‘You’re taking everything out of context. You didn’t hear the whole conversation,’ he roared.
‘And now you’re raising your voice. Aggressive, dominant behaviour,’ she yelled back.
His finger shot out. ‘Don’t you engineer psychobabble crap against me. That’s bullshit and you know it, sister.’
‘Is it? If I told you that the man who tried to kill me used those exact words. He loved me. He needed me. I was his. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. In his emails he hated my friends, other men I went out with. He wanted me to have his babies. See a pattern emerging? And when I ignored him, got a goddam restraining order against him, he got angry
.’
Dark eyes flashed with pain, with disbelief.
And now his skin had gone ashen.
‘How fucking dare you? I don’t know you anymore.’
That was true enough.
He’d never known her, not really.
But God, she felt feverish she was shaking so much.
‘No. You don’t know me. Like my father you don’t really see me. You never have done and you never will do.’
‘So we’re finished. End of. Is that what you’re saying?’
Silence.
She held up her satellite phone.
‘I’ve just phoned Bronte. It appears Nico is in hot water.’
Rafe took a heaving breath, those dark eyes burned into hers.
‘Nico knows nothing of what I did to get Sergei Kandinsky off our back. He’s done didly squat except help us.’
Now her chin lifted.
‘He didn’t tell his wife that her friend was in trouble. He kept secrets, told lies. She’ll have his balls for that.’
‘Christ, Coco. I was only keeping you safe.’
‘Yeah,’ she shot back. ‘But who was keeping me safe from
you
?’
He flinched as if she’d struck him.
Then he turned, stalked over to the French window, looked out.
Silence.
And the earth dropped away for Coco.
By saying nothing, he’d damned himself.
He couldn’t look at her.
Coward.
Thrusting his hands through his hair, why the hell couldn’t he think? Rafe turned to look at her.
‘You need to let me explain, Coco.’
But he knew, even as he spoke the words, she was in no mood to listen to him.
‘I don’t
need
to do anything. I told you how I feel about being manipulated, but you don’t get it. I want a man who’s big enough and man enough to be his own person. Not someone who when my father says jump, the response is,
‘How high?’
Now her eyes went like ice over steel. ‘You’re not good enough for me, Rafael. You never were.’
Chapter Forty One
The beep, beep of a car horn sounded outside followed by the slam of a car door and then quick footsteps.
Bronte Ferranti entered.
Dealing with one pissed off woman was bad enough.
Having two looking at him as if he was dog dirt on the sole of their shoe made Rafe stifle a groan.
Coco was trundling her case across the hallway and he made a move to help but the way her eyes pinned his made him think again.
Fuck it.
Bronte didn’t say a single word.
She just moved into Coco and held her in a tight hug.
‘We’ll talk in the car,’ Bronte told her.
And he just stood there like a pussy and let them go.
The girls hefted the luggage into the trunk, got into the black Range Rover and drove away.
Rafe was so fucking angry with her, with himself, he couldn’t think straight.
How the hell had he messed this up so spectacularly?
One minute he’d been riding high and the next he’d fallen flat on his face.
There was no way Coco had heard all of the conversation, she couldn’t have.
She couldn’t have heard how he’d resigned from Monroe Industries, how he was setting up his own security company.
She’d heard what she firmly believed was damning evidence that he was a spineless dickless bastard who’d lied and manipulated and controlled her for his own gain.
It was plain she’d never believe him.
She certainly didn’t respect him and he wondered now if she ever would.
So what did she expect him to do now?
Just slither away like a snake on his belly because the going got tough?
By the way she’d looked at him she did think that.
She
expected
him to let her down.
And how fucking insulting was that?
Words were never going to work with Coco. Never had. Never would.
Actions were the one thing Coco Monroe understood.
Well, he’d give her actions all right.
The sound of another car parking made him groan loud and long.
It was Nico Ferranti and Jacob Del Garda.
Nico jumped out. Since he was wearing one of his Italian power suits, Rafe realised he’d come straight from Ludlow Hall.
And Nico didn’t look happy.
Jacob reversed, turned the car and drove off.
Nico strode through the entrance door, let it bang behind him.
Now he stood in front of Rafe, long legs spread and hands fisted on his hips.
‘Want to explain to me why my wife has just blow torched my ear on the phone?’ he growled in a way that had Rafe slump onto a couch, close his eyes and press his fingertips on his eyelids.
He seriously didn’t need this.
‘I messed up,’ he admitted, and heaved a deep sigh of pure male frustration.
He couldn’t get those terrible things she’d said, accused him of, out of his head.
By the time he opened his eyes, Nico had taken off his suit jacket, loosened the knot of his tie and was rolling up his sleeves.
Christ, he was a big bastard.
And Rafe wondered if those fists were getting ready to pound on him.
The Italian seemed to read his mind because although those dark eyes remained cool, his white smile beamed.
‘You are in love with Coco,’ Nico said in a tone of voice that made it a statement of fact rather than a question.
Was it so obvious?
‘She’s driving me fucking crazy.’
Nico shook his head, moved through to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed a couple of beers.
He popped the tops and strolled back, handed him a bottle.
‘Thanks,’ Rafe said. ‘Bronte gave me the sticky eye.’
He rolled the ice-cold bottle over his hot forehead.
God, he needed to think, needed to figure a few things out.
And he’d need to fix it with Coco.
He loved her.
And he’d fallen too hard, just like in all the best romances.
Souls joined.
Laughter shared.
Long, challenging conversations.
God, he’d adored those.
Lonely no more.
Well, he was alone again.
And something like raw panic burned in his belly.
Now he’d had a taste of what life could be like with her, he wouldn’t go back to that.
Never.
Nico sat opposite, took a sip of beer, beaned him with a dark look.
‘Bronte never holds a grudge. Do you want to talk about it?’
So Rafe told him everything, almost everything, right from the beginning.
‘You have done nothing wrong,’ Nico told him. His deep voice went low and the Italian accent more pronounced. ‘Although you have not been clever with the way you have handled Coco. You must know how sensitive she is about her independence. You are close to the family, surely you realise that she will go to the wall with this?’
If he didn’t realise it before, he sure as hell did now.
‘Did you know she’s behind
First Step
?’
Nico shook his head. ‘Coco is an amazing woman.’
Rafe recognized the honest truth of the comment.
‘She is and it’s taken me too fucking long to realise it.’
‘What you and her family should be asking yourselves is why she kept such a thing a secret. She has been kept in a gilded cage her whole life. In my opinion she needed to prove to her father, her brothers, you, and more importantly to herself that she is her own person. You need to treat her as an equal.’
Nico was right.
Placing the beer bottle on the coffee table, Rafe knew that if he made another misstep with Coco he’d lose her for good.
His eyes met Nico’s.
‘What can I do to make it right?’
‘How are your knees?’
Rafe blinked.
‘My knees are fine.’
‘Good, because you are going to be spending a lot of time on them begging her to take you back.’
No way.
Rafael Cavendish would never beg anyone for anything.
Especially Coco Monroe.
Nico appeared to have the uncanny knack of reading his mind because he shrugged, gave him a wolfish grin.
‘You did ask.’
Chapter Forty Two
‘What on earth is going on? Why are all my friends cutting their hair?’ Bronte demanded.
They were sitting in the garden room of The Dower House.
Janine was nursing Boo.
Coco had just unburdened her heavy heart to her friends’ mounting disbelief.
‘I think it’s got something to do with going through a life changing event,’ she said. ‘The guy who stabbed me grabbed my hair first, yanking my head back. It was just something I needed to do.’
‘Between Janine and Rosie and now you, I’m beginning to think you’re all insane. Don’t get me wrong. I’m so proud of you for helping that poor girl. But dear God, Coco, the Russian Mafia?’
Having talked everything through with Bronte and Janine had given Coco another perspective on her father and Rafe’s behaviour.
But anger still burned hot and bright in her gut. ‘I don’t want you to give Nico a hard time over this.’
Now Bronte frowned, heaved a sigh of utter frustration.
‘Nico and Rafe simply cannot help themselves, can they? And we’re attracted to strong men. You should be able to understand how Rafe ticks better than anyone. You’ve two brothers in the military. Rafe was a career soldier too. Kick against it all you like, Coco, but they’ll never stop trying to protect you.’
‘There’s a big difference between protecting and manipulating a person.’
Now Bronte placed her hand on top of Coco’s. ‘You love him, honey.’
Deep down she accepted the truth of the statement.
But that didn’t mean she had to like it.
‘I’ve always loved him.’ Saying the words out loud did nothing to ease the ache in her heart. If anything it made it worse. ‘It’ll never work between us,’ she added.
Bronte lifted a heavy glass jug, topped up their water glasses.
Her son raised his arms and Bronte lifted Luca onto her lap for a cuddle, nuzzling his dark silky curls. Sophia lay dozing on a rug, tiny fingers stroking through her doll’s hair.
Everyone was hot and tired in the humid air of a late summer afternoon.
‘Rafe owes your father a great deal. I remember my mother and father talking about what happened to him after his parents’ separated. It was all over the gossip columns at the time. And I know he had it rough at school. Your family basically adopted him. It must have been difficult for him to deal with his feelings for you.’
Coco didn’t want to have sympathy or understanding for the young Rafe.
She wanted to hang on nice and tight to a righteous anger.
‘That doesn’t give him the right to just take over my life or to decide how I live it. I heard him tell my father that I’d marry him and have his babies.’ Then she glowered, muttering, ‘That’ll be the day. Althoug it would have been nice to be asked.’
And right there was the nub of the matter.
‘Maybe he was asking your father’s permission?’ Bronte suggested, playing Devil’s Advocate.
‘You know what Rafe’s like, everything’s by the book.’
But Coco simply shook her head and tilted her chin in a way that made Bronte’s green eyes go wide.
‘I’ll
never
marry. My independence is too precious and hard won.’
‘Okay. Maybe you could compromise. Live together, see where it leads.’
Now Coco scowled.
‘We’d already agreed to try. But after this stunt he’s pulled I never want to see him again.’
Over her son’s hair Bronte gave her a sharp look.
‘That’s just you being stubborn. You love him. He loves you. Deal with it. And you need to have a chat with dear daddy. Lay down the law in words of one syllable.’
Like Louise, Bronte never pulled her punches when it came to telling the truth to her friends and that’s what Coco loved about her.
‘I’ve been putting it off for months,’ Coco admitted. ‘I don’t want to hurt him.’
Now Bronte’s eyes went serious as they met hers.
‘I get that. But believe me there’s nothing worse than not being honest and open with family. Secrets and lies and words unspoken break hearts.’
Coco understood exactly where Bronte was coming from. Learning that her beloved father had not been her biological parent had caused her friend too much heartache, too much pain.
Coco knew she needed to deal with her issues.
But not yet.
‘I cut my hair because Connor insisted I had it tied in a high ponytail. He used to plait it,’ Janine said, in an emotionless voice as if talking to herself.
Both women simply stared at her.
Bronte’s eyes went wide.
‘He used to brush your hair? How romantic,’ she said in a soft voice.
Listening to Coco talk about
First Step
and how she helped women, children, in trouble gave Janine the courage to speak and now she’d started she found the words just tumbled out.
‘Romance had nothing to do with it. I doubt he understood what the word meant. He used my hair like a rope to pull me down the stairs, to haul me around the kitchen and to pin my head to the bed.’
Eyes fixed to a spot in the distance, she ignored Bronte’s shocked inhale of breath. Her body had gone as cold as ice as she continued, ‘I’ve no idea why I didn’t see it before I married him. Looking back I can see he’d started to deconstruct me, working out ways to break me as soon as we were engaged. It started with little things. I was spending too much time with my friends, not enough time with him. My dress was too short. Eating sugar was bad, no way would he be married to a woman who was fat. In the weeks before the wedding I ignored the warnings, his erratic behaviour, mood swings, even the nerves in my stomach. I ignored the way he made me jump if I did something to annoy him or had an opinion he didn’t agree with. Then the first night we arrived in a new country, the way he had me on my knees in front of him, the things he made me do to him to make him happy...’ Her voice hitched, went rough. ‘I
knew
. I knew then that I was helpless, isolated, and in the hands of a man with pure evil in his heart.’