She was tempted to order an orange juice. At least holding the glass would give her something to do with her hands, and perhaps stop her feeling so horribly self-conscious while she waited for Raul. But as she was about to speak a familiar voice sounded from behind her. ‘The lady will have champagne.’ It was a voice that never failed to send a quiver of reaction down her spine, as rich and sensuous as molten chocolate, and Libby’s heart jolted painfully beneath her ribs as she turned her head and met Raul’s dark gaze. His eyes gleamed like polished jet, and yet they seemed different, she noticed dazedly, no longer as cold as pools of black ice, but warm, and glinting with a sensual promise that trapped her breath in her throat. ‘Raul,’ she greeted him uncertainly, her voice emerging in a whispery breath, while a curious achy sensation unfurled in the pit of her stomach. No man had ever looked at her the way Raul was doing, and she had never expected him, of all men, to stare at her with such scorching desire blazing in his eyes.
