The Billionaire's Virgin Box Set

Already aware of just how little she knew him, this further question gnawed away inside her but she forced herself not to think about it. She had other, more pressing issues demanding her attention: like the reason he’d brought her back to Argentina.

When she’d stumbled away from him on their wedding day, she hadn’t thought for a moment that he’d follow her. Why would he, when he’d made it perfectly clear that he didn’t love her?

Remembering the things that he’d said to her, she gave a shiver.

She’d been so utterly shocked by what had happened that her only thought had been to get as far away from him as possible.

For the sake of her o

wn mental health, she’d known that she could have nothing more to do with him. She’d felt dead inside, as if the most important part of her had been gouged out. She’d loved him so much and the ten months they’d spent together had been the happiest of her life.

It was almost impossible to believe that it had all gone so dramatically wrong.

That she’d been so wrong about him.

Faith reached for the glass of chilled lemonade that had been left within her reach and took a sip, completely unable to relax because she knew that Raul would reappear at some point.

What was he doing? Was he working? How could he work when their marriage was in its death throes?

She glanced up and saw him strolling across the sun-baked terrace towards her. He’d showered and changed after the flight and was now wearing a pale shirt with lightweight trousers. An air of leashed power emanated from his tall, athletic frame and Faith’s mouth dried.

For a moment she had no idea what to say to him. She wanted to shout at him, she wanted to hit him until she made dents in that spectacular body of his, but most of all she just wanted to lie down and sob because it just never should have been like this between them.

In the end she just stayed on the sun-lounger and didn’t move, too drained to do any of the things in her mind.

The fact that he looked perfectly groomed despite the pressure of the situation came as no surprise to her. Raul had been born and bred in Buenos Aires and if there was one thing that her travels in South America had taught her, it was that the body-conscious Brazilians were nothing compared to the pride of the average Argentine male.

In fact, Raul was less obsessed than most but she’d long ago come to the conclusion that that was because he was so much more beautiful than most. He didn’t have to try. Even if he never glanced in a mirror again, he would still be unable to walk down a street without attracting an almost stifling degree of dazed female attention.

‘Next time you decide to run away, stop when you reach the end of the drive,’ he advised in an acid tone. ‘I have just spent the entire morning unravelling problems that occurred while I was chasing you across the globe.’

‘I didn’t ask you to come after me.’

‘You left me no choice. If you wanted an open marriage, you shouldn’t have picked a South American male.’ He turned his head and miraculously a team of staff appeared.

Faith watched in silence as they laid a table and served lunch. ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘You need to eat.’

She glanced at him then and immediately wished she hadn’t because it was immediately apparent that the way he’d treated her hadn’t done anything to reduce the physical impact of the man.

He was well over six feet tall, lean and hard muscled and he moved with a predatory grace that was unequivocally male. Strong and athletic, he pushed himself to the limits in every aspect of his life—work, play, exercise, sex—for Raul it was all about being the best and he accepted nothing less.

‘Don’t let me hold you up,’ she said politely. ‘I’m sure you’re dying to eat and return to your work.’

‘Having solved the immediate crisis I have no intention of working this afternoon.’ His expression grim, he sat down on one of the chairs and served himself. ‘There are more important issues at stake.’

‘More important than your work?’ Despite everything that lay between them, she found herself laughing but she stopped herself quickly because she couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t going to end in a sob. ‘And I thought I was the one who had the bang on the head.’

She felt strangely disconnected, making polite conversation with a man who didn’t know the meaning of the term, when beneath the surface of conventional chat there lay a deep chasm of trouble and turbulence.

They’d never resorted to ‘polite’ before.

Their entire relationship had been a full-on explosion of exquisite passion, so uncontrolled and ferocious in its intensity that it had burned everything in its path.

She’d been crazy about him. And crazy to get involved with him when she had known his reputation for hurting women.

What had made her think she would be different?