Page 16 of His Innocent for One Spanish Night

He must think her a nervous wreck, Emily was sure, because it took her two attempts to get the glass there, interspersed with nervous giggles.

Alejandro did not think her a nervous wreck. Just nervous, shy, and—unlike the sherry—very sweet.

He watched her take a sip, and her blue eyes closed as she held it in her mouth. Alejandro, who spent a lot of his life introducing sherry in tastings, found himself turned on by what should be just the usual.

She swallowed, and then opened her eyes, and out bobbed the tip of her pink tongue.

‘Wow!’ she said, and then began to take another taste, but halted herself as the aftertaste hit. ‘Oh...’ She smiled at him. ‘Perhaps I do like sherry after all.’

‘Or you’re just being polite?’

‘It’s gorgeous,’ she said. ‘Though I have no idea about wines and such, so please don’t ask me to describe its taste on the website.’

‘Don’t worry—that part’s already written. This is a full-bodied sherry.’

Why did everything sound mildly inappropriate tonight? He found that he was fighting not to glance down to her rather full-bodied breasts.

Instead, he looked at what she was holding in her hands—the amber resin from the seal.

‘You get to keep that.’

Emily looked up.

‘It’s tradition,’ he said.

‘Oh...’ She looked at the beautiful amber resin she held between her fingers and could see the trapped wing of a butterfly within. It was a little like the way she felt...

The way she’d always felt.

Trapped by her own shyness.

Simply unable to fly.

‘Now, cheese,’ he said. ‘Assuming you like cheese?’

‘I do,’ she agreed and, slipping the seal into her bag, she watched as he sliced slivers of cheese and gestured for her to take up a fork.

She hesitated. ‘Actually, I don’t like goats’ cheese...’

‘Okay.’ He didn’t even look up from the cheese he was slicing.

He did not know just how momentous a thing it was for Emily to state her preference.

‘What about ewes’ milk?’

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘It sounds dreadful, but...’

‘It’s soft...sweeter...’

Oh, ‘the usual’ was proving so much more difficult tonight.

She was telling him she was, in fact, starving, and that the tapas hadn’t really sufficed.

‘I didn’t have time for breakfast, and there was nothing much left on the trolley.’

‘The trolley?’

‘On my flight,’ she said, smearing creamy cheese over a delicate cracker. ‘By the time they got to me all the sandwiches had gone.’

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