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‘We’re hungry,’ Dante stated, as if eager to break the spell.
‘When are you not hungry?’ Chef Ana commented with a shrug. ‘It will take all your skills to heal him,’ she added in a stage whisper to Jess, before adding in a far more discreet tone when Dante had turned away to greet the waiters he knew, ‘Dante has wounds you cannot see.’
‘I know,’ Jess whispered back.
The two women exchanged a lingering glance as a table and chairs were hastily set up for Dante and Jess, and then, with a squeeze of Jess’s shoulder, Chef Ana gave Jess one last smile and left them to it.
Chef Ana’s food was absolutely delicious. Platters of finger-food to share lightened the mood and made banter between Dante and Jess inevitable as they jousted for the last morsel of deliciousness. By the time the platters were empty all Jess’s sensible resolutions had floated away. Was it even possible to sit across from Dante and not want their legs to touch or their fingers to brush, or their glances to meet and hold? With his hunger satisfied, Dante was a different man. Easy and charming, he made Jess relax to the point where she really believed they were beginning to know each other. She couldn’t find much that was sensible in that, but if she were sensible what was she doing here?
Leaning back in his seat, Dante stared as he stretched out his legs. Part of her could have stayed like this all day, but her sensible head won through. ‘What time does the market pack up?’
‘Is that a hint?’ he enquired.
‘Yes,’ Jess admitted, digging in her bag for some high value notes. It might be a small, modest-looking restaurant, but the food was top-class and the prices reflected this.
‘Put your money away,’ Dante insisted, but on this occasion she was too fast for him.
‘I prefer to be independent,’ she reminded him as she handed her money over to a waiter. ‘You gave me a lift into town, so I pay for lunch. It’s only fair.’
He seemed to find this amusing and exclaimed, ‘Dios me salve de una mujer independiente! God save me from an independent woman,’ he translated when she gave him a look.
‘You prefer a woman to be dependent?’ It was a loaded question.
‘Tell that to my sister and I’m a dead man,’ he said. And Dante was smiling...laughing. ‘I invited you to lunch, so I should pay.’
‘Sounds to me as if you need more independent women in your life.’
‘Dios! I have enough of them,’ Dante exclaimed. Standing, he snatched up his cane. ‘Okay, this is the deal. You pay for the meal, I pay for your dress.’
‘Okay. But nothing fancy,’ she insisted. ‘And I buy Maria’s wedding present with my own money. That’s not up for discussion,’ she added, ‘though I would appreciate your advice as to what she might like.’
‘We have a deal,’ Dante confirmed.
This time Jess was sensible enough to nod rather than shake his hand and risk the consequences of touching him. ‘I believe we do,’ she agreed.
CHAPTER TEN
THE TOWN WAS more packed than ever by the time they left the restaurant. There were so many stalls she hadn’t visited, Jess wasn’t sure where to head first.
‘Here,’ Dante prompted, drawing her attention to a group of women on a stall full of beautifully crafted items.
She had set out to buy Maria’s gift from what many would call a ‘proper shop’, but it soon became apparent that the items on the stall were unique. A tablecloth with drawn thread work was absolutely exquisite, but Jess doubted she could afford it. The cloth was so intricately worked the price would surely reflect the hours of dedication involved.
‘Why don’t we give it as a joint gift?’ Dante suggested, seeing Jess’s disappointment when she read the price tag.
‘I couldn’t do that,’ she protested. Her mind raced as she considered how that might look.
‘Why not?’ he asked with a shrug.
She could give him a dozen good reasons. ‘Don’t worry; I’ll find something else.’
‘Here’s another suggestion. Why don’t I buy the cloth and you buy the napkins? You’d be helping me out,’ Dante added. ‘I don’t have a clue what Maria might like, but I do know she loves to entertain, so this seems right to me.’
‘And to me,’ Jess agreed.
She loved the way Dante’s mouth tugged up when he got his own way, but this suited her too, Jess reminded herself as they completed the transaction. She truly hoped Maria would love the tablecloth as much as Jess did.
More people recognised Dante as they left the stall. He stopped to chat, which gave Jess the chance to pick up some more things from neighbouring stalls.
‘Have you found a dress?’ he asked when the pack around him moved on.
‘Not yet.’
‘Follow me.’
How many times had he done this? she wondered before scolding herself for being so obviously jealous. Was it likely the type of glamorous women Dante was renowned for dating would pick out their clothes from a market stall?
He took her to what turned out to be the most popular outlet on the market. ‘My sister loves this stall,’ he explained, which put Jess firmly back in her box.
‘Your sister has excellent taste.’
‘Yes, she does. And I’m sure Skylar would approve.’
The clothes were certainly more colourful than Jess would usually choose, but no less attractive for that. There was no harm in combining Skylar and Jess for a harmless day out shopping, Jess decided. Her father sometimes accused her of not having a life outside work, and this was her chance to prove him wrong. She longed to try on something different, and Dante had predicted Skylar’s taste to a tee. Her gaze did linger on a sensible mid-length tea dress, but that was definitely out of the running, she realised as Dante shook his head.
‘You don’t seriously expect me to wear one of these?’ she protested when he handed over his selection. They were flirty and flimsy and quite definitely eye-catching, when Jess’s preferred choice would suit a mouse.
* * *
His mother used to say he was an old soul, Dante remembered. He called it intuition. With no idea how he knew things in advance of them happening, he just accepted that he did. His gift was invaluable today when it came to choosing an outfit for Jess. ‘We’ll take the red dress,’ he stated before Jess had chance to argue. That was the one she wanted. She could stare all she liked at the dull, sensible dress, but he wasn’t buying it. As if to confirm his decision, her gaze strayed again to the racy red.
‘Seriously?’ she exclaimed. ‘But that’s the most expensive dress on the stall.’
‘You want it, don’t you?’
‘What about this one?’ she suggested, pointing to the dowdy offering she thought she should have.
‘I’m not buying a dress for my grandmother.’ And his decision was final.
The bright red dress with its spaghetti straps and a length barely south of decent was perfect for Jess, in his opinion. Handing over the cash, he ignored Jess’s complaint that the dress was too short, too revealing, and that she’d probably catch a chill. ‘This is the south of Spain, not the wild moors of Yorkshire,’ he said as he pressed the package into
her hands. ‘And you want this one,’ he pointed out with a shrug. ‘Why pretend otherwise? We’ll take the shawl too,’ he told the stallholder, indicating an exquisitely worked length of smoke-grey lace. ‘For decency’s sake at the ceremony,’ he explained to Jess. ‘And for when it grows cool in the evening.’
‘But the shawl’s even more expensive than the dress,’ she protested. ‘I can’t possibly accept these gifts when you’ve picked out the two priciest items on the stall.’
‘You don’t want them?’ His expression remained deadpan.
‘I can’t accept them,’ Jess insisted, tightening her lips.
‘Hard luck. They’re paid for. They’re yours.’
‘Ask for your money back,’ she pleaded as he walked away. ‘Please, Dante,’ she begged, chasing after him. ‘Don’t embarrass me like this.’
‘The stallholder’s packing up.’
‘Then catch her before she leaves!’
‘So she loses the last sale of the day? Is that what you want?’
Jess deflated in front of his eyes. She was far too considerate to allow that to happen. ‘Well, you shouldn’t have done this,’ she said with a shake of her head.
‘I can. I did. And I should,’ he argued. ‘After all, you have to put up with me.’
‘There is that,’ she murmured dryly, ‘though I’m determined to pay you back.’
As they passed the impromptu dance floor in the middle of the square, one of the local bands struck up. ‘If you insist on paying me back, do so with a dance. It would be a great boost to my self-esteem.’
Like that needed a boost, he reflected with irony. ‘It would prove your therapy’s working.’ True. It would also ease the ache in his groin. He had to put his hands on her soon, or he’d go mad. Delay might be the servant of pleasure, but it was also an aching test of his endurance.
