over his skin now; he wasn’t someone normally given to such impetuosity.
He had only come here this evening to see for himself what Lazaro Sanchez was up to, because he didn’t trust the man as far as he could throw him. Especially when everything he did seemed to be designed personally to get under Gabriel’s skin. And because they were both involved in a very competitive and lucrative bid for a public project.
Recently Sanchez had even gone so far as to concoct a story that he and Gabriel were half-brothers. He’d accosted Gabriel at an event they’d both attended and when Gabriel had tried to walk away, disgusted at the insinuation that they could be related, Sanchez had stopped him, telling him of a day, many years before, when he had confronted Gabriel’s father, claiming to be his son.
To Gabriel’s surprise and shock he’d remembered the incident—and the skinny kid who had been waiting for them outside a restaurant in central Madrid. It had been his birthday—one of the very rare occasions when his dysfunctional family had put on a united front.
Gabriel had never been naïve about either of his parents. It was quite possible that his serially philandering father might have sired a bastard along the way. For a family like the Cruz y Torres, whose vast dynasty stretched back to the Middle Ages, such occurrences by opportunists were frequent and, frankly, to be expected.
So, for all he knew, Sanchez could be his brother but he suspected it was more likely to be a ruse to get under Gabriel’s skin.
Ironically enough, Gabriel’s father was at this event too, this evening, but Gabriel had ignored him. They barely tolerated each other at the best of times, and he’d had no doubt that the only reason his father had been there was probably the free-flowing booze or a woman.
Since Sanchez’s claim to be related to Gabriel, he’d been kept at a certain distance. But tonight had been one of his most audacious moves yet: announcing his engagement to one of Spain’s most well-connected women, whose own family rivalled Gabriel’s in lineage and legacy.
Marriage to someone like Leonora Flores de la Vega would elevate Sanchez to a place that would make it that much harder to ignore him. Gabriel had to hand it to him for sheer chutzpah.
Clearly he hadn’t been intending on marrying Leonora Flores for her money—her family were famously broke after her father’s well-documented gambling problems. Her worth came in her name and lineage.
Gabriel had heard the whispers in the crowd. Whispers that Sanchez had offered her a deal—he’d pay off her family debts and in return buy his way into the world he was so desperate to be a part of that he claimed to be Gabriel’s blood relation.
Gabriel didn’t know Leonora personally, but he knew of her, and their paths had crossed over the years at social events. But coming here this evening, seeing her standing up on that dais beside Sanchez, had reminded him that there was something about her that had always snagged his attention. He’d noticed it again this evening. Enough to distract him from Lazaro Sanchez.
Her beautiful face had been composed. Revealing nothing. Her long dark hair pulled back and sleek, showing off the exquisite bone structure of her face. Wide almond-shaped eyes. Dark lashes. A full mouth that hinted at a level of sensuality Gabriel sensed she wasn’t entirely comfortable with.
He’d racked his brains to think of the last time he’d seen her. It hadn’t been recent. She’d grown up in the meantime. Now she was a woman—and a stunningly beautiful woman at that.
Gabriel had found himself staring at her, willing her to look at him, needing her to look at him. And then she had. He’d felt the impact of that contact from across the room. An instantaneous jolt of sexual awareness surging through his blood.
She’d kept on looking at Gabriel and he’d seen the flicker of panic in her eyes. Along with something else far more potent.
She wanted him.
That awareness, together with seeing Sanchez’s arm around her waist, had caught at something unexpected inside Gabriel. Something hot and visceral. A sense of…possessiveness.
When Sanchez had announced their engagement, Gabriel had felt an inexplicable and almost overwhelming urge to disrupt proceedings, but just at that moment another voice had rung out. A voice coming from the petite red-haired woman near the dais, claiming to be pregnant with Sanchez’s child.
Leonora had fled, and Gabriel had watched her go, knowing immediately that he would go after her. He’d never felt such a primal pull towards anyone.
He’d looked at Sanchez and the animosity he’d felt towards the man had compelled him to mock him for his abortive attempt to buy respectability and for bringing his domestic dramas into the public domain.
But all thoughts of Sanchez were gone now, as he looked left and right for Leonora Flores.
She was gone.
An alien sensation stopped Gabriel in his tracks and he realised it was the sensation of something having slipped through his fingers.
For a man who generally obtained his every want and desire, it was unwelcome. And an unpleasant reminder that he was acting out of character. Pursuing a woman when he didn’t need to. If he wanted a woman that badly he could walk back into the room behind him and take his pick. But a new restlessness prickled under his skin. He didn’t want one of them. So eager, so desperate. He wanted her.
And then, as if answering his silent call, he saw her, standing behind the elaborate foliage screening the lobby and entrance from the rest of the hotel. He saw what she saw: a bank of waiting paparazzi outside the main door of the hotel, and no other means of escape.
There was no way he was going to let her out of his sight again. And if the opportunity presented itself to remind Sanchez of where he belonged, Gabriel would be a fool not to exploit it.
Leonora cursed silently. Between the fronds of the exotic plant she could see where the photographers were lined up, no doubt ready to capture the smiling couple emerging from the hotel. There was no other way out without going through the lobby. One way or another they would see her, either scuttling away as if she was the one in the wrong, or walking out without her new fiancé.
Just as she was steeling herself to run the gauntlet, she felt the back of her neck prickle with awareness and her skin tingled all over.
She turned around and Gabriel Ortega Cruz y Torres was standing a couple of feet away, looking at her. She gulped. He was even taller up close. Broader. Thick dark hair swept back off his forehead. Deep-set dark eyes. Strong brows. A patrician nose and a firm, unyielding mouth.
His bottom lip was surprisingly lush, though, softening the hard edges of his face and making her wonder what it would feel like to touch…kiss… She could imagine him lounging on jewel-coloured cushions, summoning his minions.
Summoning his lovers.
A wave of heat flashed through her body. She was losing it. She never imagined kissing men. She was a twenty-four-year-old virgin, because her life had revolved around her parents, the castle and her disabled brother. She’d been more of a mother than a sister to her brother, since their world had imploded after her father’s gambling excesses. She’d literally had no time for anything else. Anything normal. Like
