Billionaires: They're powerful, hot, charming and richer than sin...

by Clare Connelly

  “Of course I’m sure. Do you really think I’d skip such an important day in my best friend’s life?”

  “No,” Juanita stopped sulking and settled her legs beneath her. “So tell me about him.”

  “I’ve told you, he’s an arrogant pig.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Juanita waved her hand through the air, sending her bangles clattering together. “I bought that the first time around, but not now. You’re going away with him to a sultry, Mediterranean city. Hello, romance!”

  “Romance?” Carrie shook her head, a smile playing around her lips as she folded a selection of Liberty print dresses into her bag. “Do you know me but at all?”

  Juanita grinned. “I know you better than anyone, remember?”

  “Well, this is work. Whatever I think of Gael personally, he’s offering NewNetwork more money than I could have imagined. So if he needs me to go to Spain to finalise our contracts, I’ll go.”

  “Sure, if you say so…”

  “I mean it, Juanita. Now, where’s my straightener?” She furrowed her brow and then remembered putting it in her Ted Baker tote two days earlier.

  She might have been going for a week, but it still warranted a rather full suitcase. “You’ll be okay with Miss Kitty?”

  “Of course. She’s a dear.” Juanita was doing a noble impersonation of someone who liked felines, but in actuality, she found them scratchy and malting, and would prefer not to get within ten feet of any animal – cat, dog or bird.

  Carrie laughed and shook her head from side to side. “Just put food out for her each morning and try to pat her back every now and again.”

  “Tom will help me,” Juanita said, the most reassuring comment she could have come up with.

  “Thanks, babes. I’ll see you on Sunday.” Carrie kissed her best friend on the cheek, and felt a tug of true affection. “And don’t worry about me. I’m under control.”

  Two hours later, sitting in one of Gael Vivas’s private jets, waiting for him to arrive, she desperately wished it were true. Her stomach was a flutter of nerves, and her fingers seemed unable to keep still. She had dressed with care for the flight. A pair of skinny black pants, and a floating turquoise shirt gave her an air of businesslike authority, while also perfectly suiting the more casual nature of their trip. It had the added bonus of flattering her slender shape and bringing out the blue in her eyes. She was as prepared as she could be. Or so she thought.

  But the minute Gael arrived on the tarmac, her blood pressure skyrocketed. She knew he was there before she actually saw him, because one of the Vivas branded stewards moved to the top of the stairs and pasted a welcoming smile on her face. Then, there was the sound of his shoes, firm and confident, on the metallic stairs, and finally, Gael. Looming large and imposing, backlit in the frame of the aeroplane door. His eyes scanned the flight and when they landed on her, in a bank of four armchair like seats, he seemed to visibly relax.

  Not so, Carrie. She swallowed through a throat that felt suddenly lined with razor blades. He’d changed too, into a pair of black jeans and a button up shirt made of a pale blue and white check. His eyes, those eyes that had stared through her dreams for years on end, were fixed on her face now, and Carrie was powerless to look away.

  “Good morning,” he said with a small smile. He took the seat opposite her, but no part of their bodies touched. And Carrie was aching to touch him. In fact, if they’d been completely alone, she would have been tempted to cross the small space between them and straddle him, to kiss him hard on the lips and tell him she couldn’t wait to make love with him again.

  “Hello.” Her long lashes fanned down onto her cheeks. “Did you sleep well?” She dared to ask, confident none of the flight crew were within earshot.

  His smile was tight; unwelcoming. “I never sleep well in hotels.”

  Carrie kept her expression neutral, but inside her chest, her heart was hammering. Why was he being so closed off? What had changed? Was he annoyed that she hadn’t spent the night?

  “You must be looking forward to getting back to Barcelona then?” She persisted, though why she was trying to make conversation with him, she couldn’t have said.

  His eyes met hers, and the mockery in them was unmistakable. “Barcelona is not my home either.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No. I have a villa elsewhere. Barcelona is where my offices are, and where I therefore keep an apartment.”

  “I see.” Carrie lowered her eyes then, refusing to let him see that she was hurt by his cold manner.

  “Put your seatbelt on, Carrie. We’ll be taking off momentarily.”

  She did as he said without risking another glance in his direction. The plane began to move at high speed along the tarmac, and Carrie told herself that the dipping sensation in her stomach was because of the change in speed and altitude, not the change in Gael’s manner.

  When she’d left him sometime before midnight, he’d seemed… she frowned. She’d been so wrapped up in her own confused reflections that she hadn’t really noticed his manner. Her body had seemed on fire, and her feet had felt as though they were gliding through the hotel.

  How had he been? Had that fog of desire and satisfaction not engulfed him in the same way it had devoured her?

  She settled back in her chair and stared out of the window. Beneath them, London spread like a web of homes, a knotty, busy city, connected by streets and pavements and the lifeblood of the Thames at its heart. The city faded further and further away, until a bump of clouds obscured it from view altogether. Carrie continued to stare through the window, but she was seeing Gael, trying to recall his words as she’d left.

  “You are deliberately choosing to ruin this.”

  She’d laughed, and promised that there was nothing to ruin.

  Was he smarting over that? Was he offended?

  Her eyes flicked to him of their own accord. He was absorbed in a document on his iPad, his face contemplative, his attention focussed. She looked away quickly, before he could catch her staring.

  Only twenty minutes out of London the plane hit turbulence. It bounced high, surfing over the fluffiest of clouds, before pitching lower and shaking back and forth. All thought of remaining aloof flew from Carrie’s mind, in a terrified moment of fear.

  Carrie had been a nervous flyer all her life. She’d put it down to childish stupidity, but now, a grown woman, and she still panicked at the slightest hint of weather.

  Gael saw the way her hands gripped the arms of her seat. Curious, he placed his work aside and leaned back a little, to watch her closely. Carrie squeezed her eyes shut and began to repeat something over and over again. He leaned closer, as if pulled by magnetic force. Just a cloud, just a cloud, just a cloud, just a cloud, she was repeating, her lips moving swiftly over the incantation which, he guessed, was designed to calm her.

  The plane rolled again, and Carrie’s eyes flew open. He knew he would never forget the terror in her expression. “Gael,” she cried, her hands in her lap.

  “The pilot will go above it,” he promised, in what he hoped was a soothing voice. Having never suffered from any kind of flying anxiety, he wasn’t sure exactly what he could say that would usefully ease her abject fear.

  “Gael,” she whispered again, her face white as a sheet.

  Instinct took over as he unbuckled his seat belt and came to sit in the chair beside her. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. The plane dipped again and she squealed, short and sharp, and lifted her hands to cover her face.

  It was such a surprising reaction from a woman who seemed almost always completely in control of her emotions that Gael felt a pull in his chest. “Carrie,” he said quietly. “You need to relax. I don’t like the idea of you having a heart attack in my jet.”

  She nodded, and made a visible effort to pull herself together. “I’m okay,” she promised, but as soon as another bump hit them, she squealed again.

  Gael had no choice, then, but to hold her t
ight. He kept an arm around her shoulders, and the other hand he surrendered to her grip. She squeezed it every time the plane so much as shuddered, so that, by the time they landed in Barcelona, he was certain his forearm would show bruising. The wheels of the plane scraped along the tarmac, and only when it came to a complete stop, did Carrie let out a long, slow breath.

  “I’m never flying again,” she whispered, her eyes wide. And then, as if realising where she was, and who with, she blinked to clear the fear from her eyes. She carefully donned her mask of casual haughtiness and leaned away from Gael’s touch. “I’m sorry for my behaviour. I’ve always had a silly fear of flying.”

  “That, Carrie, was not a fear of flying. You are terrified. You need professional counselling to overcome this.”

  “Nonsense,” she said stiffly, angry at herself for the weakness she’d displayed. “I just wasn’t prepared for such turbulence. I’m surprised your pilot didn’t warn us that the weather would be bumpy.”

  Gael’s expression flashed with guilt. The pilot had told him. Gael had simply not thought it relevant to mention to his passenger.

  “It’s not unusual, turbulence such as that. It’s a stormy crossing.”

  “Anyway,” she said with a small shiver, willing a change in topic. “We’re here now.” Her eyes held a warning. A note of caution. “Let’s get down to work.”

  He nodded. “Fine. My driver will—,”

  She shook her head and when she spoke, her tone was business like, with no evidence of her travel trauma in sight. “I’ve organised my own car. I’ll check into my hotel and meet you in your offices within an hour.”

  Gael was obviously surprised by this turn of events, which, if she was honest, had been her plan. “You will be staying with me, Carrie.”

  She laughed then, with true amusement. “You must be kidding. That would be a recipe for complete disaster.”

  “My apartment is three stories. It’s central. You would, of course, have your own room.”

  She nodded. “I appreciate your… thoughtfulness, Gael. But we both know it would distract us from … work.”

  “I don’t let anything distract me from my work. Not even you, Carrie. If you think you have that power over me, then you’ve seriously misunderstood who I am.”

  Carrie looked away from him, on the pretence of unbuckling her seatbelt. She wished she could share his confidence. In truth, she wasn’t sure she understood anything about what was going on between them. Her smile, when she looked at him, was curt and pained.

  “It will simplify things if we keep matters separate.”

  He stared at her long and hard, before shrugging his broad shoulders. “Suit yourself.” He reached into his pocket and lifted out a cream coloured card. He handed it to her, and when their fingers met, she felt the now familiar burst of electricity tingle inside of her. She looked at it and thought that if she had Juanita’s swatch she could have identified the exact shade of cream used to give it such a stunning design.

  “I’ll meet you in your office once I’m settled,” she murmured.

  “No,” he frowned, and a little crease formed between his eyes. She ached to reach up and smooth it. “Where are you staying?”

  “Downtown.” Her response was purposefully vague.

  He noticed and shook his head. “There is a restaurant called El Gallo. Google it and you will see the address. Meet me there at two.”

  “Two?” She looked at her watch with the hint of a frown. It was only eleven o’clock.

  “I returned to Barcelona because I have to work, Carrie. I cannot delay my morning. Let us lunch together.”

  Carrie frowned. “A working lunch,” she clarified.

  And then, he smiled. It was dazzling, transforming his whole face. “You will be working. I will enjoy being convinced by you.” He reached up and ran a finger down her cheek, as though he couldn’t resist the contact. Then, he pressed his lips to hers for the briefest, sweetest kiss.

  It was over in an instant. “My staff will guide you through the airport. Do not be late to lunch.”

  She nodded, her heart in her throat.

  “And Carrie?” He paused at the top of the stairs, poised to exit the jet.

  She looked at him expectantly, and she understood the expression of waiting with baited breath. For she held her own, and her eyes clung to his frame; a spell seemed to weave around them – magical and glowing.

  “I will order your food for you. There will be no salads.”

  She frowned, not sure why he felt the need to make such a ridiculous point. Then, she shrugged. “It’s your city, your food. Whatever.”

  A hint of something like victory glowed in his eyes. He nodded and turned away from her. As his car cruised off the tarmac, away from the airport, Gael let out a pent up breath.

  Returning to Spain always, without fail, filled him with a sense of pleasure and relief; a feeling of inner-peace that was otherwise lacking in his busy life. He loved Spain. He loved everything about it. The people. The climate. The buildings. The brightness. But a pervasive sense of frustration followed him that morning. As the sleek limousine cruised through the city streets, pushing closer and closer to El Poblenou and the jewel of his corporate crown, Torre Vivas, Gael forced his mind to focus on the meetings that had brought him back to Barcelona.

  The takeover of one of Spain’s largest hotel chains made the investment he was considering in NewNetwork look like small change; if that. Negotiations had been dragging for over fourteen months, and he was finally at the stage of bringing it to a close. The price was a third less than the group had originally been seeking. Gael had done that. He’d been prepared to walk away from the deal unless it was completely on his terms.

  The amount he wanted to spend.

  The timeline he dictated.

  The hotels he wanted.

  The deal would only proceed once he could be sure that every aspect met with his personal satisfaction. It was the way he worked in business, and in life.

  He was scowling, as the car drove into the underground car park beneath Torre Vivas, the stunning high-rise that had flamboyantly curved edges in a tribute to Gaudi. It was another detail Gael had insisted on – honouring that architectural genius who had been responsible for so much of the city’s fame and unique appeal.

  “Thank you, Henri,” he said distractedly in his own language, as he strode straight into the waiting elevator.

  Carrie was a ghost, haunting his every step.

  Without a doubt, she was the sexiest woman he’d ever met. He felt a click of ache in his gut when he thought of not being with her all day. He remembered her kneeling before him, her eyes locked on his as her mouth moved over him intimately. And he groaned softly into the silent cubicle that was hurtling him towards his office on the top floor.

  “Carrie, Carrie, Carrie,” he murmured under his breath, not sure if he was happy or angry at this unpredictable turn of events. Unlike every other woman he’d been with, he suspected he would not find it easy to walk away from her.

  What had she said the other night? That it had never taken her longer than a week to get a man out of her system? Well, for Gael, it had never been much more than a night, maybe two.

  And yet after Friday, he’d been tormented by memories of her all weekend. He’d sworn he would leave London without contacting her. If she hadn’t come to his hotel, to meet with the hapless young Noris Newman, would he have weakened? Might he have contacted her and tried to see her again?

  His frown deepened. The lift doors opened and he strode down the plush corridors of his office, his eyes locked forward to avoid the necessity of acknowledging any of his executive team. Ordinarily, Gael would have nodded curtly or even smiled, but not that morning. A storm cloud of swirling confusion hung over his head.

  The thought of leaving London without Carrie sat like a noose around his neck. Breathing became difficult, and his throat burned. Surely once he’d left, he would have forgotten her. Would have been able to co
mpartmentalise her into the ‘no longer matters’ section of his brain, where he sent all ex-lovers to reside.

  Even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. If nothing else, Carrie was the daughter of his father’s wife. Technically, his step-sister.

  He groaned again, shouldering his way into his enormous corner office, his eyes closed against the thought.

  She had been a teenager when he’d been twenty nine, and already a successful billionaire. The gap in their age and experience was not diminished, despite the fact that she was now twenty three.

  What did he want from her?

  She still had a decade of fun and exploration before she needed to even think about settling down.

  He froze, his face contorted in shock.

  He didn’t want to settle down. And definitely not with Carrie. She was stunning, and sexually out-of-this-world, but she had also become the kind of woman he despised. She had morphed into the kind of woman his father Diego had left his mother for.

  Gabriella Vivas – she’d never remarried, and had kept her husband’s name long after his desertion – would never welcome Carrie. And Gael had no interest in doing anything as ridiculous as introducing his mother to his latest lover.

  That was all Carrie was. His lover. Someone incredibly sexy, whom he happened to be engaged in business with.

  That was why their relationship, such as it was, would last longer than his usual affairs. Business. Business and pleasure.

  But he could walk away whenever he wanted. He could leave without a backwards glance.

  He just wasn’t ready to … yet.

  7

  For the tenth time in as many minutes, Carrie fought the urge to look towards the door. It was well past two o’clock, and still there was no sign of Gael. She stared with concentration at the empty chair across from her, and fought a growing tide of hurt. The very presence of such a weak emotion infuriated her. She took a deep breath and tried to let the emotions go, but they seemed to whirl inside of her, like a hose that had been dropped, spreading water in circles.

  She leaned back in the chair, affecting a posture of relaxation and caught the attention of a passing waiter. He was young and handsome, dressed all in black, with a smile that seemed to make his whole face shine. For the briefest of moments, she felt a childish impulse to say something flirtatious to him, in the hope that Gael might arrive at that precise moment and observe their exchange. That it might wound him, as his current lateness was wounding her. He greeted her in Spanish, but at her lost expression, switched easily to her native language. “Hello,” he said, his smile broadening. “I always like a chance to practice my English. Can I get you something to drink? Eat?”