are not well enough to walk.’ It was not a lie; she looked pale and shaken.
‘I’m fine. I just missed lunch and if I don’t hurry I shall miss the paella evening.’ Authentic, she reminded herself as she tried to work up enthusiasm for the prospect—the authentic flamenco evening had involved dancers who hailed from Manchester, though in their defence they had been very good.
‘I know where they do the best paella.’
‘How nice.’
He watched the appearance of the polite smile that was starting to aggravate him and thought about doing something that would wipe it off her face.
‘It would be nicer if I had company…would you come share some paella with me?’
CHAPTER FIVE
MAGGIE stared at Rafael, startled by the invitation.
‘With you?’ she asked, trying to judge if he was serious; not that it mattered—she was not going to say yes, was she?
His shoulders lifted in a magnificent shrug as he inclined his dark head.
Maggie gave a strained laugh and lifted her flushed face to his…So, all right, it was gratifying that a gorgeous man like this wanted her company, but not reality. ‘I couldn’t possibly…’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t know you…and I’m not…’ she stumbled. ‘Not?’
She gave him a direct look.
‘You have very beautiful eyes.’
The eyes in question fell from his. ‘You don’t have to compliment me, and actually I don’t like it.’ Her heart was thudding so hard against her ribs that he had to hear it above the hum of the traffic.
‘If that were true it would make you a very unusual woman, but as a matter of fact it was not a compliment.’
A laugh left Maggie’s lips as her eyes swept upwards. ‘No?’ She arched a feathery brow. ‘It definitely wasn’t an insult.’
‘You have a lot of experience of insults?’
Maggie smiled. ‘I have brothers.’
He began to smile back, then as his eyes drifted to her mouth he stopped abruptly. The buzz of sexual awareness that had been pumping through his veins became a loud thrum.
‘It was actually a statement of fact—you have very beautiful eyes.’
His eyes were resting on her mouth when he said it and something in the smoky scrutiny made Maggie’s heart rate quicken.
And why not? She was allowed to be attracted to a man; it was plain silly to deny it. She was not expert at reading the signs, but it seemed possible he might be attracted to her, although he might be one of those men who were able to make every woman think she was special.
Attraction or not, it wasn’t going anywhere. If she had been the sort of girl who could separate sex from emotion he would have been exactly the sort of man she would have chosen—she wondered uncomfortably if she had been sending out the wrong signals.
She gave an apologetic shrug and explained. ‘I’m not looking for a holiday romance.’
Though some people had suggested—even her own mother had dropped hints—that this was exactly what she ought to be looking for.
Her friend Millie’s typically outspoken parting shot came back to her.
‘What you need to recover from Simon is some fun for once in your life—head-banging sex with no strings with, of course, the right stranger.’
Was there such a thing as the right stranger…and was he it? Maggie brought the train of thought, shocked, to an abrupt halt.
Her eyes widened. I am tempted. I’m really tempted!
He gave a sardonic smile. ‘I was offering dinner.’
The mortified colour flew to her cheeks. ‘Of course you were…sorry…that is, I was…’ Wondering if no strings sex was such a terrible thing. And why shouldn’t she? It wouldn’t hurt anyone; it might even be liberating…it might even be fun.
She doubted this was the sort of fun her mum had had in mind.
He grinned, immediately achieving the impossible and looking even more rampantly gorgeous—he really was the most incredibly male man she had ever met—and looked amused.
‘That is a yes.’
Flustered, Maggie swept the hair from her eyes. ‘Yes, that is, no, I…’
‘You wish for references perhaps?’
She flushed and shook her head feeling gauche, foolish and excited; her eyes widened in recognition of this last emotion. ‘Of course not.’
‘I am Rafael. Rafael-Luis Castenadas.’ Holding her eyes, he bowed formally from the waist. He straightened, pushing a dark hank of hair back from his wide brow as he did so, then angled an enquiring brow and waited.
Not recognising the cue to give her own name, Maggie heard herself say, ‘That’s a lovely name.’
She squeezed her eyes closed and thought, Please, please, let the ground open up and swallow me.
He watched as she bit her lip hard enough to bruise the soft pink flesh and break the skin. He saw a bead of bright blood form and thought about blotting it with his tongue before…He stopped the thought but was unable to stop his body reacting lustfully to the image.
He had never met anyone with a more expressive face. Did she allow every emotion she felt to register on those lovely features?
It made his task easier that she was so easy to read though he wondered how many men had taken advantage of her transparency—as he was.
He pushed aside the sliver of guilt. He had an excuse and he wasn’t trying to get her into bed…though in other circumstances that might, he conceded, have been a tempting idea.
Maggie opened her eyes and found he was watching her; the unblinking intensity of his regard was unsettling.
‘And you?’ he prompted.
‘Me?’ she echoed, wondering about the expression she had glimpsed on his face.
‘You have a name?’
She flushed and struggled to get her brain into gear. She could not believe the effect this total stranger was having on her. ‘I’m Maggie. Maggie Ward, well, Magdalena really, but nobody calls me that.’
‘Everyone starts out as strangers, Magdalena.’
His deep voice had a intimate quality. Maggie, uncomfortably conscious of the forbidden shiver trickling down her spine, told herself it was his accent. Just because he made her name sound exotic didn’t
