“You want fun?”
She nodded, moving her face in the cup of his hand.
“I will send a driver for you early tomorrow morning. Be downstairs by seven o’clock.”
He stroked his thumb across her cheek, and then stood.
Carrie frowned. “You’re going?”
“Si,” he agreed, wishing he weren’t. Wishing, more than anything, that he was staying with her. That very thought was enough to propel him towards the door.
“Seven sharp.”
She lifted her fingers to her forehead in a mock salute. “Yessir,” she said with a small smile. He left, and Carrie wondered what she could do to distract herself from the sudden sense of pervasive loneliness.
CHAPTER NINE
The driver was a slim man in his late forties, with a dark crop of hair and an easy smile. He employed it when Carrie emerged from the hotel a minute after seven, much of her face hidden by over-sized sunglasses. The sun was breaking over the city, lending a golden peach hue to the ancient buildings and streets. She paused a moment to enjoy the view – the stone fronted hotels glowing in the early morning warmth. Spaniards were going about their business with their enviable elegance.
“Good morning.” The driver’s tone was accented, his voice formal. He moved forward and offered to take Carrie’s bag from her. She’d left her oversize Birkin at home and chosen a smaller handbag for the mysterious day of promised fun. With no idea what was on the horizon, she’d brought just the essentials – phone, lipgloss, money – reasoning that she could pop back to her hotel and get anything else she might need later.
Her smile was reserved, and her insides were churning. All night, she’d tossed and turned and told herself how ridiculous she was being to feel such excitement.
But she’d felt it regardless. Anticipation had teased and delighted her, and she’d woken exhausted, but uncaring.
“Hello,” she responded, belatedly realising he was waiting for her to respond.
“Senor Vivas asked me to give you this,” he said, once she’d settled herself in the back of the plush interior.
“Thank you.” She took the note and flicked her sunglasses onto her head in one swift movement. It was a cream envelope with her name scrawled across the front.
And though she was bursting to know the contents, she took a moment to admire the effect his strong, confident writing had on the fibrous paper. She ran her finger over it, and a small shiver began in her toes and spread through her body.
She turned it over impatiently and lifted the back triangle. A single piece of paper slid out.
“Ready, ma’am?”
She looked up at the driver with a sense of disorientation. All of her mind and all of her soul was focussed on Gael’s note. Her voice was a husky acknowledgement. “Yes, thank you.”
Her fingers were unsteady. She pulled the top half of the paper, carefully unfolding it.
Good morning, mi pequeno dulce. Memories of the way he called her funny sounding Spanish words made her heart flutter.
Eat your breakfast. There will not be another chance for a while.
G.
A brief note, then, and not what she’d been hoping for.
Which was? What exactly did she want from him?
Carrie looked around the limousine until her eyes fell onto a brown paper bag. She reached for it, having to stretch across the seat to grab it from the small table. She opened it and grinned when she saw an apple, and an almond croissant.
The apple was red and shining, like the classic forbidden fruit. She rubbed it on the fabric of her dress until it glowed and then bit into it gratefully. It was as delicious as all forbidden apples should be. Juicy and sweet, with an undercurrent of tartness.
Another fragrance met her nostrils and her stomach groaned in delightful anticipation. Coffee. Her eyes landed on the brown take away cup. Black and strong, just as she liked it. She sipped it and ate the apple, enjoying the passing scenery from the extreme comfort of Gael’s limousine.
As far as mornings went, it was not a bad way to start one.
And still, the fingers of anticipation curled through her at what might lie ahead. Time with Gael was a given, and that alone made her body sag.
It was just temporary, she reminded herself, with an attempt at her usual rationale. Just a fling. A bit of fun. Nothing serious, and nothing to over-think.
With a confident nod, she leaned forward in the car. The city scape gradually gave way to a different style of architecture. More bright colours and lower-set buildings, until the road opened up to a spectacular view of the ocean. “Oh!” She exclaimed audibly, her hand on the side of the car door as the sleek black vehicle wound down a steep track towards the marina.
Her smile made her cheeks ache, and it broadened when she saw Gael waiting for her. Dressed in a pair of jeans, one of his gorgeous shirts and a black leather jacket, he was handsome and captivating and sexy and beautiful all at once. She swallowed, and tried to wipe her smile away. Or at least to reduce it to a normal size.
The driver pulled the car to a stop, but it was Gael who opened the door.
“Carrie,” he murmured, his eyes dark and intent as they roamed her face. He made a small sound of impatience then clicked her sunglasses off her eyes, so that he could see her properly. His smile was rich and rewarding, and she found herself mirroring it, while the butterflies gave full flight in her chest.
“Good morning.” Her voice was thick.
He kissed her, uncaring that several people were milling around the marina. He lifted his hands to her hair and ran them through the sleek blonde style, and Carrie kissed him back. Whatever anger she’d felt with him the day before had evaporated completely, leaving only wonderful, drug-like need.
“I shouldn’t have left you last night,” he groaned, breaking the kiss and staring at her hungrily.
“No,” she agreed shakily. “You shouldn’t have.”
He looped an arm around her waist. “Did you enjoy your breakfast?”
“I did, thank you.”
Gael didn’t say anything, but he was curious as to whether or not she had allowed herself the indulgence of the croissant. He would ask the driver. Later.
“Come.” He steered her away from the limousine, towards the stunning assembly of ships queued obediently against the piers.
“We’re going on one of those?”
His tone was droll. “Usually I would take a chopper, but I suspect you’ll pass out if I do.”
His thoughtfulness caused a dangerous wave of feeling to wash over her. She didn’t want to think of him as kind or courteous. He was just a really, really sexy fling. That was all.
The boat he led her to was moored second-to-the-end of the pier. It was sleek and enormous. Carrie had no experience with boats; she knew they were measured in feet, or something like that. But it was big, with a sharply pointed front, and what looked to be two levels of internal rooms, and a top deck – presumably for sun bathing.
The name on the side real Gabriella.
“My mother,” he said with a wink, following her gaze. “It was a gift to her, but she does not use it.”
Carrie clasped her hands to her heart in an exaggerated swoon. “You’re such a mummy’s boy.”
He grinned and shrugged. “I thought she’d like it.”
“You really gave your boat to your mum?”
“No.” He held her hand as she stepped onto the narrow bridge that linked the craft to the marina pier. “My boat is in Cannes. This is my mother’s boat. As I said, I would usually take the chopper, but as you would not like it, we will use her boat.”
“Well,” Carrie said, as she stepped onto the shining deck, “I think it’s very sweet.”
Something sparked between them; the air was charged with a weird, lopsided understanding. Gael shook his head. “It was nothing.”
She didn’t press him. She didn’t insist that it was kind and generous, but it was. It added a new piece to the puzzle of his c
haracter. Only that piece didn’t entirely fit with what she knew about him.
“Where are we going, Captain?” She asked instead, trying to make light of things, to switch the mood.
It didn’t work. He linked his arms around her waist, and as if by magic, the bridge began to withdraw.
“I have a crew. I would rather spend my time with you than running this thing.” He kissed her forehead, and then pulled her to his chest. She pressed her ear to it, and heard the solid, strong thudding of his heart. It was fast, like hers. Racing with excitement and anticipation.
Carrie sighed slowly. Another perfect moment to collect for the memory bank. The boat began to move away from the land, and they stood, clinging together, breathing as one, their bodies fused. Carrie’s soul was aching by the time Barcelona was just a shimmering line of buildings in the distance. Aching with the enormity of what leaving him would take.
She swallowed. “I got some good news this morning,” she said, pushing away from him and employing her most concise business like tone.
“Yes?” He prompted, his body ice-cold with her absence.
“We picked up a major news supply network for the app. They’ll cover Africa. It’s a real coup.”
He nodded. “That’s good.” And it was. But it only frayed the outside edges of his concentration. “I like this dress.” His eyes were drawn to the William Morris print – though he didn’t know it was William Morris, of course. He saw only a pale blue background with collections of mysterious little swallows warbling their way across it. It was dainty and feminine, and very Carrie Beauchamp 1.0. The Carrie he’d known briefly, in the last flourish of her teenage years.
“Thank you.” She ran her hands down the silky fabric. “Liberty dresses are my weakness.”
“Liberty dresses?”
She waved a hand through the air. “A department store with the most beautiful fabrics in the world.” She sighed. “They cost a fortune but I have no will-power where they’re concerned.”
He could completely understand a lack of will-power. He’d been grappling with his own since they’d met again. He moved across to her, and put a hand on either side of the railing, bracing her against the boat. They looked out at the ocean together, the wind whipping through Carrie’s hair and plastering the dress to her body.
Gael held her, and breathed in her sweet softness. “Would you like a tour?”
She wanted a hell of a lot more than a tour. She swallowed and nodded wordlessly. Gael reached down and linked his fingers through hers.
The boat was, as Carrie had initially thought, enormous. Seven bedrooms, each with sleek timber furnishings and white bed linen, two entertaining areas, a fully fitted kitchen and several bathrooms. He led her to a glassed in observation deck last.
“Here we have the view without the wind.” He smiled, indicating for her to take a seat. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please. Coffee is a balm to my soul. Especially at this hour.”
He smiled to himself as he pressed the button on the machine. A single black shot poured out; he placed it aside then made his own coffee.
“You don’t take milk?” He asked as an afterthought.
Carrie pulled a face as she shook her head. Another interesting piece of information about this woman, Gael thought curiously. Did she avoid milk as he did, because he preferred the robust strength of black coffee? Or was it another of her apparent vanity measures. There was so much to her that he didn’t yet understand.
Or was he choosing not to understand? Was he choosing to ignore the truth because he was terrified of what it would mean? Of how he would be implicated in the woman she’d become? Out of nowhere, he saw her in the rose garden at Forrest View. He heard her voice. He felt a throb in his gut.
“Do I have something on my face?” She asked self-consciously, lifting her fingers to her lips, and running them across the pale pink pout.
Gael stared at her face; so beautiful but so hidden. Beneath so much make-up and careful censoring of emotion. He itched to wipe the foundation away – to free her of the obfuscating mask she seemed to wear constantly.
“Gael? What are you looking at?” She leaned forward, intending to reach for a mirror in her handbag.
Gael caught her wrist and shook his head. “I’m looking for you,” he murmured, and he stood easily, his dark eyes heavy on her face.
It was on the tip of Carrie’s tongue to correct him – he had surely meant that he was looking at her – when he came to sit beside her. He ran a hand along the back of the white leather lounge, and the other he put on her upper thigh. He melded his mouth to hers slowly, curiously, as though it was their first kiss.
Their first kiss. She shifted a little, mortification spreading over her like a hot flash of misery. She pushed it away. That was a lifetime ago; a different girl. She kissed him back now as an equal, her hands clutching his shirtfront as though her whole life depended on it.
His tongue was probing her, exploring the recesses of her mouth, whispering secrets without saying a word. She sighed against his mouth, and her hands lifted higher until they tangled in his hair. Her body sagged with need. When had they last slept together? Only two nights ago? It might as well have been a lifetime. She pushed up on the sofa and straddled him, needing more. Closer contact, touch, skin. She pushed at his shirt, grunting when it resisted.
He laughed, but it was an uneven laugh, rich with his own eagerness. His fingers pushed her dress up easily, finding the soft skin of her back. He ran his hands over it, and she moved her hips, pressing lower, craving contact.
Gael’s laugh was throaty. “Dios Mio, I could take you here. You make me feel like an out of control teenager, and not a thirty five year old man.”
Carrie finally succeeded in pulling his shirt from his waistband. She felt his abdominals with awe, her eyes heavy with sensual greed. “Take me then.”
He closed his eyes on a wave of passion. “We are almost there.”
She didn’t ask where. “Take me quickly then.”
He tilted his head back and she chased his neck, running her tongue along the stubbled length. Her fingers fumbled with his belt, and the buckle of his jeans. She pushed them aside, and Gael shifted his weight a little, so that his arousal could be freed from his clothing. Carrie moaned as her hands wrapped around his length. She knelt up, and Gael used his hands to push aside her underwear. She took him hungrily and desperately, arching her back as she felt him fill her. She moaned against his ear as they moved in time with the rocking waves beneath the boat.
The boat slowed and their speed increased. Carrie exploded as the boat came in to dock against a simple timber pier. Gael’s face was pale from the exertion of holding his own release. He watched his beautiful lover, her young face pink beneath the make up, her eyes fluttered shut, and he felt as though strings were being tied in neat little lines around his heart, banding him together in a way he hadn’t known he needed.
“Gael?” She asked breathlessly, when she realised he was holding back. Her fingers were tight in his shirt.
He shook his head. “No protection.”
“Shit!” Her blue eyes flew wide and she lifted shaking fingers to her lips. “Shit!” She lifted herself away from him quickly, her body weak from the pleasure that was still running over her body like warm oil. “That was… crazy.”
“Mmm,” he agreed with a shrug. “Crazy amazing.”
Carrie shook her head. “But you’re … you didn’t …”
“No.” He stood, so that he could dress himself, then he caught her hands in his and pulled her up. He knelt before her, lifted her skirt and straightened her underwear. He kissed the smooth flesh of her flat stomach and met her eyes seriously. “There is time, Carrie. All the time in the world.”
Her heart turned over at the promise that neither of them wanted to make. Not really. After all, time would run out on them. They both knew it. In that wonderful moment, that slice of time out of time, she didn’t want to acknowledge it though.<
br />
She looked away and swallowed past the unwelcome lump of emotion that had formed in her throat. “Where are we?” Her voice was a whisper, a strange sounding noise to her own ears.
“Home.”
She wasn’t really concentrating. Her mind was backlogged; her brain confused. Gael stood and tangled his fingers with hers, pulling her towards the upper deck.
“Home?” Her sluggish mind finally stirred to life as they emerged out into the fresh sea air.
His smile transformed his face, it was almost boyish in its simple delight.
“This is where I grew up.”
Carrie turned her attention fully to the island that loomed before them. “What is this place?”
“Sol Sobre El Mar.” Even the name sounded magical. She breathed it in, absorbed it, and tasted it on her lips, repeating it in the same accented way.
“What does it mean?” She asked, watching as the crew they hadn’t seen during the voyage tied the boat fast to the pier.
“Sun rising over the sea.”
“Gorgeous,” she whispered.
“Si. It is a small island, but prosperous in its way.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said honestly, studying the pristine shoreline and bright white buildings speckled over the cliff side. In the distance of the cove, little fishing boats bobbed brightly on the shimmering sea.
“I lived here until I was ten.” He squeezed her hand and began to guide her off the boat. She smiled at the crew as they passed.
“Until the divorce?” She pushed sympathetically.
“Si. My father took me to Barcelona for a time. Until I started boarding school.”
Carrie shook her head, feeling sadness for the boy he had been, plucked from the arms of a mother he adored; a mother who adored him.
“And your mum stayed here?” Carrie continued her quiet questioning, pleased when Gael didn’t shut down.
“My mother had lived here all her life. Her father was a fisherman in the village. She stayed, and got a job as a cook at a local restaurant.”
Seducing the Spaniard: She wanted revenge any way she could get it Page 11