immune to him. A distinct untruth, if ever there was one, but she refused to concede him so much as a glimmer of satisfaction. You can do this, she vaunted silently.
She effected a seemingly careless shrug. ‘I guess so.’
Raúl spared her a musing glance and caught the faint air of tension apparent in her demeanour. She reminded him of a gazelle, uncertain whether to trust or flee.
With good reason, he admitted silently as he indicated the escalator at the eastern end of the spacious forecourt.
For flee she certainly would if she suspected there was another reason for Teresa’s request. One infinitely more precious than the personal gift of a few heirlooms, or the pleasure of spending time in Gianna’s company.
The fervent hope Teresa held for a reconciliation between her son and the young woman he’d taken as his wife.
A young woman so well matched to his needs it seemed almost a crime for the marriage to have fallen apart.
Dusk was falling as they crossed the overhead pedestrian walkway to the popular low-level resort. Already streetlights shone, and in the distance the tall concrete sentinels harbouring luxury apartments bore illumination against a darkening skyscape.
The expansive resort foyer, with its plush oriental carpet squares and large comfortable chairs, bore a Caribbean air which extended to a wide marble staircase leading down to ground level. A magnificent waterfall cascaded into a decorative pool, and beyond huge thick plate glass lay an extensive swimming pool, with an island bar fronting on to a sandy foreshore and the sparkling blue waters of the Pacific Ocean.
The à la carte restaurant held a small clientele as the maître d’ led the way to a table by the window, saw them seated, and summoned the drinks steward.
Raúl’s presence garnered discreet attention especially from the women present. Not surprising, Gianna reluctantly conceded, given his attractive broad-boned Mediterranean features.
There was something that set him apart from his contemporaries. An elusive ruthlessness lay beneath the sophisticated exterior, meshing an inherent masculine vitality with latent sensuality. Add an animalistic sense of power, and the combination proved electric…dramatic.
Fine tailoring, handcrafted shoes, the faint glimpse of a Rolex gracing his wrist, merely showcased a man whose presence was equally dynamic in anything he chose to wear…or not.
As she could attest to…and she hated the sensation that shook her slender form as an image of his splendid body unadorned rose to taunt her.
The broad shoulders, superb musculature, lean waist and hips, tight butt, long powerful legs. Awesome…in every area.
She recalled how it felt to be held close to him, the faint muskiness of aroused male combining with his elusive cologne…oh, God, his skilled touch with his mouth, tongue, fingers, as he sought out every sensitive pulse, each erotic nerve-end in a bid to escalate her emotions to fever-pitch…
Stop!
For a wild moment she imagined she’d screamed the word out loud.
What was wrong with her?
Somehow she managed a seemingly polite façade as the drinks steward approached and offered a formal greeting and presented Raúl with the wine list.
‘We have an excellent selection. Do you have a particular preference, or would you prefer me to offer a suggestion?’
Dark eyes captured her own. ‘Gianna?’
It was easy to defer, and she did so with a polite smile. ‘You choose.’
He did…a mild red, well-known as one of Australia’s finest vintages.
‘Mineral water—still,’ she added, and earned Raúl’s faintly arched eyebrow.
‘The need for a clear head?’
‘An aversion to drink-driving.’
‘Wise.’
She summoned a sweet smile as she accepted the proffered menu, and pretended to study the various selections while attempting to deal with a host of conflicting emotions.
It didn’t make sense.
She was over him…had been for a while, she reiterated silently.
To the point of weighing up the need to initiate divorce. Three years…Even discounting the initial few months of separation, when she’d retreated into despair, sufficient time had elapsed to reach a decision.
So…why the nervous tension? Or the wildly beating pulse-rate that threatened to go off the Richter scale?
She couldn’t be susceptible to him…surely?
The mere thought was untenable. Impossible.
She was unaware of her teeth worrying the soft swell of her lower lip or of the faint narrowing of Raúl’s eyes as he caught the gesture.
‘Shall we order?’
The thought of forking morsels of food in his presence held little appeal. Consequently she settled for an entree as a main, with a side salad, and declined dessert.
It was as he lifted his goblet of wine that she noticed a gleam of gold on his left hand, and her eyes widened in recognition of the unique handcrafted band she’d placed there on the day of their wedding.
He still wore it?
Why so surprised, when her own still graced her hand?
Admittedly transferred to her right hand. A wide bevelled gold band encrusted with diamonds. She had been morally unable to discard it while the marriage remained valid.
Gianna searched for something to say…and came up with nothing that made any sense.
You’re looking well didn’t cut it.
How is business these days? seemed ludicrous, given his consortium had inevitably diversified into areas she had little or no comprehension of, racking up millions in the process.
Failure and Raúl Velez-Saldaña did not equate.
He was a hard-hearted ruthless entrepreneur, wellrespected for his uncanny ability to successfully manipulate and strategise, forging ahead with unfailing resolve when colleagues and adversaries chose to opt out.
Yet each acquisition was carefully and painstakingly researched, every possible angle examined to the nth degree.
She could recall the times she’d awakened alone in their bed in the late-night hours, only to find him closeted in his home office studying graphs and projections on-screen.
Then she would go to him, ease the tension in tight shoulder and neck muscles, and suggest he needed sleep…only to have him smile, press save and pull her onto his lap. Sleep, as such, had rarely happened for a while.
Dear
