“Rich, famous and notorious. Raúl Sanchez Fuente scores three out of three.”

When she agreed to help out a friend, Estelle Connolly didn’t expect to end up as an escort to a society wedding, or to catch the eye of the most powerful man in the room.

Innocent Estelle struggles to retain her sophisticated cover especially when Raúl makes her an outrageous offer—the money to settle her family problems in exchange for a few months of her time…as Mrs. Sanchez!

The contract has been signed, the Spanish honeymoon arranged, but there isn’t a clause to cover all consequences of the wedding night….

‘It’s not every day you get offered a million dollars.’ Estelle could at least be honest about that. ‘Nor move to Marbella …’

‘You will love it,’ Raúl said. ‘The night life is fantastic …’

He didn’t know her at all, Estelle realised. ‘I just hope everyone believes us,’ she said.

‘Why wouldn’t they? Even when we divorce we’ll maintain the lie. You understand the confidentiality clause?’ Raúl checked. ‘No one is ever to know that this is a marriage of convenience only.’

‘No one will ever hear it from me,’ she assured him. The prospect of being found out was abhorrent to Estelle. ‘Just a whirlwind romance and a marriage that didn’t work out.’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘And, Estelle, even if we do get on—even if you do like—’

‘Don’t worry, Raúl,’ she interrupted. ‘I’m not going to be falling in love with you.’ She gave him a tight smile. ‘I’ll be out of your life as per the contract.’

CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form where she was asked for her job title and was thrilled, after all these years, to be able to put down her answer as ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation and, after chewing her pen for a moment, Carol put down the truth—’writing’. The third question asked, ‘What are your hobbies?’ Well, not wanting to look obsessed or, worse still, boring, she crossed the fingers on her free hand and answered ‘swimming and tennis’. But, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, and the closest she’s got to a tennis racket in the last couple of years is watching the Australian Open, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

The Playboy of Puerto Banús

Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Anne and Tony

Thank you for all your love and support.

It means so much.

C xxxx

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EPILOGUE

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

‘ESTELLE, I PROMISE, you wouldn’t have to do anything except hold Gordon’s hand and dance….’

‘And?’ Estelle pushed, pulling down the corner on the page she was reading and closing her book, hardly able to believe she was having this conversation, let alone considering going along with Ginny’s plan.

‘Maybe a small kiss on the cheek or lips…’ As Estelle shook her head Ginny pushed on. ‘You just have to look as if you’re madly in love.’

‘With a sixty-four-year-old?’

‘Yes.’ Ginny sighed, but before Estelle could argue further broke in, ‘Everyone will think you’re a gold-digger, that you’re only with Gordon for his money. Which you will be…’ Ginny stopped talking then, interrupted by a terrible coughing fit.

They were housemates rather than best friends, two students trying to get through university. At twenty-five, Estelle was a few years older than Ginny, and had long wondered how Ginny managed to run a car and dress so well, but now she had found out. Ginny worked for a very exclusive escort agency and had a long-term client—

Gordon Edwards, a politician with a secret. Which was why, Ginny had assured her, nothing would happen or be expected from Estelle if she took Ginny’s place as his date at a very grand wedding being held this evening.

‘I’d have to share a room with him.’

Estelle had never shared a room with a man in her life. She wasn’t especially shy or retiring but she certainly had none of Ginny’s confidence or social ease. Ginny thought the weekends were designed for parties, clubs and pubs, whereas Estelle’s idea of a perfect weekend was looking around old churches or ruins and then curling up on the sofa with a book.

Not playing escort!

‘Gordon always takes the sofa when we share a room.’

‘No.’ Estelle pushed up her glasses and returned to her book. She tried to carry on reading about the mausoleum of the first Qin Emperor but it was terribly hard to do so when she was so worried about her brother and he still hadn’t rung to let her know if he had got the job.

There was no mistaking the fact that the money would help.

It was late Saturday morning in London, and the wedding was being held that evening in a castle in Scotland. If Estelle was going to go then she would have to start getting ready now, for they would fly to Edinburgh and then take a helicopter to the castle and time was fast running out.

‘Please,’ Ginny said. ‘The agency are freaking because they can’t get anyone suitable at such short notice. He’s coming to pick me up in an hour.’

‘What will people think?’ Estelle asked. ‘If people are used to seeing him with you…’

‘Gordon will take care of that. He’ll say that we had an argument, that I was pushing for an engagement ring or something. We were going to be finishing soon anyway, now that I’m nearly through university. Honestly, Estelle, Gordon really is the loveliest man. There’s so much pressure on him to appear straight—he simply cannot go to this wedding without a date. Just think of the money!’

Estelle couldn’t stop thinking about the money.

Attending this wedding would mean that she could pay her brother’s mortgage for an entire month, as well as a couple of his bills.

Okay, it wouldn’t entirely solve their dilemma, but it would buy Andrew and his young family a little bit more time and, given all they had been through this past year, and all that was still to come, they could certainly use the reprieve.

Andrew had done so much for her—had put his own life on hold to make sure that Estelle’s life carried on as normally as possible when their parents had died when Estelle was seventeen.

It was time for Estelle to step up, just as Andrew had.

‘Okay.’ Estelle took a deep breath and her decision was made. ‘Ring and say that I’ll come.’

‘I’ve already told him that you’ve agreed,’ Ginny admitted. ‘Estelle, don’t look at me like that. I know how badly you need the money and I simply couldn’t bear to tell Gordon that I didn’t have someone else lined up.’

Ginny looked more closely at Estelle. Her long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her very pale skin was without a blemish, and there was no last night’s make-up smudged under Estelle’s green eyes because Estelle rarely wore any. Ginny was trying not to show it but she was actually more than a little nervous as to what a made-up Estelle would look like and whether or not she could carry it off.

‘You need to get ready. I’ll help with your hair and things.’

‘You’re not coming near me with that cough,’ Estelle said. ‘I can manage.’ She looked at Ginny’s doubtful expression. ‘We can all look like tarts if we have to.’ She smiled and Ginny laughed. ‘Though I don’t actually have anything I can wear…would anyone notice if I wore something of yours?’

‘I bought a new dress for the wedding.’ Ginny headed to the wardrobe in her bedroom and Estelle followed.

Estelle’s jaw dropped when she held the flimsy gold fabric up.

‘Does that go under the dress?’

‘It looks stunning on.’

‘On you, perhaps…’ Estelle said, because Ginny was a lot slimmer and had a tiny pert bust, whereas, though small, Estelle was curvy. ‘I’m going to look like…’

‘Which is the whole point.’ Ginny grinned. ‘Honestly, Estelle, if you just relax you’ll have fun.’

‘I doubt it,’ Estelle said, wrapping her long dark hair in heated rollers at Ginny’s dressing table, and setting to work on her face under her housemate’s very watchful eye. Gordon was supposed to be a womanizer, and somehow Estelle had to get the balance right between looking as if she adored him while being far, far too young for him too.

‘You need more foundation.’

‘More?’ Estelle already felt as if she had an inch on.

‘And lashings of mascara.’

Ginny watched as Estelle took out the heated rollers and her long dark hair tumbled into ringlets. ‘Okay, loads of hairspray…’ Ginny said. ‘Oh, and by the way, Gordon calls me Virginia, just in case anyone mentions me.’

Ginny blinked a few times when Estelle turned around. The smoky grey eyeshadow and layers of mascara brought out the emerald in her green eyes, and the make-up accentuated Estelle’s full lips. Seeing the long black curls framing her friend’s petite face, Ginny started to believe that Estelle could carry this off.

‘You look amazing! Let’s see you in the dress.’

‘Won’t I change there?’

‘Gordon’s schedule is too busy. Once you land I would imagine you’ll be straight into the wedding.’

The dress was beautiful—sheer and gold, it clung everywhere. It was far too revealing but it was delicious too. Ginny gaped when Estelle wobbled on very high shoes.

‘I think Gordon might dump me.’

‘This,’ Estelle said firmly, ‘is a one-off.’

‘That’s what I said when I first started at the agency,’ Ginny admitted. ‘But if it goes well…’

‘Don’t even think it!’ Estelle said as a car tooted in the street.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Ginny said as Estelle nearly jumped out of her skin. ‘You look stunning. I know you can do this.’

Estelle clung onto that as she stepped out of her cheap student accommodation home. Teetering on the unfamiliar high heels, she walked out of the drive and towards a sleek silver car, more than a little terrified to meet the politician.

‘I have amazing taste!’

Gordon greeted her with a smile as his driver held open the door and Estelle climbed in. He was chubby, dressed in full Scottish regalia, and he made her smile even before she’d properly sat down.

‘And you’ve got far better legs than me! I feel ridiculous in a kilt.’

Instantly he made her relax.

As the car headed for the airport he brought Estelle up to speed. ‘We met two weeks ago…’

‘Where?’ Estelle asked.

‘At Dario’s…’

‘Dario who?’

Gordon laughed. ‘You really don’t know anything, do you? It’s a bar in Soho—sugar daddy heaven.’

‘Oh, God…’ she groaned.

‘Do you work?’ Gordon asked.

‘Part-time at the library.’

‘Maybe don’t mention that. Just say you do a little bit of modelling,’ Gordon suggested. ‘Keep it all very vague, or say that right now keeping Gordon happy is a full-time job.’ Estelle blushed and Gordon noticed. ‘I know. Awful, isn’t it? I seem to have created this terrible persona.’

‘I’m worried that I shan’t be able to pull it off.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ Gordon said, and he went through everything with her again.

They practised their story over and over on the short flight to Edinburgh. He even asked after her brother and niece, and she was surprised that he knew about their plight.

‘Virginia and I have become good friends this past year,’ Gordon said. ‘She was ever so upset for you when your brother had his accident and when the baby was born so unwell…’ He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘How is she now?’

‘Waiting for surgery.’

‘Just remember that you’re helping them,’ Gordon said as they transferred to the helicopter that would take them to the castle where the very exclusive wedding was being held.

As they walked across the immaculate lawn Gordon took her hand and she was grateful to hold onto it. He really was nice—if they had met under any other circumstances she would be looking forward to this evening.

‘I can’t wait to get inside the castle,’ Estelle admitted. She’d already told Gordon she was studying ancient architecture.

‘There won’t be much time for exploring,’ Gordon said. ‘We’ll be shown to our room and there will just be time to freshen up and touch up your hair and make-up before we head down for the wedding.’

‘Okay.’

‘And just remember,’ Gordon said, ‘this time tomorrow it will all be over and you’ll never have to see any of them again.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE SOUND OF seagulls and the distant throb of music didn’t wake Raúl from his slumber; instead they were the sounds that soothed him when he was startled in his sleep. He lay there, heart pounding for a moment, telling himself it was just a dream, while knowing that it was a memory that had jolted him awake.

The gentle motion of his berthed yacht almost tempted him back to sleep, but then he remembered that he was supposed to be meeting with his father.

Raúl forced his eyes open and stared at the tousled blonde hair on his pillow.

‘Buenos días,’ she purred.

‘Buenos días.’ Raúl responded, but instead of moving towards her he turned onto his back.

‘What time do we leave for the wedding?’

Raúl closed his eyes at her presumption. He had never actually asked Kelly to join him as his guest, but that was the trouble with dating your PA—she knew your diary. The wedding was to be held this evening in the Scottish Highlands. It was nothing for Raúl to fly from Spain to Scotland for a wedding, but Kelly clearly thought that a few weeks out of his office and in his bed meant she was automatically invited.

‘I’ll speak to you about that later,’ Raúl said, glancing at the clock. ‘Right now I have to meet with my father.’

‘Raúl…’ Kelly turned to him in a move that was suggestive.

‘Later,’ he said, and climbed out of bed. ‘I am supposed to be meeting with him in ten minutes.’

‘That wouldn’t have stopped you before.’

He took the stairs and walked up onto the deck, picking his way through the debris and the evidence of another wild Raúl Sanchez Fuente party. A maid was already starting the mammoth clean up and she gave a cheery wave to Raúl.

‘Gracias,’ she said as he gave her a substantial cash bonus without apologising for the mess. She did not mind his excesses—Raúl paid and treated her well, unlike the owners of some of the yachts, who expected her to work without complaint for very little.

Raúl put on his shades and walked along the Puerto Banús marina, where his yacht was moored. Here, Raúl belonged. Here, despite his decadent ways, he fitted in—because he was not the wildest. Raúl could hear a party continuing on, the music throbbing, the sound of laughter and merriment carrying across the sparkling water, and it reminded Raúl why he loved this place. Rarely was it ever silent. The marina was full of luxurious yachts and had the heady scent of filthy money. Ludicrously expensive cars were casually parked, all the fruits of serious wealth were on display here, and Raúl—dishevelled, unshaven and terribly beautiful—blended in well.

A couple of tourists stumbling home from a club nudged each other as Raúl walked past, trying to place him. For he was as good-looking as any film star and clearly he was someone. People-watching was a regular activity in Puerto Banús, for amongst the tourists and locals were the rich, the famous and the notorious too.

Raúl scored two out of three—though he was famous in the business world.

Enrique, his driver, was waiting for him, and Raúl climbed in and gave a brief greeting, and then sat silently as he was driven the short distance to the Marbella branch of De La Fuente Holdings. He had no doubt as to what his father wanted to discuss, but his mind was going over what Kelly had just said.

‘That wouldn’t have stopped you before.’

Before what? Raúl asked himself.

Before he lost interest?

Before the chase had ended?

Before she assumed that a Saturday night would be shared?

Raúl was an island.

An island with frequent visitors and world-renowned parties, an island of endless sun and unlimited luxury, but one who preferred guests not to outstay their welcome, only allowed the superficial. Yes, Raúl was an island, and he intended to keep it that way. He certainly didn’t want permanent boarders and he chose not to let anyone get too close.

He would never be responsible again for another’s heart.

‘I shan’t be long,’ Raúl told Enrique as the car door was lifted and he climbed out.

Raúl was not looking forward to this conversation, but his father had insisted they meet this morning and Raúl just wanted it over and done with.

‘Buenos días.’ He greeted Angela, his father’s PA. ‘What are you doing here on a Saturday?’ he asked, because Angela usually flew home to her family for the weekend.

‘I am trying to track down a certain Spaniard who said he would be here at eight a.m.,’ Angela scolded mildly. She was the one woman who could get away with telling Raúl how it was. In her late fifties, she had been employed by the company for as long as Raúl could remember. ‘I’ve been trying to call you—don’t you ever have your phone on?’

‘The battery is flat.’

‘Well, before you speak with your father I need to go through your diary.’

‘Later.’

‘No, Raúl. I’m flying home later this morning. This needs to be done now. We also need to sort out a new PA for you—preferably one you don’t fancy!’ Angela was less than impressed with Raúl’s brief eye-roll. ‘Raúl, you need to remember that I’m going on long service leave in a few weeks’ time. If I’m going to train somebody up for you, then I need to get on to it now.’

‘Choose someone, then,’ Raúl said. ‘And you’re right; perhaps it would be better if it was someone that I did not fancy.’

‘Finally!’ Angela sighed.

Yes, after having it pointed out to him on numerous occasions, Raúl was finally accepting that mixing business with pleasure had consequences, and sleeping with his PA was perhaps not such a good idea.

What was it with women? Raúl wondered. Why, once they’d made it to his bed, did they decide that they could no longer both work and sleep with him? Raúl could set his watch by it. After a few weeks they would decide, just as Kelly now had, that frequent dates and sex weren’t enough. They wanted exclusivity, wanted inclusion, wanted commitment—which Raúl simply refused to give. Kelly would be found another position—or paid off handsomely, if that was what she preferred.

‘All your flights and transfers are arranged for this afternoon,’ Angela said. ‘I can’t believe that you’ll be wearing a kilt.’

‘I look good in a kilt.’ Raúl smiled. ‘Donald has asked that all the male guests wear them. I’m an honorary Scotsman, you know!’ He was. He had studied in Scotland for four years, perhaps the best four years of his life, and the friendships he had made there had long continued.

Bar one.

His face hardened as he thought of his ex, who would be there tonight. Perhaps he should take Kelly after all, or arrive alone and get off with one of his old flames just to annoy the hell out of Araminta.

‘Right, let’s get this done…’

He went to walk towards his father’s office but Angela called him back. ‘It might be an idea to have a coffee before you see him.’

‘No need,’ Raúl said. ‘I will get this over with and then go to Sol’s for breakfast.’ He loved Saturday mornings at Sol’s—a beautiful waterfront café that moved you out quickly if you weren’t one of the most beautiful. For people like Raúl they didn’t even bother with a bill. They wanted his patronage, wanted the energy he brought to the place. Yes, Raúl decided, he would head there next—except Angela was calling him back again.

‘Go and freshen up and I will bring you in coffee and a clean shirt.’

Yes, Angela was the only woman who could get away with speaking to him like that.

Raúl went into his own huge office—which was more like a luxurious hotel suite. As well as the office there was a sumptuous bedroom, and both rooms were put to good use. Heading towards the bathroom, he glanced at the bed and was briefly tempted to lie down. He had had two, possibly three hours’ sleep last night. But he forced himself on to the bathroom, grimacing when he saw himself in the mirror. He could see now why Angela had been so insistent that he freshened up before facing his father.

Raúl’s black eyes were bloodshot. He had forgotten to shave yesterday, so now two days’ worth of black growth lined his strong jaw. His usually immaculate jet-black hair was tousled and fell over his forehead, and the lipstick on his collar, Raúl was sure, wasn’t the colour that Kelly had been wearing last night.

Yes, he looked every inch the debauched playboy that his father accused him of being.

Raúl took off his jacket and shirt and splashed water on his face, and then set about changing, calling out his thanks to Angela when he heard her tell him that she had put a coffee on his desk.

‘Gracias!’ he called, and walked out mid-shave. Angela was possibly the only woman who did not blush at the sight of him without a shirt—she had seen him in nappies, after all. ‘And thanks for pointing me in this direction before I meet with my father.’

‘No problem.’ She smiled. ‘There is a fresh shirt hanging on the chair in your office also.’

‘Do you know what it is that he wants to see me about?’ Raúl was fishing. He knew exactly what his father would want to discuss. ‘Am I to be given another lecture about taming my ways and settling down?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Only now did Angela’s cheeks turn pink. ‘Raúl, please listen to what your father has to say, though. This is no time for arguments. Your father is sick…’

‘Just because he is ill, it does not necessarily make him right.’

‘No,’ Angela said carefully. ‘But he does care for you, Raúl, even if he does not easily show it. Please listen to him… He is worried about you facing things on your own…’ Angela saw Raúl’s frown and stopped.

‘I think you do know what this is about.’

‘Raúl, I just ask that you listen—I can’t bear to hear you two fighting.’

‘Stop worrying,’ Raúl said kindly. He liked Angela; she was the closest thing to a mum he had. ‘I have no intention of fighting. I just think that at thirty years of age I don’t have to be told my bedtime, and certainly not who I’m going to bed with…’

Raúl got back to shaving. He had no intention of being dictated to, but his hand did pause. Would it be such a big deal to let his father think that maybe he was actually serious about someone? Would it hurt just to hint that maybe he was close to settling down? His father was dying, after all.

‘Wish me luck.’ Raúl’s voice was wry as, clean-shaven and bit clearer in the head, he walked past Angela to face his father. He glanced over, saw the tension and strain on her features. ‘It will be fine,’ he reassured her. ‘Look…’ He knew Angela would never keep news from his father. ‘I am seeing someone, but I don’t want him getting carried away.’

‘Who?’ Angela’s eyes were wide.

‘Just an old flame. We ran into each other again. She lives in England but I’m seeing her at the wedding tonight…’

‘Araminta!’

‘Stop there…’ Raúl smiled. That was all that was needed. He knew the seed had been sewn.

Raúl knocked on his father’s door and stepped in.

There should have been flames, he thought afterwards. Or the smell of sulphur. Actually, there should have been the smell of car fuel and the sound of thunder followed by silence. There should at least have been some warning, as he was walked through the door, that he was returning to hell.

CHAPTER THREE

ESTELLE FELT AS if everyone knew what a fraud she was.

She closed her heavily made-up eyes and dragged in a deep breath. They were standing in the castle grounds, waiting to be led to their seating, and some pre-wedding drinks and nibbles were being served.

Why they hell had she agreed to this?

You know why, Estelle told herself, her resolve hardening.

‘Are you okay, darling?’ Gordon asked. ‘The wedding should start soon.’

He’d been nothing but kind, just as Ginny had promised he would be.

‘I’m fine,’ Estelle said, and held a little more tightly onto his arm, just as Gordon had told her to do.

‘This is Estelle.’

Gordon introduced her to a couple and Estelle watched the slight rise of the woman’s eyebrow.

‘Estelle, this is Veronica and James.’

‘Estelle.’ Veronica gave a curt nod and soon moved James away.

‘You’re doing wonderfully,’ Gordon said, squeezing her hand and drawing her away from the mingling wedding guests so that they could speak without being overheard. ‘Maybe you just need to smile a bit more,’ he suggested gently, ‘and, I know it calls for brilliant acting, could you try and look just a little more besotted with me? I’ve got my terrible reputation with women to think of.’

‘Of course,’ Estelle said through chattering teeth.

‘The gay man and the virgin,’ Gordon whispered in her ear. ‘If only they knew!’

Estelle’s eyes widened in horror and Gordon quickly apologised. ‘I was just trying to make you smile,’ he said.

‘I can’t believe that she told you!’

Estelle was horrified that Ginny would share something as personal and as sensitive as that. Then again, she could believe it—Ginny found it endlessly amusing that Estelle had never slept with anyone. It wasn’t by deliberate choice; it wasn’t something she’d actively decided. More that she’d been so shell shocked by her parents’ death that homework and books had been her escape. By the time she’d emerged from her grief Estelle had felt two steps behind her peers. Clubs and parties had seemed frivolous. It was ancient ruins and buildings that fascinated her, and when she did meet someone there was always a panic that her virgin status must mean she was looking for a husband. More and more it had become an issue.

Now it would seem it was a joke!

She’d be having strong words with Ginny.

‘Virginia didn’t say it in a malicious way.’ Gordon seemed devastated to have upset her. ‘We were just talking one night. I really should never have brought it up.’

‘It’s okay,’ Estelle conceded. ‘I guess I am a bit of a rarity.’

‘We all have our secrets,’ Gordon said. ‘And for tonight we both have to cover them up.’ He smiled at her strained expression. ‘Estelle, I know how hard it was for you to agree to this, but I promise you have nothing to feel nervous about. I’m soon to be a happily married man.’

‘I know,’ Estelle said. Gordon had told her on the plane about his long-term boyfriend, Frank, and the plans they had made. ‘I just can’t stand the disapproving looks and that everyone thinks of me as a gold-digger,’ she admitted. ‘Even though that’s the whole point of the night.’

‘Stop caring what everyone thinks,’ Gordon said.

It was the same as she said to Andrew, who was acutely embarrassed to be in a wheelchair. ‘You’re right.’

Gordon lifted her chin and she smiled into his eyes. ‘That’s better.’ Gordon smiled back. ‘We’ll get through this together.’

So Estelle held onto his arm and did her best to look suitably besotted, ignoring the occasional disapproving stare from the other guests, and she was just starting to relax and get into things when he arrived.

Till that moment Estelle had thought it would be the bride who would make an entrance, and it wasn’t the sight of a helicopter landing that had heads turning—helicopters had been landing regularly since Estelle had got there—no, it was the man who stepped out who held everyone’s attention.

‘Oh, my, the evening just got interesting,’ Gordon said as the most stunning man ducked under the blades and then walked towards the gathering.

He was tall, his thick black hair brushed back and gleaming, and his mouth was sulky and unsmiling. His Mediterranean colouring should surely mean that he’d look out of place wearing a kilt, but instead he looked as if he’d been born to wear one. Lean-hipped and long-limbed, but muscular too, he could absolutely carry it off.

He could carry me off right now, Estelle thought wildly—and wild thoughts were rare for Estelle.

She watched as he accepted whisky from a waiter and then stood still. He seemed removed and remote from everyone else. Even the women who flocked to him were quickly dismissed, as if at any minute he might simply walk off.

Then he met her eyes.

Estelle tried to flick hers away, except she found that she couldn’t.

His eyes drifted down over the gold dress, but not in the disapproving way that Veronica’s had. Although they weren’t approving either. They were merely assessing.

She felt herself burn as his eyes moved then to her sixty-four-year-old date, and she wanted to correct him—wanted to tell him that the rotund, red-faced man who was struggling with the heat in his heavy kilt and jacket was not her lover. Though of course she could not.

She wanted to, though.

‘Eyes only for me, darling,’ Gordon reminded her, perhaps picking up on the crackle of energy crossing the lawn. His glance followed Estelle’s gaze. ‘Though frankly no one would blame you a bit for looking. He’s completely divine.’

‘Who?’ Estelle tried to pretend that she hadn’t noticed the delicious stranger—Gordon was paying her good money to be here, after all—but she wasn’t fooling anyone.

‘Raúl Sanchez Fuente,’ Gordon said in a low voice. ‘Our paths cross now and then at various functions. He owns everything but morals. The bastard even looks good in a kilt. He has my heart—not that he wants it…’

Estelle couldn’t help but laugh.

* * *

Raúl’s eyes lazily worked over the guests. He was questioning now his decision to come alone. He needed distraction tonight, but when he had thought of the old flames that he might run into he had been thinking of the perky breasts and the narrow waists of yesteryear, as if the clock might have stopped on his university days. Instead the hands of time had moved on.

There was Shona. Her once long red hair was now cut too severely and she stood next to a chinless wonder. She caught his eye and then blushed unbecomingly and shot him a furious look, as if their once torrid times could be erased and forgotten by her wedding ring.

He knew, though, that she was remembering.

‘Raúl…’

He frowned when he saw Araminta walking towards him. She was wearing that slightly needy smile that Raúl recognised only too well and it made his early warning system react—because temporary distraction was his requirement tonight, not desperation.

‘How are you?’

‘Not bad,’ she said, and then proceeded to tell him about her hellish divorce, how she was now single, how she’d thought about him often since the break-up, how she’d been looking forward to seeing him tonight, how she regretted the way things had worked out for them…

‘I told you that you would at the time.’ Raúl did not do sentiment. ‘You’ll have to excuse me. I have to make a call.’

‘We’ll catch up later, though?’

He could hear the hope in her voice and it irked him.

Was he good enough for her father now? Rich enough? Established enough?

‘There’s nothing to catch up on.’

Just like that he dismissed her, his black eyes not even watching her as she gave a small sob and walked off.

What on earth was he doing here? Raúl wondered. He should be getting ready to party on his yacht, or to hit the clubs—should be losing himself instead of getting reacquainted with his past. More to the point, there was hardly a limitless choice of women in this castle in the Scottish Highlands. And after what Raúl had found out this morning his own company wasn’t one he wanted to keep.

His hand tightened on the whisky glass he held. The full impact of what his father had told him was only now starting to hit him.

So black were his thoughts, so sideswiped was he by the revelations, Raúl actually considered leaving—just summoning his pilot and walking out. But then a tumble of dark hair and incredibly pale skin caught his eye and held it. She looked nervous and awkward—which was unusual for Gordon’s tarts. They were normally brash and confident. But not this one.

He held her gaze when she caught his and now there was only one woman he wanted to walk towards him—except she was holding tightly to Gordon’s arm.

She offered far more than distraction—she offered oblivion. Because for the first time since his conversation with his father he forgot about it.

Perhaps he would stay. At least for the service…

A deep Scottish voice filled the air and the guests were informed that the wedding would soon commence and they were to make their way to their seats.

* * *

‘Come on.’ Gordon took Estelle’s hand. ‘I love a good wedding.’

‘And me.’ Estelle smiled.

They walked through the mild night. The grounds were lit by torches and there were chairs set out. With the castle as a backdrop the scene looked completely stunning, and Estelle let go of her guilt, determined to enjoy herself. She’d been on a plane and, for the first time in her life, a helicopter, she was staying the night in a beautiful castle in the Scottish Highlands, and Gordon was an absolute delight. Despite having dreaded it, she was enjoying herself, Estelle realised as they took their seats and she made more small talk with Gordon.

‘Donald says that Victoria’s so nervous,’ he told her. ‘She’s such a perfectionist, apparently, and she’s been stressing over the details for months.’

‘Well, it all seems to have paid off,’ Estelle said. ‘I can’t wait to see what she’s wearing.’

Just as she’d finally started to relax as the music changed and they all stood for the bride, just as she’d decided simply to enjoy herself, she turned to get a first glimpse of the bride—only to realise that Raúl was sitting behind her.

Directly behind her.

It should make no difference, Estelle told herself. It was a simple coincidence. But even coincidence was too big a word—after all, he had to sit somewhere. Estelle was just acutely aware that he was there.

She tried to concentrate on the bride as she made her way to Donald. Victoria really did look stunning. She was wearing a very simple white dress and carried a small posy of heather. The smile on Donald’s face as his bride walked towards him had Estelle smiling too—but not for long. She could feel Raúl’s eyes burning into her shoulder, and a little while later her scalp felt as if it were on fire. She was sure his eyes lingered there.

She did her best to focus on the service. It was incredibly romantic. So much so that when they got to the ‘in sickness and in health’ part it actually brought tears to her eyes as she remembered her brother Andrew’s wedding, just over a year ago.

Who could have known then the hard blows fate had in store for him and his pregnant bride, Amanda?

Ever the gentleman, Gordon pressed a tissue into her hand.

‘Thank you.’ Estelle gave a watery smile and Gordon gave her hand a squeeze.

* * *

Please! Raúl thought. Spare me the crocodile tears. It had been the same with Gordon’s previous girlfriend—what was her name? Raúl smiled to himself, as he had the day they were introduced.

Virginia.

This one, though, even if she wasn’t to Raúl’s usual taste, was stunning. Raven-haired women were far from a rarity where Raúl came from, and for that reason he certainly preferred a blonde—for variety, two blondes!

He wanted raven tonight.

Turn around, Raúl thought, for he wanted to meet those eyes again.

Turn around, he willed her, watching her shoulders stiffen, watching the slight tilt of her neck as if she was aware of but resisting his silent demand.

* * *

How she was resisting.

Estelle sat rigid and then stood in the same way after the service was over, when the bride and groom were letting doves fly. They fluttered high into the sky and the crowd murmured and pointed and turned to watch them in flight.

Reluctantly she also turned, and she must look up, Estelle thought helplessly as two black liquid pools invited her to dive in. She should, like everyone else, move her gaze upwards and watch the doves fly off into the distance.

Instead she faced him.

* * *

What the hell are you doing with him? Raúl wanted to ask. What the hell are you doing with a man perhaps three times your age?

Of course he knew the answer.

Money.

And Raúl knew then what to do—knew the answer to the dilemma that had been force-fed to him at breakfast-time.

His mouth moved into a smile and he watched as her head jerked away—watched as she stared, too late, up into the sky. And he saw her pale throat as her neck arched and he wanted his mouth there.

* * *

A piper led them back to the castle. He walked in front of her and Gordon. Estelle’s heels kept sinking into the grass, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of drowning in quicksand when she had been caught in Raúl’s gaze.

His kilt was greys and lilacs, his jacket a dark purple velvet, his posture and his stride exact and sensual. She wanted to run up to him, to tap him on the shoulder and tell him to please leave her alone. Yet he had done nothing. He wasn’t even looking over his shoulder. He was just chatting with a fellow guest as they made their way back to the castle.

* * *

Very deliberately Raúl ignored her. He turned his back and chatted with Donald, asked a favour from a friend, and then flirted a little with a couple of old flames—but at all times he knew that her eyes more than occasionally searched out his.

Raúl knew exactly what he was doing and he knew exactly why.

Mixing business with pleasure had caused a few problems for Raúl in the past.

Tonight it was suddenly the solution.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘EXCUSE ME, SIR.’

A waiter halted Estelle and Gordon as they made their way into the Grand Hall and to their table.

‘There’s been a change to the seating plan. Donald and Victoria didn’t realise that you were seated so far back. It’s all been rectified now. Please accept our apologies for the mistake.’

‘Oooh, we’re getting an upgrade,’ Gordon said as they were led nearer to the front.

Estelle flushed when she saw that the rather teary woman she had seen earlier speaking with Raúl was being quietly shuffled back to the bowels of the hall. Estelle knew even before they arrived at the new table which one it would be.

Raúl did not look up as they made their way over. Not until they were being shown into their seats.

She smiled a greeting to Veronica and James, but could not even attempt one for Raúl—both seats either side of him were empty.

He had done this.

Estelle tried to tell herself she was imagining things, or overreacting, but somehow she knew she was right. Knew that those long, lingering stares had led to this.

The chair next to him was being held out. She wanted to turn to Gordon, to ask if they could swap seats but she knew that would look ridiculous.

It was a simple change of seating, Estelle told herself.

She acknowledged to herself that she lied.

‘Gordon.’ Raúl shook his hand.

‘Raúl.’

Gordon smiled as he took the seat next to Estelle, so she was sandwiched between them, and she leant back a little as they chatted.

‘I haven’t seen you since…’ Gordon laughed. ‘Since last wedding season. This is Estelle.’

‘Estelle.’ He raised one eyebrow as she took her seat beside him. ‘In Spain you would be Estela.’

‘We’re in England.’ She was aware of her brittle response, but her defences were up—though she did try to soften it with a brief smile.

‘Of course.’ Raúl shrugged. ‘Though I must speak with my pilot. He was most insistent, when we landed, that this was Scotland.’

She tried so hard not to, but Estelle twitched her lips into a slight smile.

‘This is Shona and Henry…’ Raúl introduced them as a waiter poured some wine.

Estelle took a sip and then asked for water—for a draughty castle, it felt terribly warm.

There was brief conversation and more introductions taking place, and all would have been fine if Raúl were not there. But Estelle was aware, despite his nonchalant appearance, that he was carefully listening to her responses.

She laughed just a little too loudly at one of Gordon’s jokes.

As she’d been told to do.

Gordon was busy speaking with James, and for something to do Estelle looked through the menu, squinting because Ginny had suggested that she leave her glasses at home.

Raúl misconstrued it as a frown.

‘Vichyssoise,’ came his low, deep voice. ‘It is a soup. It’s delicious.’

‘I don’t need hand-holding for the menu.’ Estelle stopped herself, aware she was coming across as terribly rude, but her nerves were prickling in defensiveness. ‘And you failed to mention it’s served cold.’

‘No.’ He smiled. ‘I was just about to tell you that.’

Soup was a terribly hard ask with Raúl sitting next to her, but she worked her way through it, even though her conversation with Gordon kept getting interrupted by his phone.

‘I can’t even get a night off.’ He sighed.

‘Important?’ Estelle checked.

‘It could be soon. I’ll have to keep it on silent.’

The main course was served and it was the most gorgeous beef Estelle had ever tasted. Yet it stuck in her throat—especially when Veronica asked her a question.

‘Do you work, Estelle?’

She took a drink of water before answering. ‘I do a bit of modeling.’ Estelle gave a small smile, remembering how Gordon had told her to respond to such a question. She just hadn’t expected to be inhaling testosterone when she answered. ‘Though, of course, taking care of Gordon is a full-time job…’

Estelle saw the pausing of Raúl’s fork and then heard Gordon’s stab of laughter. She was locked in a lie and there was no way out. It was an act, Estelle told herself. Just one night and she would never have to see these people again—and what did she care if Raúl thought her cheap?

‘Could you pass me the pepper?’ came the silk of his voice.

Was it the fact that it had been asked with a Spanish accent that made the question sound sexy, or was it that she was going mad?

She passed it, holding the heavy silver pot and releasing it to him, feeling the brief warmth of his fingertips as he took it. He immediately noticed her error. ‘That’s the salt,’ Raúl said, and she had to go through it again.

It was bizarre. He had said hardly two words to her, had made no suggestions. There were no knees pressing into hers under the table and his hands had not lingered when she’d passed him the pepper, yet the air between them was thick with tension.

He declined dessert and spread cheese onto Scottish oatcakes. ‘I’d forgotten how good these taste.’

She turned and watched as he took a bite and then ran his tongue over his lip, capturing a small sliver of quince paste.

‘Now I remember.’

There was no implication. He was only making small talk.

It was Estelle’s mind that searched every word.

She spread cheese on an oatcake herself and added quince.

‘Fantastic?’ Raúl asked.

‘Yes.’

She knew he meant sex.

‘Now the speeches.’ Gordon sighed.

They were long. Terribly long. Especially when you had no idea who the couple were. Especially when you were supposed to be paying attention to the man on your right but your mind was on the one to your left.

First it was Victoria’s father, who rambled on just a touch too long. Then it was the groom Donald’s turn, and he was thankfully a bit quicker—and funnier too. He moved through the formalities and, on behalf of himself and his new wife, especially thanked all who had travelled from afar.

‘I was hoping Raúl wouldn’t make it, of course,’ Donald said, looking over to Raúl, as did the whole room. ‘I’m just thankful Victoria didn’t see him in a kilt until after my ring was on her finger. Trust a Spaniard to wear a kilt so well.’

The whole room laughed. Raúl’s shoulders moved in a light, good-natured laugh too. He wasn’t remotely embarrassed—no doubt more than used to the attention and to having his beauty confirmed.

Then it was the best man’s turn.

‘In Spain there are no speeches at a wedding,’ Raúl said, leaning across her a little to speak to Gordon.

She could smell his expensive cologne, and his arm was leaning slightly on her. Estelle watched her fingers around the stem of her glass tighten.

‘We just have the wedding, a party, and then bed,’ Raúl said.

It was the first hint of suggestion, but even so she could merely be reading into things too much. Except as he leant over her to hear Gordon’s response Estelle wanted to put her hand up, wanted to ask for the lights to come on, for this assault on her senses to stop, to tell the room the inappropriateness of the man sitting beside her. Only not a single thing had he done—not a word or hand had he put wrong.

So why was her left breast aching, so close to where his arm was? Why were her two front teeth biting down on her lip at the sight of his cheek, inches away?

‘Really?’ Gordon checked. ‘I might just have to move to Spain! In actual fact I was—’

Gordon was interrupted by the buzz of his phone and Raúl moved back in his seat. Estelle sat watching the newly wed couple dancing.

‘Darling, I am so sorry,’ Gordon said as he read a message on his phone. ‘I am going to have to find somewhere I can make some calls and use a computer.’

‘Good luck getting internet access,’ drawled Raúl. ‘I have to go outside just to make a call.’

‘I might be some time.’

‘Trouble?’ Estelle asked

‘Always.’ Gordon rolled his eyes. ‘Though this is unexpected. But I’ll deal with it as quickly as I can. I hate to leave you on your own.’

‘She won’t be on her own,’ Raúl said. ‘I can keep an eye.’

She rather wished that he wouldn’t.

‘Thanks so much,’ Gordon said. ‘In that dress she deserves to dance.’ He turned to Estelle. ‘I really am sorry to leave you…’ For appearances’ sake, he kissed her on the cheek.

What a waste of her mouth, Raúl thought.

Once Gordon had gone she turned to James and Veronica, on her right, desperately trying to feed into their conversation. But they were certainly not interested in Gordon’s new date. Over and over they politely dismissed her, and then followed the other couples at their table and got up to dance—leaving her alone with Raúl.

‘From the back you could be Spanish…’

She turned to the sound of his voice.

‘But from the front…’

His eyes ran over her creamy complexion and she felt heat sear her face as his eyes bored into hers. And though they did not wander—he was far too suave for that—somehow he undressed her. Somehow she sat there on her seat beside him at the wedding as if they were a couple. And when he looked at her, she felt, for a bizarre second, as if she was completely naked.

He was as potent as that.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘IRISH?’ HE CHECKED, and Estelle hesitated for a moment before nodding.

She did not want to give any information to this man—did not even want to partake in conversation.

‘Yet your accent is English?’

‘My parents moved to England before I was born.’ She gave a tight swallow and hoped her stilted response would halt the conversation. It did not.

‘Where in England are they?’

‘They’re not,’ Estelle answered, terribly reluctant to reveal anything of herself.

Raúl did not push. Instead he moved the conversation on.

‘So, where did you and Gordon meet?’

‘We met at Dario’s.’ Estelle answered the question as Gordon had told her to, trying to tell herself he was just being polite, but every sense in her body seemed set to high alert. ‘It’s a bar—’

‘In Soho,’ Raúl broke in. ‘I have heard a lot about Dario’s.’

Beneath her make-up her cheeks were scalding.

‘Not that I have been,’ Raúl said. ‘As a male, I would perhaps be too young to get in there.’ His lips rose in a slight smile and he watched the colour flood darker in her neck and to her ears. ‘Maybe I should give it a try…’

He looked more closely at Estelle. She had eyes that were a very dark green and rounded cheeks—she really was astonishingly attractive. There was something rather sweet about her despite the clothes, despite the make-up, and there was an awkwardness that was as rare as it was refreshing. Raúl was not used to awkwardness in the women he dated.

‘So, we both find ourselves alone at a wedding…’

‘I’m not alone,’ Estelle said. ‘Gordon will be back soon.’ She did not want to ask, but she found herself doing just that as she glanced to the empty chair beside him. ‘How come…?’ Her voice faded out. There was no polite way to address it.

‘We broke up this morning.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Please don’t be.’ He thought for a moment before continuing. ‘Really to say we broke up is perhaps an exaggeration. To break something would mean you had to have something, and we were only going out for a few weeks.’

‘Even so…’ Still she attempted to be polite. ‘Break-ups are hard.’

‘I’ve never found them to be,’ Raúl said. ‘It’s the bit before that I struggle with.’

‘When it starts to go wrong?’

‘No,’ Raúl said. ‘When it starts to go right.’

His eyes were looking right into hers, his voice was deep and low, and his words interesting—because despite herself she did want to know more about this fascinating man. So much so that she found herself leaning in a little to hear.

‘When she starts asking what we are doing next weekend. When you hear her saying “Raúl said…” or “Raúl thinks…”’ He paused for a second. ‘I don’t like to be told what I’m thinking.’

‘I’m sure you don’t.’

‘Do you know what I’m thinking now?’

‘I wouldn’t presume to.’ She could hardly breathe, because she was surely thinking the same.

‘Would you like to dance?’

‘No, thank you,’ Estelle said, because it was far safer to stay seated than to self-combust in his arms. He was sinfully good-looking and, more worryingly, she had a sinking feeling as she realised he was pulling her in deeper with each measured word. ‘I’ll just wait here for Gordon.’

‘Of course,’ Raúl said. ‘Have you met the bride or groom?’

‘No.’ Estelle felt as if she were being interviewed. ‘You’re friends with the groom?’

‘I went to university with him.’

‘In Spain?’

‘No, here in Scotland.’

‘Oh!’ She wasn’t sure why, but that surprised her.

‘I was here for four years,’ Raúl said. ‘Then I moved back to Marbella. I still like to come here. Scotland is a very beautiful country.’

‘It is,’ Estelle said. ‘Well, from the little I’ve seen.’

‘It’s your first time?’

She nodded.

‘Have you ever been to Spain?’

‘Last year,’ Estelle said. ‘Though only for a few days. Then there was a family emergency and I had to go home.’

‘Raúl?’

He barely looked up as a woman came over. It was the same woman who had been moved from the table earlier.

‘I thought we could dance.’

‘I’m busy.’

‘Raúl…’

‘Araminta.’ Now he turned and looked at her. ‘If I wanted to dance with you then I would have asked.’

Estelle blinked, because despite the velvet of his voice his words were brutal.

‘That was a bit harsh,’ Estelle said as Araminta stumbled off.

‘Far better to be harsh than to give mixed messages.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘So…’ Raúl chose his words carefully. ‘If taking care of Gordon is a full-time job, what do you do in your time off?’

‘My time off?’

‘When you’re not working.’

She didn’t frown this time. There was no mistake as to what he meant. Her green eyes flashed as she turned to him. ‘I don’t appreciate the implication.’

He was surprised by her challenge, liked that she met him head-on—it was rare that anyone did.

‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘Sometimes my English is not so good…’

When it suited him.

Estelle took a deep breath, her hand still toying with the stem of her glass as she wondered how to play this, deciding she would do her best to be polite.

‘What work do you do?’ She looked at him. She had absolutely no idea about this man. ‘Are you in politics too?’

‘Please!’

He watched the slight reluctant smile on her lips.

‘I am a director for De La Fuente Holdings, which means I buy, improve or build, and then maybe I sell.’ Still he watched her. ‘Take this castle; if I owned it I would not have it exclusively as a wedding venue but also as a hotel. It is under-utilised. Mind you, it would need a lot of refurbishment. I have not shared a bathroom since my university days.’

She was far from impressed and tried not to show it. Raúl, of course, could not know that she was studying ancient architecture and that buildings were a passion of hers. The castle renovations she had seen were modest, the rooms cold and the bathrooms sparse—as it should be. The thought of this place being modernised and filled to capacity, no matter how tastefully, left her cold.

Unfortunately he didn’t.

Not once in her twenty-five years had Estelle even come close to the reaction she was having to Raúl.

If they were anywhere else she would get up and leave.

Or, she conceded, if they were anywhere else she would lean forward and accept his mouth.

‘So it’s your father’s business?’ Estelle asked, trying to find a fault in him—trying to tell herself that it was his father’s money that had eased his luxurious path to perfection.

‘No, it was my mother’s family business. My father bought into it when he married.’ He saw her tiny frown.

‘Sorry, you said De La Fuente, and I thought Fuente was your surname…’

For an occasional model who picked up men at Dario’s she was rather perceptive, Raúl thought. ‘In Spain it is different. You take your father’s surname first and then your mother’s…’

‘I didn’t know that.’ She tried to fathom it. ‘How does it work?’

‘My father is Antonio Sanchez. My mother was Gabriella De La Fuente.’

‘Was?’

‘She passed away in a car accident…’

Normally he could just say it. Every other time he revealed it he just glossed over it, moved swiftly on—tonight, with all he had learnt this morning, suddenly he could not.

Every man except Raúl had struggled in the summer heat with full Scottish regalia. Supremely fit, and used to the sun, Raúl had not even broken a sweat. But now, when the castle was cool, when a draught swirled around the floor, he broke into one—except his face drained of colour.

He tried to right himself, reached for water; he had trained his mind not to linger. Of course he had not quite mastered his mind at night, but even then he had trained himself to wake up before he shouted out.

‘Was it recent?’ Estelle saw him struggle briefly, knew surely better than anyone how he must feel—for she had lost her parents the same way. She watched as he drained a glass of water and then blinked when he turned and the suave Raúl returned.

‘Years ago,’ he dismissed. ‘When I was a child.’ He got back to their discussion, refusing to linger on a deeply buried past. ‘My actual name is Raúl Sanchez De La Fuente, but it gets a bit long during introductions.’

He smiled, and so too did Estelle.

‘I can imagine.’

‘But I don’t want to lose my mother’s name, and of course my father expects me to keep his.’

‘It’s nice that the woman’s name passes on.’

‘It doesn’t, though,’ Raúl said. ‘Well, it does for one generation—it is still weighted to the man.’ He saw her frown.

‘So, if you had a baby…?’

‘That’s never going to happen.’

‘But if you did?’

‘God forbid.’ He let out a small sigh. ‘I will try to explain.’

He was very patient.

He took the salt and pepper she had so nervously passed to him and, heads together, they sat at the table while he made her a small family tree.

‘What is your surname?’

‘Connolly.’

‘Okay, we have a baby and call her Jane…’

How he made her burn. Not at the baby part, but at the thought of the part to get to that.

‘Her name would be Jane Sanchez Connolly.’

‘I see.’

‘And when Jane marries…’ he lifted a hand and grabbed a fork as he plucked a name from the ether ‘…Harry Potter, her daughter…’ he added a spoon ‘…who shall also be called Jane, would be Jane Sanchez Potter. Connolly would be gone!’ He looked at her as she worked it out. ‘It is simple. At least the name part is simple. It is the fifty years of marriage that might prove hard.’ He glanced over to today’s happy couple. ‘I can’t imagine being tied down to another, and I certainly don’t believe in love.’

He always made that clear up-front.

‘How can you sit at a wedding and say that?’ Estelle challenged. ‘Did you not see the smile on Donald’s face when he saw his bride?’

‘Of course I did,’ Raúl said. ‘I recognised it well—it was the same smile he gave at the last wedding of his I attended.’

She laughed. There was no choice but to. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Completely,’ Raúl said.

Yet he was smiling, and when he did that she felt as if she should scrabble in her bag for sunglasses, because the force of his smile blinded her to all faults—and she was quite positive a man like Raúl had many.

‘You’re wrong, Raúl.’ She refused to play his cynical game. ‘My brother got married last year and he and his wife are deeply in love.’

‘A year.’ He gave a light shrug. ‘It is still the honeymoon phase.’

‘They’ve been through more in this year than most have been through in a lifetime.’ And she’d never meant to but she found herself opening up to him. ‘Andrew, my brother, was in an accident on their honeymoon—a jet ski…’

‘Serious?’

Estelle nodded. ‘He’s now in a wheelchair.’

‘That must take a lot of getting used to.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Is that the family emergency you had to fly home from your own holiday for?’

Estelle nodded. She didn’t tell him it had been a trip around churches. No doubt he assumed she’d been hauled out of a club to hear the news. ‘I raced home, and, really, since then things have been tough on them. Amanda was already pregnant when they got married…’

She didn’t know why she was telling him. Perhaps it was safer to talk than to dance. Maybe it was easier to talk about her brother and the truth than make up stories about Dario’s and seedy clubs in Soho. Or perhaps it was the black liquid eyes that invited conversation, the way he moved his chair a little closer so that he could hear.

‘Their daughter was born four months ago. The prospect of being a dad was the main thing that kept Andrew motivated during his rehabilitation. Just when we thought things were turning around…’

Raúl watched her green eyes fill with tears, saw her rapid blink as she tried to stem them.

‘She has a heart condition. They’re waiting till she’s a little bit bigger so they can operate.’

He watched pale hands go to her bag and Estelle took out a photo. He looked at her brother, Andrew, and his wife, and a small frail baby with a slight blue tinge to her skin, and he realised that they hadn’t been crocodile tears he had witnessed during the wedding ceremony. He looked back to Estelle.

‘What’s her name?’

‘Cecelia.’

Raúl looked at her as she gazed at the photo and he knew then the reason she was here with Gordon. ‘Your brother?’ Raúl asked, just to confirm things in his mind. ‘Does he work?’

‘No.’ Estelle shook her head. ‘He was self-employed. He…’ She put away the photo, dragged in a breath, could not stand to think of all the problems her brother faced.

Exactly at that moment Raúl lightened things.

‘My legs are cold.’

Estelle laughed, and as she did she blinked as a photographer’s camera flashed in her face.

‘Nice natural shot,’ the photographer said.

‘We’re not…’ Oh, what did it matter?

‘I need to move.’ He stood. ‘And Gordon asked that I take care of you.’ Raúl held out his hand to her. This dance was more important than she could ever know. This dance must ensure that tonight she was thinking only of him—that by the time he approached her with his suggestion it would not seem so unthinkable. But first he had to set the tone. First he had to make her aware that he knew the sort of business she was in. ‘Would you like to dance?’

Estelle didn’t really have a choice. Walking towards the dance floor, she had the futile hope that the band would break into something more frivolous than sensuous, but all hope was gone as his arms wrapped loosely around her.

‘You are nervous?’

‘No.’

‘I would have thought you would enjoy dancing, given that you two met at Dario’s.’

‘I do love to dance.’ Estelle forced a bright smile, remembered who she was supposed to be. ‘It’s just a bit early for me.’

‘And me,’ Raul said as he took her in his arms. ‘About now I would only just be getting ready to go out.’

She couldn’t read this man. Not in the least. He held her, he was skilled and graceful, but the eyes that looked down at her were not smiling.

‘Relax.’

She tried to—except he’d said it into her ear, causing the sensitive skin there to tingle.

‘Can I ask something?’

‘Of course,’ Estelle said, though she would rather he didn’t. She just wanted this duty dance to end.

‘What are you doing with Gordon?’

‘Excuse me?’ She could not believe he would ask that—could not think of anyone else who would be so direct. It was as if all pretence had gone—all tiny implications, all conversation left behind—and the truth was being revealed in his arms.

‘There is a huge age difference…’

‘That’s none of your business.’ She felt as if she was being attacked in broad daylight and everyone else was just carrying on, oblivious.

‘You are twenty, yes?’

‘Twenty-five.’

‘He was ten years older than I am now when you were born.’

‘They’re just numbers.’

‘We both work in numbers.’

Estelle went to walk off mid-dance, but his grip merely tightened. ‘Of course…’ He held her so she could feel the lean outline of his body, inhale the terribly masculine scent of him. ‘You want him only for his money.’

‘You’re incredibly rude.’

‘I’m incredibly honest,’ Raúl corrected. ‘I am not criticizing—there is nothing wrong with that.’

‘Vete al infierno!’ Estelle said, grateful for a Spanish schoolfriend and lunchtimes being taught by her how to curse. She watched his mouth curve as she told him in his own language to go to hell. ‘Excuse me,’ Estelle said. ‘Sometimes my Spanish is not so good. What I mean to say is…’

He pressed a finger to her lips before she could tell him, in her own language and rather more crudely, exactly where he could go.

The contact with her mouth, the sensual pressure, the intimacy of the gesture, had the desired effect and silenced her.

‘One more dance,’ Raúl said. ‘Then I return you to Gordon.’ He removed his finger. ‘I’m sorry if you thought I was being rude—believe me, that was not my intention. Accept my apology, please.’

Estelle’s eyes narrowed in suspicious assessment. She was aware of the pulse in her lips from his mere touch. Logic told her to remove herself from this situation, yet the stir of first arousal won.

The music slowed and, ignoring brief resistance, he pulled her in tighter. If she thought he was judging her, she was right—only it was not harshly. Raúl admired a woman who could separate emotion from sex.

Raúl needed exactly such a woman if he were to see this through.

He did not think her cheap: on the contrary, he intended to pay her very well.

She should have gone then—back to the table, to be ignored by the other guests. Should have left this man at a safer point. But her naïve body was refusing to walk away; instead it was awakening in his arms.

He held her so that her head was resting on his chest. She could feel the soft velvet of his jacket on her cheek. But she was more aware of his hand resting lightly on the base of her spine.

A couple dancing, each in a world of their own.

Raúl’s motives were temporarily suspended. He enjoyed the soft weight that leant against him, the quiet of his mind as he focused only on her. The hand on her shoulder crept beneath her hair, his fingers lightly stroking the back of her neck, and again he wanted his mouth there, wanted to lift the raven curtain and taste her.

His fingers told her so—they stroked in a soft probing and they circled and teased as she swayed in time to the music. Estelle felt the stirring between them, and though her head denied what was happening her body shifted a little to allow for him. Her nipples hurt against his chest. His hand pressed her in just a little tighter as again he broke all boundaries. Again he voiced what perhaps others would not.

‘I always thought a sporran was for decorative purposes only…’

She could feel the heat of its fur against her stomach.

‘Yet it is the only thing keeping me decent.’

‘You’re so far from decent,’ Estelle rasped.

‘I know.’

They danced—not much, just swaying in time. Except she was on fire.

He could feel the heat of her skin on his fingers, could feel her breath so shallow that he wanted to lower his head and breathe into her mouth for her. He thought of her dark hair on his pillow, of her pink nipples in his mouth at the same time. He wanted her more than he had wanted any other, though Raúl was not comfortable with that thought.

This was business, Raúl reminded himself as motive returned. Tonight she would think of his lean, aroused body. When she was bedded by Gordon it would be his lithe body she ached for. He must now make sure of that. It was a business decision, and he made business decisions well.

His hand slid from beneath her hair down to the side of her ribs, to the bare skin there.

She ached. She ached for his hand to move, to cup her breast. And again he confirmed what was happening.

‘Soon I return you to Gordon,’ Raúl said, ‘but first you come to me.’

It was foreplay. So much so she felt that as if his fingers were inside her. So much so that she could feel, despite the sporran, the thick outline beneath his kilt. It was the most dangerous dance of her life. She wanted to turn. She wanted to run. Except her body wanted the feel of his arms. Her burning cheeks rested against purple velvet and she could hear the steady thud of his heart as hers tripped and galloped. No one around them had a clue about the fire in his arms.

He smelt exquisite, and his cheek near hers had her head wanting to turn, to seek the relief of his mouth. She did not know the range of la petit mort or that he was giving her a mere taste. Estelle was far too innocent to know that she was building up to doing exactly as instructed and coming to him.

Raúl knew exactly when he felt the tension in his arms slowly abate, felt her slip a little down his chest as for a brief moment she relaxed against him.

‘Thank you for the dance.’ Breathless, stunned, she went to step back.

But still he held her as he lifted her chin and offered his verdict. ‘You know, I would like to see you really cuss in Spanish.’

He let her go then, and Estelle headed to the safety of the ladies’ room and ran her wrists under the tap to cool them.

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