She watched Raffa disappear down the companionway and had to resist the urge to chase after him, but that would be entirely unprofessional and, thankfully, sensible Rose knew it.
Back in her own suite, she took a shower then tugged on jeans and a top before sitting down at the desk to glance over the notes she’d made. She was usually a fast study, but that was before Raffa invaded her mind.
I must not screw this up.
The words banged about in her head. It would soon be eight o’clock, but the touch of Raffa’s hand on hers when he’d helped her out of the pool with a grip so firm and sure and safe... And with that look in his eyes that had been the complete opposite of safe. She must not screw this up, indeed!
The next problem was not what to wear. The contents of Rose’s luxurious dressing room might be tempting, but temptation was the last thing she needed tonight. Securing her hair in a sensible ponytail at the nape of her neck, she considered doing without make-up. After all, what was make-up but cheese in a mousetrap, when the look she should be aiming for was dry biscuit? But Adena had worked so hard to make sure Rose lacked for nothing. It would be churlish to throw those efforts back in her friend’s face. Adena would be hungry to hear about everything...including the high-end products still in their cellophane wrappers.
A flick of mascara, and some nude lipstick later, and Rose was ready to meet her fate.
Glancing at her phone out of habit, she grimaced and shut the door again. The press was still discussing the mystery woman seen dancing with ‘The World’s Most Eligible Bachelor’ at his sister’s wedding. Gossip had already identified the woman as none other than Rose Kelly, a groom from Ireland who worked in Raffa Acosta’s stable. ‘The deadly Acosta charm works its magic again.’
‘Not on me,’ Rose pledged out loud, but she couldn’t resist reading on.
‘Yet another willing victim sacrificing herself on the altar of lust. And who could blame her?’ the journalist asked archly.
Rose wasn’t given to cursing. She heard enough of that language at home, but tonight she made an exception. Had Raffa read this too? Were these few column inches in the press all that her hard work added up to? It was naive to think she could keep the encounter with Raffa at the wedding a secret when everyone with a phone was an amateur paparazzo, but to suggest she’d jump into bed with a man simply because he was sex on two hard-muscled legs was...
Not going to happen, Rose determined as she smoothed the skirt of her serviceable suit.
Worse luck.
CHAPTER FOUR
IFSHE’DBEENworried about Raffa’s reaction when he read the articles about them in the press, it was nothing to Rose’s reaction when she saw where she was about to eat supper. The scene on deck was like something from a film set. She couldn’t help exclaiming, ‘Do you eat like this every night?’
Raffa swung around, and so did her heart. In fact, it lurched in each and every direction at once, and it took all she’d got to bring it back, to adopt a friendly but serious expression as she walked towards him.
‘Good evening, Rose.’ Pulling away from the rail where he’d been lounging, Raffa advanced with a steady, purposeful step.
‘I didn’t expect this,’ she admitted with a long glance at the dining table. Dressed with crystal and silver beneath a gently rippling white canopy, the area was lit by flickering candles, which suggested a lot more than a business dinner.
‘You thought we’d eat burgers, and hang with a couple of beers?’ Raffa suggested dryly, before explaining, ‘My chef wanted to test some of the recipes for my champagne reception—’
Rose’s heart jumped alarmingly once again. She’d somehow managed to park the socialising element of the week in an underused part of her mind. Not that she didn’t party in Ireland, but a ceilidh down the village hall would hardly compare with a celebration on board thePegasus.
‘—so I told the chef this would be the ideal occasion,’ Raffa continued smoothly.
‘Of course,’ Rose agreed. ‘Who are we receiving? At the champagne reception, I mean.’
Raffa had already turned away to speak to the steward. ‘No champagne, thank you. I’ll call if we need anything more. His Serene Highness, for one,’ he said, switching back to Rose. ‘Don’t look so worried. My champagne reception is nothing compared to the Prince’s annual charity ball the following night.’
‘And when is the champagne reception?’ Rose asked.
‘Tomorrow night.’
‘As soon as that?’ Rose’s throat dried. ‘You’ll be busy.’
‘And so will you,’ Raffa assured her. ‘There won’t be a better opportunity to launch you into society. You haven’t been long in the job, and these events will give me the chance to introduce you around and see how well, or not, you’re received.’
As the World’s Most Eligible Bachelor thief, Rose didn’t imagine she’d be welcomed with open arms.
‘Aren’t you pleased?’ Raffa prompted.
Rose reminded herself that this was El Lobo, the Wolf, as Raffa’s black stare stabbed into hers. ‘It all sounds very exciting,’ she lied, doubting six great hulking brothers had prepared her for the type of high-society individuals she would meet on Raffa’s superyacht. ‘I’m looking forward to it enormously.’
‘Is that why you’ve lost your appetite?’
