The Playboy of Puerto Banus Read online

  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?’

  ‘The battery is flat.’

  ‘Well, before you speak with your father I need to go through your diary.’

  ‘Later.’

  ‘No, Raúl. I’m flying home later this morning. This needs to be done now. We also need to sort out a new PA for you—preferably one you don’t fancy!’ Angela was less than impressed with Raúl’s brief eye-roll. ‘Raúl, you need to remember that I’m going on long service leave in a few weeks’ time. If I’m going to train somebody up for you, then I need to get on to it now.’

  ‘Choose someone, then,’ Raúl said. ‘And you’re right; perhaps it would be better if it was someone that I did not fancy.’

  ‘Finally!’ Angela sighed.

  Yes, after having it pointed out to him on numerous occasions, Raúl was finally accepting that mixing business with pleasure had consequences, and sleeping with his PA was perhaps not such a good idea.

  What was it with women? Raúl wondered. Why, once they’d made it to his bed, did they decide that they could no longer both work and sleep with him? Raúl could set his watch by it. After a few weeks they would decide, just as Kelly now had, that frequent dates and sex weren’t enough. They wanted exclusivity, wanted inclusion, wanted commitment—which Raúl simply refused to give. Kelly would be found another position—or paid off handsomely, if that was what she preferred.

  ‘All your flights and transfers are arranged for this afternoon,’ Angela said. ‘I can’t believe that you’ll be wearing a kilt.’

  ‘I look good in a kilt.’ Raúl smiled. ‘Donald has asked that all the male guests wear them. I’m an honorary Scotsman, you know!’ He was. He had studied in Scotland for four years, perhaps the best four years of his life, and the friendships he had made there had long continued.

  Bar one.

  His face hardened as he thought of his ex, who would be there tonight. Perhaps he should take Kelly after all, or arrive alone and get off with one of his old flames just to annoy the hell out of Araminta.

  ‘Right, let’s get this done…’

  He went to walk towards his father’s office but Angela called him back. ‘It might be an idea to have a coffee before you see him.’

  ‘No need,’ Raúl said. ‘I will get this over with and then go to Sol’s for breakfast.’ He loved Saturday mornings at Sol’s—a beautiful waterfront café that moved you out quickly if you weren’t one of the most beautiful. For people like Raúl they didn’t even bother with a bill. They wanted his patronage, wanted the energy he brought to the place. Yes, Raúl decided, he would head there next—except Angela was calling him back again.

  ‘Go and freshen up and I will bring you in coffee and a clean shirt.’

  Yes, Angela was the only woman who could get away with speaking to him like that.

  Raúl went into his own huge office—which was more like a luxurious hotel suite. As well as the office there was a sumptuous bedroom, and both rooms were put to good use. Heading towards the bathroom, he glanced at the bed and was briefly tempted to lie down. He had had two, possibly three hours’ sleep last night. But he forced himself on to the bathroom, grimacing when he saw himself in the mirror. He could see now why Angela had been so insistent that he freshened up before facing his father.

  Raúl’s black eyes were bloodshot. He had forgotten to shave yesterday, so now two days’ worth of black growth lined his strong jaw. His usually immaculate jet-black hair was tousled and fell over his forehead, and the lipstick on his collar, Raúl was sure, wasn’t the colour that Kelly had been wearing last night.

  Yes, he looked every inch the debauched playboy that his father accused him of being.

  Raúl took off his jacket and shirt and splashed water on his face, and then set about changing, calling out his thanks to Angela when he heard her tell him that she had put a coffee on his desk.

  ‘Gracias!’ he called, and walked out mid-shave. Angela was possibly the only woman who did not blush at the sight of him without a shirt—she had seen him in nappies, after all. ‘And thanks for pointing me in this direction before I meet with my father.’

  ‘No problem.’ She smiled. ‘There is a fresh shirt hanging on the chair in your office also.’

  ‘Do you know what it is that he wants to see me about?’ Raúl was fishing. He knew exactly what his father would want to discuss. ‘Am I to be given another lecture about taming my ways and settling down?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Only now did Angela’s cheeks turn pink. ‘Raúl, please listen to what your father has to say, though. This is no time for arguments. Your father is sick…’

  ‘Just because he is ill, it does not necessarily make him right.’

  ‘No,’ Angela said carefully. ‘But he does care for you, Raúl, even if he does not easily show it. Please listen to him… He is worried about you facing things on your own…’ Angela saw Raúl’s frown and stopped.

  ‘I think you do know what this is about.’

  ‘Raúl, I just ask that you listen—I can’t bear to hear you two fighting.’

  ‘Stop worrying,’ Raúl said kindly. He liked Angela; she was the closest thing to a mum he had. ‘I have no intention of fighting. I just think that at thirty years of age I don’t have to be told my bedtime, and certainly not who I’m going to bed with…’

  Raúl got back to shaving. He had no intention of being dictated to, but his hand did pause. Would it be such a big deal to let his father think that maybe he was actually serious about someone? Would it hurt just to hint that maybe he was close to settling down? His father was dying, after all.

  ‘Wish me luck.’ Raúl’s voice was wry as, clean-shaven and bit clearer in the head, he walked past Angela to face his father. He glanced over, saw
the tension and strain on her features. ‘It will be fine,’ he reassured her. ‘Look…’ He knew Angela would never keep news from his father. ‘I am seeing someone, but I don’t want him getting carried away.’

  ‘Who?’ Angela’s eyes were wide.

  ‘Just an old flame. We ran into each other again. She lives in England but I’m seeing her at the wedding tonight…’

  ‘Araminta!’

  ‘Stop there…’ Raúl smiled. That was all that was needed. He knew the seed had been sewn.

  Raúl knocked on his father’s door and stepped in.

  There should have been flames, he thought afterwards. Or the smell of sulphur. Actually, there should have been the smell of car fuel and the sound of thunder followed by silence. There should at least have been some warning, as he was walked through the door, that he was returning to hell.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ESTELLE FELT AS if everyone knew what a fraud she was.

  She closed her heavily made-up eyes and dragged in a deep breath. They were standing in the castle grounds, waiting to be led to their seating, and some pre-wedding drinks and nibbles were being served.

  Why they hell had she agreed to this?

  You know why, Estelle told herself, her resolve hardening.

  ‘Are you okay, darling?’ Gordon asked. ‘The wedding should start soon.’

  He’d been nothing but kind, just as Ginny had promised he would be.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Estelle said, and held a little more tightly onto his arm, just as Gordon had told her to do.

  ‘This is Estelle.’

  Gordon introduced her to a couple and Estelle watched the slight rise of the woman’s eyebrow.

  ‘Estelle, this is Veronica and James.’

  ‘Estelle.’ Veronica gave a curt nod and soon moved James away.

  ‘You’re doing wonderfully,’ Gordon said, squeezing her hand and drawing her away from the mingling wedding guests so that they could speak without being overheard. ‘Maybe you just need to smile a bit more,’ he suggested gently, ‘and, I know it calls for brilliant acting, could you try and look just a little more besotted with me? I’ve got my terrible reputation with women to think of.’

  ‘Of course,’ Estelle said through chattering teeth.

  ‘The gay man and the virgin,’ Gordon whispered in her ear. ‘If only they knew!’

  Estelle’s eyes widened in horror and Gordon quickly apologised. ‘I was just trying to make you smile,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t believe that she told you!’

  Estelle was horrified that Ginny would share something as personal and as sensitive as that. Then again, she could believe it—Ginny found it endlessly amusing that Estelle had never slept with anyone. It wasn’t by deliberate choice; it wasn’t something she’d actively decided. More that she’d been so shell shocked by her parents’ death that homework and books had been her escape. By the time she’d emerged from her grief Estelle had felt two steps behind her peers. Clubs and parties had seemed frivolous. It was ancient ruins and buildings that fascinated her, and when she did meet someone there was always a panic that her virgin status must mean she was looking for a husband. More and more it had become an issue.

  Now it would seem it was a joke!

  She’d be having strong words with Ginny.

  ‘Virginia didn’t say it in a malicious way.’ Gordon seemed devastated to have upset her. ‘We were just talking one night. I really should never have brought it up.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Estelle conceded. ‘I guess I am a bit of a rarity.’

  ‘We all have our secrets,’ Gordon said. ‘And for tonight we both have to cover them up.’ He smiled at her strained expression. ‘Estelle, I know how hard it was for you to agree to this, but I promise you have nothing to feel nervous about. I’m soon to be a happily married man.’

  ‘I know,’ Estelle said. Gordon had told her on the plane about his long-term boyfriend, Frank, and the plans they had made. ‘I just can’t stand the disapproving looks and that everyone thinks of me as a gold-digger,’ she admitted. ‘Even though that’s the whole point of the night.’

  ‘Stop caring what everyone thinks,’ Gordon said.

  It was the same as she said to Andrew, who was acutely embarrassed to be in a wheelchair. ‘You’re right.’

  Gordon lifted her chin and she smiled into his eyes. ‘That’s better.’ Gordon smiled back. ‘We’ll get through this together.’

  So Estelle held onto his arm and did her best to look suitably besotted, ignoring the occasional disapproving stare from the other guests, and she was just starting to relax and get into things when he arrived.

  Till that moment Estelle had thought it would be the bride who would make an entrance, and it wasn’t the sight of a helicopter landing that had heads turning—helicopters had been landing regularly since Estelle had got there—no, it was the man who stepped out who held everyone’s attention.

  ‘Oh, my, the evening just got interesting,’ Gordon said as the most stunning man ducked under the blades and then walked towards the gathering.

  He was tall, his thick black hair brushed back and gleaming, and his mouth was sulky and unsmiling. His Mediterranean colouring should surely mean that he’d look out of place wearing a kilt, but instead he looked as if he’d been born to wear one. Lean-hipped and long-limbed, but muscular too, he could absolutely carry it off.

  He could carry me off right now, Estelle thought wildly—and wild thoughts were rare for Estelle.

  She watched as he accepted whisky from a waiter and then stood still. He seemed removed and remote from everyone else. Even the women who flocked to him were quickly dismissed, as if at any minute he might simply walk off.

  Then he met her eyes.

  Estelle tried to flick hers away, except she found that she couldn’t.

  His eyes drifted down over the gold dress, but not in the disapproving way that Veronica’s had. Although they weren’t approving either. They were merely assessing.

  She felt herself burn as his eyes moved then to her sixty-four-year-old date, and she wanted to correct him—wanted to tell him that the rotund, red-faced man who was struggling with the heat in his heavy kilt and jacket was not her lover. Though of course she could not.

  She wanted to, though.

  ‘Eyes only for me, darling,’ Gordon reminded her, perhaps picking up on the crackle of energy crossing the lawn. His glance followed Estelle’s gaze. ‘Though frankly no one would blame you a bit for looking. He’s completely divine.’

  ‘Who?’ Estelle tried to pretend that she hadn’t noticed the delicious stranger—Gordon was paying her good money to be here, after all—but she wasn’t fooling anyone.

  ‘Raúl Sanchez Fuente,’ Gordon said in a low voice. ‘Our paths cross now and then at various functions. He owns everything but morals. The bastard even looks good in a kilt. He has my heart—not that he wants it…’

  Estelle couldn’t help but laugh.

  * * *

  Raúl’s eyes lazily worked over the guests. He was questioning now his decision to come alone. He needed distraction tonight, but when he had thought of the old flames that he might run into he had been thinking of the perky breasts and the narrow waists of yesteryear, as if the clock might have stopped on his university days. Instead the hands of time had moved on.

  There was Shona. Her once long red hair was now cut too severely and she stood next to a chinless wonder. She caught his eye and then blushed unbecomingly and shot him a furious look, as if their once torrid times could be erased and forgotten by her wedding ring.

  He knew, though, that she was remembering.

  ‘Raúl…’

  He frowned when he saw Araminta walking towards him. She was wearing that slightly needy smile that Raúl recognised only too well and i
t made his early warning system react—because temporary distraction was his requirement tonight, not desperation.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Not bad,’ she said, and then proceeded to tell him about her hellish divorce, how she was now single, how she’d thought about him often since the break-up, how she’d been looking forward to seeing him tonight, how she regretted the way things had worked out for them…

  ‘I told you that you would at the time.’ Raúl did not do sentiment. ‘You’ll have to excuse me. I have to make a call.’

  ‘We’ll catch up later, though?’

  He could hear the hope in her voice and it irked him.

  Was he good enough for her father now? Rich enough? Established enough?

  ‘There’s nothing to catch up on.’

  Just like that he dismissed her, his black eyes not even watching her as she gave a small sob and walked off.

  What on earth was he doing here? Raúl wondered. He should be getting ready to party on his yacht, or to hit the clubs—should be losing himself instead of getting reacquainted with his past. More to the point, there was hardly a limitless choice of women in this castle in the Scottish Highlands. And after what Raúl had found out this morning his own company wasn’t one he wanted to keep.

  His hand tightened on the whisky glass he held. The full impact of what his father had told him was only now starting to hit him.

  So black were his thoughts, so sideswiped was he by the revelations, Raúl actually considered leaving—just summoning his pilot and walking out. But then a tumble of dark hair and incredibly pale skin caught his eye and held it. She looked nervous and awkward—which was unusual for Gordon’s tarts. They were normally brash and confident. But not this one.