Читать книгу Spanish Escape - Maisey Yates, Carol Marinelli - Страница 21

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.’

Since when was Raúl thoughtful about his staff? Estelle thought, but said nothing.

It was an amazing dinner. The chef had made his own paella, and even Raúl agreed, it was the best he had tasted.

Yet he barely touched it.

He looked at Estelle; she looked exquisite. Her hair was up, as it had been on their wedding day, her black dress looked stunning, and he told himself he could do it—that it wasn’t a problem after all.

‘What would you think if we did not turn around for Marbella?’

Estelle swallowed the food she was relishing and took a drink of water, nervous for the same reasons as Raúl.

‘We could head to the islands, extend our trip…’

‘So that you miss your father’s wedding?’

‘He has chosen to marry when I am on my honeymoon. He doesn’t know we were to be on our way back.’

‘You’ll have to face him at some point.’

‘You don’t tell me what I have to do!’ he snapped, and then righted himself, trying to explain things a little better. ‘He wants a wedding—one happy memory with his wife. I doubt that will be manageable with me there. Especially if Luka attends.’ He took a breath. ‘So how about a few more days?’ He made it sound so simple. ‘I have not had a proper holiday in years…’

‘I thought your life was one big holiday?’

‘No,’ Raúl said. ‘My life is one big party. We will return to that in a few days.’ He issued it as a warning, telling her without saying as much that what happened at sea stayed at sea.

He was waiting for her decision. But then Raúl remembered the decision was entirely his. He was paying for her company—not her say in their location.

‘I will let the staff know.’

‘Now?’

‘They have to plot the route, inform…’

He didn’t finish, just headed off to let the crew know, and Estelle sat there, suddenly nervous.

She wanted to be back on safe water—because living with Raúl like this, seeing this side of him, she was struggling to remember the rules.

* * *

Their ‘couple of days’ turned into two weeks.

They sailed around Menorca and took their time exploring its many bays. Estelle’s skin turned from pale to pink, from freckles to brown. He watched her get bolder, loved seeing her stretch out on a lounger wearing only bikini bottoms, not even a little embarrassed now. Her sexuality was blossoming to his touch, before his eyes.

Finally they sailed back into Marbella. Normally the sight of it was the one he loved best in the world, yet there was a moment when he wanted to tell the skipper to keep sailing, to bypass Marbella and head to Gibraltar, take the yacht to Morocco, just to prolong their time. Except he was growing far too fond of her.

She put a hand on his shoulder, joined him to watch the splendid sight, but she felt his shoulder tense beneath her touch.

Raúl turned. She was wearing espadrilles and bikini bottoms, his own wedding shirt knotted beneath her now rosy bust, her cheeks flushed and her lips still swollen from their recent lovemaking.

‘You’d better get dressed.’

Usually Raúl was telling her she was overdressed.

‘The press may be there. The cream dress,’ he told her. ‘And have Rita do your make-up.’

As easily at that he demoted her, reminded her of her place.

Back on dry land he took her hand. But it was just for the cameras that he put his shoulders around his new wife.

It was in case of a long lens that he picked up her and carried her into his apartment, back to the reality of his life.