Seducing the Spaniard: She wanted revenge any way she could get it Read online

  “I’d like to meet her some time.” Carrie frowned as the words escaped her. Where had that come from? Meeting his mother spoke of a commitment she didn’t feel – a commitment they would never pledge. She shook her head. “I mean, you know, or not.”

  He nodded gruffly, understanding why she’d tacked the ‘back out’ comment onto the end of her statement. It had surprised him too. But then, bringing her to Sol Sobre El Mar had also shocked the hell out of him.

  A shining black convertible was waiting, parked on the sandy grass edge of the beach. Gael slipped some keys from his pocket, clicked a button then opened the front passenger door for her.

  “You know, there are times where you remind me distinctly of James Bond,” she said sardonically, slipping into the seat.

  He laughed. “It is easy to be like Bond with a small army of staff.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she agreed with a droll tone.

  Carrie stretched her arms above her head and smiled. Gael froze mid-way to opening his door.

  It was her. Carrie 1.0. Real Carrie.

  His breathing became shallow, and he hardly dared move, in case she went away again.

  “Are you okay?” She queried, turning her face to him, smile still on her beautiful lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “No ghost,” he promised thickly, shaking his head to clear his head. He slid into the driver’s seat and revved the engine.

  It was hot and humid on Sol Sobre El Mar, though the sea breeze was heavenly. As Gael steered the car away from the ocean, higher and higher up one of the many steep cliffs that edged the island, Carrie felt like her own happiness was ascending.

  The fact that this was very temporary – and probably temporary madness – was entirely irrelevant. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to enjoy life.

  His home was built in a classic Spanish style, with red bricks, large archways and a terracotta roof. A balcony ran the whole upper level, and tufty green plants with purple horn-shaped flowers ran rampant along the walls. There was a tower in the centre, with a glistening copper bell visible through its windows.

  The air was thick with the smell of honeysuckles and the sound of bees.

  Carrie stepped out of the car as soon as it stopped, and slid her sandals from her feet. She walked to the lush green grass and squished her toes against it, almost bursting out with laughter. Another perfect moment. She was happy. So happy.

  She walked across the grass, and plucked a frangipani bloom from a tree. She ran her fingers over the silky white flesh and sighed.

  “Do you like it?” Gael sounded nervous. Tentative.

  Carrie looked up at him with surprise. “It’s heaven on earth, Gael. I don’t know why you ever spend time anywhere else.”

  His dark eyes lanced her, probing her, trying to understand her. “It is not well placed for business meetings,” he pointed out with a shrug.

  Carrie grinned. “You could always send your James Bond crew to bring people over.”

  His expression showed a half-smile. “I try to avoid bringing business here. This is a different world. A different culture.”

  She nodded slowly, not sure she completely understood. “Show me.”

  He leaned down and kissed her hair. “I intend to.” He linked fingers with hers, and tugged her towards the house. It was cool inside. Enormous tiles ran the length of the corridor, and the walls were clay. The villa had a noticeable symmetry to it. As Gael led her from room to room, showing her the various entertaining spaces and then the beautiful bedrooms, Carrie became more and more convinced that it was the most beautiful house she’d ever seen.

  Finally, at the back, he led her to a pool. “Swim with me?”

  A fine bead of sweat had broken out at the back of her neck, beneath her hair. The water lapped invitingly against the tiled edge of the pool.

  “I didn’t bring my bathers.”

  “So?” He lifted her dress over her head and draped it over a lounger. “We are alone.”

  Carrie shook her head. “No army of staff here?”

  “Not today,” he promised, kissing her neck.

  Oh, she wanted to. The thought of submerging herself in the water and holding him close, feeling his warmth in contrast to the lapping of the cold water… it was a deliciously tempting notion.

  “I can’t,” she said, with true regret.

  “Never learned to swim?” He teased, wrapping his arms around her waist and letting his hands drift lower, to cup her rounded bottom.

  “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent swimmer. For an English girl, anyway.”

  He laughed against her ear, sending shockwaves of desire through her. “Prove it then.”

  Carrie shook her head. She had woken at five o’clock to do a perfect blow dry, and her hair hung chic and elegant around her face. Her make up was perfect, and she had none with her to top it up. The thought of Gael seeing her drenched like a drowned rat, again, was abhorrent.

  “No,” she said more firmly than was warranted by the flirtatious invitation. She smiled to soften it. “I’m much more interested in seeing your bedroom again.”

  Gael nodded, but cogs were turning in his mind. Why wouldn’t she swim with him? It was a hot day, and the water was seductive for its cool turquoise depth.

  What was she so afraid of?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Carrie watched him from a distance. Beneath the shade of an enormous olive tree, comfortably ensconced in the middle of a bright blanket Gael had carefully spread, Carrie felt like a Mediterranean princess. She crossed her legs, a smile twitching on her lips as Gael rescued yet another strawberry from the tumbling mass of green that covered the orchard floor. He added it to the wicker basket and sent her a ‘hail the victorious’ grin, wiggling his dark eyebrows.

  Carrie nodded in smiling acknowledgement, and collapsed back against the cushions. Above her, a network of pale green leaves shielded her from the midday sun’s bright heat, but dappled light danced through determinedly, bathing her in a web of glitter. She reached her hands up towards the heavens, staring at the sunny patterns on her arms and palms.

  As a child, she’d loved to spend time outdoors. Her father had been a keen hunter, and he’d taken Carrie out with him often. Always putting her safely away from his field of quarry, but close enough that she could see him. He had been tall and slim, and very strong.

  Losing him first to divorce, and then to death, had marred Carrie’s young life. She had often felt, disloyally, that she would do anything for Alexandra to be the one who’d died instead.

  The last day she’d seen her dad, Alexandra had slapped him, hard on the cheek. Carrie had been in the car, watching. She’d seen Alexandra’s slender arm fly, the finger impressions she’d left on his cheek. The way her eyes had blurred with tears as she’d stormed away. And her father, who Carrie loved and adored, had turned and walked off without another look. Carrie had wanted to run to him, to ask him what had happened? To ask him why he was leaving them? Why didn’t he love them anymore?

  He’d died two weeks later, when an over-tired lorry driver had careened onto the wrong side of the road. Carrie had never got to say goodbye.

  It was strange to think of such sadness when she was in the middle of a gorgeous Spanish garden, with a man who could set her soul on fire with a single look.

  “You’re away with the pixies,” Gael observed, settling himself beside her and lifting a single strawberry from the basket. He wiped it on his jeans, uncaring that it left a gentle pink hue to them, then traced the pointed tip around her lips.

  “Fairies,” she corrected automatically, lifting her fingers to bat away the strawberry. “That tickles.”

  Gael frowned as he lay back beside her, propping up on one elbow so that he could regard her carefully. “What are you thinking about?”

  Carrie angled her face to his, and scanned his handsome features. “Life,” she said finally, a small shrug shaking her shoulders.

  “What in
particular?” He prompted, pushing a finger into the strawberry at its fattest point, to release some juice onto his finger. He lifted it to her mouth and dribbled it in, pleased when she darted a tongue out to taste more.

  She sighed, deeply. “It’s strange.” She propped up on her elbow, forming a bookend shape to him. “I was thinking of my father.” She lifted her fingers to his chest, tracing a slight pattern that ran through the weave of his shirt.

  Gael was fascinated. He knew very little of the man who had given half of his being in the creation of Carrie. “What were you thinking?” He probed gently.

  “How much he loved being outdoors. I did too, when he was alive. We spent a lot of time in the grounds of Forrest View. Just like this. He used to set me up comfortably, and carry on with his business – hunting, normally. I’d watch, and I’d feel the sun on my back, the grass beneath me, and it always seemed that everything was right in the world.” Her lips lifted in a bemused grimace. “No war. No famine. No terrorism. Just beautiful nature and the freedom to enjoy it.”

  “How old were you when he…” The question hung, unfinished, between them.

  “Seven.” She closed her eyes. Gael was transfixed by the change she was able to effect. Her face went from grief stricken and nostalgic to completely barren of feeling in the blink of an eye.

  “It must have been very hard on you.”

  Carrie’s eyes were the last part of her to show that she was experiencing any emotion. “It was a long time ago.” She pushed up to a sitting position once more and reached for a strawberry. “These look delicious.”

  Gael didn’t move. He continued to study her as she brushed a strawberry and then bit into it. A tiny bit of the red juice flowed down her chin; she caught it with her finger and laughed a little shakily.

  “What else do you remember about him?” Gael pushed, fully aware he was stepping over a line. Her ability to shut herself off infuriated him in every way. It made him itch to shake her, to shout at her, to force her to acknowledge that her feelings were real.

  “Lots of things.” She twirled another strawberry by its green end, then dug her nails in to perforate it from the red fruit. She leaned down, and covered his body with hers. She held the strawberry to his mouth, in the same way he had to her.

  His black eyes held her gaze as he took it between his teeth. But when she would have pulled her hand away, he grabbed it, and nipped the firm flesh below her thumb with his hands. He kissed her wrist, and then took a finger in his mouth, tasting it along with the strawberry.

  Carrie’s eyes fluttered closed, and that frustrated him, too.

  “I want to make love to you here, and I want you to keep your eyes open.”

  She laughed tremulously. “Is that an order?”

  His eyes flared wide. “It’s a firm request.”

  He was serious and intent; serious enough to make Carrie nod. “Yes please.”

  He smiled tightly, disposing of their clothes quickly. His skin was warm from the day and the sunshine. Carrie held him close, wondering why she felt cold in her core.

  Gael ran his hands reverently down her body, his calloused palms brushing against her breasts, teasing her nipples, making her ache and need and writhe. She reached for him, seeking fulfilment, but he laughed gently. “Soon, princesa,” he promised throatily.

  He kissed her neck, and then her breasts, teasing one with his fingers while the other was tormented by his tongue. He paused before taking her, to stare down at her face.

  “Eyes open,” he commanded firmly.

  Carrie watched, as he pressed into her, and she felt her muscles contract around his length. She moaned and scratched his back, lifting her bottom desperately, but she didn’t close her eyes.

  They stared at one another, black eyes hunting blue, while their bodies spiralled inexorably towards the relief they both needed with desperate urgency. Carrie swore as she felt herself tumble apart, glad that Gael was holding her, because he was surely holding her together. Without him, she suspected she might have flown high up into the heavens, to join the matter of the universe.

  “Gael,” she whispered against his cheek, her desperation apparent. “What is this?”

  He ran a hand over her pale hair, his eyes showing her something she didn’t comprehend. He didn’t answer. Instead, he flipped onto his back, rolling her with him, so that she lay caressed and cosseted against his chest.

  Carrie felt safe. She felt adored. She felt happy. And it scared her. Because the happier she was, the harder she knew it would be to process the end of all this.

  * * *

  “Darling?”

  Gael awoke with a start. His arm was heavy, tingling with the unfamiliar sensation of pins and needles. The curtain of his bedroom billowed with a gentle breeze, and the sound of traffic was absent. So was that uniquely familiar Barcelona smell- heat, pavement, nicotine, and rain.

  He frowned. He was on Sol. He tilted his head. Carrie was with him. Asleep on his arm, which explained the heavy sensation flooding his dead-feeling limb. He studied her face, completely relaxed in repose, and his heart clenched. He ached to reach over and wipe that pale pink eyeshadow off her face. To see her as she’d been at her hotel, after swimming.

  “Darling? Where are you?”

  He swore, as the realisation that his mother was in his house managed to punctuate his slumberous state.

  “Carrie,” he murmured, easing his arm out from under her. She stirred, and he regretted the necessity of waking her at all.

  “I saw the boat when I was on my way back from the market.” She spoke in Spanish. The words were foreign and clanged into Carrie’s dreams, like too-heavy stones being dropped into a bucket of river water. She frowned.

  “Princesa, wake up.”

  Carrie was so tired! The afternoon nap after a long day of love making had sent her into a slumberous state of stillness. She stretched like a kitten, and blinked her eyes into focus.

  “Hi,” she murmured with wonderment, lifting her hand to his chest.

  He shook his head slowly. He realised with a start that he liked waking up beside Carrie. That he loved that sleepy look in her eyes.

  “My mother the sleuth has discovered I’m on the island.”

  Carrie couldn’t help but giggle. “That’s her?”

  “Si.” His dark eyes probed hers. “You said you wanted to meet her?”

  Carrie swallowed, nervous suddenly. Only Carrie didn’t get nervous. She was beautiful and confident, wealthy and successful. She nodded, but spared a thought for her naked body. “I suppose I should put clothes on first though?”

  He laughed and kissed her hard and fast. “So long as I can rip them off you again as soon as she goes.”

  Carrie nodded, wide-eyed.

  “Good. Hurry.” He strode out of the bed, dressing with impressive haste. At the door, he paused to turn back and look at her. Carrie was sitting up, the sheet pooled around her waist. The milky afternoon sun bathed her in a soft light, and her body looked vulnerable and small. He ached to wrap himself around her and keep her safe.

  “Gabriella,” he said with a warm smile, when he emerged downstairs a moment later.

  “Hello, darling,” she greeted in their native language. “This is a pleasant surprise. I had thought to venture to the mainland next week to see you, but so much the better that you’re here now.”

  Gael dipped his head forward, and put an arm around her back. “Let’s have a wine.”

  She nodded. “I don’t have long. I’m meeting Maria for tea, but when I saw the boat, I had to stop in.”

  “I’m glad you did. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  “Meet?” Gabriella frowned, not comprehending. She knew her son occasionally used the island for business conferences, but it was exceptionally rare. And on those occasions, he never asked Gabriella to meet his staff.

  As if on cue, Carrie appeared, framed by the door and backlit by the pale sun. Her slender figure, encased in the pretty dress, h
er hair neatened, and her face relaxed – giving no hint of the way he’d been driving her to the edge of her pleasure boundaries all day. He smiled at her slowly, catching Gabriella’s breath. She had never seen him look at a woman in such a way, and it made something burst inside of her.

  “Hello,” she greeted the young woman, instinctively employing English. With her complexion and wide blue eyes, she had to be English. Or perhaps American.

  “Gabriella, this is Carrie Beauchamp.”

  Gabriella’s body momentarily sagged and Gael cursed his insensitivity. This was the daughter of the woman who had married Diego – the man Gabriella loved, to this day. She recovered quickly, but the pain had been sharp and acute.

  Carrie saw it and she too felt a stab of regret at being the unwitting instrument of hurt. A long-forgotten, but apparently still present, loyalty to her mother kept her from apologising – but only just.

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said genuinely. Both women regarded one another with open curiosity.

  “Yes,” Gabriella nodded, trying to recall the social conventions of such a situation. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Carrie knew it was just something people said. It wasn’t true in this instance. It couldn’t be. The only person she could have heard reports of Carrie from was Gael, and she knew he hadn’t mentioned her. Not if the blindsided expression on the older woman’s face was anything to go by.

  Gabriella walked closer to Carrie, studying her pretty face as she went. The bitterness was an actual taste in her mouth. She tried to ignore it, but having seen photographs of Alexandra, she knew that Carrie was the spitting image of her. “You are so like her. So like your mother,” she said, her voice gravelly.

  Carrie would have considered that the ultimate compliment at one point in time. Now, she brushed it aside. People often observed it, but it wasn’t true. Their hair and eyes yes, but their features were completely different. Carrie didn’t let her smile drop by a millimetre. “Thank you.” It was the expected response to what people deemed to be a compliment.

  “We were just about to take wine. You’ll join us?” Gabriella said, slipping an arm through the crook of Carrie’s arm, and guiding her towards the kitchen.