One night in Barcelona was all it took for Natasha Gordon to question her life. It wasn’t planned. It sort of happened without any hard effort.
She sat outside a small pavement bar. She stretched her lean body and felt the stress in every muscle from head to toe. She was so annoyed with life that she little cared for those around her or what was happening.
This was totally out of character for her. Normally, she loved to people watch and eavesdrop on the surrounding conversations. It was part of her job. It was where inspiration for her books often came from. But today, the warm April evening was creeping beneath her pale skin and soothing her pain which reassured her she had made the right decision to get away for the weekend.
“Another coffee for the lady?”
“Sorry, what was that?”
“Would you like another coffee?”
Natasha looked at the waiter before her. He was gorgeous. His white t-shirt contrasting against his tanned skin, and the black apron slung around his firm hips drew attention to his long legs. Now, he was a delicious sight for a hurt woman. She broadened her smile as he stood waiting for her answer. Shifting from one foot to another, he coughed. She felt herself blush when she realised she had been staring at the assistant and sat upright in her seat.
“Any hope of something stronger?” She still blushed at being caught by him and felt like an idiot.
“Some wine perhaps; maybe a cold beer?” His lean arm crossed her as he wiped down the small glass table before her. He gathered up her coffee cup and saucer then looked at her again and winked.
“A white wine, please.” He’s a cheeky one she noted.
She really needed to gather her thoughts and focus on her surroundings, and not the broken heart she harboured. She was determined to enjoy what Barcelona offered and maybe do a little research while she was here for future reference.
Glancing around she noticed few people were out in the evening sunshine. This surprised her. Then again, if you had sunshine pretty much most days, you wouldn’t rush out to it at the first sign. She was more used to the grey wet weather of Ireland.
“Your white wine, Senorita.” His voice was silky and gentle.
This guy was just so hot. He could easily grace the covers of any of glossy magazine and fit right in, she thought as she deliberately turned to check out his ass. Hmmm, perfect, she thought wickedly, sipping the wine.
A whisper of a breeze blew over her, caressing her like a light kiss, like when Victor would lightly place butterfly kisses across her back on a Sunday morning. Well, this weekend there would be no kissing, no breakfast in bed and no lazy read of the Sunday papers. This weekend was all about her, Natasha Gordon and mending her shattered betrayed heart.