But what Narciso had roused in her just now had frightened and excited her. Kissing him had been holding a live, dangerous firework in the palm of her hand. She hadn’t been sure whether she would experience the most spectacular show of lights or blow herself to smithereens with it.
And yet she’d been almost desolate when the kiss ended. Which showed how badly things could get out of hand.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she counted to ten. The earlier she finished her business with Narciso and got on the plane back to New York, the better.
Throwing off the sheet, she glanced at the velvet rope around her ankle. Twisting her body into the appropriate position, she tugged on the double knot, surprised when it came loose easily.
Again, the realisation that she could’ve freed herself at any time made her view of him alter a little. Her fingers lingered on the rope warmed from her body.
Bondage sex. Until now, the scenario had never even crossed her mind. But suddenly, the thought of being tied down while Narciso laid her inhibitions to waste took up centre stage in her mind.
Heat flaming her whole body, she jumped from the bed. Upright, his T-shirt reached well past her knees, and covered her arms to her elbows.
She glanced at her gown, laid carefully over the arm of the chaise longue, and made up her mind. She would dress after they’d had their talk. She couldn’t bear being restrained in the too-tight dress just yet. Ditto for her heels.
Stilettos and a T-shirt in the presence of a dangerously sexual man like Narciso Valentino evoked an image she didn’t want to tempt into life now, or ever.
For some reason, her body turned him on. She wasn’t stupid enough to bait the lion more than he was already baited.
Barefoot, she left the bedroom and went in search of the kitchen.
He stood at a centre island in a kitchen that made the chef in her want to weep with envy. State-of-the-art equipment lined the surfaces and walls and through a short alcove a floor-to-ceiling wine rack displayed exquisite vintages.
‘You get all this for a two-day stay?’
He jerked at her question. Before he could cover his emotions, Ruby glimpsed a painfully bleak look in his eyes.
A second later, the look was gone as he shrugged. ‘It suits my needs.’
‘Your needs... I’d kill for a kitchen like this in my restaurant.’
‘You own a restaurant?’ he asked.
She concluded her survey of the appliances and faced him. ‘Not yet. I would’ve been on my way to opening Dolce Italia by now if NMC had honoured its commitments.’
‘Ah, the sins of imaginary corporate sharks.’
The coffee machine finished going through its wake-up motions. He pressed a button and the beans started to churn.
‘Not imaginary.’ Ruby stepped forward when she realised what he was doing. ‘Wait, you’re doing it wrong. We’re in a warm climate. The coffee beans expand in warm weather so you need to grind them looser to extract the maximum taste. Here let me do it.’ Even though stepping closer would bring her dangerously close to his sleek frame, she seized the opportunity to make herself useful and not just stare at his broad, naked back. A back she could suddenly picture herself clawing in the heat of desire.
Just as she tried not to stare when he leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his bare chest.
‘How are you at multitasking?’ he asked.
‘It’s essential in my line of business.’ Content with the setting, she pressed the button to resume the grinding and went to the fridge. She grabbed the creamer, and forced herself not to gape at the mouth-watering ingredients in there.
‘Good, then you can talk while you prepare the coffee. Tell me everything I need to know.’ His brisk tone was all business.
Quickly, she summarised the events of the past two months.
‘So you entered this competition as a chef?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I have a degree in hospitality management and a diploma in gourmet cuisine and I’m an approved board-certified mixologist.’
He grinned. ‘You have to go to college to mix drinks?’
‘You have to go to school to wash dishes right these days or someone will sue your ass.’ She started to grin, then stopped herself. ‘I mean...if you don’t want to be sued for accidentally poisoning someone. Besides, I plan to make my cocktail bar accessible to allergy-sufferers, too, so I need to know what I’m doing.’
‘Which of your drinks is your favourite?’ he fired back.
The question threw her for a second. Then she shrugged. ‘They’re all my favourite.’
‘Describe the taste of your signature drink,’ he pressed.
She went in search of coffee cups, opening several cabinets before she located them. She had to reach up to grab them and the cool air that passed over the backs of her legs reminded her how exposed she was.