Page 14 of Sparring Partners
Luca shrugged, picked up the bag and pulled out the three books that he didn’t know when he’d get time to read. A couple of gritty thrillers from big name authors, and an English translation of a ‘serious’ book Alex had recommended.
Adrian picked up the translation. “I read this a few years ago, but in the original version.”
In Spanish… Their bad tempered meeting at the farm prickled over Luca’s skin.
“I’ve got a working knowledge of a few languages, but not enough to tackle reading something like this.”
Adrian smiled, both brightening and softening his features; something knotted deep in Luca’s stomach. “Then you’re streets ahead of most people. Languages always came easy to me, so I studied them at university.”
“You studied modern languages? Not agriculture?”
Luca felt the burn in his face as Adrian held his gaze. “No. Not agriculture,” he said slowly, carefully, not for one moment looking away. “I didn’t pick farming. Farming picked me.”
Luca said nothing. He felt lightheaded and disorientated, much as he’d felt on the farm. Adrian had told him something important, he felt it in every sizzling nerve ending. He didn’t know what it was, but he wanted to know with a sudden, sharp ferocity that clawed in his gut. He opened his mouth to ask the questions that were none of his business, but Adrian beat him to it, as he placed the book back on the pile.
“Being able to say soft leafed herbs or hay in half a dozen languages isn’t much use on a small farm in the middle of Devon, although swearing at the sheep in Catalan can be very satisfying.” Adrian picked up his coffee, and glared into the empty mug.
Luca felt in his pocket for his pen. Taking the top book from the pile, he opened it up and began to write his name and date on the fly leaf. He stopped, feeling Adrian’s eyes on him.
“I’ve always done this. When I buy a book, I put my name in it along with the date.” Whoa, too defensive… He made his way through all three books, self conscious under Adrian’s scrutiny.
“This book belongs to Luca, aged nine and three quarters.” Adrian snorted.
Luca’s jaw clamped so tight his teeth hurt, and he packed his books away. “I should get?—”
“Sorry. That was?—”
“Rude?”
“I was going to say it was me being a twat. But I’ll take rude.” Adrian’s lips twisted in a resigned, tiny smile, loosening the tension holding Luca tight.
“I’m going to have another. Would you like one? By way of an apology?” Adrian’s gaze was intense, almost as though he were issuing a challenge.
Luca hesitated. He should get back to The New House. All he’d done was come into the village to take a much needed short break, and to pick up the books he’d ordered. A mountain of work awaited him, a million and one things needed his attention. He shouldn’t be here now, because he didn’t have time for?—
“Thank you, I would.”
Adrian got to his feet. His long legs were wrapped in close fitting jeans which, teamed with the white T-shirt hugging his torso beneath the black leather jacket, hinted at an undefined danger. Staring down at him, Adrian pushed his dark hair back from his brow. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he tilted his head to the side, and all that undefined danger heated Luca’s blood and sent it south.
Oh, fuck.
“Well?” Adrian waited for the answer to a question Luca couldn’t remember him asking.
“Oh. Yes. Flat white, please.” Luca cleared the rasp from his throat.
Adrian stalked over to the counter, and Luca sagged in his seat, his cheeks golf balling as he exhaled.
His gaze slid across to the counter and settled on the man’s broad back before trailing down to his muscled arse encased in those tight jeans. He yanked his attention away. Adrian was supplying the hotel. They had a business partnership and that meant boundaries that would never be crossed. He shifted in his seat. Not that he had any intention of crossing them, and especially not with a touchy, grouchy farmer. Who wasn’t being quite so touchy or nearly as grouchy. Still rude, perhaps, and more than a little sarcastic, but…
Adrian arrived back with the drinks. Setting them down he looked at his watch, a shadow of worry scudding across his face.
“As Declan said, he’s in good hands.”
“I know, but Spud’s such a lovely dog. A pet, now, I suppose. The bloody mutt’s got under my skin.” Adrian picked up his mug, two patches of red on his cheeks that Luca didn’t think had much to do with the hot drink.
Adrian’s mobile rang, the sharp tone cutting through the silence, and he fumbled it from his pocket.
“Speaking,” Adrian barked, his face tense.
