The Perfect Cazorla Wife

by Michelle Smart

  She dug her still-too-short nails into her palms, far too aware of his warm fingers holding her, his hot breath sensitising her skin... How could she still want him?

  Something hot flickered in her belly, a resolve that pushed through her fury, taming it enough so she loosened her fists and laced her fingers through his.

  So he wanted her, did he? Well, let him have her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  WITH CHARLEY’S FINGERS linked through his, Raul led her out of the empty room, down the wide landing and up a set of narrow wooden stairs to the top floor.

  As soon as they stepped over the threshold into his bedroom she dropped his hand, kicked her sandals off then marched over to stand in the centre of the room.

  Her eyes fixed on his, she tugged her top up and off.

  No sooner had her top hit the floor than she was undoing the buttons of her shorts and letting them drop to her feet, where she stepped out of them and kicked them away.

  He stood, transfixed at the scenario playing out before him, his eyes drinking in the unexpected striptease his wife was performing for him.

  Her green eyes flashing, she unclasped her white bra, which went the same way as the rest of her clothes, then pinched the sides of her matching knickers, skimming them down her hips from where gravity took care of the rest.

  When all her clothes were lying in a pool beside her, she put her hands on her hips and jutted out her chin.

  He made to step towards her but something held him back.

  Her eyes burned, but it wasn’t with desire. It was with defiance. Her whole body vibrated with it.

  ‘Well?’ she said, the challenge in her voice clear. ‘I’m here. I’m ready. I’m willing. If you want me, then take me.’

  Her figure was exquisite, with her full breasts and succulent nipples, the feminine swell of her abdomen and the rounded hips that topped long, shapely legs. At the juncture of her thighs lay the soft dark brown curls he’d once loved running his fingers over.

  He remembered the first time he’d seen her naked. At the time she’d been platinum blonde. He’d laughed when he’d pulled her knickers off and seen the dark hair there, the only evidence of her natural colouring. He’d especially liked kissing her there, that first time and all the others, feeling her excitement mount as she’d press upwards and into him, her gasps of pleasure seeping through his skin.

  Memories flooded him, vivid and colourful. His wife had always been putty in his hands. It would be so easy to kiss all that defiance away. The sweetest, easiest thing in the world.

  The heat running through his loins had turned the ache inside him into a form of pain.

  He ignored it.

  Folding his arms, he shook his head and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

  She trembled as he walked to her but her chin didn’t drop, not even when he reached an arm round to cup her bottom.

  ‘You want me to take you now, do you?’ he whispered, pulling her flush against him, tracing his fingers up her bare back, then gathering her thick mop of hair together and spearing his fingers through it.

  ‘You can do whatever you like,’ she whispered back, her breaths coming in shallow hitches.

  But when his lips met hers, he found her mouth unyielding.

  ‘You said I could do whatever I like.’

  ‘And you can. But that doesn’t mean I have to participate or enjoy it.’

  He tugged her hair back and stared into her insolent eyes. Anger flooded through him at the confirmation of the game she was playing. But he tempered it.

  She wanted to play?

  Nothing would give him greater pleasure.

  And she would learn that whatever game she played with him, she would never win.

  He released his hold on her and swept his fingers over her shoulders, down over her breasts, lightly pinching those gorgeous nipples, already hard with the arousal she wished to deny, in the way that had always made her moan.

  There were no moans this time, but her lips parted a fraction, her cheeks heightening with colour. The defiance remained.

  ‘Sit on the chair,’ he commanded, indicating the armchair in the corner of the room.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sit on the chair. You said I could do whatever I like, and what I would like is for you to sit on that chair.’

  She swallowed, looking at the chair as if it might be a trap.

  ‘I can carry you if you’d prefer?’

  Her eyes dilated at his words but her chin rose. She turned and walked to it, her back straight and her head high, goddess-like.

  When she sat down, her eyes met his. You can make me do anything you like but you won’t make me enjoy it, they said.

  Smiling, he stalked towards her and dropped to his knees. Without a word, he gripped her thighs and pulled her towards him so that his face was level with the place he so desperately wanted to taste. Just the thought of it made him want to plunge deep inside her.

  Instead, he mustered all his discipline and spread her thighs, waiting, teasing.

  She didn’t move, her body rigid.

  Whatever fight was occurring between Charley’s mind and body, her body was winning. He rubbed his thumb along the delicate folds, his eyes gleaming as he found her hot and moist. When his tongue finally found her, he gave a growl of appreciation.

  Her body remained unyielding, right until he found the rhythm he knew she loved. The tiniest of moans escaped from her.

  Keeping the pressure light but firm, his hands stroking the soft skin of her thighs and stomach, slowly but surely he felt her relax into his ministrations.

  He felt fit to burst himself, especially when her hands finally gripped his head, her fingers scraping at his scalp. She raised her hips to increase the pressure. Only by the skin of his teeth did he keep himself in check, intent only on her pleasure. Her moans deepened breath by breath until her body went rigid all over again...but this time in ecstasy.

  He kept his mouth and tongue exactly where they were, absorbing the shudders that racked through her right until she dropped her hold on him and lay back.

  His heart thumping painfully, Raul raised his head to look at her.

  She was staring at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling as if she were struggling to get air into her lungs.

  Not until he got to his feet did she deign to look at him. Her eyes were wide and dazed but he could see the defiance creeping back into them.

  How easy it would be to take off his trousers and free himself, to enter her, to obliterate the rising insolence in her eyes and bring her to a second climax.

  But that would be to let her win.

  In this game of desire there would only be one winner.

  When she opened her legs for him, he wanted her screaming his name not fighting it, and if he had to suffer to achieve that aim then so be it. He was a big boy. He would cope.

  ‘I’m going to take a shower. Get dressed. We’ll be going to dinner in an hour.’

  Without looking back, he strolled into one of the en suites, shut the door firmly behind him and stripped off his clothes.

  His erection hadn’t abated a touch.

  * * *

  The Cazorla family home was in a private enclave as exclusive as the one Raul’s current house was in. As they neared it the coil in Charley’s belly pulled ever tighter.

  Of all the times to have to dine with her in-laws, now had to rank as the worst possible. All she wanted to do was lock herself away in a dark room, go to sleep, and pretend what had happened between her and Raul a few short hours ago had never occurred.

  Her skin felt as sensitised as she’d ever known it, the movement of her clothes against her body heightening the sensations. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her eyes flittering t
o Raul’s hands, those long, dark fingers holding the steering wheel like a caress, and imagining them running over her body and dipping between her legs...

  When he’d gone for his shower, leaving her naked on the seat, the humiliation of it all had been almost too much to bear. That his intention had been to humiliate was all the spur she’d needed to drag herself up and into the other en suite. This had a surprisingly feminine feel to it with its soft, muted creams and whites; a total contrast to the rest of his vast room, which covered the entire top floor and was masculine to its core.

  It was bad enough having come undone so thoroughly at his hands, or tongue to be precise, but she would not give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d bested her emotionally too.

  Raul wanted her total subjugation. Hell would freeze over before she gave it to him. The only good thing she could cling to was that he hadn’t bothered to tell her of their destination until they’d got into the car. Dining out was a way of life for him and she’d assumed they were off to yet another restaurant. On the nights he was home, which when they’d been properly married had been around fifty per cent of the time, they would both dress up and head out for the evening, sometimes with friends, sometimes just the two of them. It had reached the stage where she didn’t think there was a restaurant in the whole of Barcelona she hadn’t dined in.

  ‘They do know I’m coming with you, don’t they?’ she asked for the second time, unable to believe how nervous she felt at the thought of being with his family again.

  ‘I have no wish to provoke my mother to a heart attack,’ he replied with a lazy smile. ‘I can assure you, there is nothing for you to worry about. My family are nothing if not polite.’

  That was true. One thing the entire Cazorla family did well was putting on a good front in any given situation.

  The butler greeted them at the door, a discreet Englishman who had been with the family for years and had never once made any reference to the shared country he and Charley came from.

  Lucetta and Marta Cazorla, Raul’s mother and sister respectively, were in the drawing room awaiting their arrival. Both were dressed impeccably, as if they were heading off to a night at the opera, something Raul had once taken Charley to and which, to her shame, she had fallen asleep through.

  She wondered when Raul would comment on her own attire. He’d given her a sharp glance but hadn’t said anything.

  If she’d known they were coming here before she’d got in the car, she would have made a greater effort than the casual inky-coloured silk trousers with the tapered legs and the silk blush-pink roll-neck top. On her feet were flat snakeskin-effect sandals. She knew her outfit would hold its own at any restaurant but in the Cazorla household...she might as well have come dressed in her pyjamas.

  It shouldn’t matter to her. In the days after she’d left she’d gone through her wardrobe and removed every item that had been purchased for its suitability for Raul Cazorla’s wife and not for personal style or comfort. She’d donated ninety per cent of her wardrobe to charity and vowed never to wear anything again that wasn’t her.

  All the same, Lucetta and Marta had always been good to her, especially Marta, who, when Charley had first come into Raul’s life, had been tasked with the job of turning Charley into a mini version of herself. Under Raul’s directive, Marta had taken her to Barcelona’s most exclusive shopping arcade and had taken great delight in finding a brand-new wardrobe for her.

  Although not as direct in her enthusiasm for Raul’s new bride, Lucetta had gone out of her way to make Charley feel a valued member of the family. Charley had never been able to shake the feeling that Lucetta’s friendliness towards her was motivated by what she thought to be an acceptable way to behave towards a daughter-in-law, rather than out of any real affection. She would have treated the Bride of Frankenstein with the same graciousness. But she had done her best to be welcoming and, for that, Charley would always have affection for her.

  Dressing up and looking the part was something that mattered greatly to both Cazorla women, and for them Charley would have put on a dress and heels. Not silly heels that would leave her feet begging for mercy though. Three inches would have sufficed. Something to show she’d made an effort.

  As it was, both faces lit up to see her walk through the door. If either was disappointed in her outfit or at seeing her again, it was hidden under a wave of perfumed embraces and air kisses.

  An Adonis, a dry-sherry-based cocktail that was wonderfully moreish, was thrust into her hand by Marta, who linked her arm through Charley’s with a grin.

  ‘It is so good to see you,’ she said, resting her head on Charley’s shoulder. ‘I always knew you’d see sense and come back to him.’

  Charley met Raul’s eyes and read the warning contained in them.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you too,’ she answered, brushing aside the comment. She didn’t want to lie to Marta, who had become a good friend, the two of them keeping in touch secretly after Charley had left Raul.

  She took a sip, the taste reminding her of the time she and Marta had drunk so many of the cocktails before a meal they’d been unable to eat a bite, collapsing in giggles on a sofa much to the amusement of Raul and Marta’s fiancé at the time, Fabio. Lucetta had been away, which had no doubt explained Marta’s low inhibitions.

  Raul had really taken care of her that night, she remembered. In the morning he’d handed her a glass of water and a couple of painkillers without a word of reproach, then climbed back into bed and held her, making sure not to squeeze her too tightly.

  The tender memories sent a jolt through her.

  Sometimes it was easy to only remember the bad stuff but there had been good times too, especially at the beginning.

  Watching him now, chatting with his mother, she noticed the physical distance he kept between them. There was respect there but little affection.

  After a few minutes of small talk, the wide dining-room door opened and Eduardo Cazorla, Raul’s father, was wheeled through.

  He looked exactly the same as when she’d last seen him, the left side of his face sagged and his hands arranged for him on his lap. Only his eyes, the same blue as his son and daughter’s, showed any sign of life, letting you know that behind his infirmity lay a mind as sharp as the day the stroke had robbed him of his body.

  When he caught sight of Charley, his eyes flickered to Raul, who did nothing but stare at his father with an expression that sent a shiver running up her spine. Goosebumps broke on her skin to see the same expression mirrored in his father’s eyes.

  Lucetta broke the ice, strolling to her husband and speaking to him in Spanish, her words too fast for Charley to understand anything but the gist of it, which seemed to be something along the lines of, ‘Raul and Charley are back together.’ As she explained the situation the butler entered the room to announce that dinner was ready.

  Charley was placed opposite Raul and next to Marta, Lucetta next to her son. Eduardo sat in his usual place at the head of the table, his nurse, a young, dark-haired woman, by his side feeding him.

  Seven courses were served in total. That was nothing; if Lucetta hosted a ‘proper’ dinner party, a minimum of a dozen courses would be served. They started with gazpacho, which was followed by calamares en su tinta, squid in their own ink, which was far tastier than it sounded. As they ate, Raul, as he always did at these family meals, gave them a rundown on what was happening with the family business, the staff he had hired or fired, the hotel he’d closed for decontamination after an outbreak of the norovirus, the profit from the air fleet that was almost double the projected estimate...

  And as he spoke, his words washing over her, Charley noticed how it all seemed to be aimed at his infirm father. And, for the first time, she noticed the challenge in the tone of his voice.

  Because this was surely how he had always spoken to him. She’d just never
noticed before how barbed his tone was or how pointed his stance.

  For the first time it occurred to her that the Cazorlas, for all their outward respectability, were as dysfunctional as her own family.

  There was Lucetta, the pillar of society.

  Eduardo, the infirm head of the house.

  Marta, the daughter with a mischievous streak that only came to the forefront when away from the stifling presence of her mother.

  And Raul. The man who had to be the best at everything.

  It was like observing a cleverly crafted game of manners in which everyone wore masks that hid anything resembling real emotion.

  After a two-year absence from this table, it was as if Charley had sat down with a brand-new pair of eyes.

  During her marriage she’d always felt intimidated in this house, terrified one of them would point a finger at her and expose her for being an imposter that no amount of expensive clothing or cosmetics could hide. Her fear had left her blind to what surrounded her.

  The past two years had been a chance for her to find herself again and, no matter what happened in the future, she was determined never to lose herself again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘WHEN DID YOU see my sister?’ Raul asked, as soon as he had driven clear of the house.

  She made no attempt to play innocent. ‘Which time are you on about?’

  So his hunch had been correct. It had been Marta’s lack of curiosity about what Charley had been doing these past few years that had roused his suspicions. Even when their mother had left the room, Marta hadn’t asked any of the questions he’d expected. It was because she’d already known the answers.

  ‘It has been more than once?’

  She sighed. ‘I’ve seen her a handful of times since we split.’

  ‘Am I correct in thinking this is something my mother is unaware of?’

  ‘We thought it best not to tell her because we knew she’d feel obliged to tell you.’

  That his mother certainly would have done.

  ‘Who instigated it?’