Читать книгу Spanish Escape - Maisey Yates, Carol Marinelli - Страница 19

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ESTELLE WOKE AND had no idea where she was for a moment.

Her body was bruised and sore. She could hear a shower.

She rolled over in bed and saw the evidence of their union, and moved the top sheet to cover it.

‘Hiding the evidence?’

Estelle turned and was shocked at the sight of him. There was a towel round his hips, but his chest was covered in the bruises she now remembered her mouth making. He turned and took a drink from the breakfast table that had presumably been delivered and she saw the scratches on his back, remembered the wanton place he had taken her to.

‘I need to have a shower.’

‘We need to talk.’ But then he conceded, ‘Have some lunch and a shower. Then we will talk.’

‘Lunch?’

‘Late lunch,’ Raúl said. ‘It is nearly two.’

Estelle quickly gulped down some grapefruit juice and then headed to the bathroom. When she had found out they would be honeymooning on a yacht she had expected basic bathroom facilities; instead it was like a five-star hotel. The bathroom was marble, the taps and lighting incredible, yet she barely noticed. Her only thought was getting to her make-up bag.

The doctor had told her how important it was to take her pill on time every day. She was still getting used to it. Her breasts felt sore and tender, as if she were getting her period, and she still felt a little bit queasy from the new medication.

Estelle swallowed down the pill, making a mental note to change the alarm on her phone to two p.m.—or should she take it at seven tomorrow?

Her mind felt dizzy. She had seen that Raúl was less than impressed with her this morning and no doubt he would want a thorough explanation. She still hadn’t worked out what to say.

Estelle showered and put on the factor fifty he insisted on, then sorted out her hair and make-up, relieved when she headed back into the bedroom and Raúl wasn’t there. She selected a bikini from the many he had bought her, and also a pale lilac sarong. Her head was splitting from too much champagne and too much Raúl. She sat on the bed and put on espadrilles. Then, dressed—or rather barely dressed, as Raúl would want her to be—she stood. But her eyes did not go to the mirror—instead they went to the bed.

Mortified at the thought of a maid seeing the stained sheets, Estelle started to strip the bed.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m just making up the bed.’

‘If I had a thing for maids then it would have been stipulated in the contract,’ Raúl said. ‘And if I had a thing for virgins,’ he added, ‘that would have been stipulated too.’

Estelle said nothing.

‘Just leave it.’ His voice was dark. ‘The crew will take care of that. I will show you around.’

‘I’ll just wander…’ She went to walk past.

‘You can’t hide from me here,’ he warned, taking her wrist. ‘But we will discuss it later. I don’t want the staff getting even a hint that this is anything but a normal honeymoon.’

‘Don’t you trust your staff?’ It was meant as a small dig—because surely a man in his position could easily pay for his privacy?

‘I don’t trust anyone,’ Raúl said, watching the fire mount on her cheeks as his words sank in. ‘And with good reason.’

She followed him up onto the deck. The sun blinded her for a moment.

‘Where are your sunglasses?’

‘I forgot to bring them.’ She turned to head back down, but Raúl halted her, calling out to one of the crew. ‘I can get them myself.’

‘Why would you?’

Sometimes she forgot just how rich and spoilt he was. This was not one of those times. Despite the fact there were some of the crew around, he pulled her into his arms and very slowly kissed her.

‘Raúl….’ She was embarrassed by his passion. She looked into his black eyes and knew he was making a point.

‘We are here for two days, darling. The plan is for us to fully enjoy them.’

His words were soft, the message not.

‘I’ll show you around now.’

A maid handed her her sunglasses and then Raúl showed her their abode for the next few days. The lounge that she had barely noticed last night was huge, littered with low sofas; another maid was plumping the cushions. There was a huge screen and, though nervous around him, Estelle did her best to be enthusiastic. ‘This will be lovely for watching a movie.’

Raúl swallowed and caught the maid’s eyes, and as Estelle went over to look at his DVD collection he quickly led her away.

‘Here is the gym.’ He opened a door and they stepped in. ‘Not that you’ll need it. I will ensure that you get plenty of exercise.’

Only there, with the door safely closed, did he let his true frustration slip out. He closed the door and gave her a glimpse of what was to come.

‘If you think we are going to be sitting around watching movies and holding hands—’

‘I know what I’m here for.’

‘Make sure that you do.’

Raúl had woken at lunchtime from his first decent sleep in days, from his first night without nightmares. For a moment he had glimpsed peace—but then she had stirred in his arms and he had looked down to a curtain of raven hair and felt the weight of her breast on his chest. The sheet had tumbled from them; he’d seen her soft pale stomach and the evidence of their coupling on her inner thigh.

He had gone to move the sheet to cover them, but the movement had disturbed her a little and he had lain still, willing her back to sleep, fighting the urge to roll over and kiss her awake, make love to her again. He had felt the heat from her palm on his stomach and had physically ached for that hand to move down. His erection had been uncomfortable.

He’d fought the bliss of the memories of last night as his hand had moved down—and then halted when he’d realised his own thought-processes.

Sex Raúl could manage—and often.

Making love—no.

Last night had been but one concession, and he reminded himself she had lied.

He had removed her hand from him then and spent a full ten minutes examining her face—from the freckles dusting her nose to the full lips that had deceived him.

He stood in the well-equipped gym and looked at them now. Absolutely he would make things clear.

‘We have several weeks of this,’ Raúl said. ‘I wanted a woman who could handle my life, who knew how to have fun.’ He did not mince words. ‘Who was good in bed.’

He watched her cheeks burn.

‘I’m sure I’ll soon learn. I’ll keep up my end of the deal—I don’t need hand-holding.’

‘There will be no holding hands.’ He took her hand and placed it exactly where it had been agreed it would visit regularly. ‘You knew what you were signing up for…’

He had to hold her back; he had to be at his poisonous worst. He could not simply dump her, as he usually did when a woman fell too hard. They had weeks of this and he could not risk her heart.

Instead he would put her to work.

‘Let’s have a spa.’

She saw the challenge in his eyes, knew that he was testing her, and smiled sweetly. ‘Let’s!’

She followed him up onto the deck, trying to ignore the fact that he had fully stripped off as she took off her espadrilles and dropped her sarong.

‘Take off your top.’

‘In a moment…’

He could sense rather than see that she was upset, and it made him furious. He was actually wishing his father dead, just so this might end.

‘Take off your top,’ he said again. Because if she thought she was here to discuss the passing scenery, or for them to get to know each other better, then she was about to find out she was wrong.

Estelle might have taken him for a fool.

He wasn’t one.

Her face was one burning blush as her shaking hands undid the clasp, and she sank beneath the water as she removed it and placed the bikini top on the edge.

‘Good morning!’ The skipper made his way over. Naked breasts were commonplace on the Costa Del Sol—and especially on Raúl Sanchez Fuante’s boat. He had no trouble at all looking Estelle in the eye as he greeted her. She, though, Raúl noted, was close to tears as she attempted to smile back.

‘We are heading towards Acantilados de Maro-Cerro Gordo,’ Alberto said, and then turned to Raúl. ‘Would you like us to stop there tonight? The chef is looking forward to preparing your dinner and he wondered if you would like us to set up for you to eat on the bay?’

‘We’ll eat on the boat,’ Raúl said. ‘We might take a couple of jet skis out a little later and take a walk.’

‘Of course,’ Alberto said, then turned to Estelle.

‘Do you have any preferences for dinner? Any food choices you would like the chef to know about?’

‘Anything.’

Raul heard her try to squeeze the word out through breathless lips.

‘It’s a beautiful bay we are stopping at.’ Albert happily chatted on. ‘It’s not far at all from the more built-up areas, but soon we will start to come into the most stunning virgin terrain.’

He wished them a pleasant afternoon and headed off.

‘I’ve already explored the virgin terrain…’ Raúl drawled, once he was out of earshot.

Estelle said nothing.

‘Here.’ Annoyed with himself for giving in, but hating her discomfort, he threw her the bikini top. ‘Put it on if you want.’

She really was shaken, Raúl thought with a stab of guilt as he watched her trembling hands trying to put the damp garment on. Going topless was nothing here—nothing at all—but then he remembered last night: her shaking, her asking him to be gentle. Pleas he had ignored.

He strode through the water and turned her around, helping her with the clasp of her bikini top. Then, and he didn’t know why, he pulled her into his arms and held her till she had stopped shaking—held her till the blush had seeped from her skin.

And then he made her burn again as he dropped a kiss on her shoulder and admitted a truth to her about that virgin terrain.

‘…and it was stunning.’