Net of Lies

She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. R
aoul de Santos y Lorrena allowed his lazy, heavy-lidded gaze to travel over her features as he paused in the doorway of the Banquet Hall. He paid no attention to the colorful, excited crowd that spilled over the dance stage and the intimately positioned little tables. Seeing only her was easy because the other sophisticated women were not even a momentary distraction from her chestnut hair and the graceful lines of her creamy neck and shoulders. He had the undeniable impression of being in an empty room, all his senses acutely aware of the woman who was chatting animatedly with the handsome, dark-haired man at her side.

She was wearing a midnight
-blue dress, its tight bodice and cleverly cut skirt deceivingly simple. He knew it must have cost an arm and leg and wondered with sudden bitterness how she could afford it. He remembered her wearing t-shirts and jeans and pulling up her thick, wavy hair with a plain hairclip. This gorgeous woman, laughing at something her companion had said, was miles away from the girl whose image he had carried in his heart for the last two years.

The man next to her said something again
, and she shook her head in playful denial. The sudden glitter of her diamond earrings sparkled like ice in the light of the chandeliers.
This was different, too,
he thought as an iron fist closed around his heart. The Kate Reeves he remembered couldn’t have afforded more than a few silver trinkets to adorn her neck and ears. And he recalled her saying with a resolute smile that she didn’t really care for jewelry anyway.

Things change,
a little voice whispered in his head. The corners of his mouth tightened into a straight line. He’d met enough people who had walked away from their beliefs to make him understand that nothing was ever set in stone. Judging by her clothes and jewelry, Kate must have undergone a sudden change of heart. Her new, sophisticated style had successfully erased the girl he used to know.

R
eluctant to move forward, he remained in the half-shadow of the entry for another few seconds. He knew that once he walked over to her table, he would have no time for the slow, thorough inspection he could conduct from the safety of distance. She would find out who he really was, and the implications of his name and position were sure to change her perception of him. He hated this part, and his heart rebelled against the truth that money and power had given him a new, deeper dimension. He knew that many women would suddenly find him so much more attractive once they knew his name and assets. Yet he didn’t want to see the same eagerness and excitement in Kate’s eyes. She had known him as Raoul Santos, a name common enough that he could avoid being recognized.

S
he won’t want to have anything to do with you anyway, a
stubborn voice added as he finally decided to take the first step.
Not after the way you two parted
. He hoped his smooth, self-assured stride betrayed nothing of his inner agitation. The memory of the pain that had almost brought him to his knees when he’d realized she was gone was still burnt in his mind. He had kept her note. The few scribbled words were the only lifeline that had connected them through the hell she’d made his life for the last twenty-four months. She had never bothered to give him the benefit of the doubt or explain.

He had
foolishly believed she’d cared, but if she had, she wouldn’t have escaped so hastily. Never once giving him the chance to defend himself, she had tried him and found him wanting. He would make sure she paid for what she had done in the currency he valued most. He would punish her, finally erasing the pain and misery of the lonely nights that had followed her betrayal. And when he was through with her, he would walk away without bothering to look back—exactly as she had done on the sunny afternoon when she’d shattered his heart into a thousand pieces.

………………………..

As they rode in the Rolls-Royce on their way to the charity gala hosted by Marc’s art gallery, he told Kate he was proud of her and used the opportunity to steal a kiss, letting his warm lips linger on her cheek, then move toward her mouth with unnerving precision. The chauffeur was discreet enough to keep his eyes fixed on the road as he wove through the busy evening London traffic. She stopped Marc with the excuse of not wanting to ruin her lipstick. She felt his hand sneak up to fondle her full breasts, his long fingers kneading her flesh almost painfully.

‘I can’t wait for this evening to be over
,’ he whispered, leaning closer. His voice was heavy with desire, and Kate’s stomach tightened in anticipation; she knew that he was quite certain this was the night they would finally take their relationship to the next level—which he had every right to think.

S
he waited for even the slightest tingle of excitement building in response to his touch. Only it didn’t—her whole body was as numb and unresponsive as it was on any other occasion when Marc decided to get physical. She loathed herself for her inability to respond in kind, frustrated with her treacherous flesh that just wouldn’t cooperate, her mind repeatedly losing the battle with her stubborn body. She knew she wasn’t frigid. Memories that she had tried to bury over the last two years still managed to bring a blush to her heated cheeks. She had known passion and lust, every single cell of her body singing in awe as she reached the highest pinnacle of pleasure. Why she couldn’t resurrect that feeling with Marc was beyond her understanding. Marc Stevenson was handsome, smart, and successful. The powerful combination of his good looks and money was enough to bring any woman to the verge of a climax—every woman, except for her, it seemed.

She b
alled her fingers into fists to stop herself from pushing away his exploring hands. Marc had been patient; their three months of dating had been peppered with the bare minimum of casual petting and veiled hints.

As the car pulled up outside t
he gallery, which had been in Marc’s family for generations, Kate was overwhelmed by the public response to the charitable event. Its proceeds would contribute to the budding artists on the local art scene. The entry was a sea of colorful dresses and somber tuxedos engulfing them on both sides. As she neared the doorway, she was uncomfortable with the envious glances from the other women, who would no doubt gossip about her relationship with Marc behind her back. They must have wondered why he had picked an average-looking girl with no money or connections.

S
he had wondered about it, too, ever since they’d met at his gallery, where she’d worked. Marc hadn’t been very involved in the daily activities of his gallery, and his casual visit a week after she’d started working there was out of the ordinary. Her eyes traveled over the large room.
Maybe it
was
fate. What are the odds of not only meeting the owner, but also being asked to accompany him to a meeting with a potential buyer?
This was a power buyer, judging by the fuss Marc had made during the short meeting. Kate’s expertise on the restoration of the pieces the client already owned had come in handy. Marc’s appreciative glance told her that she had lived up to his expectations.

He
had asked her out immediately after the meeting. Her initial hesitation took a backseat to the thought that it would be foolish to reject her boss’s innocent offer of coffee. She didn’t want to appear prudish, especially after finding such a good position. Her degree in art restoration hadn’t opened many doors for employment. Marc seemed very nice and absolutely harmless, and she’d been looking for that combination ever since she’d realized that passion didn’t always go hand in hand with a happy ending. She’d discovered quite the opposite, actually.

I
n her limited experience, falling for a man who could evoke such a deep and unguarded response led straight to a misery that she had no wish to ever relive. She’d needed nearly two years to finally blot him out of every hour of her everyday thoughts; even the most meaningless events had brought back the past, which was better off staying buried.

That was the
reason she hadn’t visited her parents. Even though their Mediterranean villa was in Portugal, not Spain, and was miles away from the place that had become her paradise and hell in the span of mere few months, the thought of seeing the vivid-blue sea capped with snow-white breakers still sent shivers of misery down her spine. If she closed her eyes, she could taste the tangy salt that hung in the air and clung to her skin and lips as the merciless sun beat down, sending her in search of shade for an afternoon siesta. If she thought of the privacy of the shady, thick-walled room with wooden shutters closed to block out the afternoon sun, another memory was sure to follow. Her rebellious and stubborn mind would bring back the thought of eyes darker than the midnight sky, the warmth of supple, tanned skin, and the beguiling scent of a body that she had studied like a sailor in uncharted territory. But her ship had crashed, leaving her stranded and barely alive.

‘Sweetheart, are you all right?’

Her head shot up as she realized guiltily that Marc was talking to her, his dark brows raised in a concerned question.

‘
You look terribly sad, Kate.’

‘I’m just fine
.’ She smiled in response and scolded herself for her moment of weakness. ‘Just hungry, I guess.’

‘That can be easily fixed.’ He didn’t probe deeper
, instead glancing toward the line of waiters serving appetizers. Kate peeked at the plate in front of her, a mischievous smile lifting her lips. ‘I’m not sure we should be touching any of this. They look more like pieces of art than anything edible, don’t you think?’

Little boats made of endive leaves served as dishes for
avocado-and-shrimp salad, and the deep burgundy red of the lettuce was a vivid contrast to the mellow green and pink of the salad. A golden drizzle of the saffron-infused vinaigrette finished off the dish, the artful presentation adding a certain amount of flair to the simple composition.

‘It is very nice, yes.’
He seemed distracted. Kate knew him well enough to interpret the lines that had appeared around his mouth. He usually reserved the expression for his business negotiations, especially when handling the art dealers who formed a large part of his clientele. The gala was a charity event, and she wondered what could have brought on this speculative look in his blue eyes as he scanned the room, as if he were waiting for someone to appear and wasn’t too happy about it.

‘I have to ask you for a favor, my sweet
.’ He smiled at her, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. She could tell he was trying to sound casual, and she nodded, eager to calm him down. Whatever he might have wanted, she was sure she could comply. As long as it didn’t involve sex, she was confident she could handle it, especially since it most probably involved the gallery.

‘What is it, Marc?’ she asked, her mouth curv
ing into an encouraging smile. ‘How can I help?’

‘
Well…’ He seemed to weigh his words before he continued. His hesitance was something new. Marc was known for his confidence. ‘I’m meeting someone here tonight, darling. I hope he is going to show up, that is. You can never tell with these stinking rich, arrogant, blue-blooded bastards that may keep you dangling just for the fun of it. He expressed his interest in some of the pieces and offered to buy quite a few, especially the restored antique ones. God knows how he found out about us, because I would never think we were in his league, Kate.’

Kate listened, her eyes widening in surprise as bitterness cre
pt into Marc’s voice. She’d never heard him talk so disparagingly about his clients, and plenty of them were wealthy and established. This mystery man must have done something to annoy Marc.
Or he’s truly a part of high society,
a little spiteful voice whispered in her head, because she knew very well how deeply annoyed he was when he was unable to cross the invisible line that divided wealth from pedigree that couldn’t be bought. She imagined an old, bald man with immaculate clothes and even more immaculate manners appearing at their table at any moment.