Spice It Up - an erotic novella (2 page)

‘The
jamón
?’

‘No
jamón
, ham, or any other trace of taste.’ She shook her head and he looked back solemnly.

‘And the wine is – erm, crap as well?’ How could anyone make the word “crap” sound sexy?

‘Overpriced. I wanted traditional Spanish table wine, like you’d serve in Spain if I went into a tapas bar.’

‘Ah. And the service?’

What was there to say about the service? Until he’d popped up.

‘More Brum than Barcelona.’ Kate’s voice broke into her thoughts; she’d more or less forgotten anyone else was there.

He did laugh then, a rich, deep baritone that made her throat tighten – along with her pussy. ‘Brum?’

‘Birmingham.’ Kate rested her chin on her hand and fluttered her eyelashes, but something told Ellie he’d seen it all before and was immune. ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with Brummie service, but when we eat Spanish we want Spain, if you know what I mean? And that Stefano or whatever he calls himself …’

Shut up, Kate, please shut up and let us just get out of here before my hormones go any more haywire. Then I can try and work out how to avoid writing something that reads like an obituary for snacks.

‘Ah, Stefano, you don’t like him?’

‘Does he even know where Spain is?’

He laughed again, a short, hot burst that hit her deep down in her stomach, sending a quiver of anticipation lower than it should. ‘Ah. So, you wouldn’t recommend it?’ But when she met his gaze again he was 100 per cent serious and a pang of guilt shot straight through her.

She swallowed and suddenly felt flat. Flirting with a cute guy was one thing, but messing with someone’s business was serious. She looked down at her hands, which she was sure were trembling, and tried to keep her voice light. ‘No, I wouldn’t recommend anything I’ve had.’ For a start, she’d not been in the mood. Last time she’d been here it had been with her shit of an ex-boyfriend, who’d left a worse taste in her mouth than the food had. But it still didn’t alter the fact that it was terrible. And she had to write a review. And he knew; there was just something about him that told her he knew. Anyone else would have thought her mouthing off had just been for Kate’s amusement, but he knew that even though she was going over the top and being theatrical for her friend, it was for real.

Shit, why should he make her feel guilty? It wasn’t her bloody fault. ‘I mean, it does take a special kind of talent to make chorizo bland, doesn’t it?’

Chapter Two

‘It does.’ Lucas watched her white teeth tug nervously at her full bottom lip. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Or rather, her lips. They had a life of their own; a very sexy life that was shooting sparks right down to his groin. Watching her chat away had been bad enough, but when she moved on to eating it had been ten times worse. The fact she did little eating, and a lot of grimacing, was good, or he might have been tempted to head over there earlier.

He really should be thinking about how to sort out the shambles that was this bar, not be eyeing up the body of the girl who could be the final nail in its coffin. And he was sure she could be unless he did something fast. He’d known business was bad, but no way had he imagined his name was connected to anywhere quite this uninspiring. OK, she’d been messing around when he’d caught her describing the food, but he just knew there was enough truth in there to finish off the place before he’d even started to try and put it back together. Maybe that was the answer. Let her do it. Then he could get back on the next plane, be in the Barcelona sunshine by the morning. Home.

But he couldn’t. He was here to do a job and sort out the bloody mess that his brother had left. And then, of course, there was his ex-sister-in-law: if he walked out now it meant he was no better than Orlando.

He focused his attention back onto that full mouth, lips that were slightly parted, inviting. The not eating bit wasn’t good for his tapas bar. He’d arrived in the grey, dismal town one hour before service had begun, which meant he only had time to dump his bags, change his clothes, and get his bearings before heading out to serve customers. No tasting the food, or looking in the kitchen. Not that there was any rush on, and not that the other staff seemed to even notice the new waiter. Maybe there was a new waiter every day. But they’d remember this one, he’d make damn sure of that.

And Pinchos tapas bar was as unremarkable and uninviting as the weather. Why the hell hadn’t he insisted on staying in Spain and just closing the damned place down? But he couldn’t; his brother had already let the family down and now he was supposed to be the elder son who fixed it. The man who persuaded the great British public that they could love his pinchos as much as the people back home did. But he really couldn’t see a single sensible reason for staying here and making it work, just his usual stubborn refusal to admit defeat.

And then she had walked in. He had tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help it. Her hair was a mass of ringlets pinned haphazardly up so that he wasn’t quite sure if they were there to stay or about to tumble down. It was a mingle of dark and tawny brown that could almost have been auburn or just sun-kissed. Big, brown eyes stared out above high cheekbones that were blushed with pink whenever she caught him looking. He hated leggings, but he couldn’t take his eyes off hers, or rather, her legs. Slim, shapely legs the cashmere jumper rudely covered just when he’d got to the more than interesting bit. And although she was small enough to throw over his shoulder and the low modulation of her tone barely cut across the background noise, there was something about her. A confidence and sexiness that kept dragging his attention back.

The way she’d ordered and then poked at her food told him she could be trouble, and the way those lips had caught his attention told him she could be very big trouble. He’d seen enough food critics in his life to know one when he saw one. She was sampling, not eating, and from her quiet corner she wasn’t missing a trick.

But it was those damned lips that were doing the damage to him, and he decided he’d done enough watching for one day when he saw the effect of Stefano’s service. The waiters would kill him even if the chef didn’t. Getting close hadn’t really helped one bit, though; watching those slender, sensitive fingers manhandling the meatball had nearly made him forget why he was there. And she was funny: clever, quick, and funny. And waiting for him to say something more.

He gave an inward sigh. Maybe Danielle had a point. But she wasn’t here to make it right now, and he needed time to think before he did anything. Time to make sure it was his brain not his body leading the way.

‘I’m sorry. Maybe I can offer you a coffee?’

‘I’ve met you before, haven’t I?’ She had her head cocked on one side, those big doe eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, one finger slowly twirling a curl of her hair.

‘Sorry, I don’t think so.’ He’d quite like to wrap that hair round his own hand, pin her down on the pillow. ‘I’ve only just arrived in the country.’

‘No, I have, I have definitely met you before.’

‘He was dishy, wasn’t he?’ Kate leant against her car and folded her arms, looking like she was in no hurry to go.

‘Who?’

‘You know who I’m talking about. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. And what was all that about knowing him?’

‘I was looking at him because he was clearly trying to intimidate me.’

‘Bollocks. Why should he care? He’s just a waiter.’

‘Somehow I doubt that.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Well he was just too damned arrogant and cocky to be a waiter. He acted like he owned the place.’

‘Maybe he does.’ Kate screwed her mouth up, obviously deep in thought. Ellie didn’t like it when she was thinking. Dangerous territory.

‘Yeah, maybe he does. Anyway, who cares?’

‘He was watching you all the way to the door, you know.’

‘More like watching my bum. It probably just comes naturally to him.’

‘Maybe he wants to ravish you into silence.’

‘Kate!’ OK, she was doing her best to sound shocked, but there was something about the thought that wasn’t altogether unappealing.

‘Maybe he could give you a job. Don’t look at me like that, he might. He doesn’t want you to review the place, does he?’

‘I don’t want a job, I’ve got one.’

‘Yeah, and you hate it. You need a proper job.’

‘I don’t hate it – well, only when I have to try and write about places like this that are rubbish. And it’s enough of a proper job for now.’

‘But you’re supposed to criticise, that’s the point, and you hate finding fault.’

‘I don’t hate finding faults, just shouting about them. And critique and criticise are two different things. And anyway, I didn’t intend ever setting foot in that place again, not after the whole Mark episode. ‘

‘Whatever. So?’

‘So what?’

‘You said you knew him?’

‘Oh yeah, that.’ She stared across the car park. She’d been too busy eyeing him up at first, but then something about the way he’d shifted, crossed his arms … She wasn’t quite sure exactly what, but it had reminded her. ‘You know that twat who nearly ran my car off the road this afternoon?’

‘The one you texted me about?’

‘It was him.’

‘What do you mean it was him? Are you sure?’

‘Well, it wasn’t exactly him. He was in the passenger seat and his wife was driving.’ A pretty, fluttery woman close to tears as she’d apologised profusely and swapped insurance details with the shaken Ellie. It had been just a minor prang, but her hands had been trembling on the steering wheel when she’d got back in the car. So much for being tough and independent.

But he’d been watching from the car, a dim, shadowy figure who still managed to glare at her as though it was all her fault. She hadn’t been able to see him that clearly, hadn’t really looked properly at him, but as she’d turned to grab the seatbelt she’d glanced up and seen him lean over and give his wife a reassuring look. His pregnant wife. ‘I think they’d been arguing, which was why she swerved.’

‘He’s got a wife? A pregnant wife?’

‘Yup. A very pregnant wife.’ A hard lump settled low in her stomach, which was stupid seeing as he was just a waiter who’d wanted to know what she thought of his food. Totally stupid. ‘And he’s called Lucas. She told him to stop worrying about like a mother hen as she got back in the car.’

‘Pregnant? You’re sure?’

‘Very, as in unmissably pregnant. Can we just drop it now?’

‘Shame, but he might still offer you a job if you ask.’

‘Why the hell would he do that? Your mind works in mysterious ways, Kate.’

‘Just the way he was looking at you. Are you sure he’s married?’

‘It doesn’t make any difference if he is or he isn’t, does it? What’s it got to do with – well, with anything, including his crap food?’

‘Well, I don’t think you’ve seen the last of sexy old Lucas. You should tell him you could help. I mean, you know all about food and promo and … In fact, I think I’ll tell him.’

‘Don’t you bloody dare, Kate! He was trying to work out how to stop me writing about the place, not how to get into my knickers. That’s all, so you can stop all your weird speculation.’

‘So you have thought about letting him into your knickers.’

‘I don’t want anyone in my knickers, thanks, and definitely not a horny Spaniard with a pregnant wife.’

‘Hmm. He did fancy the pants off you, though, and you know a good flirt would do you good, and a good shag would be even better.’

‘Kate, stop it!’

‘OK.’ She didn’t look like she’d stopped anything. ‘So what are you going to do now? It’s only nine o’clock, are you sure you don’t want to come back for a drink?’

‘I’ve got to try and work out how to write this review.’ The image of Lucas staring at her with a slightly bemused expression as she tore his food and reputation to pieces worried her. A lot.

‘You could forget it, say you can’t.’

‘And then what? I need the job, Kate, and if I don’t turn this review in I’m not going to be offered another, am I?’ Writing reviews was a good advert, and giving her the chance to save some money so that she could set up the PR and marketing company she was determined to establish before the end of the year. All she had to do was keep the editor happy, just for a while.

‘Well, I suppose so, if you’re sure. Can’t you just make it funny?’

‘Funny?’

Kate grinned. ‘OK, maybe not. Ironic?’

‘Kate, why don’t you bugger off home? I’ll be fine, honest.’ She linked her arm through her best friend’s and tugged at the car door. ‘Go on, go. I’ve got work to do.’

‘You don’t think it’s partly because of Mark that you hate the place?’

Yeah, that was what was bothering her a bit. The fact that being asked to revisit the place which had seen the death of her relationship had put her into a foul mood before she’d even got there. ‘I do hate it, but that food was dire, wasn’t it? Or is it just me?’

‘No, it was dire. I don’t think my cat would touch it and she’ll even eat month-old mouldy meat if she finds it. But maybe you should just tell your boss that?’

‘What? That the last time I went there, it was with his attention-grabbing nephew, who got anaphylactic shock, had to be rushed off in an ambulance, then fell for the first nurse who dangled her thermometer in front of him and dumped me faster than you can say “laxative”. Yeah, sure.’

‘Dangled her thermometer? You sure about that?’

‘Well whatever she dangled, it worked. I sent him grapes and he sent me a Dear John by text.’

‘Shitty.’

‘Shitty indeed.’

Kate giggled. ‘Maybe you should thank Mr Matador for trying to kill him off.’

‘Yeah, except I think he’s trying to kill off the whole town, one mouthful at a time. Come on, you go home to your mould-eating moggy. I’m fine, all I need to work out is an angle. Maybe I should just concentrate on the dishy waiters and forget the food?’

‘Except only one of them is dishy.’

‘Thanks, Kate, really helpful. Go on, bugger off.’

‘You’re OK?’

‘I’m fine.’

Opening the car door and shoving Kate in seemed to be the only way to get rid of her. But as she waved, and watched her friend drive off, the image of one very dishy waiter, naked, with a plate of tapas in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other suddenly leapt at her from nowhere.

‘I need to talk to you.’

Shit
. She jumped and spun round. One dishy waiter, sadly fully clothed and minus the wine and tapas.

He was so close she could reach out and touch him. If she wanted to. Which she didn’t. Not much.

‘What’s with the creeping up? You nearly scared me to death.’

‘I need to talk to you, but I want to touch you.’

He took another step, even closer, and she wasn’t sure she knew how to breathe properly any more. She could have stepped back, could have pushed him away, could have done a million things. But instead she just waited. When his fingertips touched her skin she flinched; it was unexpectedly gentle, the lightest touch from the firmest of hands. His caress sent a shiver of goosebumps along her skin as he stroked across her cheek, his fingers tracing down until his index finger reached her mouth. Very slowly, he ran the tip over her upper lip, across her lower lip, and then he gently squeezed her lower lip between thumb and forefinger, and leant forward and kissed her.

Eating his food was one thing; eating him was an altogether different experience. He tasted of fresh coffee, tangy and sharp, but when his tongue found hers he tasted of something much more primal, something that made her desperate to reach out and pull him closer.

She slapped him. She’d never slapped anyone in her life, and she didn’t know quite where it came from. He reached one hand up to his cheekbone with a muffled curse and took the smallest of steps back. Well, she presumed it was a curse. Shit, she could see a red mark already. Don’t apologise. Do not apologise to him, Ellie.

‘Wow, for someone so small and delicate looking, you pack a big punch.’ He looked rueful. ‘So, what did I do to deserve that?’

‘Do you need to ask?’ Trying to be distant and disdainful was tricky when her chest was heaving with what was left from the passion and she probably sounded like she was begging for more. And her body was shamelessly shouting out “shag me, shag me”.

‘Yes, afraid I do.’ He was still too close for comfort, but he didn’t look like he’d touch her again.

‘I’m not some stupid idiot you can manipulate.’ Sex-starved idiot maybe, but not stupid. ‘If you think you can grope your way into my good books you’ve got another thing coming.’