help but smile. These were more like it. A sweet, innocent bride was not the image she was going for. She trailed her fingers over the silk and chiffon. But one dress in particular caught her attention.
She took the dress from the rail and held it against her. It was perfect. It was everything, and more, that she could want this dress to be.
‘Perfecto.’ Señora Santana smiled and urged Georgina to try it on.
Caught up in the moment, she relished the feel of silk and chiffon against her skin and looked at her image in the mirror. The dress fitted perfectly. As if it had been made for her. She slipped her foot into a dainty strappy sandal, feeling more and more like Cinderella every moment.
‘You will need a veil.’
‘No,’ Georgina replied quickly, and glanced in the mirror at the other lady. ‘No veil,’ she said more gently, and smiled. She hadn’t had a veil for her first wedding—hadn’t even had a dress—so she saw no need to go over the top now. Especially as it was, once more, a marriage of convenience.
Señora Santana shrugged. ‘Ah, I have the perfect alternative. You will see. But now we choose a dress for dinner. No?’
No was just what Georgina wanted to say. She’d gone along with the wedding dress, knowing it was part of the whole plan and necessary. Photos would almost certainly end up in the glossy magazines, whether she wanted them there or not. But a dress for this evening wasn’t necessary. At least not one of this quality.
‘No, the wedding dress is enough.’
The woman’s eyes widened. ‘But Señor Ramirez insisted. You must choose one.’
* * *
Finally Señora Santana’s insistence had worn Georgina down and she’d selected a classic black dress, which now lay on her bed. The hours had just disappeared whilst she was trying dresses on, leaving very little time before she was to meet Santos. Now, after a quick shower, she dried her hair and applied make-up.
Why was she feeling nervous about seeing Santos again? She looked at her watch. Five minutes to seven. He would be waiting on the terrace very soon. She looked again at the dress, feeling almost like a sacrificial lamb.
But wasn’t that exactly what she was?
For her sister’s happiness she’d once again taken on a role she didn’t want. Marrying Richard had been to put Emma through school and a roof over their heads. It had been his suggestion, and even to this day she couldn’t believe a man had done that for her. She’d been on tenterhooks during all the three years they were married, just waiting for him to leave her. But she’d never expected him to leave her the way he had. As a widow. She’d known he was ill—but not that ill.
With a heavy heart she picked up the dress, stepped into it. For a moment the zip eluded her and it took several minutes of contortions to pull it up. Flustered by her efforts, she slipped on the new pair of shoes insisted upon by Señora Santana and left the bedroom, her heels sounding loud on the marble.
SANTOS WAS LOOKING out at the sea, dressed in a dark suit, as she approached the balcony. When he turned and his gaze met hers her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t right that a man could be so sexy. The cloth of his suit had been cut with precision, emphasising his broad shoulders and strong thighs to perfection.
She swallowed hard, desperate to calm her racing heartbeat. If she carried on like this there wouldn’t be any need for pretence. Her attraction to him was becoming stronger, and if he turned on the charm as he had at the party she’d be lost. Worse still, if he kissed her again she didn’t think she’d be able to resist him.
‘You look beautiful,’ he said, his voice deep, with a husky edge to it. ‘Exactly what I had in mind.’
Well, if that didn’t serve as a reminder that it was all an act, then nothing would.
‘I’m glad it meets with your approval,’ she said tartly and, desperate to hide her confusion, walked past him to the table, selecting a drink from those prepared. Anger fizzed in her veins at the thought of the way he made her feel: light-headed and soft one minute, then short and sharp the next. In a bid to rein in her rising and very mixed emotions she all but downed her drink in one go.
‘Steady, querida.’ He smiled. A mocking smile. As if he knew her turmoil. ‘That drink is pretty potent.’
She looked at the almost empty glass. The remains of the liquid looked more like a soft drink, but its effect on her head was already clear. Whatever was she trying to do to herself? She put the glass down and turned to look at him, holding her hair back as the sea breeze toyed with it just as he was toying with her.
‘If you are ready shall we go?’
He didn’t wait for her to answer, but placed his hand in the small of her back, its heat scorching through the silk of her dress, and all but propelled her towards the door. Outside, a sleek, gleaming sports car waited, fiery red. Exactly what she’d imagined him driving.
‘Suits you,’ she said in a cavalier tone, and dropped down into the low seat as he stood by the open door.
He raised his brows and smiled at her. ‘Gracias.’
When Santos climbed in beside her she became all too aware of just how close she was to him. His tanned fingers pulled the gearstick backwards as the car growled into life. She couldn’t help but notice that the space beneath the steering wheel seemed almost too compact for his powerful thighs.
A small but insistent fire sparked to life deep inside her as she watched him drive. Each move he made sent a shiver of awareness over her and she bit down hard on her lip against the new wave of emotions that assailed her. She couldn’t be falling for him—she couldn’t.
‘Is it far?’ Nerves made her voice quiver as she finally acknowledged the attraction she felt for him, and he glanced across at her before returning his attention to the road ahead.
‘No, but arriving in style will attract the attention we need.’
‘Attention?’ Her mind was scrambled as she looked at his profile. The shadow of stubble only added to the sexy appeal he emanated.
‘How else is the world going to know we are engaged?’ He glanced across at her again, his gaze meeting hers briefly before returning to the task of driving. ‘This is what you wanted. Puerto Banus is a renowned favourite of the rich and famous, and with them come the press photographers, hungry for gossip.’
Now she understood his insistence on dressing for dinner. This was Act Two. The next part of their public courtship, played out to perfection. It was time to retreat behind her public persona.
‘And tonight, querida, we shall give them something to gossip about.’
His voice was laden with promise and as the fire rose higher inside her she looked away.
The car growled into the small harbour town and Georgina couldn’t help but take it all in. Cars as sleek and powerful as Santos’s lined the narrow streets, parked outside global designer shops. Yachts that looked more like floating palaces were moored
