The Spanish Consultant's Baby. Kate HardyЧитать онлайн книгу.
and see.’ Mischief lurked in his eyes.
On cue, the waiter placed a bubbling bowl of white chocolate fondue on top of the tea-light, then brought a platter of tiny sponge cakes and strawberries with two forks, which Ramón appropriated immediately.
‘This is the nearest they had to chocolate and churros.’
‘Spanish pudding?’ she guessed.
‘No, that’s flan—what you would call crème caramel. Or a dish of sweet oranges. But we had a light meal tonight, so I thought we could get away with this.’
Definitely a killer smile, Jennifer thought. She needed coffee. Or a bucket of iced water thrown over her head. Something—anything—to stop the way her knees were turning to jelly, the way her body reacted to this man.
‘Here.’ He speared a strawberry on the long fork, dipped it in white chocolate and held it to her lips. ‘This is perfection.’
All the tables around them were full. They were in the middle of a very public place. So why did it feel so intimate? Why did it feel as if he was the only other person in the city besides her? And why did she feel that he was offering her something more than the strawberry—something much more personal?
The strawberry was definitely a mistake, Ramón thought, because the moment she bit into it, the sensual awareness in her eyes turned to sheer blind panic.
Why was she so afraid? Of him? But surely she knew he would never hurt her? Regretfully, he relinquished the fork. ‘English strawberries have a certain something. It’s like eating sunlight, don’t you think?’
Gradually, the panic in her eyes receded. Though he noticed that she didn’t eat anything else. ‘Do you dislike strawberries?’ he asked.
‘It’s not that. They’re lovely. I’m just…full.’
In other words, he’d pushed her so hard that she’d lost her appetite. And the guilt in turn made him lose his. He ignored the fondue and the cake and just ate the strawberries. ‘Too sweet,’ he said in response to her enquiring glance.
‘I thought all Spaniards had an incredibly sweet tooth?’
He smiled. ‘It’s the Moorish influence. I admit that, yes, I do have a weakness for sticky pastries made with honey. And proper hot chocolate—made the Spanish way.’
She pulled a face. ‘Sounds a bit sickly.’
‘If you have too much, yes. The trick is knowing when to stop.’
Wise advice—but advice that he couldn’t heed. He knew he should stop this now, leave Jennifer be…But he couldn’t. He wanted more. Much more. ‘Coffee?’
‘Not for me, thanks.’
‘Then I’ll see you back to your car.’
‘Ramón, it’s very sweet of you, but there’s no need. It’s perfectly safe.’
‘Even so, I’d prefer to see you safely to your car. Humour me? You could always tell me about the buildings on our way back. Teach me about your city.’
She nodded. ‘Let’s get the bill.’
He was careful to let her pay her way—he knew that if he ignored her feelings now, she’d refuse to come out with him again—and they walked back through the quiet streets to the hospital car park. Jennifer pointed out buildings of note on the way—the church in the market place with stunning stained-glass windows, an art deco shopping arcade, the old toll-house which had once been where the citizens had paid their taxes but was now the tourist information office.
If anyone had asked him what she’d said, he would have just shrugged and said he had no idea. What he’d really noticed had been the way her eyes changed colour, more blue than grey when she was interested in something. The fullness of her lower lip, so promising and so tempting. The way little lines fanned from the corner of her eyes when she smiled. He’d never been so aware of a woman before. He wanted to pull her into his arms, bend her back slightly and kiss her until they were both breathless.
And yet…there had been that panic in her eyes. Jennifer Jacobs was a challenge. A challenge he wanted to meet. To win. Which meant that he had to take it slowly. Softly. Gently.
When they reached her car, he smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Jennifer, for a lovely evening.’
‘That’s OK. Do you want a lift back to your flat?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s a five-minute walk at most. The exercise will do me good.’ He took her hand and drew it to his mouth. Her eyes widened but he held her gaze—he needed her to know that he wasn’t going to hurt her and she was safe with him. Right now, yes, he wanted to kiss her properly. Mouth to mouth. Sliding his fingers into her hair, his tongue against hers, pulling her close against his body so she could feel how much she turned him on. But she wasn’t ready for that and he wasn’t going to force her. He kissed the tips of her fingers, then folded them down into her palm. ‘Goodnight, cariña,’ he said softly.
Jennifer was shaking when she got into the car. She was still shaking as she drove home. Ramón had barely touched her and yet her whole body had reacted to him, reacted to the promise in his dark, expressive eyes. Reacted to the amber sparks of passion he’d let her see, just for a moment, then damped down again as he’d kissed her fingertips.
It was all show. He probably did this to every woman he came into contact with.
Hell, hell and double hell. She really couldn’t let anything happen between them. It would make life too complicated at work. And she didn’t want to be a holiday romance, a brief affair. She didn’t want for ever either. She’d already done that, worn the T-shirt and paid a heavy penance. She wasn’t going to give up her freedom again.
So she’d just have to stay away from him as much as she could.
Friday was easier, as Meg was back and Jennifer managed to avoid Ramón. She was off over the weekend; and although she half expected that Ramón would track her down to her bolthole, he didn’t. She wasn’t sure whether she was more relieved or disappointed.
On the Monday morning she was busy dealing with the handover when he came on duty, and he was already examining a new patient when she’d finished, leaving her free to carry out her normal duties without interruption. But although her mind was definitely concentrating on her job, her body wasn’t. It was too aware of the handsome Spaniard sitting a few metres away in his office.
‘There’s some good news, Mr Garrett. The X-ray results are clear,’ Ramón said.
‘So what’s wrong with Tim?’
‘It is something called Osgood-Schlatter disease.’
‘Disease? It can’t be.’ Garrett shook his head. ‘He only had a knock on the football field. I told him there was nothing broken and he was being a wuss about it.’
Just what he could do without: a pushy parent who wouldn’t put the child’s needs first. Ramón bit back the scorn he would dearly have loved to express, and gently examined the teenager’s leg. ‘Is this painful, Tim?’
‘Not too bad.’
‘Hey. No bravado. On a scale of one to ten, with one being just a little bit and ten being unbearable?’
Tim glanced at his father, then back at Ramón. ‘One.’
That glance told Ramón everything. If only there was some way of getting Mr Garrett out of his office, so Tim had the space to tell the truth. He’d just have to do the best he could. What was it Jennifer had said? You had to sum up the parents, find out how they handled things. Garrett was a know-all. So Ramón would blind him with science.
‘There’s a soft tissue swelling over the tibial tuberosity. This often happens in young athletes during a period of rapid growth. It’s caused by the pull of the quadriceps, which join with the patellar tendons running