‘I’m sorry to hear that—’
‘My father never remarried,’ she went on as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘I thought he would replace her as soon as he could, but no. He never did. Not that he hasn’t had lovers. He’s had lots and lots of them. No one ever likes to think of their parents doing it, do they? It’s gross. My dad is over sixty. I mean, what is he thinking? Isn’t it time to put his tackle away and have a rest?’
‘I guess boys will be boys, no matter what their age.’
She gave him another angled look. ‘Am I keeping you from something? Someone?’
‘No.’
‘No hot date?’
‘Sadly, no.’
She scrunched up her forehead again. ‘Why not?’
‘I asked a girl to dance with me but she turned me down.’
She made a sympathetic sound. ‘Oh, poor you. Were you terribly crushed?’
‘Irreparably.’
She put a hand on his arm, sending a shock of electricity straight to his groin. ‘Never mind. I’m sure you’ll find someone some day. I think there’s a soulmate out there for each of us. We just have to be patient and wait until the planets align. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.’
Luiz momentarily lost his train of thought as he looked at the soft and generous bow of her mouth. Her lips were still glossy from a recent coating of lipgloss, making them look even more luscious and tempting. He could smell the flowery scent she wore, a mixture of gardenia and honeysuckle that teased his nostrils and made him think of sultry summer nights. ‘How much did you have to drink?’ he asked.
‘Hardly anything. I’m not a big drinker. I talk too much when I have wine. I guess that’s why it’s called truth serum, huh? In vino veritas. That’s Latin, by the way. The truth is in the wine.’ She gave him another megawatt smile. ‘That’s why I stuck to vodka. One shot with orange juice and I didn’t even get to finish it because I was too busy dancing. Did you see me? It was awesome. I’ve never been able to do the Macarena before.’
Luiz felt like a parent handling a wayward teenager after a night out on the town. ‘Do you have your room key with you?’
She fished around in her purse, her brow doing that little crinkly thing again, her teeth embedded in her lower lip. After a fruitless search she dropped her purse and reached inside the left hand cup of her bra and handed him a card key with another broad smile. ‘I knew I put it somewhere safe.’
Luiz could feel the heat of her breast on the card. His fingers moved over its surface in a stroking manner as he locked gazes with her. ‘This card isn’t from this hotel. Do you know which one you’re staying at?’
She wrinkled her nose like a child refusing to eat spinach. ‘I don’t want to go there. This is much nicer.’
‘Do you know where you are? What floor you’re on?’
She gave him a vampish look, batting her impossibly long eyelashes coquettishly. ‘I’m on your floor.’
He ignored the wanton come-on in her gaze on principle. He could have any woman he wanted. He didn’t have to resort to drunk or stoned ones. He might be considered an irascible rake but even he had some standards. ‘Listen, querida, you need to lie flat in a dark room until you sober up.’
She pushed her lush mouth out in a pout. ‘I’m not drunk. Look, I can walk in a straight line.’ She tottered off along the corridor, arms out wide to stabilise her passage. She turned and came back towards him but the fourth step was her undoing. Her legs suddenly tangled and she came down in a heap and would have fallen badly if not for him catching her in time.
He gathered her slim body in his arms, trying not to notice the sweet cinnamon of her breath on his face as she snuggled up close with her arms flung around his neck. ‘I’m soooo tired…’ She gave a huge yawn and dropped her head against the wall of his chest and closed her eyes with a soft little sigh.
He gave her a gentle shake. ‘Hey, you didn’t tell me your name.’
She made another soft purring sound and burrowed closer to his chest. ‘Need to sleep now…’
Luiz caught sight of himself carrying his rescued damsel in one of the gilt mirrors hanging above the hall table. Her shiny shoulder-length hair was swaying loose in a soft cloud over one of his arms, tickling the skin where he had rolled back the cuffs of his shirt. Her conservative black dress had ridden up, revealing slim legs and thoroughbred-narrow ankles, and a soft dreamy smile curved her mouth as her cheek settled against the steady beat of his heart as if she had finally found home.
He let out a low rough expletive. ‘Now what, Sir Galahad?’