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He wouldn’t give Charley the satisfaction of the truth.
But neither did he want to hear if she’d had other lovers in their time apart. Nothing good could come of it.
Four months was ample time to get her out of his system. By the time those months were over, his libido would surely be begging for variety.
‘Giving numbers is vulgar and unbecoming,’ he said smoothly.
‘I quite agree.’
His gaze darted briefly to her. ‘But to be clear, while you are back in my bed, there will be no other men in your life.’
‘I’m only yours until the renovations are complete,’ she reminded him with a pointed look. All the euphoria she’d displayed when she’d got into the car had now gone.
‘But until then, cariño, you are mine.’ To reiterate his point, he put a hand on her thigh and squeezed it lightly, before moving it to change gear.
He heard her suck in a breath and hold it for the longest time.
‘Have you got the deeds?’ she asked, her voice now flat.
‘I have a copy of them in my briefcase. You can have them when we get home.’
Soon enough they would be back.
Soon enough she would be back in his bed, right where she belonged.
If she’d had any lovers in the time they’d been apart he would ensure they were obliterated from her memory, leaving only him.
Yes. Tonight she would be his again. All his.
* * *
Charley entered the villa feeling as if the weight of the world had landed back on her shoulders.
For a few brief minutes, when Raul had confirmed the purchase of the new building, she’d felt so light-headed she wouldn’t have needed the helicopter to fly.
Then he’d ruined it all by implying there was something romantic going on between her and Seve. This, from the man who’d been bedding a hot lingerie model.
Raul had carried on with his life as if she’d never been a part of it. All her paranoia from their marriage had come true, her secret fear that, as had always been the case with her father, when Charley was out of someone’s sight she was out of their mind. Forgettable. Replaceable.
Raul had moved on. New home, new lover, new everything.
If only it had been as easy for her to move on too.
Her life had become rich with friends—real friends; their meal with Diego and Elana the previous night had brought home to her how wonderful it was to have true friends. Elana’s friendship had been foisted upon her when she and Raul had first got together. Originally a receptionist for Diego’s world-famous plastic-surgery practice, Elana was now the epitome of high-society goddess with a perfectly straight nose, sculpted cheekbones and inflated breasts. All of the other ‘friends’ Charley had made in their time together had been of an identical mould.
Far too well-mannered to say anything derogatory about Charley’s outfit, Elana had been unable to hide the flicker of shock when she’d cast her eyes over her. For her part, Elana had been dressed from top to tail in the required designer label, her gold shoes so high Charley had felt sorry for her feet. Not even the red stilettos she’d forced her feet into on Saturday night had been that high.
Looking back, Charley struggled to understand how she’d allowed herself to suffer such self-inflicted torture. She’d thought nothing of wearing five-inch heels for a full day at work.
But it had been expected of her. She had been the wife of Raul Cazorla and she had been expected to dress and act the part, including cultivating friendships with like-minded women.
The only real friendship she’d made had been, funnily enough, with Marta, Raul’s sister, who was an incredibly smart and amusing woman.
The strange thing was, while they’d been eating last night, she’d noticed so many new things: the way Elana picked at her food as if scared to consume a calorie more than was good for her, the way she deferred to her husband before offering an opinion...all the things Charley had once done. And just like that, she’d seen all the insecurities running under Elana’s surgically lifted skin. Being the trophy wife of a successful, rich, handsome man wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Charley should know. It had broken her in the end.
Even so, there was no hiding away from the knowledge that for the past two years she’d been empty inside, as if a big hollow had opened up in her belly. She hadn’t so much as looked at another man.
Raul called out to her from the living area.
She found him pouring a bottle of red into two glasses. He handed one to her.
‘To us,’ he said, raising his glass.
‘To the new centre,’ she corrected, chinking her glass against his.
‘You can’t have one without the other.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘I have given you what you want. Now it is time for you to fulfil your end of the bargain.’
