Redeemed By His Stolen Bride. ABBY GREEN
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light turned to red. He negotiated a couple of rapid turns down dark side streets that had Leonora’s heart jumping into her throat, but at no point did she feel unsafe. It was exhilarating.
With the next turn into a quiet residential street Leonora sucked in a breath. It looked as if they were going to drive straight into a wall, but it quickly revealed itself to be a door that opened and allowed them entry down into a private garage under the building.
Gabriel pulled to a stop beside a row of equally sleek cars. ‘I think we lost them at the last traffic lights.’
Silence descended around them. ‘Where are we?’ she asked.
‘At my city apartment. You can wait here for a bit—let them lose you. I’ll organise for you to get home later. If you want.’
If you want.
Leonora looked at Gabriel, still reeling at everything that had happened and at the fact that he was her rescuer. His eyes were on her, dark and unreadable, and yet she felt as if some silent communication was taking place. Something she didn’t understand fully. Or didn’t want to investigate fully.
‘Okay…if you’re sure. I don’t want to bother you.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re not bothering me. Don’t worry.’
He undid his seat-belt and uncoiled his tall frame from the car. He came around and opened her door and held out a hand.
Leonora almost didn’t want to touch him, afraid of how she’d react. She could still feel the imprint of his hand on her elbow. But she couldn’t dither, so she put her hand in his and let him pull her out. And she’d been right to be afraid, because a jolt of electricity ran up her arm and right down into her core.
By the time she straightened up she was breathless. And she was so close to Gabriel that one more step would bring her flush with his body. She could sense the whipcord strength beneath his bespoke suit. Her eye line rested just below his bowtie.
His hand wrapped around hers. ‘Okay?’
She looked up and forced a smile, trying not to be intimidated by the sheer masculine beauty of the man. His proximity. ‘Fine… Just a bit shaky after the paparazzi. Normally I don’t register on their radar.’
Not the way this man did. He was slavishly followed and speculated upon by press eager to get a story on the reclusive billionaire. She thought of the papers tomorrow. Her head hurt at the prospect of her parents’ reaction. They were depending on her to redeem the family name and finances, not to embroil them in another scandal.
Gabriel let her hand go and Leonora suddenly realised something with dismay. ‘My bag and coat!’
Lazaro had arranged for someone to take them to the cloakroom at the hotel.
Gabriel said, ‘Come upstairs and I’ll arrange for them to be delivered here.’
He opened a door that led out into a dimly lit foyer. A security guard stepped into the light. ‘Good evening, Señor Torres.’
‘Good evening, Pancho. One of my team will be delivering something shortly. Let them in and send it up, please.’
‘Of course, sir.’
Gabriel put his hand on Leonora’s back, guiding her with a barely perceptible touch over to an elevator. Even so, she could feel his hand through her dress, and had the ridiculous urge to sink back against him, let him take her weight.
It unnerved her how much he made her feel, so she stood apart from him in the small space as the doors slid shut and he pressed a button. It rose silently and stopped a few seconds later with a small jerking motion.
The doors slid open and Gabriel put out a hand, indicating for Leonora to precede him. She stepped out and into a stunning penthouse apartment. It had all the original features of the building’s era—around the nineteenth century, Leonora guessed—but none of the fussiness.
It was a very contemporary apartment in the shell of one of Madrid’s classic buildings. Modern art hung on the walls, with spotlights directing the eye to bold slashing strokes and colours. Surprisingly sensual. Something about the design—the lack of clutter, the open spaces—soothed her. The furniture was deceptively plain and unobtrusive, letting the interior speak for itself. She’d never seen anything quite like it.
She watched as Gabriel strode over to French doors, opening them to let some air in. Leonora only realised then how close it was. The late-summer city heat was still oppressive. He took his phone out of his pocket and made a call, speaking in low tones. She assumed he was arranging to have her things collected.
He turned around to face her then, tugging at his bowtie, undoing it. Opening the top button of his shirt. She almost looked away, feeling as if she was intruding on some intimacy.
He gestured with a hand to a couch. ‘Please—sit, make yourself comfortable…’
Leonora stepped further into the room, feeling naked without her wrap or bag. ‘I’m fine, thank you. You have a beautiful apartment.’
No doubt it was just one of the hundreds of properties owned by him and his family all over Spain and the world.
It was well known that he was seen very much as the patriarch of his family, even though his father was still alive. And Leonora was vaguely aware of a rumour about his younger sister going off the rails and how she’d been sent abroad to clean up her act.
She shivered slightly at the thought of what it must be like to face a disapproving or angry Gabriel Torres. She didn’t even know his sister, or if the rumour was true, but she already felt sorry for her.
‘Would you like a drink?’ He walked over to an elaborate drinks cabinet. ‘I have whiskey, brandy, champagne, wine, gin—’
‘I’ll have a little whiskey please,’ she blurted out, needing something to settle her clanging nerves.
He poured dark golden liquid into a small tumbler and brought it over to her. ‘It’s Irish. I believe it’s meant to be very good.’
Leonora took it, distracted by the bowtie dangling at his neck and the open top button of his shirt. She could see dark bronzed skin. A hint of hair.
‘You haven’t tasted it?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t drink.’
She watched as he moved back, giving her space. It fitted that he didn’t drink. He seemed far too controlled. Exacting. Alert. She wondered why he didn’t, but wasn’t going to ask.
As if he could read her mind, though, he supplied, ‘I was put off after watching how alcohol affected people’s judgement and their decision-making. Not least my father’s. He almost ruined the family business.’
So that was why Gabriel now ran their extensive operation.
‘I’m sorry to hear that…’ Impulsively she added, ‘I have some idea of what you’re talking about.’
She wondered why she’d said that, but there was something about being in this space with this man that didn’t feel entirely real.
To her relief he didn’t say anything, or ask her to elaborate on the fact that her father’s vices had driven them to the brink and over. Anyway, he probably knew the sordid details. Most people did. But for the first time she didn’t feel that burning rise of shame. Maybe it was his admission that his family wasn’t perfect either.
He said, ‘I’m sorry for what happened to you this evening. You didn’t deserve that. You’re too good for a man like Lazaro Sanchez.’
Leonora clutched the tumbler to her chest. She’d yet to take a sip of the drink. ‘You don’t have to be sorry. It wasn’t your fault. And how can you say I’m too good for him? You don’t even know me.’
‘Don’t I?’ he asked softly, raising a dark brow. ‘We come from the same world, Leonora.