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She’d been expecting the invitation. Had been prepared to turn him down—and put him in his place. But the words refused to come out of her mouth.
‘So that’s why you went to all the trouble of tracking me down,’ she replied, putting just the right amount of indifference into her tone. ‘To ask me on a date?’ She battered her eyelashes. ‘I suppose I should be flattered.’
He didn’t seem fazed by the put-down. If anything, he looked more assured than ever. Drat the man.
‘Actually, that’s not the primary reason why I phoned and spoke to your partner.’
‘Don’t forget the wheedling,’ Ruby added cheekily, enjoying the sizzle as his eyes narrowed.
Sparring with this man had an edge of danger that only made it more irresistible. Which was definitely a bad thing. But she was finding it hard to care. She’d had a monumentally crappy day—and he was partially responsible. It seemed only reasonable she should allow herself a moment to flirt with him, as a consolation.
‘As I said, Ms Delisantro, I don’t wheedle. That was the fine art of persuasion.’
Ruby shrugged, admiring his dimples. He was definitely more dangerous when he smiled. ‘So what was the primary reason you tracked me down, then? And wheedled?’
The dimples deepened. ‘I came to pay for the damage to your car.’
She was so surprised, the statement left her momentarily lost for words. ‘You’re joking?’
‘I caused the damage, I pay. Those are the rules,’ he said, as if that kind of gallantry were the norm.
‘Don’t you ever break the rules?’ she asked.
‘Never.’
‘That’s fortunate,’ she murmured, astonished to find his conformity as sexy as the rest of him.
She wasn’t big on rules and regulations herself. As long as she wasn’t hurting anyone, where was the harm in bending them a bit? And she’d always been drawn to men with the same free and easy attitude.
She would never break the law, not since she’d been egged into shoplifting at the tender age of twelve by a boy she’d idolised. The guilt had eaten at her for days, until she’d finally told her father. He’d marched her down to apologise to the shopkeeper in question and pay for the candy necklace she’d taken. The shame had nearly killed her, and she’d promised herself she’d never do anything illegal again.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t prepared to question the status quo—whenever necessary. If a boundary was presented to her, she felt honour-bound to push at it. She suspected Callum Westmore’s code of ethics was so unyielding, he would insist on pushing back.
But since when had she found that sort of rigidity appealing?
‘On the contrary,’ he said, his deep green eyes glinting at her. ‘That’s civilisation.’
Funny, that gleam in his eyes wasn’t what she’d call civilised.
His gaze dipped to her feet. ‘Put some shoes on, and we’ll discuss how much I owe you over dinner.’
She bristled at the dictatorial tone. The man was far too used to ordering women around. But she decided not to challenge him. Yet. The thought of spending the evening with him, the sexual energy humming between them, was tantalising. Especially as she already knew their date couldn’t possibly lead anywhere. This guy was so not her type, on so many levels. And spending the evening with him would make that blatantly obvious.
‘I’ll go to dinner with you on one condition,’ she said, deciding to test his limits. ‘I get to pick the venue.’
Her friend Sol’s Cuban bar on Camden Lock hosted a salsa evening on Friday night. It was a popular hang-out for her and her wide circle of friends and neither the fiery tapas nor the dance moves were for the faint-hearted.
Westmore would feel instantly uncomfortable in the Bohemian surroundings in his suit and tie and she doubted he’d have the guts to brave the dance floor, no matter how arrogant he was. She almost felt sorry for him. But seeing him struggle to fit in at Sol’s would be a quick fix for the bizarre effect he had on her. And she’d be able to blow him off at the end of the evening without a single regret. Plus Dave, her mechanic, had already quoted her two hundred pounds for the repairs to Scarlett and the offer Westmore had made, which would mean she didn’t have to dig into her no claims bonus, wasn’t something she could afford to pass up.
He nodded, completely oblivious to his impending ordeal. ‘As long as the food’s edible and I’m footing the bill, I don’t have a problem with that.’
As Ruby went to get her shoes and repair her make-up she felt the tiny stab of guilt. Normally she insisted on going Dutch on a first date, so the guy didn’t get the wrong idea, and making the man pay for his own humiliation seemed a bit mean. But as she left Ella to lock up, and stepped out into the early evening sunshine to see Callum Westmore leaning against the gleaming black paintwork of his pricey Italian convertible, confidence oozing from every pore, the guilt turned to anticipation and the pleasant hum of arousal peaked. The man needed to have his ego taken down a peg or two, and her body needed a wake-up call. And she’d found the perfect way to do both.
Once tonight was over, the all-conquering Callum Westmore would have discovered that not every woman who fancied him was prepared to fall at his feet.
The minute they walked into the bustling bar tucked away on the canal path at the bottom of Camden Market, Cal knew exactly what Ruby’s game was.
Her hourglass figure moved enticingly in the fifties-style cotton dress as she waved to the barman and shouted a greeting. A swarthy youth in his early twenties rushed over and directed them to a secluded table on the other side of the dance floor—while slanting Cal an assessing stare.
Cal pressed his palm to the warm bare skin of Ruby’s back to guide her through the crowded tables and felt the slight jolt she couldn’t disguise. A smile edged his lips as he caught the waiter’s glare before the younger man hurried away.
The crowd were young and trendy, the music from a band in the corner loud and vibrant and the smell of fresh sweat and exotic spices all but overwhelming. Couples followed the intricate steps of the salsa with easy grace on a terrace overlooking the canal, their lithe young bodies entwined as they moved in time with the throbbing bongo beat that accompanied the blatantly sexual dance. At barely six o’clock, the place was already packed. One of the waitresses, hefting a tray laden with tapas dishes and bottles of Mexican beer, stopped to give Ruby a quick kiss and then grinned and whispered something in her ear while giving Cal a deliberate once-over. By the time they’d reached their table, they’d been stopped a dozen times, with Ruby shouting introductions over the blare of the music and voices, her face glowing with a potent blend of expectation, excitement and casual confidence.
Shrugging off his jacket, he draped it over the chair, then pulled off his tie and slipped it in his pocket. Undoing the top buttons of his shirt, Cal made himself comfortable, more than ready to take whatever Ms Ruby Delisantro had to throw at him.
She’d planned to show him up by bringing him here, that much was obvious. No doubt expecting him to be some boring suit who would balk at the idea of getting down and dirty at a neighbourhood bar where she was the queen bee. The ploy made him smile.
Unfortunately for her, she’d miscalculated. He didn’t give in that easily. He wasn’t the snob or the killjoy she’d obviously mistaken him for. And he happened to enjoy dancing, especially when it was with a beautiful woman whom he’d been desperate to get his hands on all day. Latin dancing in particular could be a very satisfying form of foreplay, especially when you knew the steps—and he had a feeling Ruby knew this dance very well indeed. What she didn’t know was that so did he.
He settled in his chair and waited for her to finish chatting with yet another friend who had crossed the bar to greet her. He stiffened then forced himself to relax when the young man grabbed her round the waist and hauled her up for a quick kiss. He suspected Ruby’s bright, breezy, social-butterfly act was for his benefit so he should sit back and enjoy the show.
She wriggled out of the guy’s arms and gave him a jaunty pat on the cheek, making it subtly clear with her body language that, while she enjoyed the attention, their friendship was purely platonic. The guy gave him a brief nod as Ruby introduced them, then wound his way through the crowd, obviously used to getting the brush off.
Boy, but she was good. A natural flirt, who had the ability to make guys feel great without leading them on.
He’d hazard a guess that Ruby Delisantro only chose to date men who let her dictate all the moves. And he guessed she’d have no shortage of willing candidates mesmerised by that voluptuous body, her boldly beautiful face and her vibrant personality.
But that was before she’d met him.
He stretched out his legs, relishing the battle of wills ahead.
When was the last time he’d had to actively seduce a woman? To put some effort into the chase?
He’d chosen Gemma and nearly all of her predecessors in his bed, specifically because they’d been willing to let him set the pace. What he hadn’t realised until today was that his decision to always take the path of least resistance had resulted in his sex life becoming remarkably dull.
What was it they said about no pain, no gain?
He had the feeling Ruby, with her impulsive, flirtatious nature, her smart mouth and her desire to be in charge, had the potential to be a royal pain in the backside, but those very same qualities also made her electrifyingly sexy and a major challenge. And if the arousal flooding through his veins at the glimpse of cleavage as she propped her elbows on their table was anything to go by, the gain was going to be worth the pain.
Slinging his arm over the back of her chair, he leaned in close and brushed the unruly curls of hair behind her ear.
‘Nice choice,’ he murmured, loving the way she shivered as his breath brushed her ear lobe. ‘Why don’t you order for us? You seem to have the connections to get the best service and I’m famished.’ She probably knew the menu off by heart. ‘And then we can dance it off before we discuss damages.’
Her big brown eyes widened beautifully as her head whipped round. ‘You know how to salsa?’
‘You’ll have to wait and see,’ he said, stroking the back of her neck with his thumb under the heavy fall of hair. ‘But I think you’ll discover I have a few talents.’
Salsa being the least of them.
She shivered again—and he had to resist the urge to throw back his head and laugh at the sparkle of irritation in her eyes and the dark sheen of stunned arousal.
Score one to me.
For goodness’ sake.
The infernal man didn’t look uncomfortable in the least. If anything, he looked positively smug. And if that weren’t bad enough, the light rub of his thumb against her nape was making her want to roll over and purr. Pulling away from the sensual torture before she did just that, Ruby signalled Sol’s wife, Chantelle, and ordered a selection of tapas dishes and a margarita for herself. Westmore then chimed in and ordered a beer—in fluent Spanish. Chantelle carried on a brief conversation with him of which Ruby only managed to catch about two words. Giving a throaty laugh, the waitress leaned over to clear the empty plates and glasses that had been left on their table and whispered in Ruby’s ear.
‘He’s a hot one, querida’, she said in her thick Spanish accent, the tone husky with humour. ‘Maybe even too hot for you to handle, eh?’
As Chantelle strolled off, the tray perched expertly on her arm, Ruby assessed her date. And struggled to regroup.
Well, he was certainly hot.
With his sleeves rolled up, her eyes were drawn to the muscles in his forearm as he tapped his fingers on the table to the beat of the music. Acknowledging the twist and throb of desire, she dismissed it.
So what if he was hot? He couldn’t possibly be too hot for her to handle.
‘Where did you learn to speak Spanish?’ she asked. Maybe polite conversation was the best way to cool things down a bit. She liked heat as much as the next girl but getting incinerated wasn’t part of her plan.
‘I lived in Barcelona for a few years after law school.’
‘You’re a lawyer?’ Which would explain his affinity for the rule of law, Ruby thought. But not her overwhelming attraction.
‘I’m a barrister,’ he corrected easily.
She could just picture him in court, directing a jury in robes and a white wig. Instead of making him seem ridiculous, the image only made him seem more commanding.
‘And you make cupcakes for a living?’ he countered.
‘I do.’ She straightened, waiting for the derogatory comment. People often thought what she did was frivolous and inconsequential. Given the gravity of this guy’s profession, she could just imagine what he was thinking about her little bakery business.
‘And according to the Standard, they’re the best cupcakes in the known universe.’
‘You read Ed Moulder’s review?’ The veteran food writer had gushed about A Touch of Frosting, and Ruby was inordinately proud of the review, but still the admiration in Callum’s voice took her by surprise.
‘The man had quite a crush on your cupcakes,’ he added. ‘And he’s notoriously hard to please.’
‘My cupcakes can be very seductive,’ she said, her pleasure at the unexpected praise making her purr after all.
‘I can well imagine.’ His eyes darkened as he picked her hand up from the table, and turned it over. The hum of voices, the defiant throb of music seemed to fade away, until all she could hear was the hammer of her own heartbeat and the low murmur of his voice, whispering across her sensitised skin. ‘But the question is, do they taste as good as you?’
She watched transfixed as he raised her hand to his mouth and bit softly into the pad of flesh on the base of her thumb. The shot of heat pounded into her breasts making them peak painfully against her push-up bra.
The breath lodged in her throat.
The line was corny, cheesy even—and from the mocking twist of his lips she guessed he knew it. But she was struggling to breathe, so scoffing was out of the question.
The sound of the bar came flooding back as Chantelle’s arrival broke the spell. Her friend laid out their order on the table, then shot Ruby a teasing wink. Studiously ignoring the rush of blood to her cheeks, Ruby took a hasty sip of her margarita as her friend strolled off. The sweet icy tang of citrus, triple sec and tequila felt like nectar as it slid down her raw throat.
Cal saluted her with the frosty bottle of lager before bringing it to his lips. Her gaze landed on the strong column of his throat as he swallowed and she began to feel lightheaded.
Holy moley. He is too hot to handle.
Unfortunately, just looking at those long fingers gripping the neck of the bottle and the sheen of sweat on his Adam’s apple was making her feel euphoric. And more aroused than she had been in months. She’d been so careful lately, so cautious. But as the pounding salsa beat throbbed through her veins and she watched Cal drink thirstily Ruby felt her inhibitions float up and fly off across the Lock into the sultry summer night.
What the heck? She didn’t intend to fall at his feet, but surely there was no harm in having fun for one night. It had been so long since she’d had the chance to indulge her inner flirt to the full. And frankly, Callum Westmore came in such a mouth-watering package, he was fast becoming too hot not to handle.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘RUBY, are you trying to lead again?’ Callum teased, his breath making her earlobe tingle. ‘Because I may have to show you who’s boss.’
‘I’d like to see you try,’ Ruby quipped, then laughed and clung on as he swung her round.
His answering chuckle made her head spin as he dipped her over his arm for one tantalising second. ‘Consider yourself shown.’
She inhaled a lung full of the woody scent of his soap masked by the hint of fresh male sweat—and basked in the sultry rhythm of the salsa as he whisked her upright. His arm banded around her waist so tight she could feel every single inch of his hard, lean physique.
He was a good dancer. An exceptionally good dancer. Not only did he know the steps, but he moved with a fluid, natural grace unencumbered by his height, throwing her into the spins and dips with masterful strength and confidence.
Unfortunately, after two margaritas, only a nibble of the spicy tapas dishes and an hour of full-on flirting, Ruby was finding it impossible to concentrate on the dance, instead of all the parts of her body that were throbbing with need.
The desire to feel those hard, callused fingers on her naked skin—to lick the divot of his throat and taste the salty aroma of his sweat—overwhelmed her and her intoxication had nothing to do with the heady cocktails or the lack of food.
A small voice in her head kept telling her that he’d engineered this, that he’d been stoking the need all evening. Making her feel like the only woman in the bar with those long penetrating looks; tempting her as his gaze flicked to her mouth every time she licked dry lips; goading her as they vied for top spot in a seductive game of one-upmanship.
And now he was sealing his conquest in time-honoured tradition by holding her body close and leading her in a sensual dance of challenge and retreat. Promise and provocation.
But the more she breathed in his scent; the more she felt the muscles bunch beneath the fine cotton of his shirt; the more the husky tone of his voice played havoc with her senses; the quieter that dissenting voice became. Until all she could hear, roaring through every cell of her overwrought body, was the voice yelling, ‘Go for it, Ruby.’
She’d never had a one-night stand before. Had always thought the concept highly overrated. Why would you want to share that kind of intimacy with a man you didn’t know? And who didn’t know you? But suddenly the glorious anonymity of one night of passion held a giddy thrill that was impossible to resist.
She’d sworn off relationships for the time being, but surely one night of indulgence didn’t count.
And if you were going to have a one-night stand, who better to have it with than someone who had the sex appeal of Casanova—and about half as much depth?
She wouldn’t be able to hurt a man like Callum Westmore, even if she tried.
The music slowed to a stop and Cal’s hand rode down to rest on her hip. Her legs straddled one hard thigh, forcing her to press against the muscled sinew. Her eyes fixed on his lips and she noticed the shadow of stubble on his cheeks.
He swore softly, then clasped her head, and captured her mouth.
The contact was electric. His lips firm and warm. The insistent throbbing between her legs exploded as he deepened the kiss. She opened to accept the invasion, the strong sure strokes of his tongue leaving her breathless as he drew back.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said, his gaze shuttered, his voice rough with lust. ‘I don’t do sex as a spectator sport.’
Yes, please.
Her mind screamed the words, but she could only nod, mute with longing, her lips still burning from the intensity of his kiss.
