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Was this how he was going to be on set? Or was this how he functioned—a walking, talking sex on legs, pheromone magnet?
Darting my tongue out, I wetted my bottom lip as my sight dropped to his toned legs that even his faded jeans couldn’t hide. “I’m sure you’ll be excellent in helping me sort my lack of knowledge in Spanish cuisine. Just give me the name of the place and directions, and I’ll meet you there.”
“I can wait here. I don’t mind it.” That easy, charming smile hadn’t wavered from his face.
What the hell? I didn’t expect that at all.
Well, he was rather different. He took being a hospitable host to another level.
“Let me just quickly change, then I’ll be right out.” Pressing my lips together, I shut the door while he waited in the hallway.
I immediately darted towards my unpacked luggage and opened it like a demented woman. I was lucky I packed a lot of cotton sundresses. Choosing a black, knee-length one, I then turned towards the bathroom to change. Once done, I spritzed my favorite perfume and not much else. I carried myself out the door, barefaced, and without care of the disheveled state of my loosened bun.
“Okay, I’m ready,” I said the moment I stepped out of the door. I found him leaning against the opposite wall, not checking his phone, but deep in thought.
Juan looked, and the second our eyes clashed, that sexy smile appeared once again.
“Perfecto,” he stated, striding towards me then placing a hand on the base of my back before ushering us towards the elevator. “Have you read the scripts? I thought a one-year hiatus would relax me. I was wrong. I can’t wait for production to start.”
Pacing myself a little ahead of him so I didn’t have to feel the heat of his touch on my back, I glanced to my side and gave him a wry smile. “I haven’t had the chance yet.” Did that make me sound unprofessional?
“Since you’re this amazing dance instructor, you’ll have someone to coach you, I think, or that’s what I understand. I’m sure Cora will tell you what you need to know. She’s been travelling back and forth from the mainland to here for the past week, fixing problems and so on.”
It was probably why she hadn’t been there to greet me an hour ago, upon arrival.
After emerging from the elevator, he led the way out of the hotel and onto a sandy walkway that gave a great view of the shoreline. The sand crunched under our shoes as we walked along the path, the soft breeze teased my clammy skin, and the sound of the waves hitting the shore in the background had an amazing calming effect on my senses. Instead of being tense and awkward with this stranger, I was somehow at ease. The conversations flowed without a hitch.
En route, he was busy telling me about what this beautiful island had to offer. He was fond of sailing and all sorts of water sports. I, on the other hand, had limited experience but could fully attest that I was decently good at plain ole swimming.
I realized that Juan Torres easily laughed. A carefree soul who didn’t hide his love of a great party and a hardcore EDM music aficionado.
He guided me through a pretty cave passageway that led towards the restaurant overlooking the bay. We arrived at Restaurante El Mirador in no time.
It sat atop what gave way to an enchanting sight over the beach and the bay. It was tavern-like. I kind of liked it. It was charming, and I was sure the seafood dishes were superb.
I would know as soon as I could decipher what this menu was about.
The menu was in Spanish. My limited knowledge of the language was from my Spanish 101 class almost five years ago, a memory I could barely recall to help me get through this unpleasant situation.
“I’m getting the octopus,” Juan declared as he placed the menu to the side. “I recommend you try the paella.”
Paella. I had no clue what it was, but I could go with the flow. After all, this was all about new experiences. “Paella sounds good.”
When the waiter came around, Juan gave our order, along with a bottle of white wine. And upon the arrival of our refreshments, they served us tapas. The savory treats were in small cerulean ceramic dishes. Chorizo. Mushrooms in olive oil. Anchovy. Shrimps doused in olive oil and garlic. Tiny croquettes. Black olives. And several more I couldn’t properly pronounced. Juan enthusiastically described each one of them in great detail.
“Do you know when you’re going to start your dancing thing?” Juan asked as he slipped an olive between his lips.
I shook my head as I dragged my eyes away from his full puckers. “Not yet. I’ll know more tomorrow for sure.” My character’s job was a professional instructor who was vacationing here for a few months after a divorce.
Naturally, I would be shooting a few scenes with just the camera and me dancing. I supposed after that video went viral, it was probably when Lombardo thought it a great idea to have me audition for this role. And if that were the case, I had Carmen to thank for that risqué clip.
“Nice video, by the way. I understand why they wanted you for the movie. With that kind of dancing and your acting skills, put that two together, you have a potentially successful film.”
Why didn’t it occur to me that Juan had seen the video, too? It seemed everyone had. Not only was I a little embarrassed, I was beyond mortified.
Distracted, I tried to avoid his gaze when a soft breeze blew a few strands of my hair, teasing my skin. I gently tucked it behind my ear while feeling my cheeks slowly flame. “You flatter me too much,” I mumbled as I miserably tried to hide my smile.
Juan’s eyes danced with amusement before he chortled upon seeing my mortified reaction. The sound of his deep, throaty laugh sent warm fuzzies in my stomach. “You deserve the praises. Lombardo always spots the up and coming. He’s got an amazing eye for that.”
