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‘And so packed,’ Cal said wryly, topping up her glass from the pitcher he’d ordered. ‘I’m usually too busy to come here on a Saturday. I forgot how crowded this place gets at weekends.’
Propping her elbow on the table, she leaned her chin on her fist and grinned at him. ‘Busy doing what exactly?’ she asked, fluttering her eyelashes, unable to resist the flirtatious gesture.
The man looked ridiculously rugged and delicious in faded jeans and a polo shirt. And the morning she’d spent in his company had been so full of surprises, both small and large, she was feeling carefree and more than a tad reckless.
She’d asked herself several times as they drove to her home that morning whether she’d completely lost leave of her senses agreeing to spend the day with him.
The man was dangerous. He had an unpredictable effect on her better judgment and she needed to be a lot more careful than she had been last night. But as the day had progressed, she’d become more and more elated that he’d engineered this time together. However fleeting.
She hadn’t had a weekend off in close to six months. What with the pressure of work from her business, plus the course she’d been taking in accountancy this year and the many initiatives she’d had on the go to grow A Touch of Frosting’s profile in the local area, she and Ella had made a conscious decision to take the long August weekend off work as a reward. It had meant juggling orders, cooking well into the evening for two whole weeks and rearranging one of their monthly cupcake decorating classes, but they had deserved their break—even if the Cumberland interview hadn’t been the icing on the cake she’d been hoping for.
Getting to spend her precious time off with an exceptionally smart, sexy and stimulating man had added to the luxury. And Ruby liked a bit of luxury in her life. Why deny it? Plus as the day had worn on she’d begun to wonder where exactly her little panic attack had come from this morning.
Okay, Cal had taken charge last night. The more she got to know him, it was pretty obvious he was a take-charge kind of guy. But she’d discovered that if she stuck to her guns she could match him—and anyway, this wasn’t a war, it wasn’t even a proper relationship. It was nothing more than a glorified one-night stand.
Why complicate something that simply wasn’t that complicated?
The upside was, spending time with Cal out of bed hadn’t been anywhere near as awkward as she would have anticipated.
As they had climbed up Parliament Hill to watch the kite enthusiasts launch their elaborate structures in the tiny breath of wind, then strolled through the ancient woodlands and shadowy copses of the Iveagh Bequest, conversation had flowed easily.
With both of them steering clear of anything too personal, they’d covered everything from the iniquities of the British Justice System to the recipe for the perfect cupcake. Callum was an articulate and enthusiastic conversationalist whose mind worked in a brilliantly logical way. Completely unlike her own—which had a tendency to drift off in all sorts of weird and wonderful directions.
Yet, despite that, he’d never once patronised her. Not even a little. And that had been the biggest surprise of all. Especially once she’d discovered exactly how brilliant he was.
After some probing, Cal had admitted that he’d sailed through school and university and then law school and the bar exams. Ruby, on the other hand, had rebelled at an early age against the strictures of the classroom.
While she was proud of what she’d achieved after leaving school at sixteen—having spent the rest of her teens attending night classes in catering college and sweating her way through three years of gruelling split shifts in her family’s Italian restaurant—she’d always had a bit of a complex about her lack of academic qualifications. But while Callum clearly had a phenomenal intellect and the qualifications to prove it, he hadn’t dismissed her point of view or made her feel it had less value than his own. She’d basked in the approval and appreciation in his gaze as they’d ended up in a series of lively debates.
He wasn’t narrow-minded or an intellectual snob and she’d found the discovery almost as stimulating as the sight of the worn polo shirt moulding to his muscular chest or the way the short hairs on the back of his neck had begun to curl in the sluggish heat.
The other thing she’d discovered, much to her quiet astonishment, was that Callum Westmore was a hand holder. He’d clasped her fingers as soon as they’d set out across the Heath, and had hardly let go of her since.
No wonder she felt flirtatious. The rub of his palm against hers and the grip of those long, strong and exceptionally talented fingers had kept the hum of awareness sparking between them all morning.
She had no idea if he’d planned it that way. Although, from the way he made love—knowing just where to touch her to tease out the most effective response—and from the way he put forward his side of an argument—pausing to weigh each carefully constructed word or phrase of reasoning—she doubted Cal did anything without being well aware of the consequences.
Picking up the menu from the table, she fanned herself, feeling a little flushed.
She never would have guessed that she’d be so susceptible to that focused, methodical, wholly masculine approach. But one thing was for certain, the no-sex rule she’d rashly committed to that morning had become a bit of an anachronism during the course of the morning.
She had decided on a new plan as her physical awareness of him built. It was fairly simple, really. This time she would seduce him and redress the balance of power between them. Before they went their separate ways.
The only problem was, she’d been flirting with him mercilessly for over half an hour, ever since they’d sat down to eat a delicious meal of rosemary potatoes and roast guinea fowl, and he had yet to take the bait.
‘Is that a personal or a professional question?’ The rough tone of his voice made her heartbeat scramble. Did she finally have a nibble?
‘Why don’t you take a wild guess?’
Reaching across the table, he lifted her hand, threaded his fingers through hers. ‘Is this your veiled way of indicating you’ve recovered from the whisker burn?’
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Turning her hand to clasp his, she brought his fingers to her lips, and licked along his knuckles. She felt him shudder and grinned. ‘I wouldn’t call it veiled, Callum.’
He choked out a laugh, his fingers fisting in hers as he stood up and pulled her off the bench. ‘You are a very naughty girl, Ruby.’ One large hand settled on her hip as he drew her easily against him. ‘I hope you realise you’re playing with fire.’
Ruby’s heartbeat sped up. Settling her free hand on his nape, she caressed the short hairs that had fascinated her all day. ‘I adore playing with fire.’
