скачать книгу бесплатно
His eyes narrowed and he felt a swirling anger mingle with his desire as he realised that he himself was included in that demographic.
Why, then, did he find her so damn desirable?
It didn’t make any sense that someone like him would be attracted to someone like her—especially not now. Tonight of all nights he needed to stay detached. Yet, like a bull mesmerised by that flash of red, he could feel himself being drawn to her.
He ran his hand wearily over his face. It must be tiredness...or the heat.
Right, he mocked himself. Or maybe, like every other man within a five-mile radius, he wanted what she was offering.
Glancing over his shoulder at the group of men, he felt his chest tighten. Even from here he could feel their longing, spilling into the dark club.
Like it or not, he was no different.
His heartbeat slowed. Except that he was.
Sure, he’d had girlfriends. No one special, though. And nor was there likely to be any time soon, for more than anything he needed to be certain—and certainty was not a part of the dating equation. Chasing women was definitely not his thing either. It was Bas who had loved the thrill of the chase.
His hand tightened involuntarily around the glass.
The thrill of the chase—even just thinking the words made him feel slightly sick and, tilting his glass, he gazed down at the swirling contents and tried to distract himself from the guilt and remorse building inside his chest.
It didn’t work. And suddenly he knew that it was time to leave. That his little adventure was over.
Keeping his eyes low, he breathed out softly, then still clutching his glass, he turned and—
The glass slammed against his chest, beer slopping down his T-shirt.
He heard a soft cry of surprise, and then the reflexes honed by years of riding motorbikes kicked in. Reaching out, he grabbed the arm flailing in front of him just as his startled brain realised that it was her—the red-haired woman.
* * *
Cristina Shephard gasped.
One moment she’d been taking a selfie on her phone—the next she was falling forward. Her one conscious thought was, I knew I shouldn’t have worn these heels, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, she was being pulled upright, strong hands curving around her wrist and waist.
She breathed out in a rush as those same hands spun her round. ‘Sorry...’
Why was she apologising? she thought dazedly, almost forgetting to breathe. He’d walked into her. But she knew why, and as her fingers curled into warm, hard muscle she gazed up at the man in front of her.
All evening she’d been aware of him. How could she not be? He dominated the whole club—and not just because he was handsome in a way that made you look twice...actually, three times. First to check you weren’t seeing things. Then to marvel at such blatant perfection. And finally just to savour his extraordinary masculine beauty.
He was just so cool. With or without the leather jacket, he had an aura of calm assurance that suggested he was bigger than the sum of his problems. Or hers.
Although obviously not hers. She might never have shared them with anyone, but she knew her problems were too much for most people to handle. Or maybe it was her that was the problem. Her last boyfriend had more or less told her that—shortly after she’d found him in bed with her flatmate.
Her stomach clenched and, pushing aside that thought, she said quickly, ‘Thank you for catching me—and sorry about your beer.’
Luis stared at her. Up close, she was more than beautiful. She was devastatingly lovely. Her huge, melting turrón-coloured eyes with their fringe of probably fake eyelashes were perfectly offset by her flushed cheeks and the scarlet bow of her mouth. He wondered just how soft the skin was on her throat, and then instantly wished that he hadn’t as his brain began tugging him on an imaginary tour beneath her clothing.
Imposing an indifference he didn’t feel onto his features, he shrugged. ‘I was leaving anyway.’
Looking down into her beautiful, curious face, he couldn’t actually remember why that was the case. In fact he appeared to be having trouble remembering how to do a lot of things—like breathing and speaking. It was her fault, though, he thought irritably. Her beauty kept catching him off guard, so that each time he looked at her he forgot what he’d been planning to say.
As the silence grew, Cristina felt her lungs contract.
What was she doing here?
Tomorrow was going to be the biggest day of her life and she should be back in her hotel room, having a quiet night in on her own—just as she’d promised her mum. Only ‘quiet and alone’ were not a great combination, for that was when the thoughts came creeping into her head—thoughts that left her breathless with misery and doubt.
And so she’d come out, bumped into some people at a bar, and ended up here.
With him.
Her mouth felt dry and her breath was suddenly scratchy in her throat. It actually hurt to look at him.
She’d been surrounded by men all evening, but none of them had felt real. They were like chameleons—constantly changing according to their environment. It had made her feel nervous and unsteady, as though the solid floor of the club was actually quicksand.
Her heart tripped in her chest.
And then there was this man.
She liked it that he had ignored the dress code. Liked it, too, that he was happy with his own company. Not that he needed to be. She wasn’t the only women in the club who’d clocked him—for obvious reasons.
He definitely ticked all the boxes in the ‘tall, dark and handsome’ category. In fact his hair was almost black, and so long it curled loosely over the collar of his now damp T-shirt. Stubble that was definitely not ‘designer’ shadowed the clean lines of his jaw, and he had a small infinity tattoo on his wrist.
How on earth had he got past the gorilas on the door? she wondered distractedly. Even she’d had trouble getting in.
But probably he’d just walked straight in. Men with his kind of aura didn’t stop for doormen.
Aware suddenly that she had been staring at him for what felt like for ever, she glanced down at his almost empty glass and said quickly, ‘Please. Have mine.’
She held out the bottle but he shook his head.
‘Okay, then let me buy you another one? To make up for spilling yours.’
Pulse racing, she reached into her bag, pulled out her purse and—
‘Oh.’
Groaning inwardly, she gazed down at the handful of coins. She’d meant to go to the cashpoint on her way out but she’d forgotten.
‘It really doesn’t matter.’
He spoke quietly, but there was a firmness to his voice that cut through his casual manner and made her breathing accelerate in time with her heartbeat.
‘It does.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Look, Tomás will buy you one. He won’t mind.’
Luis gazed at her incredulously. He could hardly believe what she’d just said.
Seriously? She was going to ask her boyfriend to buy him a drink?
His face hardened. ‘There’s no need, really,’ he said tersely.
He didn’t care about the drink. Or his T-shirt. Or the fact that she had a boyfriend. He definitely didn’t care about that, he thought angrily. So why, then, did he feel so wound up?
And then, catching sight of the phone in her hand, he felt a warm surge of relief. She’d been taking a selfie—that was why she’d bumped into him.
Wasn’t it enough that every man in the room was drooling all over her? Did she have to drool over herself too?
Reaching around her, he snatched up his leather jacket from the bar stool.
‘I don’t want another drink,’ he said quietly. ‘But just do yourself and everyone else a favour and look where you’re going next time you come over all narcissistic.’
She gazed up at him as if she couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. Probably she couldn’t. With lips and legs like hers she’d almost certainly never had to take responsibility for her actions before.
Her mouth curled. ‘I was looking where I was going because I was standing still. You walked into me.’
It was true. He had walked into her. But somehow the knowledge that he was technically in the wrong just antagonised him more.
His voice cold, and clipped with a fury he didn’t fully understand, he shrugged his arms into his jacket. ‘You were taking a selfie in the middle of a nightclub. You weren’t concentrating. And that’s how accidents happen.’
He watched her eyes darken to the colour of burnt sugar, her face stiffening with shock and then a fury that doused his.
‘Well, don’t worry—next time I spill a drink all over you I’ll make sure I do it on purpose.’
She stared at him fiercely and then, lifting her chin, turned and stalked off towards the dance floor.
For a fraction of a second Luis stared after her, his heart ricocheting inside his chest. Then, biting down on the frustration rising inside his throat, he turned and strode towards the stairs.
* * *
Out in the street, he felt his fury fade in the still night air. Gazing up at the dark sky, he breathed out slowly.
He hated conflict of any kind. Rarely lost his temper or provoked a fight. Yet tonight he’d almost done both—and with a woman. Gritting his teeth, he cursed softly. He’d been obnoxious and childish—and frankly he’d deserved everything she’d thrown at him and more.
In fact he was lucky she hadn’t thrown her own drink at him too, he thought savagely as he began walking across the square.
The pavements were empty now, almost like a ghost town, and he felt a wrench of loneliness as he unlocked his bike. He missed Bas so much. Living in California, it was easy to rationalise his brother’s absence from his life. All he had to do was pretend that back in Spain Bas was doing just what he always did—teasing their mother, eating empanadas by the plateful, partying until dawn with his friends.
Here, though, it was impossible to pretend.
And it would be even harder tomorrow—he glanced at his watch and frowned—or rather later today, with his parents. His stomach twisted with guilt and grief, and suddenly he knew that he had to move.
Straddling the bike, he pushed the key clumsily into the ignition. It would better once he was moving. On the open road, with the sound of the engine mingling with the beat of his blood, his feelings would spin away into the darkness like the dirt beneath his wheels.
He eased the bike forward and turned the ignition. Pulling in the clutch, he thumbed the starter button—and then frowned as the engine sputtered and died.
Damn it!
He tried again, and then again, over and over, feeling a tic of irritation start to pulse in his cheek. What the hell was wrong with the damn thing? It made no sense.
Trying to stay calm, he leaned forward and took a deep breath. He would check the blindingly obvious. And then...
And then nothing. For anything else he’d need pliers, a wrench, a screwdriver—
‘Do you need any help?’
He sensed movement behind him and, turning, he felt his breath catch in his throat as she took a step closer.
She was watching him warily. Her auburn hair was now tied up into some kind of messy ponytail and she’d changed her shoes. Glancing at the black military-style boots on her feet, he almost smiled. Good job she hadn’t been wearing those earlier or he might not have made it out the club.
He shook his head. ‘Not sure you can,’ he said carefully. Holding her gaze, he gestured towards the high-heeled shoes dangling from her hand. ‘Unless those transform into some kind of toolkit. Or are you planning on throwing them at me too?’
Cristina stared at him in silence.
She had hesitated before coming over. He’d been so patronising and rude to her. But then she had spilled his drink over him, so maybe that made them equal. It was a pretty lame argument, but before her brain had had a chance to object she had already been walking across the square.
‘I didn’t plan on throwing your drink over you—as you yourself pointed out. Now, do you want my help or not?’
Luis stared at her for a long moment. Her voice was husky—distractingly so. Was this some kind of trick? Or a joke.
‘You want to help me?’ he said slowly. ‘I’m—’
‘Touched?’ she suggested. ‘Grateful? Pleased?’
‘Actually, I was going to say surprised. And a little nervous maybe.’ He glanced over at her shoes.
Her mouth twitched. ‘Well, I probably would have broken my leg or my neck if you hadn’t caught me, so I guess it’s only fair.’
‘It’s more than fair. It’s magnanimous, given that I not only walked into you but then failed to apologise for doing so.’ His grey eyes were level with hers. ‘I’m sorry. I was the one who wasn’t looking where I was going.’
As his gaze held hers Cristina felt her heart thud against her ribs. Even though it had been a little awkward, she liked that he had picked up where they had left off. Liked that he was honest enough to admit that he’d been wrong.
And, although he might not say much, she liked that he meant what he said.
‘Don’t you need to get home?’
Home. The word made her breathe in sharply. She shrugged.
‘Right now, I don’t really have one. I’m just travelling.’
Feeling suddenly horribly self-conscious, she glanced down at the Ducati.
‘I don’t know this model, but I’m almost sure you don’t need a toolkit to fix it.’
Watching his mouth turn up at one corner, she felt a rush of heat tighten her skin. It was impossible not to imagine what he would look like if he smiled properly, or what it would be like to be kissed by that mouth.
Feeling his gaze on her face, and terrified that her thoughts might somehow be visible, she frowned. ‘Did I say something funny?’
