Gael didn’t speak. His dark eyes seemed to cling to her face, as though he was trying to understand something. As though something was wrong with her? No. Her cheeks flamed. He looked at her as though something was right with her. She knew, though no one had ever looked at her with anything near that intensity.
She lifted a hand to her throat, her pulse hammering wildly beneath her fingertips. Her eyes, shimmering like jewels in the moonshine, were hooded with desire.
The rose, perfect and innocent, dropped from her other hand, falling with a silent thud to the ground beside her feet. She took a step closer to Gael, and he didn’t step back. His eyes continued to haunt her, boring into hers as though he could unravel the mysteries of the universe if he only looked hard enough.
Carrie’s stomach was in knots, and yet there was so much that made sense about that moment. She lifted a hand to his chest, and she could feel his heart thudding beneath her palm. She made a soft moan, and then stood on tiptoes, so that she could press her lips to his.
The powerful electricity was instant and overpowering. Her whole body trembled as the kiss – her first – made her bones weak and her blood boil. As if all the night birds and roses wrapped around them, and a spell seemed to fall. Carrie pressed her whole body to his; he was hard and strong; her heart was racing wildly.
His hand pressed into her back, the pressure of his fingers was light but demanding. Carrie was flooded with feelings – new feelings that made her mind reel. She felt as though the earth was tipping on its axis, sending time and space spinning in whole new directions. Some ancient feminine instinct moved through her, and she pressed her hips against him, moving them slightly, to lock their bodies into intimate proximity. She could feel the unfamiliar form of his manhood and it made her body ache with need.
It was over too quickly.
Gael stepped away from her, his face white, his hands shaking. “Carrie,” he muttered, his tone rich with condemnation. “What the hell are you thinking?”
She frowned, uncertainty making her stomach ache. “I…”
“You are seventeen! Still a child.”
Pain seared her soul. “But you… I thought you… I mean…”
“Yes?” He demanded, crossing his arms across his chest and looking at her as though she’d gone totally crazy.
“I thought you wanted…”
“Wanted you?” He made a noise that she took for frustrated amusement. “You are a child. Do you honestly think I would be so depraved as to want you?”
Her cheeks flamed with mortification.
“Look at you. You’re a schoolgirl. A kid. What the hell are you thinking, to go around kissing men like me?” His accent was thicker when he was angry. And he was furious, she realised.
She shook her head, her mind not yet recovered from the sensual pleasure of their contact. “I don’t normally,” she whispered breathlessly.
“God, you and your mother are two of a kind,” he snapped, putting his hands on his hips and staring down at her.
“What do you mean?” She whispered, shaking from shock and embarrassment.
Gael had said too much. Alexandra’s overt interest was not Carrie’s fault. His sigh was loaded with tension. “It does not matter. Honestly, Carrie, do you have any idea what kind of trouble you could get into?”
“T-trouble?”
“Yes, T-t-trouble,” he responded with totally unnecessary cruelty. “Do you realise that you were just kissing me as though you wanted me to make love to you? To lay you down right here in the rose garden and fuck you senseless?”
“Don’t,” she groaned, spinning away from him, her face torn by the cruelty in his words.
“Don’t what? Tell you how reckless that was? What if I hadn’t stopped? Would you really want me – twenty nine, a man you hardly know, a man who has no interest in a relationship or in you – to be your first lover?”
Her stomach dipped like she was on a roller coaster, both at his imagery and cruelty.
“Would you want me to sleep with you here, knowing that I’d get up and walk away tomorrow, and never think of you again? Dios Mio, Carrie, what the hell were you thinking?”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t,” she whispered, the agony of pain and rejection unlike anything she’d ever experienced. “I just … you were looking at me … and I thought …”
“You were singing,” he snapped moodily. “I was interested to hear your voice. It was certainly not an invitation to share my bed. Believe me, Carrie, that’s the last thing I want.”
“No,” she nodded jerkily, and in that moment, she hated everything about her stupid self. Her body, her hair, her trusting nature. How could he want her? How could she have misread the situation so spectacularly? “I’m ugly, and fat, and inexperienced, and young. I totally get it. I don’t know what came over me.” Tears of hot mortification were streaming down her cheeks, and her words were stammering from her in a high-pitched wail.
She spun away from him and began to run towards the house. Even as she ran, she thought he might follow, but he didn’t. He left her alone, nursing her awful embarrassment.
Carrie couldn’t sleep that night. Tortured fragments of physical memories haunted her; her body seemed to be lurching through a field of desire – the memory of his frame pressed to hers was indelibly scored in her brain.
Very early the next morning, when those same Robins were back in the garden, chirruping in their way to herald the start of a new day, Carrie moved forlornly to the window and stared out at the gardens.
Her eyes landed on the very spot it had happened, amongst her favourite roses. She made a groan of embarrassment and then shifted her glance, to a movement on the driveway.
Gael, dressed in black running gear, looking strong and virile. But he was not alone. Alexandra was with him, her long blonde hair loose down her back, her white cotton night gown almost transparent in the morning light. Her nakedness underneath was obvious.
Carrie watched just long enough to have her worst suspicions confirmed – to see her mother’s body cling to Gael’s, her lips seeking his … and for Gael not to push her away.
Her stomach rolled, and she walked away from the window.
In that moment, the innocent girl Carrie was died. She would never be the same again.
3
Six years later.
Carrie ran her fingers through her platinum blonde hair, admiring the sexy bell shape in the bathroom mirror. It was quite a change from the week before, when it had fallen in long, silken waves down her back. Now, it was short and daring, a crop that exposed the swan like curve of her neck and flattered her bone structure. She always took great care with her make up, and it was flawless. All the time. From the minute she got out of bed, she began applying the basics, and she ensured it lasted all day. She lifted her lipstick now to top up her cherry red mouth. Her eyes, enormous and blue, were framed by curling lashes and fashionable brows.
As for the dress … she grinned as she took in the dipped front – so low it showed a generous hint of cleavage, and low enough at the back to reveal her entire spine, right down to the swell just above her buttocks. The hem fell to the floor, but it was firm across her thighs, and it showed off her sleek shape in the most flattering way.
“You look gorgeous,” Juanita laughed, putting an arm around Carrie’s svelte waist. “Belle of the ball, as always. But come on, the boys will wonder what’s taking so long.”
Carrie handed the cherry red lipstick to her best friend, and watched as Juanita glided it across her own full pout. No one had been more thrilled by Carrie’s transformation than Juanita. Carrie’s lack of interest in men, partying and what Juanita deemed to be ‘fun’ had been the only point of difference between them. Now, it was non-existent. They enjoyed the same fun. The same games.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Juanita tossed the lipstick back to her friend, then linked arms with her. “Tell me again what we’re celebrating tonight?”
Carrie’s laugh tinkled,
like bells in the breeze. “We’re not celebrating, darling. We’re raising funds for a new wing of the paediatric hospital.”
“Right,” Juanita nodded. “I knew it was something good. Can you see Tom and Max?”
Maximillian Sanderson was Carrie’s latest interest. Though ‘interest’ was over-stating it a bit. He was her pursuer. A man who had made it obvious he wanted her, and had been persistent enough to be rewarded, finally, with a date. She hadn’t made up her mind yet if she’d sleep with him. He was handsome, to be sure, but he did very little to get her heart racing.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, finally landing on their familiar heads. Both blonde, that was where the similarities ended. Maximilian was average height, with broad shoulders and a stocky frame. Tom was lean and long, with glasses he wore on the tip of his nose. “Staking out the bar,” Carrie said with a smile. “Excellent. I hope they’ve got some vodka lined up.”
“You and your vodka,” Juanita said with a laugh. “Why don’t you have a champagne with me tonight?”
Carrie pulled a face. “No, thanks.”
Juanita resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her friend’s obsessive calorie counting had become a ritual, and Juanita had learned long ago not to question it. “Your call.”
They walked, arm in arm, through the crowded art deco ballroom, unaware of how many admiring glances they drew. At first, when Carrie had lost weight and changed her appearance, she’d been thrilled by the attention. She’d fallen into the trap of accepting every invitation that came her way, so flattered had she been by the unusual degree of interest in her. Years had passed since then, and she was far more confident and choosy. Besides, she was too busy in her job to be out every night of the week.
“There you are,” Tom smiled indulgently at Juanita, as he slipped a very full glass of champagne into her hand. “The band’s just about to start. Drink this so we can dance.”
Juanita wiggled her brows. “If you insist.”
Max’s eyes were drawn to Carrie’s cleavage. She ignored it. After all, the dress practically begged for that kind of attention. It was partly why she’d worn it. “Tom said you like vodka and soda?” He murmured finally, his eyes still struggling to lift higher than her throat.
She nodded and took the offered drink. “Thanks, Max.” She lifted the straw to her lips and drank it quickly.
Max’s voice was sensual. “Another?”
“Why not?” She agreed, as the effects of the alcohol began to bubble through her. “It’s a Friday night. The world is our oyster. For the weekend, at least.” Her smile was effervescent; it lit up her whole face. Max swallowed nervously. The feeling that he was way out of his league hit him once more.
As he ordered the drink, Carrie leaned against the bar, draping her elbows and forming an elegant pose of recline. Tom and Juanita were deep in conversation, and Max was waiting for the in-demand staff to spot him. Which left Carrie free to see and be seen.
She loved society events. The people-watching was a highlight of her week, and events such as this were a top opportunity to mingle. Her business, though fledgling, was successful. In fact, she was in the midst of hunting around for an investor, so she could expand even further. And parties were nothing if not an opportunity to network.
Just a few feet away she could see Elaine McMurtie, the very wealthy heiress who’d just had a sex tape leak online. Some people thought it had been intentional, to raise her profile, but Carrie had known Elaine for years. It was the kind of fame and attention she detested. Besides, the sex tape had been terribly unflattering. She resolved to speak to her, to offer her angry outrage, and had just turned to Tom to make her excuses, when her eyes landed on an intimately familiar figure.
Six years had passed since that night in the rose garden, but she’d never forgotten a single detail about his appearance. Her breath hitched in her throat, as she scanned his gorgeous face, and tuxedo-clad body. He must now have been thirty five years old, but he hadn’t changed a bit. His body still seemed to radiate with the strength and fire of a powerful warrior.
Her nipples tightened beneath her sheer dress, as she remembered how his body had felt, when pressed against hers. How her hips had clung to his, moving to bring his body into the most intimate contact with hers. She lowered her hands to her side, and forced herself to breathe naturally.
She would go and see him, but not until she had one more vodka under her belt. While Tom was still waiting to be served, she took her time studying Gael. He was talking to two men; she didn’t recognise either. They were stuffy looking, compared to her step-brother. Her lips curved at the ridiculous description. For they were no more siblings than they were friends. They were two people who’d kissed one night. He was the man who’d shamed her into seeing what a pathetic loser she was; who’d made her understand that no one would ever want her or take her seriously when she spent her days lying around eating chocolate and reading out-dated romance novels.
Max passed a vodka to her, this time doing an admirable job of keeping his eyes level with hers. “Thank you,” she murmured, drinking it as quickly as she had the first. She put the glass on the bar, and then smiled apologetically at Max. “I’m sorry, darling, there’s one thing I have to do. I’ll be back for a dance in a moment.”
Max’s disappointment was obvious, but Carrie didn’t care. She walked with a slow, seductive sashay, away from the bar, towards the group Gael was in. She was not the gauche, innocent teen he’d embarrassed that night. She had much more experience with men – and men like Gael – now. About ten steps from the group, his eyes lifted unexpectedly and landed smack on her face.
Carrie’s step faltered, and an angry kaleidoscope of butterflies began to flash against her insides. His dark eyes showed his instant fascination, and he subjected her to a slow appraisal. From the top of her fair blonde head, to the swell of her pert breasts, lower still to her hips, and her legs, then back up to her eyes. There was no recognition there. And the realisation was … chilling.
This man Carrie had built up to epic proportions in her mind had no memory of her. His step-sister, and the woman whose fragile feelings he’d trampled all over. As if that initial moment of mortification could get any worse, she felt an even bigger sense of rejection now.
Only … Gael wasn’t rejecting her.
His interest was patently obvious.
She’d done this dance before.
Carrie let a slow, seductive smile lift the corner of her lips, as she slid her own eyes lower, over his perfect frame. When her eyes clashed with his, she left him in little doubt as to her approval. She walked slowly, bringing herself close to their group, and at the last minute, she dovetailed behind him, brushing her body against his in an unmistakable invitation. Then, she swished away, through the crowds, to the large gold framed doors that led to the foyer of the hotel.
If she’d read the situation correctly, and she was sure she had, he would follow. Her heart was pounding in her chest, as she realised that she was about to seduce the man who’d spectacularly turned her down six years earlier. The man who’d practically laughed in her face at the very idea of his wanting her!
She paused just outside the crowded ballroom, ostensibly so that she could admire a picture.
And right on schedule, as expected, she felt him behind her. His frame large, his presence familiar in an elemental way. She turned, slowly, lifting her bright blue eyes to his. “Hello.”
There was something so beautiful and familiar about this woman. She was not simply stunning – far more so than any other woman at the event – she was… captivating. Her walk was fluid grace, every step a ballet in its own right. His body was tight with longing, and he didn’t even know her name.
“Hello.” He repeated. “Are you having a good evening?”
“It just got better,” she responded with a wink. “And you?”
His laugh was low and sensual. It sent shivers running down her spine. Shivers of expectation and desire. “I don’t care for
crowds.”
“You don’t?” Her eyes fluttered up at him provocatively.
“No,” he shook his head slowly, a smile at her sensual nature playing about his lips. “I have a room upstairs, if you’d care to join me for a private drink?”
How easy it was to issue the invitation. To slip back into the world of casual sex. A world he thought he’d left behind years earlier.
“That depends,” she said with mock consideration.
“Oh? On what?” He put a hand in the small of her back, and began to lead her towards the bank of elevators.
She waited until the elevator doors had pinged open, and they’d stepped inside, before she angled her body to his. She was close. So close she could feel the heat emanating from his frame. “I’m not thirsty.”
His laugh was low and rich. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find another way to pass the time.”
“Oh, I hope so,” she murmured, stepping away and staring at the elevator doors. He inserted his key card in the panel and pressed a button; the elevator immediately began its ascent to the top floor. It opened straight out onto the penthouse apartment of the boutique hotel.
“Very nice,” she said faintly, propping her clutch purse on the top of the marble and gold hallstand. Her breathlessness was not false. Now, standing in Gael Vivas’s hotel room, Carrie had no idea what the hell she was thinking. Was she really hoping to get some kind of childish revenge by sleeping with the man who’d sworn he didn’t want her? Was she trying to prove something to him? Or herself? Was she so desperate for validation that she needed this man to tell her she mattered? That she was beautiful?
He didn’t even know who she was! The insults were layering upon one another, leaving her partially insane. At least, that was the only justification she could think of for what she was about to do.