‘I think that’s the best orange juice I’ve ever tasted.’
‘Of course it is,’ said Felipe, with one of those quick smiles she was already coming to associate with him. She liked his refreshing self-assurance. Confident rather than cocky. ‘The oranges were picked this morning and freshly squeezed.’
‘Really?’ She lifted an eyebrow.
‘Cross my heart. It’s made every day.’ His sincerity was rather endearing, especially the way that he crossed his hands over his chest to support the claim.
She eyed the plate filled with delicate slices of kiwi fruit, slivers of melon and a handful of tiny strawberries, before her eyes moved on to the selection of three pastries adjacent to several slices of cured ham and pale, creamy squares of cheese.
‘And the strawberries…’ He leaned over and helped himself to one. ‘The best you’ll ever taste and also fresh from the garden today.’ He popped it into his mouth, his dark, whisky eyes dancing with devilment. ‘Mmm, delicious.’ He beamed at her.
A tiny spurt of red juice leaked out of his mouth and she found her eyes drawn to it.
‘You’ve erm…’ She pointed to his lips and watched as he dabbed at them and then licked his finger, his eyes on hers the whole time. It could have been cheesy and a bit ick, except his eyes danced with mischief the whole time.
He stole another one.
‘Oy,’ she said, laughing in spite of herself, amused by his easy charm. She slapped his hand as he leaned over, clearly intent on stealing a third. ‘Keep your mitts off!’
He withdrew his hand, pretending to nurse it against his chest. ‘You’re fast on the draw.’
‘Ha!’ she crowed. ‘I have two permanently hungry brothers. I know how to be protective of my food.’ She’d learned quickly because her parents believed growing boys needed to eat– even at Rebecca’s expense.
She jokingly put her arms around her plate.
‘They’re really good. You should try one.’ He nodded down at the plate.
‘Mmm, it would be nice to find out for myself, but you keep pinching them.’
‘Snooze you lose,’ he said, in very good English.
She rolled her eyes and selected one, lifting it to her mouth. Within a heartbeat, she was suddenly very aware of his direct gaze. Aware of him watching her.
A thrill whispered through her.
She lifted her chin and looked back at him as she bit into the strawberry.
‘Ooh!’ A squeal escaped with the instant hit of pleasure, her eyes widening as the burst of juicy sweetness overran her tongue and lit up her senses.
He gave her a slow, approving smile. She blushed.
‘Looks like you enjoyed that.’ The low timbre of his voice set off a response deep in her belly.
‘I did,’ she said, lifting her chin again, trying to ignore the fizz running through her body and the fear that she’d definitely pulled a sex face. Could you equate eating strawberries with orgasms? It was the closest she’d been to one for a while.
‘We grow them right there. They’re picked every morning.’
‘We?’ asked Rebecca, realising she’d been very slow. Felipe nodded. ‘You’re one of the family?’
‘Yes, you met my mother, Maria, last night and my cousins. This farm has been in my family for many generations.’ Although there was a flicker of pride in his eyes, there was also something else, which Rebecca couldn’t quite put her finger on but at some instinctual level recognised as a sense of kinship.
‘Family business,’ she said, wondering what it was Felipe did. Probably not a lot. He was obviously a charmer and, like her brothers, probably took the family business and its ongoing success for granted. A bit like her father, who’d inherited the brewery from his father and brother but wasn’t interested enough to drive the business forward. Luckily, he’d also inherited good, loyal staff who cared enough about the brewery to ensure that it ticked over, but it could be so much more.
‘Yes,’ said Felipe with a carefree wave at the land around them.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever had such fresh or sweet strawberries.’
‘I’d be happy to take you strawberry picking any time you like.’
