The Playboy of Puerto Banús. Carol MarinelliЧитать онлайн книгу.
night and she would never have to see these people again—and what did she care if Raúl thought her cheap?
‘Could you pass me the pepper?’ came the silk of his voice.
Was it the fact that it had been asked with a Spanish accent that made the question sound sexy, or was it that she was going mad?
She passed it, holding the heavy silver pot and releasing it to him, feeling the brief warmth of his fingertips as he took it. He immediately noticed her error. ‘That’s the salt,’ Raúl said, and she had to go through it again.
It was bizarre. He had said hardly two words to her, had made no suggestions. There were no knees pressing into hers under the table and his hands had not lingered when she’d passed him the pepper, yet the air between them was thick with tension.
He declined dessert and spread cheese onto Scottish oatcakes. ‘I’d forgotten how good these taste.’
She turned and watched as he took a bite and then ran his tongue over his lip, capturing a small sliver of quince paste.
‘Now I remember.’
There was no implication. He was only making small talk.
It was Estelle’s mind that searched every word.
She spread cheese on an oatcake herself and added quince.
‘Fantastic?’ Raúl asked.
‘Yes.’
She knew he meant sex.
‘Now the speeches.’ Gordon sighed.
They were long. Terribly long. Especially when you had no idea who the couple were. Especially when you were supposed to be paying attention to the man on your right but your mind was on the one to your left.
First it was Victoria’s father, who rambled on just a touch too long. Then it was the groom Donald’s turn, and he was thankfully a bit quicker—and funnier too. He moved through the formalities and, on behalf of himself and his new wife, especially thanked all who had travelled from afar.
‘I was hoping Raúl wouldn’t make it, of course,’ Donald said, looking over to Raúl, as did the whole room. ‘I’m just thankful Victoria didn’t see him in a kilt until after my ring was on her finger. Trust a Spaniard to wear a kilt so well.’
The whole room laughed. Raúl’s shoulders moved in a light, good-natured laugh too. He wasn’t remotely embarrassed—no doubt more than used to the attention and to having his beauty confirmed.
Then it was the best man’s turn.
‘In Spain there are no speeches at 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.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘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.’