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

by Clare Connelly

  Carrie couldn’t sleep that night. Tortured fragments of physical memories haunted her; her body seemed to be lurching through a field of desire – the memory of his frame pressed to hers was indelibly scored in her brain.

  Very early the next morning, when those same Robins were back in the garden, chirruping in their way to herald the start of a new day, Carrie moved forlornly to the window and stared out at the gardens.

  Her eyes landed on the very spot it had happened, amongst her favourite roses. She made a groan of embarrassment and then shifted her glance, to a movement on the driveway.

  Gael, dressed in black running gear, looking strong and virile. But he was not alone. Alexandra was with him, her long blonde hair loose down her back, her white cotton night gown almost transparent in the morning light. Her nakedness underneath was obvious.

  Carrie watched just long enough to have her worst suspicions confirmed – to see her mother’s body cling to Gael’s, her lips seeking his … and for Gael not to push her away.

  Her stomach rolled, and she walked away from the window.

  In that moment, the innocent girl Carrie was died. She would never be the same again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Six years later.

  Carrie ran her fingers through her platinum blonde hair, admiring the sexy bell shape in the bathroom mirror. It was quite a change from the week before, when it had fallen in long, silken waves down her back. Now, it was short and daring, a crop that exposed the swan like curve of her neck and flattered her bone structure. She always took great care with her make up, and it was flawless. All the time. From the minute she got out of bed, she began applying the basics, and she ensured it lasted all day. She lifted her lipstick now to top up her cherry red mouth. Her eyes, enormous and blue, were framed by curling lashes and fashionable brows.

  As for the dress … she grinned as she took in the dipped front – so low it showed a generous hint of cleavage, and low enough at the back to reveal her entire spine, right down to the swell just above her buttocks. The hem fell to the floor, but it was firm across her thighs, and it showed off her sleek shape in the most flattering way.

  “You look gorgeous,” Juanita laughed, putting an arm around Carrie’s svelte waist. “Belle of the ball, as always. But come on, the boys will wonder what’s taking so long.”

  Carrie handed the cherry red lipstick to her best friend, and watched as Juanita glided it across her own full pout. No one had been more thrilled by Carrie’s transformation than Juanita. Carrie’s lack of interest in men, partying and what Juanita deemed to be ‘fun’ had been the only point of difference between them. Now, it was non-existent. They enjoyed the same fun. The same games.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” Juanita tossed the lipstick back to her friend, then linked arms with her. “Tell me again what we’re celebrating tonight?”

  Carrie’s laugh tinkled, like bells in the breeze. “We’re not celebrating, darling. We’re raising funds for a new wing of the paediatric hospital.”

  “Right,” Juanita nodded. “I knew it was something good. Can you see Tom and Max?”

  Maximillian Sanderson was Carrie’s latest interest. Though ‘interest’ was over-stating it a bit. He was her pursuer. A man who had made it obvious he wanted her, and had been persistent enough to be rewarded, finally, with a date. She hadn’t made up her mind yet if she’d sleep with him. He was handsome, to be sure, but he did very little to get her heart racing.

  Her eyes scanned the crowd, finally landing on their familiar heads. Both blonde, that was where the similarities ended. Maximilian was average height, with broad shoulders and a stocky frame. Tom was lean and long, with glasses he wore on the tip of his nose. “Staking out the bar,” Carrie said with a smile. “Excellent. I hope they’ve got some vodka lined up.”

  “You and your vodka,” Juanita said with a laugh. “Why don’t you have a champagne with me tonight?”

  Carrie pulled a face. “No, thanks.”

  Juanita resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her friend’s obsessive calorie counting had become a ritual, and Juanita had learned long ago not to question it. “Your call.”

  They walked, arm in arm, through the crowded art deco ballroom, unaware of how many admiring glances they drew. At first, when Carrie had lost weight and changed her appearance, she’d been thrilled by the attention. She’d fallen into the trap of accepting every invitation that came her way, so flattered had she been by the unusual degree of interest in her. Years had passed since then, and she was far more confident and choosy. Besides, she was too busy in her job to be out every night of the week.

  “There you are,” Tom smiled indulgently at Juanita, as he slipped a very full glass of champagne into her hand. “The band’s just about to start. Drink this so we can dance.”

  Juanita wiggled her brows. “If you insist.”

  Max’s eyes were drawn to Carrie’s cleavage. She ignored it. After all, the dress practically begged for that kind of attention. It was partly why she’d worn it. “Tom said you like vodka and soda?” He murmured finally, his eyes still struggling to lift higher than her throat.

  She nodded and took the offered drink. “Thanks, Max.” She lifted the straw to her lips and drank it quickly.

  Max’s voice was sensual. “Another?”

  “Why not?” She agreed, as the effects of the alcohol began to bubble through her. “It’s a Friday night. The world is our oyster. For the weekend, at least.” Her smile was effervescent; it lit up her whole face. Max swallowed nervously. The feeling that he was way out of his league hit him once more.

  As he ordered the drink, Carrie leaned against the bar, draping her elbows and forming an elegant pose of recline. Tom and Juanita were deep in conversation, and Max was waiting for the in-demand staff to spot him. Which left Carrie free to see and be seen.

  She loved society events. The people-watching was a highlight of her week, and events such as this were a top opportunity to mingle. Her business, though fledgling, was successful. In fact, she was in the midst of hunting around for an investor, so she could expand even further. And parties were nothing if not an opportunity to network.

  Just a few feet away she could see Elaine McMurtie, the very wealthy heiress who’d just had a sex tape leak online. Some people thought it had been intentional, to raise her profile, but Carrie had known Elaine for years. It was the kind of fame and attention she detested. Besides, the sex tape had been terribly unflattering. She resolved to speak to her, to offer her angry outrage, and had just turned to Tom to make her excuses, when her eyes landed on an intimately familiar figure.

  Six years had passed since that night in the rose garden, but she’d never forgotten a single detail about his appearance. Her breath hitched in her throat, as she scanned his gorgeous face, and tuxedo-clad body. He must now have been thirty five years old, but he hadn’t changed a bit. His body still seemed to radiate with the strength and fire of a powerful warrior.

  Her nipples tightened beneath her sheer dress, as she remembered how his body had felt, when pressed against hers. How her hips had clung to his, moving to bring his body into the most intimate contact with hers. She lowered her hands to her side, and forced herself to breathe naturally.

  She would go and see him, but not until she had one more vodka under her belt. While Tom was still waiting to be served, she took her time studying Gael. He was talking to two men; she didn’t recognise either. They were stuffy looking, compared to her step-brother. Her lips curved at the ridiculous description. For they were no more siblings than they were friends. They were two people who’d kissed one night. He was the man who’d shamed her into seeing what a pathetic loser she was; who’d made her understand that no one would ever want her or take her seriously when she spent her days lying around eating chocolate and reading out-dated romance novels.

  Max passed a vodka to her, this time doing an admirable job of keeping his eyes level with hers. “Thank you,” she murmured, drinking it as quickly as she had
the first. She put the glass on the bar, and then smiled apologetically at Max. “I’m sorry, darling, there’s one thing I have to do. I’ll be back for a dance in a moment.”

  Max’s disappointment was obvious, but Carrie didn’t care. She walked with a slow, seductive sashay, away from the bar, towards the group Gael was in. She was not the gauche, innocent teen he’d embarrassed that night. She had much more experience with men – and men like Gael – now. About ten steps from the group, his eyes lifted unexpectedly and landed smack on her face.

  Carrie’s step faltered, and an angry kaleidoscope of butterflies began to flash against her insides. His dark eyes showed his instant fascination, and he subjected her to a slow appraisal. From the top of her fair blonde head, to the swell of her pert breasts, lower still to her hips, and her legs, then back up to her eyes. There was no recognition there. And the realisation was … chilling.

  This man Carrie had built up to epic proportions in her mind had no memory of her. His step-sister, and the woman whose fragile feelings he’d trampled all over. As if that initial moment of mortification could get any worse, she felt an even bigger sense of rejection now.

  Only … Gael wasn’t rejecting her.

  His interest was patently obvious.

  She’d done this dance before.

  Carrie let a slow, seductive smile lift the corner of her lips, as she slid her own eyes lower, over his perfect frame. When her eyes clashed with his, she left him in little doubt as to her approval. She walked slowly, bringing herself close to their group, and at the last minute, she dovetailed behind him, brushing her body against his in an unmistakable invitation. Then, she swished away, through the crowds, to the large gold framed doors that led to the foyer of the hotel.

  If she’d read the situation correctly, and she was sure she had, he would follow. Her heart was pounding in her chest, as she realised that she was about to seduce the man who’d spectacularly turned her down six years earlier. The man who’d practically laughed in her face at the very idea of his wanting her!

  She paused just outside the crowded ballroom, ostensibly so that she could admire a picture.

  And right on schedule, as expected, she felt him behind her. His frame large, his presence familiar in an elemental way. She turned, slowly, lifting her bright blue eyes to his. “Hello.”

  There was something so beautiful and familiar about this woman. She was not simply stunning – far more so than any other woman at the event – she was… captivating. Her walk was fluid grace, every step a ballet in its own right. His body was tight with longing, and he didn’t even know her name.

  “Hello.” He repeated. “Are you having a good evening?”

  “It just got better,” she responded with a wink. “And you?”

  His laugh was low and sensual. It sent shivers running down her spine. Shivers of expectation and desire. “I don’t care for crowds.”

  “You don’t?” Her eyes fluttered up at him provocatively.

  “No,” he shook his head slowly, a smile at her sensual nature playing about his lips. “I have a room upstairs, if you’d care to join me for a private drink?”

  How easy it was to issue the invitation. To slip back into the world of casual sex. A world he thought he’d left behind years earlier.

  “That depends,” she said with mock consideration.

  “Oh? On what?” He put a hand in the small of her back, and began to lead her towards the bank of elevators.

  She waited until the elevator doors had pinged open, and they’d stepped inside, before she angled her body to his. She was close. So close she could feel the heat emanating from his frame. “I’m not thirsty.”

  His laugh was low and rich. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find another way to pass the time.”

  “Oh, I hope so,” she murmured, stepping away and staring at the elevator doors. He inserted his key card in the panel and pressed a button; the elevator immediately began its ascent to the top floor. It opened straight out onto the penthouse apartment of the boutique hotel.

  “Very nice,” she said faintly, propping her clutch purse on the top of the marble and gold hallstand. Her breathlessness was not false. Now, standing in Gael Vivas’s hotel room, Carrie had no idea what the hell she was thinking. Was she really hoping to get some kind of childish revenge by sleeping with the man who’d sworn he didn’t want her? Was she trying to prove something to him? Or herself? Was she so desperate for validation that she needed this man to tell her she mattered? That she was beautiful?

  He didn’t even know who she was! The insults were layering upon one another, leaving her partially insane. At least, that was the only justification she could think of for what she was about to do.

  The second his hand came to rest on the exposed skin of her back again, any rational thought flew from her mind. She moaned softly and spun within the circle of his arms. His face was still the most beautiful she’d ever seen; his chin square, covered in a light five o’clock shadow, his eyes heavy and intense.

  “You are gorgeous,” she blurted out unapologetically. She lifted her hands to the lapels of his jacket, so that she could feel the hard wall of his chest beneath her fingertips.

  “Right back at you. I’m Gael.”

  “I know,” she flicked her eyes to his. Still no recognition. Curiosity, yes, but knowledge? Absolutely not.

  Carrie rather liked the idea of the plan that was formulating in her mind. Why let him in on their shared history and give him a chance to object? He desired her now, and it was sure as hell mutual. She lifted her hands to the slender straps of her dress. With her eyes locked to his, she eased them down her shoulders, pulling the dress with it, until it dropped to the ground. She was wearing a black thong, and sky-high heels. She walked away from him slowly, swaggering her hips.

  The penthouse suite presumably had several bedrooms. Carrie walked towards the sofa.

  “And you are?” He asked, his voice thick, his eyes hooded as he inspected her perfect body with obvious longing.

  “Very interested in whether your reputation is exaggerated.”

  His laugh was a seductive promise. He prowled towards her slowly. As he went, he pushed his jacket from his shoulders, and tossed it over the back of his sofa. “I must say, I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

  “Well, this woman does,” Carrie promised.

  “Excellent.” He discarded his shirt next, and then stepped out of his shoes and trousers. In just a pair of black boxer shorts, Carrie realised his body exceeded even her wildest teenage fantasies. Broad shoulders, check. Rippling abdominals, check. All over tan, check. Narrow waist and strong legs, check and check. She had no qualms enjoying her appraisal of his physical attributes.

  His eyes flashed as they locked with hers. He dipped his head and meshed their mouths together with no preamble or warning. A thousand fireworks exploded through Carrie as sensations, long forgotten, swept over her.

  All her life, and only one man had ever put the universe in her soul. It made a mockery of the last few years she’d spent trying to find a sexual partner who could answer the gaping whole of curiosity she bore in her breast. None had ever come close to the feeling he could arouse with one single kiss.

  Gael knew he should be asking her name. Should be asking her anything. He didn’t go in for this kind of crap anymore. He wouldn’t be doing it now, if the woman before him hadn’t knocked on some spring of lust that he hadn’t even known he possessed. There was something familiar about her. Something strangely resonant. She was undoubtedly a model or actress – that explained the hitch of recognition that was being evoked. She was certainly beautiful enough to be either. Though she was a little too made up for his tastes – he generally preferred natural looking women – the effect was still startling. Perfect long eye lashes, cheeks that shimmered with bronzer and lips that were painted cherry red to emphasise the natural Cupid’s bow shape.

  He ran his hands down her naked back, until he reached her rear. He cupped h
er buttocks and held them, pushing her forward, so that she came into close contact with his arousal. And he was ready. He was hard and desperate to possess her. He kissed her firmly, demanding more from her, and she met him there, her own mouth claiming and needing. Her hands tangled in his hair, and her breasts flattened against his chest. He groaned as need threatened to spiral out of control.

  He stepped and she followed, their bodies locked in a dance of wordless understanding. His room was just off the dining area, and he led her to it without breaking their kiss. He’d never felt more grateful than when they stepped inside. They fell to the bed in a tangle of limbs and flesh, moving with a desperate hunger.

  Carrie arched her back, as her hands reached for his boxer shorts. She pushed at them, impatient to feel him. Impatient for the conclusion to the feelings he’d inspired years earlier.

  He laughed, but he was not amused. Frankly, he was terrified by the depth of desire that was pounding his insides. It was an all-consuming maelstrom of need. He shifted out of his boxers and then pushed her thong aside. Her shoes … well, her shoes he left in place. They were too entirely sexy to be discarded.

  “Shit,” he swore, as he was poised to enter her. He always practiced safe sex. Always. And yet he’d almost forgotten. He sat up and reached for a condom. His fingers weren’t entirely steady as he rolled it over his length. He looked down at her, and something turned over in his chest. Some strange feeling that he’d been here before. That her eyes had looked at him with that hope and wonder.

  He brought his body over her, pressing his weight down. “I don’t even know your name,” he murmured throatily, tracing a kiss from her lips, to the valley between her petite breasts.

  “I know,” she smiled to cover her heartache. Her lack of self-consciousness was beautiful. He toyed with her breasts, wishing she weren’t being so coy, wanting to know more about her than their current situation demanded.