Dining alone with Luis would be the absolute last item on her bucket list, but there was no way she could get out of it, so at eight o’clock she found herself following Pilar out onto the terrace.
Luis had decided to eat outside, and it was difficult to find fault with his decision. The evening was warm, but not stuffy thanks to a faint breeze from the sea, and a vibrant orange sun was sinking below the horizon.
It was the most perfectly romantic setting she had ever seen. Or it would have been if the couple sitting at the table weren’t more or less ignoring one another.
At least the food was heavenly, Cristina thought, swallowing a mouthful of the most delicious yellow gazpacho she had even eaten.
The soup was followed by lamb with smoked aubergines and then, for dessert, a turrón mousse. The wine was also delicious—a rich red Rioja with a streak of spice and blackberries—although she noticed that Luis stuck to water.
Perhaps he’d forgotten he was off-duty,
she thought, her gaze drifting over his suit and tie—a mid-blue and stripe combination this time. She half expected him to hand her a memo, or start discussing the fiscal year.
In fact the absence of his laptop appeared to be his only concession to the informality of the occasion. Probably he wore a suit even when he went swimming. Or maybe he had a pair of pinstripe swim shorts…
‘Sorry—’
She felt sparks jolt over her skin as they both reached for the bottle of water at the same time and his fingers brushed against hers.
‘Please—allow me,’ he said, breaking the taut silence.
Her eyes locked onto his long, slim fingers, curling around the bottle, and she felt her heartbeat ripple. They’d curled around her waist in much the same way as she straddled him and he’d gazed up her, his grey eyes dark and intent.
She steadied her breathing as he filled her glass, then his. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m just following orders.’
‘That must make a change from giving them,’ she said sweetly.
Luis held her gaze. ‘I’m not a monster, Cristina.’
Even though he had acted like one earlier.
He gritted his teeth. Everything she did made him question himself. Each time he thought he’d got her all worked out she did something to throw him off balance, so that his behaviour over the last few days now seemed not reasonable but over the top and unnecessarily brutal.
It didn’t help that whenever he was within her orbit his body kept overriding his brain and reminding him of just how perfectly she had fitted against him.
Breathing deeply, he forced himself to tune out his libido and concentrate on the here and now.
Tonight she looked poised and demure, in a cream blouse that showed off the pale golden skin of her arms and a pleated navy skirt that skimmed her knees. Her beauty was undeniable, but he wanted to see beneath the beauty.
Finding her in his brother’s bedroom, he had been convinced of her guilt. Or maybe he had wanted to be convinced, he admitted a moment later. To make her fit into the category he’d assigned her: sexy but unscrupulous female photographer.
So maybe she had been right. He did want to think the worst of her.
But it was easier that way.
Easier than admitting to the facts.
That he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
That even now part of his brain seemed intent on imagining all the different ways they could be making love on this table.
Heat rushed across his skin and he felt his muscles—all of them—tighten.
‘Are those boats racing?’
Luis blinked as Cristina’s voice broke into his heated thoughts and he turned towards where she was pointing. Out on the sea five small yachts, some with brightly coloured sails and fancy graphics, were chasing one another. It was a regular occurrence over the summer, and something he and his brother had frequently done using their own dinghy.