

  “I know.” Their breath mingled in the narrow space between their mouths and a shiver claimed her skin. “But after I heard—”

  He cut off her explanation with a brutal, demanding kiss. His tongue probed deeply, aggressively staking his claim and challenging her to answer in kind. He again reached for her head, cupping it between his big palms as he angled her mouth for his pleasure. She gripped him above his elbows and gave everything he demanded, her fingers digging into the knotted muscles of his hard, thick arms.

  Rafael groaned, his exhale guttering against her cheek as they strained together. He plowed his fingers through her hair, tangling his hands in the tawny length before tipping her throat back. Dragging his hot mouth along its curved length, she felt as if his hunger would consume her. Immolate her.

  And, oh, how she wanted it.

  Wanted him. Still.

  His breath quickened, his pulse raced beneath her reaching hands, and she realized they both teetered on the edge of control. She didn’t protest when he effortlessly boosted her up to the desk’s long stretch of oiled walnut and then stepped between her spread thighs. His mouth found hers, plundering deep and sweet, feeding her with scorching, drugging kisses.

  He leaned over her, the bulwark of his shoulders and braced arms bowing her back until she struggled to remain upright. She clung to his neck as she felt his hands tug at her silk robe, yanking it from beneath her buttocks and thighs until she felt cool, polished wood against the backs of her legs. And then his hands were at her hips, delving beneath the hem of her shirt and tracking heat up her bare back and spine.

  His palms rou
nded her ribs and his thumbs curved under the soft weight of her breasts. Her nipples immediately hardened, straining toward him through thin white cotton. His gaze slid down and his nostrils flared on a sharp inhale. Before she had a chance to divine his intent, his dark head lowered. A jolt of sensation arrowed to her core as his hot, damp mouth covered her. She jerked reflexively when his teeth clamped gently over one aching tip and a whimper slid from her throat as she squirmed upward.

  Rafael lifted his head to stare at her, his eyes so dilated she couldn’t discern the transition from pupil to iris. And then his hands were gripping her hips, his fingertips branding heat and intent through the thin fabric of her shorts. He hauled her to the edge of the desk, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gusts as he ground his hard length against her core. He moved his jean-clad hips, pressing every thick inch of his heat along her sensitive crease and making her shudder with need. She moaned, her head listing to the side, and opened her thighs wider.

  A low sound rumbled deep in his chest and he pressed closer, setting a seductive rhythm of advance and retreat that made her feel as if she were in a dream. But at the same time, she knew he was real. This was real. And they should stop. “Raf.” Her voice trembled. Shook as much as her hands did when she reached for his face. “Raf—”

  But he was kissing her again, his tongue delving deep while his hands and thighs moved in urgent, demanding circles. Trembling and aroused, she writhed against his commanding touch. Each heated stroke wrought a deepening of her longing, a sharpening of the pleasure that built inexorably toward a peak that remained elusively out of reach.

  She squirmed against him, helpless to fight the delicious, exquisite friction while her muscles tightened and tension climbed. Her hands plucked at his shoulders, her fingers scoring the white linen stretched over his back while she felt her senses narrow, open, focus and blur all at the same time. His strong fingers slid beneath her buttocks and lifted her higher, tilting her expertly against the intoxicating pressure of the rhythm he’d set. For one shuddering moment, her vision went white and her muscles tightened in expectation. A low moan escaped her throat as she hovered on the edge, her head thrown back and her nostrils flaring as she panted for breath.