Second Chance in Barcelona

by Fiona McArthur

  ‘Your home is like you,’ he said quietly as he stood holding her shoulders. ‘Calm, welcoming and filled with a serenity that makes me want to learn how to be in your space.’ His big hands ran warmly and possessively over her, stroking the skin of her arms and her shoulders as if every slide felt wonderful to him.

  His hands felt just as amazing on her.

  ‘You’re in my space now,’ she said softly. Reaching up and putting her hand flat on the iron of his chest above his pectorals. Pushing a little as she marvelled at the wall of muscle. Smiling at his understated strength.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You should. I can’t think of another man who has been in here since I bought the place.’

  His eyes crinkled at that and he nodded in appreciation. ‘I am blessed then.’ He bent his head and with one hand cupping her cheek he leaned in and kissed her. His mouth gentle, then more firm as she pushed into his body to press closer. ‘Do not plan on much sleep tonight.’

  Her heart rate sped. Her belly kicked and the sensual woman inside her that had been hiding all these years smiled like a cat and stretched.

  This man could kiss like there was no tomorrow.

  She lifted curved hands to slide them around his neck to pull him into her. His tongue touched hers, dipped and teased, and she gasped at the spike of fierce, throbbing heat in her belly as his mouth seduced her.

  And still they stood fully clothed! Somewhere, distantly, with the rest of her indistinct thoughts, she wondered at his patience.

  Her previous experience had not included extended dalliance before the deed, and this was driving her crazy.

  As if he knew, he chuckled and lifted her until her toes left the ground. She was no small woman but he was a dancer, no doubt used to twirling compliant females in his arms.

  She looked down at him as he held her up and her surprise delighted him.

  ‘This is the first time any man has twirled me,’ she whispered in his ear.

  ‘You are a woman who deserves special treatment. I wish I could teach you to dance with me. But there are other things we might do instead.’ He smiled a man’s smile and pulled her hips in towards him and cupped her bottom, so she wrapped her legs around him and savoured being wanton and wild.

  Was this her?

  He must have decided which was her bedroom, because he backed her towards it, his mouth kinked, watching her eyes, occasionally glancing ahead to keep them safe until she felt the end of her bed behind her legs.

  Very, very slowly, as if to prove he had all the time in the world, he lowered her the length of his hard body until her feet touched the ground. They stood there for a moment pressed breast to chest.

  Heat and need and urgency on her side, tenderness, heat and patience on his. Slowly he turned her body, slid the zipper from the top of her neck to the waist of her dress and slid one shoulder off.

  She closed her eyes as his warm lips trailed along her skin. Then he pushed the other shoulder off and repeated the gesture. Her knees trembled.

  He turned her back to face him and kissed her mouth as if her lips were petals he did not wish to crush and she felt the sting of emotional tears that didn’t fall.

  Then his fingers caught in her now rucked bodice, stroked the valley between her breasts and hooked the dress to slide it with a rustle into a colourful puddle at her feet.

  ‘You are beautiful. Magnificent.’ His voice low and reverent, and she lifted her chin. Suddenly not shy. She reached for him.

  Now their movements quickened, both working the clothes from the other’s body until two naked lovers lay skin to skin with strips of light through the window painting them in patches, light that shifted and rolled with them slowly into the night.

  * * *

  They rose and went into the shower together, soaping each other, murmuring in approval and amusement and desire.

  At three they ate hot buttered raisin toast and drank tea, and he spoke of his father, a hard man who had sent him away when his mother had died. And the grandmother whom he loved, who was dying. ‘My father told me to be a man and not hinder the family with emotions, and so I tried to avoid showing my feelings to others.’

  ‘You can show me,’ she said very quietly.

  He smiled. ‘You and my grandmother, because she would have none of it either. When I first went to her, a small boy of seven, grieving my mother silently, she demanded I not keep my thoughts to myself. She pushed me to learn the dance. From that time she has been the only person I allow to question my deeper thoughts.’

  ‘She encouraged your dancing?’

  ‘Despite my father.’ He smiled at that. ‘The dance allows me peace. She has given me so much that I cannot repay.’

  She felt her heart ache with the loss she could see he was already dreading.

  ‘Who will care for her when she is nearing the end?’

  He lifted his head. Suddenly fierce. ‘Me. Though there is a hospice in Barcelona, newly finished, designed for peace and tranquillity.’ She could see he was thinking of it.

  ‘A good place. Similar to the feeling I get in your home.’ And she felt the warmth of his approval as a glow. But his eyes were far away. ‘But enough of my sadness. Tell me of your parents.’

  She told him of when they’d died in a boating accident in the harbour. Four years ago. How she’d been lost by being suddenly orphaned, and of the man who had said he loved her, had promised to honour and cherish her for ever, and yet had cheated on her and then discarded her. How she’d left her chosen profession to escape the toxic memories and start afresh.

  They talked of Coogee, and Barcelona.

  With his immersion in her, his concentrated attention, something shifted in her. Something had begun to heal from being torn. Mended by his wonder of her. Reminding her she was a woman this man wanted.

  He fed her the last scrap of toast and carried her laughing back to bed. With renewed energy.

  But not once did they talk of the morning, or the next day after that when he would be gone, and she accepted that.

  At sunrise he dressed, kissed her deeply, and without further words between them he left. She was sad, disappointed, but didn’t regret the night. Couldn’t.

  And she slept most of the day.

  * * *

  On Monday morning the salty breeze from Sydney Harbour pushed Cleo faster than she intended through the revolving door of the Medical Assistance Travel Escorts (MATE) offices. She liked providing safe and calm transport for those unwell and stranded. She stood breathless and disorientated after the revolution spat her out into the lobby.

  Not like her usual composed self at all.

  But then nothing had been the same since the early hours of Sunday morning. In fact, her lips still felt swollen and every now and then she’d find herself smiling. Wickedly.

  But today was all about work. Monday had started strange and had become increasingly odd.

  Apart from the fact that today was the day Felipe was leaving. He’d told her that. And that was a good thing. She would soon stop looking to see if he was below her window again. They’d had one incredible night, which was safer, in fact, than giving your vulnerable heart away for a husband’s betrayal. No wife should ever see another woman in her husband’s bed.

  This way there could be no betrayal, but if Felipe hadn’t been leaving, then perhaps she would have asked Jen what she knew about him.

  But he was leaving.

  Maybe one day Felipe would be back.

  Today her list of errands had taken less time than expected to complete. She always ran errands before she left on a job. This one had only just come through and she knew little about it yet. But the destination excited her beyond all reason. Barcelona. Spain must have been in her stars this month.

  And today fate had smiled on her to make this morning easy. Every parking spot had appe
ared where she’d never seen an empty space before.

  Every traffic light turned green instead of red.

  And once she was parked in a prime, unmetered position, the wind had seemed to propel her here at twice the rate she would normally have walked.

  All errands had been done and she was still early.

  At the oak reception desk Angie Peck, pay clerk, crisis manager and unflappable international flight and transport co-ordinator, swung her brown fringe towards the new arrival and smiled.

  ‘Look what the wind blew in. Morning, Cleo.’ Angie’s chocolate-brown eyes twinkled infectiously. ‘Turbulent out there? What’s the word for that Spanish wind?’

  Cleo thought for a moment. ‘No idea.’ She’d been listening to her Spanish language lessons all day yesterday as she’d stared dreamily out to sea from her bedroom window. She’d wanted to learn the meaning of some of the words that her handsome dancer had whispered to her. Felipe. She didn’t know his last name. But then he didn’t know hers either. It had been a fleeting but fierce one-night stand and had left her feeling unsettled but glowing. Still couldn’t believe that wanton woman had been her.

  Angie tapped her forehead. ‘I’ve got it, the levanter. Well, we have a small wind of change in store for you this morning, too. On your mode of transport.’

  Cleo raised her brows. ‘Any chance you’ll tell me what it is?’

  ‘All will be revealed inside.’ Angie gave a dramatic wave at the entry to the inner sanctum. The door of the MATE inner sanctum stood shut. Odd.

  The receptionist added cryptically, ‘Your special calming skills will be appreciated. His nibs is already worked up.’

  With a last puzzled glance at Angie, Cleo knocked firmly on the panelled fascia and waited.

  She’d completed almost two dozen overseas transfers of pregnant women or new mums and their babies since she’d come to work for MATE nearly a year ago. She’d also accompanied many general patients who had been sick or injured, clients of all ages, but as the agency’s star midwife she’d never been called to the office to discuss a case prior to transfer. It had always been an email or a phone call then meet the client at the hospital.

  In the case of midwifery assignments, it was usual for her to meet them at the private wing of the Sydney hospital where the rich and famous went to give birth. Like Sofia had. She wondered how the young mum was getting on. Cleo hadn’t seen Jen since Saturday.

  She’d thought all of the MATE clients were VIPs. It wasn’t cheap to hire a midwife to travel with you, so what made this assignment so special that a face-to-face meeting was needed?

  After a moment the door swung open and the tall, spare figure of Sir Reginald with his silver-grey temples and Savile Row grey suit stood back to invite her in. ‘Ah, Cleo, thank you for coming.’

  Sir Reginald gestured her to the seat in front of his desk, though he didn’t sit down.

  He paced.

  That, too, was odd.

  ‘Don Felipe Alcala Gonzales is our client.’

  Amazing how many Felipes there were from Spain. The shop assistant this morning in the post office had been Felipe. And the pizza guy who’d delivered to her on Sunday night had worn a shirt with ‘Felipe’ on it. She’d read his name and had had to stop staring at it.

  A bit like buying a red car of a certain make. You saw them everywhere after that.

  Her brief liaison with her own Felipe was done. A bit of a hard act to follow despite the fact he’d kissed her goodbye and left without a word.

  Best not go there. Too recent not to blush about.

  Her boss went on. ‘Don Felipe is the cousin of Sofia.’

  ‘Gonzales.’ Recognition flared in her brain. ‘Sofia, as in the woman I looked after in labour on Wednesday night?’

  ‘Yes. She specifically asked for you. She’d like you to escort her and her baby home to Barcelona and her cousin is the man paying the bills. He is the cabeza de la família—the head of the Gonzales family—and one of the richest families in Barcelona.’

  Cleo’s eyes widened. They were VIPs indeed. And still Sofia had been alone in labour?

  Cleo felt glad she was escorting Sofia and not the cousin if this was what he did to the normally composed Sir Reginald. She remembered Sofia using the word ‘hate’.

  ‘Don Felipe has decided to oversee all the arrangements himself and accompany you on your flight.’ Sir Reginald’s words dropped into the silence between them.

  Sofia would not be happy about that. She inclined her head. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to see much of Sofia’s ogre.

  Sir Reginald fidgeted, back behind his desk now as she sat down, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the usual unflappable head of the agency looked strangely nervous. ‘I fear your client is very much unhappy with the Don. And now he has convinced her to go, he wishes to ensure she arrives safely in Spain. Thus, he insists on being present as well.’

  ‘You’re warning me there will be tension between them during the flight?’ Why would that be a warning Sir Reginald felt he needed to give her? ‘I thought my job is to ensure Sofia and her baby arrive in good health?’ Cleo’s comment hung in the air between them as a question. Did this Don want to micromanage Sofia? Or her?

  She turned to Sir Reginald and said carefully, ‘What arrangements are planned for our transfer?’

  The aristocratic fingers shuffled desk papers again. ‘You will be flying in Don Felipe’s private aircraft.’

  She didn’t much like the idea of being totally under the control of anyone apart from the captain flying the plane.

  Especially this Don Felipe, who agitated her boss. And her client.

  She sat back and folded her hands in her lap. Sir Reginald was always a reasonable person. ‘Are you sure my presence is necessary, then?’

  ‘Yes. It is. Sofia has only consented to return to Spain with him if she has you as her companion.’

  Sofia was calling the shots, then? Their rapport had been strong in labour. And she would be delighted to accompany the young mum. Then she remembered. ‘I did mention to her this is what I usually do. She must have thought about it later.’

  ‘Sofia has decided that nobody else will do for the flight over and has requested you as her confidante for the first two weeks postnatally when you arrive, if you will agree to stay on.’

  Jen would be thrilled about this. She’d wanted Cleo to fly to Barcelona with her for a year now. Ever since she’d started dating Diego.

  No doubt she’d be even more adamant since Saturday night. But Cleo doubted she’d find one male dancer amongst the five point five million people who lived in Barcelona. Even she wasn’t that optimistic.

  Then the rest sank in. ‘Two weeks?’ Cleo raised questioning brows at Sir Reginald. ‘It’s not unusual to stay an extra day or two but two weeks seems excessive, surely?’

  Sir Reginald shuffled his disarrayed papers and avoided her eyes. ‘It all changed today. By the express orders of Don Felipe. And the reason Don Felipe asked me to arrange this with you. Your final say pending, of course.’

  ‘Just how reluctant is Sofia to return to Spain?’

  Her boss grimaced. ‘Very.’

  Reluctance was one thing, but Cleo hoped Sofia wasn’t being forced in any way by her cousin. She tried another tack. ‘And the baby’s father? Does he have a say in this?’

  ‘Apparently he is no longer...’ a pause ‘...in the picture.’

  Well, she’d known that already. Sofia had told her. But she wondered if his permission had needed to be sought. She’d seen Spanish determination at first hand. Her Spanish lover had left without a forwarding address after one of the most incredible nights of her life. Still, she had no regrets.

  Back to work. Not her problem. Any of the legalities could be handled by this Don.

  ‘I hope the father of the child knows the baby is going.’
<
br />   The barest hint of amusement crossed Sir Reginald’s face. ‘I believe so.’

  Well, that was good news at least. But this was becoming clouded with what had happened to her on Saturday night and she needed to stop that. Think clearly. Probably because the ogre cousin’s name was Felipe, too.

  She shook her disquiet off. She needed to remain professional.

  ‘I think I should chat to Sofia first. Just check about the two weeks. That it’s really her idea and not her bossy cousin’s.’ Her voice remained calm and quiet, the gentle epitome of reasonableness despite her instinct screaming there was something off here.

  Sir Reginald straightened and his gaze sharpened. ‘You’re thinking of declining the assignment?’

  She looked at her boss. ‘No. But there are many things to consider. The fact Sofia has agreed to go at all. The private flight, supervised by the Don. The length of time. Two weeks together with Sofia under the control of an unknown despot? Sofia and I do need to talk about this first.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s a despot.’ Sir Reg looked amused.

  ‘That’s not what Sofia said.’ Did the young mum really want her or was everyone pushing them together? Unease grew but her sympathy for the newly single Sofia rose another notch at all these men deciding her future for her.

  She glanced at her boss, who had an odd gleam in his eye. ‘Are you happy to arrange that, Sir Reginald?’

  ‘Of course. I think a meeting is an excellent idea considering the length of time and the personalities involved. I’ll have Angie sort that out for this morning, as soon as possible.’

  Cleo nodded.

  ‘You can discuss the departure time after your visit,’ Sir Reg said quietly, as if to himself.