One Night With Gael
Maya Blake
Rules for dating Gael Aguilar1. Six-week time limit2. No second chancesWhen aspiring actress Goldie Beckett storms into Gael’s board meeting to return the ten thousand dollars he left on her nightstand, she’s sure she’s triggered rule 2. But in just a few short weeks, the shocking news of her pregnancy ensures that she’s definitely broken rule 1!Born illegitimate and branded a mistake, there’s no way Gael will ever allow the same fate to befall his child. Obliterating all his own rules, Gael now must get Goldie to agree to the role of a life time as his wife!
Rules for dating Gael Aguilar
1. Six-week time limit
2. No second chances
When aspiring actress Goldie Beckett storms into Gael’s board meeting to return the ten thousand dollars he left on her nightstand, she’s sure she’s triggered rule 2. But in just a few short weeks, the shocking news of her pregnancy ensures that she’s definitely broken rule 1!
Born illegitimate and branded a mistake, Gael will never allow the same fate to befall his child. Obliterating all his own rules, Gael now must get Goldie to agree to the role of a lifetime as his wife!
‘Do you think a man in my position and with my power, having gone through what I went through as a child, will be willing to stand idly by while my child is shuffled between minders, aeroplanes, movie locations and court-ordered visiting rights?’
Goldie’s mouth trembled for a second before she caught hold of it. ‘Gael—’
He broke off mid-pace and planted himself firmly in front of her. He needed her to see the intent emblazoned in his heart and in his mind. ‘Let me answer for you, Goldie. The scenario you propose will happen over my dead body.’
‘You can’t just rule things out, Gael. We need to agree to a compromise.’
‘Why compromise when I have a solution?’ he asked.
Her smooth forehead clenched in a frown. ‘We confirmed the pregnancy less than ten minutes ago. How can you have a solution already?’
‘Very easily, when the situation is this important.’
She gave a slight shake of her head, but her gaze didn’t leave his. She blinked, her expression turning trepidatious. ‘No. I think we need to talk about this some more.’
‘I’m done talking, Goldie. The soundest solution to the situation we find ourselves is for you to marry me.’
Rival Brothers (#ulink_63b59d73-975b-52d2-88ae-29168b0aec47)
When rivalry is thicker than blood...
Estranged brothers Alejandro and Gael Aguilar are titans of technology and each other’s biggest rivals.
It will take two special women to help these sexy Spaniards put the past behind them and join forces to become more powerful than they ever dreamed!
Battle commences in
A Deal with Alejandro
And find who will be victorious in
One Night with Gael
One Night with Gael
Maya Blake
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MAYA BLAKE’s hopes of becoming a writer were born when she picked up her first romance at thirteen. Little did she know her dream would come true! Does she still pinch herself every now and then to make sure it’s not a dream? Yes, she does! Feel free to pinch her, too, via Twitter, Facebook or Goodreads! Happy reading!
Books by Maya Blake
Mills & Boon Modern Romance
Signed Over to Santino
A Diamond Deal with the Greek
A Marriage Fit for a Sinner
Married for the Prince’s Convenience
Innocent in His Diamonds
His Ultimate Prize
Marriage Made of Secrets
The Sinful Art of Revenge
The Price of Success
Rival Brothers
A Deal with Alejandro
The Billionaire’s Legacy
The Di Sione Secret Baby
Secret Heirs of Billionaires
Brunetti’s Secret Son
The Untameable Greeks
What the Greek’s Money Can’t BuyWhat the Greek Can’t ResistWhat the Greek Wants Most
The 21st Century Gentleman’s Club
The Ultimate Playboy
Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://millsandboon.co.uk/) for more titles.
For Romy, for your invaluable help
with all things South Africa.
Any mistakes are mine!
Contents
Cover (#uc8b2c3cc-6f28-5b3f-ace9-fbba1a7f037f)
Back Cover Text (#ufce78043-8bcc-5ab0-8797-67d9fe06dce6)
Introduction (#u7d92a7f6-1862-5da9-839b-86ae59859418)
Rival Brothers (#ulink_75d96dc0-4382-51bf-904d-77bc70252a69)
Title Page (#u49846210-0959-5bad-b626-55f6a5edd2a5)
About the Author (#u95fe1bee-3931-5d5d-8ba8-543f0d96304b)
Dedication (#u02909f65-531b-5f64-b67b-86d71ad2a768)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_29447f94-0a1e-5507-9fbc-500f51474f39)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_c3b84abd-fa56-526e-8a32-821b1d9ef6cc)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_07309a6e-e94e-5359-8709-969973e65f33)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_fa45b18f-9028-5b68-b603-b80d7d761825)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_cfe9e718-ea63-5da9-b8de-d5f578aeba2e)
POR EL AMOR de todo lo que es santo! For the love of everything that’s holy!
Gael Aguilar gritted his teeth and stopped short of invoking actual martyred saints as he listened to excuse after excuse roll off the tongue of the man he was talking to on the phone.
At the end of his very short tether, he cut across yet another effusive apology. ‘Let me get this straight. You’re supposed to be here, in New York, holding auditions, but instead you chose to go skiing, in Switzerland, and are now laid up in hospital?’
‘It was just supposed to be a weekend thing for my wife’s birthday, but... Look, believe me, no one’s more sorry than I am, okay?’
Not okay. Gael jerked his head back against the car’s headrest none-too-gently. ‘What’s the medical verdict?’
‘Leg’s broken in two places. It’s going in a cast tomorrow. Provided there are no further complications I’ll be back in New York on Thursday, to pick things up, but we can’t miss the Othello Arts Institute slot today. It’s been arranged for months.’
Ethan Ryland, his director, was almost pleading. Gael barely stopped himself from pointing out that he should have known better then than to indulge himself with a continental trip. He also barely stopped himself from uttering the pithy words that would have brought him immense satisfaction right then and there. But temporary relief wouldn’t alter the facts facing him.
He couldn’t fire the director. Somewhere in the small print of his multipage contract was the perfect excuse for what was happening now, Gael was sure. Had he not had bigger matters demanding his attention, he would have taken the time to seek out other small print, words that swung in his favour, and used them. Hell, he wouldn’t even need to lift a finger himself. That was, after all, why his company had a whole firm of lawyers on retainer.
But he couldn’t do that. For one thing, embroiling the Atlas Group, the staggeringly successful but still infant global conglomerate he’d birthed with his half-brother in litigation right now would be bad for business. Not only would his half-brother Alejandro take satisfaction in demanding his head on a platter, their Japanese partners the Ishikawa brothers would also have a thing or two to say about the matter.
The merger between their three companies was barely six months old—as was his personal relationship with Alejandro, following decades of their actively and conspicuously avoiding each other.
While the business side of their relationship had flourished after a few initial setbacks, personal interaction between him and his brother had taken a two-steps-forward-one-step-back approach. Their once-a-month business meetings had grown decidedly stilted in the past three months and, frankly, Gael was on the verge of deciding it was time to take a permanent step back and run his side of the business from his Silicon Valley base.
It didn’t matter that he knew the reason why.
The past. Always the past. And not just his. His mother’s. His father’s—the father who’d been woefully lacking in being worthy of the name. Alejandro himself.
He pushed the recent confrontation with his mother aside, stepped back from the thoughts of torrid retribution he harboured towards his director, and forced himself to speak. ‘What exactly do you wish me to do?’ he snarled.
‘Just sit in on a cast call. You know my work—that’s why you hired me. You also know what you want. It will be filmed, of course, so I’ll see it when I get back. But nothing beats experiencing the raw, visceral performance in person. Tapping in to the emotions of acting is only potent on camera if it’s saturating in real life.’
Gael exhaled and curbed the urge to roll his eyes at the melodrama of the director’s speech. ‘Send me the details. I will attend this meeting you’ve set up,’ he snapped into the silence thickening in the back of his limo.
A breath of relief shot from the sleek phone console at Gael’s elbow. ‘Thanks, Gael. I owe you one.’
‘You owe me more than one. You owe me a first-class Atlas Studios maiden movie, to be unveiled—hiccup-free—as part of my digital streaming relaunch in six months’ time. Make no mistake: you only get this one free pass. Let me down again and you’ll be out. Is that clear?’
‘Crystal.’
Gael hung up before more useless platitudes reached his ears and instructed his driver to alter their destination. It looked as if he was staying in New York for one more night.
Activating the phone again, he dialled a familiar number in Chicago. As he waited for his brother to pick up Gael admitted to himself that he felt the tiniest sliver of relief to have avoided the Chicago trip for one more day. Because, contrary to the challenge he’d thrown down to Alejandro a year ago, about his brother acknowledging him as his blood, Gael himself had never been inclined to claim the Aguilar name. No matter that there wasn’t any doubt as to his parentage, the name had never sat well on his shoulders.
After all, he was a bastard whose mother had tried to cloak his name in imagined respectability by naming him after the father who hadn’t wanted him. Had his mother not pleaded with him, Gael would’ve changed his surname to Vega years ago. But she’d beseeched him—out of the same bewildering devotion to the man she’d chosen to reproduce with, he was sure. And he’d relented. He’d withstood both the blatant and the silent mockery from strangers and gossipmongers from childhood into adulthood for as long as he could. Then, like his half-brother, he’d retreated to the other side of the world.
The news that their father was once again indulging in the extramarital affairs that had brought Gael into the world had turned his stomach. Alejandro, for his part, after a series of conversations with his parents, seemed a lot less bitter about the whole thing. Not so much Gael.
And, on top of that stomach-turning news, his last conversation with his mother hadn’t ended well when he’d found out she was entertaining his father’s advances again. Nor had the exchange he’d had with Alejandro lent any insight into why their respective biological parents were hell-bent on perpetuating chaos.
‘Do I want to know what you’re thinking?’
Alejandro’s question, posed after one too many whiskies in his brother’s office a few short weeks ago, slashed into Gael’s brain.
‘No.’
His brother’s brooding gaze settled on him. ‘Tell me anyway.’
‘I’m wondering why polygamy was ever banned,’ Gael had responded.
Low, bitter laughter had spilled from his half-brother. ‘Trust me, I’m a one-woman man, but the same thought has crossed my mind many times about our parents.’
‘You know what? I don’t think they’d be happy with polygamy, even were it an option. They’d still find a way to make their lives—and ours—a living hell.’
Sour amusement had disappeared under the cloud that always accompanied thoughts of his father and mother.
He didn’t like to lump them together as his parents because they’d never been that to him. Sure, Tomas Aguilar had attempted to make a mockery of a family with his mother when Gael was a child, but that had been more to do with his twisted game to hurt the wife who had worn his ring and borne his firstborn than with love for Gael or his mother.
His father, his mother...his past...had nothing to do with the issue that confronted him now. And he’d never been one to expend energy on fruitless ventures.
* * *
Gael arrived on the doorstep of the Othello Arts Institute late—courtesy of an accident on the Queensborough Bridge—and alighted from the back of the limo in a fouler mood than he’d been in two hours before.
Not because of the call with his director, or even the chaotic traffic. No, his teeth-grinding could be laid firmly at his brother’s feet.
Alejandro had been nauseatingly understanding of Gael’s excuses, even going as far as to put Elise, his fiancée, on the line, to reassure Gael that all was well and they would welcome him to Chicago any time he pleased.
Wondering whether his brother’s brooding tone had been meant to reassure him, or to deliver a subtle message that Alejandro still maintained an arm’s-length approach to their relationship, despite Gael himself wishing it so, was what had thrown him into a worse mood.
He pushed open the glass doors to the sharp-angled building and entered the world-renowned institution, clearly aware he was spoiling for a fight. He didn’t bother taking a steadying breath because it would be of no use. Only two methods restored his control when he felt like this—losing himself in computer code or losing himself between the thighs of a woman. One had made him richer than his wildest dreams. The other never failed to restore equilibrium to his very male aggression.
The urge to pull out his phone and arrange his next assignation with his flavour of the month was only curbed by the reminder that this inconvenient detour was still business. And business always—without exception—came before pleasure.
He sought directions to the room he needed and entered to find two casting directors ready and waiting.
An hour later Gael’s mood had taken a sharp dip further south. The auditions had gone worse than abysmally—and he’d arrived from the viewpoint of an outsider. Tense handshakes with the directors and a swift exit preceded his urge to go back on his word and fire his director immediately. If this was what he had in store then he was better off parting company with Ethan Ryland before the process advanced beyond salvaging.
Sí, someone most definitely needed to atone for his mood. He pulled the phone from his pocket.
And stopped.
The door to his left was only partially ajar, but he heard her clearly. Her voice, filled with pure, unadulterated emotion, carried even without being raised high.
Removing his hovering thumb from the call button, he pushed the door with his forefinger. When it started to creak he stopped and stepped back. Glancing up and down the quiet hallway, Gael saw another door farther away at the end of the auditorium. Quick strides granted him silent entry into the shadowed rear of the cavernous room in time to catch her impassioned speech.
‘You won’t leave me. I won’t let you. You think you love her, but you don’t. And, yes, I know you enough to tell you what is in your heart. I love you that much, Simon. Enough to forgive. Enough to take another chance on us. But for us to happen you need to stay. Please...take the chance.’
Gael realised he was holding his breath as he watched tears stream down her face. She raged for another minute, then collapsed onto the stage. Genuine sobs convulsed her petite body.
Against his will, he was riveted, the breath he’d scoffed at needing moments ago locked in his throat. He watched her struggle to her feet, saw a hiccup shake through her as the last of her emotion rippled free. She swiped at the tears with her wrists and walked to the edge of the stage, chest rising and falling, her gaze expectantly on the audition director—who stared at her for uncomfortably tense seconds without speaking.
A fizzle of irritation wove through Gael’s body and his already black mood darkened further at the director’s deliberate silence.
‘Your performance was...commendable, Miss Beckett. I can tell you poured your heart into it.’
A tiny hopeful smile from the performer. ‘Thank you. I did.’ The response was firm, but husky, probably owing to her emotional expenditure.
The director regretfully shook his head. ‘But sadly I need more than that. Heart is great, but what I need is soul.’
The actress frowned. ‘I don’t understand. That was my heart—and my soul.’
‘In your opinion. But not in mine.’
Gael felt her acute disappointment from across the room. She gave a slight shake of her head, as if to refute the director’s words. Then she gathered herself with admirable pride. ‘I’m sorry you think so. But thank you for your time.’
She started across the stage towards a shabby-looking rucksack near the door.
‘That’s it?’
The smirking taunt from the director tightened the knot of anger in Gael’s gut.
She paused. ‘Excuse me?’
‘According to your opening speech, you want this part more than you want your next meal. And yet you’re walking away without so much as a fight?’ the director sneered.
Her eyes widened. ‘I thought you said... You mean I have a chance?’
‘Everyone has a chance, Miss Beckett. What stands between you and the opportunities you receive, however, is how much you want it. Are you prepared to do whatever it takes?’
She nodded immediately. ‘Yes, I am.’
The director crooked his finger. She retraced her steps to the middle of the stage. Impatiently he beckoned her further forward. She approached without hesitation.
The beginnings of distaste filled Gael’s mouth as he watched naked hunger fill her face.
Somewhere in the middle of her performance she’d lost her shoes. Her bare toes breached the edge of the hardwood stage as she looked down at the director. He extracted a silver card from his pocket, traced it over the top of one foot down to her toes before laying it between her slightly parted feet.
‘This is what it’ll take, Miss Beckett. Pick it up and the part is yours.’
Gael had been on the receiving end of propositions for long enough to know what was going on. Dios mio, hadn’t he had the row of all rows with his mother only two weeks ago over just such an issue?
He expelled his breath in a quietly seething rush as he watched her slowly sink down and retrieve what looked unmistakably like a hotel room key card.
The disappointment that lanced through him was strong enough to make him question why the scene unfolding in front of him was affecting him so deeply. Perhaps today of all days, when the past seemed to be dogging him with its bitter memories, he’d wanted to be pleasantly surprised by the elusive integrity of the human spirit. To experience a pure character to go along with the pure performance that had stopped him in his tracks, touched him in ways he was still grappling with.
More fool him.
As the director’s hands moved to touch her feet Gael retreated as silently as he’d entered, his rigid gaze firmly averted from the sleazy scene unfolding on the stage.
He was looking for a fairy tale where none existed. Just as he’d once—futilely and childishly—prayed for a family that included a father who didn’t wish him out of existence.
He should know better. No. He had known better—for a very long time.
Even before he exited the building he knew those dredged-up feelings would be crushed beneath the immovable titanium power of his ambition and success. Emotional needs and futile dreams were far behind him. What he’d done with his life since that time in Spain was what mattered.
Everything else came a very pale second.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_d12dea32-66c9-591b-af8f-1552b5e29e20)
SO WHY WAS he back here mere hours later, pulling up in front of Othello? And at a time of night when there was guaranteed to be no one around?
Gael had resisted admitting it all day. But, despite the stomach-turning denouement, something about the woman’s performance itself had stayed with him. Enough to make him pass a few precious hours re-reading the carefully selected script he’d searched through thousands for before settling on two years ago. Enough to convince him to put aside his personal feelings and revisit the actress’s flawless performance.
And it had been flawless. With a true visionary’s direction she would be able to pull off the project he had in mind for his movie launch without a hitch. Help him achieve the best possible premiere for what would be the world’s largest independent streaming entity.
The project wasn’t by any means the only thing sustaining the launch, but if done right the results and the benefit to the whole conglomerate would be incomparable. His partners were counting on him to get this right. He was counting on himself to make this vision come true.
That was why he was here, approaching the front desk with little more than a surname and a firm grip on his distaste.
The receptionist looked up, did a double take that would have amused him had his mood been anything but grim.
‘Uh...may I help you, sir?’ she asked eagerly.
‘You have a student—a Miss Beckett. She was performing in room 307 this afternoon. I’d like to speak to her, por favor.’
The enthusiasm dimmed a touch. ‘Do you have her first name?’
Gael frowned. ‘No.’
The receptionist grimaced. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I can’t locate her without a first name.’
‘You have a lot of students named Beckett?’ he enquired.
‘I can’t give out that information, or even tell you if she’s a student here or not. The thing is, she may not be. We hold outside auditions here from time to time. She may have come in with a director...’ She stopped and cast a slightly uncomfortable glance at him, probably due to his increasing irritation with her babbling. ‘Sorry, sir, but if you want to leave a card...or your contact details... I’ll see what I can do?’
The smile was re-emerging, and the flick of her hair was transmitting signals he didn’t want to acknowledge.
With reluctance, Gael extracted his card and handed it over. She glanced at it, her eyes going wider still as she gave a soft gasp. He watched, his cynicism growing, as realisation and an accompanying degree of avarice entered her eyes.
His former company, Toredo Inc., had been a serious player on the streaming media platform—a hit with students and young professionals long before he’d teamed up with Alejandro and the Ishikawa brothers to form Atlas. Since then, he and his partners had rarely left the media’s attention.
He and Alejandro had only finished their world tour scouting to find satellite partners to enter into a joint venture with Atlas a few short months ago. During that time they’d conducted numerous media interviews, which meant his face had been plastered all over the news for weeks on end. Anyone with a decent search engine knew what the Aguilar brothers looked like, and how much they were worth—and, if their search had been thorough enough, their relationship status.
From her expression, the receptionist was no exception. He watched her cast an amusingly exaggerated look round the deserted reception area before clicking on the keyboard in front of her.
‘I think you’re looking for Goldie Beckett?’ she stage-whispered.
The name brought to mind corkscrew golden curls and honey-toned skin. Surprisingly fitting. ‘Sí,’ he confirmed. The chances of the name being wrong were minimal. If it was, he could always resume the search.
The receptionist nodded. ‘I really shouldn’t be doing this...but she was practising in the music room until five minutes ago. You just missed her.’
Gael stifled a curse. ‘Did you see which way she went?’
‘No, but I know she lives in Jersey, so she may be headed for the subway?’
‘Thank you,’ he bit out.
‘Uh...you’re welcome...’
She looked as if she wanted to continue the conversation. But Gael turned away, cutting short the familiar look that preceded a gentle but firm demand for something. A phone number. A favour for a friend. A personal favour. At any other time he would have been inclined to grant the mousy receptionist another minute of his time, even reward her for her help. He’d long accepted how things worked between him and the opposite sex. He gave when the mood took him. They took all the time—until he called a halt to their schemes and often naked greed.
But not tonight.
Not when an alien urgency rubbed under his skin, demanding he find the elusive Miss Goldie Beckett.
He rushed out into the street, already condemning the futility of his actions. This was New York City. Finding a single person in a throng of people on the sidewalk, even after nine at night, was insane. And yet his feet moved inexorably in the direction of the subway station. Behind him his chauffeur kept pace in the limo. Probably he was wondering what had possessed his employer, Gael mused.
He knew her name. All he had to do was pass it to his security people and let them find her. He’d witnessed her naked ambition for himself. All he needed to do to entice her was offer his name and the once-in-a-lifetime project he had in mind and she would come running. There was absolutely no need for him to pound the pavement.
He’d slowed his footsteps, thinking how idiotic he looked when he heard a scuffle in the alleyway.
Gael almost walked past. Unsavoury characters lurking in dark places were commonplace in cities such as this.
A husky cry and the flash of golden curls caught the corner of his eye. He stopped in his tracks, wondering if he was conjuring her up in his irritated desperation.
The alley was poorly lit, but not deep. His eyes narrowed as he tried to peer through the wisps of smoke pouring out of a nearby restaurant vent.
‘No, damn you, let go!’
The distinctive voice coupled with the decisive sound of clothing being ripped firmly altered his course, hurrying him towards the night-shrouded scene.
‘Lady, I won’t say it again. Give me the bag.’ A low, menacing voice sounded through the gloom.
A bold, mocking laugh. ‘At least you have the good manners to call me lady as you attempt to steal my property.’
‘It’ll be more than an attempt in a second if you don’t let go of the damn bag!’
The warning was followed by more sounds of a tussle. Then a muted scream, the distinctive thud of a body landing heavily and a hiss of pain.
Gael arrived at the scene in time to see a dark shadow loom at him, then rush past. The blocking move he threw out missed by a whisker, and the assailant was already rushing out of the alley. He had a split second to debate whether to go after the mugger or aid the victim. Gael chose the latter.
The vision before him scrambled upright from the grimy concrete. ‘God, no! Stop him! He’s got my purse!’
This time he caught the bundle that attempted to launch past him. Arms flailed in his hold. A firm, sinewy body twisted in his arms as he held her tight.
‘Dammit, let me go. He’s got my belongings.’
‘Calm yourself. You won’t catch him. He’s long gone by now,’ he replied, attempting to keep hold of the wriggling creature.
‘Only because you’re letting him get away. For God’s sake, let me go.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Hell, you’re his accomplice, aren’t you?’ she accused.
Gael reeled back in amused shock. ‘Perdón? You think I’m a thief?’
‘I don’t know what the heck you are. All I know is you’re stopping me from going after that piece of scum who’s just stolen my purse. What am I supposed to think?’
She pulled at his hold. Gael thought it was probably wise to let her go, but his hands wouldn’t co-operate.
‘You’re supposed to thank a person who has just come to your aid,’ he suggested.
Eyes of an indeterminate colour widened in disbelief. ‘He got my stuff before you arrived. You let him get away—and you think I should be grateful?’ she spat with quiet fury.
She had fire—he granted her that. But it was the shaking in her voice that drew his attention.
Gael gripped her arms in a firmer hold, careful not to spook her further. Although he was still mildly amused she thought him a thief, her agitation meant she might take flight if he let her go. ‘I’m not a thief, Miss Beckett. I assure you.’
She froze. And in the darkness he was beginning to become acclimatised to her gaze searched his with growing suspicion.
‘How do you know my name?’ she demanded, her voice husky with a different kind of emotion.
Fear.
That didn’t sit well with him. He let her go and stepped back, although he made sure to keep himself between her and the exit. Now he had her before him he wasn’t in the mood to go searching for her again should she bolt.
‘You have nothing to fear from me.’
She laughed mockingly, but her trepidation didn’t abate. ‘Says the man who’s keeping from leaving. Don’t think I didn’t notice the body-block. I’m warning you—I know Krav Maga.’
Again a tendril of amusement twitched at a corner of his lips. ‘So do I, pequeña. Perhaps we can spar some other time, when we’re both in the mood.’
‘I don’t spar just for the fun of it. I fight to defend myself. Now, either tell me why you’re here wasting my time, and how you know my name, or get out of my way.’
‘Your assailant is long gone. If you wish to report the incident I’m willing to lend you my phone.’
‘No, thanks. If you want to do something useful will yourself into getting out of my way instead, why don’t you?’
Gael shook his head. ‘Not until we’ve talked.’
‘I don’t know who you are or what you could possibly have to talk to me about that involves us standing in a dark, smelly alley.’
She started to skirt him. He let her go until she faced the exit and her perceived freedom.
‘I’m here because you’re of interest to me.’
‘I highly doubt that.’ She took a few steps backwards. Stumbled. Her breath caught as she righted herself. ‘I don’t know what your problem is, but I assure you I’m not worth stalking, if that’s your thing. And the sum total of my worth—which was eighty dollars—is now headed for the other side of the city, thanks to you. Anything else you want won’t be given willingly.’
She retreated a couple more steps, until she stood beneath the single lit bulb gracing the mouth of the alley.
Gael inhaled sharply. He’d thought her performance captivating across the wide expanse of an auditorium. At the time he hadn’t paid much attention to the woman herself. But he was looking now. And up close Goldie Beckett was...something else. Her dark honey-toned skin, even under the poor lighting, was vibrant and silky-smooth, her high cheekbones, velvety pouting lips and determined chin, a perfect enough combination to make his breath snag somewhere in his chest.
He wasn’t by any means new to the art of appreciating beautiful women. His electronic contact lists were filled with more than his fair share of phone numbers from past and possible future conquests. But there was something uniquely enthralling about Goldie Beckett’s face that riveted his attention.
Perhaps it was her eyes. Gael wasn’t sure whether they were blue, or the violet he suspected, but the big, alluring pools, even though they currently glared at him, were nevertheless absorbing enough to keep him staring.
As for her body... She couldn’t be more than five foot five, but even her lack of height—he preferred his women taller—didn’t detract from her attraction. Nor did it diminish the curvy frame currently wrapped in a black sweater and denim skirt in any way.
A torn black sweater, which gaped wide enough at the shoulder to reveal the strap of a lilac-coloured bra and the top of one voluptuous breast.
A thick silence ensued, during which she noticed where his gaze had landed. He admonished himself to get control in the few seconds before her hand snapped up to cover herself.
Her glare intensified even as her other hand crept around her neck and patted in a puzzled search. ‘Oh, great!’ she muttered eventually.
‘Something wrong?’ Gael asked, forcing his gaze from the hand covering her breast.
‘Don’t you mean something else wrong?’ she snapped. ‘Yes, something else is wrong. That...that lowlife didn’t just take my purse, he took my scarf too.’
Again there was a thin tremble in her voice that struck him the wrong way.
She was probably no longer apprehensive of his presence, but she’d been attacked and robbed. A closer scrutiny of her showed another rip in her tights and muddy scuff marks on her skirt and boots.
‘Are you hurt?’
Her mouth pursed and her eyes darkened. She regarded him, debating whether to furnish him with an answer. Slowly her free hand opened to reveal a bloodied deep welt across her palm.
A quiet fury rolled to life in his belly.
He balled his fist in his pocket to stop himself from reaching out to examine the wound more closely. He was absolutely sure she wouldn’t welcome the move. ‘My car is parked over there.’ He indicated with a jerk of chin. ‘If you come with me I’ll get you cleaned up. Before we talk.’
Her laughter mocked again, deeper this time. ‘I’m from New Jersey, Mr...whatever your name is, not Narnia. I don’t step through cupboards or into limos, however flash they look, out of naive curiosity.’
Gael gritted his teeth, reached into his pocket and brought out his business card. ‘My name is Gael Aguilar. I’m working on a project I think you might be interested in. I saw your...performance this afternoon and came back to look for you. The receptionist mentioned you’d just left. I came in this direction in the hope of finding you. Need I go on?’
She eyed him warily. ‘You hesitated before you said “performance”. Why?’
Gael was a little surprised that she hadn’t immediately jumped at the mention of his name, and that she wasn’t preening at the thought of being pursued as he’d pursued her. Most women would find that a compliment. But what shocked him more was that she’d cut through everything he’d said and singled out the slight trip in his voice triggered by what he’d witnessed after her audition that afternoon.
It wasn’t a flaw he wanted to dwell on. This wasn’t personal. It was business.
The reminder, and the fact that he’d been in this alley too long, tautened his voice. ‘It’s not productive to dwell on the cadence of my speech, Miss Beckett. You have my word that I mean you no harm.’ His gaze dropped to her hand. ‘My advice, though, would be to see to that wound before it gets infected. I can help. Then we can talk. I don’t want anything more from you.’
A slight frown marred her forehead before she looked over his shoulder at the limo. His driver stood to attention next to the back door and inclined his head at her. Her frown cleared.
Pressing home the advantage the sight his burly bodyguard and driver provided, Gael continued. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, you now have no means of reaching your destination tonight or contacting anyone for help?’
‘I’m far from as helpless are you’re making me sound, Mr Aguilar,’ she muttered, although her voice lacked conviction.
He remained silent, gave her time to arrive at the conclusion he needed. After a minute she held out her hand.
He handed her his card and she stared down at it. If she recognised the information there she gave no indication. She looked from him to the car, then at the card, and back to him.
‘You have a first aid kit in your car?’ she enquired, quietly but firmly.
He probably did, but he shrugged. ‘Possibly. I’ve never had occasion to use one. But my hotel is fifteen minutes away. We can get you cleaned up more efficiently there.’
She immediately shook her head. ‘No, sorry—that won’t work for me. That Narnia thing again, you know...?’
Gael stopped himself from growling his frustration. Never had he had to work this hard to get traction with a member of the opposite sex. Had he been in a better mood he would have been vastly amused. He shoved both hands into his pockets and thought fast.
‘I was supposed to attend a dinner party tonight, with thirty other guests, on the Upper East Side. I pulled out because of the prospect of a business meeting with you. We will go there. Is that enough reassurance for you?’
She stared back at him, her injured fist slowly curling. Gael knew the abrasion would be causing her discomfort by now.
‘Maybe...but how do I know the party is real and not some made-up fantasy?’
He compressed his lips before reaching for his phone. A few clicks and Pietro Vitale’s face filled his screen.
‘Gael, your presence has been missed. I’ve tried not to be insulted by a few of my female guests complaining that the party isn’t the same without you,’ his friend complained.
Gael’s gaze shifted from the screen to Goldie. Her mouth was set in a firm, mildly disapproving line. He angled the screen towards her and addressed Pietro. ‘I can remedy that, provided I can bring a guest?’
‘Of course, amico. More is merrier, sí? Also, the sooner, the better. Arrivederci!’
The Italian signed off.
‘Will that suffice or do I need to request a police escort as well?’ he drawled.
Goldie slowly shrugged. ‘This is fine.’
Gael exhaled, a curious tension leaving his body as he nodded. ‘Then come.’
Her eyes widened a fraction at his curt command, but she fell into step beside him. She summoned a tiny smile for his driver as he opened the back door for her. When she stooped to enter Gael forced his gaze from lingering on her rounded backside and shapely legs.
He entered after her and settled back in his seat. When she slid as far away from him as possible he experienced that mild irritation again. Considering what he’d witnessed in the auditorium this afternoon, her stand-offish behaviour was getting old.
‘We’ve established that I’m not about to force myself on you, Miss Beckett, so perhaps you could drop the terrified lamb routine?’
‘I’m not a lamb,’ she snapped. ‘And this isn’t a routine.’
‘Are you saying you’re always this suspicious of everyone?’
‘I’m suspicious of men who come out of nowhere and accost me in dark alleys—and, yes, men who are possibly wolves dressed in lambs’ clothing.’
‘And yet here you are,’ he said.
Her expressive eyes snapped at him. ‘What exactly are you saying?’
Gael stared at her as the car slid into traffic. ‘I mean your options aren’t looking very good right now. So perhaps a little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss. I might decide you’re not worth the effort and leave you to your fate. Is that what you want?’ he asked, watching her closely.
‘I’ve just been attacked. I’m within my rights to be wary,’ she replied.
‘Yes, but I think you trust your instincts too—which is why you’re here, no?’
‘You think you know me?’ she enquired, narrow-eyed.
‘I think my assessment is right. Instinct first, then after that you let other...urges guide you.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? What urges?’
His mouth twisted. ‘You tell me.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. And if this is the way our supposed business meeting is heading perhaps I’m better off cutting my losses right now.’
Gael sighed. ‘While you decide on that will you allow me to put your seat belt on for you? I wouldn’t want you to suffer another injury en route to what you imagine is your gruesome end.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re mocking me?’
He reached for the seat belt. ‘I’m trying to find a way to have a conversation without getting disagreed with at every turn.’
She inhaled long and hard, her gaze going from the buckle in his hand to his face. When he cocked an eyebrow she nodded and pressed herself back against the seat. Moving closer, Gael wondered whether his offer had been a good idea. Underneath the distinctive smell of her intimate acquaintance with alley concrete he caught the scent of apples and honeysuckle. And at close quarters he saw her pulse racing at her throat, her skin flushing when he drew the belt between her breasts.
The stirring in his groin wasn’t surprising—he was a red-blooded male, after all—but he cursed its presence all the same, especially when he cradled her hip for a precious few seconds before the lock slid home and his blood heated up to discomfort levels.
When he finished the task and sat back it wasn’t without a modicum of relief.
He was almost glad when she cleared her throat. ‘So, what do you want to talk to me about?’
He brought his mind firmly back to task. To business. ‘I have a proposition for you. If you’re agreeable we’ll get you cleaned up first, then we’ll talk, sí?’
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_c94984e5-1665-5aae-949b-07a822ed68e4)
GOLDIE TRIED TO FOCUS as the sleek, luxurious car rolled down Columbus Avenue and turned on to Central Park West. She didn’t think she’d hit her head when that horrid brute had wrestled her purse away from her. And yet a hazy sensation, as if she’d fallen down a rabbit hole, swirled all around her, making her wonder if her faculties were intact. Making her wonder if she’d heard him right.
What had this unfathomably riveting stranger said? A proposition.
She wanted to snort under her breath. Nothing good could come out of a proposition from a man like that. A man with the face of a fallen angel, hell-bent on practising his sorcery on unsuspecting women. A man with a voice so hypnotic she wondered if he’d practised that precise cadence and for how long before he’d attained that perfect sizzling-you-to-your-toes note that accompanied each faintly accented word.
He was the kind of man who was everything her mother had always yearned for and never achieved. The exact type of man Goldie had sworn off after witnessing time and again the way they used their God-given attributes mercilessly.
Goldie didn’t hate all men. But she drew a particular line at playboys with enigmatic eyes and captivating faces that defied adequate description and bodies to match. Throw in the type of wealth and raw power this man next to her exuded and her warning bells clanged loud enough to be heard on the Long Island Sound.
So what was she doing in his car?
Goldie frowned, then answered her own question. Circumstances had forced her into it. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still in control. Of her mental faculties and of her body. That zing she’d felt when he’d secured her seat belt had been a temporary aberration. The whole last hour had been a surreal sequence of events she intended to put behind her as soon as possible.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. When she was certain his phone had absorbed his attention, she turned and stared at his profile.
Seriously, he was like a Roman statue she’d once seen at the Museum of Natural History when she’d visited with her mother. Their trip had occurred on one of the rare times when her mother had been sober and coherent enough to make the visit. They’d stared at the statue for what had felt like an eternity, absorbing its unspeakable beauty. Her mother had sighed wistfully before her eyes had filled with tears.
Goldie had known what those tears were about. What they were always about. Wishes unfulfilled. A past thrown away because she’d made the wrong choices. The biggest one of which had been letting Goldie’s father get away. A lump had risen to Goldie’s throat as she’d watched her mother stare hard at the statue, wishing it was flesh and blood.
It had been a fruitless wish, of course.
Except Gael Aguilar was a living, breathing version of that statue.
A version who turned his head and stared straight at her in the next moment, blasting her with long-lashed light hazel eyes. Goldie attempted to look away, but for some stupid reason she couldn’t drag her gaze from him.
‘This proposition of yours...what’s it got to do with your occupation?’
The scrape in her palm was filthy and stinging badly. Enough that it made unclenching her hand difficult. She dropped her other hand from her ripped sweater long enough to pull the business card from her pocket. It read ‘CEO, Atlas Group’. She’d made it her business to research every TV and movie production company in New York, Hollywood and Canada, just so she wouldn’t miss any opportunities that might whisper past the hallowed halls of Othello. She’d never heard of Gael Aguilar’s company.
‘It’s a new arm of my company.’
‘So you were trolling the halls looking for guinea pigs?’ she asked.
For some reason that amused him. Both sides of his sensual mouth lifted. Even that small action lightened his face in a way that made her breath catch. Made her wonder what it would be like to be the recipient of a full, genuine smile.
‘We really need to get off the subject of animal references. I’m a man. You’re a woman. Let’s refer to ourselves as such, sí?’ he drawled with a raised brow.
Something in his gaze made her self-conscious. She cursed silently when heat rushed up to redden her face. Because of her chosen career she’d needed to train herself not to blush at the drop of a hat, and yet she was doing just that, simply at the droll, slightly mocking look in his eyes.
‘My question still stands,’ she sniped, to cover her uneasiness.
‘And it will be answered in the fullness of time. I need your undivided attention for that discussion.’
‘What makes you think you don’t have that now?’
‘You mean in between trying to hang on to your modesty and the swelling of your hand?’ he enquired, his tone almost gentle.
For some reason that made something tighten in her midriff. Before she could form a disagreeable response he was leaning forward. He snagged a bottle of water from the well-stocked bar at his side of the car. Snapping the plastic top free, he wet a handful of tissues and turned to her.
‘May I?’ he requested, again in that gentle voice she didn’t want to associate with him. Men like him weren’t gentle. Men like him were predators, only intent on taking, taking, taking and leaving behind callously discarded husks.
Goldie wanted to refuse on principle, in solidarity with her poor mother and with the bitterness that sometimes spilled into her just from being close to it. She didn’t doubt that her mother’s bitterness had stained her in some way, made her wary of certain types of men. Men like the casting director from today’s audition, for instance.
She silently shook her head, veering away from the subject even while admitting she was old enough to know some of the blame for her mother’s current circumstances came from Gloria Beckett herself. It took two to tango, after all.
Tango.
Okay, she wasn’t going to allow an image of her tangoing with this man to cloud her already dizzying thoughts. Determinedly she clenched her gut against any more fanciful thoughts and held out her right hand.
Gael Aguilar cupped her hand in his. Goldie forced herself to ignore the alarming tingling where they touched and watch clinically as he cleaned her wound as best as the meagre supplies allowed. He worked quickly and efficiently, his manner gentle but firm. When he was finished, he disposed of the tissues and eyed her with a steady look.
‘Better?’
She tested the flexibility in her hand and gave a short nod. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘You see, we’re not above civility after all, Miss Beckett.’
Despite the amusement in his voice there was a thin veil of something else in there...something she couldn’t pinpoint. Or perhaps she wasn’t willing to pinpoint it?
She’d puzzled over this man for far longer than common sense dictated was wise. ‘Are we there yet?’ she asked instead, then cringed at the juvenile question.
His amusement increased.
Certain he was about to make another joke at her expense she hurried to add, ‘I don’t have all night.’ She glanced at her watch, her heart lurching when she realised the time. ‘In fact, I don’t think I can do this thing tonight after all. I need to be somewhere else.’
Her mother needed only the smallest excuse to regress into depression and fall off the wagon. Goldie had assured her she’d be home by ten. Any later and her mother would fret. Fretting would inevitably lead to her seeking solace at the bottom of a bottle. Goldie could only pray that her mother had fallen asleep watching TV tonight.
‘You need to be somewhere else? And you didn’t think to mention that before you got into my car?’ His amusement had vanished. Light hazel eyes narrowed incisively on her. ‘Is this some sort of game?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Are you wasting my time, Miss Beckett?’
Irritation rushed up her spine. ‘With respect, you insisted on this meeting. Granted, I’m curious to find out just what this proposition is, but I hadn’t realised how late it was—’
‘And suddenly you need to be somewhere else? You have someone waiting for you, perhaps? Boyfriend?’ His gaze dropped to the hand curled into her lap. ‘Husband?’
The word held a sneer that stiffened her back, and again she caught that look in his eyes. As if he held her far below his normal regard.
Puzzlement and that growing irritation made her frown. ‘That really isn’t your business, is it, Mr Aguilar? Are you in the habit of interrogating your potential business colleagues like this? It is business you intend to discuss with me, isn’t it? If not, then I suggest you let me out right now—because I wouldn’t want to waste more of your time!’
His jaw flexed for a second before his expression turned neutral. Eyes that had been mocking and mildly amused became opaque. ‘It is a business proposition. If you need to be elsewhere, then so be it. But will you be able to live with yourself if you don’t find out whether this is an opportunity you want to miss or not?’
There was a taunt in those words. There was also a look in his eyes as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted her to say yes or no.
‘Does that line usually work for you?’
A sculpted eyebrow went up. ‘What line?’
‘The “do things my way or you’ll kick yourself for ever” scam?’
He gave a half-sigh, half an irritated huff. ‘I grow tired of this vacillating. You have one minute to say yes or no. Starting right now.’
He had the temerity to stare pointedly at his watch.
Dear God, she really had fallen down a rabbit hole! She thought she’d hit bottom with the sleazy proposition from that casting director this afternoon. It still made her skin crawl. But had she merely fallen into another dimension? One where the person making a proposition wasn’t even certain whether he wanted his offer accepted or not, but went ahead and dared her to consider it anyway?
About to shake her head to clear it, she saw his eyes sharpen.
‘Make up your mind, Miss Beckett. We’re here.’
Goldie looked out of her window. Sure enough, they’d pulled up in front of one of those flashy-looking high-rises that dotted the Manhattan skyline. This one came complete with liveried doorman, shiny awning, and a uniformed concierge behind an imposing reception desk.
She redirected her attention to the man whose posture held more than a whiff of impatience and arrogance. ‘Twenty minutes. That’s all I have.’
His mouth thinned. ‘We shall see.’
About to ask him what he meant, she found her words choked off when he opened his door and alighted, then turned to hold out his hand.
She didn’t want to touch him. Not after the way it had felt the last time. And because she didn’t want to let go of the tear in her top that showed half her boob. She shifted along the seat, and was debating how to exit with as much dignity as she could muster when he reached in and scooped her out as if she weighed nothing.
‘What are you— Put me down!’ she spluttered, outrage filling her as he marched her through the double doors being held open by the doorman and into a waiting lift.
He set her down and immediately the doors slid shut. The whole thing had happened in less than two minutes, and yet Goldie felt as if she’d just experienced the headiest, longest rollercoaster ride of her life. Impressions of heat, masculine scent, tensile strength, strong capable arms and...absurdly...above all, safety, buffeted her as she stared at him in astonishment from her side of the lift space.
Once he’d pressed the button for the penthouse he stepped back with a cool look. ‘You said twenty minutes. I wasn’t about to have the time eaten away while you decided which leg to use to exit the car.’
‘My God, you’re insane!’ Or maybe she was. She hadn’t been given the chance to dissect things properly yet.
His jaw flexed and his hands were rammed into his pockets. ‘Far from it, querida. Someone has to remain rational in what is fast turning into a farce. Tell me—do you always make a huge production out of every small decision?’
‘You don’t know me well enough to label me a drama queen, Mr Aguilar.’
Suddenly the air in the lift thickened. The glance he levelled at her held the heavy weight of judgement. ‘I’ve seen enough to reach a conclusion, I think.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she countered.
One hand emerged from his pocket long enough to wave her away. ‘We will not waste time discussing inconsequential subjects.’
‘Do you go out of your way to ride roughshod over everyone you meet, or am I the lucky recipient of your special attention?’
He shrugged, sent her a sardonic whisper of a smile and exited the lift, once again leaving Goldie looking at him askance.
She followed him out, then drew to a halt when the double doors before them were flung open to reveal a stocky Italian with twinkling brown eyes, shoulder-length hair and a wide grin.
‘Gael! Amico! You’re here. Now my night is complete.’ His gaze swung to Goldie, looked her over, and his grin dimmed a touch. ‘Okay, this is...interesting. My friend, do you care to tell me why your plus one is in this state? I trust you implicitly, of course, and I’m sure in a fight you’d come out the winner, but I’m not averse to attempting to kick your butt if you had something to do with the lady’s um...state...’
‘“The lady” is standing right in front of you,’ Goldie offered with a saccharine smile. ‘And trust me, she’s quite capable of answering for and defending herself.’
The man’s concerned look dissolved, to be replaced by the wide smile again. ‘Of course. Tell me your tale, sweet one, and allow me to vanquish those that need vanquishing.’
Goldie felt a reluctant smile tug at her lips. ‘I’m fine. Really. And it wasn’t...your friend’s fault.’
‘So he was your rescuer?’ the Italian asked hopefully.
‘I wouldn’t stretch it that far.’ She looked at the man in question to see mockery and a tight little smile playing at his lips.
‘Sí, Pietro, we’re still trying to work out the finer details of our...association. But perhaps if you would be so kind as to point out the bathroom Goldie can clean up?’
Pietro nodded. ‘Of course, of course. Come with me.’
He led them through the double doors and immediately turned into a bright hallway. Goldie got an impression of grey and gold decor, loud but not intrusive music, and lots of laughter coming from the living room before Gael Aguilar’s presence beside her grabbed her focus. He really was imposing. And taller than she’d thought in the alley. As for those broad shoulders—
‘Here you are.’ Pietro turned a door handle and nudged it open to reveal a large bedroom. ‘The bathroom is through there. You should have everything you need. If not, please let me know.’
Goldie found another small smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘Prego.’ Pietro returned her smile, then with a nod at Gael walked away.
Gael remained, his eyes on her. Her senses began to jump and dip in that alarming way again.
‘I’m fine to take it from here,’ she said, when he made no move to leave.
He made an impatient sound. ‘I think we’ve established that I’m not going to attack you, Miss Beckett. Accepting my help won’t dislodge your feminine independence. Besides, trying to see to your wound with your non-dominant hand is going to eat into my twenty minutes. Unless you want to restart the clock?’
Goldie pressed her lips together, wanting to be annoyed with him for the way he made her feel a touch ridiculous. But, short of telling him she tended to refuse help from men like him on principle alone, thus probably seeming even more ridiculous despite her beliefs, she couldn’t think of how to counter his assertion.
‘Okay, thanks.’ The words came out far too easily. Her brain knew it and her accelerating heartbeat acknowledged it as he stepped into the room and shrugged off his jacket.
His navy shirt clung to thick, sleek muscle as he flung the jacket away and moved towards the bathroom. She followed slowly, trying to hold at bay the sensation of orbiting close to a ravenous vortex.
She arrived in the spacious bathroom to find him setting out first aid materials on the double-width vanity unit. When he had finished he started to fold back his shirtsleeves.
Goldie tried to look away from strong, brawny forearms feathered with dark wispy hair as they were revealed. But the urge was hard to resist.
Her breath caught lightly as he glanced behind him and cocked his head at her.
‘Come to the sink. We’ll wash your wound properly before I apply some antiseptic.’
She joined him at the sink, taking care not to stand too close when his presence registered so insistently next to her. Gael Aguilar was dominating. His body seemed to vibrate with a force field that mercilessly drew every living thing into its orbit.
He turned on the taps, tested the temperature, then held out his hand. Recalling the tingling when he’d touched her in the car, Goldie wanted to refuse. But this silly dance had gone on long enough. She needed to get this over with and go back to her life. Her mother.
Thoughts of Gloria spurred her on.
She gave him her hand and once again he cupped it in his. And once again the tingling started. Only this time the sensation was twice as intense. Whether it was to do with the bright lights of the bathroom, which cast their skin to skin contact in a vivid tableau, or with the fact that he was much closer to her than he’d been in the car, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that touching Gael, having his thumbs move across her palm as he rinsed the angry gash, was like nothing else she’d ever felt.
When her breath felt strangled the sound was audible in a silence marred only by their mingled breathing. Like in the car, his movements were gentle. But the fire he created with his fingers was not. Growing alarmingly short of breath, Goldie wanted to snatch her hand from his. But then he made a sound. And she looked up. Their eyes met in the mirror. She forgot to breathe all together.
Gael’s eyes had grown darker, stoked with a dark fire that made her belly clench tight. Recognising the feeling as her first ever genuine sexual attraction, Goldie gasped. His gaze dropped to her parted mouth. Stayed riveted until the almost visceral stare made her lips twitch with a need that bordered on alien.
Beneath the running tap his hands continued to caress hers. But neither of them moved their gazes except to drift them over each other’s faces, returning over and over again to their mouths.
She wanted to kiss him. Be kissed by him. Now.
Her lips parted.
Gael made a sound beneath his breath. A guttural, primitive sound. And he broke his gaze from hers.
Released from the power of that rabid scrutiny, Goldie gulped greedily on the air flowing back into her lungs. Along with even more alarm at what had just happened. The thoughts she’d entertained, the want coursing through her...
Dear God... What’s wrong with me?
After that sordid, grossly insulting proposition the casting director had flung her way this afternoon, sex should be the last thing on her mind. It should be buried even deeper than normal, beneath the tight, rigid focus of her ambition and her need to make something of herself. Her need not to end up like her mother—a slave to her sexual needs and emotional wellbeing, dependent on others for her happiness.
And yet here she was, letting this man touch her, trail his long fingers over her skin as if he were caressing a lover. And she...she liked it.
She withdrew her hand abruptly, almost knocking it against the side of the sink in her haste to dislodge the electricity his touch created.
‘I... Thanks. Can we get on with it now, please?’ she said, avoiding another look into those burnished gold eyes.
He muttered something beneath his breath in Spanish. But he snagged a hand towel and wrapped it around her hand before he drew her to the vanity unit.
‘Sit down.’
The order was firm enough to put her back up, but she wasn’t in the mood to argue any longer so she sat down where he indicated and held out her now slightly less throbbing hand.
The antiseptic stung, made her wince.
‘Are you okay?’ he enquired, in a deep, low voice.
Goldie wanted to look up, felt almost compelled to look into those eyes again, but she forced her gaze to remain on the clinical movements of his medical attention.
‘Yes, thank you.’
He completed the cleansing, then applied a light bandage over her palm. Her hand felt a million times better by the time he was finished.
‘Now for your head.’
‘What?’
He held up another cotton bud. It was then that Goldie registered the slight throb at her temples. Something like relief poured through her. Then she silently grimaced at being glad of the minor head injury. The small gash which Gael was now cleaning didn’t really explain her temporary lapse of control or the low hum through her veins. But she clung to it as the cause just the same.
Once he was done he stepped back. His gaze dropped to the hand she still had on the wide tear in her sweater. A hand growing numb from holding the torn garment in place.
‘What are we going to do about this?’ he enquired.
She bit her lip, recognising that she couldn’t very well go out into the party with a rip in her sweater. The ripped tights she could take care of by removing and disposing of them. But the tattered sweater would stand out—and not in a good way.
‘I... I couldn’t impose on you to find me a sewing kit, could I?’ she ventured.
His eyes widened a touch, dark gold lightening to its natural hazel colour as mockery returned. ‘I sincerely doubt Pietro would have something so domestic lying about. But I will do my best.’
He balled the hand towel he’d used and threw it into the laundry bin before he left the bathroom.
His departure infused the room with a lot more oxygen and a lot more clarity.
Goldie jumped off the vanity unit and stared at herself in the mirror. Besides the notable evidence of her tussle with the mugger, she didn’t look as horrid as she felt. But she had lost her phone, the little money she had and, more importantly, all the details of the casting directors and agents she’d planned to contact in the hope of landing a job.
Her last paying job had been an infomercial three weeks ago, which had paid enough to sustain her and her mother’s bills for another month. Her mother’s part-time job as a waitress paid very little. Things were getting more than a little tight.
She’d gone into today’s audition with more hope than expectation. When it had gone well she’d allowed herself to hope even harder. Until her hopes been dashed by the slimy words rolling off the director’s tongue.
‘My hotel room. Nine p.m. Perform well between the sheets and I’ll make your dreams come true.’
Goldie had barely managed to stop herself from being sick before she ran out of the auditorium and into the bathroom. Locking herself in a stall, she’d been ashamed of the tears she’d allowed to fall. But she was proud that she had picked herself up and returned to the music room to practise her singing. She wouldn’t give up because of one casting director who gave his profession a bad name. She couldn’t afford to.
Taking a deep breath, she tugged off her boots and cleaned them with tissues, then finished tidying herself up as best she could. Spotting a dressing gown hanging behind the door, she quickly took off her clothes, disposed of the ripped tights and shrugged on the gown. She was securing the belt around her waist when Gael knocked.
Self-consciousness assailed her, even though the gown draped her from shoulder to ankle. Sucking in a deep breath, she opened the door.
What Gael Aguilar held out to her was most definitely not a sewing kit. ‘My assumption was correct, it seems. This will have to do instead. Courtesy of Pietro’s absent niece.’
Goldie eyed the scrap of material in his hand. The black cloth had probably started life in a designer’s imagination as what a dress looked like. But even without examining it too closely she could tell it would be too small. On some level she knew Gael was probably trying to help. But the man’s presence aggravated her on such a raw, subliminal level that she shook her head firmly in refusal. ‘No, I don’t think this will work.’
His mouth firmed. ‘Go against your wish to fight me on every front, Miss Beckett, and just try it on. You might be surprised. Unless you wish to join the party in that dressing gown?’
Since that was out of the question, she bit back a grimace and took the dress. Eyeing the garment, she fingered the label, her breath catching slightly when she caught sight of the exclusive designer name. ‘Okay, I’ll wear it.’
She’d expected her acquiescence to draw another mocking response from him. Instead a hard look settled in his eyes.
‘I’m glad you find something agreeable. Try not to keep me waiting too long, sí?’ he drawled.
Goldie shut the door without responding. She suspected dealing with a man like Gael Aguilar would be trying enough at the best of times. Add the circumstances of their meeting, and the fierce awareness that showed no signs of abating whenever they were in close proximity... She admitted that her spinning senses weren’t up to dealing further with the torrent of emotions he elicited.
Returning the gown to its hook, she stepped into the dress and tugged the inch-wide straps onto her shoulders. One look in the mirror drew a gasp. The material was luxuriously elastic enough to accommodate her curves but still give her room to breathe. Reluctantly fingering the hem that ended at mid-thigh, she admitted it looked spectacular, and it felt like heaven next to her skin. But the back...
Goldie eyed the exposure of her skin from nape to waist and swallowed deeply. No way could she carry off wearing her bra with this dress. Heat rushed into her cheeks as she took a deep breath and unclipped her bra. Stuffing it into the vanity unit drawer, she grabbed her boots and tugged them on. Their familiarity brought a touch of balance and, after combing her hands through her hair again, she turned and opened the door.
He was standing at the far side of the bedroom, his surprisingly brooding gaze focused out of the French windows onto the New York night skyline.
Goldie walked in and drew to a halt in the middle of the room, her gaze once again homing in with almost helpless intent on the man who leaned with such loose-limbed indolence against the wall.
His head turned and his gaze hooked on hers before his scrutiny dropped. His sharp inhalation echoed through the room as he took her in, the hands in his pockets visibly bunching as he straightened abruptly.
And stared.
Sexual awareness, now recognised as the potent substance it was, was unstoppable as it lanced her. Intensified just from the look in his eyes.
Beneath the expensive silk and elastic blend heat suffused her, rushing through her body in a maddening dash she had no hope of stopping. But she tried. Heaven help her, she had to. Or she’d lose her mind.
Slicking her tongue desperately over her lower lip, she cleared her throat. ‘I’m ready to hear your proposition now, Mr Aguilar.’
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_7a8ac902-9b4a-526c-9772-57faa4991394)
THE HEATED LOOK didn’t abate in his eyes. But her words, like so many others tonight, seemed to trigger a response within him.
A negative one this time.
After a few charged seconds his expression grew shuttered, and his aura when he approached her vibrated with repressed emotions she couldn’t place her finger on.
‘Gael,’ he clipped out as he passed her and headed for the door.
‘Excuse me?’
‘My name is Gael. I prefer it to Mr Aguilar. Use it.’
‘That sounds curiously like an order,’ she replied.
He stopped abruptly, turned to face her. A deep sustaining breath lifted his chest before he speared her with his incisive gaze. ‘We’ve both had a trying day, Goldie. Can we attempt to make it slightly less trying before we part ways?’
She was sure it was the use of her name, spoken so smoothly, so sizzlingly, that drew the fight from her, made her lift one shoulder in a feeble shrug. ‘Sure, I can try.’
‘Gracias,’ he intoned. Then added, ‘Thank you.’
‘Um...no problem.’
A tinge of amusement lit his eyes before he shook his head. ‘“No problem” aren’t words I associate with you.’ He abruptly held up one hand. ‘Not that I want to test the theory right now. Come, we shall get a drink and find a place to hold our discussion, yes?’
At her nod he resumed his exit, slowing his long stride to accommodate hers.
They entered a large, rectangular living room, decorated with a severely modern and minimalist hand. The centrepiece of the room was the futuristic-looking light fixture that seemed to take up almost a quarter of the ceiling space. Beneath this gleaming white and silver masterpiece Pietro’s guests laughed and mingled. The man himself was the centre of attention, surrounded by a coolly elegant circle of females.
His grin widened when he spotted them approaching, and he beckoned them with open arms.
‘Ah, there you are. Confirmation of our adventures in the Andes is needed, my friend. Sadly, I don’t think these fine ladies here believe a word I’m saying!’ he said to Gael.
Gael’s gaze drifted over the ladies in question, who sparkled and preened even harder under his attention. Although he smiled, Goldie noticed the mirth didn’t touch his eyes. Not that the action didn’t have the desired devastating effect. Almost without exception every woman in the group strained towards him, their gazes rabidly checking him out.
‘That particular pleasure will have to wait, my friend. I have more important things to attend to right now.’ He turned to the waiter who had appeared next to him and snagged two glasses of champagne.
Goldie dragged her attention from the nearest fawning woman to shake her head as he offered her one of the glasses. ‘No, thank you. I don’t drink.’
She caught more than one woman sniggering.
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