Page 29 of One More Sleepless Night

She stepped inside, taking great care to fleetingly and subtly brush against him, and felt a dizzying little dart of satisfaction when he flinched. Excellent. Rafael might be trying to project an air of studied indifference and supreme self-control, but chemistry didn’t seem to be going along with it any more than she was. Which was lucky because her plans for the afternoon relied heavily on chemistry.

‘How did you know where to find me?’ he said, closing the door behind her and sounding as if he wished she hadn’t.

‘Gaby gave me your address.’

‘I didn’t hear the buzzer.’

‘I didn’t ring it.’

‘So who let you in?’

‘A fellow resident.’ She didn’t see any need to mention that, not at all sure he’d want to see her, she’d abandoned the buzzer in favour of hovering outside, waiting for someone to go into the building and slipping in behind them. ‘From downstairs, apparently. He was charming.’

‘I’m sure he was.’

‘He spoke flawless English.’

‘How convenient.’

‘Wasn’t it?’

Rafael folded his arms over his chest, leaned back against the console table and fixed her with that unwavering stare that before had made her squirm with discomfort and now made her squirm with something else entirely. ‘So how have you been?’

‘Fabulous,’ she said as longing spread through her veins as slow and thick and delicious as treacle.

Languidly and thoroughly he ran his gaze over her, from the hair on her head right down to her pink toenails, and as she endured his scrutiny every inch of her in between burned. By the time he’d finished making his way back up she was shaking inside with the effort of not hurling herself at him.

‘You certainly look fab—’ He broke off. Frowned. Swore probably, she thought, beneath his breath. ‘Well,’ he finished.

‘Thank you,’ she said and reminded herself that there’d be no hurling of anyone anywhere yet because she needed to concentrate. ‘I feel well.’

‘Would you like a drink?’ he said, pushing himself off the console table and striding off in the direction of the kitchen.

‘Anything soft and cold would be great,’ she said and followed him despite the lack of invitation. ‘It’s hot, isn’t it?’

He walked over to the fridge and took out a jug of orange juice and she took the opportunity to ogle his bottom. ‘Very,’ he muttered, and she got the delightful feeling he wasn’t just referring to the temperature.

As Rafael plucked a couple of glasses from the cupboard next to the fridge and poured the juice Nicky watched the muscles of his back twist beneath the cotton of his T-shirt and her palms itched with the need to touch him.

He turned abruptly and handed her a glass.

‘Thank you,’ she said, taking it, lifting it to her mouth and taking a long swallow. Skin-pricklingly aware that his eyes were on her, she ran her hand down her throat as she did so. ‘Yum, delicious.’

Rafael didn’t move but she thought she caught the tell-tale hammering of a muscle in his jaw, and smiled.

‘So this is a nice place,’ she said, turning slightly to look around his apartment and deciding that actually nice was way too bland a word for the incredible vision that met her eyes.

It was open plan, the kitchen partly cut off by a wide breakfast bar giving way to a dining area, which then flowed into a vast and comfortable-looking sitting room containing a wide deep sofa, several well-worn armchairs and a coffee table piled high with magazines.

Bookshelves lined the far wall and sagged beneath the weight of the dozens of books that were stacked upon them. Light spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling windows filling the room with light and shadows. Plants sat on every horizontal surface and art hung on every vertical one.

It was the sort of flat a girl could get very cosy in, thought Nicky, if that was her intention, which in her case, of course, it wasn’t.

‘I like it,’ he said abruptly.

‘You like plants,’ she observed.

‘I do.’

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