‘You come here often?’
He smiled, his eyes amused and also reminiscing about the past. ‘My nurse, my nanny who looked after me when I was a child, she brought me many times because it was her Sunday church. She still prays here weekly. Before she worked for us, and afterwards, too, she told me stories of the church. There were many stories. I have a house here she resides in now.’
His face had softened again, a smile reaching to the lines playing around his eyes as he thought back to those times. ‘This place gives such peace to the soul, this temple.’
Temple. She savoured his use of the word. The Sagrada was a temple. Soaring into the sky with ornate towers and the intricate sculpture that seemed to decorate every wall and surface no matter how high or wide she looked. But huge coloured fruit? On top of the towers?
‘Come. We will enter from this side instead of the other where the crowds and tour guides are holding their discussions before going inside.’ He drew her up the steps, pointing out the apostles and Christ and the myriad stories carved into the stone, and she saw yet another facet of Felipe. The man touched by his childhood church.
He was indeed an enthusiastic Catalonian. Like the dancer she’d first met. Proud and eager to share something he loved with someone who appreciated it. ‘I will take you to the other entrance when we come back at sunset another day.’
Then they were inside, and Cleo’s breath caught in her throat.
It was as if she stood in the middle of a giant cathedral forest with huge white trees holding up the golden roof of the world. The corded trunks of the enormous central columns reached up, drawing her eyes to the lace of the ceiling. Hundreds of multicoloured windows spilled light into the centre and the people were dappled in shifting leaves of colour. The morning sun painted beams across the floor and the walls and the rows of pews in blues and greens and golds and reds. Her breath caught in wonder.
Oh, my. She held her chest at the wonder of it. ‘I wish I could lie on the floor and just gaze up.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
FELIPE DRANK IN the expression of wonder on her face. Found just what he’d hoped he’d find. Saw the awe and the way her eyes caressed the magnificent walls and ceiling of the Sagrada. There was even a glint of tears in her sapphire eyes.
He watched her crane her head awkwardly, almost overbalancing, and moved behind her and pulled her back against his chest to steady her. ‘Lean on me. Look.’
And then she was resting against him. His arms came around her and he held on lightly to her hips, her beautiful hips, his fingers feeling the heat of her curves, soaking in the firmness of bone beneath his hands. He knew these hips.
The scent of her filled his lungs until his mouth dried with his need to taste her again. Hot, explicit memories flooding him of the night neither of them had slept.
God would forgive him for having carnal thoughts in a holy place. His nanny would be horrified. How could he have been such a fool to think that he would ever be able to forget Cleo?
In his defence there had been much he’d needed to do in his rush back to Barcelona, but he was beginning to realise that even if he had flown back to Spain without her, another trip to Australia would have happened before too long. And she would not have slipped away from him because Diego and his Jen were his link to her.
‘And you say your nanny used to come here on Sundays for the service?’ Her soft voice, still reverent with respect for the beauty around her, broke into his thoughts. Cleo would have been scandalised with his thoughts in this place of God, too. Or maybe not. Perhaps one day he would find out.
‘Sí. Every week. For the worship.’
‘How amazing would that feel. To be a part of a service here.’ She sighed and leaned back more firmly against him and the irony of her forgetting she was being held by him, oblivious to the feelings he had for her, mocked his control. Her rapt attention remained on the ceiling and the walls, and every now and then she shifted against him to change the angle of her body and he tried not to groan out loud.
His body responded despite himself, and he had to force his hands to relax against her body. ‘A Sunday service? Yes, that can be arranged.’ He would do that for her.
Minutes later she whispered, ‘I can see why you said those that come inside stay for hours.’ She moved her head in wonder and her hair brushed his face. He wanted to take one of the strands in his fingers, roll it around and then kiss it but he inhaled the scent of her instead. As she spoke her body settled more firmly against his.
‘It would take days, weeks, perhaps even months of study to observe most of the intricacies inside and out.’
‘Sí,’ he agreed, but he could hear that his voice had grown taut with his need to turn her around and see into the depths of her eyes. To taste her mouth. Flatten her breasts against his chest.
So where could this madness lead?
An affair lasting just a few days? Weeks? Possibly months?
Or to a wonderful life for two people who loved and laughed together?
Or perhaps it might end in a nightmare of a marriage like his parents had suffered. The factor that had kept him single all these years. No. He was not his father—but he also knew that after Cleo’s own painful marriage, her freedom was important to her. Her whole world was in Australia.
Could the woman in his arms live in Spain? For ever? With him? He could not live permanently in Australia with all his family responsibilities. Suddenly all the very good reasons why he shouldn’t have started this liaison came crashing back.
He gently put her aside and she blinked and focussed again. Stepped another pace back as she realised she’d been held by him and had enjoyed it. Had used him mindlessly as she’d lost herself in the architecture.
As if she had felt utterly safe in his arms.
That made him smile and want to snatch her back. Foolish woman didn’t even know when she was in danger.
He cleared his throat. ‘In the afternoons the light streams in from the other side. It paints the walls and the floor like this does now, but in different colours.’
Her sigh was long and heartfelt. Filled with wonder. ‘It’s the most beautiful building I’ve ever seen,’ she said.
‘Sí. It is a masterpiece.’
She stepped further away from him, saw the tension in his face, but then her eyes strayed again, and he almost had himself back under control despite the ‘oh’ noise she breathed, and he raised his brows as her gaze came back to his.
She put her hand over her mouth as she noted what her gyrations against him had cost his self-control.
‘Your fault,’ he teased.
Her face went pink and he enjoyed her consternation.
‘Oh. I’m so sorry. I was using you as a leaning post.’ Her cheeks grew even pinker and he wanted to touch the warm skin and feel the heat.
‘I enjoyed it.’ He tormented her, unable to help himself, then took her hand again as they wandered amidst the soaring columns past the tourists and the guides and the security. Occasionally he nodded at someone in the crowd but his attention remained on Cleo.
After another hour he glanced at his watch. ‘Is there more you wish to see here today?’
He saw her peer down at her own watch and her beautiful eyes widened. ‘Oh, no, you’ve been very patient.’
‘It is no hardship.’
Her face was soft, content, at peace. With her hand in his she said, ‘It’s beautiful. And I can tell you love it here, too.’
He’d loved being here with her. ‘That as well. But perhaps coffee before we head back to pick up Sofia?’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WHEN THEY CAME out again into the bright sunshine Cleo couldn’t help looking back at the soaring, lacy, over-the-top façade behind her.
The Sagrada’s glory stunned her with so many intricate stories woven through the architecture. Surreal in i
ts complex vision and endless in its opportunities to find another story. And then another. And another.
Almost as surreal as allowing herself to plaster her back against Felipe’s chest so she could tip her head up. As if her body had been planning the opportunity to lean into him. The solid steel of his arms keeping her balanced. The warmth of his breath against her hair. Good grief, she’d been rubbing herself against him, and he’d let her, welcomed her.
But he’d offered first and somehow she didn’t think he’d disliked the opportunity.
Where was this going? Even he must see that the more time they spent together the harder it would be to forget each other afterwards.
There was no winning for either of them in any sort of long-distance relationship, living on opposite sides of the planet. She’d committed to a relationship of unequal standing before. Mark’s family had badly wanted him to marry another doctor, not the midwife, and his mother had finally had her way with Mark’s new wife. And that had happened in the same city, the same continent. Look where that had left her. Broken and betrayed by a trust she should never have given.
Wouldn’t Felipe’s important friends and his wider social set expect Don Felipe Gonzales to marry a woman of his own kind?
She couldn’t take another betrayal. And this man, a man who’d picked her up and seduced her all in one night, who made the heads of every woman he passed turn and smile, and who could snap his fingers and get any woman he wanted, must be a massive risk to her heart.
What had happened to her decision to be a loner? Rely only on herself? To build a secure and fiscally sound platform that nobody could take away from her?
It would be a huge jump of faith to fall in love with and stay with a man from the other side of the world. Somebody so different culturally, socially, financially... She needed to stop whatever this was between them now.
‘Thank you for taking me to the Sagrada. And for being so patient,’ she said stiltedly.
He slanted a sideways glance at her, his fingers still firmly intertwined with hers.
The heat in his gaze was making her belly thrum. And his arm brushing against the side of her body was as seductive as all get out. She was having a hard time not leaning into him again. She needed distance or she’d fall against him and make him wrap his arms around her once more.
Hadn’t she just had that discussion with herself?
Disaster beckoned. Cleo shook his hand to pull her own free.
He looked at her, let her go then touched her pink cheek with one finger and laughed. Pointed across the park. ‘We’ll go to that little restaurant there. Sit outside and you can stare at the towers while you drink your coffee.’
‘I’d like that.’ She would. And then she could calm down. Stop thinking too much about the uncertain future and what might not go right. Take time instead to savour what was going on just at this moment.
She’d wanted to see the sights of Barcelona and he seemed to know instinctively how to improve her experience.
She walked, her empty hand now feeling strangely bereft, and as she did so, she breathed slowly and calmly and settled her raging hormones as best she could. She was probably reading far too much into what had happened.
Perhaps he would have had the same reaction to any woman who’d leaned against him like she’d done. And yet a small voice inside whispered that she did Felipe a disservice.
When they were settled under the leafy green of an overhanging tree she sat back in her chair and gazed across the park at the Sagrada.
‘It’s such a crazy, wonderful, amazing building. Like the little of Barcelona that I’ve seen.’ And felt. Just like Felipe was wonderful.
He echoed her thoughts. ‘Like what is between us?’ His voice floated across the tablecloth in a deep, teasing murmur.
Her gaze sprang from the building to his face. ‘You think so?’
‘I know so.’ He pointed to it and then at the two of them. ‘Crazy. Wonderful. Amazing.’ He repeated the words back at her.
‘It’s all rather a pickle,’ she said softly. Sighed heavily and shook her head as he watched her with a smile playing around his sexy lips.
Before she could think what to say next the waitress reappeared to take their order and saved her.
By the time the orders were taken Cleo wasn’t sure whether it would help or create more damage by bringing up the subject of that one night that always seemed to shimmer between them, even here at a small café table in front of the Sagrada.
‘So,’ he said, and picked up the glass of freshly poured water in front of him, ‘in my house...’ he sipped, put the glass down, then stared straight into her eyes ‘...do you think of me when you’re in your bed?’ Felipe obviously had no qualms about asking such a personal question and she could feel her poor cheeks, the same ones that had only just cooled down, heat up again. For goodness’ sake!
His words lifted the hairs on her arms. She could lie. Pretend she was oblivious to his charms, but he would know that was a farce.
Instead she lifted her face to his and held his gaze. Then to pay him back she picked up her own glass, never taking her eyes off him, sipped, and said coolly, ‘Why wouldn’t I? You’re a wonderful lover.’
He didn’t smile, like she’d thought he would. She went on in a more serious tone. ‘Now I work for you. So I am not the same person who slept with you that night.’
‘We did not sleep.’
With that comment her anger and frustration flared. ‘What exactly do you want from me, Felipe?’
The waitress arrived with their coffees and hurried off.
He leaned forward, his mouth near hers. ‘And that is the best question you have asked all day.’
‘Why?’ She stirred her coffee briskly and almost threw down the spoon.
‘Because it is my question, too, and I do not know the answer.’
She pushed away the small confectionery that had accompanied the coffee, suddenly feeling ill with the loss of something that should have been bright and shiny and filled with promise. Instead it could lead to something sordid, hiding from his grandmother and Sofia. ‘There is no answer. I can’t risk another night in your bed.’ Because it would be an even greater wrench to leave. Even that one night they’d shared had probably spoiled her for anyone else. ‘What was between us is impossible here, now and in the future.’
‘And yet...’ The words hung between them. ‘I cannot stop thinking of how much I want you in my bed.’
Heat suffused her. ‘In my experience that is not unusual for men.’ She stood up abruptly. ‘We should go. Your grandmother will need to rest soon and Sofia will need help with Isabella. One of us has to work.’
‘I also have to work.’ He threw a generous bill on the table and came around the back of her chair but she was already stepping away. Looking left and right as if the car would appear miraculously.
It did. Carlos pulled up right next to them.
Felipe opened the door for her and she scooted across, making room for him to climb in from the kerb. Who cared about those aristocratic women who blocked the door?
Once they were inside, she said, ‘I believe Sofia has settled well enough for me to go home at the end of the week.’
He studied her as if trying to see what lay beneath her words. ‘Why the sudden need to rush away?’
She stayed on point. Sofia. Always Sofia she should be concentrating on. ‘I have nothing to add to her mothercraft skills. She is a natural.’
The car drew around the corner into a street she recognised as his grandmother’s and went past the café. Except for a long streak of rubber on the road there were no signs of yesterday’s accident.
They stopped in front of Doña Luisa’s apartment and Carlos alighted to open Felipe’s door. Felipe climbed out and then waited for her to follow.
‘I’d like to stay in the car, if
that’s okay. Your grandmother doesn’t need me to stand around while you collect Sofia and Isabella.’
He studied her and she took the opportunity to study him back. She’d ruined the morning, but he didn’t seem to hold it against her. ‘As you wish. Carlos will stay here.’
With the air conditioner on. She needed cooling down. Felipe walking away gave her the chance to return her breathing and her skin tone to normal. She sat in the car in solitary splendour, avoiding the eyes of the driver in front.
She stared at the plush leather and the wood trim, the cut-outs for glasses and the tiny refrigerator. The uniformed driver at Felipe’s beck and call. She would be at his beck and call if she became his mistress. She was out of her league here. He was out of her league and she would not be the Australian plaything until he tired of her.
Because he would undoubtedly tire of her.
She was too far from home.
But then what was at home for her?
Felipe had suggested once that she had the right skills to work in palliative care. Where? For Felipe in the hospice? But where would she live? Could she even work in Spain? Could she shift her focus from general nursing in her medical retrieval job and occasional midwifery at the hospital to palliative care? She had already shifted in some ways with her current work.
Why not? Working side by side with Felipe. Caring for those who needed respectful acknowledgement of their own wishes and being a bridge between grieving families and the celebration of a life that was almost gone.
She stared out the window into the street, watching an older lady dressed in black snap her cane on the footpath as she walked past.
Was her Spanish good enough? This was silly. She had a flat in Coogee. Yet that was not insurmountable. She owned it or most of it anyway and could easily rent it out.
Was she being a coward and losing the chance to really see if she and Felipe had any kind of future?
Why was she so tempted to find out?
She knew why. Because she was falling in love, if she hadn’t already fallen in love, with the multifaceted, incredibly wonderful Felipe Gonzales. And why was she fighting it so hard?
Second Chance in Barcelona Page 13