The Baby Of Their Dreams. Carol Marinelli

      She didn’t like his dismissal of Gordon but, apart from that, he was, well, deliciously overwhelming.

      Gemma’s words were ringing in her ears. He didn’t have to be perfect, he didn’t have to be anything other than…

      God, but she fancied him.

      She could have left it there, just walked off and it would have been over. There were no games, no pretence, just his question, which she now answered truthfully. ‘Dinner away from the hotel sounds great,’ she said. ‘I’ll just…’ She held up her bags and was about to suggest that she take them up and meet him back here in…half an hour, or however long it took to get showered and dressed.

      But by then she’d have changed her mind, she knew.

      Half an hour from now she’d be calling Reception to pass on a message to him.

      Or she could just go with how she felt now.

      ‘I’ll just ask Reception if they can take my bags up.’

      The streets were noisy and he navigated them easily and took her to a place that Cat would never have found had she explored on her own—a few streets along from the strip the hotel was on. They walked down a stone stairwell and to an asado restaurant that was noisy and smoky, even with the open area out the back.

      ‘So, are you pleased your talk is over?’ he asked when they were tucked away at a table.

      ‘Very,’ Cat said. ‘I can relax now.’

      And relax she did, admitting she had no clue about Spanish wine and letting him choose.

      ‘Are you staying till Monday?’ he asked, and she shook her head.

      ‘No, I fly out tomorrow evening—I’m back at work on Monday. I wish…’

      ‘Wish what?’

      ‘Well, I was really only thinking of my talk when I booked the flights. I wasn’t actually expecting to like Barcelona so much. I should have tagged on a couple of days’ annual leave and done a bit of exploring.’

      ‘You always could.’

      It sounded very tempting but it was a little too late for that now. ‘We’re pretty short on staff at the moment. My colleague Andrew is going on leave and Hamish, he’s the other consultant…’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m sure you know how it is.’

      ‘Remind me,’ he said.

      ‘Remind you?’ she checked. ‘Where do you work?’

      ‘Scotland.’

      She waited for him to elaborate, which he did but it was vague rather than specific. ‘I work a little bit here and a longer bit there,’ Dominic said, and Cat then felt the scrutiny of his gaze and the message behind his words as he spoke on. ‘I don’t like to be tied to one place.’ And then he elaborated properly. ‘Or one person.’

      Well, that certainly told her.

      In part, Cat was tempted to simply get up and leave. It wasn’t a meal, they both knew that. This wasn’t two like-minded colleagues sharing a dinner after a busy day at a conference.

      This was exactly what the dear Dr Gemma had ordered.

      Cat was old enough to know it.

      Their knees were nudging and suddenly her lips felt too big for her face without the resting place of his mouth.

      She felt his eyes glance down as she reached for her drink and from the sudden weight in her breasts she knew where his glance had been. Only, it wasn’t sleazy. Or, if it was, it came from both of them because she’d been doing the same to his bum a little earlier as he’d walked down the stairs.

      No, this wasn’t just dinner.

      ‘Do you have a problem with that?’ he said, and she blinked as she tried to remember the conversation. Oh, yes, the not-tied-to-one-person thing, he was asking if she had a problem with that.

      Did she?

      Yes, a part of her did.

      Very much so.

      A part of her wanted to tell him where he could shove his arrogant, presumptuous offer and head back to her hotel room and bury herself in the grief of today.

      Yet the other part of Cat thrummed in suspense. Could she simply let loose and enjoy a night of passion with a very beautiful man with the cast-iron guarantee of no future?

      It was refreshingly tempting.

      He was seriously beautiful. Far more so than she was used to.

      He was also rather more brusque and arrogant than she would choose, just rather too alpha for her.

      She was tired, so tired of the inevitable let-down in relationships, the starting gun of hope, the numerous false starts and then the sprint that turned into an exhausting jog, and then standing bent, hands on thighs, and admitting defeat, because the two of you were just not going to make it to the finish line.

      She was surprised at the ease of her decision.

      ‘No.’ Cat finally smiled. ‘I have no problem with that.’

      ‘Good.’

      Housekeeping sorted, she tried to focus on the menu but, at thirty-four, she felt she’d just passed her driving test and been given the keys but was far from skilled enough to drive.

       ‘Están listos para ordenar?’

      The waiter came over and presumably asked if they were ready to order.

      ‘I’ll have paella.’ She handed back the menu.

      ‘The chicken here,’ Dominic said, ‘is the best you’ll ever taste…’

      Her eyes narrowed. Usually she’d say that she’d like the paella, thank you for interfering. She certainly didn’t need a man choosing her food and yet as she glanced around, sure enough, the locals were eating the chicken.

      Oh, he was so far from her usual fare but, no, he didn’t need to be perfect tonight.

      ‘When in Spain…’ She shrugged.

      She had the chicken and, as he had promised, it was amazing.

      ‘Lemony, herby and so fat and juicy,’ Cat commented on her second mouthful.

      ‘And salty,’ Dominic said. ‘We’ll be up all night, guzzling water…’

      He was presumptuous.

      She knew, though, that he was right.

      The rest of the world, the past, the future, was like rain as they huddled, as if under some imaginary umbrella, and enjoyed now—the spectacular food, the music that filled the restaurant.

      They barely talked about work. She said something about being the only female consultant and how they gave every gynae patient to her. He mentioned how he’d lived in London till a couple of years ago, just half an hour or so away from her.

      But then work got left behind and she found out how he loved the architecture in Edinburgh but was fast falling in love with Spain.

      And she told him about her passion for renovation, and her obsession with wallpaper, how she could spend hours leafing through sample books but, even then, you could never quite know how it would look once up.

      Usually she never got to that part as eyes had long since glazed over with boredom.

      His glazed with lust.

      ‘Do you put it up yourself?’ Dominic asked.

      ‘I do.’ She smiled.

      ‘I feel emasculated.’

      ‘Oh, I doubt you could ever be that.’

      It was Dominic who then smiled.

      Was