Page 11 of His Innocent for One Spanish Night

Damn.

She dipped some bread in oil and tried to pretend she could not feel a pulse where she’d thought none existed.

It startled her—to be in public and for the first time turned on. So much so that she wanted to dash to the loo...to escape. To flee from the rush of unfamiliar sensations and the intensity of a man she hadn’t even met.

Emily simply reverted to type...

And fled.

Mujeres, it said on the door.There was a little picture of a woman in a flamenco dress, and Emily was grateful for it, because second language skills were not at the forefront of her mind at the moment.

It was empty—thank goodness.

Of course they were all still watching Eva perform.

She could hear the shouts and the music. It was the music that was affecting her so strongly, Emily told herself as she stood in the very pretty ladies’ room.

There were huge mirrors on the walls with velvet chairs placed in front of them, as if it were some kind of dressing room. Emily stood there for a moment, taking in not so much the surroundings but her own reflection.

She wore the same black trousers and thin shirt that she’d left the apartment in.

That she’d left England in, come to that.

The same black court shoes...

Her hair was tangled and tied up, and her face, as always, was completely devoid of make-up.

Yet she was flushed.

Her lips were rosy, as if she’d been chewing them.

Her nipples were showing through her shirt.

And as she sat on a seat she noticed her dilated pupils and moist eyes, and felt as if something had been unleashed.

It has to be the music, she told herself.

Of course it was.

She kept trying to replay that second when everything had somehow shifted.

When the lights had dimmed?

Or was it when the clapping had started?

The stamping of boots, perhaps?

When she’d locked eyes with him?

The door opened and, ridiculously, she almost expected it to be the man whose eyes she’d locked with. Quickly she told herself she wasn’t thinking straight—she was surely sleep-deprived, jet-lagged...

Sex-starved.

She laughed out loud at that.

Oddly, it didn’t seem to be out of place, because the young woman who now came in laughed also.

‘Ella es brillante, ¿no?’—‘She’s brilliant, isn’t she?’the lady said, taking a seat beside Emily and rearranging her rather spectacular bust.

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