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So the unexpected always intrigued him.
And he had a rare weekend off. So why not take the opportunity to indulge his curiosity about Ruby? At least until she got her stamina back?
‘Why are you in such a rush?’ he remarked. ‘Scared you won’t be able to resist me?’
She stilled and shot round, the pink flags in her cheeks telling him he’d hit exactly the right mark.
‘Your ego really is phenomenal, isn’t it?’ She sounded both annoyed and wary.
‘So I’ve been told.’ He levered himself up from the counter, strolled towards her, not insulted in the least. ‘So if you’re not scared, what’s the big problem with us spending the day together?’
It was a dare, pure and simple. Engineered to strike where it would get the best results—at the independence she was so proud of.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘That was sneaky.’ She gave him a light punch on the shoulder. ‘How am I supposed to say
no now without looking like a sissy?’
He laughed, pleased to see the tactic had worked. She was going to accept the invitation. No matter how sneaky.
‘So which is it? Are you a sissy or aren’t you?’ he prompted.
She didn’t answer, simply gave her head a rueful shake.
He grinned. ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then.’
‘Fine. You win.’ Her bare foot tapped on the tiles. ‘But you’ll have to take me home first. I’m not going anywhere without lipstick and some clean clothes on.’
‘It’s a deal,’ he said, then lifted her chin with his index finger and brushed a thumb across her full bottom lip. ‘Although if I had my way,’ he murmured, scanning her flushed face, ‘I’d be happy for you to do without both.’
The kiss was supposed to be quick, cursory even. But he found himself lingering, waiting for her to soften and kiss him back. When he eventually released her they were both breathing heavily.
She backed towards the door, gripped the door handle, the visible flutter of her pulse in the hollow of her collarbone making his gut tighten.
‘And I’d be more than willing to oblige,’ she shot back at him, her stance giving him a taunting glimpse of her cleavage. ‘Except, you’ve had far too much of your own way already.’
So saying, she left the room. And shut the door behind her.
He laughed at her audacity. Then stared down.
Seemed he was going to need a cold shower before he drove her home. He whistled one of the salsa tunes from the previous evening as he dropped his sweat pants, considering where to take her for the day. It was his pick this time and he intended to make it a good one. But the whistling cut off as he dumped the sweats into the laundry basket.
When was the last time the prospect of a date had made him whistle—while sporting an erection the size of Big Ben? And when was the last time he’d been keen to spend time with a woman after they’d spent the night together, instead of itching to get her out of the door so he could have his place to himself again?
Stepping into the shower, he flipped the dial to frigid and sucked in a breath as the cold water splattered him. He set about applying logic to the situation.
Ruby only fascinated him because she wasn’t like any of the other women he’d dated. That much was obvious. Spending the day together was the smart thing to do, because it would put an end to his fascination. After all, she couldn’t be as clever or as exciting as she appeared—it was just her unique combination of guts, a quick wit and a great face and figure, not to mention that naughty streak, which had turned him on to the point of madness. By the time he got her back here later, they’d be able to burn off the last of the heat and their brief but enjoyable fling would be over.
The tuneless whistle began again as he reached for the soap. The glorious summer day stretched ahead of him packed full of guilty pleasures.
Which he had no reason to feel remotely guilty about.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘I LOVE this place. It’s so elegant and yet so easy-going.’ Ruby sighed as she took a long sip of the iced fruit juice. Slipping off her sandals, she tucked her legs under her bottom on the wide bench seat. She must have walked about five miles this morning, but instead of feeling tired she felt energised. Callum Westmore had proved to be as much fun out of the sack as he was in it.
She’d expected him to take her somewhere snooty for lunch. And had dressed down accordingly, in a casual summer dress printed with bold pink tulips—to prove she had nothing to prove. But as with the salsa club the previous evening, he’d surprised her, parking back in front of his building after the quick trip to Tufnell Park and then suggesting they walk across the Heath to the open air café that was situated in the old kitchens at Kenwood House.
The house was a restored Georgian villa used to showcase a collection of Renaissance art, but the grounds, which had also been bequeathed to the nation in 1927 and stretched across manicured lawns to the lake, were the venue for impromptu football and cricket matches, courting couples and family picnics on a hot summer afternoon.
