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She missed him.
Which was lunacy. How could you miss someone who’d been a fixture in your life for less than a week?
She frowned into the bowl of brownie batter she was mixing by hand with a solid wooden spoon. Allowing herself to grow dependent on Ramon would be a mistake. Whatever form their relationship eventually took, he would be there for their child, not for her. And that suited Emily just fine. She needed him to step up and be a father—a better one, hopefully, than Maxwell had been to her—but she didn’t need him to be anything else. Not in the long term.
Curbing her thoughts, she focused on her baking. This morning, for the first time in a week, her nausea had been short-lived and mild enough to avoid a sprint to the bathroom. Taking advantage of the unexpected reprieve, she’d gone for a walk in the autumn sunshine, picked up some fresh produce from a local market, indulged in an early-afternoon nap and then awoken with a fierce, irrepressible craving for chocolate.
She stopped stirring, dipped her finger into the batter for a taste test and closed her eyes as she let her taste buds reach a verdict. The balance of the dark chocolate and the vanilla was perfect. Sliding her finger out of her mouth, she hummed her approval.
‘Dios.’
Emily almost screamed with fright at the deep, gruff voice that echoed through her kitchen. She flattened her palm over her racing heart and turned.
Ramon stood in the doorway, one powerful shoulder propped against the frame, the compact leather holdall he travelled with sitting on the hardwood floor at his feet. In a casual open-necked shirt and thigh-hugging jeans, he looked rugged, gorgeous and a thousand times more mouthwatering than any brownie batter.
A rush of need tightened her belly. ‘I thought you weren’t getting back till later!’
His gaze slid over her, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. ‘Why are you cooking in your underwear?’
Her cheeks burned and she silently cringed. Her pink knickers were the old, practical cotton ones she wore for comfort, and she knew without looking that her stretchy white camisole did little to conceal the fact she was bra-less. She resisted folding her arms over her breasts. ‘I went for a nap.’
He straightened. ‘Are you unwell?’
She stopped herself from executing an exasperated eye roll. ‘No. I was just tired. When I woke up I was craving something sweet and... I was hot...’ It was her only excuse for not having thrown her clothes back on after her nap. She cast him an accusing look. ‘Why did you creep in?’
One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘I didn’t “creep”. I came in quietly in case you were resting.’ He pushed away from the door frame, his gaze trailing over her again, and there was something very deliberate about the way he looked at her. ‘So you’re feeling okay?’
She swallowed, her mouth gone dry. ‘Yes.’ Was her imagination running wild or was the gleam in his eyes almost predatory? She cleared her throat. ‘Did you get the problem with the pool sorted?’
‘Sí.’
He moved closer and her skin started to tingle. She pressed her back against the edge of the bench. ‘Will you need to return next week?’
‘No. Did you miss me, Emily?’
Struggling to keep her breathing even, she shrugged. ‘Not really.’
One dark eyebrow rose. ‘Not at all?’
He moved another inch closer and her limbs weakened. ‘Maybe a tiny bit,’ she relented.
He braced his hands on the counter either side of her. ‘I missed you.’
His voice was low and gravel-rough, and a pulse of excitement flickered in Emily’s throat. She sent her tongue out across her lower lip to alleviate its dryness and heard his breath catch. Raw desire flared in his eyes, and the look of intense arousal on his face, the palpable throb of leashed energy from his big body, was enthralling. Intoxicating. He wanted her, and his patent hunger called on some deep, primitive level to her own equally ravenous desire.
‘What are you making?’
She saw his mouth move, saw those sensuous lips form the words, but couldn’t comprehend the question. ‘What?’ she asked faintly.
He tipped her chin up, forcing her gaze to lift from his beautiful mouth. ‘What are you making?’ he repeated.
This close, she could see the tiny individual pinpricks of the dark stubble along his jaw, feel the impact of the raw heat radiating off him. It shimmered in the air, saturating her skin, slowing the blood in her veins to a sluggish, sensual beat.
She managed to articulate a response. ‘Chocolate brownies.’
‘Doesn’t chocolate contain caffeine?’
As if drawn by the pull of a powerful magnet, her gaze returned to his mouth.
