The Playboy of Puerto Banus

by Carol Marinelli

  He held her gaze when she caught his and now there was only one woman he wanted to walk towards him—except she was holding tightly to Gordon’s arm.

  She offered far more than distraction—she offered oblivion. Because for the first time since his conversation with his father he forgot about it.

  Perhaps he would stay. At least for the service…

  A deep Scottish voice filled the air and the guests were informed that the wedding would soon commence and they were to make their way to their seats.

  * * *

  ‘Come on.’ Gordon took Estelle’s hand. ‘I love a good wedding.’

  ‘And me.’ Estelle smiled.

  They walked through the mild night. The grounds were lit by torches and there were chairs set out. With the castle as a backdrop the scene looked completely stunning, and Estelle let go of her guilt, determined to enjoy herself. She’d been on a plane and, for the first time in her life, a helicopter, she was staying the night in a beautiful castle in the Scottish Highlands, and Gordon was an absolute delight. Despite having dreaded it, she was enjoying herself, Estelle realised as they took their seats and she made more small talk with Gordon.

  ‘Donald says that Victoria’s so nervous,’ he told her. ‘She’s such a perfectionist, apparently, and she’s been stressing over the details for months.’

  ‘Well, it all seems to have paid off,’ Estelle said. ‘I can’t wait to see what she’s wearing.’

  Just as she’d finally started to relax as the music changed and they all stood for the bride, just as she’d decided simply to enjoy herself, she turned to get a first glimpse of the bride—only to realise that Raúl was sitting behind her.

  Directly behind her.

  It should make no difference, Estelle told herself. It was a simple coincidence. But even coincidence was too big a word—after all, he had to sit somewhere. Estelle was just acutely aware that he was there.

  She tried to concentrate on the bride as she made her way to Donald. Victoria really did look stunning. She was wearing a very simple white dress and carried a small posy of heather. The smile on Donald’s face as his bride walked towards him had Estelle smiling too—but not for long. She could feel Raúl’s eyes burning into her shoulder, and a little while later her scalp felt as if it were on fire. She was sure his eyes lingered there.

  She did her best to focus on the service. It was incredibly romantic. So much so that when they got to the ‘in sickness and in health’ part it actually brought tears to her eyes as she remembered her brother Andrew’s wedding, just over a year ago.

  Who could have known then the hard blows fate had in store for him and his pregnant bride, Amanda?

  Ever the gentleman, Gordon pressed a tissue into her hand.

  ‘Thank you.’ Estelle gave a watery smile and Gordon gave her hand a squeeze.

  * * *

  Please! Raúl thought. Spare me the crocodile tears. It had been the same with Gordon’s previous girlfriend—what was her name? Raúl smiled to himself, as he had the day they were introduced.

  Virginia.

  This one, though, even if she wasn’t to Raúl’s usual taste, was stunning. Raven-haired women were far from a rarity where Raúl came from, and for that reason he certainly preferred a blonde—for variety, two blondes!

  He wanted raven tonight.

  Turn around, Raúl thought, for he wanted to meet those eyes again.

  Turn around, he willed her, watching her shoulders stiffen, watching the slight tilt of her neck as if she was aware of but resisting his silent demand.

  * * *

  How she was resisting.

  Estelle sat rigid and then stood in the same way after the service was over, when the bride and groom were letting doves fly. They fluttered high into the sky and the crowd murmured and pointed and turned to watch them in flight.

  Reluctantly she also turned, and she must look up, Estelle thought helplessly as two black liquid pools invited her to dive in. She should, like everyone else, move her gaze upwards and watch the doves fly off into the distance.

  Instead she faced him.

  * * *

  What the hell are you doing with him? Raúl wanted to ask. What the hell are you doing with a man perhaps three times your age?

  Of course he knew the answer.

  Money.

  And Raúl knew then what to do—knew the answer to the dilemma that had been force-fed to him at breakfast-time.

  His mouth moved into a smile and he watched as her head jerked away—watched as she stared, too late, up into the sky. And he saw her pale throat as her neck arched and he wanted his mouth there.

  * * *

  A piper led them back to the castle. He walked in front of her and Gordon. Estelle’s heels kept sinking into the grass, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of drowning in quicksand when she had been caught in Raúl’s gaze.

  His kilt was greys and lilacs, his jacket a dark purple velvet, his posture and his stride exact and sensual. She wanted to run up to him, to tap him on the shoulder and tell him to please leave her alone. Yet he had done nothing. He wasn’t even looking over his shoulder. He was just chatting with a fellow guest as they made their way back to the castle.

  * * *

  Very deliberately Raúl ignored her. He turned his back and chatted with Donald, asked a favour from a friend, and then flirted a little with a couple of old flames—but at all times he knew that her eyes more than occasionally searched out his.

  Raúl knew exactly what he was doing and he knew exactly why.

  Mixing business with pleasure had caused a few problems for Raúl in the past.

  Tonight it was suddenly the solution.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘EXCUSE ME, SIR.’

  A waiter halted Estelle and Gordon as they made their way into the Grand Hall and to their table.

  ‘There’s been a change to the seating plan. Donald and Victoria didn’t realise that you were seated so far back. It’s all been rectified now. Please accept our apologies for the mistake.’

  ‘Oooh, we’re getting an upgrade,’ Gordon said as they were led nearer to the front.

  Estelle flushed when she saw that the rather teary woman she had seen earlier speaking with Raúl was being quietly shuffled back to the bowels of the hall. Estelle knew even before they arrived at the new table which one it would be.

  Raúl did not look up as they made their way over. Not until they were being shown into their seats.

  She smiled a greeting to Veronica and James, but could not even attempt one for Raúl—both seats either side of him were empty.

  He had done this.

  Estelle tried to tell herself she was imagining things, or overreacting, but somehow she knew she was right. Knew that those long, lingering stares had led to this.

  The chair next to him was being held out. She wanted to turn to Gordon, to ask if they could swap seats but she knew that would look ridiculous.

  It was a simple change of seating, Estelle told herself.

  She acknowledged to herself that she lied.

  ‘Gordon.’ Raúl shook his hand.

  ‘Raúl.’

  Gordon smiled as he took the seat next to Estelle, so she was sandwiched between them, and she leant back a little as they chatted.

  ‘I haven’t seen you since…’ Gordon laughed. ‘Since last wedding season. This is Estelle.’

  ‘Estelle.’ He raised one eyebrow as she took her seat beside him. ‘In Spain you would be Estela.’

  ‘We’re in England.’ She was aware of her brittle response, but her defences were up—though she did try to soften it with a brief smile.

  ‘Of course.’ Raúl shrugged. ‘Though I must speak with my pilot. He was most insistent, when we landed, that t
his was Scotland.’

  She tried so hard not to, but Estelle twitched her lips into a slight smile.

  ‘This is Shona and Henry…’ Raúl introduced them as a waiter poured some wine.

  Estelle took a sip and then asked for water—for a draughty castle, it felt terribly warm.

  There was brief conversation and more introductions taking place, and all would have been fine if Raúl were not there. But Estelle was aware, despite his nonchalant appearance, that he was carefully listening to her responses.

  She laughed just a little too loudly at one of Gordon’s jokes.

  As she’d been told to do.

  Gordon was busy speaking with James, and for something to do Estelle looked through the menu, squinting because Ginny had suggested that she leave her glasses at home.

  Raúl misconstrued it as a frown.

  ‘Vichyssoise,’ came his low, deep voice. ‘It is a soup. It’s delicious.’

  ‘I don’t need hand-holding for the menu.’ Estelle stopped herself, aware she was coming across as terribly rude, but her nerves were prickling in defensiveness. ‘And you failed to mention it’s served cold.’

  ‘No.’ He smiled. ‘I was just about to tell you that.’

  Soup was a terribly hard ask with Raúl sitting next to her, but she worked her way through it, even though her conversation with Gordon kept getting interrupted by his phone.

  ‘I can’t even get a night off.’ He sighed.

  ‘Important?’ Estelle checked.

  ‘It could be soon. I’ll have to keep it on silent.’

  The main course was served and it was the most gorgeous beef Estelle had ever tasted. Yet it stuck in her throat—especially when Veronica asked her a question.

  ‘Do you work, Estelle?’

  She took a drink of water before answering. ‘I do a bit of modeling.’ Estelle gave a small smile, remembering how Gordon had told her to respond to such a question. She just hadn’t expected to be inhaling testosterone when she answered. ‘Though, of course, taking care of Gordon is a full-time job…’

  Estelle saw the pausing of Raúl’s fork and then heard Gordon’s stab of laughter. She was locked in a lie and there was no way out. It was an act, Estelle told herself. Just one night and she would never have to see these people again—and what did she care if Raúl thought her cheap?

  ‘Could you pass me the pepper?’ came the silk of his voice.

  Was it the fact that it had been asked with a Spanish accent that made the question sound sexy, or was it that she was going mad?

  She passed it, holding the heavy silver pot and releasing it to him, feeling the brief warmth of his fingertips as he took it. He immediately noticed her error. ‘That’s the salt,’ Raúl said, and she had to go through it again.

  It was bizarre. He had said hardly two words to her, had made no suggestions. There were no knees pressing into hers under the table and his hands had not lingered when she’d passed him the pepper, yet the air between them was thick with tension.

  He declined dessert and spread cheese onto Scottish oatcakes. ‘I’d forgotten how good these taste.’

  She turned and watched as he took a bite and then ran his tongue over his lip, capturing a small sliver of quince paste.

  ‘Now I remember.’

  There was no implication. He was only making small talk.

  It was Estelle’s mind that searched every word.

  She spread cheese on an oatcake herself and added quince.

  ‘Fantastic?’ Raúl asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  She knew he meant sex.

  ‘Now the speeches.’ Gordon sighed.

  They were long. Terribly long. Especially when you had no idea who the couple were. Especially when you were supposed to be paying attention to the man on your right but your mind was on the one to your left.

  First it was Victoria’s father, who rambled on just a touch too long. Then it was the groom Donald’s turn, and he was thankfully a bit quicker—and funnier too. He moved through the formalities and, on behalf of himself and his new wife, especially thanked all who had travelled from afar.

  ‘I was hoping Raúl wouldn’t make it, of course,’ Donald said, looking over to Raúl, as did the whole room. ‘I’m just thankful Victoria didn’t see him in a kilt until after my ring was on her finger. Trust a Spaniard to wear a kilt so well.’

  The whole room laughed. Raúl’s shoulders moved in a light, good-natured laugh too. He wasn’t remotely embarrassed—no doubt more than used to the attention and to having his beauty confirmed.

  Then it was the best man’s turn.

  ‘In Spain there are no speeches at a wedding,’ Raúl said, leaning across her a little to speak to Gordon.

  She could smell his expensive cologne, and his arm was leaning slightly on her. Estelle watched her fingers around the stem of her glass tighten.

  ‘We just have the wedding, a party, and then bed,’ Raúl said.

  It was the first hint of suggestion, but even so she could merely be reading into things too much. Except as he leant over her to hear Gordon’s response Estelle wanted to put her hand up, wanted to ask for the lights to come on, for this assault on her senses to stop, to tell the room the inappropriateness of the man sitting beside her. Only not a single thing had he done—not a word or hand had he put wrong.

  So why was her left breast aching, so close to where his arm was? Why were her two front teeth biting down on her lip at the sight of his cheek, inches away?

  ‘Really?’ Gordon checked. ‘I might just have to move to Spain! In actual fact I was—’

  Gordon was interrupted by the buzz of his phone and Raúl moved back in his seat. Estelle sat watching the newly wed couple dancing.

  ‘Darling, I am so sorry,’ Gordon said as he read a message on his phone. ‘I am going to have to find somewhere I can make some calls and use a computer.’

  ‘Good luck getting internet access,’ drawled Raúl. ‘I have to go outside just to make a call.’

  ‘I might be some time.’

  ‘Trouble?’ Estelle asked

  ‘Always.’ Gordon rolled his eyes. ‘Though this is unexpected. But I’ll deal with it as quickly as I can. I hate to leave you on your own.’

  ‘She won’t be on her own,’ Raúl said. ‘I can keep an eye.’

  She rather wished that he wouldn’t.

  ‘Thanks so much,’ Gordon said. ‘In that dress she deserves to dance.’ He turned to Estelle. ‘I really am sorry to leave you…’ For appearances’ sake, he kissed her on the cheek.

  What a waste of her mouth, Raúl thought.

  Once Gordon had gone she turned to James and Veronica, on her right, desperately trying to feed into their conversation. But they were certainly not interested in Gordon’s new date. Over and over they politely dismissed her, and then followed the other couples at their table and got up to dance—leaving her alone with Raúl.

  ‘From the back you could be Spanish…’

  She turned to the sound of his voice.

  ‘But from the front…’

  His eyes ran over her creamy complexion and she felt heat sear her face as his eyes bored into hers. And though they did not wander—he was far too suave for that—somehow he undressed her. Somehow she sat there on her seat beside him at the wedding as if they were a couple. And when he looked at her, she felt, for a bizarre second, as if she was completely naked.

  He was as potent as that.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘IRISH?’ HE CHECKED, and Estelle hesitated for a moment before nodding.

  She did not want to give any information to this man—did not even want to partake in conversation.

  ‘Yet your accent is English?’

  ‘My parents moved to England before
I was born.’ She gave a tight swallow and hoped her stilted response would halt the conversation. It did not.

  ‘Where in England are they?’

  ‘They’re not,’ Estelle answered, terribly reluctant to reveal anything of herself.

  Raúl did not push. Instead he moved the conversation on.

  ‘So, where did you and Gordon meet?’

  ‘We met at Dario’s.’ Estelle answered the question as Gordon had told her to, trying to tell herself he was just being polite, but every sense in her body seemed set to high alert. ‘It’s a bar—’

  ‘In Soho,’ Raúl broke in. ‘I have heard a lot about Dario’s.’

  Beneath her make-up her cheeks were scalding.

  ‘Not that I have been,’ Raúl said. ‘As a male, I would perhaps be too young to get in there.’ His lips rose in a slight smile and he watched the colour flood darker in her neck and to her ears. ‘Maybe I should give it a try…’

  He looked more closely at Estelle. She had eyes that were a very dark green and rounded cheeks—she really was astonishingly attractive. There was something rather sweet about her despite the clothes, despite the make-up, and there was an awkwardness that was as rare as it was refreshing. Raúl was not used to awkwardness in the women he dated.

  ‘So, we both find ourselves alone at a wedding…’

  ‘I’m not alone,’ Estelle said. ‘Gordon will be back soon.’ She did not want to ask, but she found herself doing just that as she glanced to the empty chair beside him. ‘How come…?’ Her voice faded out. There was no polite way to address it.

  ‘We broke up this morning.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Please don’t be.’ He thought for a moment before continuing. ‘Really to say we broke up is perhaps an exaggeration. To break something would mean you had to have something, and we were only going out for a few weeks.’

  ‘Even so…’ Still she attempted to be polite. ‘Break-ups are hard.’

  ‘I’ve never found them to be,’ Raúl said. ‘It’s the bit before that I struggle with.’