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Salsa being the least of them.
She shivered again—and he had to resist the urge to throw back his head and laugh at the sparkle of irritation in her eyes and the dark sheen of stunned arousal.
Score one to me.
For goodness’ sake.
The infernal man didn’t look uncomfortable in the least. If anything, he looked positively smug. And if that weren’t bad enough, the light rub of his thumb against her nape was making her want to roll over and purr. Pulling away from the sensual torture before she did just that, Ruby signalled Sol’s wife, Chantelle, and ordered a selection of tapas dishes and a margarita for herself. Westmore then chimed in and ordered a beer—in fluent Spanish. Chantelle carried on a brief conversation with him of which Ruby only managed to catch about two words. Giving a throaty laugh, the waitress leaned over to clear the empty plates and glasses that had been left on their table and whispered in Ruby’s ear.
‘He’s a hot one, querida,’ she said in her thick Spanish accent, the tone husky with humour. ‘Maybe even too hot for you to handle, eh?’
As Chantelle strolled off, the tray perched expertly on her arm, Ruby assessed her date. And struggled to regroup.
Well, he was certainly hot.
With his sleeves rolled up, her eyes were drawn to the muscles in his forearm as he tapped his fingers on the table to the beat of the music. Acknowledging the twist and throb of desire, she dismissed it.
So what if he was hot? He couldn’t possibly be too hot for her to handle.
‘Where did you learn to speak Spanish?’ she asked. Maybe polite conversation was the best way to cool things down a bit. She liked heat as much as the next girl but getting incinerated wasn’t part of her plan.
‘I lived in Barcelona for a few years after law school.’
‘You’re a lawyer?’ Which would explain his affinity for the rule of law, Ruby thought. But not her overwhelming attraction.
‘I’m a barrister,’ he corrected easily.
She could just picture him in court, directing a jury in robes and a white wig. Instead of making him seem ridiculous, the image only made him seem more commanding.
‘And you make cupcakes for a living?’ he countered.
‘I do.’ She straightened, waiting for the derogatory comment. People often thought what she did was frivolous and inconsequential. Given the gravity of this guy’s profession, she could just imagine what he was thinking about her little bakery business.
‘And according to the Standard, they’re the best cupcakes in the known universe.’
‘You read Ed Moulder’s review?’ The veteran food writer had gushed about A Touch of Frosting, and Ruby was inordinately proud of the review, but still the admiration in Callum’s voice took her by surprise.
‘The man had quite a crush on your cupcakes,’ he added. ‘And he’s notoriously hard to please.’
‘My cupcakes can be very seductive,’ she said, her pleasure at the unexpected praise making her purr after all.
‘I can well imagine.’ His eyes darkened as he picked her hand up from the table, and turned it over. The hum of voices, the defiant throb of music seemed to fade away, until all she could hear was the hammer of her own heartbeat and the low murmur of his voice, whispering across her sensitised skin. ‘But the question is, do they taste as good as you?’
She watched transfixed as he raised her hand to his mouth and bit softly into the pad of flesh on the base of her thumb. The shot of heat pounded into her breasts making them peak painfully against her push-up bra.
The breath lodged in her throat.
The line was corny, cheesy even—and from the mocking twist of his lips she guessed he knew it. But she was struggling to breathe, so scoffing was out of the question.
The sound of the bar came flooding back as Chantelle’s arrival broke the spell. Her friend laid out their order on the table, then shot Ruby a teasing wink. Studiously ignoring the rush of blood to her cheeks, Ruby took a hasty sip of her margarita as her friend strolled off. The sweet icy tang of citrus, triple sec and tequila felt like nectar as it slid down her raw throat.
Cal saluted her with the frosty bottle of lager before bringing it to his lips. Her gaze landed on the strong column of his throat as he swallowed and she began to feel light-headed.
Holy moley. He is too hot to handle.
Unfortunately, just looking at those long fingers gripping the neck of the bottle and the sheen of sweat on his Adam’s apple was making her feel euphoric. And more aroused than she had been in months. She’d been so careful lately, so cautious. But as the pounding salsa beat throbbed through her veins and she watched Cal drink thirstily Ruby felt her inhibitions float up and fly off across the Lock into the sultry summer night.
What the heck? She didn’t intend to fall at his feet, but surely there was no harm in having fun for one night. It had been so long since she’d had the chance to indulge her inner flirt to the full. And frankly, Callum Westmore came in such a mouth-watering package, he was fast becoming too hot not to handle.
