The Playboy of Puerto Banús

As the car headed for the airport he brought Estelle up to speed. ‘We met two weeks ago…’

‘Where?’ Estelle asked.

‘At Dario’s…’

‘Dario who?’

Gordon laughed. ‘You really don’t know anything, do you? It’s a bar in Soho—sugar daddy heaven.’

‘Oh, God…’ she groaned.

‘Do you work?’ Gordon asked.

‘Part-time at the library.’

‘Maybe don’t mention that. Just say you do a little bit of modelling,’ Gordon suggested. ‘Keep it all very vague, or say that right now keeping Gordon happy is a full-time job.’ Estelle blushed and Gordon noticed. ‘I know. Awful, isn’t it? I seem to have created this terrible persona.’

‘I’m worried that I shan’t be able to pull it off.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ Gordon said, and he went through everything with her again.

They practised their story over and over on the short flight to Edinburgh. He even asked after her brother and niece, and she was surprised that he knew about their plight.

‘Virginia and I have become good friends this past year,’ Gordon said. ‘She was ever so upset for you when your brother had his accident and when the baby was born so unwell…’ He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘How is she now?’

‘Waiting for surgery.’

‘Just remember that you’re helping them,’ Gordon said as they transferred to the helicopter that would take them to the castle where the very exclusive wedding was being held.

As they walked across the immaculate lawn Gordon took her hand and she was grateful to hold onto it. He really was nice—if they had met under any other circumstances she would be looking forward to this evening.

‘I can’t wait to get inside the castle,’ Estelle admitted. She’d already told Gordon she was studying ancient architecture.

‘There won’t be much time for exploring,’ Gordon said. ‘We’ll be shown to our room and there will just be time to freshen up and touch up your hair and make-up before we head down for the wedding.’

‘Okay.’

‘And just remember,’ Gordon said, ‘this time tomorrow it will all be over and you’ll never have to see any of them again.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE SOUND OF seagulls and the distant throb of music didn’t wake Raúl from his slumber; instead they were the sounds that soothed him when he was startled in his sleep. He lay there, heart pounding for a moment, telling himself it was just a dream, while knowing that it was a memory that had jolted him awake.

The gentle motion of his berthed yacht almost tempted him back to sleep, but then he remembered that he was supposed to be meeting with his father.

Raúl forced his eyes open and stared at the tousled blonde hair on his pillow.

‘Buenos días,’ she purred.

‘Buenos días.’ Raúl responded, but instead of moving towards her he turned onto his back.

‘What time do we leave for the wedding?’

Raúl closed his eyes at her presumption. He had never actually asked Kelly to join him as his guest, but that was the trouble with dating your PA—she knew your diary. The wedding was to be held this evening in the Scottish Highlands. It was nothing for Raúl to fly from Spain to Scotland for a wedding, but Kelly clearly thought that a few weeks out of his office and in his bed meant she was automatically invited.

‘I’ll speak to you about that later,’ Raúl said, glancing at the clock. ‘Right now I have to meet with my father.’

‘Raúl…’ Kelly turned to him in a move that was suggestive.

‘Later,’ he said, and climbed out of bed. ‘I am supposed to be meeting with him in ten minutes.’

‘That wouldn’t have stopped you before.’

He took the stairs and walked up onto the deck, picking his way through the debris and the evidence of another wild Raúl Sanchez Fuente party. A maid was already starting the mammoth clean up and she gave a cheery wave to Raúl.

‘Gracias,’ she said as he gave her a substantial cash bonus without apologising for the mess. She did not mind his excesses—Raúl paid and treated her well, unlike the owners of some of the yachts, who expected her to work without complaint for very little.

Raúl put on his shades and walked along the Puerto Banús marina, where his yacht was moored. Here, Raúl belonged. Here, despite his decadent ways, he fitted in—because he was not the wildest. Raúl could hear a party continuing on, the music throbbing, the sound of laughter and merriment carrying across the sparkling water, and it reminded Raúl why he loved this place. Rarely was it ever silent. The marina was full of luxurious yachts and had the heady scent of filthy money. Ludicrously expensive cars were casually parked, all the fruits of serious wealth were on display here, and Raúl—dishevelled, unshaven and terribly beautiful—blended in well.

A couple of tourists stumbling home from a club nudged each other as Raúl walked past, trying to place him. For he was as good-looking as any film star and clearly he was someone. People-watching was a regular activity in Puerto Banús, for amongst the tourists and locals were the rich, the famous and the notorious too.

Raúl scored two out of three—though he was famous in the business world.

Enrique, his driver, was waiting for him, and Raúl climbed in and gave a brief greeting, and then sat silently as he was driven the short distance to the Marbella branch of De La Fuente Holdings. He had no doubt as to what his father wanted to discuss, but his mind was going over what Kelly had just said.

‘That wouldn’t have stopped you before.’

Before what? Raúl asked himself.

Before he lost interest?

Before the chase had ended?

Before she assumed that a Saturday night would be shared?

Raúl was an island.

An island with frequent visitors and world-renowned parties, an island of endless sun and unlimited luxury, but one who preferred guests not to outstay their welcome, only allowed the superficial. Yes, Raúl was an island, and he intended to keep it that way. He certainly didn’t want permanent boarders and he chose not to let anyone get too close.

He would never be responsible again for another’s heart.

‘I shan’t be long,’ Raúl told Enrique as the car door was lifted and he climbed out.

Raúl was not looking forward to this conversation, but his father had insisted they meet this morning and Raúl just wanted it over and done with.

‘Buenos días.’ He greeted Angela, his father’s PA. ‘What are you doing here on a Saturday?’ he asked, because Angela usually flew home to her family for the weekend.

‘I am trying to track down a certain Spaniard who said he would be here at eight a.m.,’ Angela scolded mildly. She was the one woman who could get away with telling Raúl how it was. In her late fifties, she had been employed by the company for as long as Raúl could remember. ‘I’ve been trying to call you—don’t you ever have your phone on?’