by Sierra.
For a moment irrational fear overtook her at the thought of losing him again, and resolve gave credence to determination. Nothing…no one…would come between them again. She’d make sure of it.
‘Or?’ Sierra demanded.
‘I’ll go public with the information I have.’
Sierra’s eyes gleamed with malevolence. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘An interview with one of Spain’s leading magazines,’ Gianna informed her. ‘Raúl is a prominent figure. I’m sure a journalist would delight in getting an inside story on our reconciliation. What caused the marriage to break down.’ Her eyes hardened. ‘Believe I would confide all.’
‘I’d sue.’
‘Any lawyer worth his reputation would advise against it, given the proof I can supply.’
‘If you mention my name…’
She aimed her final dart. ‘I won’t need to.’
A statement which drew uncontrollable rage from Sierra, and a hefty push which sent Gianna crashing against the marble vanity, immediately followed by a punch to her solar plexus.
‘Bitch.’ The word was accompanied by a few other choice expletives designed to blister the ears. ‘I hope you rot in hell.’ With that Sierra whirled and exited the powder room, leaving Gianna bent over in pain and gasping for air.
Not nice. In fact, she could add a few choice words of her own…when she got her breath back. Which at the moment seemed unlikely anytime soon.
It took a while to regain her composure before she returned to the ballroom and the table she occupied.
‘My dear,’ Adriana offered with concern, ‘you’re quite pale. Are you feeling unwell?’
Just a little physical and verbal altercation. ‘I’m fine.’ Sure you are. Coffee…hot, sweet and strong. Then she’d alert Miguel she was ready to leave.
The fashion show was winding down, with the final segment already being paraded down the runway. Glamorous evening gowns in soft floating chiffon…floral, block colours, stark black. Each a masterpiece in creation.
It was early evening when Gianna slid into the rear passenger seat with Miguel at the wheel. There was a sense of relief…even satisfaction…at how the afternoon had panned out.
Well, she could have done without Sierra’s physical reaction, but at least she’d won the verbal battle. It made the painful bruising almost worthwhile.
Teresa seemed brighter after a restful day, and Gianna changed into comfortable clothes, then joined Teresa for a light meal, together with an account of the afternoon, the fashions, the guests, the total funds raised.
‘I’m delighted the afternoon was such a success.’
‘Adriana asked me to convey her best wishes.’
A warm smile curved Teresa’s mouth. ‘Adriana is a very kind friend.’ She glanced up as the nurse entered the room. ‘Ah, here is my fierce angel to ensure I take my medication on time.’
‘Fierce and angel don’t really equate.’
Teresa stood to her feet in one easy movement. ‘Believe me, she is both.’ There was fondness apparent that belied the words as she bade Gianna goodnight.
It wasn’t late, and Gianna felt too restless to sleep. She checked e-mails, picked up a novel only to discard it.
A leisurely shower appealed, and she took her time, then, towelled dry, slid into bed and closed the light.
The afternoon played over in her mind as she recalled every word both she and Sierra had uttered.
Could she have handled it differently? Been more assertive? Perhaps. Yet she’d reiterated all the facts in sequence facts she’d elicited directly from the source, leaving Sierra no room to manoeuvre.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GIANNA must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she remembered was being drawn into a deliciously evocative dream where her skin burgeoned into exquisite life with the erotic drift of a mouth bent on seduction.
A soft, throaty purr escaped her throat, and she instinctively arched her body in languorous acceptance, like a moth to flame, exulting as tantalising lips sought sensitive hollows and caressed vulnerable curves.
If this is a dream, please don’t let me wake up just yet.
Except a small shaft of pain penetrated her subconscious, removing the veil of sleep and bringing with it an awareness of the dimly lit bedroom, the large bed…and the man sharing it with her.
‘Raúl.’ His name emerged from her lips as a soft sigh.
‘Tired, amante?’ His mouth shaped her own in a persuasive prelude as he sought the sweet moist cavern and began teasing her response. ‘I can…’
‘If you think I’m going to lie here…’ she trailed off huskily, angling her mouth so it took possession of his own with wicked sorcery. ‘Besides,’ she managed when she broke contact to look deep into dark eyes heavy with sensual intent, ‘you’ve already done most of the prep work…’ Her mouth curved into a seductive smile.