Silence. Not even the doorknob rattled. She could almost envision the look on Rafe’s face at finding himself locked out of his domain.
“Our guests will be here soon.”
“Your guests, not mine.”
“Dammit, Carin, open this door!”
She smiled. It was lovely, hearing that harsh note of disbelief in his voice. “Sorry,” she said, and did her very best to make sure he could tell that she wasn’t in the least bit sorry. “I’m getting dressed. That’s what you told me to do, remember?”
“I did not tell you to lock me out of my own rooms.” He spoke softly, as if he were only inches from the door but then, he wouldn’t want Joao or Elena to witness him being defied by this insignificant creature, this woman he’d forced into a sham of a marriage. “Open this door at once.”
The door seemed to vibrate under the sudden weight of his fist. Carin took a quick step back. She was wrong. He didn’t care if his servants knew she’d locked him out of his rooms.
What if he got angry enough to break the door down? She imagined the wood splintering, Rafe bursting into the room, tearing the towel from her hands…
A shimmering wave of heat swept through her body as she imagined him reaching for her, his anger fading to something else as he bent her back over his arm and kissed her until she whispered his name, until she clung to him…
Oh, God.
“No! I’m not opening the door, Rafe, until I’m ready to come downstairs.”
An eternity crawled by before he spoke again, this time in a purring whisper.
“You’re playing with fire, querida. I would advise you to remember that those who play with fire can get burned.”
“And I would advise you to find somewhere else to get ready for the evening.”
“I could break this door down.”
“Yes.” Her voice trembled. “Yes, you could, and then we’d both know that you really are a barbarian.”
She heard him let out a long, heavy breath. “You wish to behave like a spoiled brat? Do so—but only for tonight. I will not permit this again, minha mulher. Do you understand?”
She understood, all right. He wasn’t a monster, not by his reckoning, anyway. That was why he hadn’t touched her during the past weeks. But he wasn’t a man with a conscience, either. As of tonight, the rules had changed.
Unbidden, certainly unwanted, that sweet, liquid heat thickened her blood again.
“Yes,” she said, “I understand.”
She sank down on the bed as his footsteps receded. She was still shaking moments later, when Elena tapped on the door. Carin opened it and the housekeeper murmured words that were surely apologetic as she went quickly through the room, collecting Rafe’s things. A white dinner jacket. Black trousers. A black silk T-shirt. Her husband was going to look gorgeous tonight…
But he wasn’t her husband, Carin reminded herself quickly. He was the enemy.
Elena shut the bureau drawer. “Senhora,” she said politely…and froze. She stared at the hideous lime-green gown draped across the bed, then looked at Carin with a stricken expression on her face.
Carin sighed. “I know,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure Elena understood the words, “but he deserves it.”
Oh, yes, she thought, as she locked the door again. It was going to be an interesting evening, and even more interesting to see if Rafe thought the prize was worth the game after she finished with him.
* * *
At five of eight, Carin stood before the mirror.
She looked awful.
Some dresses improved when you put them on. Not this one. If anything, it was uglier. Since she’d come to the ranch, her skin had taken on a soft golden hue. The shiny green fabric turned the golden tan a sickly yellow.
It was a bad shade for her hair, too. She’d deliberately not blown it dry or even brushed it out; it hung straight and lank, which was bad enough, but the color of the gown leached out all the highlights so that she looked as if she’d dipped her head in a bucket of dark brown paint.
Carin bit her lip, turned sideways and stared at her reflection.
She’d filled out, after having Amy. It wasn’t something she liked to admit, even to herself, but a couple of times she’d caught herself glancing in the mirror as she dressed in the morning, wondering if Rafe remembered her body as it had been and what he would think of it now, with fuller breasts and more gently rounded hips. Not that she cared. Not that she’d ever give him the chance to see it…but she’d wondered.
Filled out? She blew out a breath. Maybe that was an understatement. She didn’t just look fuller or rounder in this dress, she looked like a sausage.
Did she want Rafe to see her like this?
He was so handsome, her husband. So gorgeously masculine. He could have any woman he wanted, and he had chosen her…
She stiffened.
That wasn’t true. He hadn’t chosen her. Circumstance had done the choosing. If she hadn’t become pregnant with his child, if he didn’t have some—some crazy sense of Latin morality, she’d never have seen him again.
And it hurt, to know that. Oh, it hurt. In the dark hours of the night, she lay awake in her bed, alone, thinking of what it would have been like if Rafe had come to her, come for her, because he wanted her. Because he needed her, loved her…
A moan of despair burst from her lips. She spun away from the mirror, her hand at her throat. What in hell was she thinking? Rafe didn’t need her or love her, and she didn’t need or love him. He just thought he owned her but after tonight, he’d know better.
She strode into the bathroom. Elena, or perhaps Joao, had carefully placed her cosmetics on one end of the huge marble vanity. She opened half a dozen tubes and jars, then slapped something from each on her face. A lipstick she’d gotten as a giveaway and hated came next, and then so much mascara that her lashes stuck together in clumps.
She stepped back and took an appraising look at herself.
“Lovely,” she whispered and then, before her courage failed her, she shut off the lights, walked through the bedroom, unlocked the door and stepped into the hall. Soft music and the purr of voices drifted up the stairs.
Rafe’s guests had arrived.
Who would he have invited to dinner? Local people, almost certainly; who else could get here on such short notice? Neighboring ranchers, the kind Jonas enjoyed and Marta tolerated. Rawboned men would sip bourbon, chew their cigars and talk about horses and cows while pleasant women with sun-leathered skin exchanged the latest gossip.
And all through the evening, she’d sit demurely beside Rafe in her hideous gown and overdone makeup, with her hands neatly folded in her lap,
saying nothing, doing nothing, being the demure little woman while his neighbors tried to figure out why a man like him, a man who could surely have any woman he wanted, would have taken such an unattractive wife.
Laughter wafted towards her again, a mix of deep masculine and delicate female tones. Nothing about the sound suggested cigars or leathery skin. Butterflies took wing in Carin’s belly once more but this time, they swooped and darted.
Was this plan to humiliate Rafe really such a good idea?
It wasn’t too late to scrub her face, brush her hair, change from this awful gown into something else, something silky and soft that would make him smile with pleasure when he saw her, turn his eyes dark with desire as they had that first night…
She stopped, swallowed hard, took a couple of calming breaths. That night was long gone. Rafe had made her pregnant, she’d given him a child, and that was the only reason he’d returned to her, forced her into a marriage she didn’t want, a marriage he thought gave him the right to turn her into a slave.
Carin’s eyes narrowed. She flipped the ruffles at the neckline of her gown, smoothed down the skirt and started down the stairs.
She didn’t need Rafe, she didn’t love him, and she certainly didn’t want to stay married to him. With any luck at all, he wouldn’t want to stay married to her, either.
Not after tonight.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHERE was Carin?
Rafe took a drink of wine and glanced at his watch. It was well after eight and everyone was here—the da Sousas, who were his closest neighbors, and Claudia and her latest lover who, as it turned out, were visiting with Isabela and Luiz for the weekend.
Only his wife was missing.
“Where is she, darling?” Claudia had asked in English the second she came in the door.
“Making herself beautiful for her new husband,” the gentleman with her had replied.
“I’m sure she’s beautiful enough, as it is. A man like Rafe wouldn’t settle for anything less,” Isabela had joked, and everyone had laughed.