Page 12 of His Innocent for One Spanish Night

‘Sí,’Emily agreed, grateful that she understood what had been said, but not quite brave enough to respond in Spanish. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it...’ Her voice trailed off, but it didn’t matter.

‘She is the best.’ The woman looked down at her lovely bust and, happy with her cleavage, took some lipstick from her purse. ‘I go to her workshop.’

‘Do you?’

‘We come here for practice some days...’ She caught Emily’s eyes in the mirror. ‘Are you English?’

Emily nodded, feeling incredibly drab beside this gorgeous, confident woman.

‘I’m Stella.’

‘Emily.’

‘And are you here for a holiday?’

‘For work,’ Emily said, and yet it felt as if she was lying.

It felt as if she was here on an adventure.

An adventure of her own.

But then common sense returned.

‘Damn!’ she said suddenly, and saw the woman start. ‘Sorry. I left my camera on the table.’

‘No problem.’

She felt a little more composed as she walked out. Eva had stopped performing, or was taking a break, because the music was softer now and the lights had gone back on.

And her seat was taken.

The tapas and wine had been cleared away and at her table for one now sat a carefree group of four. There was no handbag—and, worse, there was no camera.

There was a moment of panic—she’d been careless enough to lose her possessions on her first night in Spain—but then she felt an odd calm...a quiet certainty thathewouldn’t have allowed that to happen...and she turned her head to the mysterious stranger.

There were her things. On the table where he sat.

She felt again that curious calm as, with a slight gesture of his head, he beckoned her over.

And, as easily as that, Emily went.

CHAPTER THREE

‘EMILY...’ HEWASPOLITE, and thankfully he missed how startled she was that he knew her name because he moved to stand as she joined him. ‘Sophia said that you were arriving today.’

It dawned on her then that he must be one of the brothers as he gestured for her to take a seat at his table.

No hard chair for a Romero, she thought as she took her place in a red velvet booth. And somehow, she managed to play it not cool—that would have been impossible with blood so hot it bubbled through her veins like lava—but at least she managed to appear outwardly poised.

‘I’m Alejandro,’ he said.

‘The middle one?’ she checked, trying to remember the little she knew of the Romero siblings.

‘The reasonable one.’

‘Good to know.’

‘At least in comparison to the other two.’

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