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

by Clare Connelly

How had he been? Had that fog of desire and satisfaction not engulfed him in the same way it had devoured her?

  She settled back in her chair and stared out of the window. Beneath them, London spread like a web of homes, a knotty, busy city, connected by streets and pavements and the lifeblood of the Thames at its heart. The city faded further and further away, until a bump of clouds obscured it from view altogether. Carrie continued to stare through the window, but she was seeing Gael, trying to recall his words as she’d left.

  “You are deliberately choosing to ruin this.”

  She’d laughed, and promised that there was nothing to ruin.

  Was he smarting over that? Was he offended?

  Her eyes flicked to him of their own accord. He was absorbed in a document on his iPad, his face contemplative, his attention focussed. She looked away quickly, before he could catch her staring.

  Only twenty minutes out of London the plane hit turbulence. It bounced high, surfing over the fluffiest of clouds, before pitching lower and shaking back and forth. All thought of remaining aloof flew from Carrie’s mind, in a terrified moment of fear.

  Carrie had been a nervous flyer all her life. She’d put it down to childish stupidity, but now, a grown woman, and she still panicked at the slightest hint of weather.

  Gael saw the way her hands gripped the arms of her seat. Curious, he placed his work aside and leaned back a little, to watch her closely. Carrie squeezed her eyes shut and began to repeat something over and over again. He leaned closer, as if pulled by magnetic force. Just a cloud, just a cloud, just a cloud, just a cloud, she was repeating, her lips moving swiftly over the incantation which, he guessed, was designed to calm her.

  The plane rolled again, and Carrie’s eyes flew open. He knew he would never forget the terror in her expression. “Gael,” she cried, her hands in her lap.

  “The pilot will go above it,” he promised, in what he hoped was a soothing voice. Having never suffered from any kind of flying anxiety, he wasn’t sure exactly what he could say that would usefully ease her abject fear.

  “Gael,” she whispered again, her face white as a sheet.

  Instinct took over as he unbuckled his seat belt and came to sit in the chair beside her. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. The plane dipped again and she squealed, short and sharp, and lifted her hands to cover her face.

  It was such a surprising reaction from a woman who seemed almost always completely in control of her emotions that Gael felt a pull in his chest. “Carrie,” he said quietly. “You need to relax. I don’t like the idea of you having a heart attack in my jet.”

  She nodded, and made a visible effort to pull herself together. “I’m okay,” she promised, but as soon as another bump hit them, she squealed again.

  Gael had no choice, then, but to hold her tight. He kept an arm around her shoulders, and the other hand he surrendered to her grip. She squeezed it every time the plane so much as shuddered, so that, by the time they landed in Barcelona, he was certain his forearm would show bruising. The wheels of the plane scraped along the tarmac, and only when it came to a complete stop, did Carrie let out a long, slow breath.

  “I’m never flying again,” she whispered, her eyes wide. And then, as if realising where she was, and who with, she blinked to clear the fear from her eyes. She carefully donned her mask of casual haughtiness and leaned away from Gael’s touch. “I’m sorry for my behaviour. I’ve always had a silly fear of flying.”

  “That, Carrie, was not a fear of flying. You are terrified. You need professional counselling to overcome this.”

  “Nonsense,” she said stiffly, angry at herself for the weakness she’d displayed. “I just wasn’t prepared for such turbulence. I’m surprised your pilot didn’t warn us that the weather would be bumpy.”

  Gael’s expression flashed with guilt. The pilot had told him. Gael had simply not thought it relevant to mention to his passenger.

  “It’s not unusual, turbulence such as that. It’s a stormy crossing.”

  “Anyway,” she said with a small shiver, willing a change in topic. “We’re here now.” Her eyes held a warning. A note of caution. “Let’s get down to work.”

  He nodded. “Fine. My driver will—,”

  She shook her head and when she spoke, her tone was business like, with no evidence of her travel trauma in sight. “I’ve organised my own car. I’ll check into my hotel and meet you in your offices within an hour.”

  Gael was obviously surprised by this turn of events, which, if she was honest, had been her plan. “You will be staying with me, Carrie.”

  She laughed then, with true amusement. “You must be kidding. That would be a recipe for complete disaster.”

  “My apartment is three stories. It’s central. You would, of course, have your own room.”

  She nodded. “I appreciate your… thoughtfulness, Gael. But we both know it would distract us from … work.”

  “I don’t let anything distract me from my work. Not even you, Carrie. If you think you have that power over me, then you’ve seriously misunderstood who I am.”

  Carrie looked away from him, on the pretence of unbuckling her seatbelt. She wished she could share his confidence. In truth, she wasn’t sure she understood anything about what was going on between them. Her smile, when she looked at him, was curt and pained.

  “It will simplify things if we keep matters separate.”

  He stared at her long and hard, before shrugging his broad shoulders. “Suit yourself.” He reached into his pocket and lifted out a cream coloured card. He handed it to her, and when their fingers met, she felt the now familiar burst of electricity tingle inside of her. She looked at it and thought that if she had Juanita’s swatch she could have identified the exact shade of cream used to give it such a stunning design.

  “I’ll meet you in your office once I’m settled,” she murmured.

  “No,” he frowned, and a little crease formed between his eyes. She ached to reach up and smooth it. “Where are you staying?”

  “Downtown.” Her response was purposefully vague.

  He noticed and shook his head. “There is a restaurant called El Gallo. Google it and you will see the address. Meet me there at two.”

  “Two?” She looked at her watch with the hint of a frown. It was only eleven o’clock.

  “I returned to Barcelona because I have to work, Carrie. I cannot delay my morning. Let us lunch together.”

  Carrie frowned. “A working lunch,” she clarified.

  And then, he smiled. It was dazzling, transforming his whole face. “You will be working. I will enjoy being convinced by you.” He reached up and ran a finger down her cheek, as though he couldn’t resist the contact. Then, he pressed his lips to hers for the briefest, sweetest kiss.

  It was over in an instant. “My staff will guide you through the airport. Do not be late to lunch.”

  She nodded, her heart in her throat.

  “And Carrie?” He paused at the top of the stairs, poised to exit the jet.

  She looked at him expectantly, and she understood the expression of waiting with baited breath. For she held her own, and her eyes clung to his frame; a spell seemed to weave around them – magical and glowing.

  “I will order your food for you. There will be no salads.”

  She frowned, not sure why he felt the need to make such a ridiculous point. Then, she shrugged. “It’s your city, your food. Whatever.”

  A hint of something like victory glowed in his eyes. He nodded and turned away from her. As his car cruised off the tarmac, away from the airport, Gael let out a pent up breath.

  Returning to Spain always, without fail, filled him with a sense of pleasure and relief; a feeling of inner-peace that was otherwise lacking in his busy life. He loved Spain. He loved everything about it. The people. The climate. The buildings. The brightness. But a pervasive sense of frustration followed him that morning. As the sleek limousine cruised through the city streets, pus
hing closer and closer to El Poblenou and the jewel of his corporate crown, Torre Vivas, Gael forced his mind to focus on the meetings that had brought him back to Barcelona.

  The takeover of one of Spain’s largest hotel chains made the investment he was considering in NewNetwork look like small change; if that. Negotiations had been dragging for over fourteen months, and he was finally at the stage of bringing it to a close. The price was a third less than the group had originally been seeking. Gael had done that. He’d been prepared to walk away from the deal unless it was completely on his terms.

  The amount he wanted to spend.

  The timeline he dictated.

  The hotels he wanted.

  The deal would only proceed once he could be sure that every aspect met with his personal satisfaction. It was the way he worked in business, and in life.

  He was scowling, as the car drove into the underground car park beneath Torre Vivas, the stunning high-rise that had flamboyantly curved edges in a tribute to Gaudi. It was another detail Gael had insisted on – honouring that architectural genius who had been responsible for so much of the city’s fame and unique appeal.

  “Thank you, Henri,” he said distractedly in his own language, as he strode straight into the waiting elevator.

  Carrie was a ghost, haunting his every step.

  Without a doubt, she was the sexiest woman he’d ever met. He felt a click of ache in his gut when he thought of not being with her all day. He remembered her kneeling before him, her eyes locked on his as her mouth moved over him intimately. And he groaned softly into the silent cubicle that was hurtling him towards his office on the top floor.

  “Carrie, Carrie, Carrie,” he murmured under his breath, not sure if he was happy or angry at this unpredictable turn of events. Unlike every other woman he’d been with, he suspected he would not find it easy to walk away from her.

  What had she said the other night? That it had never taken her longer than a week to get a man out of her system? Well, for Gael, it had never been much more than a night, maybe two.

  And yet after Friday, he’d been tormented by memories of her all weekend. He’d sworn he would leave London without contacting her. If she hadn’t come to his hotel, to meet with the hapless young Noris Newman, would he have weakened? Might he have contacted her and tried to see her again?

  His frown deepened. The lift doors opened and he strode down the plush corridors of his office, his eyes locked forward to avoid the necessity of acknowledging any of his executive team. Ordinarily, Gael would have nodded curtly or even smiled, but not that morning. A storm cloud of swirling confusion hung over his head.

  The thought of leaving London without Carrie sat like a noose around his neck. Breathing became difficult, and his throat burned. Surely once he’d left, he would have forgotten her. Would have been able to compartmentalise her into the ‘no longer matters’ section of his brain, where he sent all ex-lovers to reside.

  Even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. If nothing else, Carrie was the daughter of his father’s wife. Technically, his step-sister.

  He groaned again, shouldering his way into his enormous corner office, his eyes closed against the thought.

  She had been a teenager when he’d been twenty nine, and already a successful billionaire. The gap in their age and experience was not diminished, despite the fact that she was now twenty three.

  What did he want from her?

  She still had a decade of fun and exploration before she needed to even think about settling down.

  He froze, his face contorted in shock.

  He didn’t want to settle down. And definitely not with Carrie. She was stunning, and sexually out-of-this-world, but she had also become the kind of woman he despised. She had morphed into the kind of woman his father Diego had left his mother for.

  Gabriella Vivas – she’d never remarried, and had kept her husband’s name long after his desertion – would never welcome Carrie. And Gael had no interest in doing anything as ridiculous as introducing his mother to his latest lover.

  That was all Carrie was. His lover. Someone incredibly sexy, whom he happened to be engaged in business with.

  That was why their relationship, such as it was, would last longer than his usual affairs. Business. Business and pleasure.

  But he could walk away whenever he wanted. He could leave without a backwards glance.

  He just wasn’t ready to … yet.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  For the tenth time in as many minutes, Carrie fought the urge to look towards the door. It was well past two o’clock, and still there was no sign of Gael. She stared with concentration at the empty chair across from her, and fought a growing tide of hurt. The very presence of such a weak emotion infuriated her. She took a deep breath and tried to let the emotions go, but they seemed to whirl inside of her, like a hose that had been dropped, spreading water in circles.

  She leaned back in the chair, affecting a posture of relaxation and caught the attention of a passing waiter. He was young and handsome, dressed all in black, with a smile that seemed to make his whole face shine. For the briefest of moments, she felt a childish impulse to say something flirtatious to him, in the hope that Gael might arrive at that precise moment and observe their exchange. That it might wound him, as his current lateness was wounding her. He greeted her in Spanish, but at her lost expression, switched easily to her native language. “Hello,” he said, his smile broadening. “I always like a chance to practice my English. Can I get you something to drink? Eat?”

  She frowned, deep in thought. If Gael wasn’t going to show up, then she wasn’t going to be caught waiting for him, like some sad, love-starved kitten. She looked at her watch, her lips pursed. She’d give him fifteen minutes and then leave. She ordered a drink, and asked for a menu, then turned her attention back to the table. Not the door. No way would she look at the door again.

  Fortunately, as she’d been anticipating a business meeting, she’d brought her computer with her, and she slipped it out of her Birkin and loaded up the latest press release she’d received for NewNetwork.

  She felt the waiter hovering beside her before placing a glass of red wine at her elbow. Frustrated, Carrie shook her head. “I didn’t order that,” she snapped.

  Only when she tilted her head, her gaze clashed immediately with Gael’s.

  His eyes were darkly assessing, his expression impossible to interpret.

  Carrie lifted one brow, waiting for an explanation. An apology, from a man like Gael, was too much to ask for.

  “Vodka is not a lunchtime drink.”

  She pulled a face. “I thought it wasn’t a dinner drink. And I don’t drink wine.”

  “I am ordering today, remember?”

  She continued to stare at him, as he eased his strong frame into the seat opposite. Beneath the table, she felt a charge of awareness as his knee brushed hers. When he still said nothing, she looked pointedly at her watch, then flicked her glance back to him.

  His lips lifted in cynical amusement. He leaned forward, and placed a hand over hers. “Have you missed me, Carrie?”

  She snatched her fingers away, feeling immediately off balance. She had lost the ability to behave rationally with Gael, and it was an entirely unwelcome feeling.

  “I don’t have time to sit around waiting for you to materialise,” she corrected swiftly. And for something to do with her hands, she lifted her wine and sipped it.

  “I did not intend to keep you waiting.”

  She regarded him thoughtfully, wondering if that had indeed been his plan. Whether he’d wanted to wrong foot her like this. “Didn’t you?” She asked simply, cradling the elegant crystal of the glass in the palm of her hands.

  He admired her for the challenge. He could even see why she’d think that of him. “In truth, no. I had three meetings scheduled this morning and each of them ran late. None of them could be put off, or I would have made it on time. I do not believe in playing stupid games like you are accus
ing me of.”

  Her cheeks felt warm. How had he made her very reasonable question seem childish? She shook her head. “In any event, you’re here now. I have the NewNetwork press release, if you’d like to have a look at how we’ll be positioning ourselves across social media and then the more traditional press.”

  He nodded, but his dark eyes didn’t leave her face.

  Determined not to seem nervous, she continued with only a hint of awkwardness in her voice. “We expect a level of viral response to the launch, given the nature of the project. Several women’s groups have expressed interest in promoting it to their following.”

  “I see,” he said slowly. He shifted in his seat again.

  The waiter reappeared, and Gael spoke in Spanish, presumably ordering their meals. Carrie wouldn’t show annoyance. After all, she’d agreed to this. For whatever reason, he’d taken exception to her love of vodka and lettuce. The look he shot her, pure arrogant challenge, confirmed that he was baiting her, and so Carrie withdrew even further behind her mask.

  “Where is your hotel?” Gael asked, when the waiter had been dispatched to the kitchens.

  “La Rambla?” She said, naming the collection of streets that overflowed with bright tourist attractions. She’d driven past an open-air flower market, an antique bazaar and several gorgeous boutiques.

  “Good,” he said with a nod.

  Carrie’s stomach dived to her feet. Instantly, she experienced a flashback of the two of them in his London hotel the night before. Only the night before? A frown tugged at her lips. She felt like it had been a lifetime ago. She swallowed, hoping she could forcibly push down the wave of desire that was swelling inside of her.

  “Why good?” Her voice was husky. She cleared her throat, and sipped her wine.

  “It is a nice area. If you are to be here a week, you should see the best of Barcelona.”

  “I see,” she murmured, thinking that she might have already been seeing it. The first moment she’d met Gael had been at their parents’ wedding. Even though she’d been sixteen and completely green, she’d known enough to realise he was breathtaking. In fact, she’d felt it. Her breath had whooshed out of her body, reminding her of the time in Prep when she’d been winded by a medicine ball, aimed straight at her stomach. The feeling had burned, and the relief, when her lungs had finally begun to function again, had been one of euphoria. That same mix of intense pleasure and terrifying pain filled her every time she was with Gael.