Spanish Escape. Maisey Yates
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a wedding,’ Raúl said, leaning across her a little to speak to Gordon.
She could smell his expensive cologne, and his arm was leaning slightly on her. Estelle watched her fingers around the stem of her glass tighten.
‘We just have the wedding, a party, and then bed,’ Raúl said.
It was the first hint of suggestion, but even so she could merely be reading into things too much. Except as he leant over her to hear Gordon’s response Estelle wanted to put her hand up, wanted to ask for the lights to come on, for this assault on her senses to stop, to tell the room the inappropriateness of the man sitting beside her. Only not a single thing had he done—not a word or hand had he put wrong.
So why was her left breast aching, so close to where his arm was? Why were her two front teeth biting down on her lip at the sight of his cheek, inches away?
‘Really?’ Gordon checked. ‘I might just have to move to Spain! In actual fact I was—’
Gordon was interrupted by the buzz of his phone and Raúl moved back in his seat. Estelle sat watching the newly wed couple dancing.
‘Darling, I am so sorry,’ Gordon said as he read a message on his phone. ‘I am going to have to find somewhere I can make some calls and use a computer.’
‘Good luck getting internet access,’ drawled Raúl. ‘I have to go outside just to make a call.’
‘I might be some time.’
‘Trouble?’ Estelle asked
‘Always.’ Gordon rolled his eyes. ‘Though this is unexpected. But I’ll deal with it as quickly as I can. I hate to leave you on your own.’
‘She won’t be on her own,’ Raúl said. ‘I can keep an eye.’
She rather wished that he wouldn’t.
‘Thanks so much,’ Gordon said. ‘In that dress she deserves to dance.’ He turned to Estelle. ‘I really am sorry to leave you…’ For appearances’ sake, he kissed her on the cheek.
What a waste of her mouth, Raúl thought.
Once Gordon had gone she turned to James and Veronica, on her right, desperately trying to feed into their conversation. But they were certainly not interested in Gordon’s new date. Over and over they politely dismissed her, and then followed the other couples at their table and got up to dance—leaving her alone with Raúl.
‘From the back you could be Spanish…’
She turned to the sound of his voice.
‘But from the front…’
His eyes ran over her creamy complexion and she felt heat sear her face as his eyes bored into hers. And though they did not wander—he was far too suave for that—somehow he undressed her. Somehow she sat there on her seat beside him at the wedding as if they were a couple. And when he looked at her, she felt, for a bizarre second, as if she was completely naked.
He was as potent as that.
‘IRISH?’ HE CHECKED, and Estelle hesitated for a moment before nodding.
She did not want to give any information to this man—did not even want to partake in conversation.
‘Yet your accent is English?’
‘My parents moved to England before I was born.’ She gave a tight swallow and hoped her stilted response would halt the conversation. It did not.
‘Where in England are they?’
‘They’re not,’ Estelle answered, terribly reluctant to reveal anything of herself.
Raúl did not push. Instead he moved the conversation on.
‘So, where did you and Gordon meet?’
‘We met at Dario’s.’ Estelle answered the question as Gordon had told her to, trying to tell herself he was just being polite, but every sense in her body seemed set to high alert. ‘It’s a bar—’
‘In Soho,’ Raúl broke in. ‘I have heard a lot about Dario’s.’
Beneath her make-up her cheeks were scalding.
‘Not that I have been,’ Raúl said. ‘As a male, I would perhaps be too young to get in there.’ His lips rose in a slight smile and he watched the colour flood darker in her neck and to her ears. ‘Maybe I should give it a try…’
He looked more closely at Estelle. She had eyes that were a very dark green and rounded cheeks—she really was astonishingly attractive. There was something rather sweet about her despite the clothes, despite the make-up, and there was an awkwardness that was as rare as it was refreshing. Raúl was not used to awkwardness in the women he dated.
‘So, we both find ourselves alone at a wedding…’
‘I’m not alone,’ Estelle said. ‘Gordon will be back soon.’ She did not want to ask, but she found herself doing just that as she glanced to the empty chair beside him. ‘How come…?’ Her voice faded out. There was no polite way to address it.
‘We broke up this morning.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Please don’t be.’ He thought for a moment before continuing. ‘Really to say we broke up is perhaps an exaggeration. To break something would mean you had to have something, and we were only going out for a few weeks.’
‘Even so…’ Still she attempted to be polite. ‘Break-ups are hard.’
‘I’ve never found them to be,’ Raúl said. ‘It’s the bit before that I struggle with.’
‘When it starts to go wrong?’
‘No,’ Raúl said. ‘When it starts to go right.’
His eyes were looking right into hers, his voice was deep and low, and his words interesting—because despite herself she did want to know more about this fascinating man. So much so that she found herself leaning in a little to hear.
‘When she starts asking what we are doing next weekend. When you hear her saying “Raúl said…” or “Raúl thinks…”’ He paused for a second. ‘I don’t like to be told what I’m thinking.’
‘I’m sure you don’t.’
‘Do you know what I’m thinking now?’
‘I wouldn’t presume to.’ She could hardly breathe, because she was surely thinking the same.
‘Would you like to dance?’
‘No, thank you,’ Estelle said, because it was far safer to stay seated than to self-combust in his arms. He was sinfully good-looking and, more worryingly, she had a sinking feeling as she realised he was pulling her in deeper with each measured word. ‘I’ll just wait here for Gordon.’
‘Of course,’ Raúl said. ‘Have you met the bride or groom?’
‘No.’ Estelle felt as if she were being interviewed. ‘You’re friends with the groom?’
‘I went to university with him.’
‘In Spain?’
‘No, here in Scotland.’
‘Oh!’ She wasn’t sure why, but that surprised her.
‘I was here for four years,’ Raúl said. ‘Then I moved back to Marbella. I still like to come here. Scotland is a very beautiful country.’
‘It is,’ Estelle said. ‘Well, from the little I’ve seen.’
‘It’s your first time?’
She