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He laughed. “It is easy to be like Bond with a small army of staff.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she agreed with a droll tone.
Carrie stretched her arms above her head and smiled. Gael froze mid-way to opening his door.
It was her. Carrie 1.0. Real Carrie.
His breathing became shallow, and he hardly dared move, in case she went away again.
“Are you okay?” She queried, turning her face to him, smile still on her beautiful lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“No ghost,” he promised thickly, shaking his head to clear his head. He slid into the driver’s seat and revved the engine.
It was hot and humid on Sol Sobre El Mar, though the sea breeze was heavenly. As Gael steered the car away from the ocean, higher and higher up one of the many steep cliffs that edged the island, Carrie felt like her own happiness was ascending.
The fact that this was very temporary – and probably temporary madness – was entirely irrelevant. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to enjoy life.
His home was built in a classic Spanish style, with red bricks, large archways and a terracotta roof. A balcony ran the whole upper level, and tufty green plants with purple horn-shaped flowers ran rampant along the walls. There was a tower in the centre, with a glistening copper bell visible through its windows.
The air was thick with the smell of honeysuckles and the sound of bees.
Carrie stepped out of the car as soon as it stopped, and slid her sandals from her feet. She walked to the lush green grass and squished her toes against it, almost bursting out with laughter. Another perfect moment. She was happy. So happy.
She walked across the grass, and plucked a frangipani bloom from a tree. She ran her fingers over the silky white flesh and sighed.
“Do you like it?” Gael sounded nervous. Tentative.
Carrie looked up at him with surprise. “It’s heaven on earth, Gael. I don’t know why you ever spend time anywhere else.”
His dark eyes lanced her, probing her, trying to understand her. “It is not well placed for business meetings,” he pointed out with a shrug.
Carrie grinned. “You could always send your James Bond crew to bring people over.”
His expression showed a half-smile. “I try to avoid bringing business here. This is a different world. A different culture.”
She nodded slowly, not sure she completely understood. “Show me.”
He leaned down and kissed her hair. “I intend to.” He linked fingers with hers, and tugged her towards the house. It was cool inside. Enormous tiles ran the length of the corridor, and the walls were clay. The villa had a noticeable symmetry to it. As Gael led her from room to room, showing her the various entertaining spaces and then the beautiful bedrooms, Carrie became more and more convinced that it was the most beautiful house she’d ever seen.
Finally, at the back, he led her to a pool. “Swim with me?”
A fine bead of sweat had broken out at the back of her neck, beneath her hair. The water lapped invitingly against the tiled edge of the pool.
“I didn’t bring my bathers.”
“So?” He lifted her dress over her head and draped it over a lounger. “We are alone.”
Carrie shook her head. “No army of staff here?”
“Not today,” he promised, kissing her neck.
Oh, she wanted to. The thought of submerging herself in the water and holding him close, feeling his warmth in contrast to the lapping of the cold water… it was a deliciously tempting notion.
“I can’t,” she said, with true regret.
“Never learned to swim?” He teased, wrapping his arms around her waist and letting his hands drift lower, to cup her rounded bottom.
“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent swimmer. For an English girl, anyway.”
