‘Can I tempt you with something to eat, Señor Diaz?’
A soft voice broke into Maximo’s reverie and, glad to have the dark tangle of his thoughts interrupted, he turned his head to see a woman standing there, a tray of food in her hands. But it wasn’t the unappetising fare which caught his attention and held it, as much as her appearance.
Tempt him? She most certainly could.
His narrowed his eyes, because the thought came out of nowhere, especially as she looked faintly ridiculous in her fancy-dress costume. A sudden pulse beat at his temple and he felt the inexplicable drying of his mouth. Ridiculous, yes—but kind of sexy, too. No. Scrub that. Very sexy.
For a moment he thought she seemed faintly familiar, but the thought instantly left him because he was finding it difficult not to stare. And difficult to breathe. Who wouldn’t when she looked so...spectacular? He swallowed as he continued with his silent scrutiny. Rich green velvet emphasised the porcelain paleness of her skin and a band of white fur at her shoulders drew his attention to her creamy flesh—which was unfashionably soft and abundant. Maximo allowed his gaze to move down, distracted by long legs which seemed to go all the way up to her armpits, an illusion no doubt helped by her teetering shoes. Sexy, scarlet shoes—and most men didn’t bother denying their reaction to that kind of footwear.
Yet, in direct contrast to the provocation of those killer heels, she wore not a scrap of make-up on her milk-pale face and the healthy sway of hair which gleamed beneath the fairy lights made Maximo experience something he hadn’t felt in quite a while. A stealthy but insistent tug of desire, which pulsed through his veins like sweet, dark honey.
His mouth twisted self-deprecatingly. Surely the healthy libido which seemed to have deserted him of late hadn’t been stirred by something as off-the-wall as a woman in fancy dress? Maybe his sexual appetite had become so jaded that he was being tempted by a little seasonal role play.
‘Um...we have a selection of delicious canapés on offer,’ she was saying, her words tumbling over themselves, and something about the softness of her voice made his skin prickle with recognition once more. ‘We’ve got pineapple and cheese on sticks and vol-au-vents—or there’s mini quiche, if you prefer.’
‘Mini quiche?’ he echoed sardonically, dropping his gaze to survey something unrecognisable which was stabbed unappetisingly onto the end of a cocktail stick, and maybe she picked up on his tone because when he looked up again, her face had turned very pink.
‘I know they’re not to everyone’s taste—’
His mouth twisted. ‘You can say that again.’
‘But the tourist board suggested we go with a retro theme,’ she defended.
He found himself unexpectedly charmed by her blush, for when was the last time that had happened? ‘And why would that be, I wonder?’
‘Because nostalgia is big, especially at Christmas.’ She hesitated, as if establishing whether he really did want to talk to her or whether he was just being polite. ‘Isn’t that the whole point of it?’
‘But it isn’t Christmas,’ he pointed out. ‘Not for weeks.’
‘Yes, I know. But the holiday always puts people in a good mood. And everywhere looks better with a few decorations and a Christmas tree.’
‘I must beg to differ,’ he commented, shooting a disparaging gaze at the glittering fir with its flashing fairy lights, which was nudging the hotel ceiling. He studied the fake presents he could see piled up at the base and couldn’t repress a shudder. ‘It looks monstrous.’
She hesitated again. ‘You sound as if you don’t like Christmas?’
‘Something of an understatement,’ he returned coolly. ‘If you want the truth, I loathe it.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, that’s a shame,’ she said and he could see her biting her lip as she struggled to think of a suitably compensatory response. ‘In that case, would you like a glass of bubbly? There’s plenty over on the bar—I can easily go and fetch you one.’
He could just imagine the quality of wine on offer but something about her worried expression made Maximo bite back the acerbic response which was hovering on his lips. Suddenly he realised it wasn’t fair to take his mood out on her. For him, this party was nothing more than a social necessity—an opportunity to meet the local officials who would help facilitate his ambitious plans. It certainly wasn’t what he’d call a pleasure, and she was only doing her job, after all.
And then that first faint flicker of recognition crystallised into something more solid, which made him examine her face more closely, because the dark-lashed beauty of her grey eyes had stirred more than a vague memory.
‘Don’t I know you?’ he questioned suddenly.
She wriggled her milky shoulders a little awkwardly. ‘You don’t exactly know me, Signor Diaz,’ she said. ‘We’ve met a few times when you’ve been into the office. I work in the estate agency you’re using to purchase the castle. I’m usually—’
‘Sitting behind a desk. Sí, sí—of course, I remember,’ he said, for hadn’t she been an oasis of calm during his recent purchase, and as unlike her abrasive and predatory boss as it was possible to be? She’d made him coffee and served him with something delicious to accompany it. But usually her clothes were unremarkable and her thick hair always scraped back in a style so severe, he imagined even a nun might shun it as unflattering. He remembered thinking that if he were planning on moving his business here, she might make the perfect secretary, and perhaps he would have poached her and paid her twice as much as she was currently earning.
He’d had no idea that beneath her drab clothes was a body which was little short of sensational and he was finding it unexpectedly difficult to reconcile these two dramatically different images of the same woman. ‘So why the sudden change of role—and the sudden change of outfit?’
‘I know. It’s awful, isn’t it?’ she whispered, her stricken gaze glancing down at the clashing colours of red and green.
‘I don’t know if that’s the word I would have chosen,’ he answered carefully. ‘I think it suits you, if you want the truth.’
‘Seriously?’ She looked surprised and then shyly delighted.
And wasn’t it strange how her obvious self-consciousness was playing sudden havoc with Maximo’s senses? The way she was biting her bottom lip was drawing his attention to the cushion of pink flesh which curved so sweetly into a shy smile. Her mouth suddenly looked very inviting. And extremely kissable. Bizarre. He shook his head, reminding himself that there were plenty of women more suitable as recipients of his desire than an office junior in fancy dress. ‘Are you moonlighting?’
‘You could say that.’