LITMIR.BIZ

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punched the air. ‘Thank God.’

      ‘You’re welcome. But Raul will suffice.’

      She pulled a face at him and laughed. ‘Right now, I’m so happy and grateful I’ll call you anything you like.’

      He bit back the quip forming on his tongue, not wanting to break the moment. Seeing the delight on her face lightened his blood.

      It had been a long time since he’d seen that smile.

      A skinny, balding man poked his head out of the building. Abandoning Raul, Charley hurried over to him, hurled her arms around his waist and kissed his cheek. The man disappeared back inside with a beaming grin of his own.

      She rushed back to the car, jumped in, shut the door without slamming it and yanked out the band holding her hair in a ponytail. Tidying her hair with her fingers, she looked at him, her eyes bright with excitement.

      ‘Who was that?’ he asked in as nonchalant a voice as he could muster. Watching his wife throw her arms around another man had felt...disturbing, like having pins stuck into his flesh.

      For the first time, he confronted the possibility that there had been another man in her life since they’d parted.

      Two years was a long time to be alone.

      ‘Seve—he runs the centre. He’ll be sharing the good news with the others.’ Charley’s happiness was so infectious even the car seemed to react to it, an upbeat song playing out from the radio.

      But what was she so happy about? Raul’s purchase of the building? Or the fact she’d spent most of the day with Seve?

      ‘I hope they enjoy the moment.’ He killed the radio and put the car into gear. It was only three p.m.; if traffic was kind, they could be back in Barcelona within a couple of hours. His helicopter pilot was primed for take-off.

      ‘I’m sure they’ll celebrate all night.’

      ‘Do you wish you were celebrating with them?’

      ‘I would love to.’ The longing was clear in her voice.

      If she was hoping he’d relent and let her stay in Valencia for the night, she was doomed to disappointment. They’d made a deal. From this moment on, Charley was his.

      ‘This Seve, he is a good friend of yours?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Is that all he is to you? A friend?’

      She twisted in her seat to stare at him. ‘Are you trying to find out if Seve and I are lovers?’

      ‘Are you?’

      ‘He’s married.’

      ‘And so are you.’

      Her cheeks tightened. ‘I wouldn’t be if you’d signed the divorce papers when you’d first got them, but even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t mess about with a married man.’

      ‘And what about single men? Have you “messed about” with many of them since you left?’

      She was silent for a moment before answering, her voice as taut as her features. ‘I will tell you how many men I’ve messed around with after you tell me how many women you’ve been with. Obviously I know about Jessica, so that’s one. How many others?’

      If she only knew the truth.

      How would she react if he were to tell her that since she’d left there hadn’t been anyone else? He would visit his hotels and cruise liners, be surrounded by semi-naked women flirting outrageously with him, and feel nothing. He might as well have been dead from the waist down. Jessica was famed as one of the sexiest women in the world but even she’d left him cold.

      He wouldn’t give Charley the satisfaction of the truth.

      But neither did he want to hear if she’d had other lovers in their time apart. Nothing good could come of it.

      Four months was ample time to get her out of his system. By the time those months were over, his libido would surely be begging for variety.

      ‘Giving numbers is vulgar and unbecoming,’ he said smoothly.

      ‘I quite agree.’

      His gaze darted briefly to her. ‘But to be clear, while you are back in my bed, there will be no other men in your life.’

      ‘I’m only yours until the renovations are complete,’ she reminded him with a pointed look. All the euphoria she’d displayed when she’d got into the car had now gone.

      ‘But until then, cariño, you are mine.’ To reiterate his point, he put a hand on her thigh and squeezed it lightly, before moving it to change gear.

      He heard her suck in a breath and hold it for the longest time.

      ‘Have you got the deeds?’ she asked, her voice now flat.

      ‘I have a copy of them in my briefcase. You can have them when we get home.’

      Soon enough they would be back.

      Soon enough she would be back in his bed, right where she belonged.

      If she’d had any lovers in the time they’d been apart he would ensure they were obliterated from her memory, leaving only him.

      Yes. Tonight she would be his again. All his.

      * * *

      Charley entered the villa feeling as if the weight of the world had landed back on her shoulders.

      For a few brief minutes, when Raul had confirmed the purchase of the new building, she’d felt so light-headed she wouldn’t have needed the helicopter to fly.

      Then he’d ruined it all by implying there was something romantic going on between her and Seve. This, from the man who’d been bedding a hot lingerie model.

      Raul had carried on with his life as if she’d never been a part of it. All her paranoia from their marriage had come true, her secret fear that, as had always been the case with her father, when Charley was out of someone’s sight she was out of their mind. Forgettable. Replaceable.

      Raul had moved on. New home, new lover, new everything.

      If only it had been as easy for her to move on too.

      Her life had become rich with friends—real friends; their meal with Diego and Elana the previous night had brought home to her how wonderful it was to have true friends. Elana’s friendship had been foisted upon her when she and Raul had first got together. Originally a receptionist for Diego’s world-famous plastic-surgery practice, Elana was now the epitome of high-society goddess with a perfectly straight nose, sculpted cheekbones and inflated breasts. All of the other ‘friends’ Charley had made in their time together had been of an identical mould.

      Far too well-mannered to say anything derogatory about Charley’s outfit, Elana had been unable to hide the flicker of shock when she’d cast her eyes over her. For her part, Elana had been dressed from top to tail in the required designer label, her gold shoes so high Charley had felt sorry for her feet. Not even the red stilettos she’d forced her feet into on Saturday night had been that high.

      Looking back, Charley struggled to understand how she’d allowed herself to suffer such self-inflicted torture. She’d thought nothing of wearing five-inch heels for a full day at work.

      But it had been expected of her. She had been the wife of Raul Cazorla and she had been expected to dress and act the part, including cultivating friendships with like-minded women.

      The only real friendship she’d made had been, funnily enough, with Marta, Raul’s sister, who was an incredibly smart and amusing woman.

      The strange thing was, while they’d been eating last night, she’d noticed so many new things: the way Elana picked at her food as if scared to consume a calorie more than was good for her, the way she

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