The Perfect Cazorla Wife. Michelle Smart
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For a moment she was too stunned to move or say anything else.
Seeing him in full daylight, gorgeous in a dark blue suit and light blue shirt that made the colour in his eyes gleam, threatened to knock what little stuffing she had left out of her heart.
This wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Over the years Raul had wined and dined all the major players of the Spanish banks. He had all the best contacts. His web covered everywhere.
He’d probably known the outcome of her meeting before she had.
Suddenly it became clear what he was here for.
She marched over to him. ‘Here to gloat, are you?’
He unfolded his arms and straightened, his pale blue eyes fixed on her without expression.
‘No, cariño.’ The faintest of smiles tugged at his sensuous lips. ‘I’m here to offer you a lifeline.’
She studied him carefully, trying to read his face.
‘What kind of lifeline?’ she asked, not hiding her wariness.
‘The kind of lifeline that will save your centre.’
Raul watched a dozen emotions flitter over her pretty face as she digested his words.
‘You’re going to help me?’
He allowed himself another smile and opened the passenger door of the Lotus. ‘Get in and we’ll discuss the matter.’
‘Tell me where to go and I’ll meet you. I’ve got my own car here.’
She could drive now? That was news to him.
‘If you want the lifeline for the centre that means so much to you, I suggest you get in. This is a one-off discussion. When I leave, the offer of my help leaves with me.’ Not waiting for a reaction, he sidled round and got into the driver’s side.
It was only when he shut his door and fastened his seat belt that Charley galvanised herself into action, jumping in beside him and shutting the passenger door with a slam.
He put his sunglasses on before turning to face her, taking stock of the designer black suit she wore and the way her hair hung loose around her shoulders. It surprised him to find her make-up-free bar a touch of eyeliner and mascara. His wife normally made her face up so artfully that not the slightest imperfection showed; at least she had after she’d been given access to his bank account and had hit the high-class department stores. When he’d first met her she’d been as fresh-faced as she was today.
His loins tightened as he caught her vanilla scent. He’d been imagining that scent since she’d gatecrashed the party.
She stared right back at him, confusion and suspicion vying in her look.
He experienced a surge of satisfaction.
He had her exactly where he wanted her.
With a half-smile on his face, he shifted the car into gear and joined the rest of the traffic on the street.
‘Are you serious about helping me?’ she asked in the throaty tone he remembered so well.
‘Why else would I be here?’
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