Public Marriage, Private Secrets

by Helen Bianchin

  Enough. She’d replayed that fateful scene so many times she could repeat verbatim every word Sierra had uttered. It was like a bad movie played by hostile characters with no happy resolution.

  Now there was only the road ahead…one she’d successfully forged on her own. Surely she could survive a two-week sojourn sans any emotional damage?

  Consequently she chose a comfortable hotel lounge chair, sank back into it, sipped excellent coffee and attempted to fit Raúl into the mould of casual friend.

  It didn’t work… How on earth had she expected it to work? He’d been her lover, and just looking at him revived vivid memories of what they’d once shared. Almost to the point where she could feel his hands on her body, his mouth devouring her own, the intimacies…

  Oh, dear God…stop.

  She met his thoughtful gaze and offered a stunning smile. It was purely a defence mechanism, one she deliberately adopted in an attempt to fill the time.

  Soon they’d return to the car, drive to Calvià, enjoy a light lunch, hopefully with Teresa, who acted as a perfect buffer. Given the customary siesta, after which she could plead time out to connect with her laptop, it would soon be time to shower, tend to her hair, make-up and dress.

  Apropos of which, she offered Raúl a perfunctory thanks.

  The gown bore an expensive price-tag, the evening sandals were designer, the evening purse… All totalled close to an amount that made her blink.

  ‘I appreciate your assistance in purchasing the gown, the shoes. Thank you,’ she said, and tried to ignore the way her heartbeat quickened at his lazy smile. ‘However, I insist on reimbursing you.’

  ‘Consider it a gift.’

  He was such a strong and vital man…way too much for any one woman to handle with ease. And yet she had…for a while. Loving him with everything she had, everything she was…heart, mind, soul.

  Don’t go there. It served no purpose.

  ‘No,’ she insisted. ‘I cannot possibly permit you to pay for anything on my behalf.’

  He regarded her with indolent amusement. ‘And why is that?’

  There was never going to be a better time. ‘Because I intend to file for divorce.’

  She wasn’t sure what she expected from him. Agreement? Expressed regret? An attempt at persuasion to change her mind?

  Who could tell from his unchanged expression? The man was a skilled strategist, adept in concealing any apparent reaction.

  ‘You don’t perceive another solution?’

  There was little she could do about the slow curl of her stomach. ‘Such as?’

  He took his time in answering. ‘Reconciliation.’

  Gianna looked at him in stark disbelief. ‘Are you out of your mind?’

  ‘We still share a mutual attraction. That’s something to build on rather than discard, don’t you think?’

  Her response was instantaneous. ‘No.’

  How could she even begin to entertain anything like his suggestion.

  Re-enter his life, his bed—dear heaven—be subjected to Sierra’s machinations, and those of the various women who tried to tempt him? No. She couldn’t…wouldn’t do it. That path lay strewn with the kind of pain she refused to revisit.

  But what of the good times? a silent voice taunted. The loving? What they’d shared in bed and out of it? The joy, being so in tune with each other there had been no need for words? His wicked mouth…how easily he could arouse her to a depth of passion she hadn’t known existed? What of that? Oh, please. Sex, even very good sex, wasn’t a basis for marriage. So don’t even go there!

  So why this secret longing in a part of her heart for what once had been? How could she revisit and recapture the past…and not deal with what had torn everything apart?

  Fidelity, once breached, made it almost impossible to repair trust. All she had to do was control her emotions—and the effect they were having on her body…and her heart.

  Her mind ran on. A reconciliation would mean a total change to her life as she knew it. Could she move back to Spain? Give up her business and everything she’d done to put her life back on an even kilter?

  It didn’t even bear consideration.

  ‘No.’ Her voice was firm in reiteration.

  It was a relief when they finished their coffee and he instructed the concierge to summon the car, and she sat in silence during the drive to the villa.

  There was pleasure in witnessing Teresa’s delight with the contents of the various designer-emblazoned carry-bags.

  ‘Perfect,’ Teresa enthused. ‘Raúl has an excellent eye. His late father possessed the same ability.’

  In all aspects? Gianna queried silently. Had Sebastiano Velez-Saldaña also cheated on his wife during their marriage?

  Doubtful, given the photographic images which portrayed them as a devoted and loving couple.

  Yet images could be deceptive. Hadn’t she proved that by posing at Raúl’s side with a loving smile when inside she’d been racked with heartsick pain?

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘NERVOUS?’

  The foyer adjacent to the hotel ballroom held numerous invited guests, standing together in various groups as uniformed waiters offered a variety of drinks and canapés as they moved among the crowd.

  Gianna lifted the slim flute to her lips and took a sip of champagne. ‘Have I reason to be?’

  Raúl’s dark eyes pierced her own. ‘No.’

  He looked incredible, attired in an impeccably tailored black evening suit, white linen shirt and black bow-tie. Striking, she amended. His skin tone, sculpted broad bone structure highlighting a strong jawline, the generous, sensual mouth, and eyes as dark as sin.

  Attractively rugged, rather than traditionally handsome. Powerful, intensely primitive. She’d seen him in action brokering a deal…and witnessed the ruthlessness apparent, his forbidding ability to cut and walk away.

  Which brought the question as to why, after he’d followed her and she’d rejected him, he hadn’t filed for divorce? Unless it suited him to appear to remain married.

  For what reason? she persisted, and gave it up as being too complex to examine in any detail…at least right now.

  ‘Raúl,’ a deep, heavily accented voice greeted him. ‘Good to see you.’

  Gianna turned slightly and saw a man similar to Raúl in height and age, whose rugged features and sharply focused dark eyes categorised him as a likely business colleague.

  ‘Rafael.’ The acknowledgement emerged with a briskness that bore politeness more than friendship, and she saw Raúl’s eyes harden a little as the other man switched his attention to her.

  ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’

  She recognised the type—astute and a bit of a rake, sure of his effect on women, and content to play the seduction game.

  ‘No.’

  Rafael’s eyes gleamed with wicked humour. ‘Special, hmm?’ He cast her a speculative look. ‘I can see why.’ His smile held such warmth it could have melted ice. ‘At least tell me your name.’

  She wanted to laugh, his approach was so brazen. ‘Gianna.’

  ‘Velez-Saldaña,’ Raúl added with an edge to his voice only a fool would ignore. ‘A relative?’

  ‘My wife.’

  ‘Ah.’ Comprehension was swift and accompanied by a wry smile. ‘I am not surprised you guard her so well.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  A soft laugh escaped Rafael’s lips. ‘My cue, I think, to move along.’

  Raúl merely inclined his head, and Gianna waited a few seconds before offering a sallying reproof beneath the guise of a visibly sweet smile. ‘Must you behave like a proprietorial oaf?’

  For a moment she thought he might laugh, and her eyes narrowed in silent warning beneath his gleaming gaze.

  ‘Most men are proprietorial with their women.’

  ‘Correction…I’m no longer your woman.’

  His gaze remained steady as he took his time to gently query, ‘No?’

  She could give no plausibl
e reason why the air between them suddenly became electrically charged…nor could she explain why her pulse quickened to a drumming beat.

  For a moment she almost swayed beneath a wave of raw primal heat, and she hated that he sensed it.

  The hotel, the guests, even the reason she was there, faded beyond the periphery of her vision so there was only him.

  He made no attempt to touch her, which was just as well, for she seemed to have temporarily lost her sense of reality, adrift in a mindless sea of remembered passion.

  An intrusive sound shattered the vivid image, and she blinked as the room and its occupants swam back into focus, together with the realisation that the guests were beginning to move into the ballroom.

  Staff were on hand to check tickets and offer directions to reserved tables, and it was a relief to discover she recognised two of the couples sharing their table.

  Charming company, excellent food and interesting conversation made for a pleasant evening, with funds raised exceeding expectations. The entertainment provided some comedic humour, a magician and his assistant, and the usual speeches extolled the charity’s achievements, goals, and made a plea for guests to donate generously.

  The evening provided vivid memories of other similar functions Gianna had attended in the past, mostly at venues in Madrid with Raúl. Occasions when she’d sparkled in company, able to converse with ease, secure that the man at her side was as much hers as she was his.

  Her presence here tonight with Raúl after such a long absence would raise speculative interest and it bothered her that he was doing nothing to dispel it.

  Playing a part, she rationalised as he leant in close to refill her glass.

  Why was she so acutely attuned to him on a sexual level, when all her instincts almost screamed a warning to cut and run away from him as fast as she could before…what?

  She succumbed and slept with him?

  As if!

  That wasn’t going to happen…not now, not ever. For there was no way she’d venture down that road again.

  Yet it was impossible not to remember how it felt to be held by him…kissed until her mind went blank…made love to as if the world would soon end.

  Haunting and undeniably taunting…notching up the sensual heat several degrees as fire raced through her veins.

  Hell.

  With considerable effort she forced her breathing to slow to an even beat, then reached for her glass and took a measured sip of chilled wine.

  Better…but not by much.

  Did he sense the emotional chaos his close proximity caused her? She fervently hoped not.

  A few of the guests began gathering on the dance floor as music started to play.

  ‘Shall we join them?’

  Gianna met Raúl’s faintly mocking gaze and effected a slight shrug. ‘Why not?’

  A foolish move, she decided within minutes, as the beat changed and he drew her close…too close…and easily resisted her effort to put a little space between them.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Dancing,’ he drawled as he held her there, with one hand resting low beneath the back of her waist in a hold that was the antithesis of conventional.

  ‘Why not call it what it is?’

  A soft, almost undetectable sound emerged from his throat. ‘A reminder of how things used to be between us?’

  Yes. Damn him.

  A time when she’d exulted in the anticipation of how the evening would end…the subtle teasing, the warmth of his breath close to her ear as he softly relayed how they’d make love, building the sensual tension until she’d positively ached for them to be alone.

  ‘If you don’t want me to accidentally kick your ankle,’ Gianna managed sweetly, ‘I suggest you step back a little.’

  ‘Fighting words, querida?’

  It was the endearment responsible for her swift retaliatory action…and to give him credit he didn’t so much as wince or miss a step.

  The only warning she received was the sudden flex of his bicep beneath her hand, then his mouth covered her own in a kiss that stopped the breath in her throat.

  Deliberately erotic, it invaded, branded her his own, then gentled a little before he lifted his head to regard her with dark brooding eyes.

  The temptation to slap his face was almost impossible to resist, and it was only the stark realisation of time and place that cautioned against such an action.

  But just wait until the moment we’re alone.

  ‘That was unforgivable.’ She hated the slight quiver in her voice, and could do nothing to still the faint shivery sensation feathering down her spine.

  Almost as if he knew, he slid a soothing hand in its wake, and briefly touched his lips to her temple. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  They did. Raúl followed courtesy by touching base with the charity organiser, a member of the committee, then paused to bid goodnight to a few friends and business acquaintances en route to one of the exits.

  ‘It’s wonderful to see you both reunited,’ a feminine voice offered with sincerity as they paused at a rear table.

  But we’re not, Gianna was inclined to inform her, and it was only the sudden tightening of Raúl’s fingers in silent warning that stalled her contradiction.

  He eased the vehicle into the steady stream of traffic and began heading towards Calvià.

  It was a clear night, with an indigo sky in which there were the pinpricks of light from distant stars. Almost magical, if she’d been in the mood to appreciate the nightscape.

  Instead she was seething from the need to keep her deep-seated anger in check…until now.

  The kaleidoscope of night lights and brightly coloured neon barely registered as she visibly killed him with a dark look that would have quelled a lesser man.

  ‘Just what game are you playing?’ she demanded, and met his rapid glance before he returned his attention to the road ahead.

  ‘Precisely what are you referring to?’

  ‘All of it,’ she vented, volubly incensed. ‘The touchy-feely thing…kissing me like that.’

  ‘Your objection being?’

  ‘That you did it at all, and in public.’ She paused to breathe. ‘You deliberately led people to think we’re…’ She couldn’t finish the sentence, and he did it for her.

  ‘Together?’

  ‘Yes. And we’re not. Won’t be. Ever,’ she added for good measure.

  ‘Then perhaps you’d care to explain the extent of your anger.’

  For a moment she was speechless. ‘What is this? Psychoanalysis?’ Seconds later she gasped in shocked surprise as he tripped the indicator and eased the car to a halt at the kerb. ‘Why are you stopping?’

  Her eyes widened as he released his seat belt, then her own, and reached for her.

  ‘Don’t.’ It was the one word she managed to get out before his mouth closed over hers in a gentle exploratory touch that sought to soothe her soul…then capture and reunite it with his own.

  Gianna wanted to resist. And she tried, she really did, until she was swept up in the emotional tide he created and became lost—so totally lost the she was unaware of reaching up to clasp her hands together at his nape…or the fervour with which she answered his passion.

  Don’t think… Because if she did, she’d wrench herself from his arms and escape from the car…from him and the sensual magic he encapsulated without any seeming effort at all.

  It was as if they had gone back in time to a place where everything was good. When their love had been beyond question and they’d existed solely for each other.

  There were no doubts, no lack of trust…just undeniable emotion.

  For a while she forgot everything…the time, the place…there was only the need for his touch as she kissed him back, exulting in the feel of him. And wanting so much more. Skin on skin…

  Ohmigod… What was she thinking?

  Correction. She wasn’t thinking at all.

  Reality slowly dawned, and she tore her hand
s from him and began using them as leverage in an effort to free herself.

  At first she didn’t think he’d let her go, and silent tears welled and spilled down her cheeks at the futility of the situation…worse, her reaction.

  Blind lust, she attributed…almost to the point where she didn’t care how or where, as long as her long-withheld desire found some form of release.

  She felt like a lust-filled teenager, almost beyond control, making out in a parked car.

  In a luxurious car, parked at the side of a main thoroughfare after midnight. With Raúl.

  The man to whom she was still technically married.

  The man she intended to divorce.

  So what the hell was she doing?

  She became aware of gentle fingers brushing the tears from her cheeks, and she shook her head in distress as Raúl cradled her face.

  ‘Don’t.’ It was a cry from the heart, and in one smooth movement, he released the seat back to its fullest extension, pulled her onto his lap…and simply held her.

  The temptation to remain in the comfort of his arms was strong. This close, her senses were so finely attuned to him…in every way. The familiar clean male smell, the exclusive cologne he chose to wear, his strength…his gentle touch as he smoothed a few tendrils of hair that had escaped from her upswept style.

  She wanted to melt into him. Yet that would never do. For how could she afford to relent when there were unresolved issues between them?

  She stirred, felt his arms momentarily tighten, then at her faint protest he eased her into the passenger seat and fired the ignition.

  They reached Teresa’s villa in silence, and Gianna bade Raúl goodnight in the foyer, then ascended the stairs and entered her suite.

  It took only minutes to undress, pull on nightwear, then she crossed to the en suite bathroom to unpin her hair and remove her make-up. Except the face in the mirror didn’t resemble her normal reflected image. Eyes so dark and dilated; lips slightly swollen from being so thoroughly kissed.

  Different.

  There was no soft dreaminess apparent…just a mix of disbelief tinged with concern. She didn’t want to be caught up in an emotional vortex…couldn’t afford to be if she was to escape unscathed.