Forbidden to Her Spanish Boss
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Susan Stephens
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Kapitel
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CHAPTER ONE
‘COME TO BED with me.’
Rose Kelly’s jaw dropped. If it hadn’t been a familiar voice that just husked in her ear, she’d have retorted with something unprintable. As it was, she swung around, ready to make light of it. ‘Are you tired, señor?’
‘Tired?’ Her boss laughed and ramped up the infamous Acosta charm. ‘Not even slightly. I decided to take pity on you, standing here, looking lost in the shadows.’
‘Pity?’
Rose’s defensive tone of voice made him look twice, but they were both off duty, and Raffa Acosta had broken his own golden rule first. ‘Never fraternise with the employees’ was rumoured to be branded on his buttocks, if tack-room gossip was to be believed.
‘Joke?’ he prompted with the worst attempt at looking penitent Rose had ever seen.
Was it, though? Raffa Acosta carried such a punch of testosterone, it was hard to believe anything he said in relation to the bedroom could in any way be regarded as a joke.
‘I’m not lost, and there’s no need to pity me. I’m just taking it all in,’ she said with a sweeping gesture. ‘The closest I usually get to this sort of thing is when I’m racing past the champagne tent to the pony lines during a polo match.’
‘You’re not missing anything, Rose.’
Rose took a fresh look at her boss. Raffa Acosta was enough to addle any woman’s brains, but there was a new note in his voice. Accustomed to hearing him barking orders on his fabulous ranch in Spain—where, after three challenging, glorious years of proving that a five-foot-two Irishwoman could work the pants off any man, Rose was Head Groom in his polo stables—Raffa’s confiding tone just now had surprised her. Was he as relieved as she was to be out of the post-wedding mayhem? When people had a few drinks, everything could change from decorously happy and polite to rowdy and increasingly wild. The wedding itself had been a fabulous occasion, but the pressure to chat and smile had been unrelenting.
His penetrating look raked her from head to toe. ‘I didn’t realise you and my sister were that close, until I saw you in the role of bridesmaid.’
‘Oh, we’ve been good friends for some time.’ Since around nine o’clock that morning, but she wasn’t going to drop Sofia Acosta in it by admitting Rose had been drafted in at the last minute to fill out a dress. Sofia always made time to chat to the grooms, and it had been a complete surprise, as well as an absolute pleasure, when Sofia had asked Rose to help her out on the morning of her wedding to Cesar. It was also a unique opportunity to experience the sort of high life a groom normally only witnessed from a distance. ‘I hope you don’t object to me being here.’
‘Why should I?’ Raffa queried, frowning.
Because she worked for him? And was supposed to be in the Prince’s stables? Raffa had brought over a team of grooms to help with the horses he’d flown over to the island so the Prince and he could enjoy a few chukkas of polo. Rose had no right to be swanning around at anyone’s wedding, and had switched around schedules to be here. If Sofia hadn’t been so popular, she doubted that would have been possible. ‘I’ll make up the time,’ she promised. ‘And please don’t worry about the ponies. I’d never leave them without organising proper cover for them first.’
‘I don’t doubt your reliability, Rose. Since the day you started work for me, you’ve been one of my most capable grooms.’
Capable? Coming from a sinful delight like Raffa Acosta, that was more a blow than a compliment. Shrugging it off, she concentrated on reassuring him. ‘My colleagues have me on speed dial.’ Producing a phone from the front of her dress, she flourished it in front of him, which, on reflection, was perhaps not the best idea. The bridesmaid’s gown was skimpy, and Rose could be described as well built.
‘I am reassured,’ Raffa said, with a look that swerved her frontage, and landed squarely on her eyes. ‘My sister couldn’t have picked a better bridesmaid.’
‘Well, thank you, kind sir.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
It was impossible not to laugh and relax when the great Raffa Acosta made a mock bow. He was a towering colossus of impossible good looks, with pheromones firing off the scale; it was growing harder by the second to remember that she worked for him, and her job meant everything to Rose. So much depended on her keeping it. Ponies had always been her life, and the money she earned went straight home to Ireland to pay for her father’s keep.
‘Best guess? My sister asked you to be a bridesmaid last minute.’ Raffa’s dark eyes burned into hers. ‘Am I right? I’m thinking you took the place of the bridesmaid who breakfasted on sex and champagne—the woman who wasn’t fit to be seen, according to my sister. I’d say Sofia got a lucky break, ending up with you.’
‘As a sub,’ Rose reminded him. ‘I’m not a real guest. And, on that note—’
‘Not so fast—’
Electricity streaked through her as she stared at his hand on her arm. ‘People will talk.’
‘Let them,’ Raffa dismissed with a shrug.
‘Don’t you care that we’re already attracting interest?’
‘Do you?’
‘No,’ Rose admitted, ‘but you should.’
‘Why is that?’ Loosening his grip, Raffa stood back.
‘The god of polo getting off with his groom?’ she said bluntly. ‘How will that play in the society press?’
‘I really don’t care, and neither should you.’
‘I’m only trying to protect you,’ she protested.
One sweeping ebony brow lifted. ‘Do I look as if I need protecting?’
‘You look...’
Like every woman’s dream lover—tall, dark and handsome, with more than a hint of danger about you. A gold hoop in your ear and that thick, unruly black hair, which, together with your deep tan and formidable build, makes you look more like a gladiator than a tech billionaire with a talent for playing polo.
‘Well?’ Raffa prompted.
‘You look fine to me,’ Rose teased with a one-shouldered shrug.
‘Fine? Is that all you can find to say about me?’
‘What more do you expect?’ Rose frowned through a grin as Raffa’s lips pressed down in the most attractive way.
‘As we’re clearly not going to bed, will you dance with me, Rose?’
The gladiator and the stable maid? That could work. If she could stretch her imagination for the span of a dance. Angling her chin, she stared up into his ridiculously handsome face. ‘You really don’t care what people think, do you?’
‘Correct.’
The expression in her boss’s eyes and the little tug at the corner of his mouth were all it took for heat to surge from Rose’s toes to her belly with long stops in-between.
‘The sun’s going down,’ Raffa observed, glorious eyes narrowed as he stared out to sea. ‘We’d better dance, Cinderella, before you disappear.’
‘Cinderella?’ Rose queried with an ironic look.
Raffa held her gaze in a way that made everything riot inside her. Countering that feeling, she made up her mind and lifted her chin. ‘Why not? Let’s give them something to talk about.’
Rose led the way, but Raffa’s hand was in the small of her back like an incendiary device for the senses. When they reached the dance floor, he dipped his head to murmur in her ear, ‘There goes the bride and her new husband, so your duties are officially over. You’ve no excuse not to dance with me now, and, as I’m giving you the rest of the evening off, you’re free to enjoy yourself any way you like.’
‘Monopolise the chocolate fountain?’ she suggested. ‘Joke?’ she added dryly in answer to Raffa’s narrow-eyed stare.
‘Okay, so you paid me back,’ he conceded. Tilting his head, he regarded her in a way that made the heat in her body rush upwards to join the heat in her face. ‘There’s a lot of life left in this party,’ he commented. ‘Unless there’s some other way you’d like to enjoy yourself?’
‘Safely?’ Rose suggested pointedly. ‘Shall we dance?’ Before this situation gets any trickier. ‘Take care of my toes. I kicked off my shoes,’ she warned. And then some devil got into her. ‘I’d easily tower over you if I’d kept them on.’
Raffa laughed. ‘Yeah, right. You’d still fit under my chin.’
The borrowed shoes had killed her, so Rose had ditched them as soon as she could, but now it felt as if she were about to launch herself into the arms of a giant. ‘One dance only,’ she stressed. ‘If you can brave the curious and green-with-envy brigade, so can I.’
‘Am I so popular?’
‘I’m talking about me,’ she shot back teasingly. ‘Do you know how lucky you are, to be dancing with Rose Kelly, when everyone knows I prefer the company of horses?’
‘I’m honoured you’re making an exception, in that case.’
Raffa’s second mock bow made everyone stop and stare. Rose hid her smile at the thought of the great Raffa Acosta dancing with Rose Kelly from a small farm in Killarney. The four Acosta brothers and their sister, Sofia, were known the world over for their brilliant minds, skill on horseback and the capacity for accumulating wealth, second to none. And here she was, flaunting herself with the best-looking brother. It seemed incredible. Maybe it was. ‘Are you using me?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘For what?’ Raffa demanded with a heart-stopping frown.
‘To put off some annoying woman who’s been chasing you.’
When he laughed, the blinding flash of strong white teeth only emphasised the depth of his tan. How gorgeous he was. A fact not lost on their fast-growing audience. ‘If that’s what you’re up to, you could do better than me with my red hair and freckles. What about one of these sloe-eyed beauties over there, drooling over you?’
‘Where?’ He made as if to look around.
‘I’m being serious,’ she insisted. ‘Or I’m trying to be, but you do make it hard.’
‘Only because no one here compares to you.’
‘You can take that tongue out of your cheek right now,’ she scolded lightly.
‘I’m being serious,’ Raffa insisted with a perfectly straight face that threw her for a moment. It was one thing joking with the boss, and another when their stares met and held. ‘Off-duty Rose has been a revelation to me,’ he continued. ‘You make me laugh.’
For the space of a dance, Rose thought, but as the banter continued she wondered if her boss was enjoying it as much as she was. Electric moments passed as they stood facing each other, waiting for the music to begin. Anticipating the touch of Raffa’s hands on her body was almost as startling to Rose’s senses as she was sure the real thing was going to be. At least, that was what she thought until they started dancing.
For a moment she couldn’t think, breathe or exercise any of her faculties. It was a miracle her legs agreed to hold her up, let alone obey the rhythm that seemed to flow so effortlessly between them. Glancing around was another eye-opener. ‘I was perfectly happy in the role of spear carrier, or place-filler, or whatever you want to call it, but I’m not so keen on every other woman at this party hating me.’
‘I wouldn’t trust you with a spear, and I certainly wouldn’t call you a place-filler,’ Raffa argued.
‘What would you call me, then?’
‘An entertainment.’
Was that bad or good? Look on the bright side. The women watching them had no cause to be jealous. Raffa couldn’t have made it clearer that Rose’s sole purpose was to lessen the tedium.
Was this really happening?
Rose didn’t have a hand free to pinch herself as they danced on, as one was locked in Raffa’s big fist, while the other was tentatively resting on what felt like a mountain of muscle. Grooms didn’t get cosy with their employers, yet here she was, causing comment as she danced with Raffa Acosta, as if she belonged in his world.
Which she did, for tonight, at least, Rose reminded herself. Lifting her chin, she blocked out the jealous glances and silently dedicated this dance to all the wallflowers out there.
‘Problem?’ Raffa queried when she exhaled happily.
‘Homesickness,’ she lied. Admitting to the bliss of the moment would give him entirely the wrong idea, and she could always rely on the small farm in Ireland where she’d been born and grown up to make her feel wistful. Raffa’s ranch was beyond fabulous, but there were times when Rose missed the old, ramshackle farmhouse, even with all its mixed-up history, cranky heating and creaking stairs.
‘Are you sure?’ he pressed when she frowned.
Those eyes could prise the truth from the Sphynx, but she could hardly tell him that along with wholesome dinners in front of a roaring fire, she was remembering her father drunk and her mother frightened he’d kill himself one day with the contents of a bottle. Dancing with Raffa Acosta was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to Rose, but nothing would ever banish those memories.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t ease the homesickness for you, Rose.’
‘I’ll be fine in a minute.’
It might take several minutes. She wasn’t used to caring comments, or tears stinging her eyes. She’d always had to be strong for her father. When her mother died, he’d gone to pieces, sinking ever deeper into an alcoholic haze. When he was sober, he mourned the wasted life he’d spent in a bottle, when Rose’s mother had needed his support. Rose’s father was a good man, a kind man, a gentle man, but he was weak. Sometimes Rose thought it was always the women who had to be the backbone of a family. They were the true warriors, the ones who never complained or gave up.
She would never give up on her father, and she would save enough money to find him a treatment. Having given herself a stiff talking-to, she blocked out the past and smiled.
‘I should thank you,’ Raffa commented in response to the change in her manner.
She was surprised. ‘For what?’
‘For pricking my ego,’ he explained. ‘Why should I expect to have all your attention?’
‘Because you’re my boss? And you do have my attention. Ask any of the women here, and they’d say I’m lucky to be dancing with you.’
‘That sounded dangerously like flattery to me.’
‘And you get enough of that, I imagine?’
‘Flattery is sweet food for those who can swallow it, but I’m more of a cheese and pickle man.’
Rose pinned a theatrical frown to her face. ‘Are you saying I’m a navvy’s wedge of a sandwich?’
When Raffa laughed she couldn’t help noticing yet again that his teeth were perfect. He was perfect. It was dangerously easy to imagine that mouth and those lips creating havoc on her body. She shouldn’t even be thinking like that, but nothing suited a man better than a sense of humour, in Rose’s opinion.
‘You’re the only woman worth dancing with at this party,’ he assured her as he twirled her around and around.
‘Are you sure you’re not just trying to make me dizzy?’
His answer was to yank her even closer.
There was a lot to be said for feeling light-headed. Raffa Acosta, who could have anyone he wanted, and capable Rose, who resembled one of those little dolls in an Irish gift shop, pleasantly plump and agreeably smiling, only short of wearing her red hair in plaits, dancing as if they belonged together.
‘Tell me, why haven’t we done this before tonight?’ Raffa demanded. ‘I had no idea what I was missing.’
‘Honesty?’ she suggested.
The smile on his face was something else to take away and store in her memory box. When they were working together on Raffa’s ranch, he was all grim concentration.
‘I didn’t know what I was missing, either,’ Rose confessed. ‘I’d no idea you could loosen up to the point where you’d dance with a groom.’
‘Don’t tell anyone,’ Raffa confided with a glance at all the avid faces watching them. ‘Let this be our secret.’
‘I promise not to say anything to tarnish your formidable reputation,’ Rose pledged, enjoying the joke.
‘You’re lucky to have such an attractive accent, Rose Kelly, or I’d be forced to scold you severely for your cheek tonight.’
That could be nice.
No. No! She mustn’t even think that way. This was one pity dance for the wallflower at a society wedding. Cinderella would soon lose her glad rags and don her work clothes to finish off mucking out the stables. But the music was upbeat, her heart was racing and Raffa didn’t seem to care that they had become the biggest talking point of the night. ‘Who has the accent?’ she challenged, raising a mocking eyebrow.
‘Are you daring to criticise my impeccable English accent, señorita?’
‘No. I love the way you talk,’ Rose admitted frankly. That sexy Spanish accent was the icing on an already delicious cake.
‘Shall we dance on?’ he suggested.
‘Yes. Let’s—but, there’s something we need to get straight first.’
‘What’s that, Rose?’
‘I won’t sleep with you when the dancing stops.’
‘I didn’t have sleep in mind.’
‘You’re every bit as bad as they say you are,’ she scolded, unable to help laughing out loud.
‘Worse,’ Raffa confirmed, with a look that scorched her from the inside out.
When the music finally stopped, neither of them seemed eager to part. Rose knew she had to make a move. ‘Well, this has been wonderful, but I should be going—’
‘If that’s what you really want?’
‘It is.’ It was the last thing she wanted.
‘Why am I not convinced?’ Raffa murmured as he drew her into his arms.
Rose’s heart pounded with a mix of excitement, at feeling Raffa’s body so intimately pressed against hers. Tonight had turned out to be unexpectedly exciting, and reckless. That said, she didn’t try to break free again. They were two people enjoying a party. What was wrong with that? Yes, they were causing gossip, but Raffa didn’t seem concerned, and by tomorrow the gossipmongers would have something else to talk about. She was almost tempted to grab the mic to reassure the glitterati that Rose Kelly, without a penny to her name, let alone a title, would not hold Raffa’s interest beyond tonight, because Rose was, as ever, determined to be herself, which left her with no place in Raffa Acosta’s glamorous world. Whatever they said about Rose would be water off a duck’s back, because she had no harsher judge than herself.
