The second his hand came to rest on the exposed skin of her back again, any rational thought flew from her mind. She moaned softly and spun within the circle of his arms. His face was still the most beautiful she’d ever seen; his chin square, covered in a light five o’clock shadow, his eyes heavy and intense.
“You are gorgeous,” she blurted out unapologetically. She lifted her hands to the lapels of his jacket, so that she could feel the hard wall of his chest beneath her fingertips.
“Right back at you. I’m Gael.”
“I know,” she flicked her eyes to his. Still no recognition. Curiosity, yes, but knowledge? Absolutely not.
Carrie rather liked the idea of the plan that was formulating in her mind. Why let him in on their shared history and give him a chance to object? He desired her now, and it was sure as hell mutual. She lifted her hands to the slender straps of her dress. With her eyes locked to his, she eased them down her shoulders, pulling the dress with it, until it dropped to the ground. She was wearing a black thong, and sky-high heels. She walked away from him slowly, swaggering her hips.
The penthouse suite presumably had several bedrooms. Carrie walked towards the sofa.
“And you are?” He asked, his voice thick, his eyes hooded as he inspected her perfect body with obvious longing.
“Very interested in whether your reputation is exaggerated.”
His laugh was a seductive promise. He prowled towards her slowly. As he went, he pushed his jacket from his shoulders, and tossed it over the back of his sofa. “I must say, I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
“Well, this woman does,” Carrie promised.
“Excellent.” He discarded his shirt next, and then stepped out of his shoes and trousers. In just a pair of black boxer shorts, Carrie realised his body exceeded even her wildest teenage fantasies. Broad shoulders, check. Rippling abdominals, check. All over tan, check. Narrow waist and strong legs, check and check. She had no qualms enjoying her appraisal of his physical attributes.
His eyes flashed as they locked with hers. He dipped his head and meshed their mouths together with no preamble or warning. A thousand fireworks exploded through Carrie as sensations, long forgotten, swept over her.
All her life, and only one man had ever put the universe in her soul. It made a mockery of the last few years she’d spent trying to find a sexual partner who could answer the gaping whole of curiosity she bore in her breast. None had ever come close to the feeling he could arouse with one single kiss.
Gael knew he should be asking her name. Should be asking her anything. He didn’t go in for this kind of crap anymore. He wouldn’t be doing it now, if the woman before him hadn’t knocked on some spring of lust that he hadn’t even known he possessed. There was something familiar about her. Something strangely resonant. She was undoubtedly a model or actress – that explained the hitch of recognition that was being evoked. She was certainly beautiful enough to be either. Though she was a little too made up for his tastes – he generally preferred natural looking women – the effect was still startling. Perfect long eye lashes, cheeks that shimmered with bronzer and lips that were painted cherry red to emphasise the natural Cupid’s bow shape.
He ran his hands down her naked back, until he reached her rear. He cupped her buttocks and held them, pushing her forward, so that she came into close contact with his arousal. And he was ready. He was hard and desperate to possess her. He kissed her firmly, demanding more from her, and she met him there, her own mouth claiming and needing. Her hands tangled in his hair, and her breasts flattened against his chest. He groaned as need threatened to spiral out of control.
He stepped and she followed, their bodies locked in a dance of wordless understanding. His room was just off the dining area, and he led her to it without breaking their kiss. He’d never felt more grateful than when they stepped inside. They fell to the bed in a tangle of limbs and flesh, moving with a desperate hunger.
Carrie arched her back, as her hands reached for his boxer shorts. She pushed at them, impatient to feel him. Impatient for the conclusion to the feelings he’d inspired years earlier.
He laughed, but he was not amused. Frankly, he was terrified by the depth of desire that was pounding his insides. It was an all-consuming maelstrom of need. He shifted out of his boxers and then pushed her thong aside. Her shoes … well, her shoes he left in place. They were too entirely sexy to be discarded.
“Shit,” he swore, as he was poised to enter her. He always practiced safe sex. Always. And yet he’d almost forgotten. He sat up and reached for a condom. His fingers weren’t entirely steady as he rolled it over his length. He looked down at her, and something turned over in his chest. Some strange feeling that he’d been here before. That her eyes had looked at him with that hope and wonder.
He brought his body over her, pressing his weight down. “I don’t even know your name,” he murmured throatily, tracing a kiss from her lips, to the valley between her petite breasts.
“I know,” she smiled to cover her heartache. Her lack of self-consciousness was beautiful. He toyed with her breasts, wishing she weren’t being so coy, wanting to know more about her than their current situation demanded.
“You’re sure you want this?” He asked, aware that his self-control was almost at breaking point.
“Yes,” she promised, reaching down and wrapping her fingers around his erection. He made a sound of guttural desperation and then thrust inside of her, too overtaken by desire to be slow or cautious. Carrie bucked against him, hard. She lifted her arms above her head, and moaned as her whole body convulsed with the most intense pleasure she’d ever felt. She began to shake as waves of desire spread through her, sending her body haywire.
“Dios Mio,” he groaned, their bodies moving as one. It was as if, on some level, they understood only one another. As though their creation had been no earthly coincidence. As if, instead, they’d been moulded from the same clay, destined to reform at some point.
Carrie felt exactly the same. She knew he was sexy, and she’d had sex before, but she’d never done this. She’d never felt this.
Their rhythm increased, and together they climbed higher and higher, their panting a desperate sound of need and want. When she spiralled out of control, into a valley of pure pleasure, Gael followed, releasing his body with a powerful shudder.
It took precisely one minute for Carrie to realise what she’d just done … and to begin freaking out. It had seemed so simple before. To seduce Gael and make him regret hurting her. But now? Now that she’d felt his beautiful body stoke hers in such a passionate way, could she throw it back in his face?
He would hate her. He’d never forgive her.
Pain dug deep into her heart.
“Well,” he propped up, so that he could look down at her. “I think I’m going to need to know your name.” He ran a hand through her hair, his smile both sexy and adorable.
Carrie cringed inwardly. She’d let her need for revenge rule her actions and now she’d done something truly stupid. Why had she thought she could play with fire and get away with it?
4
Gael laughed quietly. “I have to apologise for my haste to get you into bed. Something about that fucking sexy striptease by the front door robbed me of my usual manners.” He pulled his boxer shorts on. They hung low on his hips, exposing his perfect chest and powerful thighs.
Carrie forced herself to look away. “I got what I came for,” she promised huskily, forcing a tight smile to her lips. For the first time in years, she felt lost. Confused and guilty, and emotional. She stood, just so that she could turn away from him.
He reached to the ground and lifted her thong. “Yours,” he grinned, holding it out to her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, taking the underwear from him and slipping them over her legs. She was pleasantly sore from muscles that hadn’t been properly used in a long time.
“Let me get us some room service. Champagne? Something to eat?”
/> “Sure,” Carrie agreed, with no intention of staying around to eat or drink anything with Gael. She felt sick to her stomach at what she’d just done.
Gael reached for the receiver beside the bed, and dialled reception.
Carrie took one last look at him, her heart in her chest, before slipping out of the room. She pulled the dress on quickly, then hurriedly pressed the button for the elevator. It appeared almost instantaneously and Carrie had never been more grateful.
She moved into it and tapped the ‘G’ button again and again, willing the doors to close. They did, and finally she could breathe.
She turned, slowly, to regard herself in the mirror at the back of the cubicle. Remarkably, she looked the same as always. Only a betraying flush at her neck told of the heated blood that had just flashed through her body.
She reached for her purse, to replace the lipstick that had been kissed off, and made a squawk of desperation, when she realised she didn’t have it. She must have left it upstairs. In Gael’s penthouse.
“Crap,” she whispered, running her fingers through her hair. “Bloody bugger and crap.”
Gael was smiling uncontrollably. Something about what had just happened felt … amazing. Despite the fact he’d only exchanged ten or so words with the mysterious woman, he didn’t regret what they’d shared.
He replaced the phone, and then stood. She must have gone to another room to freshen up. Or perhaps to put that sexy-as-hell dress back on. All the better, for he’d rather like to rip it off her himself, next time.
“Where are you, precioso?”
His smile widened. The dress was no longer cast on the floor. Excellent. He went to call out for her but realised he had no idea what her name was. Damn it, that was an unforgivable oversight. She deserved better than that. He was no randy teenager, unable to contain himself. Though he’d just acted like it.
“Hello? Are you hiding?” He asked again. As he moved through the penthouse, the smile dropped from his mouth.
She wasn’t there.
She was gone.
It didn’t make sense. He’d felt the connection. He knew she’d felt it too. He swore in Spanish as he moved back to the entrance way.
It was then that he saw it. Like Cinderella’s glass slipper, her shimmery purse sat, propped against the mantle. And, just as with Cinderella, he knew it would contain all the answers he sought.
He opened it without hesitation, smiling when he saw that it was effectively just a vessel for makeup. Concealer, blush, lipstick. Condoms! His laugh only deepened, at this evidence of her own attitude to safe sex. He liked a woman who was prepared.
A fifty-pound note was pressed to the back of the purse, and a mobile phone that appeared to have run out of battery was heavy in the centre. No identification whatsoever. He dressed with haste, and tucked the purse into his jacket pocket.
The lift took a moment to arrive, and each delay only added to his impatience. Finally, though, the doors pinged open.
The band had started, and the lights had been dimmed. The dancing portion of the fundraiser was in full swing. His eyes scanned the room, and located her quickly enough. It was as if she’d left a tracking scent on him, making her easy to isolate in the group.
She was locked in conversation with a woman. Two men looked on, one with an unmistakably proprietorial air.
Curious, he simply reclined, appearing indolent and at ease, while inside, he was wound tighter than a spring.
“What do you mean?” Juanita demanded, leaning forward. Her brown eyes were enormous in her heart-shaped face. “Gael is here?”
“Shhh,” Carrie shook her head, her fingers fumbling before her. She recognised the nervous gesture and stopped it almost at once. She was not that girl anymore. “Yes. I have to go.”
“But… what happened?”
“I can’t talk about it now,” she whispered desperately. “Can you lend me some money for a cab?”
“No, I’ll come with you. You don’t seem like yourself.”
“I’m fine,” Carrie demurred, wanting only to be alone. “I will be, anyway. I just want to get home.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Can you just make something up? Tell Max I have a headache or whatever?”
“Of course.” Juanita kissed her best friend on the cheek then handed her a hundred-pound note. “I’ll call you in the morning.”
Carrie nodded. “Sure. Thanks, Winnie.”
She kept her head down as she weaved back through the ballroom. It felt hot and cloying, and she needed to get out. She was relieved when she made it back into the relative freedom of the foyer, but she knew she wasn’t home yet.
Her heels made a clicking sound as she strode swiftly across the tiled floor.
“Going somewhere, Cinderella?”
His voice was unmistakable.
So too was the effect it had on her body. Goosebumps covered her exposed flesh as she turned slowly to face him. She blanked the guilt out of her expression with effort.
His eyes were loaded with a silent challenge. “You forgot this.”
“Oh.” She closed her eyes and moved to take it from him, but Gael held the shimmering purse high above his head. When Carrie reached for it, he snaked an arm around her waist, holding her to his body.
His dark eyes bore accusingly into her soul. “Do you make a habit of this type of thing?”
She lowered her gaze, feeling a lot like gauche teen who’d first loved him.
Her voice though, when she spoke, rang with steel-like confidence. “I’m sorry, Gael. I didn’t see any point in staying.”
“You didn’t?” His smile was harsh. “I thought we were just beginning to get to know one another.”
The blonde hair glimmered in the light when she shook her head. Her eyes were confusing him; they were clouded with a complex web of emotions. But her face was ice-cold, unmoved by anything like remorse or guilt.
“No.”
“What the hell is it with you?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but had no words. No words that could adequately explain how she felt. Or why she’d done what she had.
“Carrie? Wait up.”
Max. Carrie’s face contorted with anguish as she saw the realisation the moment it hit Gael. What he’d just done. And who she was. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her with undisguised contempt. “What the hell?” He demanded in an arctic undertone.
She squared her shoulders. The die was well and truly cast, bleeding into the waters of both their lives.
“It would seem you want me after all,” she pointed out caustically. Her heart was racing, her stomach churning.
“Carrie?” He closed his eyes in pained memory, then blinked them open, so that he could stare at her again. “It can’t be …”
She tilted her chin in angry defiance. “Why? Because I’m not a shy little hippopotamus anymore?”
He groaned at her words, for they spoke volumes in terms of her pain.
“Carrie? Are you okay? Juanita said you’re not well.”
“Juanita lied,” Gael said menacingly, summing up the young blonde man with one curt look. “Carrie’s just had a better offer, that’s all.”
“What? Who’s this?”
“My step-brother,” Carrie remarked coldly, then she began to laugh maniacally. In a way that sent arrows of worry shooting through Gael.
“I’m going to take her home. Go back inside,” Gael dismissed Max without looking at him again.
“Like hell you are,” Carrie responded tensely, stepping away from him. “This was a stupid mistake.” She stiffened her spine. “I’m sorry Max. I have to go.”
She walked quickly away from both of them, an odd sense of heartache in her breast. The evening was cool, despite the fact it was still the middle of summer. She nodded at the bell-hop, and waited for him to raise his hand to call a cab. But he was looking past Carrie, and she just knew Gael had followed her.
She turned, her features rich with exasperat
ion. “Leave me alone,” she whispered, turning back to the road and looking for a taxi.
“I would have, happily, if you hadn’t just pulled me into some kind of revenge seduction,” he responded tautly.
“You weren’t complaining at the time.”
“No,” he agreed. “Though we both know I didn’t quite have all the facts, did I?”
The sound of a powerful engine came from behind them, as a black Daimler pulled up in the hotel drive.
“Get in the car,” he spoke harshly, his tone demanding obedience. She was shivering, she realised distractedly. Years of loathing and longing had combined in one powerful night, and left her feeling queasy.
“I …”
“Get in the car. Now.”
Any objection she might have voiced died in her throat when she saw the strength of emotion in his face. She slid into the seat, feeling as though she were watching on from the sidelines.
He sat beside her, and sent her a long, hard stare before thrumming the engine to life. He tore it out of the drive at speed, sliding it effortlessly into a slim gap in traffic. “Where do you live?”
She kept her lips pressed together.
“You tell me where you live, Carrie, or so help me, I will pull this car over and kiss you until you beg me to make love to you again.”
His words painted a stunning image in her mind, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think she could play with fire twice. She looked at him sidelong and shrugged with assumed nonchalance. She gave her address, uncaring that he had it. What did it matter? Gael had got what he wanted – sex with a woman he found desirable. And she’d got what she wanted – proof that he desired her. That her transformation had worked.
So why did her victory feel so hollow?
She sat back moodily in the leather chair, staring out at the passing lights of London. They glowed orange outside the windows. Beside her, as Gael moved the gear stick and steered the powerful car, she felt a growing sense of shock at her actions.
Instinct had led her firmly astray, she thought with a small tug of remorse. But it was too late to do anything about that now.