Page 35 of His Innocent for One Spanish Night

An exchange of information, really, rather than conversation.

Or conversation, rather than talking.

‘Thanks for the tour,’ Emily said, and got out of the car, after he’d stopped at the front of the bodega.

But of course Alejandro didn’t have to do things like go and park his car, so he got out too, and gave his keys to the security officer, and soon caught up with her as she punched in the code to his residence.

‘You remembered,’ he said.

‘I did.’

She walked ahead of him on the steps, and took out the massive key as she did so. This time there was no lounging at the gates by Alejandro—just a brief goodnight.

Then, ‘Emily?’ he said as she turned the key.

‘What?’ she responded rather rudely, without turning around.

Because if she faced him then she might start crying. She could still feel their attraction, and it felt unfair that Alejandro wanted her, yet refused to give in to that want.

‘I’m a bastard where women are concerned,’ he said.

‘I had heard.’

And she wished—how she wished—that he was just a little bit more of a bastard.

And would take her to bed.

She entered her apartment alone and sat in the dark on her sofa, wondering how long she might remain unwanted.

The glimpse of sex he’d shown her tonight had far from sated her...it had just made her more desirous, if that were possible.

Only it wasn’t just sex she wanted to discover now.

She wantedhim.

Well, no more!

A sound had her moving to the balcony. She saw a group of women, crossing the road, walking together and laughing, clapping as they walked.

A couple of other women were calling to them and they turned. Emily looked to where they had come from, and it appeared to be a bar or a café. But then her eyes were drawn to the lit rooms above.

A dance school.

She thought of what Alejandro had said about taking lessons. Her!

He was a nice bastard...

She niggled him. Not at his conscience, because he was certain he’d done the right thing by her, but she just niggled him in a way no one else ever had.

Their attraction had been instant and undeniable, but it was more than that. He’d enjoyed last night. All the things that were so normal...the sherry-tasting, thetaberna—had been made special.

The music, which he usually kept as background noise in his mind, had come forward. She’d made him laugh, and he didn’t do much of that.

He hated it that he’d rejected her—especially given what she’d told him about her ex. Yet at the same time he knew his own reputation.

And a kind and gentle twenty-six-year-old virgin did not need his casual ways.

He loathed closeness.

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