Page 21 of Meet Me at Sunset

‘Lucas,’ Catherine Zeta-Jones purred. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here today.’

‘And I wasn’t expecting you to answer the door,’ he chuckled, feeling like a schoolboy as he asked, ‘Is Stephanie in?’

‘Sure, she’s out by the pool. I’ll go and get her. By the way, Michael and I are going out for a round of golf shortly, so you’ll have the place to yourselves.’ She winked as she sashayed off, leaving Lucas blushing.

A few moments later, Stephanie emerged and Lucas’s eyes nearly fell out of his head.

She was wearing a strapless bikini in a shimmering gold fabric, and her body was incredible.

She had a slender, hour-glass figure, with a handspan waist and curvy hips.

Her flawless skin was slick with oil, and her long hair was pulled back in a plait that fell all the way down her back.

‘Lucas,’ she smiled, and her blue eyes sparkled. ‘What a nice surprise.’

He held out the bag he was carrying, though now he felt faintly ridiculous. ‘I thought you might like that cooking lesson – if you’re not too busy,’ he added, his eyes skating over her bikini.

Stephanie grinned. ‘No, I wasn’t doing anything important. That sounds perfect. Meet you in the kitchen? It’s just down the hallway. Maria, the housekeeper, is out running errands so you can make yourself at home. I’ll go throw some clothes on.’

‘You don’t have to,’ Lucas replied, before he could stop himself.

Stephanie laughed, turning back to look at him over one shoulder as she walked away, and Lucas felt a wave of longing crash through his body.

He’d been worried about making an idiot of himself, driving up to the S’Estaca estate with a bag full of ingredients on the passenger seat beside him.

Stephanie might not have been there, or she might have been busy, or – the most galling of all – simply not interested in him.

But Lucas could tell from the way that Stephanie looked at him that everything was going to be all right.

Up in her room, Stephanie was giddy with excitement.

She was staying in a beautiful guest bedroom, with views out over the garden and the sea beyond, but right now she didn’t see any of that as she pulled a stripy sundress from the antique wooden wardrobe and threw it over her bikini.

She sat down at the old-fashioned dressing table with its trio of oval mirrors, and added a slick of lip gloss, quickly checking her appearance before heading downstairs again, her heart thumping.

She stopped in the doorway of the kitchen; her feet were bare, and Lucas hadn’t heard her approach. She watched as he emptied the contents of the bag into the fridge, pulling out plates and dishes from the cupboards as he familiarized himself with Catherine’s large, stylish kitchen.

He looked handsome as hell, and Stephanie’s stomach gave a little flip as he reached up to a high shelf and his T-shirt rode up, giving her a glimpse of flat, toned stomach, with rippling muscles and a tantalizing line of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his shorts …

‘So, what are we making?’ she asked, as she stepped into the kitchen, not wanting him to catch her staring at him.

Lucas turned round, grinning as he saw her. ‘ Bacalao – salted cod with vegetables in a traditional sauce. A regional speciality. You like fish, yes?’

‘I love it. It sounds delicious.’ She took a step closer, standing beside him. He felt so big next to her, tall and strong and capable. She loved the way he moved with confidence; the kitchen was completely his domain.

‘Well, the first ingredient,’ he began, opening a glass-fronted cabinet and taking out two crystal glasses.

‘Is wine.’ He effortlessly pulled out the cork from a bottle of white, and poured a glass for Stephanie.

‘This is a Sauvignon Blanc that’s grown and produced locally, in the foothills of the Tramuntana mountains.

I always say that a glass of wine is essential when you’re cooking. ’

‘So are you drinking every night in the restaurant?’ she teased.

‘Unfortunately not. But when you’re cooking at home, for pleasure, it’s a necessity.’

‘I’ll remember that. Cheers.’

‘ Santé ,’ Lucas replied, as they clinked glasses, not breaking eye contact. ‘Or perhaps we should say salud , as we’re in Spain.’

‘How many languages do you speak?’ Stephanie wondered, marvelling at how intelligent he was.

‘French and Spanish, obviously. A little Italian and German. And English – very badly.’

‘Your English is incredible – much better than my Spanish. Or my French, and I studied that in school.’

‘Well, perhaps we can teach one another,’ Lucas said easily.

‘I’d like that. So that’s cooking, languages … What else can you teach me?’ Stephanie said flirtatiously. She was having fun, and the wine was certainly helping her to relax.

‘Let’s start with cooking and see where it goes,’ Lucas replied, raising his eyebrows. ‘We need to start by dicing these,’ he explained, pulling a pile of tomatoes, onions and garlic across the counter towards them. ‘For the sauce.’

Stephanie frowned as he passed her a knife and a chopping board. ‘Do you think I’m going to be your sous-chef?’ she protested, shaking her head in mock horror. ‘You don’t get to boss me around.’

‘You want to be in control?’ Lucas smiled.

‘Damn right. Do you have a problem with powerful women?’ Stephanie teased.

Lucas shook his head and grinned. ‘Not at all. I love them and I’ll do whatever you tell me to.’

The laughter and teasing continued as they chopped and diced and simmered, both of them flirting but neither making the first move as the tension in the room ramped up, the chemistry between them hotter than the sizzling pans.

There was lots of accidental physical contact as they worked, hands brushing, elbows touching, playfully nudging each other out of the way.

While they cooked, Stephanie found herself opening up to him in a way she hadn’t for a long time, about being adopted and growing up feeling like she wasn’t really wanted.

‘My parents couldn’t have kids, so they adopted me. I’d already been in foster care since I was a toddler.’

‘Oh? What about your real parents?’ Lucas asked, stopping what he was doing to look at her.

‘My real mum was a drug addict. I was taken into care when I was about three and was with a few different foster carers until I was about six. Everything was great with my new family until I was about eight years old, then my adoptive mother got pregnant, and everything changed.’

‘I’m sorry, Stephanie, you’ve had it rough.’

Stephanie shrugged, but it took her a moment to speak. ‘My adoptive mother had always been a bit manic, but when my little sister came along, she went into full Mumzilla mode.’

Lucas raised his eyes in a question.

‘The only thing that mattered was my little sis. Phoebe. I was totally pushed out, couldn’t do anything right.

’ Stephanie had worked hard to suppress her feelings, but they sometimes still ambushed her.

She ploughed on; for some reason she couldn’t explain, it was important to her that Lucas knew this.

‘My adoptive dad, he of the chip-shop fame,’ she smiled at Lucas, ‘he loved me, but the tension between him and my mum got too much and eventually he left her … and me.’ She shook her head.

‘Then she met someone else, and I spent my life being pushed from one house to another, missing out on family birthdays, holidays, never being allowed to have friends round, treated like a skivvy by my adoptive mum …’

Stephanie could still feel the sting of her adoptive mother’s words, the criticisms and the slights that peppered her life daily.

‘How did you get into acting?’ Lucas asked, gently steering her away from darker thoughts.

‘I had a great drama teacher, Mr Green. He championed me, encouraged me to go to drama school, helped me get a scholarship. I left home when I was eighteen and I’ve never been back.’

‘And what about your adoptive parents now?’

‘My dad’s great; he has got a new wife who’s lovely.’ She paused. ‘The thing is, I love my little sister, Phoebe, but she’s stuck with mum too, so I have to keep in touch for her sake. I want to make sure she always has someone she can turn to, unlike me.’

Lucas regarded her for a moment. ‘You are not what you seem, Stephanie. I’d like to get to know you better, I hope you will let me.’

Stephanie liked the way he said that. God, she fancied him, there was no denying it, and the air between them was electric.

She was certain that he liked her too, but prolonging the tension was delicious.

And there was always a part of her – the shy, insecure girl she’d once been – that didn’t dare to believe that a man as handsome and cultured as Lucas would want to be with her.

They were clearly from very different backgrounds; he’d grown up used to wealth and travel, feeling at home in expensive restaurants and high-end hotels, but it was a whole new world for Stephanie.

And there was his pouty girlfriend in the picture too.

‘Here,’ Lucas said, cutting into her thoughts.

‘Try this.’ He took a teaspoon and scooped it in the lightly bubbling sauce, before blowing gently across the top.

They were inches apart from one another as Stephanie leaned forward, her lips parting as she delicately tasted the sauce.

The flavours were intense, with pungent aromas of tomatoes and herbs.

‘Mmm, it’s incredible,’ she sighed.

‘Close your eyes,’ Lucas murmured, and Stephanie obliged.

His voice was gravelly and sexy, and it was all she could concentrate on.

‘When you lose one sense, your others are heightened,’ he explained.

‘You can taste the flavours one by one – the bitterness of the olives, the sweetness of the tomatoes, the heat of the pepper …’