‘Dive in—one for each hand,’ he advised.
She glanced at him and blushed. ‘I’d love to, but I’m guessing our guests won’t appreciate a chocolate handshake—’
‘Allow me...’ Selecting a delicious-looking treat from the tray, he touched it to her lips.
Rose’s gaze flashed up and darkened, almost as if he’d made a move to kiss her. The temptation to do so overwhelmed him, especially when her tongue crept out to lick her lips, but she turned in response to the chatter of their guests, and quickly excused herself to introduce some newcomers around. That was what he wanted, of course. A successful party depended on the swift reactions of the host.
It should be what he wanted, he amended, as Rose charmed yet another group. She was careful not to leave anyone out—except him, apparently. With an amused huff, he pushed away from the rail and set out to work the other side of the deck.
Guests took precedence over anything else. Even Raffa, though her gaze kept straying to him. He could turn on the charm at parties, but Rose had glimpsed the darker side of their glamorous host. It would be good for both of them to let some light into the darkness, but Rose had never had the time to properly deal with the past, and guessed Raffa was in a similar position. Maybe one day they would manage it, but, with the party in full flow, tonight was not the right occasion. She had stewards to help and food to bring out, as well as what seemed like a constant stream of misplaced items to find for various guests.
When the evening finally drew to a close, and the Prince thanked them both for a most wonderful party, Raffa was quick with his praise. ‘You worked hard tonight,’ he told her as they stood watching His Serene Highness’s helicopter lift off the deck. ‘Thank you, Rose.’
‘Thank you for the opportunity,’ she replied with genuine warmth. ‘It’s been a wonderful evening. I didn’t expect to enjoy it quite so much.’
‘You were the hit of the night,’ he reassured her, ‘and you’ve another big day ahead of you tomorrow, so you’d better get a good night’s sleep.’
‘I will,’ she assured him.
They stood facing each other, Raffa with his head dipped in Rose’s direction. Something in his eyes made Rose raise her chin. There was a moment, a very long moment, when she was absolutely certain Raffa would kiss her this time, and Rose was equally sure she’d kiss him back.
Seconds ticked by, and when—once again—nothing happened, oddly disappointed, she turned to go. ‘You get a good night’s sleep too,’ she called to Raffa over her shoulder.
Thoughts of Rose plagued him throughout the night. Reliving the moment when the thought of kissing her had crossed his mind and taken hold made an ice-cold shower a necessity.
The ice-cold shower was no help at all. Lifting his face to the spray, he attempted to banish lustful thoughts from his mind.
That went well.
Cursing viciously, he cut off the stream of water, stepped out and grabbed a towel to dry off. This was why he never allowed himself to feel. Feelings only got in the way. Sex had been his saviour in so many ways. It brought physical relief and blanked out the emotional pain of the past for however long it lasted. Planting clenched fists on the marble surface of the washstand, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. A hard man stared back. Rose Kelly had no place in his mind. He had nothing to offer her, apart from employment opportunities on his ranch.
Raking his hair with stiff, angry fingers, he grimaced as memories of the past came flooding back. When he’d discovered the pilot had been drunk, he’d cursed himself for not boarding the private jet to check it out himself before it took off with his parents on board. He’d learned a vital lesson that night. Love was not invincible. It could be destroyed by something as simple as a bottle of whisky in the wrong hands.
Impatient at this lapse back into a past he couldn’t change, he scowled and left the bathroom. Rose’s soothing balm was what he needed—her laughter, her challenges and an enlivening dose of her cheek. Admittedly these were all a poor substitute for sex, but something had to help him relax.
Only, seeing Rose in person would have to wait. Business meetings were stacked up in front of him, and it was the charity ball tonight. Texting Rose, he reminded her of her itinerary. There must be no slackening off from the standard she’d set last night.
I have meetings all day. You have hairdresser, beautician, etc. at noon. Report to the helipad eight p.m. sharp. R
He thought about adding a few encouraging words, but Rose had done very well without them so far.
Rose was still rubbing sleep from her eyes when her phone pinged. ‘I should have put it on silent,’ she muttered, squinting to read the short note. Seeing it was from Raffa, she sat bolt upright, instantly awake. Touching her lips, all she could think about was their almost kiss. Was Raffa thinking about her, and remembering it too?
Heart in her mouth, Rose scanned the text fast. And frowned. Clearly not. No mention at all of last night, just a list of appointments she was expected to attend. Crushed, she was in no mood to comply. Hairdresser? Beautician? What was she—a show pony? Then a worse thought occurred: Had she made a fool of herself last night—misjudged the look with that gown? No. Even in such a glamorous frock, she’d been dressed down in comparison to some of the women.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she pulled faces at her reflection in the wall mirror. She scrubbed up as well as the next person. It wasn’t as if she were planning to attend the ball in her pyjamas. Hairdresser? Hadn’t she been doing her own hair all her life? As for needing a beautician? You couldn’t correct a face full of freckles without a bucketful of Polyfilla, and no one was coming near enough to slap on a face full of that. And what exactly did ‘etc’ mean? A stylist perhaps? That could be useful, Rose concluded with a frown. She could do with someone to teach her how to walk in high heels.
Raffa would apparently be busy until he attended the ball, but at least that spared her the usual interrogation over breakfast this morning. He was not an easy taskmaster. She had studied hard at equestrian college, but Raffa had obviously eaten and fully digested the texts. There wasn’t a thing he didn’t know about horses.
Not seeing him wasn’t all good. Apart from the obvious basking in the glow of a flame that burned so bright, the lack of Raffa meant losing her anchor in this sea of plenty, and there was no guarantee he’d be her rock tonight. Raffa would be seated with the Prince, while Rose would be so far away, she’d probably be sitting out in the yard.
A flutter of apprehension gripped Rose, until she reminded herself that she’d managed pretty well last night, and would manage again. The one thing she’d never had a problem with was standing on her own two feet, and any expansion in her duties signalled a welcome progression in her career.
A knock on the door jolted her out of the reverie. Was it Raffa? He’d look great carrying a breakfast tray. She smoothed her hair. ‘Come in...’
It was a uniformed steward with a smiling explanation. ‘Señor Acosta thought you might like breakfast in bed today.’
With Raffa, yes, Bad Rose suggested. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Good Rose said politely, lapping up the sight of a tray laid so perfectly it was fit for the Ritz.
