Australia: Sinful Secrets: Public Marriage, Private Secrets / Every Girl's Secret Fantasy / The Heart Surgeon's Secret Child. Robyn GradyЧитать онлайн книгу.
was none…except in her mind.
Consequently she exited the Mercedes as it drew to a halt in the forecourt, rode a lift to the apartment, allowed Raúl to deposit her bag in one of the guest suites, then politely bade him goodnight.
Unpack, shower, then bed, she determined, and completed each before sliding beneath the covers.
Yet sleep eluded her, and she tossed and turned, caught up in a number of complex reactions. Vivid memories of happier times, the starkness of their break-up…and inevitably wondering if she’d made the right decision in coming here.
Teresa—think only of Teresa.
Except nothing eased the haunting pain, until with a low growl of anguish she slid from the bed and moved quietly into the kitchen.
Hot milk with a dash of brandy might soothe her jangling nerves, overcome the jetlag and tension and allow her a few hours’ rest.
Easy to fill a beaker with milk from the refrigerator and heat it in the microwave. When it was done she added a generous nip of brandy, hesitated, added another, then cupped her hands around the beaker and crossed to the window to look out at the nightscape, where pinpricks of light illuminated tall buildings and bright neon advertisements blazed in cascading colour.
Raúl stirred at the faint beeping sound of the security monitor, saw the flashing sensor light position the lounge, and moved quietly from the bed, taking only a brief moment to pull on jeans before descending the stairs to investigate.
Had the main entrance been breached, several security measures would have been automatically activated and a security team would already be on their way.
As it was internal there was only one logical explanation…Gianna.
He entered the lounge and saw her standing before the floor-to-ceiling plate glass.
Her slender form silhouetted there aroused a tug of emotion he tamped down.
She was attired in cotton sleep trousers and tank top, hair pulled into a loose ponytail, and her features appeared pale beneath the dimmed lighting.
‘Unable to sleep?’
The sound of his voice startled her, and she turned, eyes widening as he crossed to stand at her side.
He had the soft tread of a cat, and she instinctively hugged her arms across her midriff.
‘Several hours of air travel, I guess,’ she managed evenly.
‘You didn’t sleep during the flight.’
How did he know that she’d simply closed her eyes and pretended sleep because she was unable to relax sufficiently in his presence? She hadn’t expected to feel vulnerable, or so acutely sensitive…and it made her cross.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, call it like it is… She was edgy, uncertain in hindsight if she’d made the right decision to place herself in a position where she’d be constantly reminded of what had been, not to mention the fallout of leaving Spain, leaving Raúl. Revisiting it again now seemed to be the height of foolishness.
Yet she was here, and after breakfast the Velez-Saldaña private jet would transport her to Mallorca, where Teresa’s villa in Cala Fornells, Calvià, would provide panoramic views of the sea and an escape from Raúl’s disturbing presence.
None of which helped now, as he stood close, within touching distance, his tall, partly clothed frame a vivid reminder of times past when she’d slipped from their bed unable to sleep. Occasions when he’d gently massaged her neck, shoulders, easing the kinks, before sweeping her into his arms and carrying her back to bed.
For one brief moment she almost longed for the soporific effect…the comfort. She was aware the sensual tension still existed on her part. But on his?
He was impossible to read, and she tried to convince herself she didn’t want to.
Worse, to stand here, aware and almost compliant, was the antithesis of the image she cared to present. Dammit, she could sense the clean male scent of him, the faint muskiness merging with his brand of aftershave.
It evoked too many memories…places she was loath to go.
With determined effort, she drank the rest of her milk, then indicated the empty beaker. ‘I’ll take this through to the kitchen, then go back to bed.’ She waited a beat, then added, ‘Goodnight…’ with the utmost politeness.
He made no attempt to stop her, and there was a small part of her that almost wished he would.
Are you insane?
The words echoed silently as she slid into bed and snapped off the bed-lamp, becoming the last thing she remembered before she fell asleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
A NOTE propped within easy visibility rested on the counter when Gianna entered the kitchen.
I’ve eaten. Help yourself. The jet leaves at nine for Mallorca. R
There was a sense of relief in eating alone, and she selected cereal, fruit, and strong sweet black coffee, then checked the newspaper headlines, surprised at how easily she recalled her fluency with the Spanish language.
Soon Carlos would drive her to the airport where she’d board the Velez-Saldaña jet for Mallorca. Where at least she’d be free from Raúl’s presence.
Sure, he’d fly in on occasion to visit with Teresa…but not every day.
Short social visits she could cope with, she rationalised a few minutes before nine, as she transferred toiletries into her bag, closed the zip and emerged into the lounge.
Raúl was already there, conducting a conversation in French on his cellphone. Not exactly a surprise—business encompassed a large part of his life.
Unless he was touching base with a woman…the mere thought of which sent unexpected pain lancing through her body.
She shifted her gaze and felt her heart jolt at the sight of a large overnight bag resting on the floor at his feet.
Please tell me he doesn’t intend to visit Mallorca.
Although why shouldn’t he? Teresa was his mother, and he’d been absent in Australia for a week.
At that moment he cut the call and turned towards her.
‘Good morning. Ready?’
‘Hi,’ she said evenly, and indicated her bag. ‘Yes.’
‘Let’s go.’ He collected both bags and together they exited the apartment, took the lift down to ground level, where Carlos waited ready to drive them to the airport.
The flight to Mallorca was uneventful, their arrival low-key, with a car and driver waiting to transport them to Teresa’s luxury villa in Calvià.
There was something magical about the Balearic Islands…especially Mallorca, Gianna reflected, with its mansions and villas, the lush green hills and the sparkling waters. It was a true panoramic vista that always stirred Gianna’s senses…offering tranquillity and a slower pace than Madrid.
Teresa’s villa was situated on elevated landscaped land with carefully tended gardens, whose multi-coloured flora were scrupulously maintained. High ornate gates guarded entrance to a semi-circular driveway which led to a beautiful two-level home whose massive double wooden bronze-studded doors were open in welcome.
It was there Teresa greeted them—a slender woman of average height in her early sixties, who hugged Gianna close with obvious affection before she turned to her son and embraced him as he lowered his head, touching her lips first to one cheek, then the other.
‘You brought her to me,’ Teresa said softly. ‘Thank you.’
Raúl held Teresa close, then gently brushed his lips to her forehead in a gesture that tore