She smiled wanly. ‘I already have.’
He straightened and brushed a finger down her cheek. ‘I used punishing you as an excuse. The truth was I’d missed you so much that when the opportunity came to have you back in my life I grabbed it.’ Leaning down, he brushed his lips to her ear and whispered, ‘You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Charley Cazorla. Whatever you decide to do in the future, be happy.’
With one last brush of his lips to her own, he stepped back and turned, placed his champagne flute on a small fixed table, and walked away.
‘I lied,’ she blurted out to his retreating figure, shoving her flute next to his.
He stopped mid-step.
‘When you asked if I could be happy with you, I lied. The truth is the two months we just spent together were the happiest of my life. The past fortnight without you has been the most miserable.’
He didn’t move, standing as still as the marble statues that encircled the atrium.
Her confidence almost deserted her but she was determined to plough on to the bitter end. He’d put his heart on the line two weeks ago and she’d rejected him. Even if he rejected her, she needed to say it. She would not spend the rest of her life regretting that she’d let this one chance of happiness slip through her fingers.
‘I’ve been a scared, stupid idiot. I’ve left you twice now and I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to get lost but, Raul...’ She took what felt like the deepest breath of her entire life. ‘I love you. I love you so much it hurts and I know I don’t deserve it but if you ever wonder if it could be third time lucky for us...’
She got no further. Raul spun round and in the blink of an eye had her up in his arms kissing her as if there were no tomorrow.
Joy and relief filling her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and burrowed herself into him.
For an age they stood there, Raul holding her securely, his mouth hot on hers, until he gently placed her back on her feet and clasped her cheeks in his hands to gaze intently into her eyes.
‘I thought that was it for us.’
She shook her head and clutched at his tuxedo jacket. ‘Never.’
‘I thought I’d lost you.’
‘Never. My heart has been yours since the day I met you.’
‘Cariño...’ Now Raul was the one to shake his head.
‘I love you. Totally.’ She smiled and traced her fingers across his jawline. ‘That bubble you were talking about? Do you think it’s possible to live straddling it? One foot in your world, one foot in mine?’
He laughed, a big, deep roar that filled her with such happiness she just had to kiss him again.
Disentangling himself, he stuck his hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small square box. ‘This is for you. It was supposed to be your birthday present.’
‘What is it?’
‘Open it and see.’
She flipped the lid open and immediately her heart jumped into her mouth. Nestled in the box was a white-gold and diamond eternity ring.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered.
‘I bought it to show you that my love for you is for ever,’ he said, taking it out of the box and sliding it onto her empty ring finger.
It fitted perfectly.
‘See—now you are mine again.’
She beamed, happiness radiating through her.
‘Cariño, we will build our own bubble to live in,’ he said, placing a reverential kiss to her hand, ‘and we will love and celebrate all our imperfections in it.’
‘You, me and our babies?’
The laughter died, a serious expression forming in his eyes. ‘We will have children when you’re ready and not a day sooner. I don’t care for the perfect family any more—perfect is boring,’ he added with a crooked grin. ‘Our children will be an expression of our love and commitment, nothing else.’
‘How does seven months from now sound to you?’
The shock ringing from him was so palpable that Charley was the one to burst into laughter. ‘Yes, you wonderful man, you’re going to be a father.’
His eyes were so wide she feared they would pop out. ‘How?’
‘Do you remember that time in your office...?’ She laughed again at the widening of his eyes, relieved to have it out in the open, unable to keep the excitement and joy contained. ‘I didn’t even think about using contraception then.’
‘Nor did I,’ he admitted, looking completely dazed.
‘I took the test yesterday so it’s early days. I can’t tell you how happy I am...’ Her happiness dimmed a fraction. ‘You are happy too, aren’t you?’
‘Happy? Charley, I’ve just got the woman I love more than anything in the world back and I’ve learned I’m going to be a father. Happy doesn’t even come close.’
And there they stood on the deck of the ship, smothered in each other’s arms and kisses, oblivious to the passengers milling around them, oblivious to the envious smiles at their obvious, deep love for each other.
EPILOGUE
RAUL PLACED THE scissors to the pink ribbon tied across the front door and said proudly, ‘I declare the Poco Rio Madrid open.’
This was the third Poco Rio they’d opened; two more were in the pipeline.
Enthusiastic applause rang out from the crowd around him, the happiest face of all that of his beloved wife, who was leaning against his father’s wheelchair, tapping her thigh with one hand rather than clapping with both. Her other hand was holding the base of her enormous belly that strained against the maternity dress she wore.
Passing the scissors to the manager Charley had appointed to run this centre, he hurried over to her side, scooping up two-year-old Sofia on his way. Sofia’s face was covered in chocolate. He dug a tissue out of his pocket and wiped it as best he could.
It made him laugh to think that three years ago he would have been horrified to have a child so messy.
Marta had an arm around Charley’s waist.
Charley grinned at him but there was a pained expression in her eyes. ‘You know I said this morning I felt fit to burst?’
He felt his eyes widen. ‘Is it time?’
She nodded.
‘Give me my granddaughter,’ his mother said, bustling through and tugging Sofia from his arms. She held her up in the air and made silly clucking noises at her. Raul debated for all of a second about telling his mother of the chocolate Sofia had been caught scoffing with the little gang of friends she’d made that morning, before wickedly deciding against it.
‘Can Sofia go home with you?’ he asked, taking Charley’s hand. She squeezed it so hard he winced and he swore he could feel the contraction run through her. ‘It looks like grandchild number two is on its way.’
His mother’s eyes lit up. ‘Of course.’ Keeping a firm hold on Sofia, who was screaming to be put down, she kissed them both, rubbing a hand over Charley’s belly as she did so. Marta looked as if she were about to go into shock with excitement, while Raul’s father’s eyes were wide with emotion.
Since their talk on the cruise ship, Raul’s relationship with his parents had changed greatly and all for the better. Sofia’s birth had cemented the new bond between them. His father loved nothing more than having his wriggling granddaughter placed on his lap so she could smother him with sloppy kisses.
‘Call my mother,’ Charley said, her words coming in little pants. She managed a pained smile. ‘I think this one’s in a hurry.’
* * *
Exactly one hour and thirty-eight minutes later, Mateo Eduardo Cazorla arrived safely into the world. His mother was tired but delirious with happiness. His father was just delirious, unable to decide who to kiss the most—his beautiful wife or his beautiful son. His big sister was fast asleep after crashing with exhaustion from her chocolate
overload. Her dreams were filled with all the happiness she’d known since her own birth.
*****
Read on for an extract from THE SINNER’S MARRIAGE REDEMPTION by Annie West.
PROLOGUE
THE CAR’S ACCELERATION was loud in the still night, breaking the silence Flynn had so enjoyed after the bustle of London.
As he stretched his legs on a midnight walk across Michael Cavendish’s country estate, the only sound should have been the swoop of an owl or the rustle of small creatures foraging. Flynn was too far from the big house for the sounds of the Cavendishes’ annual winter bash to intrude.
The car roared closer, towards the tight bend in the long drive. Flynn quickened his pace, suddenly alert. It wasn’t braking soon enough to make the turn.
By the time the sickening screech and thud of a collision shattered the night, Flynn was sprinting.
The drift of cloud across the moon parted as he scudded around the thicket on a surge of frantic adrenaline. There it was: an open convertible at an ungainly angle, nose deep in the dark foliage. Moonlight sparkled on shattered glass that crunched under his feet.
But Flynn’s eyes were on the driver’s seat. On the figure struggling with the door. Moon-silvered hair spilled over pale, bare shoulders and arms flecked with what he suspected was blood. His heart hammered even as relief kicked in. At least she was conscious.
‘Don’t move.’ He had to see how badly she was injured, and quickly.
‘Who’s there?’ Instantly the woman shrank back from the door.
Her head snapped up and shock slammed into him. Ava? It couldn’t be little Ava Cavendish. Not in that tight, low-cut white evening gown. Not with those lush breasts.
‘Who is it?’
This time Flynn registered the sharp fear in her tone. Already she was trying to climb out the opposite side of the car, her long dress catching.
‘Ava? It’s okay. It’s me, Flynn Marshall.’ He reached the driver’s door but couldn’t wrench it open. The metal was buckled. Frustration surged.
‘Flynn? Mrs Marshall’s son?’
Her voice was slurred and anxiety stabbed him. Wasn’t slurred speech a danger sign?
‘Yes, Flynn.’ He made his voice soothing as he tried to recall hazy first aid knowledge. ‘You know me.’
A gusty sigh met the revelation. She mumbled something under her breath. He caught the word safe.
Flynn frowned. ‘Of course you’re safe with me.’
They’d grown up on the estate. Ava in the big house and he in a cramped workers’ cottage with his parents.
‘Here. This way.’ He had to get her away from the car. He couldn’t smell petrol but he’d take no chances.
Whatever her injuries, she could move her arms and legs. No spinal damage, hopefully. She’d already clambered up to kneel on the seat.
She twisted and a bottle dropped to the floor.
Since when had Ava been drinking champagne? She must be only—he did a quick mental calculation—seventeen. More to the point, the Ava he knew was far too responsible to drink and drive, even in a fit of teen rebellion.
‘Sure you’re Flynn?’ She frowned owlishly, sitting back on her heels. ‘You look different.’
Ava had never seen him in his city suit or anything as expensive as his cashmere coat. On his visits to his mother he reverted to casual clothes. Tonight, knowing his mother would be at the big house all night, working, he’d arrived late then set out for a stroll to clear his head after the drive. And to say farewell. This would be his last visit. Finally he’d convinced his mum to leave Frayne Hall.
‘I’m definitely Flynn.’ He reached out and scooped her up in his arms, lifting her carefully over the low door. But when he would have put her on her feet she clung tight, arms wrapped around his neck.
‘You have to promise.’
Wide, bright eyes glittered up at him and something punched hard in his gut.
‘Promise you won’t take me back.’
‘You need help. You’re hurt.’ Some of the dark streaks on her pale skin had smudged. Blood. Hell! He had to get her away from here, see how badly she was injured.
‘You can help me. Just you.’
She pouted up at him, her glossy lips enticing even in the moonlight. To his horror he felt a ripple of masculine response.
‘Please?’
She blinked and he saw tears fill her eyes.
He tightened his hold, valiantly ignoring the fact that little Ava had grown into a seductively luscious woman.
‘Of course I’ll help you.’
‘And you promise you won’t take me back? You won’t tell them where I am?’
The intensity of her stare and the anguish in her voice raised the hairs on his nape.
She didn’t sound drunk. She sounded scared.
He frowned, telling himself it was an illusion. She just didn’t want to face the music. She’d crashed an expensive car and she’d been drinking. Yes, her father would be upset. Yet Flynn knew that Michael Cavendish, though an appalling employer, was a doting family man. Ava had nothing to fear.
‘Promise me!’ Desperation threaded her rising voice and she struggled in his arms.
Flynn looked towards the big house, a blaze of light in the distance. No one had come after her. They mightn’t even know she’d left. He sighed.
‘I promise. For now at least.’ He’d take her to his mother’s cottage, see how badly she was hurt, then decide whether to take her to a hospital and about ringing her father—the last man in the world he wanted to talk to.
‘Thank you, Flynn.’
She smiled and laid her head against him. Her hair tickled his chin, the scent of roses and femininity curling around him.
‘I always liked you. I knew I could trust you.’
* * *
Ava winced as she stepped into the cosy kitchen, awash with bright morning light. It wasn’t that the light exacerbated her sore head so much as the fact it would reveal what she’d seen in the tiny bathroom mirror. Shadowed eyes. Bloodless lips now she’d scrubbed off her scarlet lipstick. Pale skin marked by scores of tiny cuts.
Far too much pale skin.
She’d tried to hitch her bodice up to cover herself a little more but it was no good. The dress was designed to reveal, not conceal.
The coward in her wished she could slip out without Flynn seeing her. He’d been marvellous, so supportive. But what must he think of her? Crashing her car, refusing to call her father or budge from his mother’s cottage. She caught her breath. Would she have to face Mrs Marshall too this morning?
‘Do you have a headache? I’ve got painkillers here.’
Ava swung around. Flynn stood, tall, dark and broodingly attractive, watching her with concern. He held out a glass and some medication. Her silly heart fluttered just at the sight of him.
Embarrassment surged. He’d anticipated she’d have a hangover. Could this scenario get any worse?
She wondered if he thought she did this all the time. Did he think she’d been wildly partying? She shivered.
Next thing she knew she was being gently pushed into a seat with something warm wrapped around her shoulders. It smelt fresh, like the forest after rain. Like Flynn. She breathed deep, his masculine scent going straight to her head.
‘Thank you.’
Ava met his dark eyes, felt again that unfamiliar pulse of awareness before looking away. He overwhelmed her. From childhood she’d been drawn to Flynn, despite the seven years between them, to his devil-may-care adventurous streak and his kindness.
More recently, though, Ava had been tongue-tied by the assured, handsome man he’d become. Even his loose-limbed stride appealed. Did he know he made her heart beat faster? That she melted a little inside when he looked at her
with those enigmatic dark eyes? That sometimes she dreamed—
‘Water would be lovely, thank you.’ She drew on years of self-discipline, projecting an assurance she didn’t feel as she accepted the glass and the headache tablets, pretending that sitting in a ruined evening gown that left her half naked was in any way normal. ‘Is your mother home?’
‘No. She sleeps at the house when there’s a big party and she has to be up early for the breakfasts.’
Ava nodded, trying not to think of what was happening up at Frayne Hall right now.
‘Are you ready to talk about last night, Ava?’
Flynn’s voice was low and soft, brushing across her skin like plush velvet. She loved the sound of her name on his lips. But she couldn’t let him distract her.
‘Thank you for helping me.’ She put the glass down on the kitchen table. ‘It’s time I got back.’
‘You’re going to the Hall?’ He frowned. ‘Last night you were adamant wild horses wouldn’t drag you there.’
‘Last night I wasn’t myself.’
‘You don’t want to talk about it? You were very upset.’
She froze. What, exactly, had she said? It would be too excruciating if Flynn discovered why she’d driven away from the Hall so recklessly last night.
‘Ava? Don’t you trust me?’ He hunkered down beside her. He looked so appealing, so strong, that for a moment she wanted to confide everything.
Impulsively she reached out to touch his gleaming dark hair. At the last minute she stopped. He couldn’t solve her problems. Only she could do that.
‘Of course I trust you.’ He was the only man she did trust. ‘The way you helped me last night...I can’t tell you what it meant to me.’ She pasted on a smile. ‘But I really need to go now.’
It was time to face the music. Alone.
Copyright © 2015 by Annie West
The Perfect Cazorla Wife Page 17
