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

  “Anything else?” She asked, finishing her martini.

  “Yes.” His eyes glittered speculatively as he dragged them over her beautiful face. “Business is done for tonight. I want to finish this meal, and then I want you to come upstairs with me. Not because you want my money, but because you want me. Because you want what we shared the other night, with both of us knowing what we’re getting involved in. I want you, Carrie, like I’ve never wanted another woman.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Time stretched, like a string that just wouldn’t snap. She felt its inexorable pull and wondered how long she could sit without speaking.

  Because she did want him. She wanted him with all her heart and soul. Her body seemed to burn for him in the same way her stomach hungered for food or her mouth for water. She needed him in an elemental, survivalist way.

  But what then? What did it mean?

  She lifted her lips in a cool smile. “I don’t think so.”

  His eyes flared at the unspoken challenge. He understood her hesitation, but her interest was palpable. “Will you at least join me for coffee upstairs?”

  Her heart was pounding, boom, boom, boom, it beat hard against her ribcage, so hard she could feel it reverberating through her entire body. She wanted him. But she had wanted him six years ago. She wanted his sweetness and his love, not just his desire. She wanted him to erase the hardness that had begun to coil around her when he’d told her that she wasn’t good enough for him.

  “Coffee? Yes.”

  Yes? She screamed inwardly. What the hell had she just agreed to? This man was the beginning and end of her angry frustrations.

  Gael stood, and held a hand to her. “Excellent.”

  “Your steak…”

  He shook his head and his eyes found hers. “It no longer matters.”

  He pulled her after him with desperate speed, through the tables, weaving and twisting, back towards the elevators. Carrie’s breath was coming in fits and spurts by the time the doors pinged open. Not because of the speed they’d walked, but because a weight of expectation was pressing down on her lungs.

  Once in the elevator, he jabbed a finger to the top floor, and then turned to face her. “Do you realise I am using literally every single gram of my willpower not to kiss you right now?”

  She couldn’t breathe, so how could she speak? Her blue eyes clung to him, as though he would make it better. As though he’d alleviate her suffering. “Gael,” she whispered, finally, darting her tongue out to trace her lips. “I ...”

  “Oh, what the hell,” he groaned, and pressed his mouth to hers, pushing her back, until her head connected with the cold wall of the lift. His hands pulled at her shirt, lifting it from the pencil skirt so that his fingertips could connect with her bare skin. The lift pinged open and he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her feet off the floor and keeping her snug against his chest. He walked backwards, carrying her into the palatial penthouse and easing her feet to floor. He broke the kiss, to offer her a drink, but Carrie’s mouth chased his, not letting him speak. She kissed him with just as much intensity as he’d used.

  He swore again, this time in Spanish, as his fingers found the hem of her skirt and pushed it higher. “God, Carrie, what are you?”

  He undid just enough buttons so that he could lift her blouse over her head. His hands ran reverently down her back, his body pinned hers to the wall. “You are … You are …”

  She shook her head. “You are,” she contradicted, her hands searching for his skin. He was warm and smooth, with a faint line of hair that traced from the thick column of his strong neck, down his muscular chest to the band of his pants. She pushed the buttons apart, so that she could see all of him, and then she traced a line of kisses down his chest, to the gold buckle of his belt. She kneeled before him, her blue eyes enormous as she looked up at him. She slid the belt from its loops slowly and deliberately, her eyes not leaving his face.

  She dropped it to the floor beside them; it fell softly to the carpet. Her fingers reached for the opening of his pants. Surprisingly, her fingers trembled, for she was no retiring virgin anymore. Carrie had made it her mission to discover her sexiness, and to acknowledge that sex was just sex. A physical act between two biological creatures. It did not have the weight or importance that love stories ascribed to it. So why did she feel, now, as though she was doing something incredibly important? Something meaningful?

  She pushed his pants down his legs – so firm and forceful in their size. Gael stepped out of them and his shoes at the same time, kicking them aside impatiently. The way she was looking at him made his heart turn over. It was as though he was her salvation. As though she needed something important from him, and he had no idea what.

  When her tongue traced his length, he shuddered. “Carrie,” he groaned. He put a hand onto her shoulder, to pull her to standing, but she laced her fingers through his and held his hands away. Her mouth circled him, taking him deep into her moist warmth. And her blue eyes lingered, clinging to his face as she made pleasurable sparks erupt inside of him. His whole body was shaking with the force of what she was doing to him.

  “Carrie,” he said again, this time a groan of wonder.

  Carrie wanted … she wanted to bring him to his knees. She wanted him, too, but what she needed above all else was for Gael Vivas to acknowledge the domination that she could demonstrate over him. She positioned herself so that she could take more of him, and she smiled when she felt him slouch against the wall. His strength abated, no – surrendered – to her greater power. She pulled away, slowly, and reached for his pants.

  His wallet was in the back pocket, and she opened it on a hunch. A condom was visible and she pulled it out, unfurling it on his arousal. He was so hard; she needed him.

  They moved as one. Carrie couldn’t have said who pulled whom, but they fell to the floor, just a writhing mass of legs on the carpet, moving with desperation. Carrie didn’t kiss him. She didn’t hold him. She needed only fulfilment. It was not romance, it was not love. It was a transaction for pleasure. He gave, she received, and vice versa. She arched her back as he moved deeper into her, and lifted her arms over her head. He ran his fingers down their length, and then over her breasts. His palms were slightly rough, and as he pushed them against her nipples, she made a sound of pleasurable yearning. Her breasts ached, her whole body felt as though the nerve endings had been supercharged.

  She lifted her legs around his waist and cried out, as an unimaginable world of pleasure opened before her. She dived into it, pulling Gael with her. Together they delved beneath the surface, their cries matched by their uneven breathing as blissful satisfaction wrapped around them both.

  Carrie lay very still, waiting for her breathing to slow, and her body to cease its pleasure soaked throbbing. Eventually, she began to feel more like Carrie Beauchamp and less like a sex-crazed animal.

  “Wow,” she said quietly, pulling slowly away from him.

  Gael nodded, but he kept his body still, holding her beneath him. “Yes, wow.”

  Carrie swallowed, and when she looked up at him, she couldn’t understand the tension in his eyes. The searching intensity as he stared at her, looking for something as though he’d lost it. “I have to go,” she said into the darkness of the hotel suite.

  “No, you don’t,” he responded teasingly. “You are coming to Spain tomorrow. Why not stay?” The invitation shocked him out of his skin. He had never, not once, spent the night with a woman. In fact, Gael Vivas went to great lengths to walk away once he’d had his pleasure. He had no interest in any kind of romantic involvement. At thirty five years of age, he had accepted that he was just made that way. That some genetic switch had never flicked inside of him. The gene that required intimacy beyond sex wasn’t there.

  “Stay?” Her panic mirrored his own reaction. And despite the fact he felt it too, seeing it in her eyes angered him.

  “Yes. I have a very big bed. I promise you will be comfortable.”
r />   “No.” She pushed at his shoulders and stood, looking around for her shirt. It was then that he realised he hadn’t even bothered to undress her properly. Her skirt sat bunched around her waist, from the way he’d pushed at it. He’d needed her with a speed and desperation that had defied his standards. Each time they’d slept together, it had been rushed and desperate. What he wanted was to hold her and please her, and stare down at her while he worked out just what drove her wildest of all. “Let’s not go blurring lines.”

  “Blurring lines?” He laughed quietly. “What lines are we blurring?”

  “All of them,” she responded with a self-deprecating shake of her head. “Work. Sex. The past. The present.” She hit her palm against her forehead and made a noise of confusion. “This is absolute madness.” She pulled her shirt on and buttoned it together. He noticed with pleasure that she’d omitted her bra. The thought of her naked breasts beneath the soft silk of her blouse made him hard again instantly.

  “Madness of the nicest type,” he said with a sensual smile.

  She shook her head. “Just madness. Look, Gael, I’m not the same girl I was six years ago.”

  He took in the resolute set of her chin, the squared shoulders, the determined glint in her eye, and wondered what it was about her teenage self she wanted to run from. Why she was so adamant to draw a line in the sand, between who she’d been and who she now was.

  “You’ve said that,” he nodded slowly.

  “It’s just … I was a child then. Now, I’m a woman. I like sex. I’m not ashamed of that. I don’t believe in love and happy endings and that kind of immature nonsense. I see sex almost as an itch that needs to be scratched, and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, that’s all.”

  “Oh?” Why was he so angry? Why was her emphatic, emotionless delivery infuriating him? “So give me the right idea.”

  She slipped her feet into her heels, and looked down at him, lying unapologetically naked on the carpet. He was so handsome. His dark hair glimmered in the moonlight, like black sand and flame. She closed her eyes, searching for inner strength. “I like sex. Not you. What we have is something I could have with any other guy I found attractive.” She blinked then, meeting his eyes with a silent challenge. She had no idea that her expression revealed a well of inner torment. How could she? She’d spent years perfecting a mask, never expecting it to be challenged by the man who’d forced her to assume it.

  “I see,” he said quietly, his mind ticking over her proclamation.

  “So I won’t be staying tonight. And in Spain… I’m happy to do what we just did,” she gestured to the carpet, the scene of their erotic entanglement, “but I will walk away from you every time, until we’re done with this.”

  A muscle clenched in his gut. Something heavy and sharp at the same time. He stood and moved towards her with a menacing purpose. His eyes linked to hers. “And when will we be done?” He said, pulling her to him and holding her body against his. He saw the surprise in her eyes when she felt the power of his arousal, and he smiled inwardly.

  Her bravado was slipping. She pulled it back in place with effort. “I never take long to bore of a man. I suspect next week will get you out of my system.”

  “Excellent.” He pressed his lips to hers; it was a kiss of need but also of punishment. She had just voiced exactly what he’d always felt for women, but he didn’t like hearing it now. With his lips against hers, he lifted her skirt, and pressed his fingers against the sweet heart of her femininity.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice was a husky kernel.

  He smiled against her mouth. “Experiencing an orgasm while standing is one of the most satisfying sensations.” He grabbed her hands in one of his, his powerful fingers clenching around her slender wrists as he held them behind her back. He kissed her, and restrained her, while he pleasured her. His mouth dipped lower, to the sensitive pulse point at the base of her neck. Carrie tried to stay strong, but she was a single raft on a turbulent ocean of want. Waves of need rocked her, sending her pulse skittering through her body as heat, searing and intense, ravaged her nerves. She collapsed against him, shaking and overcome, as her body shredded apart.

  “Gael,” she whimpered, weakened and exhausted. “That’s…”

  He squeezed her wrists. “Just the beginning,” he promised. “You may tire of me eventually, Carrie, but I suspect it will take longer than a week.”

  * * *

  “It’s just a week,” Carrie searched her apartment, locating essentials as she went. Make up, exfoliator, face masks, conditioner. “And I’ll have my phone.”

  “I know,” Juanita said, “But we’re going dress shopping at the weekend.”

  “I’ll be back by Sunday, I promise. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Do you really think I’d skip such an important day in my best friend’s life?”

  “No,” Juanita stopped sulking and settled her legs beneath her. “So tell me about him.”

  “I’ve told you, he’s an arrogant pig.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Juanita waved her hand through the air, sending her bangles clattering together. “I bought that the first time around, but not now. You’re going away with him to a sultry, Mediterranean city. Hello, romance!”

  “Romance?” Carrie shook her head, a smile playing around her lips as she folded a selection of Liberty print dresses into her bag. “Do you know me but at all?”

  Juanita grinned. “I know you better than anyone, remember?”

  “Well, this is work. Whatever I think of Gael personally, he’s offering NewNetwork more money than I could have imagined. So if he needs me to go to Spain to finalise our contracts, I’ll go.”

  “Sure, if you say so…”

  “I mean it, Juanita. Now, where’s my straightener?” She furrowed her brow and then remembered putting it in her Ted Baker tote two days earlier.

  She might have been going for a week, but it still warranted a rather full suitcase. “You’ll be okay with Miss Kitty?”

  “Of course. She’s a dear.” Juanita was doing a noble impersonation of someone who liked felines, but in actuality, she found them scratchy and malting, and would prefer not to get within ten feet of any animal – cat, dog or bird.

  Carrie laughed and shook her head from side to side. “Just put food out for her each morning and try to pat her back every now and again.”

  “Tom will help me,” Juanita said, the most reassuring comment she could have come up with.

  “Thanks, babes. I’ll see you on Sunday.” Carrie kissed her best friend on the cheek, and felt a tug of true affection. “And don’t worry about me. I’m under control.”

  Two hours later, sitting in one of Gael Vivas’s private jets, waiting for him to arrive, she desperately wished it were true. Her stomach was a flutter of nerves, and her fingers seemed unable to keep still. She had dressed with care for the flight. A pair of skinny black pants, and a floating turquoise shirt gave her an air of businesslike authority, while also perfectly suiting the more casual nature of their trip. It had the added bonus of flattering her slender shape and bringing out the blue in her eyes. She was as prepared as she could be. Or so she thought.

  But the minute Gael arrived on the tarmac, her blood pressure skyrocketed. She knew he was there before she actually saw him, because one of the Vivas branded stewards moved to the top of the stairs and pasted a welcoming smile on her face. Then, there was the sound of his shoes, firm and confident, on the metallic stairs, and finally, Gael. Looming large and imposing, backlit in the frame of the aeroplane door. His eyes scanned the flight and when they landed on her, in a bank of four armchair like seats, he seemed to visibly relax.

  Not so, Carrie. She swallowed through a throat that felt suddenly lined with razor blades. He’d changed too, into a pair of black jeans and a button up shirt made of a pale blue and white check. His eyes, those eyes that had stared through her dreams for years on end, we
re fixed on her face now, and Carrie was powerless to look away.

  “Good morning,” he said with a small smile. He took the seat opposite her, but no part of their bodies touched. And Carrie was aching to touch him. In fact, if they’d been completely alone, she would have been tempted to cross the small space between them and straddle him, to kiss him hard on the lips and tell him she couldn’t wait to make love with him again.

  “Hello.” Her long lashes fanned down onto her cheeks. “Did you sleep well?” She dared to ask, confident none of the flight crew were within earshot.

  His smile was tight; unwelcoming. “I never sleep well in hotels.”

  Carrie kept her expression neutral, but inside her chest, her heart was hammering. Why was he being so closed off? What had changed? Was he annoyed that she hadn’t spent the night?

  “You must be looking forward to getting back to Barcelona then?” She persisted, though why she was trying to make conversation with him, she couldn’t have said.

  His eyes met hers, and the mockery in them was unmistakable. “Barcelona is not my home either.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No. I have a villa elsewhere. Barcelona is where my offices are, and where I therefore keep an apartment.”

  “I see.” Carrie lowered her eyes then, refusing to let him see that she was hurt by his cold manner.

  “Put your seatbelt on, Carrie. We’ll be taking off momentarily.”

  She did as he said without risking another glance in his direction. The plane began to move at high speed along the tarmac, and Carrie told herself that the dipping sensation in her stomach was because of the change in speed and altitude, not the change in Gael’s manner.

  When she’d left him sometime before midnight, he’d seemed… she frowned. She’d been so wrapped up in her own confused reflections that she hadn’t really noticed his manner. Her body had seemed on fire, and her feet had felt as though they were gliding through the hotel.