Spanish Escape. Maisey Yates
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could feel the heat of its fur against her stomach.
‘Yet it is the only thing keeping me decent.’
‘You’re so far from decent,’ Estelle rasped.
‘I know.’
They danced—not much, just swaying in time. Except she was on fire.
He could feel the heat of her skin on his fingers, could feel her breath so shallow that he wanted to lower his head and breathe into her mouth for her. He thought of her dark hair on his pillow, of her pink nipples in his mouth at the same time. He wanted her more than he had wanted any other, though Raúl was not comfortable with that thought.
This was business, Raúl reminded himself as motive returned. Tonight she would think of his lean, aroused body. When she was bedded by Gordon it would be his lithe body she ached for. He must now make sure of that. It was a business decision, and he made business decisions well.
His hand slid from beneath her hair down to the side of her ribs, to the bare skin there.
She ached. She ached for his hand to move, to cup her breast. And again he confirmed what was happening.
‘Soon I return you to Gordon,’ Raúl said, ‘but first you come to me.’
It was foreplay. So much so she felt that as if his fingers were inside her. So much so that she could feel, despite the sporran, the thick outline beneath his kilt. It was the most dangerous dance of her life. She wanted to turn. She wanted to run. Except her body wanted the feel of his arms. Her burning cheeks rested against purple velvet and she could hear the steady thud of his heart as hers tripped and galloped. No one around them had a clue about the fire in his arms.
He smelt exquisite, and his cheek near hers had her head wanting to turn, to seek the relief of his mouth. She did not know the range of la petit mort or that he was giving her a mere taste. Estelle was far too innocent to know that she was building up to doing exactly as instructed and coming to him.
Raúl knew exactly when he felt the tension in his arms slowly abate, felt her slip a little down his chest as for a brief moment she relaxed against him.
‘Thank you for the dance.’ Breathless, stunned, she went to step back.
But still he held her as he lifted her chin and offered his verdict. ‘You know, I would like to see you really cuss in Spanish.’
He let her go then, and Estelle headed to the safety of the ladies’ room and ran her wrists under the tap to cool them.
Careful, she told herself. Be careful here, Estelle.
There was a blaze of attraction more intense than any she had known. What Estelle did know, though, was that a man like Raúl would crush her in the palm of his hand.
She looked up into the mirror and took out her lipstick; she could not fathom what had just taken place—nor that she had allowed it.
That she had partaken in it.
And willingly at that.
‘There you are.’
Gordon smiled as she headed back to the table and she could not feel more guilty: she’d even failed as an escort.
‘I’m so sorry to have left you—some foreign minister wanted to speak urgently with me, but we couldn’t get him on the line and when we did…’ Gordon gave a weary smile. ‘He had no idea what he wanted to speak to me about. I’ve been going around in circles.’ Gordon drained his drink. ‘Let’s dance.’
It felt very different dancing with Gordon. They laughed and chatted as she tried not to think about the dance with Raúl.
Yes, she danced with Gordon—but it was the black eyes still on her that held her mind. Raúl sat at the table drinking whisky.
‘I think you’ve made quite an impression. Raúl can’t keep his eyes off you.’
She started in his arms. ‘It’s okay, Estelle.’ Gordon smiled. ‘I’m flattered—or rather my persona is. To have Raúl as competition is a compliment indeed.’
He kissed her cheek and she rested her head on his shoulder, and then her eyes fell to Raúl’s black eyes that still watched and there was heat in her body, and she tried to look away but she could not. She watched his mouth move in a slow smile till Gordon danced her so that Raúl was out of her line of vision. Then, a moment later, her eyes scanned the room for him and prayed that the dangerous part of her night was now over.
Raúl was gone.
‘SORRY!’
Gordon apologised profusely for scaring her, after Estelle had walked into the guest room much later that night to find a monster!
He whipped the mask off. ‘It’s for my breathing. I have sleep apnoea.’
Estelle had changed in a tiny bathroom along the draughty hall and was now wearing some very old, very tatty pale pink pyjamas that she only put on when she was sick or reading for an entire weekend. It was all she’d had at short notice, but Estelle was quite sure Gordon wasn’t expecting cleavage and sexy nightdresses.
She offered to take the sofa bed—he was paying her, after all—but true to his word he insisted that she have the bed.
‘Thank you so much for tonight, Estelle.’
‘It’s been fine,’ Estelle said as she rubbed cold cream into her face and took her make-up off. ‘It must be so hard on you, though,’ she mused, trying to get off the last of her mascara. ‘Having to hide your real life.’
‘It certainly hasn’t been easy, but six months from now I’ll be able to be myself.’
‘Can’t you now?’
‘If it was just about me then I probably would have by now,’ Gordon explained. ‘Frank is so private, though—it would be awful for him to have our relationship discussed on the news, which it would be. Still, six months from now we’ll be sunning it in Spain.’
‘Is that where you’re going to live?’
‘And marry,’ Gordon said. ‘Gay marriage is legal there.’
Estelle was really tired now; she slipped into bed and they chatted a little while more.
‘You know that Virginia has nearly finished her studies…?’
‘I know.’ Estelle sighed—not only because she would miss her housemate, but also because she would need to find someone else to share if she continued with her course. But then she realised what Gordon was referring to.
‘She’s starting work next month. I don’t want to offend you by suggesting anything, but if you did want to accompany me to things for a few months…’
He didn’t push, and for that Estelle was grateful.
‘Have a think about it,’ Gordon said, and wished her goodnight.
Estelle was soon drifting off, thinking not about Gordon’s offer but about Raúl and his pursuit.
And it had been a pursuit.
From the moment their eyes had locked he had barely left her thoughts or her side, whether standing behind her at the wedding or sitting beside her at dinner. She still could not comprehend what had taken place on the dance floor; she had been searching for the bells and whistles and sirens of an orgasm, but how delicious and gentle that had been—how much more was there to know?
She didn’t dare think too much about it now. Exhausted from a long and tiring day, Estelle was just about to drift off to sleep when Gordon turned on his ventilation machine.
Ginny hadn’t told her about this part.
She