Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
It’s the lightest nudge, but enough to pull me out of my reverie.
“Lo siento,” a deep, masculine voice says, and I turn to face the source of the apology.
The man standing before me is quite possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He’s tall - easily six foot - with incredibly broad shoulders and an easy posture that speaks of confidence. His thick dark hair is slightly tousled and a brilliant contrast to his bright green eyes, and his tanned skin catches the warm glow of the terrace lights.
All of that said, it’s his smile that holds my attention. Wide, warm, and effortlessly charming.
“Oh. Ah - it’s fine,” I say, trying not to sound flustered by his appearance. “No worries.”
“You’re not from here,” he says, tilting his head slightly. His accent is unmistakably Spanish, rich and melodic.
“Is it that obvious?” I ask with a small laugh.
His smile broadens. “Maybe a little. The way you’re holding your drink like it’s a lifeline gave it away.”
“Oh. Not the thick British accent, then?” I counter.
He laughs deeply at that.
I try to calm myself down, I really do, but it’s just not happening. My heart is practically racing in my chest, and I swallow thickly as I look up at him.
He really does have the most beautiful green eyes that pop against the tone of his olive skin. The dark long-sleeved shirt that he’s wearing does absolutely nothing to detract from his admirable size, and I try to neutralise my expression as I realise his biceps are easily the size of my head.
If I don’t say something, now, then I’m going to end up just gawking at him like an idiot.
“I’m Olivia,” I say, extending my free hand.
Oh, for fuck sakes. A handshake?! Really?!
“Santiago,” he replies, taking my hand in his much larger one. His firm grip gives a further inkling of how strong he must be, and his touch lingers for a little longer than necessary. “Although my friends call me Santi.”
“Santi,” I repeat, testing out the sound of it on my tongue.
Something unfamiliar flashes in his lovely green eyes, and I clear my throat as I attempt to keep the conversation light.
“So, Santi. Are you in the habit of bumping into strangers on terraces?”
What a way to break the ice, Olivia!
“Only the ones who look like they might have interesting stories to tell,” he smirks.
“Oh really?” I say, a little surprised by his statement. “Well, what makes you think I have interesting stories?”
“Because you’re here,” he says simply, gesturing to the terrace around us. “Most people are inside, enjoying the party. But you…”
He pauses, and I raise an encouraging eyebrow.
“I…” I say, dragging out the sound in what I hope is a teasing prompt.
He grins, detecting the soft playfulness in my tone. “You look like you’re still figuring it all out.”
I take a sip of my drink.
Huh. He’s… perceptive.
“Well, you’re not exactly wrong,” I admit. “I actually moved here last week, so I am very much in the process of ‘figuring it all out’.”
“A new adventure, then,” he says.
He shuffles ever so slightly closer, and my treacherous heart practically skips a beat in excitement.
“So, Olivia. What brought you to Valencia?”
The sound of him saying my name in his deep voice with that lovely, thick accent is so undeniably sexy.
Still, I hesitate, not wanting to dive into the whole story of my breakup and impulsive decision to leave the UK.
“Let’s just say I needed a change,” I say instead.
Santi nods as though he understands completely. “Change is good,” he comments. “It keeps life interesting. Like this, right now. Meeting you. That’s something I didn’t expect.”
I feel a blush creeping into my cheeks.
Ah, Spanish men: ever so charming.
No wonder Sarah got pregnant so quickly!
“What about you?” I ask, eager to shift the focus. “What’s your story?”
He leans casually against the railing, his smile turning playful as he turns his head to face me. There’s a playful smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, mine’s not that interesting,” he says with a wave of one of his large hands. “You wouldn’t want to hear it.”
I’m immediately intrigued by his deflection.
“Try me,” I challenge. “I’m pretty good at deciding what’s interesting and what’s not.”
“Alright,” he says with a chuckle, leaning casually against the railing. “Let’s just say… I keep busy.”
“That’s so incredibly vague,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest before resting them on the railing. “What aren’t you telling me? Oh my god - do you moonlight as a secret agent or something?!”
He chuckles again, shaking his head from side to side. His smile is dazzling, and his side profile allows me a better view of his neatly-cut stubble.
He’s so perfect, it’s practically unfair.
“Not quite. Though I’d make a terrible spy,” he says. “Too tall, too wide and too heavy. Not a good combination for sneaking around.”