From Venice With Love: Secrets of Castillo del Arco. Alison Roberts
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night.
She watched him go, wishing she could run after him, knowing it would be a mistake. But what had he meant about offering her her freedom? Why should she treasure it?
Why couldn’t he at least have explained what he meant?
He dreamed of Katia that night, Katia emerging from the mist with all her grace and long, lithe limbs, her dancer’s eyes and beckoning smile. He dreamed of parties floating on a champagne cloud; he dreamed of laughter, dancing and sex that went long into the night and the following day, and then doing it all again the next. Until the mist turned dark and putrid and a mocking smile became a call for help, became a scream, and he tried to make his feet move, tried to run …
He woke to a pounding heart, covered in sweat and tangled in sheets. It took seconds to realise the pounding was coming from the door and not only from his chest. Thank God! He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, snatching up his watch and throwing it back when he saw the time and realised it had taken him so long to get to sleep last night that he’d slept later than he’d intended. It was room service, no doubt, with his breakfast order, although why they had to make such a God-awful noise …
He called out that he was coming and lashed a towel around his hips, pulling open the door in the same movement. But it was Gabriella who fell into his arms, tear-streaked and brandishing a newspaper in one hand, and it took him a moment to remember, to work out how she’d found him. ‘Raoul, I’m sorry,’ she sobbed, clinging to him. ‘I’m so sorry. I know you’ll be angry with me, but I didn’t know who else to turn to.’
He put a tentative hand to her head, trying not to think too much about the push of her breasts again his chest or the fact his early-morning body had reversed its decision to relax. Hating himself that it had. ‘What is it, Gabriella?’ he asked gruffly, shifting slightly and still feeling a building sizzle of satisfaction in his veins, already half-knowing what the news must be.
‘It’s all over the papers,’ she sniffed, thrusting it into his hand. ‘It’s Consuelo. He’s been accused of using the foundation as a front for money laundering. He’s been arrested for fraud.’
Already? he thought as his eyes flicked over the article, taking in the pertinent details. So it was done and she was safe. Surely Umberto would not quibble about the exact letter of his promise not being carried out? He’d done her a favour, after all, and if all went to plan Garbas would be locked up for a very long time and Gabriella could find and marry someone decent. ‘But what brings you here? What do you think I can do?’
‘We have to help him. It can’t be true. We have to—’
‘We?’
‘Surely you would help me?’
‘But if it is true, what they accuse him of?’
She blinked watery eyes up at him and exhilaration almost gave way to regret for causing her more tears after she had shed what seemed like an ocean of them. ‘What?’
‘If the police are right? That he has been using the foundation as a front?’
She buried her head against his chest again, as if to block out the truth. ‘But that would make him some kind of criminal.’
‘Then maybe, just maybe, you should brace yourself for that eventuality.’
She stilled in his arms. ‘You think there is a possibility?’
He shrugged, unable to prevent himself from stroking her back through her coat, trying to show indifference when all he wanted to do was tell her that he knew it to be true and that she had had a lucky escape. Could she not tell from the gravity of the reports that this was no frame-up? Then battling to care about Garbas and whether he was guilty or innocent when she was in his arms this way, and so very beautiful, so very desirable …
With a groan, he hauled his libido and his thoughts back to where they should be.
‘The police must have evidence. They do not go around arresting people on such charges lightly, Bella.’
The use of her pet name sliced through her tears and through the dense fog that had occupied her mind ever since he had abandoned her last night, leaving her sleepless and unable to cope with this morning’s revelations.
And suddenly she was aware of so many other things—of the spring of chest hair under her fingers; of the broad width of naked chest that lay heated under her cheek and pressed against her breasts; of the rough towel that was the only barrier separating them.
‘You called me Bella,’ she said, lifting her head to look up at him. ‘I thought you hated me.’
He stroked her hair back from her face. ‘I could never hate you.’
And she smiled. ‘Nor me you. I think we are destined to be friends for ever, Raoul.’ Even though, with his warm, firm flesh under her hands, she wished it could be more.
He kissed the top of her head. ‘I believe so. I’m sorry I was so—abrupt last night, Bella. There are things you do not understand.’
‘I would be happy to try, if only you would let me.’
He let her go and turned away, so suddenly that she was left to find her balance in a world that had somehow subtly shifted while she was in his arms. ‘I should get dressed,’ he said, opening his wardrobe. ‘So, what do you intend to do?’
It took her a moment to work out what he meant. ‘I have to do something. Maybe I should go to the police station—tell them there must be another explanation. Offer to be a character witness.’
Halfway pulling out a shirt from a wardrobe, he stopped and looked at her. ‘Do you always believe the best of people, Bella? Always? No matter what?’
It was her turn to shrug. ‘But how can it be true? The foundation does such wonderful work. I have seen the children he has helped—tiny children with no hope until his foundation funds their treatment; tiny children who have lost so much and yet are still able to smile because of what his foundation has done for them—offering them hope for some kind of future. What will happen to them?’
He growled as he shrugged the shirt on. Was she so naive that she couldn’t see that Consuelo’s purpose was to hide behind those very children he pretended to care about in order to cover his filthy tracks? ‘They will not suffer because of this.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I keep thinking someone must have made a mistake. Maybe it’s someone working for him behind the scenes who might have done this. And I can’t help feeling there must be something I can do to help.’
His fingers stabbed the last shirt-button home, his blood running cold in his veins while he watched her over his shoulder. ‘Do you love him, Bella—this man who abandoned you yesterday on a day you needed friends to stand by you? Is that why you are so desperate to help him?’
‘No.’ She made a sound like a whimper. ‘No, but does it have to be about love? He’s a friend, and he’s going to need all the friends he can to get through this.’
‘And yesterday, when you needed a friend? Where was he then, if not already running, if what the paper suggests is true? Why else would his offices be raided? Why else would he have been arrested at the airport like that article says if he was not trying to flee? Unless he had plans to travel that you knew about?’
‘No.’ She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘We were planning on having a quiet dinner together.’
‘Then how much help do you think you can be, without proving him to be a liar with your evidence?’
She collapsed on the un-made bed, her face in her hands. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know! I just don’t know what to do.’
She looked so vulnerable and broken, so desperate and despair-ridden, that he could not help but feel guilty, even when Garbas was scum and had it coming to him. There was little triumph here. In kicking Garbas, he’d kicked her too when she was already down,