Claimed by the Wealthy Magnate

Some space, time out, seemed a good idea, so she could make an attempt to process the enormity of her reactions. ‘Shall we eat?’ she suggested pointing to a tapas bar. ‘That one looks as good as any.’

‘Sure.’

She followed him into the dimly lit packed interior and watched as he managed to snag one of the few small square tables covered in plastic red and white checked tablecloths.

As they looked around she realised where they were. ‘It’s a pintxo bar. I’ve never been in one—but I think they originate from the Basque region of Spain.’

He nodded. ‘Basically pintxos are mouth-sized tapas—always skewered with toothpicks. We just go up to the bar, help ourselves and tuck in. We keep the toothpicks and at the end we pay by the number of toothpicks.’

Kaitlin eyed the throng of people at the bar, most of them standing and eating, chatting and drinking with abandon. She knew that even with the new-found freedom of being ‘Lynette’ she couldn’t risk it. Not the possibility of another panic attack brought on by the crowd or that of being recognised.

Daniel looked at her with a glint of amusement. ‘I can go and get a selection for us both.’

‘Thank you. That would be kind.’ Perhaps a touch too much aristocratic hauteur in her voice there, and she eased it with a smile. ‘I’ll order the drinks.’

Ten minutes later he returned to the table. ‘Here we go.’

‘Delicious. Ham empanadillas, sobrassada sausage with honey, apple and crispy Idiazabal cheese pintxos made of chicken, tempura with saffron mayonnaise, melted provolone with mango and ham, and a mini-brochette of pork.’

‘That’s an impressive Spanish accent. I take it you speak the language?’

‘A little.’ The Duchess had ensured Kaitlin was fluent in a number of languages.

‘You must be prepared, Kaitlin, should you marry into European aristocracy.’

‘As part of your job?’

‘No. I work in an art gallery.’ No harm in sharing that fact; lots of people worked in art galleries, after all.

He speared a pinxto and surveyed her thoughtfully. ‘So, are you here on business? Barcelona has plenty of art.’

Kaitlin shook her head. ‘This trip is personal.’

‘Are

you in trouble?’

The unexpectedness of the question caused her to tense, and a drop of sangria slopped over the edge of her glass and hit the wooden table. Placing her glass down carefully, Kaitlin mopped up the red liquid with a napkin, watching the cloth absorb the ruby stain.

‘We had this conversation earlier and I said no.’

‘I know you did. I’m not sure I believe you.’

‘I’m not in trouble. I came to Barcelona because I needed some space. Tonight I want to forget the past and the future and live in the present.’

An arrested expression flickered across his face in the candlelit alcove. ‘A night of freedom?’ he said, quoting her words from earlier.

‘Yes.’

Daniel raised his glass. ‘To your night of freedom.’

His blue eyes met hers and what she saw shot a funny little thrill through her and she stilled. The sheer unfamiliarity of the sensation made her light-headed, made her dizzy with its intensity, and her body felt energised as every nerve-end tingled in anticipation.

The hours danced by, and the air was tinged with motes of awareness as they talked of everything and nothing. By mutual unspoken consent the conversation veered away from the personal, so they discussed music, films and philosophy. But every word was punctuated by a growing expectancy—a heady underlying responsiveness and a growing realisation of where the evening might end up.

Eventually they shared a dessert, a decadent dark chocolate concoction, and as she spooned up the last sumptuous bite she met his gaze, saw desire ignite in his eyes. Then gently he took the spoon from her suddenly nerveless fingers and placed it on the plate. The chink of metal on china rang loud in her ear.

Oh, so gently he reached out and ran his thumb across her lower lip. She gasped—a small, involuntary sound—at the potency of her own reaction. Sensation uncoiled in her tummy...a need she’d never felt before. Without thought she cupped his jaw, wondered at the feel of his six o’clock shadow. Then his lips descended to hers and the world seemed to stop.