form as if tailor-made for him—which it undoubtedly was.
He was something else, she admitted reluctantly as he paused, waiting for her to join him.
An intrusive presence who succeeded in putting her on edge. In spades, she acknowledged ruefully.
He bore a relaxed look that was deceptive, for beneath the projected persona was the mind of an intensely shrewd man who would stop at nothing to achieve his objective.
As long as it didn’t include her, the remaining days should pass with relative pleasantness.
So why did she harbour the instinctive feeling that they were each on a different page?
Crazy, she dismissed as she walked at his side to the head of the stairs and descended them to the foyer.
‘Pablo and Cristina have already left to drop their parents at Rosita’s apartment,’ Raúl indicated as they reached the BMW four wheel drive parked beneath the porte-cochère.
It was a beautiful evening, with fresh sea air drifting in from the ocean as Raúl eased the powerful vehicle toward the centre of Palma.
Traffic was beginning to build up as offices closed and staff made their way home. Soon the restaurants would begin serving those choosing to dine out, and entertainment in its various forms would attract clientele.
The hotel where Pablo had made restaurant reservations offered valet parking, and the maître d’s recognition bordered on the obsequious as he escorted them to their table, personally ensuring they were comfortably seated while offering any service they required.
The power of extreme wealth and social status, Gianna acknowledged wryly.
‘It would seem your reputation precedes you.’
‘Specifically?’
‘Why, your wit and charm, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Raúl mocked with a degree of amusement.
‘A babe magnet,’ she offered dryly. ‘I can’t quite pin it down to any one thing. The name Velez-Saldaña, perhaps, and all that goes with it…the villas, the apartments in various cities in the world, the luxury cars.’ She tilted her head a little. ‘The private jet, luxury cruiser, your—er—generous attributes.’
His eyes assumed a faintly wicked gleam. ‘Would you care to elaborate on that?’
‘No.’
‘I’ve missed your refreshing honesty.’
‘Oh, please. There were a string of women just waiting to take my place.’
‘None of whom interested me.’
She looked at him carefully. ‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘Your prerogative.’
At that moment she saw Pablo and Cristina enter the restaurant, and after checking with the maître d’ they made their way to the table.
Gianna liked Raúl’s cousins. Pablo possessed a droll sense of humour, while Cristina knew fashion—what was in, what wasn’t—and had the advantage of being able to determine even the most skilled copy from the genuine designer article.
‘We must get together,’ Cristina intimated when they’d perused the menu and placed their orders. ‘I saw the most divine dress in a hotel boutique that would be perfect for you.’ Her eyes sharpened a little, assessing in a way that Gianna recognised would lead to more. ‘We’ll get a manicure, have a facial, share lunch. Catch up.’
It was tempting, although her first priority had to be spending time with Teresa. Just as she was about to decline Raúl suggested, ‘Why not arrange to meet in the afternoon while Teresa rests?’
‘Done.’ Cristina reached into her purse and extracted a pocket diary, flipped the pages and had pen poised and ready. ‘When?’
Good question. Teresa mentioned a lunch or two with friends, an evening charity event to which Velez-Saldaña leant their generous support.
‘Can I get back to you on that?’
‘You can.’ Cristina wrote down a phone number and handed Gianna the card. ‘Call me.’
Pablo offered an expressive eye-roll. ‘Not to do so will be at your peril.’
‘You exaggerate,’ his sister rebuked.
‘Do I?’
‘It’s called efficiency.’
‘Officiousness.’
Cristina and Pablo shared a sibling rivalry based on teasing affection, appearing to delight in verbal sallying at every opportunity. Something, Raúl had once confided, which had existed between them since childhood.
Waitstaff presented their meal with artistic flair, and each morsel proved a delectable testament to the chef’s supreme reputation.
Raúl was an urbane host, relaxed and at ease as he led Pablo into a discussion of Real Madrid’s chances of winning a soccer cup final, with spirited conclusions drawn by Cristina who, Pablo teased, had her eye on one of the team players.
‘Romantically,’ Pablo added, only to be volubly chastised by his sister. A tirade he chose to ignore. ‘They met at a party. Went on a date. He sent her flowers.’
Given Cristina made no secret of her determination to remain dedicated to her career and single, it was impossible not to smile, and Gianna didn’t even try. ‘You’re not going to mention his name?’
Cristina’s response was