Cupcakes and Killer Heels (3 page)

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

‘R
UBY,
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.

Damn it, he was about to explode.

Cal’s hand squeezed Ruby’s as he hauled her through the bar determined not to let her loose for a second. What had been fun at first, the exhilarating foreplay of flirt and counter-flirt, had turned to a torturous need that was about to send him hurtling over the edge into insanity if he didn’t get her naked really, really soon.

Grabbing his jacket up from the chair, he pulled out his wallet and threw a bunch of twenty-pound notes on the table.

‘It won’t be that much!’ Ruby said as he clasped her hand and led her through the crowd to the exit.

He looked over his shoulder at her flushed face, the lips red where he’d all but devoured her on the dance floor. ‘You want to wait for the change?’

She gave it a moment’s thought, before her full lips spread into a smile. ‘Chantelle’s going to get extremely lucky tonight.’

He laughed, the sound strained. ‘I certainly hope she’s not the only one.’

The still evening air did nothing to quell the heat as he showed Ruby to his car. ‘Where do you live?’ he asked as he yanked open the passenger door.

‘Tufnell Park.’

He slammed the door, then skirted the car and leapt into the driver’s seat. Firing the engine, he shifted into gear.

‘I live on the south end of the Heath.’ The powerful hum of the engine was nothing compared to the driving need in his gut as he roared away from the kerb, then had to brake at the traffic lights on Camden High Road. He glanced at his passenger, fisting his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘My place is closer.’

The smile got bigger. ‘Excellent point.’

Leaning across the steering wheel, he plunged his fingers into her hair and hauled her close—unable to wait another moment to taste her again.

Her lips softened, her tongue tangling with his as he claimed her mouth.

The blast of a car horn forced him to release her as every last ounce of blood surged south. ‘My place it is, then.’

She nodded, looking as dazed as he felt.

He stamped his foot on the accelerator. The screech of burning rubber as they shot away from the intersection made him jerk his foot off the pedal.

Get a grip, Westmore. It’s sex. Not life or death.

He eased out a breath, holding his car under the speed limit as he made the series of turns through the backstreets of Hampstead then drove up the hill past the Heath.

By the time they reached the Victorian mansion block, he’d managed to get his breathing back under control, just about. He adjusted his trousers as he climbed out of the car to ease the pressure. Ruby stepped out the other side, her lush breasts pressing against the thin bodice of her dress. He extended his hand, but, instead of taking it, she clasped her bag to her midriff and a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face.

‘Is there a problem?’ he asked, more curtly than intended.

If she changed her mind now, it would probably cause him a serious injury.

She cleared her throat. ‘Two things.’ She clutched her bag tighter. ‘Firstly, I don’t have protection with me tonight. I wasn’t expecting this.’

The relief that coursed through him almost made his knees give way. He locked them. ‘I have protection,’ he said. He would have used condoms anyway, he always did. But he had to give her points for foresight and practicality, especially as he knew she was as blindsided by lust as he was if her shallow pants were anything to go by. ‘What’s the other thing?’

‘This feels a bit rushed,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘And rushed doesn’t really work for me.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Clearly the loss of blood to his head had damaged his brain cells because he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

She huffed. ‘We’re obviously very attracted to each other.’

Great, so what the hell is the problem?

‘Agreed,’ he said, damping down on his frustration. Whatever the problem was, it would be better to let her say it. He wasn’t going to risk scaring her off.

‘But I’ve never done this before.’

The bold statement, delivered with obvious bravado, made him feel even more clueless. He frowned, his frustration all but strangling him.

‘What exactly is
this?’
he asked carefully. If she was about to tell him she was a virgin, he was going to be exceptionally annoyed with himself. How could his radar have been so spectacularly off?

‘This
is a one-night stand. I usually date a guy for a while before I consider going to bed with him.’

Relief coursed through him. Relief and something else, which he decided not to examine. So she didn’t jump into bed with every guy who took her fancy. So what? Why should her sexual history matter to him? He’d always considered the double standard when it came to sex completely illogical. If a guy wanted a woman and acted on it, he certainly shouldn’t hold it against her if she did the same.

‘So what’s your point?’ he asked. And wished like hell she’d hurry up and get to it.

‘The point is…’ she began, her gaze darting away from his.

Finally.

‘I’m not the sort of woman who has spontaneous orgasms to order.’ She rushed the words as she met his gaze, her lips flattening into a firm line and her cheeks flushing a becoming shade of pink. ‘So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t rush things,’ she finished.

His lips twitched at the defiant tone.

She was actually serious. The guys she’d dated had to be idiots.

He tried to keep a good firm grip on the amusement tightening his chest. Honestly, he did.

Maybe it was the extreme sexual frustration that made him lose it, or more likely the sight of her full lips pouting adorably as she laid down the law about how she expected to be made love to… But whatever it was, he was powerless to stop the rumble of laughter rising up and bursting out of his mouth.

‘What’s so funny?’ she said, her voice ripe with exasperation.

He grasped her wrist, hauled her into his arms. ‘Why don’t I take it from here, Ruby?’ He continued to chuckle as she struggled against him.

‘You see, this is exactly the problem,’ she said, her eyes flashing, her indignation not abating one bit. ‘You don’t know me and yet you’re assuming…’

He silenced her with a kiss. Hunger quickly overwhelmed the hilarity, and she stopped wriggling. So he took his time. Hearing the sharp intake of breath as he traced her lips with the tip of his tongue. Revelling in her soft little moan as he nipped her plump bottom lip. He explored in slow, determined strokes. Breathing in her scent, he tasted the delicious mix of lemon and vanilla—a cocktail of flavours that were both sweet and intoxicating. His erection swelled painfully as she writhed in his arms, her fingers threading into his hair and her tongue duelling with his in a sensual dance that made him ache.

He cradled her face in his palms as he touched his forehead to hers, listened to her ragged breathing.

‘I’m not going to rush you,’ he murmured, the humour gone. ‘I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you the whole damn day. So believe me, I intend to savour every single second.’

His lips quirked as he lifted his head and took in her dilated pupils—and the little crease of consternation on her forehead.

‘I know what I’m doing,’ he added.

‘Yes, but you don’t—’

‘And I don’t need instructions,’ he interrupted, grinning. Damn, but she was persistent. ‘I find it ruins the spontaneity.’

She moved out of his arms, propped her hands on her hips, the little crease turning into the Grand Canyon. ‘I should have guessed you’d be difficult about—’

‘That’s enough talk.’

‘Excuse me?’

Stepping forward, he whipped her bag out of her hand.

‘Hey, give that back.’

Ignoring the astonished protest, he grasped her wrist with his other hand, bent over and hefted her onto his shoulder.

‘What are you doing?’ she yelped, although he figured it was fairly obvious as he marched to the front door of his block.

‘I like talk as much as the next guy,’ he said conversationally as he keyed his code into the security panel. ‘In fact, I make a very decent living at it.’ He kicked open the door. ‘But even I have my limits.’

‘Put me down!’ she yelled, wriggling and kicking now as she got her wind back. ‘This is absurd.’

He elbowed the light switch.

‘And probably illegal.’ The protest came out in pants, her midriff rocking against his shoulder blade. ‘I’ll sue.’

Adrenaline surged through him as he climbed the stairs, two at a time.

‘Go ahead and try.’ He dropped her to her feet—and chuckled at her mutinous expression, and the flush of arousal on her cheeks. ‘No judge would convict me.’

Her chin took on a mulish tilt, her colour rising. ‘She would if she was a woman.’

‘Wanna bet?’ He reached into his pocket, palmed his key and slid it into the lock. Opening the door, he took hold of her hand and pulled her inside.

‘Has anyone ever told you you’re remarkably arrogant?’ she announced as he slapped his palms above her head, caging her against the wall.

‘Yes. You.’ He buried his face against her neck. ‘And more than once now.’

Her quickened breathing gushed out against his cheek. His lips at her pulse point, he heard the soft sob of surrender. He lifted his head, traced his fingers along the elegant line of her neck, over her collarbone, then ran his hands down her curves. She bucked, her body quaking as his thumbs circled the tight buds of her breasts through her clothing.

‘And you’re remarkably bossy,’ he murmured, his hands settling on her hips. Why did he find that so incredibly sexy?

Her big brown eyes widened as he pushed his body hard against hers. ‘Which makes us even.’ Capturing her wrist, he led her down the hallway towards his bedroom.

Her heels clicked on the polished wood floor as she raced to keep pace with him. But for once she didn’t have a comeback—which made him feel invincible.