‘Luca’s chocolate martini?’ she asked, with the faintest gurgle of laughter.
‘It sounds better in Italian,’ he conceded. ‘Try it.’
She repeated the Italian words and then grimaced. ‘I sound ridiculous. I have no aptitude for language.’
‘You need to say it with more emphasis, make each syllable more dramatic, more passionate. Martini cioccolaaato.’ His over-emphasis brought a smile to her face and he felt ridiculously pleased. ‘You have a go.’
‘Martini cioccolaaato.’ She stopped and gave a small delicious chuckle. ‘Like that?’
‘Excellent. Now come, let us get started.’ He paused. ‘As long as you are sure you would like this particular cocktail. It is a little decadent—a bit like having dessert before your main course.’
‘I can do that,’ she said. ‘In fact, I’d like to do that.’
‘Sometimes it is good to do something a little bit sinful.’ The words fell from his lips without intent, as if his vocal cords had been taken hostage. Created a shimmer of awareness, carried on the waves of noise and chatter and the clink of glass.
‘Then let’s get started.’ Her words were low as her breath caught.
/> He led the way behind the bar, to a secluded corner, and now he was, oh, so aware of her proximity, the scent of her vanilla shampoo, and a subtle refreshing hint of her perfume. Keep it together. ‘Have you ever shaken a cocktail before?’
Emily shook her head. ‘Nope. And I feel I should warn you now that my culinary skills are not particularly good.’
‘No worries. I’ll run over the basics. Then just copy what I do.’
He was aware of her studying him as he set out the ingredients, suspected she wanted to take photos. ‘So we have vodka, we have a bicerin chocolate liqueur, we have an espresso and we have my secret ingredient.’ He picked up a grapefruit. ‘This adds a sour kick to counteract the sweetness of the chocolate and the darkness of the coffee.’ Quickly he cut the grapefruit in half and juiced it.
‘That sounds divine. So what now? We put all the ingredients in with some ice and shake?’
Luca couldn’t keep the pained expression from his face and Emily gave another gurgle of laughter. ‘Sorry. I am guessing that’s like someone saying to me “so I just point and click”?’
‘Exactly. Mixing a cocktail is an art. You need the measure of ingredients to be exactly right, the perfect combination of strength and sweetness, depth and light.’ As he spoke he was aware of her gaze on him, the widening eyes, felt his own pulse ratchet up a notch at the undertones of his words. ‘Sometimes you need a cocktail with a bit of spice, like a chilli, or other days you may feel like something a little more bland, but with a kick, like a vanilla martini. Different moods call for a different touch. But the most important thing is to get the balance right.’
Her breathing quickened and heat flushed the angles of her cheekbones to a red-brown glow. ‘It sounds almost Zen-like.’
‘And the art of the Zen master is to make sure every cocktail, whatever the mix, brings satisfaction.’
Their gazes locked and the surroundings no longer mattered, the voices on mute, the blue of the walls seeming to fade as his lips tingled with the urge to kiss her, to lean forward and taste her lips.
The spell was broken by the bartender, who stepped in and reached up for a bottle of spirits. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said, in a cheerful London twang. ‘I need the spiced rum.’
‘No problem.’
They spoke simultaneously and Emily took a small step backward.
‘Right,’ Luca said, knowing he had to use words to bridge the awkwardness. ‘So, we need to very carefully measure each ingredient.’ Relief touched her expression as she concentrated on the amounts and he continued to speak. ‘So this is a two-piece shaker. It’s made of stainless steel, which I think is better than glass. It creates a purer cocktail. You put the ingredients in the smaller cup. And now we need the ice. I use ice straight from the freezer to reduce any possible dilution factor. The ice goes in the top half.’ Her forehead creased in a small frown of concentration, he saw a glimpse of her teeth as she bit into her upper lip, her whole body taut as she copied his actions, and desire tugged inside him again. ‘So now we get ready to shake. Tip the top half over the smaller one as quick as you can so you don’t spill any ice.’
She hesitated and he saw doubt cross her face. ‘What if I miss?’
‘Then we start again. It’s no big deal.’ Yet it seemed as if to Emily it was. ‘Hey, no one is expecting you to be perfect. Honestly, when I started I made at least a million mistakes. But I think you’ve got this.’
She raised an eyebrow but he saw a hint of a smile. ‘Somehow I doubt that, but thank you for making me feel better. Here goes.’ In one fluid movement she did as he’d said.
‘Perfect. Now tap the top to form a seal and you’re ready to shake.’
Now a smile did tip her lips and he could tell the success had given her a small thrill of satisfaction. ‘So are there any special moves?’
‘Of course.’ He walked over to the music section and chose a track. ‘Caribbean drum beat for twelve seconds. Ready, set, go.’
He started to shake, keeping the rhythm of the drums. For a moment she stood as if mesmerised and then followed suit, closed her eyes and he allowed himself to watch, the sway of her body, the entranced look on her face as if she were lost in the movement. And he sensed this was an instant of escape, wondered what she was escaping from. ‘Now we strain it and then we’re done.’