* *
Charley was sitting at her desk in the office adjoining Raul’s, trying to read a book on finance while nibbling at a biscuit.
‘You look as if you have a headache,’ he said, walking through the open doorway to join her, two cups of coffee in his hands.
‘Just trying to get my head around it all.’ She wiped the crumbs off her blouse onto her desk, then swept them into her hand and into the bin.
Raul had been as good as his word. All week she’d been chained to his side. Monday and Tuesday had been spent in his office, Wednesday and Thursday in France where he was involved in negotiations to have a base for his air fleet in Paris. He’d been incredibly busy, in and out of meetings, most of which he’d insisted she come along to, working at a pace that made her dizzy.
Today they were back in Barcelona and, while the pace seemed no less frantic, there was an air of calm about the place, his staff more relaxed. It was probably that Friday feeling, she guessed. It had infected her too, that sense of the working week being almost over and a couple of days of relaxation to look forward to.
She hated to admit it, but the thought of a weekend alone with him sent a thrill through her.
Making love to Raul was as addictive as the packet of biscuits she’d been munching her way through. Having his throat, so strong and golden, in her eyeline right now as he took the seat opposite her...
‘This book might as well be gibberish,’ she said, closing it with a snap and pushing it over to him.
He raised a dark brow and loosened his tie. ‘The main reason your businesses went bust was because you didn’t take care of the bottom line. Unless you want the same thing to happen at Poco Rio, I suggest you pay attention carefully.’
‘But Poco Rio is different,’ she protested.
‘A business is a business. Catering for children is no different from any other business—the bottom line is still the same.’
‘Not in this case...’
Her phone went off, jumping with the vibrations from the alert. She snatched it up.
‘Who is it?’
‘My dad.’
‘What does he want?’
‘He’s replying to a message I left for him last week.’ She winced at her slip that she’d been waiting a week to hear back from him and hurriedly added, ‘I wanted to know when he’s free for lunch.’
His expression was even. ‘Are you forgetting our deal? Your place is by my side.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Not for a second. That’s why I suggested he choose a weekend.’
‘You’re still by my side at weekends.’
‘Even prisoners are allowed visitation rights.’ She took a sip of her coffee.
A pulse worked at his jaw.
‘You’re not seriously thinking you can stop me visiting my family?’ she asked. ‘Because that would make you even more hateful.’
His eyes crinkled at the edges. ‘You didn’t think I was hateful last night when I made you come with my tongue.’
‘You’re very talented,’ she responded sweetly, wishing her face didn’t flush at the memory.
‘Why don’t you sit on my lap and I’ll show you how talented I am with something other than my tongue?’ He placed his chin on his hand and held his blue eyes on her, a lascivious glimmer in them.
‘Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to distract me again? We were talking about my dad, not about having sex in your office.’ She had to admit, the thought of doing something here, in the heart of his empire, sent the most erotic charge racing through her.
He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth and settled back in his chair, cradling his cup to him, that same glimmer still there in his eyes. ‘No, I wouldn’t try and stop you seeing your father, even though I could.’
Oh, yes, he could. Of that Charley had no doubts. But she wondered if he would still hold the kids of Poco Rio over her head like a weapon if he actually met them and spent time with them.
‘It concerns me to see you give up a day for something that might not happen,’ he continued. ‘Your father is hardly the most reliable of people.’
‘Your concern for my emotional well-being is touching.’
Something dark glittered across his features. ‘I know you dislike criticism of him but I spent three years watching you be disappointed by that man.’
Her hackles rose. ‘That man is my father.’
‘And if he had ever acted like a father towards you I would be more forgiving of him. Charlotte, he was an hour late for our wedding. Your mother had to walk you down the aisle.’
‘He was stuck in traffic,’ she snapped, her belly knotting at the remembrance.
‘If he’d left earlier traffic wouldn’t have been a problem.’
‘You have no right,’ she said, red-hot fury pushing through her. ‘No right at all, not when your own family is more screwed up than mine.’
‘My family is—’
‘Perfect,’ she finished for him. ‘The famous Cazorlas, practically perfect in every way, apart from the only son clearly hating the infirm father and having a strained relationship with the mother, the only daughter hiding the essence of herself when with the parents so as not to fall off the pedestal they’ve put her on, everyone putting on a front when they step out of the door because nothing’s more important than showing that perfect face.’
The tendons on Raul’s neck were straining, his jaw clenched. ‘I warn you now, Charlotte, stop.’
‘Oh, I get it—it’s okay for you to pick fault with my family but I’m not allowed to criticise yours?’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes, I do—I lived with you for three years, remember? The difference now is that I’m not wrapped up in my own insecurities. I can see it all clearly.’
He got to his feet and placed his hands on the desk, looming down over her, his face a mask. ‘My family is none of your business, not any more. You lost that right when you walked out on me.’
‘Then consider my family off limits too.’
His eyes bored into her, his lips now a tight line. ‘What date has your father given for you to meet?’
Her answer was just as terse. ‘A week on Saturday.’
‘I will check my diary and let you know if we’re free.’
‘Thank you.’
He
