Mills & Boon Stars Collection: Passionate Bargains: The Perfect Cazorla Wife / The Russian's Ultimatum / Once a Moretti Wife. Michelle Smart
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free himself, to enter her, to obliterate the rising insolence in her eyes and bring her to a second climax.
But that would be to let her win.
In this game of desire there would only be one winner.
When she opened her legs for him, he wanted her screaming his name not fighting it, and if he had to suffer to achieve that aim then so be it. He was a big boy. He would cope.
‘I’m going to take a shower. Get dressed. We’ll be going to dinner in an hour.’
Without looking back, he strolled into one of the en suites, shut the door firmly behind him and stripped off his clothes.
His erection hadn’t abated a touch.
* * *
The Cazorla family home was in a private enclave as exclusive as the one Raul’s current house was in. As they neared it the coil in Charley’s belly pulled ever tighter.
Of all the times to have to dine with her in-laws, now had to rank as the worst possible. All she wanted to do was lock herself away in a dark room, go to sleep, and pretend what had happened between her and Raul a few short hours ago had never occurred.
Her skin felt as sensitised as she’d ever known it, the movement of her clothes against her body heightening the sensations. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her eyes flittering to Raul’s hands, those long, dark fingers holding the steering wheel like a caress, and imagining them running over her body and dipping between her legs...
When he’d gone for his shower, leaving her naked on the seat, the humiliation of it all had been almost too much to bear. That his intention had been to humiliate was all the spur she’d needed to drag herself up and into the other en suite. This had a surprisingly feminine feel to it with its soft, muted creams and whites; a total contrast to the rest of his vast room, which covered the entire top floor and was masculine to its core.
It was bad enough having come undone so thoroughly at his hands, or tongue to be precise, but she would not give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d bested her emotionally too.
Raul wanted her total subjugation. Hell would freeze over before she gave it to him. The only good thing she could cling to was that he hadn’t bothered to tell her of their destination until they’d got into the car. Dining out was a way of life for him and she’d assumed they were off to yet another restaurant. On the nights he was home, which when they’d been properly married had been around fifty per cent of the time, they would both dress up and head out for the evening, sometimes with friends, sometimes just the two of them. It had reached the stage where she didn’t think there was a restaurant in the whole of Barcelona she hadn’t dined in.
‘They do know I’m coming with you, don’t they?’ she asked for the second time, unable to believe how nervous she felt at the thought of being with his family again.
‘I have no wish to provoke my mother to a heart attack,’ he replied with a lazy smile. ‘I can assure you, there is nothing for you to worry about. My family are nothing if not polite.’
That was true. One thing the entire Cazorla family did well was putting on a good front in any given situation.
The butler greeted them at the door, a discreet Englishman who had been with the family for years and had never once made any reference to the shared country he and Charley came from.
Lucetta and Marta Cazorla, Raul’s mother and sister respectively, were in the drawing room awaiting their arrival. Both were dressed impeccably, as if they were heading off to a night at the opera, something Raul had once taken Charley to and which, to her shame, she had fallen asleep through.
She wondered when Raul would comment on her own attire. He’d given her a sharp glance but hadn’t said anything.
If she’d known they were coming here before she’d got in the car, she would have made a greater effort than the casual inky-coloured silk trousers with the tapered legs and the silk blush-pink roll-neck top. On her feet were flat snakeskin-effect sandals. She knew her outfit would hold its own at any restaurant but in the Cazorla household...she might as well have come dressed in her pyjamas.
It shouldn’t matter to her. In the days after she’d left she’d gone through her wardrobe and removed every item that had been purchased for its suitability for Raul Cazorla’s wife and not for personal style or comfort. She’d donated ninety per cent of her wardrobe to charity and vowed never to wear anything again that wasn’t her.
All the same, Lucetta and Marta had always been good to her, especially Marta, who, when Charley had first come into Raul’s life, had been tasked with the job of turning Charley into a mini version of herself. Under Raul’s directive, Marta had taken her to Barcelona’s most exclusive shopping arcade and had taken great delight in finding a brand-new wardrobe for her.
Although not as direct in her enthusiasm for Raul’s new bride, Lucetta had gone out of her way to make Charley feel a valued member of the family. Charley had never been able to shake the feeling that Lucetta’s friendliness towards her was motivated by what she thought to be an acceptable way to behave towards a daughter-in-law, rather than out of any real affection. She would have treated the Bride of Frankenstein with the same graciousness. But she had done her best to be welcoming and, for that, Charley would always have affection for her.
Dressing up and looking the part was something that mattered greatly to both Cazorla women, and for them Charley would have put on a dress and heels. Not silly heels that would leave her feet begging for mercy though. Three inches would have sufficed. Something to show she’d made an effort.
As it was, both faces lit up to see her walk through the door. If either was disappointed in her outfit or at seeing her again, it was hidden under a wave of perfumed embraces and air kisses.
An Adonis, a dry-sherry-based cocktail that was wonderfully moreish, was thrust into her hand by Marta, who linked her arm through Charley’s with a grin.
‘It is so good to see you,’ she said, resting her head on Charley’s shoulder. ‘I always knew you’d see sense and come back to him.’
Charley met Raul’s eyes and read the warning contained in them.
‘It’s lovely to see you too,’ she answered, brushing aside the comment. She didn’t want to lie to Marta, who had become a good friend, the two of them keeping in touch secretly after Charley had left Raul.
She took a sip, the taste reminding her of the time she and Marta had drunk so many of the cocktails before a meal they’d been unable to eat a bite, collapsing in giggles on a sofa much to the amusement of Raul and Marta’s fiancé at the time, Fabio. Lucetta had been away, which had no doubt explained Marta’s low inhibitions.
Raul had really taken care of her that night, she remembered. In the morning he’d handed her a glass of water and a couple of painkillers without a word of reproach, then climbed back into bed and held her, making sure not to squeeze her too tightly.
The tender memories sent a jolt through her.
Sometimes it was easy to only remember the bad stuff but there had been good times too, especially at the beginning.
Watching him now, chatting with his mother, she noticed the physical distance he kept between them. There was respect there but little affection.
After a few minutes of small talk, the wide dining-room door opened and Eduardo Cazorla, Raul’s father, was wheeled through.
He looked exactly the same as when she’d last seen him, the left side of his face sagged and his hands arranged for him on his lap. Only his eyes, the same blue as his son and daughter’s, showed any sign of life, letting you know that behind his infirmity lay a mind as sharp as the day the stroke had robbed him of his body.
When he caught sight of Charley, his eyes flickered to Raul, who did nothing but stare at his father with an expression that sent a shiver running up her spine. Goosebumps broke on her skin to see the same expression mirrored in his father’s eyes.
Lucetta