Page 10 of His Innocent for One Spanish Night

It was spellbinding.

Eva clapped, making a sharp noise with the strike of her hand, and then she beat out the tempo with her black shoes and the men matched it with their music.

Eva smiled and growled and bared her teeth, portraying every emotion as she moved, demanding that the musicians match her changing moods.

The dancing pushed them on.

It was incredible.

There was nothing Emily could do but watch as Eva’s elegant body and strong gestures held the entire room.

The noise of her shoes, the thunder of the men’s boots and the increasing tempo from the guitars, as well as the percussion instruments two of the men held between their thighs, seemed to be building towards a crescendo.

Yet, they continued on.

Eva’s claps were like whips being cracked, precise and demanding, and then suddenly more muted.

The men clapped too, now, as if urging her to new limits, attempting to exhaust her. And yet she refused to relent, striking the stage so fast that Emily felt as if she were caught in a sudden hailstorm, struck by a power she could never hope to override.

How, Emily begged herself, had she not known this world existed?

She wanted to move, to get up and dance as some of the customers were doing. She wanted to shout out and cheer like the other patrons. She could feel herself smiling, even taking a sip of her wine and raising her glass in appreciation at one point.

It was hypnotic, incredible... But then, as a woman stood up from a table to get closer to the stage, Emily briefly turned, and although thetabernacontinued to heave with music and dance, and the music poured forth, for Emily it all seemed to pause.

He stopped her with his gaze.

He wore a dark suit.

Some other patrons did too, but they were end-of-work-day suits, with jackets off, shirtsleeves rolled up.

Casual.

This man was far from that.

His tie was loosened, his jaw unshaven, and yet he was utterly immaculate.

And he was bold with his dark eyes.

Emily had never been looked at like that before.

Had never looked back at another person with such intensity in her entire life.

It truly felt as if it would be entirely appropriate for him to walk over to her right this moment, or for him to beckon her to him.

She sat there on the hard wooden chair, feeling the thunder of boots reverberating from the stage, and the patrons, but they were tiny jolts compared to the sheer effect of this man.

The music returned—it had never left—and her senses also returned, as if a long drink was being poured, filling her from her thighs upwards, low, low in her stomach—which she held in. Not just because she all too often held it in—he couldn’t see that anyway—simply because it was clenched and guarded against the heat of his stare. And still he filled her senses as the music played on. She could feel her breasts grow heavy in her bra, feel her throat too tense even to swallow.

And as for her mouth...

It felt too big for her face...her lips out of position. And without a word being spoken, with barely a moment between them, she was more turned on than she had ever been in her life.

It was the music, she told herself, dragging her eyes from his face. Surely it was the music or the effects from the wine?

Yet the carafe on her table was still almost full, she realised at a glance, trying to fathom what was taking place.

It was his beauty, she told herself as she reached for that final olive, stabbing it with a little fork and missing.

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