Cupcakes and Killer Heels. Heidi Rice

minute they walked into the bustling bar tucked away on the canal path at the bottom of Camden Market, Cal knew exactly what Ruby’s game was.

      Her hourglass figure moved enticingly in the fifties-style cotton dress as she waved to the barman and shouted a greeting. A swarthy youth in his early twenties rushed over and directed them to a secluded table on the other side of the dance floor—while slanting Cal an assessing stare.

      Cal pressed his palm to the warm bare skin of Ruby’s back to guide her through the crowded tables and felt the slight jolt she couldn’t disguise. A smile edged his lips as he caught the waiter’s glare before the younger man hurried away.

      The crowd were young and trendy, the music from a band in the corner loud and vibrant and the smell of fresh sweat and exotic spices all but overwhelming. Couples followed the intricate steps of the salsa with easy grace on a terrace overlooking the canal, their lithe young bodies entwined as they moved in time with the throbbing bongo beat that accompanied the blatantly sexual dance. At barely six o’clock, the place was already packed. One of the waitresses, hefting a tray laden with tapas dishes and bottles of Mexican beer, stopped to give Ruby a quick kiss and then grinned and whispered something in her ear while giving Cal a deliberate once-over. By the time they’d reached their table, they’d been stopped a dozen times, with Ruby shouting introductions over the blare of the music and voices, her face glowing with a potent blend of expectation, excitement and casual confidence.

      Shrugging off his jacket, he draped it over the chair, then pulled off his tie and slipped it in his pocket. Undoing the top buttons of his shirt, Cal made himself comfortable, more than ready to take whatever Ms Ruby Delisantro had to throw at him.

      She’d planned to show him up by bringing him here, that much was obvious. No doubt expecting him to be some boring suit who would balk at the idea of getting down and dirty at a neighbourhood bar where she was the queen bee. The ploy made him smile.

      Unfortunately for her, she’d miscalculated. He didn’t give in that easily. He wasn’t the snob or the killjoy she’d obviously mistaken him for. And he happened to enjoy dancing, especially when it was with a beautiful woman whom he’d been desperate to get his hands on all day. Latin dancing in particular could be a very satisfying form of foreplay, especially when you knew the steps—and he had a feeling Ruby knew this dance very well indeed. What she didn’t know was that so did he.

      He settled in his chair and waited for her to finish chatting with yet another friend who had crossed the bar to greet her. He stiffened then forced himself to relax when the young man grabbed her round the waist and hauled her up for a quick kiss. He suspected Ruby’s bright, breezy, social-butterfly act was for his benefit so he should sit back and enjoy the show.

      She wriggled out of the guy’s arms and gave him a jaunty pat on the cheek, making it subtly clear with her body language that, while she enjoyed the attention, their friendship was purely platonic. The guy gave him a brief nod as Ruby introduced them, then wound his way through the crowd, obviously used to getting the brush off.

      Boy, but she was good. A natural flirt, who had the ability to make guys feel great without leading them on.

      He’d hazard a guess that Ruby Delisantro only chose to date men who let her dictate all the moves. And he guessed she’d have no shortage of willing candidates mesmerised by that voluptuous body, her boldly beautiful face and her vibrant personality.

      But that was before she’d met him.

      He stretched out his legs, relishing the battle of wills ahead.

      When was the last time he’d had to actively seduce a woman? To put some effort into the chase?

      He’d chosen Gemma and nearly all of her predecessors in his bed, specifically because they’d been willing to let him set the pace. What he hadn’t realised until today was that his decision to always take the path of least resistance had resulted in his sex life becoming remarkably dull.

      What was it they said about no pain, no gain?

      He had the feeling Ruby, with her impulsive, flirtatious nature, her smart mouth and her desire to be in charge, had the potential to be a royal pain in the backside, but those very same qualities also made her electrifyingly sexy and a major challenge. And if the arousal flooding through his veins at the glimpse of cleavage as she propped her elbows on their table was anything to go by, the gain was going to be worth the pain.

      Slinging his arm over the back of her chair, he leaned in close and brushed the unruly curls of hair behind her ear.

      ‘Nice choice,’ he murmured, loving the way she shivered as his breath brushed her ear lobe. ‘Why don’t you order for us? You seem to have the connections to get the best service and I’m famished.’ She probably knew the menu off by heart. ‘And then we can dance it off before we discuss damages.’

      Her big brown eyes widened beautifully as her head whipped round. ‘You know how to salsa?’

      ‘You’ll have to wait and see,’ he said, stroking the back of her neck with his thumb under the heavy fall of hair. ‘But I think you’ll discover I have a few talents.’

      Salsa being the least of them.

      She shivered again—and he had to resist the urge to throw back his head and laugh at the sparkle of irritation in her eyes and the dark sheen of stunned arousal.

       Score one to me.

       For goodness’ sake.

      The infernal man didn’t look uncomfortable in the least. If anything, he looked positively smug. And if that weren’t bad enough, the light rub of his thumb against her nape was making her want to roll over and purr. Pulling away from the sensual torture before she did just that, Ruby signalled Sol’s wife, Chantelle, and ordered a selection of tapas dishes and a margarita for herself. Westmore then chimed in and ordered a beer—in fluent Spanish. Chantelle carried on a brief conversation with him of which Ruby only managed to catch about two words. Giving a throaty laugh, the waitress leaned over to clear the empty plates and glasses that had been left on their table and whispered in Ruby’s ear.

      ‘He’s a hot one, querida’, she said in her thick Spanish accent, the tone husky with humour. ‘Maybe even too hot for you to handle, eh?’

      As Chantelle strolled off, the tray perched expertly on her arm, Ruby assessed her date. And struggled to regroup.

      Well, he was certainly hot.

      With his sleeves rolled up, her eyes were drawn to the muscles in his forearm as he tapped his fingers on the table to the beat of the music. Acknowledging the twist and throb of desire, she dismissed it.

      So what if he was hot? He couldn’t possibly be too hot for her to handle.

      ‘Where did you learn to speak Spanish?’ she asked. Maybe polite conversation was the best way to cool things down a bit. She liked heat as much as the next girl but getting incinerated wasn’t part of her plan.

      ‘I lived in Barcelona for a few years after law school.’

      ‘You’re a lawyer?’ Which would explain his affinity for the rule of law, Ruby thought. But not her overwhelming attraction.

      ‘I’m a barrister,’ he corrected easily.

      She could just picture him in court, directing a jury in robes and a white wig. Instead of making him seem ridiculous, the image only made him seem more commanding.

      ‘And you make cupcakes for a living?’ he countered.

      ‘I do.’ She straightened, waiting for the derogatory comment. People often thought what she did was frivolous and inconsequential. Given the gravity of this guy’s profession, she could just imagine what he was thinking about her little bakery business.

      ‘And according to the Standard, they’re the best cupcakes in the known universe.’

      ‘You read Ed Moulder’s review?’ The veteran food writer had gushed