Carrie couldn’t help but notice the way her mother’s red-painted fingernails dug into Gael’s broad shoulders; nor did she miss the way they lingered for longer than was necessary. “Goodness,” Alexandra said with a lilt of admiration in her voice. “Anyone would think you spent your days sweating in a field rather than slaving away behind a desk. You’re all muscle, Gael.”
He stood, shoulders squared, body tense.
Behind them, Carrie’s young teenage heart was experiencing its first rush of agonising, confusing heartbreak. Her mother, so beautiful she only had to look at a man to have him fall at her feet, was creating the impression that she wanted Gael to join the hordes of her admirers. Carrie told herself it didn’t mean anything, that it was just Alexandra’s way of interacting with men, but the sensual flirtation still hurt.
“I have some reading to do,” Carrie said quietly, not sure if either of them heard her, initially, for neither reacted.
It was only as her feet crossed the threshold of the door that she caught her mother remarking, for Gael’s benefit, “She spends too much time reading, if you want my opinion. A run wouldn’t kill her.”
Carrie didn’t linger to hear Gael’s reply. Stupidly, hot tears stung her lilac eyes. She knew her mother just wanted the best for her, and that it was impossible for someone like Alexandra Beauchamp to comprehend that anyone could be happy in a figure that wasn’t supermodel svelte. Especially not one as curved and rounded as Carrie’s teenage shape. But the judgement, at times, stung. Particularly when it served to reinforce Carrie’s own insecurities about her appearance.
Ensconced in her bedroom, she pulled an emergency stash of chocolate from her rucksack and selected a single bar. She peeled the wrapper off and breathed in the heady scent before taking a lingering bite. She groaned as the sweet taste sent waves of calm through her body.
Bite by bite and bit by bit, her equilibrium righted itself.
Alexandra meant well. She hadn’t intended to embarrass Carrie, only to apologise for her ample roundedness. Carrie was the one who should feel bad, for never being able to match what her mother expected of her. What a burden it must be, to look like Alexandra did, and have someone as ordinary and unfashionably curvaceous as Carrie for a daughter.
She pushed the wrapper into the waste bin and pulled Persuasion from beneath her pillow. In the pages of Jane Austen’s witty observances, she found even greater release. So much so that when she realised it was time to join her mother and Gael for dinner, it was with far greater composure than she’d left them with earlier in the afternoon.
CHAPTER TWO
Gael studied the two women with well-concealed interest. The mother was like so many women he’d met before. Stunning and obviously aware of the fact, she was designed to corner a man’s attention and hold it. With her body and her nature, she was a woman men would go to war for. He was almost thirty, and known for his taste in women, and even he couldn’t fault his father’s choice of bride. At least when it came to beauty.
As for the daughter, Carrie was an entirely different type of person. He watched broodingly from across the table as she lifted her water glass and sipped it, her pale pink lips soft and full against the rim. She replaced it on the table, and snuck yet another furtive glance at him.
Her crush was obvious.
Sweet, and well-intentioned, but totally unwanted. She had changed, since they’d danced at the wedding. It was remarkable, the difference that eighteen months could make. Then, she’d been child-like and innocent. Now? There was still an obvious innocence to her, but her curiosity and interest showed her sensual awakening. That he was a person of interest to her in the midst of that did not sit easily on his shoulders.
He had not come to England to flirt with either his stepmother or his stepsister. He had come to see the man who had given him life; the man who would surely not last much longer.
Diego was weaker than he’d expected. Weaker, and pale, and devoid of any of his usual acerbic disapproval. It had disturbed Gael, to see the man in such poor health.
He had not been close to his father for many long years, but still it shook him to realise that he might have seen him for the last time. He thought of the specialists he’d engaged, who would soon descend on Forrest View, and held out hope that something could be done. If not for his prolonged life, perhaps at least for his comfort.
“Darling?” Alexandra reached over and padded a fingertip across Gael’s hand. “Have some more wine.”
He shook his head, and broke the intimate contact, on the pretence of lifting his glass to his lips. “Thank you, I’m fine.”
Alexandra’s bright red lips twisted into a ‘suit yourself’ smile as she loaded a third beaker of Pinot Noir and raised it to her mouth. Her eyes locked with his over the rim of the glass, and she sipped it with slow, purposeful intent.
“I’ll have some,” Carrie interrupted quickly, her eyes wide as they shifted from her mother to Gael.
“You? Drink?” Alexandra’s laugh was shrill. “Good heavens, I had no idea my perfect little daughter had an interest in alcohol.”
Carrie’s cheeks flashed pink. In truth, she’d never had more than a sip of cider. She bit down on her lower lip and reached for the bottle at the same time as Gael. Their fingers connected and she almost jumped out of her chair at the shockwave of desire that flared inside of her.
“Allow me,” he murmured, pouring a very small amount into her glass.
“Thank you.” She stared at the deep red liquid rather than meet his eyes. She lifted it to her lips, too embarrassed to back down from drinking it now. It was not as bad as she’d imagined. Fruity and rich, with a slightly acidic after taste. She covered a cough with the back of her hand.
Gael watched this young woman, so obviously desiring to be seen as an adult, and had to hide a smile. He’d never experienced that longing. He’d been thrust into adulthood before he’d been ready, though he hadn’t known or understood that at the time. He’d simply been glad to be away from his father; to be able to operate under his own steam.
His fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass as he thought back to his twelfth birthday, when he’d been packed onto a private jet and sent over to Switzerland. The school had been exceptional, the program tough and demanding; designed to get the best out of its elite group of students. He credited the tough schedule for his unwavering approach to life now. He rose every morning at five o’clock, so that he could fit in a five mile run. Rain, hail, sun or snow, no matter where he was, he started his day with the burst of physical activity. It cleared his mind and focussed him for the day ahead.
He worked long and hard, but smart too – never procrastinating or doubting himself. It was how he’d amassed the fortune he had in such a short space of time. Sure, Vivas Industries had been a good start in the business world, but it was small-time compared to what he’d achieved.
His evenings were devoted to pleasurable pursuits. The counter-balance to his no-nonsense days was the certainty that he could enjoy his evenings with beautiful women, fine wine, great food, in any city of the world. Sleep was a luxury and he indulged it minimally. Five hours a night was all he needed. If he’d been coddled by his parents, and kept at home to grow soft and complacent, would he have found that hunger in his belly? The fire in his soul?
He looked again at Carrie. She had the world at her feet, not only because of the wealth at her disposal, but also because she was clearly intelligent. And yet she dithered. She doubted. She was insipid and uncertain, balanced on the precipice of two opportunities, afraid to properly grab one for that would mean shutting the door on the other.
Such doubt bored him.
He didn’t understand it.
“Darling, save some for Gael. You’ve had enough. And you know men have healthy appetites,” Alexandra chided, as Carrie moved to help herself to a second portion of the risotto.
Carrie replaced the spoon without saying anything, and clasped her hands in her lap.
“Nonetheless, Carrie would do well to leave it for tonight.”
Carrie’s throat was thick with embarrassment. Beneath the table, she pressed her legs together, wishing that she weren’t so fat. Wishing she could be slim and beautiful and perfect, like Alexandra.
“Do you make a habit out of telling people when they’re sufficiently full?” Gael pondered, a note of challenge in his voice that made both women regard him with interest.
For Carrie’s part, she was beyond mortified. “It’s fine, Gael. I really have had enough. I was just being greedy.”
Alexandra’s lips pursed together in silent approval. “I wish they wouldn’t cook so much. With your father indisposed, Carrie and I really don’t need this amount. I eat like a sparrow.”
“Yes,” Gael’s boredom was increasing by the moment. His father might have chosen well when it came to looks, but Alexandra’s personality could do with a significant tweak. Such vanity would get old fast, if he were to spend any real time with her.
“Carrie, darling, don’t you have some reading to do?”
The subtext was clear. Her presence had been tolerated at dinner, but now, Alexandra wanted to be alone with Gael. Carrie dug her fingernails into her palms to resist the very strong urge to point out that Gael was technically Alexandra’s stepson, and that his father – Alexandra’s husband – was lying ill upstairs.
She didn’t, though. Standing up to her mother would have required Carrie to break a lifelong habit of obedience and fear, and she was not yet ready to do so. The time would come, but it would not be for many, many years.
It was a glorious Summer’s night. The sun had dipped down, low in the sky, but it was still sending little whispers of peach towards them, breaking up the blackness of night with remembered warmth of the day. The air smelled like honeysuckles and gardenias, and the night birds were singing mysteriously to one another, telling tales of what they’d witnessed.
Carrie perched on the edge of the rose garden, staring down at the arrangement of standard bushes that surrounded the less formal collection of blooms in the middle. The garden had been her father’s pride and joy, and Carrie adored it for that reason alone. Though it was a triumph in floral artistry, it was memories of her father lovingly tending the roses, pruning them with such particular care, that kept her coming back to it time and time again.
And even when she was away from Forest View, she made sure to have a bunch of real roses on her desk – not hot-house ones. She made a habit of sourcing proper, wild, over-grown blooms – even if it meant scaling a fence in the dead of night to crop them illicitly from someone’s garden. She’d done that in the village, near their school, creeping out once a week to gather a suitable bunch. Not, as the other girls had done, to go to the local pub and chat up the unsuspecting tourist trade. She’d crept out and risked detention to collect armfuls of roses.
She smiled now, dropping her feet from the stone-wall and falling elegantly onto the gravelled path. She was drawn to her favourite; the Albertine. She reached up and touched one of the buds – it was soft like silk. She held her fingers to her nose and let the gentle fragrance wash over her as a wave. It was glorious.
She broke the bud from the bush between her finger and thumb, making sure the stem was long enough to sit in a vase, then moved onto the next bush. A robin crested over her head and settled on a thin sprig of rose bush, eyeing her with undisguised curiosity.
“Hello, little one,” she said quietly, reaching a finger out and stroking its chest. It didn’t flitter away. Instead, it released a beautiful song. A happy tale that made Carrie smile. “You don’t care that I like second helpings of dinner, do you?”
The Robin’s song took on an indignant note, and she laughed. “Exactly my thoughts,” she agreed, lifting her hand in the air and watching as the bird took flight towards the forest.
Gael was too far away to hear the exchange, but the moon shone perfectly on Carrie’s face. He saw the happiness and beauty in her, and he froze. Midway back from his car, he had spotted her, leaping from the stone wall into the sunken garden. And a strange feeling had made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The word perfection came to mind, but he quickly brushed it aside. Gael did not believe in such sentimental stupidity.
He took another step towards the house, but then Carrie began to sing, and the sweet sound of her voice mingled with the cry of the nightingale and the robin, and he was powerless to resist. He changed direction, walking in long strides towards her location. He was quiet and it wasn’t until he was almost upon her that she saw him. She stopped singing and cleared her throat self-consciously.
Gael didn’t speak. His dark eyes seemed to cling to her face, as though he was trying to understand something. As though something was wrong with her? No. Her cheeks flamed. He looked at her as though something was right with her. She knew, though no one had ever looked at her with anything near that intensity.
She lifted a hand to her throat, her pulse hammering wildly beneath her fingertips. Her eyes, shimmering like jewels in the moonshine, were hooded with desire.
The rose, perfect and innocent, dropped from her other hand, falling with a silent thud to the ground beside her feet. She took a step closer to Gael, and he didn’t step back. His eyes continued to haunt her, boring into hers as though he could unravel the mysteries of the universe if he only looked hard enough.
Carrie’s stomach was in knots, and yet there was so much that made sense about that moment. She lifted a hand to his chest, and she could feel his heart thudding beneath her palm. She made a soft moan, and then stood on tiptoes, so that she could press her lips to his.
The powerful electricity was instant and overpowering. Her whole body trembled as the kiss – her first – made her bones weak and her blood boil. As if all the night birds and roses wrapped around them, and a spell seemed to fall. Carrie pressed her whole body to his; he was hard and strong; her heart was racing wildly.
His hand pressed into her back, the pressure of his fingers was light but demanding. Carrie was flooded with feelings – new feelings that made her mind reel. She felt as though the earth was tipping on its axis, sending time and space spinning in whole new directions. Some ancient feminine instinct moved through her, and she pressed her hips against him, moving them slightly, to lock their bodies into intimate proximity. She could feel the unfamiliar form of his manhood and it made her body ache with need.
It was over too quickly.
Gael stepped away from her, his face white, his hands shaking. “Carrie,” he muttered, his tone rich with condemnation. “What the hell are you thinking?”
She frowned, uncertainty making her stomach ache. “I…”
“You are seventeen! Still a child.”
Pain seared her soul. “But you… I thought you… I mean…”
“Yes?” He demanded, crossing his arms across his chest and looking at her as though she’d gone totally crazy.
“I thought you wanted…”
“Wanted you?” He made a noise that she took for frustrated amusement. “You are a child. Do you honestly think I would be so depraved as to want you?”
Her cheeks flamed with mortification.
“Look at you. You’re a schoolgirl. A kid. What the hell are you thinking, to go around kissing men like me?” His accent was thicker when he was angry. And he was furious, she realised.
She shook her head, her mind not yet recovered from the sensual pleasure of their contact. “I don’t normally,” she whispered breathlessly.
“God, you and your mother are two of a kind,” he snapped, putting his hands on his hips and staring down at her.
“What do you mean?” She whispered, shaking from shock and embarrassment.
Gael had said too much. Alexandra’s overt in
terest was not Carrie’s fault. His sigh was loaded with tension. “It does not matter. Honestly, Carrie, do you have any idea what kind of trouble you could get into?”
“T-trouble?”
“Yes, T-t-trouble,” he responded with totally unnecessary cruelty. “Do you realise that you were just kissing me as though you wanted me to make love to you? To lay you down right here in the rose garden and fuck you senseless?”
“Don’t,” she groaned, spinning away from him, her face torn by the cruelty in his words.
“Don’t what? Tell you how reckless that was? What if I hadn’t stopped? Would you really want me – twenty nine, a man you hardly know, a man who has no interest in a relationship or in you – to be your first lover?”
Her stomach dipped like she was on a roller coaster, both at his imagery and cruelty.
“Would you want me to sleep with you here, knowing that I’d get up and walk away tomorrow, and never think of you again? Dios Mio, Carrie, what the hell were you thinking?”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t,” she whispered, the agony of pain and rejection unlike anything she’d ever experienced. “I just … you were looking at me … and I thought …”
“You were singing,” he snapped moodily. “I was interested to hear your voice. It was certainly not an invitation to share my bed. Believe me, Carrie, that’s the last thing I want.”
“No,” she nodded jerkily, and in that moment, she hated everything about her stupid self. Her body, her hair, her trusting nature. How could he want her? How could she have misread the situation so spectacularly? “I’m ugly, and fat, and inexperienced, and young. I totally get it. I don’t know what came over me.” Tears of hot mortification were streaming down her cheeks, and her words were stammering from her in a high-pitched wail.
She spun away from him and began to run towards the house. Even as she ran, she thought he might follow, but he didn’t. He left her alone, nursing her awful embarrassment.
Seducing the Spaniard: She wanted revenge any way she could get it Page 2