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my
blue-eyed babe. He leans toward me and whispers in my ear, “This is rather
embarrassing, but I’ve yet to ask your name...”
    “I’m Siena,” I tell the group.
    “Pleasure to meet you Siena,” my companion says, “I’m
Harrison.”
    “Typical,” says one of the women, a petite red head.
“Harrison’s not very good with day-to-day matters, like names and places and
deadlines...”
    “That’s Sara,” Harrison says, “Getting on my case about
things is a hobby of hers.”
    “I’m Cora,” offers another of the women, a lanky brunette
with freckles across her nose. She lays a hand on the husky man’s arm. “This
raggedy bloke is Andy, my husband.”
    “Who’re you calling raggedy?” he exclaims, throwing an arm
around Cora’s shoulders.
    The last of the women offers her slender hand to me with a
smile. “I’m Shelby,” she says, tossing her blonde curls back over her shoulder.
    “Nice to meet you all,” I say, shaking Shelby’s hand. “I’m
guessing by your accents that you’re all British?”
    “On the nosey,” Andy grins.
    “And you sound rather American,” Cora remarks, “We had you
pegged for a local.”
    “Well, I’m Italian American,” I tell her.
    “Ah. Makes sense,” Shelby says, “That’s why you’re not
puking up piña coladas in the bathroom. You’re only slightly American.”
    I raise an eyebrow at the British beauty. Italy may have
been the place I was born, but I’m still an American too. I can’t say that I
appreciate her brand of humor much.
    “Well, it was really nice to meet you all,” I say politely,
“Maybe I’ll see you around...”
    Harrison catches my arm as I turn to make my exit. “Aren’t
you going to stay and grace us with your presence?” he asks.
    “I should probably find my friend,” I tell him.
    “But you’re in need of another drink,” he insists, “And I’m
in need of your company.”
    Harrison stays by my side as I step away from the group.
He’s persistent, this one. I can’t say that I’m not a little flattered by his
attention, but I’m really not the one night stand kind of girl. Surely, that’s
what this gorgeous playboy has in mind.
    “Come on. One more drink,” he says. It’s a statement, rather
than a question.
    “I could use one,” I allow, permitting Harrison to steer me
toward the bar.
    The bartender has another round ready for us by the time we
sit down. I settle onto my barstool and take a sip of my refreshing drink.
    “What are you, some kind of a regular around here?” I ask
Harrison.
    “We got in yesterday,” he tells me, “I guess I already made
an impression.”
    “What brings you to Barcelona?” I ask.
    “Work,” he tells me with a knowing smile.
    “Me too,” I say, letting my eyes linger on his wonderfully
stubbly jaw. God, how I love a little stubble on a man. “What kind of work do
you do?”
    “I work for a Formula One racing team,” he tells me.
    “I should have guessed!” I exclaim, “I do, too. We’re here
for the Grand Prix this weekend.”
    “Small world,” Harrison smiles, “So what are you, some kind
of racing superstar?”
    “Hardly,” I grin, “I’m guessing you’re not either. I’d know
if you were.”
    “That hurts, darling,” he says, clutching his hard stomach
as if stabbed.
    “I’m just saying,” I tell him, laying a comforting hand on
his shoulder. “I’m sure you’re a superstar at...whatever it is you do. Pit
crew?”
    “Something like that,” he tells me. “But enough shop talk,
yeah? Why don’t you come dance with me?”
    “Oh...I don’t know,” I demure, sipping my margarita, “I was
planning on taking it pretty easy tonight.”
    “I can go easy, if you’d like,” he says, “I can go just
about any way you like.”
    “Oh god,” I laugh, “Please spare me the game-spitting.”
    “Fair enough,” he says, “If you dance with me, I promise not
to utter one more pickup line for the rest of the night.”
    “Cross your