A Touch of Notoriety - By Carole Mortimer Page 0,12

Beth looked hurt at Grace’s treachery.

‘What exactly are you doing to my house?’ she repeated softly.

‘Putting in an alarm system. Outside security cameras—Grace does not approve of cameras inside the house,’ he explained grimly. ‘But there will be alarms on all of the windows, and—’

‘Never mind.’ Beth waved her hand about weakly in protest at hearing any more of the changes being made to her home without her permission. ‘And the estate in Hampshire—are we talking about the same estate where Grace worked for Cesar, and said she felt like a prisoner the whole time she was there?’

‘We are, yes.’ Raphael gave a slight inclination of his head. ‘But again, if you wish it, the security cameras inside the house can be switched off.’

‘But not the sensors on the windows? Or the security codes to get in and out of the doors? Or the dozen or so security guards on the gates and patrolling the grounds?’

His jaw tightened. ‘No.’

Beth gave a shake of her head. ‘I think you had better turn this car around, after all—’

‘Calm yourself, Gabriela—’

‘I swear if you call me that name one more time...!’

‘Yes?’ Raphael arched a cool brow at her vehemence.

‘My name is Beth.’ She breathed deeply in an effort to remain calm, something that was proving more and more difficult to do around this man. ‘I suggest you use it in the future if you want me to answer you.’

He shrugged. ‘I did not ask a question but made a statement.’

Beth’s gaze narrowed to warning slits. ‘Just as I’m stating that I am not staying in some damned prison fortress in the middle of nowhere!’

Raphael held back a smile; if anything, Beth was even more beautiful when she was angry. That beautiful blond hair almost seemed to crackle with electricity. Her eyes glowed. Her creamy cheeks became flushed. The perfect bow of her lips full and slightly parted. And, if he was not mistaken, her nipples were pert and erect beneath the blue sweater she was wearing...

His gaze remained on those aroused breasts as he answered her.

‘I trust you will excuse me for correcting you—’

‘I don’t trust you at all. And I would rather excuse a cobra about to strike than I would you.’ Beth continued to glare at him in her frustration.

‘Have a care, Beth, or you will turn my head with all this flattery,’ Raphael drawled dryly, eliciting a soft chuckle from the chauffeur beside him.

Beth’s eyes glittered darkly. ‘I have yet to find anything about you I could be in the least flattering about! Now ask the driver—’

‘His name is Edward,’ he supplied dryly. ‘Edward, meet Miss Navarro.’

‘Beth Blake,’ she corrected firmly as she smiled at the chauffeur in the driving mirror.

‘Miss,’ he answered tactfully.

‘Would you mind very much turning the car around, Edward, and Raphael will give you the directions to my own home?’ She looked challengingly at Raphael even as she spoke to the chauffeur.

Maybe Raphael should have taken his own advice two days ago and put Beth Blake over his knee before spanking her curvaceous backside!

‘As I was saying,’ he continued coolly, ignoring Beth’s instruction and indicating that Edward should do so, too, ‘Cesar’s estate is not a fortress or a prison, neither is it in the middle of nowhere. There is a town—’

‘Ten point two kilometres away, I believe Cesar told Grace when she made a similar comment,’ she acknowledged dryly. ‘Which, when you’re used to living in a city as big and bustling as London, is the middle of nowhere. And how am I supposed to get to work every morning? I am not being driven to work in a chauffeur-driven limousine—no offence intended,’ she assured Edward distractedly.

‘None taken, miss,’ he assured her lightly.

‘What is wrong with being driven to work in the comfort of a limousine?’ Raphael enquired lightly.

Beth gave him an exasperated look. ‘I’m a junior assistant in the publicity department.’

‘And?’

‘And the top executives of the company don’t arrive at work in a chauffeur-driven limousine!’

He gave a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. ‘That is their loss, of course, but—’

‘Raphael, would you try, just for a moment, to put yourself back in the world of us lesser mortals,’ she cut in disgustedly, ‘instead of this ivory tower Cesar has inhabited for so long and which my sister is trying to drag him from kicking and screaming—and which you appear to have inhabited right alongside him—and realise that in the real world we don’t travel in private jets and limousines, but buses and the underground, with