One Night in Buenos Aires: The Vásquez Mistress. Sarah Morgan

rose smoothly upwards and she stared at the view.

      ‘It’s stunning.’

      ‘Actually it’s on the market,’ Raul said stiffly. ‘I’ve discovered that a glass lift isn’t a good choice if you want privacy.’

      And Raul was fiercely protective of his privacy, she knew that. This particular billionaire wasn’t about to become public property, and he invested time and effort into keeping his profile as low-key as possible. His extreme wealth had protected their relationship from the intrusion of the outside world.

      She’d been spoiled, cosseted, protected and most of the time she hadn’t even been aware of that fact because everything in his life ran so smoothly and discreetly.

      His main residence was the Beach House in the grounds of the estancia, ten thousand acres of prime real-estate that stretched from the Atlantic coast of Argentina into the grasslands. Under Raul’s watchful eye, his dedicated staff, which had once included her, bred and trained polo ponies, and the estancia was the first port of call for the super-wealthy who enjoyed that particular sport.

      With typical flare and vision, Raul had tapped into a market where the very, very rich would pay for the privilege of receiving the very best polo instruction and advice on the purchase of a string of ponies, safe from the prying eyes of the world’s press. It also allowed Raul to indulge his daredevil streak—as one of the country’s most daring polo players, he thrived on the thrilling adrenalin rush of the game.

      But the stud-farm was only a small part of an empire that encompassed hotels, finance and export. Applauded by the financial pages of the world’s newspapers for his astonishing vision, Raul had diversified sufficiently to ensure that any change in the markets would have no effect on the overall profitability of his business.

      The lift doors opened and Raul strode out, as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her. After a moment’s hesitation Faith followed, knowing that if she didn’t do so voluntarily, he’d simply haul her out himself.

      The penthouse apartment spread over the top of the building, a dazzling, soaring living-space designed to give the occupant breathtaking views over Buenos Aires.

      ‘It is stunning,’ she muttered weakly. ‘Another world.’ And at that moment she almost laughed at herself.

      It was another world. The world he lived in. How had she ever thought she could just step into his life with no problems?

      A frown touching his strong, dark brows, Raul turned his head and stared out of the window, as if the view wasn’t something he’d noticed before. ‘It’s a city.’

      His reply was so rigidly polite that Faith felt as though she was on a blind date with a stranger. ‘If you didn’t buy it for the view, why did you choose it?’

      He gave a careless lift of his broad shoulders, as if he considered it an odd question. ‘I needed somewhere to shower and change in between meetings. And it’s an investment.’

      He was standing still but she could feel the energy pulsing from every centimetre of his powerful frame. She’d never met anyone as driven as Raul. ‘Does money come into every decision you make?’

      ‘Not always.’ His charcoal-dark eyes locked on hers, his gaze boldly explicit and she understood the unspoken message in that one blistering look.

      If he’d been thinking about money, he wouldn’t have chosen her.

      Looking at him now, at the careless arrogance he wore with the same ease as his expensive clothes, she wondered how she’d ever felt comfortable with him.

      Everything about him screamed power and success but on top of that he possessed a raw, dominant sexuality that had always rendered her breathless.

      For a moment his burning gaze held her captive, the sheer force of his personality preventing her from looking away.

      In the end it was Raul who broke that connection, turning from her with a sudden movement that suggested an underlying tension of almost unbearable proportions. ‘I haven’t shown you round properly, but the bedroom is up the stairs.’ His voice was tight, clipped, as if he were restraining himself not to say a great deal more. ‘Take a shower and help yourself to some clothes from the wardrobe.’

      Clothes? Her heart lurched and the dull, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach returned. Since when did he keep a spare set of clothes for female guests? She’d never been here, which could only mean that …

      Reminding herself that the way he chose to live his life was no longer any of her business, Faith curled her fingers into her palms.

      ‘Upstairs?’

      ‘It’s a duplex penthouse.’ With a spare, minimal gesture he angled his glossy, dark head and she belatedly noticed a curving staircase in one corner of the room.

      ‘Fine.’ Not trusting herself to stay cool in front of him, she stalked across the apartment and up the stairs, horribly conscious of his eyes tracking her every movement.

      She found herself in a sumptuous master-bedroom suite that extended over the whole of the top floor. Gripped by the sharp claws of jealousy, she kept her eyes firmly averted from the enormous bed. Raul had had women before her, she knew that. But she’d always told herself that they were part of his past.

      Only now was it dawning on her that she’d never really known this dangerous, complicated, hotly sexual man. When he’d flown to Buenos Aires for meetings, had he been alone? Could Raul deprive himself of sex for a few nights? Remembering his almost insatiable hunger for her body, she doubted it. He was a man of apparently limitless stamina in every area of his life and the demands he placed upon himself would have exhausted a lesser man.

      Reminding herself that none of that was supposed to matter to her any more, she made straight for the bathroom.

      Even there she couldn’t escape the vagaries of her imagination because the amazing glass bath was easily large enough for two, as was the shower.

      And she knew enough of Raul’s sexual appetites to know that he wouldn’t have restricted his activities to the bedroom.

      Trying to block out the distressing image of those skilled, bronzed hands on another woman, she stripped off her damp clothes and stepped under the shower. Why would she care that he had another woman? She didn’t want him, did she? Not after what he’d believed of her. He was right—they were totally wrong for each other. She was a modern, thinking woman. He was a ruthless tycoon who inhabited a world she hadn’t even known existed. And that world had made him cynical and hard.

      She probably should have ended the relationship and maybe she would have if it hadn’t been for the one small fact that he’d overlooked when he’d delivered that piece of advice.

      She loved him.

      Totally, completely and utterly. To the point where the mere idea of leaving would have been laughable.

      And he’d taken that love and crushed it.

      Closing her eyes, she let the hot water scald her skin, finding the warmth strangely soothing. After the clinical scent of the hospital it was pure bliss to lather indulgent products into her hair and body. She could have stayed under the shower for ever, but she knew that if she didn’t emerge soon Raul would come looking for her and she didn’t want that. Reluctantly she stemmed the flow of hot water, dried herself on one of the heated towels and walked into the dressing room.

      Steeling herself for seeing a range of glamorous dresses, she was taken aback to see nothing but male clothing, both formal and casual.

      Suits, shirts, ties, shoes—nothing remotely feminine or glittery.

      Relief swamped her, closely followed by exasperation because she didn’t want to feel anything. She didn’t want to care. Shaking her head in despair, she wondered how she was ever going to divorce herself from this man. It wasn’t the legal side that worried her—that would be simple enough. The real problem was the mental