The Boat Builder's Bed (21 page)

His long powerful limbs, his lean hard-driving hips, thrilled her.

And he seemed to want her
so much.
 

She’d never felt so dainty and cherished and raunchy and bothered and totally sexy all at the same time.

“Harder,” she gasped, wanting every fraction of him stroking over her nerve-endings and fuelling the lovely fire growing deep inside.

Rafe pounded into her, one arm tight around her waist to hold her steady. Rougher now. Near to losing it. And then she heard him give a huge gasp and a vicious curse, and felt him pulsing deep inside her as he fought for breath and rasped her name and bit her shoulder in his passion.
 

The sensation of his convulsing muscles, together with her elation at doing this for him, were enough to make her go liquid with pleasure and clasp around him repeatedly as her own orgasm hit. Deeper this time. Darker. Like a dewy crimson rose unfurling its petals and then folding them closed, again and again, around a glorious golden intruder.

They collapsed together, silent and stunned.
 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sophie had plenty to think about next morning on the three-hour ferry trip to Picton. The words in her library book swam in and out of focus as she re-lived their love-making, and the hurried laundry that had followed.
 

They’d made coffee and sat close together on the big deck, talked about Matt and Annie’s home, and discussed further details of Rafe’s house on the cliff.
 

Once the sheets were washed and tumbling around in the drier, Sophie had pulled on her white cotton shorts and the bikini top, and Rafe had donned navy board-shorts, and they’d walked hand-in-hand down the endless wide sandy beach. Despite the fine day and the wild beauty of Peka Peka, there were few people about. Most seemed to prefer the shops and cafes a little further to the south.
 

Such solitude had meant it was easy to idle along, touching and teasing, lingering for passionate kisses and tender embraces.

And when they’d returned to find the sheets warm and dry, re-making the guest bed felt almost more intimate than their previous joyous coupling in it.
 

She’d watched Rafe across the snowy expanse of the fragrant bed-linen, and couldn’t help imagining he was her husband and she his much-loved wife.
 

Could picture him in the master bedroom suite of his own finished home, walking barefoot on the velvety carpet she’d ordered for him, silhouetted against walls finished a paler shade of his own delicious skin-color, drawing the floor-to-ceiling curtains of bronze silk she’d suggested.
 

As the sun sank lower, they’d returned to the ground floor where the Ducati was parked, and to Sophie’s delighted surprise Rafe had stripped off again and stood, tall and strong and at ease with his body, and dived in to the luxurious pool once she’d started to undress as well. The water lapped around them as she moved into his arms.

Much later he’d cast an eye up towards the two kayaks on their hooks.

“Wanna race, lady?” he’d drawled.

Sophie had dissolved into giggles at the image of them racing kiddie-canoes in an indoor swimming pool. “How many children do they have?”
 

“One of each.”

“Nice planning.”

“I’m their honorary uncle.”

“Good for birthday presents?”

He glanced up at the Kayaks again. “
They
were a big hit, anyway.”

She remembered again his bitter regret about Faye not wanting his children. How offensive that would have been to any man, but especially to Rafe. Faye had known about his solitary upbringing and his desire to create a family to redress the hand that life had dealt him. Yet still she’d refused?

And here I am on the way to visit the daughter I avoided mentioning for career reasons, and now can’t possibly admit to for very much more personal ones. He’ll never forgive me if he finds out, and God I wish I’d been honest that first day...
 

Rafe stretched his arms up towards the sun as he stood gazing out towards Pencarrow lighthouse. He un-kinked the knots in his shoulder muscles and dropped his hands onto the deck railing. He laughed inwardly. His shoulders had been given a hell of a workout the day before, and wasn’t he feeling pleased about that!

He wondered if Sophie had woken yet, and decided to surprise her before she went out. It was barely eight. Surely after a day like yesterday she’d still be in bed? Maybe he could join her there again? Especially if he took breakfast.

He showered and shot out on the Ducati minutes later, hurtling too fast around the bends of the coast road, enjoying the machine and the sparkling morning. As he neared the central city, one of the inter-island ferries edged out from its berth—a white wedge in a blue harbor dotted with early-morning yachts.

He stopped at the French bakery, bought pastries and coffees, balancing the latter precariously between his thighs as he coasted along Tinakori Road.

He knocked on her door, feeling an absurd tingle of anticipation as he imagined her, drowsy, welcoming and maybe in a skimpy nightdress.

“Looking for Sophie?” a voice asked.

Rafe swiveled, and found a woman of forty or so, dressed for gardening and clutching a spade. Presumably this was the landlady?

“She’s already gone. Goes out well before eight o’clock every Sunday. Not back ‘til quite late at night.”

His spirits dropped through the floor of the petal-strewn porch. So much for his sexy reunion fantasy...

As he opened his mouth to ask more, there was the creak of a window being opened above them.

“Mom! Mom!” an aggrieved teenage voice wailed. “Hurry—it’s Auntie Jen on the phone. Uncle Bob’s had to go to hospital.”

The woman muttered an exclamation. “Sorry,” she said, tossing the spade on the lawn and dashing away.

Rafe stood there, mystified and wrong-footed. Where the hell did Sophie go to ‘well before eight o’clock every Sunday’? And how late was ‘quite late tonight’?

On his way down the path he turned for the front door of the house and set the coffees and pastries beside it, suddenly not the least bit tempted by either. He knocked loudly and left, hoping the teenage wailer might find them and enjoy them.

He could phone Sophie.
Should
phone her. But he’d prefer to look her in the eye and gauge the honesty of her answers.

Every Sunday? She’d been perfectly open about not being available today, but she’d avoided giving details now he thought about it, and certainly hadn’t indicated it was an on-going arrangement. He turned such thoughts around as he roared home, stewing on unpleasant possibilities.

Once he was there he strapped on his tool-belt and took out his frustration on the boxing timber around the garage foundations, wrenching it away from the sides of the concrete slab with a wrecking bar and the brute force of his long arms. He threw the splintered lengths aside, not caring about the wastage. Who did she go to? And why?

At nine on Monday morning Sophie looked up from her screen and drew a swift surprised breath. Rafe stood in the open doorway, backlit by the bright sun. He held two coffees.

“You’re deep in thought.”

“I’m just confirming your top-floor tile order as it happens.”

He smiled at that and came in, placing the coffees out of her way.

“Good day yesterday?”

“Fine...yes.” She decided to say no more. She’d already lied by omission, and she knew that was very cowardly. She certainly didn’t want to tie herself up in further knots and cobwebs of deceit, so any more lies were out of the question.

He stepped around the desk, cupped her face in his hands and bent to kiss her. Softly.

Lovingly, she almost felt. She grew warm all over, flustered, boneless, unable to resist his potent attraction, knowing he got her like this every time.

He drew back, his face only inches away from hers.

“So where did you go?”

She swallowed. No help for it now, not with those enquiring eyes staring straight into hers. “To see my Mom.” She hoped she wasn’t blushing and giving the game away. Surely not—she
had
been to visit her mother.

Rafe released her. “Where does she live?”

“Picton.”
 

“Long way to go for a visit?”

His eyes seemed to be asking more than that, but she hoped she’d manage to keep her expression neutral.

“Mmmmm... That’s why she couldn’t come over for the studio opening.”

 
He pushed a coffee towards her. “Thought you could maybe do with this.”

“Thanks. And what did
you
do yesterday?” she asked, grateful to have the coffee to glance away to.

“Took the bike out for a while. Tore the boxing timber off the garage foundations. Things.”

“It’s coming along well, your big garage,” she said, trying to keep the topic right away from herself. Trying to stop from reaching out and touching him, too.

“They’ll be coating the exterior this week. Salt-proof, corrosion-proof. Once the doors are on and we’ve secure storage, the old shipping container goes. Then there’s only the off-street parking area and landscaping to finish.” He took his coffee and moved across to the sofa. “You need a chair by your desk for visitors,” he added.

“Yes, maybe in a week or two when I can afford it.”

She lifted her coffee and sipped.

He did the same, still looking at her far too intently for her comfort. “Why don’t I make you an advance? You’ve done hours of work for me so far.”

Sophie definitely felt the blush this time. It was so embarrassing having to be careful with money every single day of her life. Especially with someone as wealthy as Rafe.

She cleared her throat. “Well, um, yes, that would be wonderful. I charge an hourly consulting rate, and then ask for a half deposit when things are ordered. Like your tiles.” She swallowed.

Why was this so difficult? Because she liked him so much? Because she’d fallen into bed with him and held nothing back? Or because Camille’s concealment really ate at her conscience now?

“I was a bit overwhelmed to be doing your work, and I didn’t go into the details to start with, did I?”

Rafe smiled and drew a checkbook from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Sophie handed over a pen.
 

A few moments later he returned it, together with his generous check, and her eyes grew wide.

“That’ll buy a lot of chairs.”

“Tell me how much you need to cover the tile order, and whatever...”

“Yes,” she agreed, taking another sip of her coffee and inspecting him over the rim of the cup.

He looked amazing. Businesslike and reserved instead of naked and muscular and hotly aroused. She liked the second version best. He was almost intimidating in the superb black suit, pale grey shirt and muted tie. Now he was Faye’s handsome occasionally-glimpsed husband again—a serious man going about serious business—instead of her own playful lover.

“I wanted to confirm our trip up to the Whangarei yard,” he said. “I’m hoping tomorrow’s okay with you because I can send you home ahead while I stop off for some appointments in Auckland.”

“That’s fine.”

“And I’ll book us a night’s accommodation, shall I? After Saturday?” His eyes shone warm with invitation now. “Can you spare another half-day away from your studio?”

Sophie glanced down at his check and felt almost as though she’d been bought for his evening’s entertainment. But what did she have to lose? She was eager to spend any time at all with him.
 

Their fiery love-making at Peka Peka had been followed by another even hotter session at her apartment. Turning him out of her bed at midnight so she could make an unobserved getaway to the ferry yesterday morning had cut her to ribbons. She’d wanted to stay curled in his arms, slumberous and sexy. Wanted to share a sun-dappled breakfast with him, explore and admire him once she’d woken refreshed. But she’d held firm, citing Mrs. Ferris and her children and her early morning gardening as reasons to make him leave. Now she had another chance.

“So we can have a whole night together? Yes please.”

And with that he smiled and suggested, “Or
two
? Stay with me at the house tonight. It’s closer to the airport—we won’t have to leave as early tomorrow.”

Sophie pretended to consider that for a moment or two, but in reality she was working out how to reschedule her evening phone-call to Camille.
 

“Are you playing chauffeur or do you want me to come on the bike?”

“I want you to come anywhere you can,” he said, raising a suggestive eyebrow and widening his smile into his trademark killer grin. “Although on the bike might take some ingenuity. I could bend you over the handlebars, perhaps? Or lay you down flat on the seat and lick you to death?”
 

Every trace of the reserved businessman had suddenly disappeared, and Sophie’s body instantly responded to his suggestions. She looked down at her peaking nipples.

“Now look what you’ve done.”

Rafe clicked his tongue in mock-dismay. “Can’t help yourself, eh? Me either.” He stood and nudged at his very conservative trousers, and Sophie was left with a glorious mental picture as he headed for the door.
 

“I’ll collect you around six?” he called over his shoulder.

“Or a little after? Give me time to pack?”

And phone Camille.

“Don’t bother bringing your pajamas,” were the last words she heard.
 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Five nights later Rafe called at the Wellington boatyard as soon as he was off the plane. He worked for an hour, finally closed his lap-top, yawned, stretched and checked his watch. His body and brain hummed with possibilities. He felt contented and excited in equal measure.

Things were going well. Monday night at the house had been everything he’d anticipated. Sophie had been playful and warm and inventive. To wake with her in his arms on Tuesday morning—to slowly bring her out of sleep with gentle kisses and caresses—had pitched them both into a frenzy of need again.