If she had to suffer his company then for the children’s sake she would gladly accept it.
Her head might term it as suffering, but her body had a different word for the reaction provoked by being in the close confines of the car with him. It was familiar torture: her lungs tight, her pulse loose, her skin alive with awareness.
She breathed out slowly and peeked at him from the corner of her eye. Her heart swelled to see his sleeves rolled up, his tanned left arm resting on the ledge of the open window. Unlike most people with his wealth, Raul preferred to drive himself unless he was drinking. The first of his birthdays that they’d celebrated together, she’d bought him a day’s racing at a racetrack. He’d been too well-bred to tell her he’d already raced on it a dozen times, happy that she’d bought something that actually meant something to him.
They’d been happy then. She’d been happy then.
She blinked the memories away and fixed her gaze on the road ahead.
A few minutes later they were at the heliport where his pilot awaited them, ready to take them back to Barcelona.
* * *
Charley stared up at Raul’s home with a definite sense of awe and trepidation.
‘When did you move in here?’ she asked.
‘A year ago,’ came the curt reply.
In direct contrast to the old villa, which had been set in a private enclave by the beach, Raul’s new villa was located in the exclusive neighbourhood of Avenida Tibidabo. Surrounded by high-security gates that in turn were lined with palm trees, the villa was three-storey, with cream outer walls and turrets, all topped with terracotta roofs.
Intuition told her she was walking into a trap, although she couldn’t fathom what it could be. Once she knew exactly what he wanted from her she’d deal with it. It was the not knowing that made her feel so tense, that and being back in the company of the man whose masculinity she’d always found so very potent. It shamed her that even now, after so much water had passed beneath the bridge, her body was as alert to him as it had always been.
The villa’s differences internally were as marked as the location. The home they’d shared by the beach, although just as grand, had been modern. This villa was steeped in splendour, with mosaicked floors and high, arched frescoed ceilings, a sense of history breathing through the whitewashed walls.
Here was the evidence, if she hadn’t already guessed it by his two years of silence, that Raul had moved on.
She swallowed the acrid taste that had formed in the back of her throat. ‘Where are the staff?’ At this time of day the house should be teeming with activity, especially on a Monday.
‘I told the household staff to take the day off.’ Raul’s eyes gleamed with something she couldn’t interpret. ‘I thought it best for us to be alone.’
Low, down in the juncture of her thighs, heat pulsed and licked through her veins.
How could she still react to him like that, as if the past two years had never happened?
She rubbed her arms, her trepidation growing with each passing second. ‘What are the terms you want to talk about? Only, I’m working at the centre tomorrow and want to get back to Valencia before it gets late.’
‘We can talk while we eat.’
She followed him through to a dining room with huge windows that looked out onto the villa’s gardens. The sun shone down, beaming on the manicured lawn and the abundance of flowers and shrubs.
A long dark wood table had been set for two. Raul pulled a chair out for her. ‘Lunch has been prepared for us. Make yourself at home.’
Home? She gagged at the thought. This would never be her home. In a few weeks they would be officially divorced. She was almost counting the days.
She sat gingerly, running her fingers over the silver cutlery in silent contemplation.
Any moment now and his real motive for bringing her here would be revealed. She doubted it was to do with the money. Unlike Charley, who’d proven herself to be a spectacular failure in business, her husband had a habit of turning whatever he touched into gold. Much as she tried to avoid reading media reports on him, it was like telling a child not to touch the nice shiny toy in the corner. Already worth hundreds of millions, he’d sold the technology firm he’d founded and run before his father’s stroke had forced him to take over the running of the Cazorla luxury hotel chain. The sale had earned him a reported two and a half billion euros. Since taking over the family firm he’d added a fleet of aeroplanes and half a dozen brand spanking new cruise liners to the stable.
Simply speaking, her husband was worth more than entire countries.
If she’d taken her lawyer’s advice she could have taken a good slice of his wealth, far exceeding the ten million he’d transferred into her account without consulting her. She hadn’t wanted to take even that, had left it untouched for months. It was Raul’s money, not hers. She’d contributed nothing to it so why should she have a claim to it?
She’d spent enough of his money during their marriage as it was.
He came back into the dining room carrying a platter of antipasto: deli meats, marinated vegetables, roasted peppers and sundried tomatoes, olives, cheese, rustic breads...all her favourite bites. And to think this was only the first course...
He poured her a glass of the red wine that had been left to breathe on the table, then raised his glass in a toast before swallowing half his wine and taking the seat beside her.
Charley couldn’t bear it a moment longer. ‘This all looks delicious and I thank you, but I can’t eat anything until you tell me what your terms are.’
Helping himself to a little of everything before them, Raul took a bite of some bread then fixed his eyes on her as he ate. Once he’d swallowed and taken another drink of his wine, he answered. ‘I am prepared to give you the money you need to buy the building and for all the renovations that will be needed to make the day care centre fit for purpose.’
She returned his stare, waiting for the catch that was surely coming.
‘When do you have to get the renovations done by?’ he asked. ‘Four months, was it?’
‘Yes. The new owners agreed to give us six months to relocate.’ She watched him with caution. ‘Two of those months have already gone.’
The owner of the building that housed Poco Rio had died unexpectedly, leaving the team who worked there rudderless. Worse still, his family had not shared his sentimentality and opted to sell to a developer, only telling the staff about it when it was a done deal.
‘Four months to complete the purchase and the renovations?’
‘It sounds like a long time but it isn’t. We need to make it as safe and as suitable for the children’s needs as it can possibly be. Walls need to be knocked down, doorways need to be extended...’
Raul made a dismissive motion with his hand. ‘All of that can be discussed when we have reached an agreement.’
‘But what is it you want me to agree to?’ she asked in bewilderment. ‘The centre receives sufficient funds to repay any loan.’
His lips curved upwards. It was like looking at a sensuous shark. ‘As I said earlier, I will not be giving you a loan. With your track record, who knows when I will get it back?’
Her ire, already simmering at his mocking attitude, rose. ‘I already told you...’
‘You have the business acumen of a child. I trust your figures as much as I trust your judgement.’
‘My judgement must have been seriously off when I married you.’
She regretted her hotly spat words before they’d left her tongue. So much for not antagonising him until the deal was done.
Raul’s smile remained but his eyes had turned to ice. ‘It is a shame you feel that way but it’s not a sentiment I happen to share.
‘When I say giving I do not mean it in the literal sense. I will require a form of
payment but not one of monetary value.’
She’d known it. From the minute she’d got into his car she’d known there was a catch involved.
‘My condition for giving you the money and for giving your project all the skills and expertise at my disposal is modest. I want you back in my bed and living with me as my wife until the work on the new building is complete.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE COLOUR DRAINED so quickly from Charley’s face that Raul braced himself to steady her should she faint.
Then the colour returned, her cheeks staining a dark, angry red.
‘What do you mean, live as your wife? We’re getting a divorce.’
‘Which we can put on hold.’ Deliberately he drained his wine. ‘If you want this new home for the centre, then that’s the payment I require.’
‘But why? Of all the things you could want, why that? Until Saturday night we hadn’t spoken in almost two years. Our marriage is dead.’
‘Our divorce isn’t finalised.’ He swallowed a plump black olive. ‘We will put it on hiatus until the renovation work is complete and the centre reopened.’
‘I don’t see why that means we have to pretend to be back together.’
‘There won’t be any pretence about it. But to answer your question, I will be donating a considerable amount of money to your project and I want to be there to make sure you don’t give up on it halfway through.’
‘I would never do that.’
‘You founded three different businesses in our time together. They all failed because you lost interest, failed to take the good advice I gave you, and let things slip. I won’t just be backing this project; I’ll be taking control of it.’
She winced at his cold assessment of her failures but understood his meaning immediately. ‘You haven’t the faintest idea what the project entails or what’s needed for the renovations.’
‘You will be by my side to assist me. Think of it as a learning curve. Four months to learn how to run a business properly rather than rely upon guesswork. After all,’ he continued, ‘it won’t be my bank balance that suffers if you fail but the children and families you’ve made promises to.’
More angry colour flooded her cheeks. Her green eyes darkened, her fury as easy to read as a book.
He refused to feel any sympathy.
Charley loved children. He’d seen that from the first. They’d discussed starting a family of their own and he’d shown great patience in her request that they wait a few years so she could make something of herself first.
He’d lavished her with everything she desired.
In return she’d denied him what he desired: the baby she’d promised.
Together they would have created the perfect family.
He’d imagined their unborn child a thousand times, imagined how different a parent he would be from his own father. Not for his child the feeling of being worthless. His children’s achievements would be celebrated, their failures whether minor or major understood and forgiven, their opinions valued. He would have shown his father what being a father was really about. It was everything his father hadn’t been.
‘Take control of the project if you must,’ Charley said, a tremor racing through her voice. ‘Be the big alpha man you are and throw your weight and money around as you always do. So long as the centre reopens in four months’ time I don’t care how it’s done, but there is no need to go through a charade of us being back together.’
He clenched his hands into fists, straining not to react to her inflammatory words. Taking control of situations where he was the most suitable person to take charge was not akin to throwing his weight around. She made him sound like a tyrant, which, he was certain, was deliberate. His wife might be uneducated but she was not stupid. Regardless, he would keep his cool even if she couldn’t.
‘I fail to see what your issue is,’ he said, channelling his composure. ‘You were happy to tell your bank manager the barefaced lie that we’re back together when it suited you. This arrangement suits me but in this case it will not be a lie. For four months you will live with me as my wife and then you will be free to resume your life. But this time our marriage will end on my terms.’
Already he could taste the satisfaction that would bring. It might even taste as sweet as having his wife back in his bed.
The wildness he’d sensed in her from that first look had translated into the bedroom. Making love to her had always been out of this world. Whether it was hard and fast or slow and sweet, their passion for each other had been unquantifiable.
‘This is your pride talking, isn’t it? Because I had the nerve to leave you? You want to humiliate me?’
‘Not at all,’ he answered with deliberate smoothness, counteracting the vibrations emanating from her delectable frame. A charge flickered through his loins to see her face become the same colour it rose to when in the throes of passion. ‘You want my help and I’m prepared to give it to you but in return I want payment—and the only form of payment you are in a position to make is with your body.’
She pushed her chair back as if she’d been scalded and got to her feet. ‘You want me to prostitute myself?’
‘I’m merely requesting that you, my wife, return to the marital bed for a fixed period and in that period you make yourself available to me wherever and whenever I require.’
The charge in his loins tightened at the thought of her doing whatever pleased him. All those years when he’d done everything in his power to please her, in bed and out...now the tables had turned and it was her subjugation he required. For a limited time.
Yes, four months should serve him perfectly. During their marriage they’d spent a substantial amount of time apart, the distance always stoking the flames of lust so when they were together they made the most of every minute. This time, he would keep her by his side continuously so the lust they shared would finally be slaked and he could walk away from her without a backwards glance. Just as she had walked away from him.
Charley’s legs felt wobbly. Everything felt wobbly. She hadn’t touched a morsel of food, knew she wouldn’t be able to swallow it past her throat.
‘In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never hated you.’ Her body trembling, she forced her eyes to keep their gaze on his cool, unflinching stare. ‘I hate you right now, more than I thought it was possible to hate another human being.’
He rose and, although he smiled down at her, his eyes were like ice. ‘I don’t care for your hate any more than I care for your love.’ He reached out a hand and slipped it under the open top buttons of her blouse to rest on her collarbone.
She didn’t want to react to the feel of his warm fingers on her skin...
She held her breath, his touch setting off a charge within her, certain he must be able to feel the hammering of her heart.
It was the first time he’d touched her in so, so long.
His voice dropped to a murmur. ‘I am willing to give you what you want. Are you willing to give me what I want? Because, let us speak frankly, it’s the only thing you’re any good at.’
If his thumb hadn’t found the exact spot on her neck that always sent tingles of need and delight rippling through her, Charley might have reacted to his words a little quicker. As it was, it took a few moments for them to sink in and when they did she wrenched his hand away and pushed at his chest.
‘How dare you reduce me to nothing but a plaything? I’m not a sex toy.’
The ice in his eyes melted into a gleam, as if he’d accepted a challenge. He reclosed the gap between them, trapping her against the table. ‘You never had a problem being my sex toy before.’
Heat streamed through her at the feel of him pressed against her, all the memories she’d spent six hundred and thirty-five days trying to forget pouring into her mind.
She had lusted after him from their first conversation.
He’d been like no one she’d met before. Outrageously handsome, ridiculously wealthy...everything a young woman of twenty could wish for in a man. Prince Charming had come to life and it was her slipper he wanted. Was it any wonder her head had been turned?
And the sex... Never had she imagined such carnal responses existed within her, the same responses that were flashing back to life now, at the time when she needed her head clear to deal with what he was demanding of her.
It had been her own misfortune that she’d mistaken lust for love and married him. What they’d shared should never have been more than a summer fling.
As hard as she’d tried to fit in—and she’d tried so hard—she didn’t belong in his world. She was a badly educated south-east London girl; elocution lessons paid for by her husband had knocked most of her mild cockney accent out of her. She’d come from a broken family where finances were erratic. Raul had grown up with wealth and social standing and had all the arrogance such an upbringing instilled.
They couldn’t have been more wrong for each other if they’d got a computer program to determine their worst matches.
But the computer would have got their desire for each other right.
‘That was when I loved you,’ she said hoarsely. For love had grown from the lust, a greater love than she’d ever imagined could exist. Leaving him had been easy. Staying away had been almost unbearable.
And now that love had twisted into hate. But the desire was still there, however deeply she’d thought she’d buried it. ‘If you ever felt anything for me you wouldn’t ask for such a...a despicable thing from me.’
‘Oh, I still feel a great deal for you.’ He swept his fingers up her neck, pressing even closer.
The Perfect Cazorla Wife Page 3