‘And you were the sensible one who resisted.’ He smiled, a wolfish smile that sent a shiver of goose bumps down her arms.
‘And I still am, Hugo. I told you, I’m not falling for your charms.’ She wouldn’t, she really wouldn’t. ‘So you might as well pack it in.’
‘Really?’ He shifted, putting a distance between them. ‘That was a lovely meal, thank you.’
Flo looked at him, slightly startled at the change of tone, and the way he’d dropped his arm back down and left a disappointing space. Not that she should be disappointed. She should be pleased. Relieved. ‘You’re welcome.’ Well at least that put paid to her uncontrollable urge to kiss him, then rip the rest of his clothes off. They’d gone back to polite. Well her being polite and him being slightly pompous and overbearing.
‘So what is your surname then, if it isn’t Nightingale?’
‘Cortes.’
‘Ahh.’ The corner of his lip curled, but he still didn’t smile. ‘Cortes, polite.’
‘A linguist too.’
‘I try. I’m not sure if that suits you or not, dear Florence.’ He stood up. ‘Earlier, when you interrupted, I was going to say I was rather hoping you’d forgive me laughing at you earlier.’ His smile was tight. ‘Maybe not.’
‘There’s nothing to forgive, Hugo.’
‘Splendid.’
Oh heavens, why did he have to go all posh on her again? He really was the most frustrating man she’d ever met.
He kissed her cheek with firm, dry lips that weren’t a surprise at all. But the warm hand that somehow found its way under her hair to the nape of her neck caught her completely by surprise. She froze as his thumb stroked along her jawline, knowing she should push him away, but not really wanting to. Any second now he’d kiss her and she wouldn’t be able to say no.
He leaned in, his breath warming her cheek. ‘You do realise,’ he paused, his voice low, little above a whisper, ‘that packing things in has never been an option I’ve considered?’ Then he did the one thing she hadn’t expected at all. Stopped. Abruptly moving back, and, with a nod of his head and a slightly sardonic twist to his beautiful mouth, he was at the door. His eyes were hooded as his gaze drifted over her body. ‘Goodnight, Flo. Sleep well.’
Gawd. That voice should come with a health warning.
Flo groaned and shook her head as he shut the door behind him. Then put her hand up to touch the spot he’d kissed. Bugger.
She sighed. ‘Mistake number three, Mabel: almost forgetting I’m allergic to men. It’s a good job he’s a totally insensitive pillock as well as incredibly hot, or I might have got into deep water there.’
Mabel shook her whole body vigorously and headed for the stairs. ‘No way, you, madam, are sleeping downstairs tonight and I’m sleeping on my own.’ The safest way. ‘Florence bloody Nightingale. What is wrong with the man?’
Chapter 13 – Daisy. Blue-sky space
She was going to die. She would collapse here on the boardwalk and die. Daisy wavered, her jelly legs swaying underneath her as a bead of perspiration ran down her brow, straight into her eye, stinging like crazy.
She tried to let the beat of the music that was pounding into her ears distract her from the pounding of her heart that wanted to burst out of her chest. But it wasn’t happening.
So much for deciding that A: she needed exercise, and B: she wanted a closer look at the beach. Jogging was obviously not the answer. And bloody Flo had put it in the ‘fun’ category on her list. How on earth was everybody around her bobbling along without breaking sweat, still staying the same colour (instead of fire-engine red) and with both legs going in the same direction?
She took in a deep, rasping breath, which actually hurt, and was pretty sure that any passer-by would be able to hear her wheezing: she just had to sound like a faulty kettle. Oh God, she was going to have to stop, she needed to breath and she couldn’t.
A seriously overweight woman with a bulldog on a lead streaked past her like a whippet.
She just couldn’t go another step. Her legs didn’t want to work any longer. Her shins hurt, her sides ached, she couldn’t…
Daisy tripped. The paving stone couldn’t have been more than a couple of millimetres higher than its neighbour, but her legs were leaden and her eyes were watering. Not that she was really looking where she was going. She sprawled forward, knowing she was just about to look the biggest, most undignified arse on the beach, when a strong hand caught her elbow. She staggered, it went with her, and then another hand caught her round the waist. Which wasn’t quite enough to stop her momentum altogether, but meant she landed on her knees not her face. Not that she thought she cared that much at the moment.
The hands that held her were strong, the warmth seeping through her running gear and straight into her bloodstream, so that for a second she felt lightheaded in a way that she was pretty sure she could put down to jogging and oxygen deprivation. Then it hit her senses: a gorgeous waft of something that was all male, but confusingly familiar. Cedar, musky, fresh, gorgeous. Oh my God, she’d died and gone to heaven.
‘I thought it was you.’ There was a soft chuckle and she looked around from her position on her hands and knees, mortified. The knees next to her were nut-brown and led up to… the smiling face of Javier.
Bugger.
She rolled over on to her back and he sat back on his haunches and looked at her.
She had to say something, and not just lie here feeling hot, bothered, and embarrassingly flustered. Something normal. ‘I think I need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.’ Not that. If she was actually alive, and from the way her heart was pounding she was fairly sure she was, then that was so wrong.
The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘Right now?’
‘Oh God, no, I mean, I wasn’t suggesting.’ She flapped a hand. ‘That wasn’t a come-on.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Please let me die or a big hole open up and swallow me.’
‘You’re funny.’
‘I’m not funny. I’m dying.’
‘Come on,’ he held a hand out, ‘get up.’
‘My legs don’t work. They’ve gone all wibbly-wobbly.’ And holding that hand could make them worse.
Get a grip, Daisy. He’s nice, funny. Friendly. She closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again with a mammoth effort and took his hand.
He hauled her to her feet, and they were almost nose to nose, any second now she’d be kissing him. She staggered back to a much safer arm’s length.
‘Are you okay?’ He looked worried, which wasn’t surprising given the way she felt. Heavens only knew what she looked like. Gruesome, no doubt. Whereas he was in running gear, but looked like he’d just been out for a stroll.
Her heart had been pounding like she’d just run a marathon before he’d touched her, and now it was off the scale. Deep breaths, that’s what she needed. Air and a sense of normality. And distance. Plenty of distance, so that she wasn’t tempted to lean his way.
‘I think so.’ She bent over double to rest her hands on her knees. It might help with the breathing, and the staying-on-her feet bit. ‘So how far have you run?’ He looked like he’d just set off.
‘I’ve only just started, about seven or eight kilometres, I think.’
‘Oh.’ That wasn’t her kind of ‘just-started’.
‘You?’
‘Probably about, oh, a good kilometre, I’d say.’
He grinned, a grin that reached right to those amazing blue eyes. ‘Ah. So you’re not a seasoned jogger then.’
‘Don’t laugh.’ He was trying not to laugh, she could tell, but his eyes were twinkling and the corner of his mouth twitching. ‘I’m a beginner, I naively thought I was fairly fit, with riding Barney and mucking out and all that kind of thing, and this would be nice. It was a bit of an impulse.’
‘Says the girl who doesn’t do things on impulse.’
‘When did I say that?’ She frowned. I mean she wasn’t, but she couldn’t remember…
‘When you were slightly tip
sy after the meet-up.’ He grinned. ‘You said coming to Barcelona had been a bit of an impulse move and totally out of character.’
Ahh, okay, so she just hoped she hadn’t completely unburdened her soul on the poor man. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to stay for coffee. ‘Er, did I say anything else?’
‘Not that much.’
‘Yeah well, my freedom,’ he raised an eyebrow, which she ignored, ‘has obviously gone to my head. I don’t normally act this rashly.’ She groaned as she tried to straighten up. ‘I know why now, I’m not doing it again.’
He laughed. ‘Acting on impulse can be good for the soul.’
‘Can be, but my soul isn’t appreciating this particular impulse. It prefers the too-much-wine-or-chocolate kind of impulse.’
‘You’ve got to build up your stamina.’
‘I know that now. Can I sit down?’
‘No, now you can breathe, you need to walk.’ The smile was still in that syrupy-rich voice, but so was a hint of concern. He probably thought she was about to pass out on him, and getting her dead weight up those steps to the apartment would be quite a task, even for somebody as fit as him.
She groaned. ‘I don’t think I can breathe and I definitely can’t move.’
The chuckle was back. ‘If you can talk you can breathe, and we’ll go slowly.’
‘You’re cruel.’ With a sigh she fell into step beside him, trying to keep a big enough distance so he couldn’t smell her or see how drenched with sweat she was, which had to be so unattractive. ‘Small world, bumping into you again.’
‘Well I do live close to you in El Born, which is a fairly small district if not quite the world.’
‘Not as small as Tippermere.’
‘Is that your home town?’
‘Village. I’m a bit of a country bumpkin.’ If she talked then she could ignore the way it felt so natural to fall into step with him. ‘I’m used to open spaces, which is the other reason I thought a jog out here,’ she waved a hand to encompass the beach, sea, sky, ‘might be good. I was beginning to feel a bit like a bird in a cage up there in the apartment. I mean,’ she cast him a glance, ‘it is lovely, and there’s an amazing view, and …’
‘Don’t worry, I get it. It’s nice to escape and get some blue-sky space.’
‘I like that, blue-sky space,’ she grinned up at him, knowing he really did get ‘it’, ‘it just feels a bit cooped up in the centre of the city, even on the roof terrace. But it’s gorgeous down here, when I’m not running, that is. I suppose I’m better off on a horse.’
He laughed. ‘You’re a bit more of a doer than thinker, aren’t you? I guess when you’re at home you’re kept busy and pretty much hands-on?’
‘Very hands-on, mending fences, sorting the garden and the hens, stuff like that. And what are you? A brain box?’ She grinned, wondering what he’d say. ‘Let’s see, you’re bi-lingual, know the history of Barcelona, and you’re an expert on wine and tapas.’
‘I’ll have you know decent wine and tapas are very important!’
‘I totally agree, but that’s probably why you have to run miles.’
‘Cheeky. I do like to keep fit though.’
‘I can see that.’ She said it without thinking, then wished she hadn’t, but apart from a brief quirk at the corner of his mouth he didn’t seem to have noticed.
‘I used to run outward-bound courses.’ That figured. Now he wasn’t covered up he had quite an impressive physique, not that she was looking. ‘But it meant travelling a lot, and it suits me more to be settled here now. I must be getting old.’
‘Yeah, there’s a time for exploring, I suppose, then when you’re not footloose and fancy-free it’s only fair to settle in one spot. I got it the wrong way round,’ she carried on, when he looked like he was going to say something. No way did she want to start trying to analyse why she’d only now decided to be adventurous, when really she should have got all this out of her system years ago. ‘So, the tour business is yours?’
‘Yep, I work in partnership with some of the other businesses though, of course. It’s fun, I get to meet people. To be honest, I never was much of a talker, but this comes pretty easily – people are interested and they’re nice. I’ve got a script to work to, all planned out just how you like things to be.’ He winked.
‘Very British.’ She nodded approval. ‘I take it you are English?’
‘My mum was, but she had a love affair with all things Spanish.’ There was a slight twist to his lips, and his voice had a sardonic edge, ‘One I appear to have inherited. My father was Spanish as far as I know, but I haven’t got a clue who he was or how they met, she was always a bit circumspect. That’s one secret that died with her.’
‘Died?’ Daisy put her hand over her mouth and wondered why the wrong stuff fell out of it so often. ‘Oh I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ He shrugged. ‘It was a while ago now. An accident. I’ve spent most of my life here really, with odd trips back to the UK to do the family duty thing, so that’s how I picked up the lingo and the history of the place. I like it.’
‘I’ve never really gone anywhere before.’ She slowed as they approached a bench, but Javier grinned and took her hand.
‘Keep going, you’ll seize up otherwise.’
She instinctively curled her fingers round the large capable hand. Then uncurled them rapidly when she realised what she’d done. It was awkward. At what point did you pull away? So it didn’t look rude and ungrateful, but you weren’t left hanging on. Like you really wanted to hold hands. With a man you hardly knew. Who had a girlfriend.
This was wrong, feeling this right with him. Which showed she’d led a far too sheltered life.
He solved the problem for her by letting go and putting a hand in the middle of her back, which made her stomach squirm in quite an indecent way that was hard to ignore. ‘Look.’ He pointed with his other hand.
‘What?’
‘Miles of empty beach. We can do some sit-ups if you want to stop.’
‘Sod off.’ It had broken the moment of awkwardness and she relaxed again.
‘You can stop when we get to that café up there, I’ll buy you a restorative shot of caffeine.’
‘Why thank you, kind sir. It is amazing isn’t it? Miles and miles of beach, it’s gorgeous, so clean, no people.’ For a moment she paused to take it in, forgetting that the man she was sharing it with was a virtual stranger.
She had never in a million years thought that Barcelona would be like this, never thought that a two hour flight would transport her into what felt like a totally different world. But one she had relaxed into, that had seeped under her skin, had made her feel like she belonged.
‘It’s not quite this nice in the height of summer, when they’re packed in like sardines.’
‘But it is now, in winter. And the sea looks so inviting, just look at the colour of it, can we walk down there?’ It was gorgeous. The clear blue of the sky, with the odd white fluffy cloud, giving way to the deep, deep blue-green sea that was still – apart from where white surf sea horses broke the line, cantering in as it neared the wide expanse of golden sand.
It was one of the things on her list, dancing barefoot on a Greek beach – and right now Barcelona was as good as Greece. ‘Can we, please? Come on.’
He put out a steadying hand. ‘There’s no rush. I think your legs could do with a break, but I agree it’s an awesome beach. There are some quiet spots a few miles up the coast, I could take you one day if you want? You can roll your jeans up and paddle.’
‘That would be nice, thanks. Or if you’re busy just tell me how to get there.’
‘I’m not busy, whatever gave you that idea?’ He smiled, the wrinkles fanning out around his eyes and she looked down, suddenly conscious of the fact she was staring. ‘It’s my quiet time, and besides somebody has to keep an eye on the sweet travel virgin.’
‘Less of the sweet, buster. Are you sure we can’t stop yet?’
‘Soon, te
ll me about your place then, Tippermere. What do you do in the winter?’
‘Well we don’t do mad things like jog along a beach.’
‘Because you’re miles away from the coast?’
‘Well there is that, but it’s bloody cold in the winter. I’m pretty busy most of the time too, I run a dog-grooming business.’
‘You should do it here, catch some rays at the same time. There are lots of dogs in Barcelona.’
‘I know! I was really surprised, I mean there are some really big ones, not just diddy ones. Though they’re nothing like the size of Mabel.’
‘Mabel?’
‘My dog, she’s an Irish Wolfhound.’
‘You miss her, don’t you?’
Daisy glanced up instinctively at the gentle note in his voice, and his blue eyes were watching her intently. She shrugged, feeling a bit silly. If she was honest, a lot of her time had been so taken up with new sights and sounds, and the gorgeous man at her side, that she’d hardly missed anything about home at all. But then there were odd times like this when she could just picture her mad dog having fun here.
‘She would absolutely love this beach, it’s such a fab place. Sorry, that must sound a bit lame talking about a dog when there’s all this.’
He laughed. ‘You’re not lame at all, you’re lovely.’ He stopped short, as though he’d not meant to say that. ‘There’s nothing wrong with missing somebody, or something.’ The smile was sweet, perfect. ‘It’s good.’
Yeah, that’s what he’d meant to say.
‘She keeps me busy, she’s good company.’ She did miss the big dollop of a dog, more, she realised, than she missed Jimmy. How wrong was that? She’d hardly thought about the man who’d proposed to her. But, there again, it was all the proof she needed that to have said yes and stayed a home would have been the biggest mistake of her life.
‘So are you.’ The words were spoken so softly that for a moment she thought she’d misheard, then his finger brushed against her cheek and she knew she hadn’t. ‘Good company.’
Her heart went off at a gallop again, then his hand dropped to his side as though it had never happened. ‘It must be strange if you’re used to having a dog around all the time, suddenly being on your own. Is that why you came out jogging, to keep busy?’
The Holiday Swap Page 14