Summer With Love: The Spanish Consultant. Sarah Morgan

      Rummaging further into the case, she found a selection of similar clothes. Short, flirty summer dresses, skirts, T-shirts, even a very brief bikini.

      Spreading them out on the bed, Katy stared at them helplessly. They were the sort of clothes she would never have selected for herself. The woman who wore them would be confident of her feminine appeal and happy to flaunt it. But she wasn’t that sort of woman.

      Or was she?

      Without intending to, she found herself picking up the strappy top and holding it against her as she looked at herself in the mirror. The colour seemed to intensify the blue of her eyes and the soft blush of her complexion.

      She smiled, suddenly feeling like a little girl dressing up.

      Why shouldn’t she wear it? She wasn’t speaking at the conference. In fact, she wasn’t doing anything except listening to other people and learning. Apart from Jago, no one knew who she was. She didn’t have to create an impression. She didn’t need to worry about being taken seriously.

      Telling herself that wanting to look good had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was spending the evening with Jago, she tugged the top over her head and frowned as she noticed the way it clung to the roundness of her breasts. For someone who usually wore loose shirts in nondescript colours it seemed incredibly daring.

      Feeling ridiculously light-headed, she pulled on the skirt and rummaged for something to put on her feet, smiling as she found a pair of Libby’s favourite designer shoes at the bottom of the case.

      The heels were ridiculous and she’d probably break an ankle, but they matched the outfit perfectly.

      Having brushed her hair until it poured down her back in a silken curtain, she risked a glance in the mirror.

      She looked … different.

      Bold. Feminine.

       Sexy.

      Not at all the way she’d have chosen to look for an evening out with a man as lethally attractive as Jago Rodriguez. What was she doing?

      Jago strode into the hotel lobby at five minutes to seven and made straight for the lifts.

      When he’d written the note he’d been banking on the fact that Katy would be feeling vulnerable in a strange city. He was acutely aware that nothing else would have induced her to spend an evening with him so he was bracing himself for yet another rejection when he rapped on her door.

      The door opened and he found himself frozen into immobility.

      She looked stunning.

      She was wearing something stretchy and blue that brought out the colour of her eyes and clung provocatively to the soft curve of her breasts. Her skirt was long enough to be decent but short enough to reveal a tempting expanse of her perfect legs. And as for her hair …

      Feeling himself harden in an instinctive male reaction, Jago fought the temptation to power her back inside the bedroom and lay her down on the nearest suitable surface.

      Conscious that he was staring, he made a supreme effort to pull himself together, wondering what had happened in the few hours since he’d last seen her.

      As long as he’d known her, Katy had always tried to conceal her looks. But not tonight. Tonight for some reason she’d chosen to put her incredible beauty on display.

       ‘You’re staring.’

      Her husky tones penetrated the haze of lustful male appreciation and he jerked his eyes to hers, noticing with no small degree of satisfaction that she was trembling.

      ‘And who can blame me? You look stunning, querida.’

      ‘Do you think so?’ She glanced at him and then looked down at her feet. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure if I can even walk in these. They were Libby’s choice. The minx switched the contents of my suitcase.’

      ‘Did she now?’ Jago’s eyes narrowed as he contemplated the meaning behind those words.

      So he wasn’t the only one who was trying to unveil the real Katy.

      Her cheeks were pink and she smiled apologetically. ‘I don’t usually wear heels. I dwarf whoever I’m with.’

      ‘Then it’s fortunate that I’m tall,’ he said with amusement, extending an arm. ‘For the record, I’m glad you’ve left your hair loose.’

      She gave a wry smile. ‘I thought it would save you the trouble of pulling it down.’

      ‘Very wise.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Shall we go?’

      She locked the room and followed him into the lift. ‘Are we going to the conference dinner?’

      ‘No.’ He could see the taut outline of her nipples under the clinging fabric of her top and he had to stop himself pushing her against the side of the lift and taking her in the most primitive way possible. His whole body ached with the strength of his arousal and he closed his eyes and tried to apply logic to the situation.

      He was about to walk across a hotel lobby in full view of a large number of staff, not to mention guests, and if he didn’t think about something other than Katy spread beneath him then he was going to be arrested.

      ‘So where are we going?’

      How could she be so totally unaware of the effect she had on him? Was she really still as innocent as she’d been at eighteen? Jago gritted his teeth and concentrated hard on the buttons of the lifts. Surely they were suitably boring?

      ‘I’m taking you to see the real Seville.’

      The lift doors opened and Jago ran a hand through his dark hair, feeling thoroughly out of control. His feelings intensified as he intercepted the appreciative male stares that Katy received as they walked out of the hotel. Growling under his breath, Jago took her hand possessively.

      The down side of her looking so stunning was that everyone else thought she looked stunning, too. For the first time he had some understanding as to why she chose to conceal her beauty. Katy could stop traffic in the dark.

      They walked for a short distance and then he pushed open the door of a well-known bar.

      Katy looked at him in confusion. ‘Are we eating here?’

      Jago laughed. ‘This is a tapas bar, querida. In Spain we eat dinner late in the evening. Tapas is a way of preventing us from dying of hunger. It’s an integral part of Spanish culture.’

      ‘Oh.’ She looked interested and pleased and settled herself on a stool by the bar, looking round her with wide-eyed enthusiasm. ‘I’ve had tapas in London but I don’t suppose it’s the same thing.’