Patriot Threat. Steve Berry

direction.’

      ‘You doubt it?’

      No. But she wouldn’t own to it for all the tea in China. Instead she directed him a dark glare, then turned and moved swiftly towards the head of the staircase…only to discover he’d deliberately kept pace with her.

      ‘I’ll call a taxi.’ It was a last-ditch effort for independence, which merely incurred a swift brooding look more effective than any words could be.

      ‘You really are the most annoying, incredibly arrogant man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet,’ Gianna flung at him when they reached the spacious garage, and she stood in defiant silence as he used a remote to unlock the Mercedes.

      ‘Get in, Gianna.’

      His voice was dangerously quiet, and there was something apparent in his dark eyes that warned retribution if she chose to argue further.

      In the name of heaven, why was she behaving like a recalcitrant child? She had never thrown a tantrum in her life, or given in to a hissy fit…even in the most dire of circumstances.

      So why now?

      Because every moment she spent in Raúl’s presence highlighted what they’d both shared, and her anger was merely a mechanism to shore up the protective barriers she’d erected against him.

      Because she was desperately afraid he might break those barriers down…and, worse, dispense with them.

      And then where would she be?

      Right back where she’d been three years ago…a heartbroken mess.

      A bitter laugh rose and died in her throat.

      Self-preservation.

      OK, so she’d do this.

      Without a further word she slid into the front passenger seat, fastened the seat belt, and sat in silence as Raúl sent the powerful car out through the gates.

      Where were they heading? El Corte Inglés at the Avenidas in Palma? Or would he seek a boutique in any one of several luxury hotels?

      A hotel boutique, she determined as he sought valet parking, then ushered her into a boutique where the vendeuse greeted him by name and almost genuflected with enthusiasm at a promised sale.

      Raúl Velez-Saldaña happened to be a well-known identity whose photograph often graced the media. Recognition didn’t necessarily mean he’d purchased gowns or high-end designer shoes here for other women.

      And why should it concern her if he had?

      Because it does… Which hardly made any sense. She no longer loved him. Hell, she didn’t even like him.

      Liar.

      Why else had she become a restless sleeper, knowing he slept in a suite only metres from her own?

      Each time she saw him, she was conscious of an elevated nervous tension. He had only to touch her and her heart pulsed to a faster beat.

      What was that if it wasn’t the existence of sensual awareness?

      The sane, sensible part of her warned that she didn’t need it…most certainly didn’t want it in her life. Not with him…not with any man.

      No longer would she toy with the idea of divorce. As soon as she returned to Australia she’d consult her lawyer and have him file the necessary papers.

      ‘This one, I think.’

      The sound of Raúl’s voice followed by the vendeuse’s concurring approval caught Gianna’s attention, and her eyes widened at the sight of a deep sapphire-blue exquisitely cut gown in silk chiffon with a ruched bodice, slender spaghetti straps, and a slender layered skirt.

      As much as she hated to admit it…it was perfect.

      ‘Fortunately it’s the young lady’s size.’

      ‘My wife,’ Raúl corrected with calm indolence, and Gianna’s mouth opened to deny it, only to have him press light fingers to her lips. ‘You can thank me later, querida.’

      Darling? Lover? Whatever interpretation you chose to apply, neither held true…at least not anymore.

      She was so tempted to bite him, it almost hurt to resist. And he knew.

      ‘Shoes,’ he said calmly. ‘And an evening purse.’

      If she could, she’d tell him exactly what he could do with both items. The only thing that stopped her was an adherence to polite good manners.

      Yet when she stepped into the gown, slid her feet into the stiletto heeled evening sandals and checked the mirrored effect, she had to concede both Raúl and the vendeuse had nailed it.

      There was no way she could top it, and her pleased smile said it all. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Your husband has a good eye,’ the vendeuse complimented as she clapped her hands and tilted her head to one side. ‘Your hair, señora… Might I suggest you style it up? You have such a slender neck it is a pity not to display it. Diamond ear-studs,’ she enthused. ‘A slim matching bracelet and perhaps a diamond pendant. Not too much to take away from the gown, comprende?’ She moved to stand behind Gianna and freed the zip fastening. ‘I will package the items while you change, sí?’

      It took only minutes to pull on tailored trousers, add her blouse, then slip her feet into her footwear.

      She emerged from the fitting room to discover Raúl in the process of using his credit card, and she crossed quickly to the sales counter.

      ‘I’ll pay for the purchases.’

      The vendeuse paused and cast him an enquiring glance. ‘Señor?’

      ‘My wife’s independence is laudable,’ he opined smoothly. ‘However, in this instance you will disregard it.’

      ‘As you wish.’

      ‘I would prefer…’ Gianna faltered as Raúl cupped her face and covered her mouth with his own in a soft kiss that tore the breath from her throat.

      ‘No.’ A gentle remonstrance, but effective, and her eyes widened at the sensual gleam apparent in those dark eyes as he released her.

      The atmosphere between them suddenly became highly charged, and for several heart-stopping seconds she was oblivious to everything in the room as she stood in a state of mesmerised inaction.

      ‘Your packages, señor.’

      The sound of the vendeuse’s voice acted as a catalyst that brought her back to reality, and she shook her head in a gesture that indicated acquiescence. ‘Men,’ she confided with a faintly wry smile. ‘Generous to a fault.’

      ‘Ah, but señora,’ the vendeuse chided gently. ‘What woman would not value such a man?’

      Gianna merely offered a winsome smile, and waited until they exited the boutique and were out of earshot before venting quietly, ‘What on earth were you thinking?’

      ‘To what do you refer?’

      ‘Don’t toy with me. You know perfectly well what I mean.’

      ‘You are angry because I bought you a gown?’

      She shot him a baleful glare. ‘Try again.’

      ‘You object because I kissed you?’

      ‘That,’ she allowed through gritted teeth, ‘and referring to me as your wife.’

      ‘Querida,’ he reminded her gently. ‘You are my wife.’

      Not for much longer. Words she almost said aloud…only for them to remain unuttered, and for the life of her she failed to understand why.

      ‘Shall