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“I returned to Barcelona because I have to work, Carrie. I cannot delay my morning. Let us lunch together.”
Carrie frowned. “A working lunch,” she clarified.
And then, he smiled. It was dazzling, transforming his whole face. “You will be working. I will enjoy being convinced by you.” He reached up and ran a finger down her cheek, as though he couldn’t resist the contact. Then, he pressed his lips to hers for the briefest, sweetest kiss.
It was over in an instant. “My staff will guide you through the airport. Do not be late to lunch.”
She nodded, her heart in her throat.
“And Carrie?” He paused at the top of the stairs, poised to exit the jet.
She looked at him expectantly, and she understood the expression of waiting with baited breath. For she held her own, and her eyes clung to his frame; a spell seemed to weave around them – magical and glowing.
“I will order your food for you. There will be no salads.”
She frowned, not sure why he felt the need to make such a ridiculous point. Then, she shrugged. “It’s your city, your food. Whatever.”
A hint of something like victory glowed in his eyes. He nodded and turned away from her. As his car cruised off the tarmac, away from the airport, Gael let out a pent up breath.
Returning to Spain always, without fail, filled him with a sense of pleasure and relief; a feeling of inner-peace that was otherwise lacking in his busy life. He loved Spain. He loved everything about it. The people. The climate. The buildings. The brightness. But a pervasive sense of frustration followed him that morning. As the sleek limousine cruised through the city streets, pus
hing closer and closer to El Poblenou and the jewel of his corporate crown, Torre Vivas, Gael forced his mind to focus on the meetings that had brought him back to Barcelona.
The takeover of one of Spain’s largest hotel chains made the investment he was considering in NewNetwork look like small change; if that. Negotiations had been dragging for over fourteen months, and he was finally at the stage of bringing it to a close. The price was a third less than the group had originally been seeking. Gael had done that. He’d been prepared to walk away from the deal unless it was completely on his terms.
The amount he wanted to spend.
The timeline he dictated.
The hotels he wanted.
The deal would only proceed once he could be sure that every aspect met with his personal satisfaction. It was the way he worked in business, and in life.
He was scowling, as the car drove into the underground car park beneath Torre Vivas, the stunning high-rise that had flamboyantly curved edges in a tribute to Gaudi. It was another detail Gael had insisted on – honouring that architectural genius who had been responsible for so much of the city’s fame and unique appeal.
“Thank you, Henri,” he said distractedly in his own language, as he strode straight into the waiting elevator.
Carrie was a ghost, haunting his every step.
Without a doubt, she was the sexiest woman he’d ever met. He felt a click of ache in his gut when he thought of not being with her all day. He remembered her kneeling before him, her eyes locked on his as her mouth moved over him intimately. And he groaned softly into the silent cubicle that was hurtling him towards his office on the top floor.
“Carrie, Carrie, Carrie,” he murmured under his breath, not sure if he was happy or angry at this unpredictable turn of events. Unlike every other woman he’d been with, he suspected he would not find it easy to walk away from her.
What had she said the other night? That it had never taken her longer than a week to get a man out of her system? Well, for Gael, it had never been much more than a night, maybe two.
And yet after Friday, he’d been tormented by memories of her all weekend. He’d sworn he would leave London without contacting her. If she hadn’t come to his hotel, to meet with the hapless young Noris Newman, would he have weakened? Might he have contacted her and tried to see her again?
His frown deepened. The lift doors opened and he strode down the plush corridors of his office, his eyes locked forward to avoid the necessity of acknowledging any of his executive team. Ordinarily, Gael would have nodded curtly or even smiled, but not that morning. A storm cloud of swirling confusion hung over his head.
The thought of leaving London without Carrie sat like a noose around his neck. Breathing became difficult, and his throat burned. Surely once he’d left, he would have forgotten her. Would have been able to compartmentalise her into the ‘no longer matters’ section of his brain, where he sent all ex-lovers to reside.
Even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. If nothing else, Carrie was the daughter of his father’s wife. Technically, his step-sister.
He groaned again, shouldering his way into his enormous corner office, his eyes closed against the thought.
She had been a teenager when he’d been twenty nine, and already a successful billionaire. The gap in their age and experience was not diminished, despite the fact that she was now twenty three.
What did he want from her?
