‘For what?’ Raffa demanded with a heart-stopping frown.
‘To put off some annoying woman who’s been chasing you.’
When he laughed, the blinding flash of strong white teeth only emphasised the depth of his tan. How gorgeous he was. A fact not lost on their fast-growing audience. ‘If that’s what you’re up to, you could do better than me with my red hair and freckles. What about one of these sloe-eyed beauties over there, drooling over you?’
‘Where?’ He made as if to look around.
‘I’m being serious,’ she insisted. ‘Or I’m trying to be, but you do make it hard.’
‘Only because no one here compares to you.’
‘You can take that tongue out of your cheek right now,’ she scolded lightly.
‘I’m being serious,’ Raffa insisted with a perfectly straight face that threw her for a moment. It was one thing joking with the boss, and another when their stares met and held. ‘Off-duty Rose has been a revelation to me,’ he continued. ‘You make me laugh.’
For the space of a dance, Rose thought, but as the banter continued she wondered if her boss was enjoying it as much as she was. Electric moments passed as they stood facing each other, waiting for the music to begin. Anticipating the touch of Raffa’s hands on her body was almost as startling to Rose’s senses as she was sure the real thing was going to be. At least, that was what she thought until they started dancing.
For a moment she couldn’t think, breathe or exercise any of her faculties. It was a miracle her legs agreed to hold her up, let alone obey the rhythm that seemed to flow so effortlessly between them. Glancing around was another eye-opener. ‘I was perfectly happy in the role of spear carrier, or place-filler, or whatever you want to call it, but I’m not so keen on every other woman at this party hating me.’
‘I wouldn’t trust you with a spear, and I certainly wouldn’t call you a place-filler,’ Raffa argued.
‘What would you call me, then?’
‘An entertainment.’
Was that bad or good? Look on the bright side. The women watching them had no cause to be jealous. Raffa couldn’t have made it clearer that Rose’s sole purpose was to lessen the tedium.
Was this really happening?
Rose didn’t have a hand free to pinch herself as they danced on, as one was locked in Raffa’s big fist, while the other was tentatively resting on what felt like a mountain of muscle. Grooms didn’t get cosy with their employers, yet here she was, causing comment as she danced with Raffa Acosta, as if she belonged in his world.
Which she did, for tonight, at least, Rose reminded herself. Lifting her chin, she blocked out the jealous glances and silently dedicated this dance to all the wallflowers out there.
‘Problem?’ Raffa queried when she exhaled happily.
‘Homesickness,’ she lied. Admitting to the bliss of the moment would give him entirely the wrong idea, and she could always rely on the small farm in Ireland where she’d been born and grown up to make her feel wistful. Raffa’s ranch was beyond fabulous, but there were times when Rose missed the old, ramshackle farmhouse, even with all its mixed-up history, cranky heating and creaking stairs.
‘Are you sure?’ he pressed when she frowned.
Those eyes could prise the truth from the Sphynx, but she could hardly tell him that along with wholesome dinners in front of a roaring fire, she was remembering her father drunk and her mother frightened he’d kill himself one day with the contents of a bottle. Dancing with Raffa Acosta was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to Rose, but nothing would ever banish those memories.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t ease the homesickness for you, Rose.’
‘I’ll be fine in a minute.’
It might take several minutes. She wasn’t used to caring comments, or tears stinging her eyes. She’d always had to be strong for her father. When her mother died, he’d gone to pieces, sinking ever deeper into an alcoholic haze. When he was sober, he mourned the wasted life he’d spent in a bottle, when Rose’s mother had needed his support. Rose’s father was a good man, a kind man, a gentle man, but he was weak. Sometimes Rose thought it was always the women who had to be the backbone of a family. They were the true warriors, the ones who never complained or gave up.
She would never give up on her father, and she would save enough money to find him a treatment. Having given herself a stiff talking-to, she blocked out the past and smiled.
‘I should thank you,’ Raffa commented in response to the change in her manner.
She was surprised. ‘For what?’
‘For pricking my ego,’ he explained. ‘Why should I expect to have all your attention?’
‘Because you’re my boss? And you do have my attention. Ask any of the women here, and they’d say I’m lucky to be dancing with you.’
‘That sounded dangerously like flattery to me.’
