THE VALQUEZ SEDUCTION(3)

                ‘Stop drooling, Daze,’ Belinda said. ‘He doesn’t associate with mere mortals like us. He only ever dates supermodels or Hollywood starlets.’

                Daisy was about to look away when he suddenly turned his head and his dark-as-night eyes met hers across the crowded nightclub. An electric jolt shot through her as his black brows lifted in blatant male appraisal. A hot spurting sensation arrowed between her legs and she almost fell off the bar stool she was perched on. She quickly crossed her legs but his gaze followed her right thigh as it hooked over her left one. Then his gaze came up ever so lazily the whole length of her body from ankle to hip, from her waist to her breasts, stalled there for a pulse-thundering pause, before coming up to her mouth.

                He paused again. Longer this time.

                Daisy felt her lips burn as if he had pressed a hot brand to them via his sexily hooded gaze. He then moved his gaze from her mouth to do a leisurely sweep of her chestnut hair, which she had bundled into a half-up, half-down do that framed her face and brushed her shoulders at the same time.

                Then he came back to her eyes.

                Daisy had heard the expression ‘time stood still’ many times. She had even used it on occasion. She knew it wasn’t logically possible but this time it really did stop. She felt it. It was as if every clock in the nightclub, every clock on every smartphone, every watch on every wrist shuddered and then stopped.

                Tick. Tock. Stop.

                Belinda snapped her fingers in front of Daisy’s face. ‘Earth to Daze.’

                ‘Oh, my God.’ Kate nudged Daisy in the ribs. ‘He’s coming over!’

                Daisy sat with her heart pounding like a piston in an engine long overdue for a service. Her skin felt tingly all over. She could even feel the backs of her knees fizzing like sherbet trickled into a glass of soda. She felt giddy. She had to grip the edge of the bar with one of her hands to stop from tumbling to the floor in an ungainly heap.

                She couldn’t remember a time when a man had looked at her like…like that. As if she was the only woman in the room. As if he could see through her little black dress to the black bra and lacy knickers she was wearing underneath. As if he could see how her body was responding to him of its own volition, as if he had cast some kind of magic spell over her. It was shocking and yet somehow wickedly thrilling to feel as if she had no control over her body or her senses. It was as if the universe had heard a whisper of her desire to step out of her good girl shoes and was offering her up the most tempting bad boy man on the planet. No man had ever singled her out in such a brazenly sexual way. No man had ever triggered such a primal need in her. It pumped through her body like a potent steroid, making her aware of every inch of her flesh.

                As he walked across the dance floor Daisy was reminded of Moses parting the Red Sea. Not that this particular Moses would be taking any notice of the Ten Commandments, she thought wryly. He had probably broken every one of them before breakfast. She watched as people stepped back in unison like a standing Mexican wave, and even the strobe lighting seemed to highlight his progress as if his coming over to speak to her was the main event of the evening.

                He came and stood in front of her, so close her crossed over right knee was almost touching his trouser zip. Her kneecap began to twitch, the nerves beneath the skin doing frantic little somersaults at the thought of brushing against that hard and potent male body.

                His mouth curved upwards in a smile so arrantly sexy it should have had an Adults Only rating. ‘Hola.’

                Daisy practically melted into a pool of molten wax at his feet when she heard his deep baritone voice greet her in his native tongue. Spanish was delightful to hear from just about anyone’s mouth but never more so than from an Argentinian’s. The influences on Argentina from large migrations of Italians in the nineteenth century gave the accent in some regions an Italian flair that was as lyrical as music. But reading such information in a travel guide hadn’t prepared her for the real thing.