Spanish Escape

CHAPTER TWELVE

NORMALLY RAÚL'S YACHT sailed into the busiest port, often with a party underway.

This early evening, though, they sailed slowly into Acantilados de Maro-Cerro Gordo. The sky was an amazing pink, the cliffs sparkling as they dropped anchor near a secluded bay.

‘The beaches are stunning here,’ Alberto said, ‘and the tourists know it. But this one has no road access.’ He turned to Raúl. ‘The jet skis are ready for you both.’

Only as they were about to be launched did Raúl remember. He turned and saw her pale face, saw that she was biting on her lip as she went to climb on the machine, and his apology was genuine.

‘Estelle, I’m sorry. I forgot about your brother’s accident.’

‘It’s fine,’ she said through chattering teeth. ‘He was showing off…mucking around…’ She was trying to pretend that the machine she was about to climb on didn’t petrify her. ‘I know we’ll be sensible.’

Raúl had had no intention of being sensible. He loved the exhilaration of being on a jet ski and had wanted to share it with her—had wanted to race and to chase.

Instead he was taking her hand. ‘It’s not fine. You don’t have to pretend.’

Oh, but she did. At every turn she had to pretend, if she was to be the temporary woman he wanted.

‘Come on this one with me,’ Raúl said. ‘Alberto, take her hand and help her on.’

They rode towards the bay in a rather more subdued fashion than Raúl was used to.

The maid who was setting up the dinner table caught Alberto’s eye when he came to check on her progress and they shared a brief smile.

His bride and the effect she was having on Raúl was certainly not one they had been expecting.

‘I think I might go and reorganise his DVD collection,’ the maid suggested and Alberto nodded.

‘I think that might be wise.’

Estelle held tightly onto Raul’s waist as the jet ski chopped through the waves, and because her head kept knocking into his back in the end she gave in and rested it there, not sure if her rapid heart-rate was because she was scared by the vehicle, by the questions she would no doubt soon be facing, or just by the exhilaration.

Making love with Raúl had been amazing. She was sore and tender but now, feeling his skin beneath her cheek, feeling the ocean water sting her and the wind whip her hair, she could not regret a moment. Even her lie. Feeling his passion as he had seared into her was a memory she would be frequently revisiting. For now, though, Estelle knew she had to play it tough—had to convince him better than she had so far that she was up to the job he had paid her for.

He skidded into the shallows and she unpeeled herself from him and stepped down.

‘It’s amazing…’ She looked up at the cliffs, shielding her eyes. ‘Look how high it is.’

He did, but only briefly. Estelle was too busy admiring the stunning view to notice his pallor.

‘What did Angela say to you at the wedding?’ Raúl asked.

She had been expecting a barrage of questions about her lack of experience, and was momentarily sideswiped at his choice of topic for conversation, but then she reminded herself his interest in her was limited.

‘She wasn’t sure whether or not we were a true couple,’ Estelle said.

‘You corrected her?’

‘Of course,’ Estelle said. ‘She seems to think that if I love my husband, then I should encourage you to make peace with your father while there is still time.’ She glanced over to him as they walked. ‘She wants us to go there and visit.’

‘It is too late to play happy families.’

‘Angela said that she doesn’t want you to suffer any guilt, as you did over your mother’s death…’

‘Misplaced guilt,’ Raúl said, but didn’t elaborate any more.

He stopped and they sat on the beach, looking out to the yacht. She could see the lights were on, the staff on deck were preparing their meal. It was hard to believe such luxury even existed, let alone that for now it was hers to experience. It was the luxury of him she wanted, though; there was more about Raúl that she needed to know.

‘I didn’t know how to answer her,’ Estelle admitted. ‘You said there was more you would tell me. I have no real idea about your family, nor about you.’

‘So I will tell you what you need to know.’ He pondered for a moment on how best to explain it. ‘My grandfather—my mother’s father—ran a small hotel. It did well and he built another, and then he purchased some land in the north,’ Raúl explained.

‘In San Sebastian?’ Estelle asked.

He nodded. ‘On his death the business was left to his three children—De La Fuente Holdings. My father and mother married, and my father started to work in the family business. But he was always an outsider—or felt that he was, even though he oversaw the building of the San Sebastian hotel. When I was born my mother became unwell. In hindsight I would say she was depressed. It was then he started to sleep with Angela. Apparently Angela felt too much guilt and left work, moved back to her family, but they started seeing each other again…’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘My father told me the morning I met you.’

It was only then that Estelle fully realised this was almost as new to him as it was to her.

‘Angela got pregnant, the guilt ate away at him, and he told my mother the truth. He wanted to know if she could forgive him. She cried and wailed and screamed. She told him to get out and he went to Angela—the baby was almost due. He assumed my mother would tell her family, that she would turn to them. Except she did not. When she had the car accident and died my father returned and soon realised no one knew he had another son. Instead they welcomed him back into the company.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘Soon they will find out the truth.’

‘Angela said that you blamed yourself for your mother’s death?’

‘That is all you need to know.’ He looked over to her. ‘Your turn.’

‘I don’t know what to tell you.’

‘Why you lied?’

‘I didn’t lie.’

‘The same way my father didn’t lie when he didn’t tell me had another son? The same way Angela didn’t lie when she failed to tell mention her son, Luka, was my brother?’ He did not want to think about that. ‘Okay, if you didn’t outright lie, you did deceive.’

He watched her swallow, watched as her face jerked away to look out to the ocean.

‘I wanted an experienced woman.’

‘Sorry I don’t know enough tricks—’

‘I wasn’t talking about sex!’ Raúl hurled. ‘I wanted a woman who could handle things. Who could keep to a deal. Who wasn’t going to fall in love…’

‘Again you assume!’ Estelle flared. ‘Why would I fall in love with some cold bastard who thinks only in money—who has no desire for true affection? A man who tells me what to wear and whether or not I can tan.’

Her eyes flashed as she let out some of the anger she had suppressed over the past few days while every decision apart from her wedding dress had been made by him.

‘Raúl, I would not have a man choose my clothes or dictate to the hairdresser the style of my hair, or the beautician the colour of my nails. You’re getting what you paid for—what you wanted—what you demanded. Consider my virginity a bonus!’

She dug her heels deep into the sand and almost believed her own words. Tried to ignore that last night, as she’d been falling asleep in his arms, foolish thoughts had invaded. Raúl’s doubts about her ability to see this through perhaps had merit, for he would be terribly easy to love…

She turned around and faced him.

‘I’m here for the money, Raúl.’ And not for a single second more would she allow herself to forget it. ‘I’m here with you for the same reason I was with Gordon.’

He could not stand the thought of her in bed with him—could not bear to think about it. But when he did, Raúl frowned.

‘If you were with Gordon for money, how come you were trying to change the sheets before the maid got in.’

‘I was never with Gordon in that way. I just stood in for Ginny.’

‘You shared his bed,’ Raúl said. ‘And we all know his reputation…’

‘Unlike you, Gordon didn’t feel comfortable going to a wedding alone,’ Estelle said carefully.

‘So he paid you to look like his tart?’ Raúl checked. ‘What about Dario’s…?’ His voice trailed off and he frowned as he realised the lengths Gordon had gone to, then frowned a little more as realisation hit. ‘Is Gordon…?’ He didn’t finish the question—knew it was none of his business. ‘You needed the money to help out your brother?’

She conceded with a nod.

‘Estelle, it is not for me to question your reasons—’

‘Then don’t.’

Her warning did not stop him.

‘Andrew would not want it.’

‘Which is why he will never find out.’

‘I know that if I had a sister I would not want her—’

‘Don’t compare yourself to my brother. You don’t even have a sister, and the brother you do have you don’t want to know.’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘We’re two very different people, Raúl. If I discovered that I had a brother or sister somewhere I’d be doing everything I could to find out about them, to meet them—not plotting to bring them down.’

‘I’m not plotting anything. I just don’t want him taking what is rightfully mine. Neither do I want to end up working alongside him.’

She looked at the seductive eyes that invited you only to bed, at the mouth that kissed so easily but insisted you did not get close.

‘You miss out on so much, Raúl.’

‘I miss out on nothing,’ Raúl said. ‘I have everything I want.’

‘You have everything money can buy,’ Estelle said, remembering the reason she was here. ‘Including me.’

When he kissed her it tasted of nothing. It tasted empty. It was a pale comparison to the kiss he had been the recipient of last night. And when he took her top off he knew she was faking it, knew she was thinking of the boat and of people watching, knew she was trying not to cry.

‘Not here,’ Raúl said for her.

‘Please, Raúl…’

Her mouth sought his. She was still playing the part, too inexperienced to understand that he knew her body lied.

He wanted it back, the intimacy of last night, which meant taking care of her.

For now.

Surely for a couple of days he could take care of her. They could just enjoy each other and break her in properly. The last thing he wanted was her tense and teary, feeling exposed.

He had glimpsed her toughness, admired the lengths she would go to for her family, and he believed her now—she did not want his love

‘Later.’ Raúl pulled his head back from her mouth. ‘I’m starving.’

He helped her with her bikini, used his chest as a shield as he did up the clasp, just in case any passing fish were having a peek, or telescopes were trained on them. But rather than making him feel irritated, her coyness now made him smile.

Especially when he thought of her unleashed.

‘Come on,’ Raúl said, despite the ache in his groin. ‘Let’s head back.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘WE WILL GO and shower and get dressed for dinner,’ Raúl said as they boarded and Alberto took the jet ski. ‘Do you want me to ask Rita to come down and do your hair?’

‘Rita?’

‘She is a masseuse and a beautician. If you want her to come and help just ask Alberto,’ Raúl said, heading off to the stateroom.

Estelle called him back. She could smell the food and was honestly starving. ‘Why do we have to get dressed for dinner?’ Estelle did not notice the twitch of his lips, though Alberto did. ‘It’s only us.’

‘On a yacht such as this one, when the chef…’ Raúl began. But he was torn, because etiquette often had no place on board and it seemed petty to put her right. ‘Very well.’ He turned to Alberto, who was already on to it.

‘I’ll let the chef know.’

They rinsed off under the shower on deck and then took their seats.

Raúl was rather more used to a well-made-up blonde in a revealing dress sitting opposite him, but there was something incredibly appealing about sitting for dinner half-naked and scooping up the delicacies the waiters were bringing.

‘I could get far too used to this,’ Estelle started, and then stopped herself, remembering his words at the lawyer’s. ‘I meant…’

‘I know what you meant.’

She was relieved to see he was smiling.

‘The food really is amazing,’ Raúl agreed. ‘They chef is marvellous. Chefs on yachts generally are—that is why we keep coming back for more.’

They chatted as they ate, far more naturally than they had before, and it wasn’t just for the benefit of the staff.

It was simply a blissful night.

They danced.

On the deck of his yacht they danced when the music came on.

‘I understand now why we should have changed for dinner,’ Estelle admitted. ‘Do you think I’ve offended anyone?’

‘I don’t think you could if you tried.’

The sky was darkening and Raúl looked out to the cliffs, and rather than remembering hell he buried his face in her hair. It took only the smell of the ocean in her hair for him to escape.

‘And for the record,’ Raúl said, ‘although you accuse me being a controlling bastard, I was worried about you burning. I have never seen paler skin.’

‘I think I am a bit sunburnt.’

‘I know.’

They moved down to the lounge room. Estelle was starting to relax—so much so that she didn’t spring from his arms when some dessert wine was brought through to them.

‘Let’s go to bed…’ His hand was in her bikini top, trying to free her breast.

‘Not yet,’ she breathed into his mouth. ‘I’ll never sleep.’

‘I have no intention of letting you sleep.’

‘Let’s watch a movie,’ Estelle said, unwrapping herself from him and heading over to his collection.

‘Estelle—no!’

‘Oh, sorry.’ She’d forgotten what he’d told her in the gym, about no hand-holding and movies, and she turned and attempted a smile. ‘Sure—let’s go to bed.’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ Raúl said through gritted teeth, wondering how he’d ended up with the one hooker to whom he’d have to apologise for his DVDs. ‘I just don’t think there will be anything there to your taste.’

He braced himself for the rapid demise of a pleasant night as Estelle flicked through his collection.

‘I love this one.’

‘Really?’ Raúl was very pleasantly surprised.

‘Actually…’ She skimmed through a couple more. ‘This one’s my favourite.’ She held up the cover to him and didn’t understand his smile.

‘Of course it is,’ Raúl said, pulling her down beside him, smiling into her hair. One day he would tell her how funny that was—one day when it wouldn’t offend, when she knew him better. He would laugh about it with her.

But there would not be that day, he reminded himself.

This was just for now.

He had not lain on a sofa and watched a movie—not one with a plot, anyway—since he couldn’t remember when.

Estelle shivered. The doors were open and the air was cooling. He pulled down a rug from the back of the sofa and covered them, felt her bottom curving into him.

‘Sore?’ He kissed her pink shoulders as he made light work of her bikini top.

‘A bit.’

Estelle concentrated on the movie as Raúl concentrated on Estelle. He kissed her neck and shoulders for ages, then played with her breasts, massaging them with his palms, taking her nipples between thumb and fingers. Then slowly, when he knew there would be no qualms from Estelle, moved one hand down and untied her bikini bottoms.

His question, when repeated, was a far more personal one as his fingers crept in.

‘Sore?’

‘A bit,’ she said again, but he was so gentle, and it felt so sublime.

She could feel the motion of the boat, and him huge and hard behind her; she could feel the urging of his mouth to turn to him and growing insistence from behind.

‘Turn around, Estelle.’ His breathing was ragged.

‘In a minute.’ She wasn’t even watching the film. Her eyes were closed. She was just loving the feel of him playing with her and longing for it to go on. ‘It’s coming to the best bit.’

He pulled her up a little further, so that her naked bum was against his stomach, and he angled her perfectly. She felt the long, slow slide of him where he had stabbed into her last night. She was still bruised and swollen and hot down below, and yet she closed around him in relief.

‘This is the best bit,’ Raúl’s low voice corrected her.

He pressed slowly into her, his fingers playing with her clitoris, slid slowly and deeply, with none of the haste of last night, and it was Estelle who was fighting to hold back.

‘I’m going to come.’

‘Not yet,’ he told her, teasing her harder with his fingers, thrusting himself deeper inside.

‘I am.’ She was trembling and trying to hold on.

‘Not yet.’

He stroked her somewhere so deep, the feeling so intense that she let out a small squeal.

‘There?’ he asked.

Estelle didn’t know what he meant, but then he stroked her there again and she sobbed. ‘There!’ She was begging as over and over he massaged her deep, hitting her somewhere she hadn’t even known existed. ‘There…’

She was starting to cry, but with intense pleasure, and then she could no longer hold it. There was no point even trying.

There was a flood of release as she pulsed around him, and Raúl moaned as she tightened over and over around his thick length. He felt the rush of her orgasm flowing into him and he shot back in instant response, spilling deep into her, loving her abandon, loving the Estelle his body revealed.

Loving too the tinge of embarrassment that crept in as she struggled to get her breath back.

‘What was that?’

‘Us,’ he said, still inside her. And it was not the cliffs he feared now, but the perfume of the ocean in her hair as he inhaled it—a fear that was almost overwhelming as he realised how much he had enjoyed this night.

Not just the sex, not just the talking, not just dinner.

But now.

* * *

‘We should head back.’

They had been snorkelling. It had all started off innocently, but had turned into a slightly more grown-up activity. Raúl did not know if it was her laughter, or the feel of her legs wrapped around him, or just that he was simply enjoying her too much, but he kissed her cheek and unwrapped her legs from his waist.

‘Is it dinner-time?’

‘I meant we should head back for Marbella…’

It had been two nights and two amazing days, and more of a honeymoon than Raúl had ever intended for it to be.

They were dressing for dinner tonight, because they wouldn’t be dawdling on their return. Which meant this would be their last night on the yacht.

She missed it already.

Even as Rita did her hair and make-up she missed the yacht, because it had been the most magical time. As if they had suspended the rules of the contract, their time had been spent talking, laughing, eating, making love—but Raúl had made it clear that things would be different when they returned to Marbella.

She felt as if they were approaching that already as Rita pushed the last pin into Estelle’s hair. Raúl’s expression was tense as he picked up his ringing phone.

‘I will tell the chef you will be up soon,’ Rita said, and Estelle thanked her and started to put on her dress.

She didn’t understand what was being said on the phone, but given the terse words, she guessed it wasn’t pleasant.

‘They are getting married.’ Raúl hung up and was silent.

By the time he told her what the call had been about he was doing up his tie, but kept getting the knot wrong.

‘Oh.’ She didn’t know what else to say, just went on struggling with her zip.

‘Come here.’ He found the side zipper. ‘It’s stuck.’

She stood still as he tried to undo it.

‘My father says he wants to do the right thing by Angela—wants to give her the dignity of being his wife and his widow. He wants her to have a say in decisions by the medical staff.’

‘What did you say?’

‘That it was the first decent thing I had heard on the subject.’

‘Are you going to attend?’

He didn’t answer her question; instead he hurried her along. ‘Come on. They will be serving up soon. It is not fair to keep the chef waiting.’