‘Being here with my family and friends is enough,’ she assured him.
‘Some small token, surely?’ he pressed.
She thought about it for a moment, then held up the untouched glass of champagne in her hand. Like all the crystal on board thePegasus, the image of a flying horse was etched on the side of the flute. ‘How about this, so I can remember tonight forever?’
He pulled his head back with surprise. Even for a woman he knew could not be bought with riches, this was a disappointingly modest request. ‘I’m sure I can think of something better than a champagne glass for you to remember tonight by.’
Her eyes filled with longing, but only for a moment, and then, Rose being Rose, she reverted to her usual cheeky self. ‘You just don’t want to break up a set,’ she said, eyes dancing with amusement.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘BROODING?’ROSEASKEDRaffa towards the end of the evening.
A helicopter beating a noisy retreat overhead spared him the need to supply an answer. It would have been necessarily brief. If he couldn’t explain to himself why his past failings still haunted him, or how he woke in the night, believing he’d effectively killed his parents, how could he put into words how he felt about Rose, or how he feared losing her, as he’d lost others he’d loved? Watching Rose’s reunion with her brothers had brought it all back to him. Seeing his own brothers—some married now, and seemingly free of the past—had made him question whether he deserved that same level of freedom.
‘Your guests are leaving,’ Rose prompted. ‘Shall I report to the helipad, or to the stern where the small boats are leaving?’
‘You’re not leaving,’ he exclaimed with surprise. ‘You’re my guest.’
‘That’s why I plan to go back with the rest of your guests. This has been one of the best nights of my life. I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘By not thanking me,’ he insisted, frowning. ‘There’s no need.’
‘Raffa?’
‘Yes?’ He stared down, then tensed as Rose put a comforting hand on his.
‘I’m happy to stay, if you’re feeling...’
As she searched for an appropriate word—one that wouldn’t cause offence, he guessed—he changed his mind about having her stay. It would only lead to more hurt for Rose. ‘You should leave on the last tender.’
‘At least you’re not saying I must leave,’ Rose qualified with a glint of humour in her eyes. ‘Can I be honest with you, Raffa?’
‘Of course,’ he said stiffly.
‘I don’t think you should be alone tonight.’
He laughed as he made a dismissive gesture. ‘Do you seriously think I’ll be alone?’
She followed his glance around the still crowded deck. ‘You know what I mean. Sometimes I think we’re like two lost souls, grieving and hurting, then shrugging it off, which solves nothing. We heal nothing,’ she stressed in a soft yet intense tone. ‘If you and I don’t talk to someone—and for me, I’d like that someone to be you—we’ll never move on. Don’t,’ she begged when he began to disagree. Reaching up, she placed her fingertips against his mouth. ‘Please don’t say there’s nothing wrong, or that you’re fine. That’s been my mantra for years now—for all the good it’s done me.’
There was another long pause, and then he suggested, ‘My study?’
The chance to share quiet time with Raffa was the only birthday gift Rose craved, but with each step closer to Raffa’s study, she worried that by the time they arrived in the privacy of his room he’d have changed his mind about opening up. Keeping things locked inside him was such a habit, there was no easy way to start talking.
He switched on the light and closed the door behind them. ‘Sit,’ he invited, indicating an easy chair. She perched on the edge, while he crossed the Persian rug, with its long history and muted shades, to a spectacular glass unit where he kept his drinks. Pouring two generous measures of brandy, he offered one to Rose. She accepted the fine crystal balloon, but even the smell of the alcohol was enough to put her off. ‘Do you think I could have a glass of water instead?’
‘Of course. Don’t drink the brandy if you don’t want it.’ Filling a tumbler with ice, he topped it up with pure spring water.
‘Won’t you sit too?’ she asked, knowing this was the best chance she had to stop Raffa strapping on his guilt even tighter. No one liked to admit to an Achilles heel. How much harder must that be for a man like Raffa Acosta? She knew what haunted him, because she felt the same need to fiercely protect everything and everyone she cared about. ‘I build barriers,’ she admitted with a shrug. ‘So do most people until they’re sure of their ground.’
‘What are you trying to say, Rose?’
‘That I understand you.’ She paused. ‘I respect you. You’re a great boss, and, of course, I want to have everything—my job with you, my place in Ireland and more besides...’
‘What more besides?’ he demanded, frowning.
‘Don’t you know?’
