Diana Hamilton - The Spaniard's Woman

Dismissing it from her mind, she tried to relax. She’d drink one small glass of wine, toss a few aimless remarks in his direction and keep her eyes firmly fixed on anything other than him. Looking at all that masculine perfection would be her downfall. She would never survive the humiliation if he guessed she was hopelessly attracted to him.

He was taking much longer than she’d expected and with every minute Rosie got more uptight. Had he got sidetracked, forgotten all about her? Unlike him, she was easy to forget, she thought on a sickening surge of shame. She felt a real fool, sitting here like a lemon, and was about to slink off to bed when he re-entered the hall.

Her heart jumped and she forgot to breathe as he put two glasses and an opened wine bottle on a side table, then turned to her. In the dim light his smoky eyes mesmerised her. She could drown in those silvery depths, she thought helplessly, forgetting her earlier clear-headed decision not to look at him if at all possible.

Trouble was, her head was a total muddle when he was around.

He took something from the tray and walked towards her with the indolent grace that made her toes curl in her scuffed old plimsolls.

‘For you.’ Bending slightly from the waist, one of his hands uncurled her bunched together fist while the other deposited a single, perfect white camellia, slightly tinged with pale lemon colour at the ruffled centre, in the palm of her small hand.

A corner of his mouth curled wryly. ‘I stole it from Marcus’s greenhouse—though I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Not much of a birthday gift, ciertamente, but perhaps it will make you smile?’

Sebastian straightened abruptly. Madre di Dio! She would think he was shooting a line! The impulse that had sent him to cut that bloom now seemed ridiculous.

Until he had what he’d unconsciously known he’d been missing. That smile. And then he knew that the impulse hadn’t been ridiculous at all.

Her eyes were on the blossom she held cupped in the curve of her hands, thick sweeping lashes hiding her expression, her silky blonde hair falling forward, a stray tendril kissing the petal-soft skin of her cheek. And then it began. A slight trembling of those luscious lips, an upward curve and then that radiant, brilliant smile her fathomless eyes winging towards his, deepest purest blue sparkling with dancing lights.

‘It’s perfect,’ she breathed, and then, propelled by something far stronger than his formidable will, he bent towards her again, dipped his dark head, and kissed her.

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