Reclaimed by the Tycoon - Chapter 7
As Salvador carried her into the plush Clinico—famous on this island for its world-class care and facilities—she felt as though she’d entered a state of shock. Shock that his marriage had ended, shock that they’d kissed, that he’d touched her so intimately, and that she hadn’t wanted it to stop. She’d wanted him to make love to her. Had needed it.
Still needed it, so his promise of one more night was a talisman she clung to, the whole way through the admission process.
Not only was Salvador a wealthy man, he was someone who didn’t take no for an answer. Between his offer to pay any costs up front, and his take-no-prisoners attitude, it was barely ten minutes before a brunette with a hospital branded clipboard was clicking her heels across the foyer towards them, broad smile in place.
She introduced herself as Lola Garcia, the hospital director, and she was all things efficient, friendly and smart. She chatted to both of them as Isabella was wheeled by an orderly towards a room for her ankle to be x-rayed, and she stayed talking to Salvador as the doctor then carried out an inspection.
For his part, Salvador looked as though he was barely listening to the woman. It didn’t matter how charming she was, his entire focus was on Isabella, listening intently to the verdict.
‘Just a bad sprain,’ the doctor confirmed, and Isabella let out a sigh of relief.
‘So, I’ll be back to normal soon?’
‘No. Bad sprains can be just as limiting as a break, in fact. You’ll need to wrap it, ice it often, keep it elevated, and stay off it.’
‘I can’t,’ she moaned. ‘I’m running the festival. It’s impossible for me to do my job from the couch.’
The doctor nodded sympathetically. ‘You can use crutches and a wheelchair, but as much as possible, you need to rest it.’
She groaned.
‘Are you saying she needs bedrest, Doctor?’ Salvador clarified, his eyes flicking to Isabella’s with a hint of promise, and a dash of amusement.
‘Exactly.’ The doctor missed Salvador’s undertones, but Isabella did not. ‘Do you have anyone at home, to look after you?’
She glanced at Salvador, and remembered his earlier question about her marriage. ‘No,’ she said, figuring he at least deserved the truth on that score. ‘It’s just me.’ She saw the way his eyes glowed, for the briefest moment, before he concealed it.
‘Then you’ll have to help her,’ the doctor said to Salvador, with no idea, evidently, who he was talking to—and the fact that Salvador couldn’t be forced into doing anything he didn’t want.
‘I intend to, Doctor. I’ll do all within my power to make her feel as good as possible.’
Isabella’s cheeks flamed as she was wheeled back into the foyer and then, to Salvador’s car. She wondered if he had any idea what he was asking of her? Hating him like she did was the flipside to how much she’d loved him, once upon a time. Could they really spend a night together without her heart getting involved? And was that even a question?
No matter the risk, she wouldn’t—couldn’t—turn up a chance to be with him again. It wasn’t about a proper goodbye for Isabella, though, but simply a case of needing him in a way that took her breath away, and always would. Love was not as transient as she might have hoped.
***
‘You still have this place?’ she asked, as the car pulled up outside his mansion, in the plush seaside suburb.
He moved forward and unbuckled her seatbelt; Isabella didn’t tell him she could do that much on her own. Not when it felt so good to have his big, strong hands moving over her.
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘I don’t know. I mean, the divorce, I guess?’
‘This was my home before my marriage. I never got rid of it.’
‘I guess it suited you to have a bachelor pad, for your affairs.’
His lips twisted, as though he was acknowledging that, but it hit hard. Isabella looked up at him, lifting a hand to his shirt, and when she spoke, her voice had a vulnerable edge she didn’t like. It made her stomach twist to imagine him routinely sleeping with women behind his wife’s back, and she couldn’t hide the rawness of that from him. ‘Did you— Was I—’
‘What are you trying to say?’
She shook her head, hating how exposed she felt, but asking it anyway. ‘Did you do it often?’
‘Do what?’ he crouched at her eye height, and all the bravado they kept in place seemed to fall away, so it was just a man and a woman, looking at each other over the wreckage of their past.
‘Have affairs.’ She couldn’t look away from him, but staring into his eyes physically hurt.
‘No.’
It was an answer, but not. It didn’t tell her how often he screwed around. It didn’t tell her she was different. Special.
She swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat, hating how much the past still stung, despite it having been two years ago.
‘Okay then. Good talk,’ she muttered.
‘You don’t want to talk about this. Believe me,’ he said, so her heart sank. Because he was warning her not to ask any more questions. He was telling her she didn’t want to hear the answers.
She nodded a little jerkily, forcing a tight smile. ‘You’re right. Let’s draw a line in the sand under the past. It was a long time ago. It has no bearing on anything now.’
She couldn’t tell if he agreed with her or not, because he dropped his head at that moment, leaning to open the door of the car, before stepping out so he could reach back and pick her up. It shouldn’t have been easy or elegant, yet he was so big and strong, he just made it work.
She braced herself, as they walked into the enormous, palatial home, wondering how it would feel. Last time she’d left here, she’d wanted to scratch his eyes out. But it had been an anger born of the most immense pain she’d ever known. With the pain had come a discovery—the realization that she’d fallen in love with someone else’s husband. All she could be glad of was that she hadn’t yet told him how she felt.
But as he carried her over the threshold, it was like being forcibly jettisoned back in time, for every detail of his home was exactly the same.
‘You didn’t live here with her, though.’
He slid her a glance. ‘I thought we just agreed not to talk about it.’
‘I guess that would be wise. But for some strange reason, I just need to know.’
He carried her past the spacious lounge area, towards the first bedroom—his own room. Her heart stammered.
‘No, she never lived here.’
‘Where did you live together?’
He shook his head. ‘So many questions.’
‘You’re evading again.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Some things are better left unsaid.’
‘Is it a big deal? You were married, now you’re not.’
He placed her down on the bed gently—so gently her heart turned over in her chest and she had to blink away quickly. This was the only man she’d ever loved. The only man she’d ever hated, too. A powerful emotion that perhaps couldn’t exist without love being there in the first place.
‘We had a place in Rio Salsa, near her parents.’
Her parents.
It landed with a thud. Charlotte wasn’t just a woman—she was a woman with a family. Something Isabella had never known.
It wasn’t Charlotte’s fault, but it was such a telling response. This woman had two people who loved her, more than life itself. Who loved her so much they wanted her to live close by, even as an adult.
‘Oh,’ she said, clearing her throat.
‘Are you hungry?’
The question caught her by surprise, and Isabella realized she hadn’t eaten since that morning, when she’d grabbed a quick tostada and coffee. She was hungry, and yet being near Salvador again had skittled all her senses.
‘I haven’t eaten much today,’ she admitted.
‘Then let me organize a meal. Stay here.’
She almost laughed. ‘Like I have so many other choices,’ she said, gesturing towards her ankle.
‘I’ll bring ice, too,’ he said, clicking his fingers, before leaving the room. And this version of Salvador—caring, compassionate, take-charge alpha—was too much to handle. She fell back against the pillows and said a silent prayer—for her heart to be strong enough to cope with the next twenty-four hours.
She wasn’t sure she could withstand another episode of loving him and walking away.