‘And you get enough of that, I imagine?’
‘Flattery is sweet food for those who can swallow it, but I’m more of a cheese and pickle man.’
Rose pinned a theatrical frown to her face. ‘Are you saying I’m a navvy’s wedge of a sandwich?’
When Raffa laughed she couldn’t help noticing yet again that his teeth were perfect. He was perfect. It was dangerously easy to imagine that mouth and those lips creating havoc on her body. She shouldn’t even be thinking like that, but nothing suited a man better than a sense of humour, in Rose’s opinion.
‘You’re the only woman worth dancing with at this party,’ he assured her as he twirled her around and around.
‘Are you sure you’re not just trying to make me dizzy?’
His answer was to yank her even closer.
There was a lot to be said for feeling light-headed. Raffa Acosta, who could have anyone he wanted, and capable Rose, who resembled one of those little dolls in an Irish gift shop, pleasantly plump and agreeably smiling, only short of wearing her red hair in plaits, dancing as if they belonged together.
‘Tell me, why haven’t we done this before tonight?’ Raffa demanded. ‘I had no idea what I was missing.’
‘Honesty?’ she suggested.
The smile on his face was something else to take away and store in her memory box. When they were working together on Raffa’s ranch, he was all grim concentration.
‘I didn’t know what I was missing, either,’ Rose confessed. ‘I’d no idea you could loosen up to the point where you’d dance with a groom.’
‘Don’t tell anyone,’ Raffa confided with a glance at all the avid faces watching them. ‘Let this be our secret.’
‘I promise not to say anything to tarnish your formidable reputation,’ Rose pledged, enjoying the joke.
‘You’re lucky to have such an attractive accent, Rose Kelly, or I’d be forced to scold you severely for your cheek tonight.’
That could be nice.
No. No! She mustn’t even think that way. This was one pity dance for the wallflower at a society wedding. Cinderella would soon lose her glad rags and don her work clothes to finish off mucking out the stables. But the music was upbeat, her heart was racing and Raffa didn’t seem to care that they had become the biggest talking point of the night. ‘Who has the accent?’ she challenged, raising a mocking eyebrow.
‘Are you daring to criticise my impeccable English accent,señorita?’
‘No. I love the way you talk,’ Rose admitted frankly. That sexy Spanish accent was the icing on an already delicious cake.
‘Shall we dance on?’ he suggested.
‘Yes. Let’s—but, there’s something we need to get straight first.’
‘What’s that, Rose?’
‘I won’t sleep with you when the dancing stops.’
‘I didn’t have sleep in mind.’
‘You’re every bit as bad as they say you are,’ she scolded, unable to help laughing out loud.
‘Worse,’ Raffa confirmed, with a look that scorched her from the inside out.
When the music finally stopped, neither of them seemed eager to part. Rose knew she had to make a move. ‘Well, this has been wonderful, but I should be going—’
‘If that’s what you really want?’
‘It is.’ It was the last thing she wanted.
‘Why am I not convinced?’ Raffa murmured as he drew her into his arms.
