From Venice With Love: Secrets of Castillo del Arco

‘It is me, Gabriella.’ It stung like a slap to her face that he had dropped the use of Bella, dropped the endearment. ‘You are better off without me.’

‘No, Raoul, how can you say that?’

‘Because I know! You were right to decide not to come with me.’

He hailed a taxi and bundled her and she thought he would follow until he rattled off her address and made to close the door. She threw out her hand against the door to stop him. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Sending you home. Good bye, Gabriella.’

She shoved open the door and stood up to him, face to face, the door—and a world, it seemed—between them. ‘No. Not until I know when I will see you again.’

‘You do not want to see me again.’

‘Don’t tell me what I want!’ There was a spark in her eyes he hadn’t seen before, a hint of rebellion about that sharp chin he hadn’t seen since she was a child. Not that it would do her any good.

The driver uttered a few impatient words and she turned and let go with a torrent of French of her own before she turned back. ‘I don’t want to wait another twelve years to see you again, and I damn well won’t.’

‘Who can say how long it will be?’

‘So, what time do you leave? We could still meet for lunch if it’s late enough.’

‘No.’

‘Then maybe breakfast at your hotel?’

‘That is not possible. I leave mid-morning.’

‘Can’t you change it?’

‘I told you, I have business to attend to.’

‘And it cannot wait?’

‘No.’

Infuriating! He was like a mountain made out of a single piece of solid granite, She could pound her fists against his chest except she knew he would not feel a thing. ‘Then maybe I was too hasty before. Maybe I could come with you after all, even just for a day or two. Like you say, the library will not expect me back immediately.’

‘I’m sorry, Gabriella, but I was too hasty with my invitation. I should have realised it would not work.’

‘But you asked me. Why would you do that? Why would you ask and then change your mind?’

‘Because it is pointless! Because I cannot do this—please do not try to make me.’

‘For God’s sake, Raoul, you blast into my life after a twelve-year absence and then you disappear before we’ve had a chance to get to know each other again. Can’t you at least offer me something?

‘But I am, Bella—I am offering you your freedom. Treasure it.’

And he turned and strode off into the wet, dark Paris night.

She watched him go, wishing she could run after him, knowing it would be a mistake. But what had he meant about offering her her freedom? Why should she treasure it?

Why couldn’t he at least have explained what he meant?

He dreamed of Katia that night, Katia emerging from the mist with all her grace and long, lithe limbs, her dancer’s eyes and beckoning smile. He dreamed of parties floating on a champagne cloud; he dreamed of laughter, dancing and sex that went long into the night and the following day, and then doing it all again the next. Until the mist turned dark and putrid and a mocking smile became a call for help, became a scream, and he tried to make his feet move, tried to run …

He woke to a pounding heart, covered in sweat and tangled in sheets. It took seconds to realise the pounding was coming from the door and not only from his chest. Thank God! He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, snatching up his watch and throwing it back when he saw the time and realised it had taken him so long to get to sleep last night that he’d slept later than he’d intended. It was room service, no doubt, with his breakfast order, although why they had to make such a God-awful noise …

He called out that he was coming and lashed a towel around his hips, pulling open the door in the same movement. But it was Gabriella who fell into his arms, tear-streaked and brandishing a newspaper in one hand, and it took him a moment to remember, to work out how she’d found him. ‘Raoul, I’m sorry,’ she sobbed, clinging to him. ‘I’m so sorry. I know you’ll be angry with me, but I didn’t know who else to turn to.’

He put a tentative hand to her head, trying not to think too much about the push of her breasts again his chest or the fact his early-morning body had reversed its decision to relax. Hating himself that it had. ‘What is it, Gabriella?’ he asked gruffly, shifting slightly and still feeling a building sizzle of satisfaction in his veins, already half-knowing what the news must be.

‘It’s all over the papers,’ she sniffed, thrusting it into his hand. ‘It’s Consuelo. He’s been accused of using the foundation as a front for money laundering. He’s been arrested for fraud.’

Already? he thought as his eyes flicked over the article, taking in the pertinent details. So it was done and she was safe. Surely Umberto would not quibble about the exact letter of his promise not being carried out? He’d done her a favour, after all, and if all went to plan Garbas would be locked up for a very long time and Gabriella could find and marry someone decent. ‘But what brings you here? What do you think I can do?’

‘We have to help him. It can’t be true. We have to—’

‘We?’

‘Surely you would help me?’

‘But if it is true, what they accuse him of?’

She blinked watery eyes up at him and exhilaration almost gave way to regret for causing her more tears after she had shed what seemed like an ocean of them. ‘What?’

‘If the police are right? That he has been using the foundation as a front?’

She buried her head against his chest again, as if to block out the truth. ‘But that would make him some kind of criminal.’

‘Then maybe, just maybe, you should brace yourself for that eventuality.’

She stilled in his arms. ‘You think there is a possibility?’

He shrugged, unable to prevent himself from stroking her back through her coat, trying to show indifference when all he wanted to do was tell her that he knew it to be true and that she had had a lucky escape. Could she not tell from the gravity of the reports that this was no frame-up? Then battling to care about Garbas and whether he was guilty or innocent when she was in his arms this way, and so very beautiful, so very desirable …

With a groan, he hauled his libido and his thoughts back to where they should be.

‘The police must have evidence. They do not go around arresting people on such charges lightly, Bella.’

The use of her pet name sliced through her tears and through the dense fog that had occupied her mind ever since he had abandoned her last night, leaving her sleepless and unable to cope with this morning’s revelations.

And suddenly she was aware of so many other things—of the spring of chest hair under her fingers; of the broad width of naked chest that lay heated under her cheek and pressed against her breasts; of the rough towel that was the only barrier separating them.

‘You called me Bella,’ she said, lifting her head to look up at him. ‘I thought you hated me.’

He stroked her hair back from her face. ‘I could never hate you.’

And she smiled. ‘Nor me you. I think we are destined to be friends for ever, Raoul.’ Even though, with his warm, firm flesh under her hands, she wished it could be more.