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CHAPTER ONE
Six years ago.
Even though he was technically her step-brother, there was no escaping it. Gael Vivas was, without a shred of doubt, the epitome of roguish charm.
Carrie studied him surreptitiously from beneath her thick brown fringe. He’d just arrived from Spain that morning. She knew, because she’d heard her mother Alexandra giving instructions to the housekeeper to prepare a guest bedroom. To prepare it especially well for this important visitor. After all, Gael never visited. And he was certainly important. And special.
Apart from the odd social mixer, Carrie was woefully inexperienced with boys. The prestigious girls’ college she’d been accepted into on a full academic scholarship was hardly fertile ground for learning about matters of the heart. What she knew she’d gleaned from magazines, movies and courtesy of her friend Juanita, who’d had no problems attracting the attention of any boy she deemed worthy of her time.
But none of Juanita’s crushes were like Gael.
Her step-father’s son wasn’t a silly, childish boy. He was a man. With twenty-nine years of life experience, and the body of a brave, fearless warrior.
The English summer was getting on with a bang. It was early August and the sun was shining, the breeze was slight. Gael had dressed accordingly, in a pair of low-slung jeans and a black shirt.
Carrie’s breath caught in her throat as he lifted his hands in the air, stretching his muscular arms after the flight to London, and the drive out to the country estate. The action caused his cotton shirt to rise a little, exposing a perfectly tanned expanse of muscled chest. Ripples of defined abdominals were visible and Carrie experienced the first rush of desire, deep in her abdomen. She wrapped her arms around her chest, but she could not look away.
His expression was nuanced. She tried to understand the emotions that flitted across his face as he scanned the elegant country mansion. Alexandra had won it in the divorce from Carrie’s father - Alexandra’s first husband. There’d been two more since then, and now there was Husband Number Four, Diego Vivas.
Did Gael like the house? Carrie hoped he did, though she couldn’t have said why it mattered so much to her. After all, he had chosen to remain distant from them; and on some level, despite her inexperience in adult matters, she suspected it had to do with a disapproval of Alexandra and Diego’s hasty marriage.
Yes, it was definitely disapproval, she thought, watching his lips twist into a grim line as he continued his slow inspection of the property. Forrest View was a stately country home, built in the early renaissance but improved on greatly in the nineteenth century. For her part, Carrie adored it. In a childhood ruptured by divorce, death and instability, Forest View had been a rock. A place of steadfast support and reliable comfort.
She adored coming back in the holidays, though Alexandra had made that difficult since marrying Diego.
For the briefest moment, Carrie’s own expression reflected the same disapproval she saw in Gael’s. But she smothered it quickly.
She loved her mother.
Alexandra was all she had. No father. No grandparents. Friends who seemed to move at a different pace to her; friends she was convinced she would lose contact with quickly enough, now that school had finished. University loomed, and with it, uncertain futures. Beyond Alexandra and Forrest View, Carrie had no idea what life had in store for her.
“Is she here?” On the one other occasion she’d met Gael, his voice had sent shivers down her spine. The spicy timbre of his tone and the gentle husk of his mysterious accent were unlike anything she’d ever known in real life. Coupled with the glint in his almost-black eyes, and the permanently sardonic expression on his strong-featured face, he was surely the most desirable man ever created.
Her heart gave a corresponding tremor as, for a brief moment, she imagined he was inquiring after her. What would it be like to have this man at your beck and call? To have this man care about you, and ask after you? She bit down on her full lower lip, wishing beyond measure that he would look at her as he had the supermodel he’d brought to the wedding.
She leaned against the building, taking comfort from the ancient stone wall. He walked with an economy of movement that was innate to him; a stealthy, powerful gait that spoke of a contained strength ready to be unleashed. He crossed the courtyard and the white gravel crunched beneath his custom-made leather shoes.
She watched him disappear from sight and flipped backwards, pressing her spine against the building while she waited for her breathing to return to its usual speed.
Her skin deepened to a rosy hue as she contemplated going inside to see him. But what would she say? Would he even remember her? Mortification at the possibility that he might not sent a jangle of anxiety running along her spine. They’d danced together at the wedding, the year before. It had been a month to the day after her sixteenth birthday, and she’d then considered herself quite the adult. After all, wasn’t that the threshold of womanhood?
Her cheeks flamed as she remembered the way his hard body had felt against her own soft, generous flesh. His hands had held her lightly, impersonally, and her heart had pounded in her chest. She’d barely been able to speak, for the way his touch had sent her nerves rioting.
And now?
She’d find out soon enough.
She moved up the stairs slowly, trying to conceal the way her legs were unsteady beneath her. She’d changed into a flowing dress when she’d overheard Alexandra’s stern instructions to the housekeeper. It was a beautiful dress, though it did little to conceal her over-full waist and rounded bottom.
She had always wanted to be reed-thin like her mother, but it was not her natural shape. And, as Alexandra was fond of pointing out, never would be if Carrie continued to indulge her penchant for creamy pastas and sitting around studying. So what if achieving her excellent academic results had required hours of sedentary desk-time? Alexandra had never taken much pride in Carrie’s scholastic achievements. She’d wished, frequently and obviously, for a daughter who followed after her, in terms of looks.
And that was certainly not Carrie.
Her lips twisted wistfully as she walked purposefully past a photograph of her mother, taken at the height of her modelling fame. She had been one of the top-paid supermodels of the eighties; renowned for her slender, fragile beauty and enormous pale blue eyes. Now, in her early fifties, Alexandra was no less beautiful, and no less vain.
“Carrie.”
She froze in her tracks, halfway down the stately corridor. So he did remember her, at least. She turned, trying to affect an expression of nonchalance on her heart-shaped face.
“Gael,” she responded, cursing inwardly at the slight tremor in her breathy voice. She forced a smile to her face, as she looked up into his stormy dark eyes. “Welcome to Forrest View.”
He nodded, though it was obvious that he was making an effort to relax his stern expression. “Thank you. I’m only here briefly. Where is my father?”
Carrie couldn’t help the sympathetic grimace. “He spends most of his time in bed.”
“I see. And your mother?” Carrie knew she wasn’t imagining the slight curl of disdain that coloured his words.
She regarded him sharply, confusion making her eyes linger a little on his face. “She’ll be back soon. She had some business in town.”
“I see.” His lips were just a line in his face. “Do you know which room I’m to use?”
“Of course,” she nodded nervously. “I suspect you’re tired after your journey.”
His face relaxed completely, and he actually smiled at her properly now. “Not especially. I am hungry, though.”
“Hungry? Why don’t you … I mean … why don’t you come to the kitchen and I’ll fix you a sandwich.”
He grinned and shrugged. “Sure.” He fell into step beside her, and matched his stride to her shorter one. “My father tells me you have done extremely well at school.”
Her heart turned over at the idea of Gael expressing an interest in her. Even in something as benign as her academic achievements. She nodded modestly. “I was lucky with my final exams.”
