This time his groan could not be held at bay and as his mouth parted she moaned into him, the sound of their pleasure muffled.
She broke away from his mouth and raised herself, placing her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, then sank back down.
With a hand on her back and the other on her hip, Raul began to move with her, bucking upwards to meet her downward thrusts, unable to tear his gaze from her eyes.
They were filled with wonder and ecstasy and it was all directed at him.
But the urgency was there too, for both of them, the movements quickening, pressing closer and closer together until he had her crushed against him and her mouth and tongue were twined with his.
He felt her tighten around him and fought to hold on, right until she sank one final time and shuddered, clinging to him.
And then it was time for his release.
It ripped through him, blinding him with its savage force, his whole body shuddering as he fought for every last drop of the pleasure consuming him.
He had no idea how long they sat there afterwards, fused together, faces buried in each other’s necks, the only sound their ragged breathing.
It was only when she raised her face to kiss him that some form of sanity came back to him.
‘I need to use your bathroom,’ she murmured, climbing off him. She grinned, then sashayed on obviously unsteady feet to his adjoining restroom.
Alone, he blew out a burst of warm air and got to his feet, sorting out his clothes, his dazed brain slowly clearing.
That had to count as the most unexpected and erotic experience of his life.
In no time at all, Charley slipped back into the office and scooped her coat from the floor.
She met Raul’s eye and grinned again as she slipped her arms into the sleeves and tightened the belt around her waist.
Stepping back over to him, she slid her arms around his neck and reached up to kiss him. She made to leave but he caught her wrist and pulled her back to him, cupping her cheeks to give her one final, deep, passionate kiss.
The serene smile lighting her face, Charley left his office as silently as she’d come.
Raul flopped back onto his chair and rubbed his eyes.
Had that really happened?
In all the years of their marriage, Charley had never done anything like this. Not once. The closest had been her dressing up for him in sexy lingerie and seducing him in their bedroom.
He felt a twitch in his loins as he saw again her opening that long coat to reveal her shimmering nakedness.
Dios.
She’d been so ready for him.
Dios.
Dragging a hand through his hair, he tried to force his concentration back on the work before him but knew he was fighting a losing battle.
She’d be back home soon.
He felt the twitch in his loins again and gritted his teeth.
Would she get dressed or would she stay naked?
He punched the buzzer of his phone. ‘Get me a coffee,’ he ordered, forgetting his usual pleasantries. ‘And make it a strong one.’
Only through ruthless control did he manage to get any more work done that day. His libido never quite returned to dormancy, a dull ache there that he studiously ignored, determined to get his work complete as quickly as possible so he could return home to his wife waiting there for him. Not just waiting for him but openly wanting him.
His heart felt so full and weighty he could feel it pressing against his chest.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RAUL FASTENED HIS seat belt wondering what exactly he’d agreed to.
They’d met Pierre at the new centre, along with Vittore and Pablo, the project manager. Seve had also joined them, enthusing about all the renovation work being undertaken.
Charley had been in her element, eyes shining, her happiness as bright as the sun blazing in the sky.
The storm that had covered great swathes of Spain over the past few days had lifted. His spirits had turned with it.
‘It would be better if I drove,’ he said, watching as she adjusted the driver’s seat. He’d never been a passenger with his wife behind the wheel.
‘You’re not insured,’ Charley said blithely, switching the engine on.
‘It will take one minute to get me on the insurance.’
‘I’m driving.’ And with that, she put the minibus into reverse and they were on their way, ambling towards the town of Buñol.
Five of the children were strapped in the back with two of the other workers and another volunteer, all the children in a heightened state of excitement. From what Charley had said, they displayed the same level of enthusiasm towards trips to the local swimming baths and the supermarket.
The plan had been for him to drive Charley to the centre then head back to Barcelona, but then she’d turned those gorgeous green eyes on him and said, ‘Come with us.’
He still didn’t understand why he hadn’t just refused as he had when she’d first suggested it. Said No, I’ve far too much work to do to spend time watching a bunch of people throw tomatoes at each other.
Most likely it was curiosity, to see for himself the event regarded as the world’s biggest food fight.
It wasn’t, he assured himself, because being away from Charley was becoming a physical pain.
There was no doubt though that their relationship had shifted dramatically since her seduction in his office. The last of her reserve towards him had vanished.
When they made love now nothing was held back. She laughed easily and walked as if she had springs implanted in her shoes.
She was happy. Being with him made her happy.
Being with her was like being with the woman he’d first fallen in love with...
When they arrived at the tiny hotel that overlooked Plaza del Pueblo, where most of the action would be taking place, they were greeted by the manager who led them straight up to the small roof terrace. From what Raul could see, their spot was one of the only ones that allowed spectators to actually see what was unfolding.
And what a sight it was. Tens of thousands of men and women were crammed in the plaza and the surrounding narrow streets, haulage trucks filled with crate upon crate of ripe tomatoes placed strategically alongside water cannons. Many of the shop fronts and homes had been protected with huge plastic sheets. Scores of mostly young men were attempting to shimmy their way up a two-storey pole with what looked like a hock of ham at the top, but he guessed it must be greased for the men got no further than a couple of feet before sliding back down on top of each other, only to immediately try again.
Chairs had been laid out for them; the terrace was safe enough for the kids to jump up and down with the excitement of it all.
Never in his wildest dreams had Raul imagined he would take a day off work to watch a tomato fight, and he imagined the look on his father’s face if he were to learn what his son had done. The disapproval would be as clear as the juice of the ripe tomatoes.
‘Next year I’m going to try and spend the week here and join in with the whole festival,’ Charley said, shouting over the chants of ‘Olé, olé, olé, olé!’ bellowing from the crowd. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement. Karin climbed onto her lap and she automatically put her arm around her waist to secure her. ‘I bet you’d love it too.’
Before he could respond, the roar of the water cannons signalled the start of the fight.
Carnage ensued, joyous, messy, glorious carnage.
Charley and the kids were in fits of laughter watching overripe tomatoes being thrown and squelched in all directions, the streets and the people that filled them soon a river of red juice.
He could hardly credit that he, Raul Cazorla, a man who enjoyed the finest of all the world had to offer, was enjoying somethi
ng so...unrefined.
When he’d been growing up, his mother would have rather gone without her weekly pedicure than allow her children to attend something so messy and unbecoming. The Cazorlas had an image they protected fiercely; they were seen at the right places in the right clothes. The annual tomato fight at Buñol, preceded by a week-long festival, would most certainly have fallen onto the ‘unbecoming for a Cazorla’ list.
Something wet and squelchy slapped into his back. Turning his head, he saw that one of the children had thrown a tomato at him and was laughing so hard tears were falling down his face.
He saw the box of tomatoes, feet away from him, right at the moment Charley placed Karin on her seat and ran for it, grabbing a couple of tomatoes. Grinning widely, she squished them in her hands, then lobbed them at him.
He gazed down at what seconds before had been an immaculately pressed white silk shirt and was now dripping in juice and pips.
The others had got in on the act, except for Karin, who was clapping her hands, not knowing what was happening but reacting to the sounds of delight ringing out.
Charley dipped back into the box, her eyes sending out a clear challenge.
Raul never turned down a challenge.
* * *
Charley couldn’t remember ever having experienced such a magical day.
By the time the tomato fight had finished, they’d been as red as the people in the streets. The hotel manager had appeared with a hose to wash them all down. They’d returned to the centre wet and exhausted but happy.
‘You looked like you enjoyed yourself today,’ she said as they left the car park. It had surprised and delighted her how Raul had really got into the spirit of things on that little terrace, accepting the splatters of tomatoes from the children with good humour and retaliating with the gentlest of throws. His retaliation of her own throws at him had been markedly different; at one point he’d pinned her arms behind her back and encouraged the kids to use her as a target before squishing one right under her T-shirt. She was certain there were tomato pips stuck in the wiring of her bra.
He nodded musingly, bringing the car to a stop at a junction. ‘It was fun.’
‘Wasn’t it? Saying that, my arms are killing me after all that tomato throwing.’ She eyed him suggestively. ‘I think I need a good massage.’
His hand drifted over to her thigh and gently squeezed. ‘I’m sure I can think of a good masseur.’
‘I’m sure you can.’
With his hand resting on her thigh, she rested her head against the window and closed her eyes with a contented sigh. ‘Do you know how the ticket sales for the fundraiser are going?’ she asked.
Raul had got a team of his people to organise the fundraiser, for which they were charging obscenely rich people obscenely high ticket prices. Charley was fully involved in the practicalities but not with the ticket sales.
She heard the clicking of his tongue on the roof of his mouth. ‘I was waiting for the right moment to share this with you,’ he said in a chiding voice.
‘Oh, just tell me!’
‘We’ve sold out.’
‘No way!’ If the traffic hadn’t chosen that moment to start moving again, she would have thrown herself at him. ‘That’s amazing.’
‘I have a good team.’
She hugged her arms, doing the maths in her head. ‘Ticket sales alone will guarantee everyone’s salary is paid for the next two years.’
‘By the time the fundraiser is over, you’ll be able to guarantee salaries for the next decade.’ He laughed.
That made her sit up. ‘Wow. Just think, with those kinds of funds we’ll be able to afford more staff and start taking teenagers in. The builders are dividing the building into two separate parts so there can be adolescent quarters, but we never thought we’d be able to start taking them this soon.’
‘You can start paying yourself a salary too,’ he said lightly.
‘I don’t know about that.’ She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t sit right. I’ve got enough money left that, if I’m careful, should last me a long while yet.’
‘You have two hundred thousand euros, which you were prepared to give to the new centre, not loan. If you’d been successful in raising the rest of the money by other means, you would have been left penniless.’
‘How do you...? Oh, yes, you read my finance report.’ She’d listed on it how much of her own money she’d intended to contribute to the project, which had basically been everything in her account and her jewellery, all of which she’d sold with the exception of her wedding and engagement rings. As sentimental as she’d known it to be, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to part with them.
‘So you are intending to stay at the centre?’
‘What else can I do?’
‘You can start by drawing a salary. God knows, you work hard enough.’
‘Hardly. I just joke around and make the kids laugh.’ That was about all she was good for, she thought, her mood suddenly darkening.
‘You do a lot more than that.’
She shrugged.
‘Charlotte, if it wasn’t for you, the children wouldn’t have a new centre to look forward to and the staff would be job-hunting as we speak.’
‘If it wasn’t for you, you mean.’ While she had spent two months beating at doors to get the funding, putting an immediate freeze on personal spending other than on the bare necessities, selling anything of value, boiling her brain over design plans and finance reports, Raul had swept in and taken care of everything as easily as if he were taking a shower.
He drove them through the gate to the hangar. The Cazorla helicopter sat ahead of them, gleaming in the early evening sun. ‘You did all the hard work. The renovations are being done according to your plans. Vittore has adapted them a little but it’s still your work. Take the credit for it. You’ve earned it.’
‘Twaddle. I didn’t do anything that anyone else couldn’t have done.’
He banged his fist on the steering wheel, making her jump.
‘When,’ he said tightly, ‘are you going to stop putting yourself down?’
‘I’m not putting myself down,’ she protested. ‘I’m just saying that anyone else in my position would have done the same.’
He pulled the car to a stop and gazed at her with an intensity that sent a not unpleasant shiver running up her spine.
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘I don’t think many people in your position would have done the same.’
She swallowed, staring at him, trying to read what lay behind the intensity.
‘Sometimes, Señora Cazorla, I look at you and I remember exactly why I fell in love with you.’
A loud buzzing played in her ears. Her throat ran so dry no amount of swallowing could moisten it.
She cleared her suddenly arid throat. ‘Your pilot’s waiting for us.’
His gaze held a moment longer before he smiled and shook his head.
* * *
‘More wine?’
Charley blinked. She’d been a thousand miles away.
She breathed deeply and fixed a smile to her face. ‘Go on, then. We might as well order our food too.’ They’d been in the restaurant for an hour and still there was no sign of her dad. Neither was he answering his phone.
‘Are you sure?’
She gazed back at the menu open on her lap. She didn’t want to look at Raul or the sympathy radiating from him.
He was only an hour late. For her dad, that was nothing. As a kid she’d often spent whole days waiting for him to arrive.
‘Definitely. The minute we order is the minute he’ll arrive,’ she said brightly. ‘You wait, he’ll be here any second.’
‘Of course he will,’ Raul agreed with eyes that said he thought the total opposite.
&nb
sp; She snatched up her glass and downed the last of the red liquid. Forget bouquets of blackcurrant and cinnamon and whatever else it was reputed to have, the only attribute she cared for was its anaesthetic quality.
She was an adult now, she reminded herself, and had long ago accepted her dad for who he was: a man who had certain reliability issues.
Yet waiting for him as an adult still made her feel like the little girl who would wait for hours for his car to pull into the car park, and the adolescent who would skive off school for fear of missing out on an unexpected visit from him.
He would be here.
They ordered their dishes and more drinks were brought over.
Her phone vibrated.
She knew what it would say before she opened it.
‘Has something come up?’ Raul asked carefully, while she read her dad’s brief message. He didn’t need to be psychic either.
She forced a cheerful smile to her face and nodded. ‘There’s something wrong with his car—it’s making strange noises. He doesn’t think it’s safe to continue the drive.’
She’d known she should have travelled to him and would have done if she hadn’t been spending the day at Poco Rio. When she was the one to make the effort there was less chance of some emergency cropping up at the last minute.
But...since her dad had moved to the Costa Dorado, he hadn’t made the effort to visit her once. The intention had been there though, she reminded herself. They’d made plenty of dates for him to come to her. She’d even bought him a car so he could get around and not be stuck in his beachside home.
She should have arranged to meet him in Barcelona, not here in Valencia. Barcelona was much closer to him.
‘That’s a shame,’ Raul said.
‘There’ll be another time.’
Another time for him to stand her up.
It had been bad enough worrying that Raul was going to be late for the meal too. He’d travelled to Brazil on Wednesday, only arriving back that afternoon. Two nights of fret and worry.
Sometimes, when she let her mind wander too far, she heard his words echo in her head. ‘Sometimes, Señora Cazorla, I look at you and I remember exactly why I fell in love with you.’
The Perfect Cazorla Wife Page 13
