She changed into the bikini quickly, grabbed a towel from her bathroom and then silently opened the door, peering from behind it before stepping out, scanning left then right and finally tiptoeing to the door that led to the bridge. She held her breath the whole way, until she’d reached the pier. She thought about walking to the sand and making her way in from the shore, but what was the point? Beneath her, a turquoise ocean was waking up, stirring gently to life, and she didn’t want to delay being a part of it for a moment longer.
She dropped her towel onto the timber platform and then sat on the edge, dangling her feet over, enjoying the gentle feeling of cool that washed over her. Despite the fact the sun was not yet up, the night had been warm and sultry and a hint of that heat remained.
The water was instantly refreshing.
She braced her palms on either side of her and then slid in, gasping as the cool water rose up her body, all the way to her breasts. She swum then, a wide breaststroke, kicking through the water, running parallel to the beach as she knew the boardwalk did. It had been a long time since she’d swum for exercise – since school? She couldn’t recall.
But just like riding a bike, the strokes came back to her easily, and the rhythm was somehow meditative. She pushed through the water, until she was several hundred metres from the boat, and then she stopped, treading water and looking first to the island then to the yacht. All was still.
Not a hint of activity to suggest anyone was on board, but that didn’t change a thing. Addie knew Guy was there.
She ran her fingertips over the water, sighing heavily. Guy didn’t want to discuss the past, and though it pained her, she knew she had to respect that. And yet, the past was all around them. In every gesture, every touch, every word and every smile. The past was all around them and suddenly, it reached for Addie from the depths of the ocean, catching her and dragging her under.
*
SIX MONTHS EARLIER
He looked at her as though she was the only woman on earth. “You are beautiful tonight, Ava.” The words were throaty, heavy with the drugging sense of desire that always dogged them. She had become used to hearing that name on his lips. She’d even come to like it, though she had longed to hear him call her Adeline, or Addie, for weeks now. To look at her and see the truth of who she was.
“As are you.” Her smile deepened when he reached across and took her hand, lifting it to his lips. Their plates were empty between them, signs of a meal both had enjoyed.
Her body ached from the double shift she’d pulled, but it was a small price to pay to be able to go out with Guy at a normal time. To date him like a normal woman might, instead of working until the stroke of midnight and sneaking to his home, exhausted yet aching for the pleasure of his touch.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you in clothes,” he teased, subconsciously echoing her thoughts.
“And?” She purred. “Do you like?”
The dress was one of Cherie’s, a beautiful creation made of swirling black fabric, it clung to her slender frame, showing just a hint of cleavage, and ending inches above her knee.
“I like the idea of peeling it off you,” he amended. “But it’s certainly giving me a crash course in delayed gratification.”
“Excellent,” she murmured, sitting back in her chair and reaching for her drink. She sipped it through the small red straw, her eyes holding his so that she saw the moment his gaze dropped to her lips, chasing the action, watching the way she formed a perfect ‘o’ around the plastic.
“Tell me you don’t want dessert,” he said on a stifled groan, the intensity in his eyes giving her little doubt as to what he was suggesting.
“I don’t want dessert.”
“Excellent. Let’s go.” He stood, extending a hand to her. She placed hers in it and, as always, everything inside of her locked into place. Certainty, their future. She smiled as they walked towards the front of the restaurant, but her smile dropped the second she saw the woman behind the counter.
What in the world were the chances?
Lorraine?
“Adeline?” Lorraine’s cockney accent was somehow incongruous in the formality of the Michelin-starred restaurant. “What are you doing here?”
Addie squeezed her eyes shut for a second, her fingers curling into fists by her side, her nails digging into her palm.
“You not still on night shifts?”
Beside her, she was conscious of Guy’s every single reaction. His stiffening, his silence, his watchfulness. Bright heat flooded her face.
“Adeline, you look like you’ve seen a ghost! Did the other girls not tell you I was working ‘ere?”
Addie shook her head, finding speech almost impossible.
“Adeline? Are y’al’right?”
She nodded, clearing her throat and doing her best to find her voice. “Lorraine,” it came out as a weak croak. “No, I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Yeah, been about two months now. Much better than Reynolds. Tips are amazing,” she said with a meaningful wink at Guy.
Addie’s stomach rolled.
“How do you two know each other?” Guy’s question was innocent enough, but Addie felt every single bump of undercurrent.
“We used to work together,” she rushed the explanation out, hoping he would be satisfied with it.
“Oh,” he prompted silkily. “At the theatre?”
“Theatre?” Lorraine laughed. “Since when have you been at a theatre?” She laughed. “We was cleaning offices together. You know, through Reynolds? The contractor? Been what, three years now?”
Addie’s stomach was in knots, her face pale. She nodded though, seeing no sense in lying now. There was no way to get out of the situation. “Four,” she corrected distractedly, her eyes beseeching as they lifted to Guy’s.
No, not Guy’s.
Guillem Rodriguez, Spanish billionaire, from the powerful, influential Spanish family – as highly-regarded and ancient as royalty. Her throat was thick. She reached for his hand instinctively, only to find it not there. He was busy reaching for his black Amex, lifting it from a slim leather wallet and brandishing it towards Lorraine.
“Don’t miss those night shifts, I’ll tell you what,” Lorraine continued, apparently blissfully unaware of the tension that had filled the small foyer of the restaurant.
“I’ll bet,” Addie needed to get out of there.
Lorraine smiled at Guy and handed his credit card back. “Oh, Addie,” Lorraine said, just when Addie thought she might have been on the brink of escape. “I’m having a housewarming next week. Saturday night. Come along – I’ll text you the address.”
Addie nodded, though she couldn’t think beyond the next few minutes.
They stepped onto the cold London street, right into a flurry of late-night snow. Guy stared down at Addie but neither spoke. Addie wanted to, yet she couldn’t find any words. Instead, she watched and waited to see how he would react.
“Why did that woman call you Adeline?”
Her heart dropped. She hadn’t expected a direct question. Then again, how had she thought he would react?
“Ava?” He demanded sharply, when she didn’t answer.
Addie’s stomach swirled in knots.
“Tell me what the damned hell is going on.”
Addie nodded urgently. “I’m… Guy… I…”
His eyes narrowed. “Is there a reason you have been using the wrong name?” His eyes were speculative. “And why you didn’t tell me you are a cleaner?”
Was she imagining the derision in his voice? The disparagement of such a menial job?
Hell, Guillem Rodriguez had cleaners, he didn’t date them.
She shook her head quickly. “I didn’t mean… I wasn’t trying to lie to you,” she said quickly.
“Then your name is really Ava and you are a theatrical actress?”
She fanned her eyes shut, and shook her head slowly. “But I can explain…”
“Explain?” He demanded
harshly, his tone rich with disbelief. “Somehow I doubt that. But by all means, Ava, try.” He was visibly withdrawing from her, pulling back, distancing himself from the intimacy that had sucked them both in during the month they’d spent together.
“Adeline. My name is Adeline,” she whispered. Now that he knew her name, he might as well use it.
He jerked his head, as if rejecting her entreaty. “Why have you been lying to me?”
Addie sucked in a shaking breath, reaching a hand for his chest, seeking comfort, needing touch.
“I didn’t … I didn’t mean to. I never meant to lie.”
“But you have been.” The words were scathing. He puffed his chest, his eyes homing in on her with a ruthlessness she had never thought him capable of. At least, not towards her. “You disgust me. You, and women like you. God, I thought you were different! But you’re just the same as all the others. What did you want? Money? Fame? Do you want me to finance a film with you at the centre of it? I must say, you are a truly brilliant actress, to have been able to fool me for this long.”
She shook her head but the truth – the truth was such a huge ball to unravel, she had no idea where to start. Only she had to try. “Please, let me explain…”
“Explain what, Ava? That I’ve been sleeping with a stranger? That you’ve been using me? That you’ve been lying to me?”
She nodded, then shook her head. “It was just a game, Guy. I didn’t think I’d meet anyone like you and… when I did, I tried to end it, remember? You pursued me…”
“I thought you were different!” He shouted the accusation and then swore softly, looking around at the passers by whose attention he’d attracted.
“I am,” she promised, and then bit down on her lip. “Let’s go back to your place, to talk about this…”
“No.” His look was one of ice. “I am not a man to be lied to. I am not a man to forgive.”
“Guy,” she felt the sting of tears on her eyes. “This isn’t… black and white. You have to believe me!”
“Believe you?” He took a step backwards and she felt the distance like a physical pain. “I will never believe you again. Not in a thousand years. I know what you are now. You are the worst kind of person; you are dead to me.”
CHAPTER SIX
GUY WAS WATCHING HER from the deck of the yacht when she returned, swimming closer to the shore, braving the saltiness of the water to keep her eyes under and see what she could of the marine fauna that lived on the bottom of the seafloor. Little wisps of seaweed warred with conch shells and crabs. The ecosystem was alive and thriving off the coast of Acantilados.
She felt a hint of disloyalty to her swimming companions as she strode towards the shore, thinking of how much better she’d have liked the crabs if they’d been lightly broiled and served with a garlic butter sauce.
“You know,” Guy drawled with a sarcasm that Addie was getting used to. “There are steps on the boat. You did not need to go all the way in and walk along the jetty.”
Addie pulled a face, refusing to feel self-conscious in the skimpy bikini she wore, even when Guy’s eyes drifted slowly over her body, lingering on the curves that were barely hidden by the scrap of fabric. “It’s my first time on a super-yacht,” she said archly. “I’m sorry if my lack of experience offends you.”
His expression didn’t alter. “You didn’t seem to grapple with the luxuries of my lifestyle in the past.”
Her heart turned over. “I didn’t see the luxuries of your lifestyle, beyond the thread-count of your sheets and the size of your bed.”
His lips twisted into a grudging smile, and though it was only a flash on his face, it had the power to rob Addie of breath. She was grateful he was wearing clothes – if he’d been in his swimmers as well, she would have run the risk of leaping up and wrapping her legs around his waist. Instead, she kept a mask of nonchalance around her and went to move past him. Her pulse gushed the second their arms touched but she kept going, ignoring the sensation that she’d been sparked by a livewire.
“What are we doing today?” She asked when at a distance she considered safe.
“We? I’m not your tour guide, Ava.”
She ignored his scathing retort. “No, you’re my employer,” she simpered, then with the past so clear in her mind, “Why do you insist on calling me Ava?”
He took a step towards her, his body taut. “You were once very happy for me to call you by this name.”
Her lips twisted wistfully. “No, I wasn’t. I always hated it. You can’t imagine how much I longed to hear you say my real name.” Her eyes lifted to his, challenging him, willing him, to call her Adeline.
He moved closer again, his powerful stride closing the distance between them. He lifted a fingertip to her cheek and held it there, his eyes locked to the small, insignificant contact as though it were paradigm-redefining.
“Then you should have told me your name sooner.” He didn’t move away. His finger dropped lower, to the shoulder strap of her bikini, pressing beneath the fabric, liberating it from her flesh. Addie’s breath caught in her throat.
“I wanted to.”
He made a noise of disbelief, a soft ‘tsking’ sound, and pushed her strap all the way down, so that one breast was exposed to him. Addie looked around, aware they weren’t alone, worried about being seen even when her pulse was hammering through her veins like a soda can that had been shaken for days.
“The captain could be watching--,” the words were thick and husky.
“My crew stays on the island while I’m moored here. We are alone.”
His hand lifted to her breast, cupping it, and her head thrust back on a soft moan. His fingers found the pink aureole of her nipple, brushing over it so lightly it was a torment.
“What are you doing?” She whispered, levering her hips forward, pressing her body to his.
“What does it look like?” With his body he pushed her back against the windows that framed the boat’s front deck; the glass was warm beneath her skin. His body was hard against her, his arousal like stone against her stomach.
“Who else did you play this game with?” He asked, pushing the other strap downwards, the touch of his fingers on her goosebumped flesh momentarily distracting her from the question he’d posed.
“What game?” She whispered, bright silver stars flashing behind her eyelids as he dropped his face and ran his stubbled jaw across her breasts, marking them pink with his attention. She pushed her head back, squeezing her eyes closed, as his fingers found the bottom of her bikini and slid into the waistband.
“The game in which you lie to a man, pretending to be someone you are not. You do it very well. I cannot have been the first.”
His hands pushed her bikini lower and she whimpered as the sea air collided with her femininity. Her eyes locked to his and with every fibre of truth in her heart, she spoke forcefully, “You were. The first. The only. I swear to you.”
His lips lifted in a mocking look of amusement. “It’s very hard to believe anything that comes from your mouth, Ava.” But then, for a moment, his eyes held hers and their souls connected, beating as one, as they’d done before. “Except this.” And his lips dropped to hers, almost against his will, as though dragged there by forces greater than him or her. He took her mouth, claiming it, possessing it and owning it, marking his stamp on her with every single movement. She was weak against the glass, but it provided her strength, a backbone when her own was morphing into jelly. His fingers moved towards her core, finding her slick heat and running across it so that she whimpered into his mouth.
Her hands lifted, tangling in his hair, holding his mouth where she needed it at the same time she pushed her own lips to his, dueling with his tongue, demanding more from him than he was giving.
Every single nerve ending was vibrating with an ancient, undeniable heat and need.
He pressed his mouth to her neck, finding the sensitive cluster of receptors just beneath her jaw, teasing them with his teeth until
her stomach was in knots and her body was at a fever pitch.
“You weren’t a virgin,” he said, the same silky tone making her wonder if he wasn’t as affected as she was.
“No,” she whimpered, as his fingers moved faster, harder and his mouth dropped lower, to her breasts, teasing one nipple with a flick of his tongue that ran in time with his touch. She was quivering against the glass, a mess of feeling and sensation, a jumble of needs.
“So? Was this your game? Your way out of a job you hate? You don’t want to scrub toilets all your life so you dress this very beautiful body of yours in expensive outfits and hope to hook some rich fool who’ll fund your existence?”
His words were lashing her with painful accusations but his fingers were making it better, wiping away any hurts she’d ever suffered, reminding her of only the pleasures in life, reminding her of bliss and release.
But her brain was shaking Addie, begging her to speak. To say something. A denial, anything, to refute his opinion of her.
“There was only one man before you,” she said, digging her nails into his shoulder as wave after wave of pleasure built within her. “One man, and he was years ago. Years before I met you.”
His eyes flashed with an animalistic sense of ownership but Addie didn’t see it.
Addie was falling apart.
She cried out as a white-hot orgasm began to unfurl in her body, starting in her abdomen and spreading like flashes of lightning to the rest of her body.
He slid his tongue across her breast, from one nipple to the other, and he clamped his teeth down on it, nipping it just hard enough to make her pleasure spike in all the best possible ways.
“You are usually a better liar than this,” he said with dangerously soft tone to his voice.
“I’m not lying,” she whispered, her breath coming in fits and spurts, her brain refusing to cooperate with thought now as pure pleasure swallowed her alive.
“You lie as easily as you breathe,” he contradicted, and pulled away from her, removing his touch, his kiss, his warmth, leaving her quivering and on the brink of exploding. She stared at him in confusion and disbelief, her eyes heavy, a drugging need to be with him overpowering everything else.
Blackmailed by the Spaniard Page 6