On Saturday night, his only intention had been to let her stew in the mess of her own making and get on with his life.
Charley had left him. She was nothing but a gold-digger who’d played him for a fool. She deserved nothing.
He’d dropped Jessica home after the party and returned to his own house alone, just as he’d slept alone since Charley had left him.
He’d lain awake, his mind drifting back to the nights he’d spent with his wife, remembering the curves of her body, the softness of her skin, the scent of their sex...for the first time in two years, his libido had awoken.
One short, angry conversation with his wife and his body—every part of it—had come back to life in a way it hadn’t in the whole of their two years apart.
He’d recalled their conversation in minute detail, over and over, Charley vivid behind his eyes. He couldn’t block her out.
When the sun came up he’d still been lying there, his mind still racing in a hundred different directions.
Not caring that it was a Sunday morning and that they would likely be in bed, he’d used his contacts to learn more about the finances behind her venture, including speaking to a businessman she’d pitched to.
He learned Charley only had the personal funds to pay for half the building costs. He dreaded to think what she’d blown the rest of the money he’d given her on.
Financially, her name was toxic. No investor would touch her. Her own bank wouldn’t touch her without his name as guarantor.
She’d explored all other avenues and now it was down to him and him alone to save her project.
Well, she would damn well pay the price for it, starting today.
‘You’re going to lend me the money?’
‘Better than that—I’m going to give it to you.’
He let that sink in, letting her realise in her own sweet time that he alone had what was needed to make her dream a reality.
‘Are you seriously serious?’
He almost laughed. He’d forgotten the way she had with words. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m assuming this offer comes with a catch.’
‘Nothing in life comes free, cariño.’ He felt her bristle at the use of his old name for her. Good. By the end of the day she would be doing a lot more than bristling beside him. By the time the sun went down she would be back in his bed beneath him.
Celibacy had not been a conscious decision. It was only as he’d lain in his bed thinking about her that he’d realised why he’d not found another bedmate.
How could he be with another woman when his wife still lived in his blood?
Charley hadn’t just gatecrashed the party, she’d gatecrashed her way straight back under his skin. And he knew just the way to exorcise her once and for all.
‘What’s your catch?’
‘We will discuss the terms when we get home.’
‘You’re taking me to Barcelona?’
‘Sí. And when we get to my home we will share a civilised lunch and discuss the terms of the deal in detail. For now, you can rest your mind knowing that if you agree to my terms, the building you want to buy will be a done deal.’
Charley bit into her bottom lip and balled her hands into fists, digging her nails into the palms of her hands. If her nails were as long as she’d kept them when she’d been with Raul, she would have inflicted pain upon herself. Now they were short and practical and produced only the dullest of aches. Nowhere near enough to distract from the turmoil playing in her belly.
‘Can you at least tell me why you changed your mind about helping me?’
‘We will discuss everything when we get home.’
She wanted to demand answers but forced herself to think rationally. Right now he was being cordial towards her, his attitude a marked improvement to the loathing he hadn’t bothered to hide at the party. He was here and, if he was as good as his word, prepared to help her. At that moment, that was all that mattered. Anything else she could worry about later. Antagonising him would accomplish nothing.
If she had to suffer his company then for the children’s sake she would gladly accept it.
Her head might term it as suffering, but her body had a different word for the reaction provoked by being in the close confines of the car with him. It was familiar torture: her lungs tight, her pulse loose, her skin alive with awareness.
She breathed out slowly and peeked at him from the corner of her eye. Her heart swelled to see his sleeves rolled up, his tanned left arm resting on the ledge of the open window. Unlike most people with his wealth, Raul preferred to drive himself unless he was drinking. The first of his birthdays that they’d celebrated together, she’d bought him a day’s racing at a racetrack. He’d been too well-bred to tell her he’d already raced on it a dozen times, happy that she’d bought something that actually meant something to him.
They’d been happy then. She’d been happy then.
She blinked the memories away and fixed her gaze on the road ahead.
A few minutes later they were at the heliport where his pilot awaited them, ready to take them back to Barcelona.
* * *
Charley stared up at Raul’s home with a definite sense of awe and trepidation.
‘When did you move in here?’ she asked.
‘A year ago,’ came the curt reply.
In direct contrast to the old villa, which had been set in a private enclave by the beach, Raul’s new villa was located in the exclusive neighbourhood of Avenida Tibidabo. Surrounded by high-security gates that in turn were lined with palm trees, the villa was three-storey, with cream outer walls and turrets, all topped with terracotta roofs.
Intuition told her she was walking into a trap, although she couldn’t fathom what it could be. Once she knew exactly what he wanted from her she’d deal with it. It was the not knowing that made her feel so tense, that and being back in the company of the man whose masculinity she’d always found so very potent. It shamed her that even now, after so much water had passed beneath the bridge, her body was as alert to him as it had always been.
The villa’s differences internally were as marked as the location. The home they’d shared by the beach, although just as grand, had been modern. This villa was steeped in splendour, with mosaicked floors and high, arched frescoed ceilings, a sense of history breathing through the whitewashed walls.
Here was the evidence, if she hadn’t already guessed it by his two years of silence, that Raul had moved on.
She swallowed the acrid taste that had formed in the back of her throat. ‘Where are the staff?’ At this time of day the house should be teeming with activity, especially on
