“You’re sure you want this?” He asked, aware that his self-control was almost at breaking point.
“Yes,” she promised, reaching down and wrapping her fingers around his erection. He made a sound of guttural desperation and then thrust inside of her, too overtaken by desire to be slow or cautious. Carrie bucked against him, hard. She lifted her arms above her head, and moaned as her whole body convulsed with the most intense pleasure she’d ever felt. She began to shake as waves of desire spread through her, sending her body haywire.
“Dios Mio,” he groaned, their bodies moving as one. It was as if, on some level, they understood only one another. As though their creation had been no earthly coincidence. As if, instead, they’d been moulded from the same clay, destined to reform at some point.
Carrie felt exactly the same. She knew he was sexy, and she’d had sex before, but she’d never done this. She’d never felt this.
Their rhythm increased, and together they climbed higher and higher, their panting a desperate sound of need and want. When she spiralled out of control, into a valley of pure pleasure, Gael followed, releasing his body with a powerful shudder.
It took precisely one minute for Carrie to realise what she’d just done … and to begin freaking out. It had seemed so simple before. To seduce Gael and make him regret hurting her. But now? Now that she’d felt his beautiful body stoke hers in such a passionate way, could she throw it back in his face?
He would hate her. He’d never forgive her.
Pain dug deep into her heart.
“Well,” he propped up, so that he could look down at her. “I think I’m going to need to know your name.” He ran a hand through her hair, his smile both sexy and adorable.
Carrie cringed inwardly. She’d let her need for revenge rule her actions and now she’d done something truly stupid. Why had she thought she could play with fire and get away with it?
CHAPTER FOUR
Gael laughed quietly. “I have to apologise for my haste to get you into bed. Something about that fucking sexy striptease by the front door robbed me of my usual manners.” He pulled his boxer shorts on. They hung low on his hips, exposing his perfect chest and powerful thighs.
Carrie forced herself to look away. “I got what I came for,” she promised huskily, forcing a tight smile to her lips. For the first time in years, she felt lost. Confused and guilty, and emotional. She stood, just so that she could turn away from him.
He reached to the ground and lifted her thong. “Yours,” he grinned, holding it out to her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, taking the underwear from him and slipping them over her legs. She was pleasantly sore from muscles that hadn’t been properly used in a long time.
“Let me get us some room service. Champagne? Something to eat?”
“Sure,” Carrie agreed, with no intention of staying around to eat or drink anything with Gael. She felt sick to her stomach at what she’d just done.
Gael reached for the receiver beside the bed, and dialled reception.
Carrie took one last look at him, her heart in her chest, before slipping out of the room. She pulled the dress on quickly, then hurriedly pressed the button for the elevator. It appeared almost instantaneously and Carrie had never been more grateful.
She moved into it and tapped the ‘G’ button again and again, willing the doors to close. They did, and finally she could breathe.
She turned, slowly, to regard herself in the mirror at the back of the cubicle. Remarkably, she looked the same as always. Only a betraying flush at her neck told of the heated blood that had just flashed through her body.
She reached for her purse, to replace the lipstick that had been kissed off, and made a squawk of desperation, when she realised she didn’t have it. She must have left it upstairs. In Gael’s penthouse.
“Crap,” she whispered, running her fingers through her hair. “Bloody bugger and crap.”
* *
Gael was smiling uncontrollably. Something about what had just happened felt … amazing. Despite the fact he’d only exchanged ten or so words with the mysterious woman, he didn’t regret what they’d shared.
He replaced the phone, and then stood. She must have gone to another room to freshen up. Or perhaps to put that sexy-as-hell dress back on. All the better, for he’d rather like to rip it off her himself, next time.
“Where are you, precioso?”
His smile widened. The dress was no longer cast on the floor. Excellent. He went to call out for her but realised he had no idea what her name was. Damn it, that was an unforgivable oversight. She deserved better than that. He was no randy teenager, unable to contain himself. Though he’d just acted like it.
“Hello? Are you hiding?” He asked again. As he moved through the penthouse, the smile dropped from his mouth.
She wasn’t there.
She was gone.
It didn’t make sense. He’d felt the connection. He knew she’d felt it too. He swore in Spanish as he moved back to the entrance way.
It was then that he saw it. Like Cinderella’s glass slipper, her shimmery purse sat, propped against the mantle. And, just as with Cinderella, he knew it would contain all the answers he sought.
He opened it without hesitation, smiling when he saw that it was effectively just a vessel for makeup. Concealer, blush, lipstick. Condoms! His laugh only deepened, at this evidence of her own attitude to safe sex. He liked a woman who was prepared.
A fifty-pound note was pressed to the back of the purse, and a mobile phone that appeared to have run out of battery was heavy in the centre. No identification whatsoever. He dressed with haste, and tucked the purse into his jacket pocket.
The lift took a moment to arrive, and each delay only added to his impatience. Finally, though, the doors pinged open.
The band had started, and the lights had been dimmed. The dancing portion of the fundraiser was in full swing. His eyes scanned the room, and located her quickly enough. It was as if she’d left a tracking scent on him, making her easy to isolate in the group.
She was locked in conversation with a woman. Two men looked on, one with an unmistakably proprietorial air.
Curious, he simply reclined, appearing indolent and at ease, while inside, he was wound tighter than a spring.
“What do you mean?” Juanita demanded, leaning forward. Her brown eyes were enormous in her heart-shaped face. “Gael is here?”
“Shhh,” Carrie shook her head, her fingers fumbling before her. She recognised the nervous gesture and stopped it almost at once. She was not that girl anymore. “Yes. I have to go.”
“But… what happened?”
“I can’t talk about it now,” she whispered desperately. “Can you lend me some money for a cab?”
“No, I’ll come with you. You don’t seem like yourself.”
“I’m fine,” Carrie demurred, wanting only to be alone. “I will be, anyway. I just want to get home.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Can you just make something up? Tell Max I have a headache or whatever?”
“Of course.” Juanita kissed her best friend on the cheek then handed her a hundred-pound note. “I’ll call you in the morning.”
Carrie nodded. “Sure. Thanks, Winnie.”
She kept her head down as she weaved back through the ballroom. It felt hot and cloying, and she needed to get out. She was relieved when she made it back into the relative freedom of the foyer, but she knew she wasn’t home yet.
Her heels made a clicking sound as she strode swiftly across the tiled floor.
“Going somewhere, Cinderella?”
His voice was unmistakable.
So too was the effect it had on her body. Goosebumps covered her exposed flesh as she turned slowly to face him. She blanked the guilt out of her expression with effort.
His eyes were loaded with a silent challenge. “You forgot this.”
“Oh.” She closed her eyes and moved to take it from him, but Gael held the s
himmering purse high above his head. When Carrie reached for it, he snaked an arm around her waist, holding her to his body.
His dark eyes bore accusingly into her soul. “Do you make a habit of this type of thing?”
She lowered her gaze, feeling a lot like gauche teen who’d first loved him.
Her voice though, when she spoke, rang with steel-like confidence. “I’m sorry, Gael. I didn’t see any point in staying.”
“You didn’t?” His smile was harsh. “I thought we were just beginning to get to know one another.”
The blonde hair glimmered in the light when she shook her head. Her eyes were confusing him; they were clouded with a complex web of emotions. But her face was ice-cold, unmoved by anything like remorse or guilt.
“No.”
“What the hell is it with you?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but had no words. No words that could adequately explain how she felt. Or why she’d done what she had.
“Carrie? Wait up.”
Max. Carrie’s face contorted with anguish as she saw the realisation the moment it hit Gael. What he’d just done. And who she was. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her with undisguised contempt. “What the hell?” He demanded in an arctic undertone.
She squared her shoulders. The die was well and truly cast, bleeding into the waters of both their lives.
“It would seem you want me after all,” she pointed out caustically. Her heart was racing, her stomach churning.
“Carrie?” He closed his eyes in pained memory, then blinked them open, so that he could stare at her again. “It can’t be …”
She tilted her chin in angry defiance. “Why? Because I’m not a shy little hippopotamus anymore?”
He groaned at her words, for they spoke volumes in terms of her pain.
“Carrie? Are you okay? Juanita said you’re not well.”
“Juanita lied,” Gael said menacingly, summing up the young blonde man with one curt look. “Carrie’s just had a better offer, that’s all.”
“What? Who’s this?”
“My step-brother,” Carrie remarked coldly, then she began to laugh maniacally. In a way that sent arrows of worry shooting through Gael.
“I’m going to take her home. Go back inside,” Gael dismissed Max without looking at him again.
“Like hell you are,” Carrie responded tensely, stepping away from him. “This was a stupid mistake.” She stiffened her spine. “I’m sorry Max. I have to go.”
She walked quickly away from both of them, an odd sense of heartache in her breast. The evening was cool, despite the fact it was still the middle of summer. She nodded at the bell-hop, and waited for him to raise his hand to call a cab. But he was looking past Carrie, and she just knew Gael had followed her.
She turned, her features rich with exasperation. “Leave me alone,” she whispered, turning back to the road and looking for a taxi.
“I would have, happily, if you hadn’t just pulled me into some kind of revenge seduction,” he responded tautly.
“You weren’t complaining at the time.”
“No,” he agreed. “Though we both know I didn’t quite have all the facts, did I?”
The sound of a powerful engine came from behind them, as a black Daimler pulled up in the hotel drive.
“Get in the car,” he spoke harshly, his tone demanding obedience. She was shivering, she realised distractedly. Years of loathing and longing had combined in one powerful night, and left her feeling queasy.
“I …”
“Get in the car. Now.”
Any objection she might have voiced died in her throat when she saw the strength of emotion in his face. She slid into the seat, feeling as though she were watching on from the sidelines.
He sat beside her, and sent her a long, hard stare before thrumming the engine to life. He tore it out of the drive at speed, sliding it effortlessly into a slim gap in traffic. “Where do you live?”
She kept her lips pressed together.
“You tell me where you live, Carrie, or so help me, I will pull this car over and kiss you until you beg me to make love to you again.”
His words painted a stunning image in her mind, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think she could play with fire twice. She looked at him sidelong and shrugged with assumed nonchalance. She gave her address, uncaring that he had it. What did it matter? Gael had got what he wanted – sex with a woman he found desirable. And she’d got what she wanted – proof that he desired her. That her transformation had worked.
So why did her victory feel so hollow?
She sat back moodily in the leather chair, staring out at the passing lights of London. They glowed orange outside the windows. Beside her, as Gael moved the gear stick and steered the powerful car, she felt a growing sense of shock at her actions.
Instinct had led her firmly astray, she thought with a small tug of remorse. But it was too late to do anything about that now.
He brought the car to a stop in the little mews street in South Kensington.
“This is you?” He asked, nodding towards a pale blue townhouse.
“Yes,” she responded, angry with herself, and Gael, and the whole situation.
He reached across and unsnapped her seatbelt, then stepped out of the car. When Carrie’s feet touched the cobbled street, she realised she was woozy. Two quickly consumed vodkas had obviously played havoc with her senses, but it wasn’t the alcohol alone. It was him.
She swayed a little, causing Gael’s frown to deepen. He put an arm around her waist, but she shrugged away from him.
“You’re most definitely not welcome to come in,” she muttered caustically, as she slipped the key into the wooden door and pushed it inwards.
His laugh was the only reply she received, as he barrelled past her and reached for a light switch. He moved through the two-story townhouse with an apparent air of ownership.
“Didn’t you hear me?” She called after his retreating back. He took the stairs two at a time; she could hear him moving about in the top floor. It had her bedroom, a guest room, and her home office. Downstairs was the rarely used kitchen, bar and lounge area. She sloshed some more vodka into a martini glass, added ice and carried it with her. “I want you to go, Gael.”
He came down the stairs two at a time, his black eyes glittering in his face like perfect gem stones.
“What in God’s name has happened to you?”
She glared at him, fury zipping through her. “You don’t like me now, Gael? You don’t want me now that you know who I really am?”
Oh, if only that were true. His body was aching with the need to pull her to him. A need he had no intention of obeying. But it was taking every shred of willpower to resist the tug of attraction. “I don’t understand you,” he corrected throatily.
“There’s nothing to understand. I’m this.” She gestured up and down her body, slopping vodka over the rim of the glass onto the tiled floor. “A woman you wanted to seduce an hour ago. A woman you wanted.”
He reached out and took the vodka from her, placing it on the bar. “You are upset.”
She took in a deep breath. He was right, and she was annoyed at herself for feeling that way. For letting her emotions control her. She’d spent six years learning to contort her feelings into an obedient maze of sense. Now, they were running away from her, as though she were a clueless seventeen year old again.
“I just need my own space,” she said finally. “Would you please go?”
“You should have thought of that before you started this.”
“Started what?” She shrugged, aiming for complacence. “What happened between us was just sex. Two people who wanted that moment of enjoyment. It’s done. Why put any more energy into analysing it? You didn’t know who I was, but you knew what I was, and what I wanted.”
“And what are you, amante dulce?”
“A woman,” she whispered. “I’m not a kid anymore. Some stupid, fat, needy child desperate for romance from
someone like you.”
“No,” he agreed, closing the distance between them. “You are no longer a child.” He kissed her before she could guess what he intended, his lips hard on hers. “You are an adult, and you’ve entered into a very adult game. Do you want to play, Carrie? Are you really willing to fight with me?”
Her body softened against his. Desire tore through her. “Yes,” she murmured against his lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and lifted a leg, trying to bring him closer to her. He pulled her, lifting her, holding her, as he crossed the room to the sofa. He lay her down gently, and brought his lips back to hers.
His kiss was warm butter on toast, so sweet and delicious, that she had no choice but to succumb to it. Her fingers were pushing, impatient and needy, at his shirt, ripping it from his body. She didn’t care when the buttons popped off and flew across the room. She simply wanted, no, needed, to see his naked form once more.
“You should have told me who you are.”
She closed her eyes. He was right. Or was he? Would he have wanted her? She couldn’t have said. “You should have known.”
Her accusation pressed something inside of him; a button that set off a wave of guilt. He should have known. He did know, on some level, surely. Her familiarity had been obvious, and yet he’d tried to ignore that tug of knowledge.
She pushed at his chest before he could respond, so that they tumbled to the floor, landing on the shagpile rug. She was on top of him, pulling at his belt, and pushing his pants down. This time, she remembered protection, slipping it on him before straddling him, to take him back inside her moist, desperate core.
She exclaimed; a wave of euphoric possession escaped her lips. She moaned, as he shifted his weight, moving further and deeper inside. How she needed this. How she needed him.
Needed him? It was ridiculous. Other than sexually, she needed nothing from him, or any other man.
Pleasure built up, like a wave. It radiated through her with fierce, undeniable intensity.
And Gael knew how to answer it. Every question her body posed, he met and obliterated. She ached afterwards, with satiated desire and shock. Shock that he, Gael Vivas, could be the one man who’d ever sent her body into this kind of tailspin.
Seducing the Spaniard: She wanted revenge any way she could get it Page 4