Spice It Up - an erotic novella (3 page)

‘Grope? You call that a grope?’ He had that eyebrow raised again. ‘And why would I manipulate you?’

‘Huh. You want a good review maybe? You said you wanted to talk.’

He shrugged, and actually laughed. Only a small laugh, but enough to wind her up, which was better than feeling horny. ‘You think that’s what that was about?’

‘Oh, go and run back to your pregnant wife.’

He uttered something which she took to be an oath – asking for a beer was close to her limit as far as Spanish went. Then, before she could react, he closed the gap between them and grabbed her by the upper arms. ‘This is what I’d do if I was trying to manipulate you,
querida
.’

The first kiss had been a gentle, tempting caress. A tease, a promise. This wasn’t. His mouth came down hard on hers. She gasped, opened her mouth to object, and then found she couldn’t. Strong fingers tangled deep into her hair, pulling her head back as his tongue explored, tasting her, sending need straight between her already damp thighs. He sucked on her tongue gently so that her lips opened wider, then more forcibly, until the judder of want was tracing a line from her hardening nipples to her throbbing clit.

Her whole body was begging to be touched as she tried to press herself closer, willing him to reach out, cup her breast in his strong fingers, pull her tighter to him, but he didn’t. He didn’t let her touch him, didn’t let her get close enough to feel the hardness of his cock, to feel his heat against her even though she could see the outline of his erection, and she could taste his lust in her mouth. His grip on her upper arm, in her hair, never shifted. This was total agony of temptation.

Abruptly he pulled back, still holding her arms, and she swayed. His face was still only inches from hers and he was breathing almost as heavily as she was.

‘You bastard. Let go of me.’

‘So you can slap me?’ There was a slight twist to his lips.

‘You’re not worth the effort.’ OK, she was panting, which lent a lie to the words, but she had to say them.

‘Don’t say you didn’t like it.’ His gaze had drifted down, and she knew he was looking at her nipples, which were peaking against her thin top as though they had an escape plan all of their own.

‘I might have liked it, but it doesn’t mean I enjoyed it.’ His grip on her arms eased slightly and she suddenly wanted him to grip her tighter, push her back onto the bonnet of the car … No, no,
no
, Ellie, do not go there.

He moved one of his thumbs, brushing against her breast, his gaze still fixed on her chest.

‘Don’t you fucking dare.’ She stamped on his foot, which was a bit of a waste of time, from the grin on his face, but at least it made her feel a bit better. And it made him look up.

‘You want me to, really.’

Christ, those dark eyes were dancing and he had the naughtiest, most tempting look on his face. She did want him to.

‘I don’t do sharing.’ That came out croaky; she tried to clear her throat.

‘Sharing? Ah yes, my pregnant wife.’ He chuckled, which sent a tremble right through her body, a tremble she was pretty sure he felt by the way his fingers tightened slightly around her.

‘It’s not bloody funny. I saw you, in the car.’ That mouth was damned hypnotic; she could have sworn she was swaying towards him. So much for drinking wine on an empty stomach. It had to be that. His crap food was inedible, so she hadn’t eaten for hours.

‘That was Danielle, and she’s not my wife. I’m sorry she hit your car.’ He didn’t look sorry; he looked like any second now he might kiss her again. She cleared her throat and tried to ignore the erection she could feel hard against her thigh.

‘It was probably because you were shouting at her.’

He laughed, shifted his hips slightly, just a fraction that took him closer to where she really wanted him. ‘You saw us arguing?’

‘Couldn’t bloody miss it. You were having a real go at her. Don’t deny it, I saw you.’ She glared, partly because he was laughing, partly because she couldn’t stop looking at him, mainly because it was easier to keep her thighs clamped together if she was cross. ‘You grabbed the steering wheel, which was why she swerved.’

‘I grabbed the steering wheel to try and stop her swerving.’

His tone was even, his mouth close enough to her neck for the warmth of his breath to send serious tingles through her as he spoke, but he was talking rubbish. Even though she was so turned on she couldn’t have stopped him doing whatever he wanted to her right here, right now, she still knew he was talking rubbish. ‘To stop her?’ She eased away a bit, before he had a chance to touch her with those lips and make her forget every last objection. ‘No, no that doesn’t make one bit of sense, why would she …?’

‘She wanted to hit you.’

Chapter Three

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ She jerked back and cold air filled the gap between them. If he’d only let go of her and move away properly, stop disturbing her equilibrium, then she’d be able to work out what he’d actually said. Because he couldn’t have said what she thought he had.

His hands dropped to his sides and the frustration chased the lust off his face. ‘I think you got it first time. Come for a drink with me, let me explain?’

She grimaced and he laughed; a deep, sexy, thundering laugh that would have made her knickers wet if they hadn’t already been. ‘Not here, round the corner I know a better place.’

‘She wanted to hit me?’ This was getting a bit surreal. This went beyond being a bit tipsy; this was “there must be something in the food” territory.

‘Come on.’ He stroked a finger down her cheek, which sent a shiver of goosebumps straight down her spine. ‘I need to talk to you.’

‘You won’t grab me again?’

He held both hands up and took a step back. ‘Not unless you ask me to, I promise.’ He grinned. ‘Not unless you beg.’

The place round the corner was far too short a walk. He didn’t grab her, but he did put a guiding hand in the centre of her back, which made her seriously consider the begging bit. A long, bracing walk in the cold air, with no contact, would have been a better idea.

‘Pizza, wine?’ He steered her to a quiet table and signalled to a waitress who headed their way instantly. That was the trouble with men like him; she wasn’t the only one who noticed.

‘At least there aren’t any tapas here.’ Be normal, have normal conversation, that was all she had to do. And wonder why some mad woman would try and run her off the road, and why some dishy Spaniard had just as good as made love to her in a car park. Normal, sure thing.

He grinned, and the trying to be normal idea flew out of the window, leaving her even more nervous, or fluttery, which might not have been quite the same thing. ‘So, the review …’ Ah, she’d been right, he’d caught her and kissed her just so that he could get her to write a glowing review of his poor substitute for Spanish dining.

‘She tried to run me off the road so I wouldn’t do a bloody review?’ Now she felt a bit sick; she was with a psycho, or the friend of one. They were mad, the lot of them, they had to be.

‘Whoa, it’s nothing like that. Believe me.’ He looked like someone she should believe, but mad people could do that, couldn’t they? ‘Forget Dani for just one minute, please?’

OK, she took a breath. She’d try and forget all the other surreal things and concentrate on why she’d been there in the first place, which must have something to do with why she was here now, mustn’t it? ‘Look, I don’t know what all this is about but I can’t lie. So you might as well leave me alone.’ She couldn’t; writing a less than honest review just wouldn’t lie comfortably with her. She knew that she could sit staring at her laptop for hours and she’d never come up with anything she was happy with, because there just weren’t enough redeeming features of Pinchos Bar to make a review. Not even a very short review that would make her look like a gormless idiot who hadn’t the first idea about food, or the English language. ‘And why would you want me to pretend that your place is the real deal anyway? It isn’t exactly a good advertisement for your country, is it? Well, is it?’ At least talking about food meant she was on safe ground and starting to feel a bit more like the grounded Ellie everyone knew and, she hoped, loved.

‘No.’ He sat back, rested one muscled forearm in a very distracting way across the table so that she would like to have said “do you mind not doing that?” ‘No, I’m not asking you to lie, and I am not proud to pass off that place as authentic, but –’

‘But what?’

‘Tell your boss you’ve been told the place is closing for refurbishment tomorrow, and you’re invited back to do an opening night review.’

‘You’re closing? Really? Tomorrow?’

He nodded.

‘Just like that? So it is your place.’

‘It was my brother’s place, but he’s gone. So I’m going to sort it out, and then you can come back.’

‘No.’

‘No? Don’t you want to come back and see the new place when it’s done?’

‘Not really.’ She studied the tablecloth, and tried to ignore the arm.

‘Why?’ He leant forward, and she bit her lip to stop herself doing something stupid like tracing one finger down that strong forearm, or touching that generous bow mouth.

Saved by the pizza. She let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding, as the waitress put the food in the middle of the table and lovingly gazed at Lucas as she poured the wine.

What the hell was she supposed to say? Giving him the lowdown on her crappy personal life hadn’t been in any kind of plan, but that was one of the reasons she didn’t want to go back. Going back could cause all kinds of complications that she could do without.

She stared at the food she hadn’t been sure she wanted to share, along with a carafe of wine she hadn’t been sure she wanted to order. And suddenly felt starving.

‘Good?’ He grinned as she took a second big bite out of the pizza and wiped a drizzle of tomato from her chin. He was settled back in his seat, long legs stretched out in front of him. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him not to grab her after all.

‘Why don’t you want to come back to my bar?’

God, he was persistent. ‘Apart from the food?’ She raised an eyebrow and hoped he’d leave it at that.

‘But the new food will be good, I promise you. So, why –?’ He touched the back of her hand with the tip of his finger which made her jump even though she’d seen it coming, a splash of red wine jumping from her glass onto the table.

‘Damn.’ She pulled away and mopped up, but he didn’t move. ‘Look, if you must know …’ It was either tell him, or walk out, because he obviously wasn’t going to give up. ‘Last time I ate at your bar it was with a prat I thought I was going to marry and live happily ever after with, OK?’

‘And?’

‘And, does there always have to be an “and”?’ He just looked, so maybe there did. She looked at the red wine stain, stark against the white cloth. ‘And it was our last date. That’s all.’ She wasn’t going to tell him the rest. ‘So, me and Pinchos don’t seem to be compatible.’ She swirled the remaining wine in her glass. ‘So, are you actually shutting down, like tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’ He seemed to accept the explanation. ‘But, I want your help which means –’ he grinned ‘– coming back to Pinchos.’

‘No way. And why do you want my help, what do I know?’

‘You know a lot, you’re good.’

‘At what?’

‘At creating, at selling.’

‘How would you know that?’ This was getting spooky; they’d only met a few hours ago and already he seemed to be interfering in more than just her job.

‘A friend.’ He shrugged. ‘You’re good with words, good at selling, and you like food.’ He waved his hands about; large, expressive hands that looked more than capable of anything. Anything at all. She swallowed and tried to ignore the fact her body seemed interested even if her brain didn’t. It was probably because she was sex-starved, and this guy was overloaded with testosterone. That was all. Any man like him would have had her feeling horny, like she might agree to something stupid. ‘What more could I want?’ He tipped his head slightly on one side, waiting, but she didn’t know what to say. Apart from “yes please”, which wasn’t what the sensible side of her agreed with.

‘What do you mean, a friend? You didn’t know I’d be coming to the bar, well, did you?’ She put her glass down, pushed away what was left of the pizza.

He sighed. ‘Danielle told me about you, that’s why she hit your car.’

‘What?’ She’d almost forgotten about that.

He lifted his wine glass up to the light and studied the red liquid. ‘Dani is – was – married to my brother.’ A muscle twitched by the side of his eye. ‘When I told her I was coming over to try and sort out this mess she said she had a list of people who might be able to help. You were on the list.’ He took a sip of wine and put the glass down. Leant forward, his hands clasped on the table. Big hands, big, capable hands, with long fingers. She wasn’t sure which was more of a turn-on, looking at his hands or into his eyes.

‘Why would I be on her list?’

‘You’d done some work for a friend of hers. She told me you were a marketing person who specialised in food. Not a critic.’ He had that eyebrow raised again.

‘I am, was. Well, I trained as a chef, then got into marketing and promo stuff, then got into being a critic.’

‘Got into?’

‘Was laid off by the PR firm.’ She took a mouthful of wine. No use being coy, she’d been laid off, pure and simple. ‘A few weeks ago. This wine is tons better than yours, you know.’

‘I know.’ His tone was dry. ‘Don’t remind me.’

‘But what about my car?’

‘Well, Dani had it in her head that we had to meet, and when she spotted you she thought it was too good an opportunity to miss.’

‘She spotted me? In the car? How would she do that?’

‘You’re pretty hard to miss, you know.’ He ran his finger round the rim of the glass, a finger she knew was warm. ‘I think it is her hormones playing havoc with her brain because normally she’s level-headed.’ The grimace made her want to smile. ‘She was going to follow you, try and get your attention.’

‘Well, she got that.’

‘We were arguing about it. I told her she’d look like some stalker and I could sort it out without help, and she said I was being a stubborn idiot and took it into her own hands. When I grabbed the steering wheel I was trying to stop her.’ He shrugged. ‘So she was pleased with herself for getting your details and talking to you, and angry that I wouldn’t get out of the car and chat. I think she was going to keep waving your phone number in front of my face until I admitted defeat and rang you. But you turned up anyway
. C’est la vie
.’

‘Not very Spanish.’ This whole situation was a bit weird. ‘Talking French while you’re eating pizza and drinking Italian wine.’

‘I’m versatile.’ He suddenly put a hand over hers, which killed what was left of her appetite for food stone dead. ‘Help me. Instead of writing some damning review of the place, which you don’t want to do anyway, help me put it right.’

‘But I’ve got a job to do. I can’t just drop everyone for someone I don’t even know.’

‘I’m not asking you to. Look, if you write this up you’ve shot me down before I’ve had a chance and what’s the point?’ He gave a shrug. ‘It’s not hard to spot the problems, eh? But it was good, once, and we can make it even better.’

‘I know it was good.’ She glanced down at the floor, at his boots, hip width like some matador ready for a fight. White shirt, trousers tightly hugging his slim hips, boots. Not your normal North-west England type of guy. ‘But it’s my job to say what I see and, well, taste.’

‘I’m not asking you to lie. Just to wait until we re-open. And I want you to help me.’

She really wished he’d stop asking her to help. ‘My deadline is tomorrow.’

He gave a short laugh and ran his hand through thick, dark hair, hair that she suddenly wanted to touch. ‘I’m not an overnight miracle worker.’

‘No.’

‘I wish I could show you our bar in Barcelona.’

Yeah, our bar; him and his lovely pregnant ex-sister-in-law. ‘Who says I want to go to Barcelona? I thought the whole point was to bring the place here?’

‘True.’ There was a slight quirk to the corner of his mouth. His fingers rubbed over the back of her hand, holding her there until the butterflies danced a strange dance in the pit of her stomach as his gaze held her still. ‘I will sort this if it kills me. Believe me.’

‘Oh, I believe you, but will it kill you or your staff?’ Or me?

The corners of his mouth curled and she must have been lightheaded from the wine because he looked like some weird musketeer in the half light, dark hair curling at his collar, white shirt tucked into trousers that hugged his hips indecently. ‘I don’t take hostages.’ He gave her a proper grin then. ‘What do you get for your review, eh?
Nada
.’ He tapped a finger on the back of her hand. ‘And I think you’d like to help.’

‘Modest, aren’t you?’

‘You like to be constructive not destructive. I know. Think about it, ring me tomorrow, tell me you’ll help. Your choice. If you don’t, then I will buy the papers and read the worst.’

Poor Danielle, she had a lot to put up with, having to ask him to help out. But at least she’d stood up to him, even if it had meant her car got crumped. More expense, seeing as she’d dropped it to third party cover to save money.

‘Is that what you’ll really do, read the papers?’

‘Read the papers, tear them up.’ White teeth gleamed in the mellow evening light, one slightly chipped. They caught her gaze and held it. She really couldn’t go there: getting involved would be suicide, damaging for both of them, and she just didn’t need the hassle. All she wanted to do was keep her head down, save some money. Stay away from Mark. Going back would open a whole new can of worms; he’d find out, and if she wasn’t careful she’d be the one in the news. He would make sure of that. ‘The place will be shut for refurbishment before the paper hits the streets. Your news will be old before it’s seen.’

‘It’s not news, just a review, my opinion.’

‘Oh, it is news, but you could help me make good news.’

‘What about Danielle? What’s her involvement in all this?’

He leant closer then, until the table and everything else seemed to disappear. Close enough to grab her chin between strong fingers, close enough to make her bite her lip with sudden apprehension. She swallowed hard, and still he didn’t let go, just stared at her. Those eagle eyes taking in everything. And then he smiled.

‘Forget Danielle. Help me. An outsider’s eye. I know tapas, pinchos, I know Spain but I don’t know England. We got it wrong.’ He shrugged and crossed his ankles, catching her foot and making her jump in a completely out of proportion way.

‘You didn’t get it wrong. It was fine at first, it just went downhill. Just do what you know; I’m sure it will get back to how it was.’

‘You’ve got the time, haven’t you? It’s only for a couple of weeks, then I go back to Spain and you go back to reviews.’