A Touch of Notoriety

chapter FOUR



‘BETH?’ RAPHAEL CAME to a halt in the open bedroom doorway as he saw—and heard—her crying as she lay face down on the bed, immediately dropping the two bags he was carrying to cross the bedroom in long determined strides before sitting down on the bed beside her.

The first Beth knew of Raphael’s presence in the bedroom with her was when she felt the bed dipping beside her before his hands came to rest gently on her shoulders as he turned her over. His arms moved about her as he took one look at her tear-stained face before pulling her towards him and cradling her against the reassuring heat of his chest.

That gentleness, along with Raphael’s reassuring warmth, and the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, only made Beth cry all the harder.

These past few days had been—Beth couldn’t even begin to describe how awful they had been!

Going back to Buenos Aires with Grace. Seeing her own likeness to the Navarros, most especially to Esther. Even the similarity of her own stubborn determination to Cesar’s impossible arrogance! And the results of those blood tests, no matter how much Beth verbally denied it, had completely unsettled her.

To the point that she had desperately needed to escape, to flee the demand being made of her to accept she was Gabriela Navarro and not Beth Blake.

But returning to England, seeing the alterations being made on her home, arriving at Cesar’s estate, with its high walls and dozen or so security guards, had only succeeded in making the possibility of her really being Gabriela Navarro seem all the more real, not less so.

More real than Beth could emotionally deal with.

It was too much. All of it. The whole idea, of her being—becoming, the Argentinian heiress Gabriela Navarro was so totally off the charts of Beth’s comprehension that, no matter how she might try to pretend and behave to the contrary, Beth knew she was in serious danger of being totally overwhelmed by it all.

Even the name Gabriela was foreign to her.

Gabriela Esther Carlotta Navarro. Esther for her mother, Carlotta in memory of Carlos Navarro’s mother...

And how could that possibly be Beth, when she barely understood a word of Spanish, let alone spoke it?

It couldn’t be.

And yet somewhere, deep inside her, Beth had the uneasy—the unacceptable!—feeling that it really was...

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘Do you believe that I’m her, too?’

‘Yes.’

Raphael was so much like Cesar: no ifs, ands or buts, just that harsh and implacable affirmative! ‘What makes you so certain?’ Beth frowned up at him.

He breathed deeply. ‘You could not possibly remember me, but—I knew Cesar’s sister as a baby.’

Her eyes widened. ‘I didn’t realise that...’

He smiled tightly. ‘There is no reason why you should have done so. But yes, I am as convinced as everyone else that you are Gabriela Navarro.’

‘Why?’

‘Obviously you look so much like Esther and Carlos. And you are as fiercely stubborn as Cesar when you argue,’ he added teasingly. ‘But I can also see traces of that much younger Gabriela in you, too. She was utterly adorable and charming, even at two years of age, but also very determined in her nature, decided what she wanted or where she needed to be, and ensured that she got there.’ He chuckled softly.

Beth eyed him teasingly. ‘You think I’m adorable and charming?’

‘And, do not forget, very determined,’ he reminded her lightly.

‘But what if I still don’t want to be her?’ Beth demanded distractedly, still trying to assimilate the information that she—Gabriela—and Raphael had known each other over twenty years ago. And that Raphael had obviously felt the same brotherly indulgent affection for Gabriela as Cesar had.

‘Is that the reason you are upset?’

‘Yes,’ she admitted huskily.

‘Then I would say that you are unique in not wishing to be the young, beautiful, and very wealthy Navarro heiress,’ Raphael drawled dryly.

Beth sighed heavily. ‘Everyone dreams of being wealthy enough to one day not have to worry about money again. But not at the sacrifice of their other hopes and dreams.’

‘And what are your other hopes and dreams?’

‘To become the best editor I know how to be, and maybe even find and edit that one special book that’s going to take the world by storm!’ she revealed fiercely.

‘And you do not believe you can do those things as Gabriela Navarro?’

‘I know I can’t!’

‘The Gabriela I knew all those years ago would have ensured that she did exactly as she wished to do in her adult life,’ Raphael said softly.

‘Cesar’s answer to that would seem to be to simply buy a publishing company for me,’ she muttered disgustedly.

He smiled ruefully. ‘That is the way Cesar deals with such problems. It does not have to be your way also.’

‘No,’ Beth acknowledged doubtfully.

‘Take a deep breath and learn to deal with one problem at a time, Beth,’ Raphael advised huskily. ‘If you stop and consider, you have already done so. You are here, back in England, as you wished to be, and tomorrow you will return to your job, also as you wished,’ he explained as she looked up at him questioningly. ‘You have free will, Beth, are over twenty-one, and so at liberty to live your life in any way that you choose.’

‘And you think that the Navarros and Cesar are going to accept that?’ She smiled ruefully.

‘I think the Gabriela I knew would have made sure they were given no choice in the matter!’ he assured her dryly.

Beth exhaled shakily as she realised she had been holding her breath for several minutes. And Raphael was right, of course; no matter what the family pressure—whichever family that might happen to be!—she ultimately didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to do.

And at the moment what she wanted to do was try to repair the damage she had done to the soggy mess that was now Raphael’s white silk shirt! ‘I’m so sorry about this.’ She attempted to brush away some of that dampness with her hand.

‘Why is it that women never have a handkerchief or a tissue with them when they cry?’ Raphael’s voice was a teasing rumble beneath her cheek. ‘Here, use this,’ he encouraged softly as she made no effort to take the blue silk handkerchief that she knew had been in his breast pocket until a few seconds ago, as a match for the neatly knotted tie at his throat and the colour of his eyes.

‘We don’t decide to cry, it just happens.’ Beth took the handkerchief from him and mopped at the dampness of his shirt before drying her cheeks and blowing her nose. ‘And how many women have you made cry?’ she murmured as she tucked the silk handkerchief into her denims pocket, intending to wash it before returning it to him.

‘None that I recall.’

She gave him a derisive glance. ‘Why do I find that so hard to believe?’

He raised dark brows. ‘I do not know. Why do you?’

Now there was a trick question if ever Beth had heard one!

How did she know women had cried over this man? This man who was as handsome as sin, and just as wickedly dangerous? And unattainable...

Beneath those breathtaking good looks and unmistakeable sensuality, Beth sensed there was an aloofness to Raphael Cordoba, a coldness that said his heart had never been touched by any of the women he might have been involved with since he reached sexual maturity. An aloofness, and coldness of emotions, that challenged at the same time as it gave warning of heartbreak to any who ventured forth.

So, yes, whether Raphael had witnessed it or not, Beth was certain that there had been many women who had cried tears over him. ‘Just a hunch.’ She shrugged dismissively. ‘You so obviously spoke from experience about ladies not having a handkerchief with them when they cry.’

‘I have six sisters, so yes—’

‘Six sisters!’ Beth pulled back slightly to look up at him in disbelief, disconcerted by the admission. ‘Older or younger, or a mixture of the two?’

‘All older.’ He grimaced.

She gave a slightly dazed shake of her head. ‘I can’t even begin to think what it must have been like growing up with six older sisters...’

‘The fights that ensued over the use of the bathrooms were always entertaining,’ he revealed dryly.

‘I would imagine so...’

He shrugged. ‘But being a young boy, with the usual aversion to bathing, helped in that situation, I believe.’

Beth tried to imagine Raphael as a young boy. No doubt his hair would have been longer then, more inclined to curl, and those piercing blue eyes wouldn’t have that hard cynicism to them that had come with maturity—

Or perhaps they would?

She knew nothing of Raphael’s background but the things he had chosen to reveal to her over the past few days—and she hadn’t felt inclined to ask Grace anything about him, either, knowing exactly what conclusions her sister would have drawn from Beth’s interest in the personal life of Cesar’s enigmatic Head of Security!

But Raphael had just revealed that he was the youngest of seven children, which surely meant that his family home would have to have been cramped and overcrowded, and that so many children would have been a severe strain on the family finances. A hardship that would only have been made more painfully obvious by Raphael’s friendship with a man whose family was as rich and powerful as Cesar Navarro’s. A friendship that had perhaps come into existence because Raphael’s family lived and worked on one of the Navarro properties?

‘Are all of your sisters married?’

‘Five of them. Rosa is...slower, than others,’ Raphael revealed tightly. ‘It is not hereditary, you understand—it was caused by complications at her birth.’

‘I wasn’t presuming that it was,’ Beth answered him distractedly, thinking of the fact that Raphael’s parents would have had five weddings to pay for, if not dowries to supply—did the parents still provide dowries for their daughters in Argentina?—as well as the continuing financial support of their remaining daughter. Perhaps Raphael even helped with that support; he had certainly sounded defensive just now on his sister Rosa’s behalf. ‘Does Rosa still live at home with your parents?’

His eyes hardened. ‘She resides with my eldest sister, Delores, and her family.’

‘But none of your family live in Buenos Aires?’ she prompted curiously.

‘No.’ Raphael now sounded, and looked, just as unapproachable on the subject of his family as he had two days ago.

‘And what of your parents? Are they both still alive?’

‘My father is. My mother died shortly after my tenth birthday.’

Beth gave a pained frown. ‘I’m sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘So am I.’

‘It can’t have been easy for your father to bring up all those children on his own.’

‘He remarried when I was sixteen.’ Raphael’s jaw had become inflexible.

As evidence that he didn’t like his stepmother? Perhaps this was the reason Rosa lived with her eldest sister, and perhaps another reason why Beth always sensed a stiltedness in Raphael’s manner whenever his family was mentioned in conversation.

She had sensed some sort of tension between Raphael and his family when Esther had enquired after them two days ago. Possibly one that had been created by Raphael’s desire to escape from his father’s second marriage as well as the poverty of his childhood...

That need to escape would certainly fit in with the years he had spent in the military. It would also explain the impatience he showed towards Beth’s rejection of the idea of becoming a member of the wealthy Navarro family.

Raphael had absolutely no idea what thoughts were going through Beth’s head at that moment, but whatever they were they had brought a frown to her creamy brow. Just as he was aware of the frown between his own eyes as he realised he was sitting on the side of the bed with Beth cradled in his arms...

Despite her outer veneer of toughness, Beth felt utterly soft and very feminine with her breasts pressing against the hardness of his chest, her back feeling softly sensual as his hands ran lightly over the material of her T-shirt, the softness of her silky blond hair smelling of citrus fruits, her perfume—something lightly floral and utterly feminine that was uniquely Beth—having invaded his senses and at the same time lowered his defences.

Defences Raphael knew he could not allow to be lowered with a woman he found as beautiful and intriguingly enticing as he did Beth Blake. Even less so in regard to Gabriela Navarro, the woman he was here to protect.

He removed his arms abruptly before standing up and moving sharply away from her. ‘If you like I will take you upstairs now and show you the gym?’

She blinked at the sudden change of subject, before that surprise was quickly masked and she smiled brightly. ‘Feel like joining me?’

Raphael’s lids narrowed warily. ‘Sorry?’

She stood up, lean and slender in a blue sweater and fitted low-rider denims. ‘Grace said that you and Cesar often spar together in the gym...’

‘Yes.’

She grinned. ‘I have a black belt in karate.’

Raphael drew in a sharp breath. ‘And you are suggesting that the two of us should now spar together,’ he murmured doubtfully.

She quirked a mocking brow. ‘Is your reluctance because I’m a woman?’

‘My reluctance has nothing to do with your being a woman—’ He broke off as she gave a disparaging snort. ‘It has nothing to do with your being a woman, Beth,’ he insisted firmly, ‘and everything to do with the fact that I was in a special unit of the Argentinian army for several years.’

‘And?’ She shrugged.

‘And I have...skills that are far beyond those of karate,’ he explained grimly.

‘And would those skills include knowing how to disarm and kill someone with your bare hands?’

‘If necessary, yes,’ he admitted harshly.

None of Beth’s inner shock showed in her expression—why should it, when she had already guessed, from the predatory stillness that always surrounded Raphael, that he could be lethal, physically as well as emotionally? ‘And have you ever felt it necessary?’

‘Yes.’ A nerve pulsed in the tension of his jaw.

‘Well, let’s hope you won’t find it necessary today,’ she dismissed lightly.

‘Beth—’

‘Oh, come on, Raphael, hand-to-hand combat is going to be much more fun than that punch bag with your own or Cesar’s photo pinned on it!’

He drew in a deep, controlling breath. ‘Not if you are the one who ends up black and blue.’

‘And is that likely to happen?’

‘Not if I can avoid it, no,’ he bit out grimly.

Beth looked at him searchingly for several seconds, once again noting that quiet but lethal strength that proclaimed him a predator; the clenched fists at his sides, the determined set of his jaw and the piercing blue of his narrowed eyes. All indications that this man, beneath the expensive trappings of civility he wore so well—those designer label suits, and the silk shirts and ties—was in fact a fighting machine. Lean, dangerous and, by his own admission, ultimately deadly.

And yet...

‘I trust you not to hurt me, Raphael,’ she assured him huskily.

He blinked. ‘You trust me?’

‘Not to physically hurt me, yes.’ Emotionally was another matter, however...

Beth’s emotions in regard to the Navarro family might have knocked her emotions all over the place at the moment, but not so much that she didn’t know how physically attracted she was to Raphael—or how much of a mistake it would be for her to allow it to become anything more than that. That dark edge of danger, clinging to him like a second skin, was also a warning to any and all who might try to get to the emotions hidden beneath that skin.

The broodingly dangerous Raphael Cordoba was way, way out of her league.

Those piercing blue eyes glowed fiercely for several seconds. ‘Very well.’ He nodded abruptly. ‘I will leave you to change while I go and do the same, and meet you upstairs in the gym on the floor above this one in ten minutes.’ He turned on his heel and strode from the bedroom as suddenly as he had entered it.

Leaving Beth to stare after him as she wondered how many times Raphael had been called upon to use those specialised skills, both during his years in the army and the past ten years he had spent as Cesar’s Head of Security.

* * *

Out of her league or not, Beth would have to be made of steel not to be affected by Raphael’s appearance when she met him upstairs in the gym ten minutes later!

A black sleeveless vest clung to the perfectly muscled contours of his chest, revealing equally muscular and smoothly bronzed arms, the silky dark hair on his chest visible above the low neckline of that sleeveless vest, loose-fitting soft black cotton trousers resting low down on the leanness of his hips, his legs long and powerful, his feet bare. He looked every bit a bronzed sculpture, the swarthiness of his face harshly chiselled, every part of that lean and muscled body perfectly toned.

‘Ready?’

Beth had to drag her gaze up from all that muscled perfection in order to meet his piercing blue gaze. Her throat moved as she swallowed before attempting to answer him off-handedly. ‘Don’t I look ready?’

Oh, yes, she looked ready—but for what, Raphael was unsure. Her blond hair was secured back in a tight plait down the length of her spine, and she was wearing a vest top and loose trousers similar to his own. Perfectly suitable attire in which to fight. An impression that was totally nullified by the full swell of her breasts beneath that white vest-top, the nipples pressing against that light material revealed as being dark and dusky—and just as plump and aroused as the berries they resembled.

And she was expecting Raphael to fight her when she looked like that?

‘Cesar never does anything by halves, does he?’ Beth looked about her appreciatively at all of the state-of-the-art equipment: several sets of weights, a running machine, rowing machine, several other bits of equipment that she had no idea what they were used for, along with a sauna and a shower, and a blue martial arts mat that dominated the centre of the room.

‘Not even falling in love,’ Raphael acknowledged dryly.

Beth turned to smile at him as she slipped off her flip-flops beside the mat. ‘And he does love my big sister, Grace, very much, doesn’t he?’

He nodded. ‘She is more than woman enough to match Cesar’s strength of character, yes.’

Beth’s smile faded as she felt a sharp pang of—of what, at Raphael’s obvious admiration for Grace? Jealousy? Towards her own sister? Surely not? Although there was no doubting Raphael’s admiration for Grace. ‘Do I detect a slight infatuation for my big sister, Raphael?’ she taunted in an effort to cover up her discomfort at the mere idea of Raphael being interested in Grace.

He raised dark brows. ‘Infatuation is for adolescents.’

His slightly contemptuous tone implied he obviously considered her amongst that category—not a cheering thought when Beth only had to look at him to feel that tug of desire in the pit of her stomach.

‘Maybe a little lust, then?’ she came back tartly.

His mouth thinned disapprovingly. ‘That would be entirely inappropriate in regard to the future wife of the man to whom I am as close as a brother.’

Beth shot him a scathing glance. ‘That wouldn’t necessarily stop you from feeling that way inside.’

‘I do not feel lustful towards your sister!’ A nerve pulsed in Raphael’s tightly clenched jaw.

‘Protest much?’ she came back tautly.

Raphael regarded her through narrowed lids, easily noting the glitter—of scorn or anger, he was not sure—in the dark brown depths of her eyes, the slight curl to her top lip, her chin tilted up in challenge. ‘Are you attempting to bait me, Beth?’ he finally murmured softly.

She shrugged bared shoulders. ‘Merely trying to ascertain how you feel towards my big sister, and whether or not someone should warn Cesar he has a rival.’

‘You?’

‘No, not me.’ She sighed her impatience. ‘Cesar is altogether too arrogant as it is. A little healthy competition would do his overinflated ego the world of good!’

‘Grace has earned my admiration and respect, nothing more,’

Raphael bit out tautly.

‘Lucky Grace...’

He eyed Beth sharply as he heard her softly murmured response. Because she did not believe she had also earned his admiration and respect? Did Beth want his admiration and respect? Somehow he very much doubted that; Beth Blake gave the impression that she didn’t want or require any man’s admiration and respect!

‘Shall we?’ she prompted sharply as she stepped onto the mat.

Raphael’s mouth twisted derisively as he took in Beth’s fighting stance at the same time as his gaze lingered on the utter femininity of the red painted nails on her bared feet.

‘Don’t let them fool you,’ Beth assured him tauntingly as she saw the direction of Raphael’s slightly contemptuous blue gaze. ‘And don’t hold back, either,’ she warned as he stepped onto the mat and faced her.

A warning she soon had reason to regret when, despite that black belt in karate, she found herself thrown flat on her back three times in as many minutes, and knocking all of the air out of her lungs each time it happened!

She stood up after the last throw, breathing hard, but more determined than ever as she saw that Raphael hadn’t even broken out in a sweat from their exertions, whereas the last few minutes had not only freed several untidy tendrils of her hair from its confining plait, but also reduced her to being, not only sticky hot, but decidedly out of breath. ‘Is that the best you have?’ she taunted.

Raphael gave a grimly wicked smile. ‘I am just warming up.’

That was what Beth was afraid of!

‘You have tells, you know,’ he added with infuriating calm.

She blinked. ‘What?’

He shrugged those deliciously muscled and bronzed shoulders. ‘You glance very slightly to whichever side you intend to throw me, allowing me to shift balance in preparation for that attack.’

‘I do not!’

‘Oh, yes.’ Raphael nodded. ‘In the same way that a poker player might remain still when he has a good hand of cards, but cannot stop himself from pulling on his ear lobe when he is about to make a bluff call.’

She would show him ‘tells’...!

‘Now you are concentrating too hard on not revealing those tells rather than the moves you are about to make,’ Raphael drawled a few seconds later as Beth once again lay flat on her back at his bared feet.

‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly annoying?’ Beth muttered as she sat up.

‘It has been mentioned before, yes.’ He grinned unabashedly. ‘And implied several times by you, too, I believe.’

She later blamed that grin for what happened next—that self-satisfied and wholly superior grin!—because it wasn’t just annoying, it was infuriating!

So much so that Beth reacted purely on instinct, her feet lashing out at Raphael’s calves, his grin completely disappearing as she followed that kick with a scissor movement that totally knocked him off his feet, allowing Beth to leap on top of him, her body lying flush with his as she pinned his shoulders to the mat.

Only to then become totally aware of every lean and muscled inch of him. Including the hard and pulsing length of his arousal pressing into the soft well between her thighs...!