Patriot Threat. Steve Berry

you did it at all, and in public.’ She paused to breathe. ‘You deliberately led people to think we’re…’ She couldn’t finish the sentence, and he did it for her.

      ‘Together?’

      ‘Yes. And we’re not. Won’t be. Ever’ she added for good measure.

      ‘Then perhaps you’d care to explain the extent of your anger.’

      For a moment she was speechless. ‘What is this? Psychoanalysis?’ Seconds later she gasped in shocked surprise as he tripped the indicator and eased the car to a halt at the kerb. ‘Why are you stopping?’

      Her eyes widened as he released his seat belt, then her own, and reached for her.

      ‘Don’t.’ It was the one word she managed to get out before his mouth closed over hers in a gentle exploratory touch that sought to soothe her soul…then capture and reunite it with his own.

      Gianna wanted to resist. And she tried, she really did, until she was swept up in the emotional tide he created and became lost—so totally lost the she was unaware of reaching up to clasp her hands together at his nape…or the fervour with which she answered his passion.

      Don’t think… Because if she did, she’d wrench herself from his arms and escape from the car…from him and the sensual magic he encapsulated without any seeming effort at all.

      It was as if they had gone back in time to a place where everything was good. When their love had been beyond question and they’d existed solely for each other.

      There were no doubts, no lack of trust…just undeniable emotion.

      For a while she forgot everything…the time, the place…there was only the need for his touch as she kissed him back, exulting in the feel of him. And wanting so much more. Skin on skin…

      Ohmigod… What was she thinking?

      Correction. She wasn’t thinking at all.

      Reality slowly dawned, and she tore her hands from him and began using them as leverage in an effort to free herself.

      At first she didn’t think he’d let her go, and silent tears welled and spilled down her cheeks at the futility of the situation…worse, her reaction.

      Blind lust, she attributed…almost to the point where she didn’t care how or where, as long as her long-withheld desire found some form of release.

      She felt like a lust-filled teenager, almost beyond control, making out in a parked car.

      In a luxurious car, parked at the side of a main thoroughfare after midnight.

      With Raúl.

      The man to whom she was still technically married.

      The man she intended to divorce.

       So what the hell was she doing?

      She became aware of gentle fingers brushing the tears from her cheeks, and she shook her head in distress as Raúl cradled her face.

      ‘Don’t.’ It was a cry from the heart, and in one smooth movement, he released the seat back to its fullest extension, pulled her onto his lap…and simply held her.

      The temptation to remain in the comfort of his arms was strong. This close, her senses were so finely attuned to him…in every way. The familiar clean male smell, the exclusive cologne he chose to wear, his strength…his gentle touch as he smoothed a few tendrils of hair that had escaped from her upswept style.

      She wanted to melt into him. Yet that would never do. For how could she afford to relent when there were unresolved issues between them?

      She stirred, felt his arms momentarily tighten, then at her faint protest he eased her into the passenger seat and fired the ignition.

      They reached Teresa’s villa in silence, and Gianna bade Raúl goodnight in the foyer, then ascended the stairs and entered her suite.

      It took only minutes to undress, pull on nightwear, then she crossed to the en suite bathroom to unpin her hair and remove her make-up. Except the face in the mirror didn’t resemble her normal reflected image. Eyes so dark and dilated; lips slightly swollen from being so thoroughly kissed.

      Different.

      There was no soft dreaminess apparent…just a mix of disbelief tinged with concern. She didn’t want to be caught up in an emotional vortex…couldn’t afford to be if she was to escape unscathed.

      With every passing day she became more aware of the sensuality between them…the promise of more unless she guarded her heart—and her head.

      It hurt to know how easy it would be to have sex with him. How much a part of her craved the intimacy. Just once. One night.

      Except it wouldn’t be enough…and then where would she be? Right back where she had left him three years ago. Heartbroken and bereft. Heartsick. With a need to repair the emotional damage and move on with her life…again.

      Wasn’t going to happen.

      With determined effort, she applied cleanser, wiped it off, washed her face, cleaned her teeth, then studiously worked in moisturising cream before taking the pins from her hair and confining its length in a loose tail.

      Go to bed and sleep, she bade herself silently.

      It took a while to dispense with a host of haunting images, the last of which she remembered was how it felt to be held in Raúl’s arms before she slid into blissful oblivion.

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      ANY hope Gianna held of Raúl returning to Madrid didn’t appear to be fulfilled, given he chose to share breakfast with Teresa before retreating into the home office to work undisturbed until lunch.

      It was on the fourth day into the first week of her two-week sojourn that Teresa announced the imminent arrival of some family members.

      ‘They’re staying with my aunt Rosita in her Palma apartment for a few days, and I’ve invited them to lunch today.’

      Family numbered five, comprising Teresa’s sister, Emilia, and her husband, Jorge, their adult children, Pablo and Cristina, and elderly Aunt Rosita. Together with Teresa and Gianna it added up to seven…eight, Gianna corrected as Raúl joined them.

      Except his presence didn’t make for relaxed enjoyment, and she could tell he knew from the faint amusement evident in his dark eyes.

      Ignoring him wasn’t possible, and she didn’t even try.

      ‘Teresa tells me you own a successful boutique,’ Emilia began politely.

      ‘Yes,’ Gianna acknowledged with a smile. ‘I stock speciality gifts. Venetian glassware, crystal, decorative bowls in various shapes and colours. Beautifully scented triple-milled soaps, exotic handmade candles…’

      ‘Situated in a tourist holiday town, I believe?’

      ‘It’s true the Gold Coast is a holiday destination,’ she acknowledged. ‘However, it’s a bustling cosmopolitan city, with a large population, multi-million-dollar homes with river and ocean frontages, beautiful beaches, shopping complexes, theme parks.’

      ‘The climate is good?’ Pablo queried. He was close to Gianna in age.

      ‘Sub-tropical,’ she relayed. ‘Long summers and short mild winters.’

      ‘You have family there?’

      ‘My brother, Ben, and his family live in Sydney.’

      ‘And your parents also?’ Raúl’s aunt questioned.

      ‘Gianna’s mother died several years ago,’ Raúl informed her. ‘Her father remarried and resides in Paris.’

      ‘I