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She jumped a little when she heard Juan call her name. Had she not lingered that second she would have been safely in her car; instead, she had no choice but to turn to him.
‘Where I come from…’ he walked slowly towards her, his boots crunching on the gravel ‘…you thank your host and say goodbye…’
‘I didn’t know you were such a stickler for convention.’
‘I’m not,’ Juan admitted, still walking towards her as she backed herself against the car. ‘Just when it suits me.’
‘Thank you for a lovely night.’
‘And in my country,’ Juan continued, ‘the host would try to persuade you to stay for one more drink, would be offended that you were leaving so soon…’ It was all very casual, except his hand had moved to her cheek and was moving a lock of her hair behind her ear.
‘I’m good at offending people,’ Cate said. ‘There really is no need to take it personally.’
‘Don’t go.’ He smiled. ‘I only asked everyone back to get you here.’
She laughed.
She doubted it.
Actually, no, she didn’t, she believed it. Anything was possible with Juan.
‘I might not be called in to work again,’ he said. ‘So this could be it.’
‘It could be.’
‘I’d have liked to get to know you some more.’
She gave him a half-smile, but it wavered. Cate wanted to get to know him some more too, but for what? He made no secret that in a couple of weeks he would be gone. Juan seemed completely at ease with a brief fling, whereas it just wasn’t in her nature.
Except, yes, she wanted more of Juan.
‘Stay.’
‘Juan…’ Cate just couldn’t do it and she tried to make a joke. ‘I’ve got three brothers and they’ve all warned me about guys like you.’
‘What?’ He frowned.
‘Come on, Juan.’ She loathed how indecent he was. ‘Won’t whoever you were in bed with this afternoon mind?’
‘What?’ he asked again as the frown remained, but then it turned into a wicked smile. ‘That was my cleaning lady,’ he said. ‘I fell asleep on the couch, watching daytime soaps.’ He looked down at her, realised fully then that he hadn’t had sex since he’d dumped Christine, since a certain Cate Nicholls had stepped into his life—how with one turn of his head he’d been very turned on. ‘I love daytime soaps in Australia,’ he said. ‘They are filthy.’
Cate let out a small laugh.
She wasn’t sure she believed him about the cleaning lady, but did it matter?
She wasn’t his mother.
She wasn’t anything and, yes, very soon he’d be gone.
She turned to go, only half-heartedly because he had moved in to kiss her, and not on the cheek.
One kiss couldn’t hurt, Cate told herself.
It was time to have kissed someone else by now, Cate decided as his mouth met hers. Except she’d never known a kiss like it.
It was everything a kiss should be.
It was very slow and measured, his lips light on hers at first, nudging hers into slow movement. His hands crept around her waist and his tongue slipped in and slid around hers, slowly at first, letting her acclimatise herself to the taste of him, and she did, so easily. He tasted of raspberry and vodka and something else too, which Cate couldn’t quite place.
He took things slowly, but not for long. Just as she started to relax, just as she thought she could manage a kiss goodbye with Juan, he breathed into her, shed a low moan into her, pressed into her, pushed in his tongue more deeply, and Cate found her missing ingredient—it was a dash of sin that he tasted of, because no kiss had turned her on so much. The press of his erection made her push her mound into him, the feel of his hot hand on her back had her skin turn to fire.
It wasn’t just her first kiss after Paul, it was the first kiss she’d ever had that could propel her straight to the bedroom. She was kissing him back and with passion; it was still a slow kiss but their tongues danced with suggestion. His hand moved to her breast and how she wished she wasn’t wearing a bra that was too tight and digging in, but a moment later she wasn’t—as easily as that, Juan had undone it. Cate let out a small sigh of relief as her breast fell into his palm and then a moan of bliss as his hand cupped her and stroked.
‘I want you…’ He was at her neck and trailing his mouth down, she was stone-cold sober, yet almost topless and drunk on lust. He kissed back up to her mouth and she could feel the trail of wetness he had left on her chest—and how she wanted him. Her hands moved to his head and she felt the thick, long, jet-black hair that he refused to cut, felt the wedge of muscle of a man it would be so easy to be immoral with, understood exactly why women lost their heads to him, for she was losing hers.
She moved her hand down to his shoulder, her fingers sliding to his neck, but Juan’s hands halted hers and moved them onto his chest. It jolted her, just a little, for in that moment not a fraction of their bodies had seemed out of bounds. Cate had been utterly lost but she returned to common sense and he felt it, their eyes opening together, and she saw the regret in his as she pulled her mouth back.
‘We could be so good together…’ His forehead was resting on hers and she was struggling to get her breath.
Yes, they could be so good together but he would be so bad for her.
Cate wasn’t looking for forever but neither was she looking for one night, or one week.
She simply couldn’t do the casual thing, never had and never could. Could not walk into work tomorrow with everyone knowing she had succumbed to Juan’s undeniable charm.
How she wanted to, though.
How she wanted to give in to the urges that were pulsing through her as much as the music coming from his home, how she wanted to just say, yes, I can handle this. Except, stupid her, her body came attached to a heart that was already a bit bruised and did not need to be shattered by him.
Oh, it would hurt to have him and then not. That much Cate knew.
‘Get over him, Cate!’ Juan said.
She was so over Paul, not that he knew it. Cate did not dare reveal the truth, so she made a wry joke.
‘By getting under you?’
‘No,’ Juan said. ‘I want you on top. I want to watch you come.’
He was bad.
He was dangerous.
He was everything she wanted and yet everything she didn’t.
‘Thanks for a lovely evening.’
‘Would you like to go out tomorrow?’ Juan offered.
‘No, thanks.’
‘Cate…’
So she took a breath and told him, ‘I’m not what you’re looking for.’
‘You don’t know what I’m looking for.’
‘I don’t know what I’m looking for either,’ Cate admitted, ‘but it’s not…’ she tried to think of the right word and she didn’t know how best to say it ‘…you.’
‘Ouch.’
Cate smiled and climbed into her car and caught the lingering fragrance of Juan from when he had been in her vehicle, the expensive note that overrode others.
She knew that she hadn’t hurt him.
Ouch would be sitting in the staffroom in a couple of weeks’ time, hearing who he’d slept with next, or, if they did last the little time he had left in Australia, ouch would be waving him off at the airport. Ouch would be having had him and then trying to move on.
Cate had just ended one serious relationship—a rebound with the name Juan attached to it was heading way too far in the other direction.
She reversed out and waved to him, and, yes, she regretted it plenty. She could see them alone in his bedroom. many times she had envisaged him kicking those boots to the floor and letting herself be a notch on his temporary bed; many times she had wanted to let loose and be as superficial and as laid back about things as Juan.
So clearly she could see it now, could still taste him on her mouth as she drove off, her bra around her waist, her cheeks burning, her hands willing her to turn round and return to him.
Instead, Cate chose safety.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u8fa6a2a2-41c5-5d54-ba07-384de23cfee4)
JUAN WOUND UP the party and did not invite anybody else to stay the night.
As the last taxi pulled off, he didn’t even look at the clock or tidy up, he just undressed and headed to bed and tried to get Cate Nicholls out of his head.
She was way too serious for him.
Usually, he didn’t want to hear about promotions and brothers and parts of the woman’s history but with Cate somehow he did.
He thought about her hand on his neck, her fingers about to meet the thick scar and, no, he didn’t want her knowing, would far prefer Cate thinking that he was shallow than to open up and confide in her…
That wasn’t what this trip was about, he told himself as he lay there. Caught between awake and asleep, Juan was unsure if the kiss with Cate had been a dream, unsure even if his time in Australia was a mere figment of his imagination. He even wondered if Cate’s words to Reece would disappear the second he awoke and he would find out it was all just another dream—because he was back there again, back in his head, trapped in his mind with a body that refused to obey even the simplest command.
In Juan’s dreams he ran, his feet pounding the warm pavement as he dragged in the humid air.
In dreams, he threaded his beloved motorbike through lush Argentinian hills and made love to every single woman who had ever flirted with him—and there were many, perhaps Cate was one?
In his dreams, Juan jumped off bridges and felt the sting of icy-cold water as he plunged in.
In his dreams, he skied down mountains and did all the things he had never had time to do—Juan’s focus had always been Martina, family and work.
He could hear the nurses, doing the two a.m. rounds, approaching the four-bedded ward, and Juan tried to haul himself out of the memory, tried to get back to kissing Cate, except he couldn’t dictate his dreams and he couldn’t erase his memories, and as the REM stage deepened a very natural reflex occurred.
‘Hey, Juan.’
‘I apologise.’ Juan didn’t need to look at the mirrors placed over his bed to know the sheet was tenting and that he was erect; instead, he stared at the ceiling as Graciela tried to catch his eye. ‘Juan, it’s natural,’ Graciela said. They spoke in Spanish, Graciela, as always, practical—she was nearing retirement and had worked on the spinal unit for years. Graciela was more than used to young men finding themselves paralysed, used to the strange sight of a beautiful, fit body that might never move independently again and the humiliation a new spinal-cord injury patient faced regularly.
Yes, Graciela was kind and practical, it just didn’t help now as she and Manuel rolled him onto his side. Juan was burning with shame in a bed in the Buenos Aires hospital he worked at.
Had once worked at.
Juan didn’t want that part of his life over. Yes, he played upbeat for Martina and his family, insisted if there was a little improvement he could lecture and teach; but tonight the future, one where he could function independently, let alone hold another’s life in his hands, seemed an impossibly long way off.
‘Juan…’ Manuel tried to engage with Juan. ‘We still don’t know the extent of your injury. You have spinal swelling and until…’
Juan closed his eyes. He didn’t want hope tonight, he felt guilty that compared to his roommates there was a thin hope that his paralysis was not permanent; he just wanted to close his eyes and go back to his dreams but he knew he would not get back to sleep, knew that this would be another long night.
‘You need a haircut,’ Graciela commented as she washed his face. ‘Do you want me to arrange one for you?’
‘No.’ Juan made a weak joke. He had been on his way to get his thick black hair trimmed when the accident had happened—it grew fast and he had it trimmed every couple of weeks. Always he had prided himself on looking immaculate, dressing in exquisitely cut suits and rich silk ties. Tonight those days seemed forever gone. ‘I’m not risking that again.’
‘How’s Martina?’ Graciela tried to engage Juan as they started the hourly exercise regime, moving his limbs and feet and hands. Martina had been here until eleven and Juan had pretended to be asleep the last two times the nursing staff had come around. It was important to know what was happening in the patients’ lives as they adjusted to their injuries. ‘Is she still worrying about moving the wedding date?’
There was a long stretch of silence before Juan finally answered, ‘We broke up.’
‘I’m sorry, Juan.’ Graciela looked over at Manuel, who took over the conversation.
‘What happened?’ Manuel asked. He wasn’t being nosey—the mental health of their patients was a priority, and he chatted as he moved Juan’s index finger and thumb together and apart, over and over—as they did every hour—and then moved to rotating his wrist. Both simple exercises might mean in the future Juan could hold a cup, or do up a button, or hold a pen.
‘We just…’ Juan did not want to discuss it, still could not take it in, could not comprehend how every aspect of his life had now changed. ‘It was mutual.’
‘Okay.’ Graciela checked his obs and shared another look with Manuel. ‘I’ll see you a bit later, Juan. Hope-fully you’ll be asleep next time I come around and I won’t disturb you.’
Asleep or not, the exercises went on through the night.
Graciela moved on to the next bed, leaving Manuel to hopefully get Juan to open up a bit. Since his admission Juan had remained upbeat, insisted he was dealing with it, refusing to open up to anyone, and Graciela was worried about him, especially with the news of the break-up. Relationships often ended here; patients pushed loved ones away, or sometimes it was the other way around and the able-bodied partner simply could not cope with a world that had rapidly altered.
‘Hey, Eduard.’ She smiled down at the young man, who gave her a small grimace back and moved his eyes towards Juan’s bed. ‘Is he okay?’
‘He’ll get there.’
For the first time Juan didn’t think he would.
There was one thing more humiliating than a massive erection in full view of the nurses. It was starting to cry and not being able to excuse yourself, not being able to go to another room and close a door, to thump a wall, not even being able to wipe your own snot and tears.
‘Let it out, Juan,’ Manuel said as he covered Juan with a sheet and saw his patient’s face screw up and tears fill Juan’s grey eyes.
‘I…’ He didn’t want to let it out, he had held it all in and he wanted to keep doing so. There was young Eduard in the next bed. He’d only been here for three days and Juan didn’t want to scare him—Juan had been trying to cheer him up today.
He just couldn’t hold it in any more.
The sob that came out was primal, from a place he had never been.
