The Spanish Doctor's Love-Child. Kate Hardy

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СКАЧАТЬ do with a laugh. ‘OK. Thanks. I will.’

      Lord, he needed a breather from this party, Leandro thought.

      Given the choice between spending his first Saturday in Manchester completely on his own in a rented flat, wondering why the hell he’d left Barcelona, and coming to a party where he was likely to meet some of his new colleagues, Leandro had accepted the invitation with a smile. Enthusiasm, even.

      But he’d forgotten what kind of parties junior doctors threw.

      Ones with plenty of cheap wine, barely edible snacks that left you hungry, and terrible music played at the kind of volume where conversations had to be conducted at shouting pitch. Where there was barely any room to move, because so many people were packed into the place.

      Thirty-five years old, and he’d hit middle age, he thought ruefully. Because he was beginning to wish he’d stayed in after all.

      Leandro took a swig from the bottle of beer and wandered into the garden, thinking at least he’d find a quiet corner there. Although it was April, it was warm enough for him not to need a coat.

      And then he saw her.

      Sitting on a bench tucked away in a quiet corner of the garden, with her shoes off and her knees drawn up to her chin, looking as though she wanted to be a hundred miles away, too. A kindred spirit, perhaps?

      He walked over to the bench. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

      She looked up at him and frowned. ‘Sorry. I didn’t catch what you said.’

      Hardly surprising. She’d probably been deafened by the music blasting from inside the house.

      ‘I said, do you mind if I join you?’ he repeated, this time a little louder.

      She shrugged and uncurled, making room for him to sit beside her. ‘Help yourself.’

      Even though the sun had set an hour or so ago, the light shining into the garden from the kitchen was bright enough for him to see her properly. She had short brown hair, the sort that would go into spiral curls if she let it grow, and dark blue eyes that looked haunted. And a perfect rosebud of a mouth that sent a frisson of desire down his spine.

      ‘Gràcies.’ He sat down. ‘Leandro Herrera.’ He held his free hand out to her. She took it, and the frisson down his spine grew stronger.

      ‘Rebecca Marston. Everyone calls me Becky,’ she said, shaking his hand. Her grip was cool, firm, precise—and he liked it.

      ‘Which part of Spain do you come from?’ she asked.

      ‘Barcelona.’

      She looked thoughtful. ‘Catalunya.’

      He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m impressed. You know Spain?’

      ‘Not really. I had a penfriend years ago—our teacher had spent a year in Spain and taught at a school there, and she told us a bit about the country. She set up a penfriend scheme between the two schools.’ She smiled. ‘In the years before email and chat rooms. But those early lessons helped when it came to taking exams.’

      ‘Parla català?’ he asked.

      She shook her head. ‘Sorry. I assume you’re asking me if I speak Catalan—I don’t, and my Spanish is horribly rusty. But your English is excellent.’

      ‘Gràcies. I learned from an early age.’ He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘So, Rebecca—Becky. Do you always escape into the garden at parties?’

      She wrinkled her nose. ‘No, though I am at this one. My housemate persuaded me to come with her because she thought it would do me good to…’ And then she gave him the most gorgeously mischievous smile, indicating the ends of her short hair. ‘To let my hair down a bit.’

      He smiled back. ‘And you’re regretting letting her persuade you?’

      She nodded. ‘This really isn’t my kind of thing.’

      ‘Not mine either,’ he admitted. ‘And I heard someone say something about karaoke.’

      Becky closed her eyes briefly. ‘Help. I’m not sure what’s worse—being bullied into singing something in front of a crowd or having to listen to other people singing out of key or out of rhythm.’

      ‘Especially when they’ve drunk enough to think they’re in tune and sound as good as their favourite pop star,’ he added dryly. ‘I think I’m going to call it a night.’

      ‘I don’t blame you.’

      Something in her face told him that she felt the same way. And even though he had no intention of seeing her again after tonight, it would be good to have company rather than going back to his flat on his own. Dinner wouldn’t hurt. So he gave into the impulse and asked, ‘Have you eaten tonight?’

      ‘Just some nibbles here.’

      ‘How about,’ he suggested, ‘we escape? Go and find some proper food.’ He looked pointedly at her barely touched glass. ‘And wine you can actually drink.’

      He had a voice like melted chocolate, and eyes to match. Olive skin betraying his Mediterranean ancestry. Dark hair that was cut short, but Becky would just bet turned curly if he were in a rainstorm; it made her itch to slide her fingers into it.

      And he had the sexiest mouth she’d ever, ever seen.

      Leandro Herrera was a complete stranger. She knew nothing about him. He could be some kind of maniac. She really ought to refuse. Politely, but refuse.

      And then her grandfather’s voice echoed in her head.

      I should think so, too. Why you couldn’t just settle down and have children and support your husband, I’ll never know. Going off with a complete stranger, indeed. No moral fibre, your generation…

      Oh, shut up, Gramps, Becky thought. She was a grown woman. And in her view strangers were friends you hadn’t yet met. If a gorgeous man invited her out to dinner, and she wanted to go, then it was her choice. And she was going to do it.

      ‘Yes. I’d love to.’

      ‘Good.’ He stood up again and held a hand out to her. She slipped her feet back into her shoes, then took his hand and let him draw her to her feet. Even though she was five feet seven in heels, he was a good six inches taller than she was. Broad shouldered. Strong.

      He could’ve made her feel intimidated.

      Instead, he made her feel safe. And she couldn’t remember when she’d last felt like this.

      Certainly not with Michael, who’d taken every safety net away from her.

      ‘I’d better let my housemate know I’m leaving,’ she said.

      ‘Of course. And I need to say goodbye and thank you to my host.’

      Old-fashioned good manners. She liked that, too.

      ‘I’ll СКАЧАТЬ