as if he considered it an odd question. ‘I needed somewhere to shower and change in between meetings. And it’s an investment.’
He was standing still but she could feel the energy pulsing from every centimetre of his powerful frame. She’d never met anyone as driven as Raul. ‘Does money come into every decision you make?’
‘Not always.’ His charcoal-dark eyes locked on hers, his gaze boldly explicit and she understood the unspoken message in that one blistering look.
If he’d been thinking about money, he wouldn’t have chosen her.
Looking at him now, at the careless arrogance he wore with the same ease as his expensive clothes, she wondered how she’d ever felt comfortable with him.
Everything about him screamed power and success but on top of that he possessed a raw, dominant sexuality that had always rendered her breathless.
For a moment his burning gaze held her captive, the sheer force of his personality preventing her from looking away.
In the end it was Raul who broke that connection, turning from her with a sudden movement that suggested an underlying tension of almost unbearable proportions. ‘I haven’t shown you round properly, but the bedroom is up the stairs.’ His voice was tight, clipped, as if he were restraining himself not to say a great deal more. ‘Take a shower and help yourself to some clothes from the wardrobe.’
Clothes? Her heart lurched and the dull, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach returned. Since when did he keep a spare set of clothes for female guests? She’d never been here, which could only mean that …
Reminding herself that the way he chose to live his life was no longer any of her business, Faith curled her fingers into her palms.
‘Upstairs?’
‘It’s a duplex penthouse.’ With a spare, minimal gesture he angled his glossy, dark head and she belatedly noticed a curving staircase in one corner of the room.
‘Fine.’ Not trusting herself to stay cool in front of him, she stalked across the apartment and up the stairs, horribly conscious of his eyes tracking her every movement.
She found herself in a sumptuous master-bedroom suite that extended over the whole of the top floor. Gripped by the sharp claws of jealousy, she kept her eyes firmly averted from the enormous bed. Raul had had women before her, she knew that. But she’d always told herself that they were part of his past.
Only now was it dawning on her that she’d never really known this dangerous, complicated, hotly sexual man. When he’d flown to Buenos Aires for meetings, had he been alone? Could Raul deprive himself of sex for a few nights? Remembering his almost insatiable hunger for her body, she doubted it. He was a man of apparently limitless stamina in every area of his life and the demands he placed upon himself would have exhausted a lesser man.
Reminding herself that none of that was supposed to matter to her any more, she made straight for the bathroom.
Even there she couldn’t escape the vagaries of her imagination because the amazing glass bath was easily large enough for two, as was the shower.
And she knew enough of Raul’s sexual appetites to know that he wouldn’t have restricted his activities to the bedroom.
Trying to block out the distressing image of those skilled, bronzed hands on another woman, she stripped off her damp clothes and stepped under the shower. Why would she care that he had another woman? She didn’t want him, did she? Not after what he’d believed of her. He was right—they were totally wrong for each other. She was a modern, thinking woman. He was a ruthless tycoon who inhabited a world she hadn’t even known existed. And that world had made him cynical and hard.
She probably should have ended the relationship and maybe she would have if it hadn’t been for the one small fact that he’d overlooked when he’d delivered that piece of advice.
She loved him.
Totally, completely and utterly. To the point where the mere idea of leaving would have been laughable.
And he’d taken that love and crushed it.
Closing her eyes, she let the hot water scald her skin, finding the warmth strangely soothing. After the clinical scent of the hospital it was pure bliss to lather indulgent products into her hair and body. She could have stayed under the shower for ever, but she knew that if she didn’t emerge soon Raul would come looking for her and she didn’t want that. Reluctantly she stemmed the flow of hot water, dried herself on one of the heated towels and walked into the dressing room.
Steeling herself for seeing a range of glamorous dresses, she was taken aback to see nothing but male clothing, both formal and casual.
Suits, shirts, ties, shoes—nothing remotely feminine or glittery.
Relief swamped her, closely followed by exasperation because she didn’t want to feel anything. She didn’t want to care. Shaking her head in despair, she wondered how she was ever going to divorce herself from this man. It wasn’t the legal side that worried her—that would be simple enough. The real problem was the mental agony of accepting that he was no longer in her life.
Faith stared at the contents of his dressing room, realising with a sense of resignation that there was absolutely nothing that was going to fit her.
Abandoning ideas of boosting her flagging courage with a touch of power-dressing, she gave a shrug and reached for a crisp white shirt. She wasn’t trying to make a good impression anyway, so what did it matter how she was dressed? The shirt fell to mid-thigh and she had to roll up the sleeves, but after she’d added a belt she decided that she was more or less respectable.
Feeling ridiculously self-conscious, she walked back into the luxurious living area.
Raul was standing with his back to her, phone to his ear as usual, his hand braced against the glass window as he listened to the person on the other end. For a moment Faith just watched him, her eyes feasting on every tiny detail from the fit of his shirt to the bold confidence that was so evident in everything he did. He was spectacular. Sleek, handsome and every inch the successful billionaire.
How had she ever thought that their relationship could work?
He was used to driving over everything in his path and she’d never been meek and submissive.
They’d been an accident waiting to happen.
Sensing her presence, he turned, issued a set of instructions and then terminated the call and dropped the phone onto the nearest available surface. His eyes swept over her in one swiftly assessing glance. ‘You’ve lost weight.’
His comment shot like a spear through her self-confidence. ‘Lost weight’ good, or ‘lost weight’ bad? ‘It’s your shirt,’ she muttered. ‘It’s too big for me. There weren’t any female clothes.’
‘Why would there be?’ His tone was heavily laced with sarcasm. ‘On the whole I don’t find the financial sector take me seriously if I arrive at a meeting wearing a dress.’
The question burned inside her and she looked at him, desperately wanting to ask and hating herself for that weakness. Their relationship was in its death throes. Why demean herself by voicing the fears that had been gnawing
