A knock at the door sounded, breaking the moment. Gael stepped backwards, his eyes blinking. It was as though he’d been roused from a perfect dream, his eyes were laced with stars and fireworks. He shook his head to clear away the remnants of magic. He unlinked his arms from behind her back and stared at her, his accusation thick.
“Not expecting anyone?” He demanded icily, crossing to the door and wrenching it open.
Carrie followed behind, and she shot him a look of withering venom as she greeted the busboy. “Do you need me to sign something?”
“Si,” the young man said with a polite smile. He held out a receipt and Carrie added a tip then scrawled her name. Carrie and Gael stepped backwards from the door as one, leaving the man to deposit the tray in the middle of the room. When he began to shake out a tablecloth and remove the lids, Gael shook his head.
“Go now,” he spoke in his own tongue.
From pleasure to pain in the space of a minute, he thought, closing the door behind him with a slow shake of his head.
He turned to Carrie, true wonder in his expression. “You ordered dinner?”
She shrugged, her eyes not meeting his. “I was starving.”
“I’m not surprised. I am relieved, but not surprised.”
He crossed to the tray and began to lift the lids. Her choice left a lot to be desired, but at least it proved him wrong. She did eat more than the occasional shred of lettuce. Though a bowl of steamed vegetables, a pale looking tomato soup and an omelette barely constituted hearty fare.
“Gael, what are you doing here?”
His heart turned over in his chest. “I was angry at lunch. I was very wrong to take that out on you.”
Carrie swallowed. The apology was his second that night. Her anger, so fierce it had been a weighty force all afternoon, was ebbing away. She bit down on her lip, trying to remember how badly he had the power to hurt her.
“Why were you angry?” She asked cautiously.
“Please eat, Carrie,” he said, gesturing to the table. She sat down but didn’t make an attempt to reach for any food.
Gael suppressed a noise of frustration. “Here.” He passed her the soup.
She didn’t move. “Why were you so angry?”
His mouth formed a humourless grin, and he shrugged. “You told me I was just like him. And I don’t want to be.”
Carrie lifted the soup spoon and ladled some hungrily into her mouth. She swallowed it, her mind ticking over. “Why not?”
“Because he hurt my mother.” His smile was uncomfortable. “When you walked out today, and I saw that I am hurting you, I felt … ashamed.”
Carrie swore to herself. Hadn’t she decided she wouldn’t let him see that he was capable of hurting her? Hadn’t she wanted to prove she was no longer that weak, pathetic girl? She tried to arrange her features into a quizzical expression, but it was an effort. Raised brows, quirked lips, lightly dancing eyes.
“Hurting me?” A laugh, she prompted herself. A laugh will show him you’re fine. “You’re not hurting me, Gael. You’re annoying me.”
Now he laughed, and she suspected his confused expression was no mask. “Well, that’s novel. Do explain.”
“I told you what I wanted from you. Business and pleasure, but kept entirely separate. I don’t need big emotional confrontations. That’s not fun.”
“And you like fun?” He said quietly.
“Yes. I’m only twenty three! The last thing I want is to have dramatic arguments with a man over lunch.” She pulled a face.
“I see.”
She doubted it, but at least she could hope that he saw what she wanted him to. A confident, well-adjusted, easy-going woman of the world.
“In any event, I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”
She smirked at him over her spoon. “Forgiveness is for idiotas.”
He laughed quietly. “Very good.”
“Would you like something to eat?”
He surveyed her selection with a shake of his head. “No.” He thought of the burgers he’d brought earlier and winced. What he wouldn’t do for a really good burger and fries. He sighed. “But I’m happy to watch you eating.”
Carrie pushed the soup away and speared a broccoli. She ate, but her appetite was waning in preference of other far more desirable feelings.
Whatever was going on between them, lust was very much at the forefront.
“You are dressed to go out,” he said after a few quiet moments.
Carrie looked down at her dress and shook her head. “Nope.”
“You wear this for yourself?” He gestured first to her dress and then her face, presumably alluding to the make up.
“I’m prepared for anything,” she made a joke of it, wondering why his questioning made her self-conscious.
Gael nodded slowly, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw, then transferred it to her cheek. Something about Carrie wasn’t right. Something just didn’t add up. It was a mystery, and a mystery he intended to solve.
“You want fun?”
She nodded, moving her face in the cup of his hand.
“I will send a driver for you early tomorrow morning. Be downstairs by seven o’clock.”
He stroked his thumb across her cheek, and then stood.
Carrie frowned. “You’re going?”
“Si,” he agreed, wishing he weren’t. Wishing, more than anything, that he was staying with her. That very thought was enough to propel him towards the door.
“Seven sharp.”
She lifted her fingers to her forehead in a mock salute. “Yessir,” she said with a small smile. He left, and Carrie wondered what she could do to distract herself from the sudden sense of pervasive loneliness.
9
The driver was a slim man in his late forties, with a dark crop of hair and an easy smile. He employed it when Carrie emerged from the hotel a minute after seven, much of her face hidden by over-sized sunglasses. The sun was breaking over the city, lending a golden peach hue to the ancient buildings and streets. She paused a moment to enjoy the view – the stone fronted hotels glowing in the early morning warmth. Spaniards were going about their business with their enviable elegance.
“Good morning.” The driver’s tone was accented, his voice formal. He moved forward and offered to take Carrie’s bag from her. She’d left her oversize Birkin at home and chosen a smaller handbag for the mysterious day of promised fun. With no idea what was on the horizon, she’d brought just the essentials – phone, lipgloss, money – reasoning that she could pop back to her hotel and get anything else she might need later.
Her smile was reserved, and her insides were churning. All night, she’d tossed and turned and told herself how ridiculous she was being to feel such excitement.
But she’d felt it regardless. Anticipation had teased and delighted her, and she’d woken exhausted, but uncaring.
“Hello,” she responded, belatedly realising he was waiting for her to respond.
“Senor Vivas asked me to give you this,” he said, once she’d settled herself in the back of the plush interior.
“Thank you.” She took the note and flicked her sunglasses onto her head in one swift movement. It was a cream envelope with her name scrawled across the front.
And though she was bursting to know the contents, she took a moment to admire the effect his strong, confident writing had on the fibrous paper. She ran her finger over it, and a small shiver began in her toes and spread through her body.
She turned it over impatiently and lifted the back triangle. A single piece of paper slid out.
“Ready, ma’am?”
She looked up at the driver with a sense of disorientation. All of her mind and all of her soul was focussed on Gael’s note. Her voice was a husky acknowledgement. “Yes, thank you.”
Her fingers were unsteady. She pulled the top half of the paper, carefully unfolding it.
Good morning, mi pequeno dulce. Memories of the way he called her funny sounding Spanish word
s made her heart flutter.
Eat your breakfast. There will not be another chance for a while.
G.
A brief note, then, and not what she’d been hoping for.
Which was? What exactly did she want from him?
Carrie looked around the limousine until her eyes fell onto a brown paper bag. She reached for it, having to stretch across the seat to grab it from the small table. She opened it and grinned when she saw an apple, and an almond croissant.
The apple was red and shining, like the classic forbidden fruit. She rubbed it on the fabric of her dress until it glowed and then bit into it gratefully. It was as delicious as all forbidden apples should be. Juicy and sweet, with an undercurrent of tartness.
Another fragrance met her nostrils and her stomach groaned in delightful anticipation. Coffee. Her eyes landed on the brown take away cup. Black and strong, just as she liked it. She sipped it and ate the apple, enjoying the passing scenery from the extreme comfort of Gael’s limousine.
As far as mornings went, it was not a bad way to start one.
And still, the fingers of anticipation curled through her at what might lie ahead. Time with Gael was a given, and that alone made her body sag.
It was just temporary, she reminded herself, with an attempt at her usual rationale. Just a fling. A bit of fun. Nothing serious, and nothing to over-think.
With a confident nod, she leaned forward in the car. The city scape gradually gave way to a different style of architecture. More bright colours and lower-set buildings, until the road opened up to a spectacular view of the ocean. “Oh!” She exclaimed audibly, her hand on the side of the car door as the sleek black vehicle wound down a steep track towards the marina.
Her smile made her cheeks ache, and it broadened when she saw Gael waiting for her. Dressed in a pair of jeans, one of his gorgeous shirts and a black leather jacket, he was handsome and captivating and sexy and beautiful all at once. She swallowed, and tried to wipe her smile away. Or at least to reduce it to a normal size.
The driver pulled the car to a stop, but it was Gael who opened the door.
“Carrie,” he murmured, his eyes dark and intent as they roamed her face. He made a small sound of impatience then clicked her sunglasses off her eyes, so that he could see her properly. His smile was rich and rewarding, and she found herself mirroring it, while the butterflies gave full flight in her chest.
“Good morning.” Her voice was thick.
He kissed her, uncaring that several people were milling around the marina. He lifted his hands to her hair and ran them through the sleek blonde style, and Carrie kissed him back. Whatever anger she’d felt with him the day before had evaporated completely, leaving only wonderful, drug-like need.
“I shouldn’t have left you last night,” he groaned, breaking the kiss and staring at her hungrily.
“No,” she agreed shakily. “You shouldn’t have.”
He looped an arm around her waist. “Did you enjoy your breakfast?”
“I did, thank you.”
Gael didn’t say anything, but he was curious as to whether or not she had allowed herself the indulgence of the croissant. He would ask the driver. Later.
“Come.” He steered her away from the limousine, towards the stunning assembly of ships queued obediently against the piers.
“We’re going on one of those?”
His tone was droll. “Usually I would take a chopper, but I suspect you’ll pass out if I do.”
His thoughtfulness caused a dangerous wave of feeling to wash over her. She didn’t want to think of him as kind or courteous. He was just a really, really sexy fling. That was all.
The boat he led her to was moored second-to-the-end of the pier. It was sleek and enormous. Carrie had no experience with boats; she knew they were measured in feet, or something like that. But it was big, with a sharply pointed front, and what looked to be two levels of internal rooms, and a top deck – presumably for sun bathing.
The name on the side real Gabriella.
“My mother,” he said with a wink, following her gaze. “It was a gift to her, but she does not use it.”
Carrie clasped her hands to her heart in an exaggerated swoon. “You’re such a mummy’s boy.”
He grinned and shrugged. “I thought she’d like it.”
“You really gave your boat to your mum?”
“No.” He held her hand as she stepped onto the narrow bridge that linked the craft to the marina pier. “My boat is in Cannes. This is my mother’s boat. As I said, I would usually take the chopper, but as you would not like it, we will use her boat.”
“Well,” Carrie said, as she stepped onto the shining deck, “I think it’s very sweet.”
Something sparked between them; the air was charged with a weird, lopsided understanding. Gael shook his head. “It was nothing.”
She didn’t press him. She didn’t insist that it was kind and generous, but it was. It added a new piece to the puzzle of his character. Only that piece didn’t entirely fit with what she knew about him.
“Where are we going, Captain?” She asked instead, trying to make light of things, to switch the mood.
It didn’t work. He linked his arms around her waist, and as if by magic, the bridge began to withdraw.
“I have a crew. I would rather spend my time with you than running this thing.” He kissed her forehead, and then pulled her to his chest. She pressed her ear to it, and heard the solid, strong thudding of his heart. It was fast, like hers. Racing with excitement and anticipation.
Carrie sighed slowly. Another perfect moment to collect for the memory bank. The boat began to move away from the land, and they stood, clinging together, breathing as one, their bodies fused. Carrie’s soul was aching by the time Barcelona was just a shimmering line of buildings in the distance. Aching with the enormity of what leaving him would take.
She swallowed. “I got some good news this morning,” she said, pushing away from him and employing her most concise business like tone.
“Yes?” He prompted, his body ice-cold with her absence.
“We picked up a major news supply network for the app. They’ll cover Africa. It’s a real coup.”
He nodded. “That’s good.” And it was. But it only frayed the outside edges of his concentration. “I like this dress.” His eyes were drawn to the William Morris print – though he didn’t know it was William Morris, of course. He saw only a pale blue background with collections of mysterious little swallows warbling their way across it. It was dainty and feminine, and very Carrie Beauchamp 1.0. The Carrie he’d known briefly, in the last flourish of her teenage years.
“Thank you.” She ran her hands down the silky fabric. “Liberty dresses are my weakness.”
“Liberty dresses?”
She waved a hand through the air. “A department store with the most beautiful fabrics in the world.” She sighed. “They cost a fortune but I have no will-power where they’re concerned.”
He could completely understand a lack of will-power. He’d been grappling with his own since they’d met again. He moved across to her, and put a hand on either side of the railing, bracing her against the boat. They looked out at the ocean together, the wind whipping through Carrie’s hair and plastering the dress to her body.
Gael held her, and breathed in her sweet softness. “Would you like a tour?”
She wanted a hell of a lot more than a tour. She swallowed and nodded wordlessly. Gael reached down and linked his fingers through hers.
The boat was, as Carrie had initially thought, enormous. Seven bedrooms, each with sleek timber furnishings and white bed linen, two entertaining areas, a fully fitted kitchen and several bathrooms. He led her to a glassed in observation deck last.
“Here we have the view without the wind.” He smiled, indicating for her to take a seat. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please. Coffee is a balm to my soul. Especially at this hour.”
He smiled to himself as he pressed
the button on the machine. A single black shot poured out; he placed it aside then made his own coffee.
“You don’t take milk?” He asked as an afterthought.
Carrie pulled a face as she shook her head. Another interesting piece of information about this woman, Gael thought curiously. Did she avoid milk as he did, because he preferred the robust strength of black coffee? Or was it another of her apparent vanity measures. There was so much to her that he didn’t yet understand.
Or was he choosing not to understand? Was he choosing to ignore the truth because he was terrified of what it would mean? Of how he would be implicated in the woman she’d become? Out of nowhere, he saw her in the rose garden at Forrest View. He heard her voice. He felt a throb in his gut.
“Do I have something on my face?” She asked self-consciously, lifting her fingers to her lips, and running them across the pale pink pout.
Gael stared at her face; so beautiful but so hidden. Beneath so much make-up and careful censoring of emotion. He itched to wipe the foundation away – to free her of the obfuscating mask she seemed to wear constantly.
“Gael? What are you looking at?” She leaned forward, intending to reach for a mirror in her handbag.
Gael caught her wrist and shook his head. “I’m looking for you,” he murmured, and he stood easily, his dark eyes heavy on her face.
It was on the tip of Carrie’s tongue to correct him – he had surely meant that he was looking at her – when he came to sit beside her. He ran a hand along the back of the white leather lounge, and the other he put on her upper thigh. He melded his mouth to hers slowly, curiously, as though it was their first kiss.
Their first kiss. She shifted a little, mortification spreading over her like a hot flash of misery. She pushed it away. That was a lifetime ago; a different girl. She kissed him back now as an equal, her hands clutching his shirtfront as though her whole life depended on it.