Consequences Of A Hot Havana Night
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Glancing down, she frowned. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’ Picking up his hand, she washed the smudges of dried blood from his fingers. ‘There.’
‘Do you have children?’
‘What?’ She stared at him in confusion.
‘I just thought—’ He held her gaze. ‘You just seem like someone who knows how to care for people, and you’re so well-prepared.’
Her heart was pounding. It made no sense, but for one crazy moment she almost told him the truth. This man, this stranger. Only he didn’t feel like a stranger. It felt like he knew her so well.
Throat tightening, she stared past him, remembering the months she and Jimmy had spent trying to get pregnant. She had so wanted to give him a baby, but her body just hadn’t co-operated. By the time she’d decided to look into it medically, Jimmy had been diagnosed, and then afterwards it hadn’t mattered anymore. Although, since arriving in Cuba her cycle had been all over the place, so clearly her body was just ultra-sensitive.
Lifting her chin, she found him looking at her. Meeting his gaze, she shook her head. ‘No, I don’t have any children. I can’t have them,’ she admitted.
Before, in England, it had always hurt even to think that sentence inside her head, but somehow saying it now, to him, made it hurt less. How crazy was that? And unfair. To her parents and friends and Lizzie. They had spent so long talking to her, and yet here she was opening up to this stranger—this semi-naked stranger.
Her face felt hot and tight. ‘I’m sorry, you don’t need to know that that.’
‘Don’t be sorry. I asked a question and you answered it.’
His words repeated themselves inside her head. He made it sound so simple. But of course it was simple. Everything was simple between them. They had no history, no past, no future. Nothing but a random connection on a dusty road.
And a fluttering pinwheel of anticipation spinning inside her stomach.
Had she been looking for love or seeking some kind of romantic adventure then it might have felt different. But there would never be anyone like Jimmy. What she’d felt for him had been unique, and it was over now—and that was fine, because she knew too how it felt to lose the one you loved, and she never wanted to feel that ache of loss again.
He shifted forward and her pulse boomeranged.
What she wanted now was him. This man. This nameless stranger. To feel the hot, languorous touch of his hands and lips warming her skin like sunshine.
His fingers brushed against hers and she tensed, her breath scraping against her throat.
She could smell his cologne, that hint of sandalwood and lemon, and beneath it his own clean, masculine scent, a sensual halo of salt and shade and burning sun. Her pulse leapt forward unsteadily, heat rising up over her throat as his dark green eyes rested on her face.
He was too close, but she couldn’t move. She didn’t want to move. She wanted to get closer, to touch the curve of his mouth, to feel the tension of his skin, the swell of his muscle. She wanted to hold him close, and be held, to have the warm, solid intimacy of his body pressing against hers.
‘You’re trembling.’ He frowned. ‘It’s probably some kind of delayed shock. Let me get you—’
She felt suddenly desperate. Her blood pulsed against her skin. She didn’t want him to leave. ‘No.’ Her fingers closed around his. ‘No, it’s not that.’
Her heart was suddenly beating too fast, and her blood felt as if it had turned to air.
For a second they both stared at each other. He was so close now—close enough that she could feel the heat of his skin and see the flecks of amber in his eyes.
He wasn’t a memory or a fantasy.
He was beautiful, full of life and energy, warm and solid and real.
And he was shaking too. She could feel him.
The sound of her heartbeat was filling her head. She felt almost dizzy with longing.
‘No, it’s not that,’ she said again. ‘It’s this...’
Leaning forward, she pressed her hand against his chest and breathed out unevenly. His skin was warm and smooth and taut, just as she’d imagined. And beneath it she could feel his heart hammering in time with hers.
He sucked in a breath, his jaw tightening. In his narrowed eyes she could see desire fighting with control, and she felt her breath dissolve as he reached up and stroked her cheek.
For a moment their eyes locked, and they breathed each other in, and then, leaning forward, she brushed her lips hesitantly against his, her mouth clumsy with the freedom of touching him.
‘I don’t even know your name...’ he whispered against her mouth.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
She kissed him again and he pulled back a little, his fierce green gaze trained on her face. She knew that he was giving her space to think, time to change her mind.
Her heart was racing. Should she say something? Tell him that this wasn’t who she was ordinarily? That she’d changed her mind. Only she couldn’t say that because it would be a lie.
And it would mean stopping, and she didn’t want to stop. She didn’t want to think or speak or explain. She just wanted to lose herself in this moment, lose herself in him, because right now this was what she was, and he was who she wanted.
Threading her fingers through his hair, she pulled him closer. Instantly he pulled her closer too, angling his body, his tongue, to deepen the kiss. His hands slid beneath her blouse, moving over her back from her hip to her waist, up to the catch of her bra.
He stripped her out of her clothing and pulled her onto his lap so that she was straddling him. Lowering his mouth, he kissed her breast, brushing his lips against one nipple and then the other, and in a heartbeat her body turned to liquid.
The intensity of her desire was both a shock and a revelation. Always before it had been a slow and steady progress. This was like throwing a match on gasoline—a pure white-hot blazing urgency that blotted out everything but a need for more.
His hands were at her waist, pulling her down. His mouth was seeking hers now, and instinctively she reached for his buckle.
Groaning, he grabbed her wrists. ‘Let’s go to your room.’ He was fighting to get the words out.
‘No.’ Tugging her hands free, she pulled the belt open, and then the zip, and felt his body tense as her fingers wrapped around him.
He groaned again, his hands stilling hers. ‘I don’t have any condoms.’
‘I don’t either.’
For a moment, she was shocked. In the heat of everything, she had forgotten. But his words reassured her, for clearly he was a responsible lover, and the fact that he was holding back made her feel that she could trust him.
‘It’s okay.’ Leaning forward, she looped her arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely.
Groaning, he raised his hips, shrugging himself free of his trousers, and then he leaned backwards, taking her with him.
His pupils flared and for a second she rode him lightly, teasing the hard, straining length of him, revelling in her power to arouse him. And then, gripping his shoulders for balance, she parted her legs and guided him inside her.
He breathed in sharply. His jaw was taut with concentration, the muscles in his arms and chest bunching as she began to rock back and forth, her breath quickening in her throat as his fingers moved between her thighs, working in time to the fervent, pulsing ache there.
His eyes locked on hers—dark, rapt, blazing. ‘Mírame! Look at me,’ he said, his voice hoarse.
She was fighting for control. Heat was gathering inside her and she clutched frantically at his arms, pulling him closer and then pushing him away, needing to let go but wanting to make it last for ever.
Her muscles clenched, her breathless body gripping his. She felt his hands catch in her hair and suddenly she couldn’t bear it any longer. Arching against him, she tensed against the heat and the hardness, shuddering helplessly. He groaned, pushing against her, seeking more depth, and then, gasping into her mouth, he thrust upwards.
CHAPTER THREE
SLOWLY CÉSAR BREATHED OUT, his eyes blinking open. For a moment he didn’t know where he was—and then he remembered. He must have fallen asleep for a moment, lulled by the languid warmth of her body and the sudden heaviness of his own limbs.
Fixing his eyes on the ceiling, he frowned. It had been a long time since he had held a woman close like this, more than a decade, at least. But then today had been exceptional for any number of reasons.
His chest tightened as he felt the most exceptional of those reasons shift beside him.
Glancing down at her naked body curled around his, he felt his pulse accelerate. He’d just done the one thing he’d sworn never to do again—he’d let his libido dictate his actions.
He grimaced. As if he needed any reminding about the consequences of that youthful, humiliating indiscretion. They were branded in his conscience and he could still feel his parents’ shock and disappointment across the years. After he’d made such a fool of himself with Celia he’d sworn never to let a woman get under his skin. And he’d kept his promise.
Until today.
Until...
He gritted his teeth. Maldita sea! Thanks to his sudden and completely uncharacteristic loss of self-control he didn’t even know her name, but the strength and speed of his desire had caught him unawares. He should have fobbed her off on the road. Better still, he should have called Andreas, his head of security, and let him deal with her. It was his job, after all. But instead he’d let himself be distracted by a curving pink mouth.
He could have called a halt when she’d leaned forward and kissed him with that same perfect, pink mouth, but as her lips had melted against his, his brain, his body, his self-control had gone into meltdown. His past, his promises had been forgotten. Nothing had mattered but her. His whole being had been fixed on the need to touch and taste every inch of her, and even now his still-hungry body was clamouring for more.
But perfect pink lips could still lie and deceive and frankly there was no need for him to go there again. He might have been young, but he was a quick learner—and that lesson had been well and truly drummed into him.
His mouth twisted. So what now?
As though she could hear his thoughts, the woman shifted against him, and instantly his groin began to ache. Reluctant to reveal the hard proof of her ability to turn him on, he started to move. But she was already inching backwards, peeling her damp skin away from his and scooping up the muddle of clothes from the floor in one graceful movement.
Was she practised at this?
The thought snagged in his head and then he pushed it quickly away. It was none of his business, and besides he wasn’t in any position to judge.
‘Here,’ she murmured. ‘These are yours.’
Looking up, he gritted his teeth.
She was pulling her blouse over her head and, catching a glimpse of her pale, curving breast, he felt his skin twitch, his body hardening and aching with a sudden, sharp, serrated hunger. She looked impossibly sexy, and suddenly the heated, passion-filled minutes of earlier felt like just a taster before the main meal.
He wanted more. He wanted to feel that soft skin next to his and the whisper of her breath against his mouth.
He felt another twitch of desire—although this time it might just as easily have been irritation.
Obviously he wanted more.
His last ‘relationship’ had ended a little over seven weeks ago and, having been flat out at work ever since, trying to resolve this damned trademark dispute, he’d neglected his personal life. Although, given how hard he tried to maintain boundaries, maybe impersonal life might be a better description.
Either way, to put it bluntly he hadn’t had sex in a long time, and this beautiful, uninhibited woman standing in front of him had stirred his hunger.
So what if she had?
It had happened, and it had been incredible. Better than incredible, he thought, his heartbeat jerking as their tangle on the sofa replayed inside his head. And he wasn’t going to pretend that he wouldn’t willingly pull her back onto that sofa and carry on where they’d left off. Or deny that she was attractive, or that he was attracted to her. But whatever this was—this thing he was feeling, this unruly, insistent enchantment that had sneaked up on him unannounced—he wasn’t going to act on it again, no matter how hollowed out with longing he felt.
In fact, his unprecedented physical response only increased his determination to stay cool and detached. For he’d already made the mistake of trusting his body before, and his libido had been proved a poor judge of character.
He glanced down at the scars that ran across his chest and down his muscled abdomen. They might come from a different kind of foolhardy behaviour, but they were honestly acquired, and not the result of emotional weakness or self-delusion.
There would be other women, and next time he would look where he was going.
A breath of cool air drifted over his skin and, leaning forward, he took his trousers and shirt from her outstretched hand and started to get dressed.
In his experience, women normally tried to extend this moment. It was one of the reasons he always preferred to find somewhere neutral to meet. But this woman hadn’t even wanted to know his name, and having sex with him didn’t appear to have changed that fact.
It was a completely new experience for him—one that in theory he should welcome. And yet he found himself feeling slightly aggrieved by her lack of curiosity.
But then in some ways—although he wouldn’t make a habit of it—his anonymity, and hers, was actually a bonus. For the first time in his life he’d had sex with a woman who didn’t know or care who he was and, weirdly, he found himself trusting her more because of that.
This hadn’t been some carefully planned attempt to seduce him. Nothing was fake. She hadn’t told him she loved him or that he was special, nor made any promises. They had both got what they wanted and now they could get back to their lives.
He buckled up his belt and began pulling on his shirt, ignoring the slight tightness in his arm as he pushed it into the sleeve.
‘Is your arm okay?’
Looking up, he felt his pulse slow. A lock of that glorious red hair hung loosely across her forehead, and he had to stop himself from reaching out and smoothing it away from her face.
‘Yes. Good as new.’
Holding his gaze, she gave him a small stiff smile. ‘I’m glad.’
There was a moment of silence, and then she cleared her throat. ‘Look, I don’t really know what’s normal for this situation. I don’t usually do this kind of thing, you know—’
He waited a moment, then shrugged. ‘Me neither.’
Watching the tic of tension along the curve of her jaw, he knew for certain that he’d got under her skin. What was less certain, though, was why that mattered to him.
She flushed. ‘Okay, well... I’m sure you’ve got things to be getting on with.’
His hand stilled against the top button of his shirt. In other words she wanted him to leave. She was kicking him out.
‘Of course.’ He felt a twist of irritation, followed by a sudden intense need to dictate the terms of their encounter. Deliberately slowing down the buttoning of his shirt, he glanced assessingly round the room. ‘Nice house,’ he said slowly. ‘How did you find it?’
Her eyes met his. ‘It came with my job.’
He felt a ripple of disquiet. ‘What job?’
She frowned, not at his question but at the terseness in his voice that he hadn’t bothered to disguise.
‘I work for Dos Rios—you know, the rum. You might have heard of them.’
His chest tightened. Dos Rios had a policy of providing temporary accommodation for consultants and overseas contractors. His PA would know the details, but obviously he wouldn’t have been notified. The comings and goings of his employees was way below his pay grade.
‘I should do,’ he said. ‘As the business was founded by my family.’
He paused, watching her face as he let his words sink in.
‘What do you mean?’
The colour had drained from her cheeks. She was staring at him in confusion.
‘I—I didn’t—I don’t...’ She was struggling to speak.
‘Understand?’ He finished her sentence. ‘Then perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is César Zayas y Diago.’
* * *
In the still, tense silence that followed his remark, Kitty felt her insides loosen. ‘No, you can’t be,’ she said hoarsely.
Her stomach was in freefall.
It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be, she thought frantically. She’d been in the labs only yesterday, and surely somebody would have said something about his imminent arrival.
He must be lying.
Only her skin felt suddenly too tight, her heartbeat too loud, and as though she was looking at him for the first time she registered the tiny pleats at the top of his shirtsleeves; the expensive dark suit trousers and the handmade black leather brogues.
His eyes rested on her face and she felt a prickle of heat spread over her skin as he held out his hand.
‘I assure you I am.’
His voice had grown cooler, its authority no longer like quicksilver beneath the surface but smooth and inflexible like high tensile steel, and with a pang of acceptance she knew that he was telling the truth.
There was only one thing to do and, feeling her breath ricocheting against her ribs, she took his hand and shook it briefly.
His eyes raked her face and then he smiled. Only it wasn’t the slow, languorous smile of her imagination. Instead it was cool and assessing and uncompromising. The smile of a CEO...the smile of a boss.
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