Page 54 of His Innocent for One Spanish Night

‘Go on.’

‘I can’t wear this,’ she said, holding up the very sheer dress. ‘I’ll look ridiculous.’

‘Why do you say that?’ He was impatient. ‘You don’t need to have a degree in flamenco to wear it...you don’t have to reach some high standard. Go and get changed...tonight we make our ownjaleo.’

‘Do you play the guitar?’

‘Good God, no.’

He smiled and, standing, took out a vinyl record. As she stood there, the sounds of a guitar and acajónfilled the room.

‘You can use my bedroom to change.’

He said it so casually...as if her going to his bedroom to get changed was normal.

‘Straight down the hall.’

The hall was long, the huge wooden doors at the end were already open, and she clipped towards them, hearing the tinny metal sounds her borrowed shoes were making on the tiles.

The room was softly lit and the low bed was dressed in white. The scent of his cologne hung in the air, and it felt oddly like an unwanted reprieve to be in here without him.

If he really wanted her, wouldn’t it behishands undressing her?

She looked at the bed and it terrified her, but then she looked into the mirror and that worried her even more.

She stood there, alone in his bedroom, in front of a full-length mirror, and decided that anything she put on now would surely be an improvement on this.

Her purple practice skirt and plunging top looked as if she’d been raiding the dress-up box at some amateur theatre club. The flower in her hair had fallen down and now hung from one curl. She peeled off her clothes and looked at her underwear, which was by far too sensible for the new dress.

She pulled the dress over her head, absolutely certain that it would never stretch enough and could never fit...yet the liquid silky fabric meshed to her body like a second skin.

The neckline was far too low for her to wear her T-shirt bra beneath it. And her awful knickers did nothing for the clinging fabric.

She slid them off, but the fabric now clung to her bare stomach, so she took down the sleeves and removed her bra.

Then she slid the arms of the dress back on.

She was fully dressed, but her nipples were thick and the fabric so sheer she could see her tummy button. Somehow it clung and yet it smoothed, making her breasts and stomach look shapely. It hugged her bottom and thighs.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she lifted the skirt as she slid on her shoes and saw that, even though it clung, there was yard after yard of fabric in the dress.

God, it was too sexy by far, Emily thought as, with her new shoes on, she looked in the mirror.

Now she looked as if she’d raided the costume box of some upmarket opera house.

Tonight, Carmen will be played by Emily, she thought, laughing to herself and retying her silk flower.

She turned around and saw that the back of the dress was so low it revealed most of her spine, then she spun back to the mirror.

Her red cheeks looked as if she’d been slapped and they stung in her pale face.

She took out the lipstick and painted her mouth red, and then she walked out.

The shoes sounded fabulous, the metal nails ringing out with each step she took, and there was no chancing of pausing or taking tentative steps because she knew that he’d hear her.

She was one burning blush as she entered his lounge.

His tie and jacket were off and he had changed into boots rather than the shoes he’d had on before.

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