A Touch of Notoriety - By Carole Mortimer Page 0,23

selective memory.’

Raphael ground his back teeth together before speaking. ‘There is absolutely nothing wrong with my memory, Beth.’

‘Then—’

‘Do you not understand I have a job to do?’ Raphael rasped harshly as he gave up all pretence of politeness in the face of Beth’s dogged determination to have this conversation—whether he wished it or not. ‘And I cannot do that job properly, cannot protect you in the way that you need to be protected, if my thoughts are distracted by images of making love with you! There—does that answer your question?’ He glared his displeasure as a nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw.

‘As a matter of fact, it does.’ She relaxed back against the table edge as she looked across the kitchen at him challengingly. ‘It distracts you to think of the two of us making love together?’

Raphael drew in a harsh breath. ‘Yes!’

‘It distracts me, too,’ she admitted huskily.

His eyes narrowed. ‘You—’

‘Raphael—’

‘You will do me the courtesy of allowing me to finish,’ he rasped impatiently.

‘But—’

‘Beth!’ He bit out his frustration.

‘Fine.’ Beth held up her hands in defeat. ‘I was only going to tell you that the steaks are on fire, but if you aren’t inter—’ She broke off with a grin as Raphael turned and began swearing as he saw the flames and smoke coming out of the grill pan. ‘Don’t worry,’ she added lightly as he pulled the pan out onto the trivet before beating the flames out with the tea towel. ‘I’ve always preferred my steaks well done, anyway!’

Raphael shot her a venomous glance. ‘I have not.’

‘Poor you,’ she murmured dryly.

‘Can we just get this meal over and done with?’ Raphael all but threw the two steaks onto the waiting plates. ‘I have work to do this evening.’

Beth pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Anything I can help you with?’ If she were at home then she could have spent the evening with friends, or catching up on housework, maybe even watching one of her favourite DVDs, but she had no idea what she was supposed to do with the rest of her evening stuck out here in the wilds of Hampshire.

‘I think you have “helped” me quite enough for one evening!’ Raphael pulled out the chair opposite before folding his long length down onto it.

‘If you’re sure...’ Beth helped herself to salad before pushing the bowl across the table to him.

‘I am very sure.’

She nodded as she cut off a piece of steak before popping it into her mouth and chewing with obvious enjoyment for several seconds. ‘Mmm, this steak is delicious.’

Raphael wasn’t fooled for a moment by the innocence of Beth’s expression as she looked across the table at him, knew, by the laughter gleaming in the darkness of her eyes and the half-smile on those thoroughly kissed lips, that her earlier bad humour had now evaporated and she was enjoying herself. At his expense.

‘My father would weep if he could see how I have massacred his precious beef,’ he muttered disgustedly as he pushed the burnt offering to the side of his plate.

‘Your father’s beef?’

Raphael nodded. ‘Cesar has it flown here from Argentina.’

‘Your father farms cattle?’ she prompted lightly.

Raphael gave her a derisive glance. ‘Cattle are not farmed in Argentina, they are ranched. By gauchos.’

Beth had seen photos in magazines of gauchos; men as hard and rugged as the terrain they worked on. ‘And your father works on a ranch in Argentina?’

His jaw tightened as he seemed to realise he had once again been drawn into talking about his family. ‘On the pampas, yes.’

‘That’s very rough countryside, isn’t it?’

‘Very,’ Raphael acknowledged tersely, that stern set to his jaw telling Beth that he would not be drawn on the subject any further than that.

‘Does—? Oh, damn, I forgot the wine!’ She gave him an apologetic grimace as she stood up, having opened a bottle of red wine when she first came down to the kitchen in order to let it breathe, as Grace had shown her. ‘Here, maybe it will help your steak go down!’ She sat down to pour wine into one of the two empty glasses on the table before filling her own and then placing the bottle in the middle of the table.

‘I doubt anything would succeed in making this shoe leather palatable!’ Raphael muttered disgustedly as he lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip of the wine.

There was absolutely no way of missing the way that he stilled the moment he tasted the wine before slowly swallowing.