Consequences Of A Hot Havana Night. Louise Fuller

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      He shook his head slowly, his gaze fixed on her face, and she saw that his expression had shifted from confusion to something like irritation. Instantly the sick panic she’d felt at watching the bike’s wheels slide from under him was replaced by a bubbling rush of anger.

      ‘Cómo—? I mean, puede—? Oh, what’s the word?’ She broke off in frustration. She was too angry to think straight in her own language, let alone in Spanish.

      ‘That would depend, I suppose, on what it is you’re trying to say.’

      Her stomach clenched. He was speaking English—fluent, almost accentless English.

      But clinging onto her outrage, she pushed past her astonishment. ‘How could you be so reckless? You could have been hurt. Or worse,’ she said accusingly.

      ‘Unlikely. I wasn’t going that fast. Besides...’ He paused and then almost casually hoisted up the right leg of his trousers and showed her a thin, knotted scar running up from his ankle. ‘I’ve done far worse.’

      She gaped at him in silence, too stunned to respond and dazzled not just by the effortless way he switched between languages but by his casual lack of concern for his own safety. A sliver of anger she didn’t really understand twisted inside her as she watched him lean over the bike and haul it upright, nudging out the kickstand with his foot.

      ‘How about you?’

      He still hadn’t turned to face her, but as he glanced over a jolt like a pulse of electricity passed between them as his eyes locked onto hers, his green gaze so intent she felt flushed and dizzy.

      ‘Are you okay?’

      She stared at him blankly. He sounded businesslike rather than concerned, but she barely registered his words. She was too distracted by his face. Caught in the sunlight, it was beautiful. The straight nose and jaw were outlined in gold, his skin clear and bright like a just lit flame.

       Like a just lit flame?

      She felt herself tremble as the words echoed inside her head. Thankfully she’d only thought them and not actually said them out loud, but what was she thinking?

      Easy question.

       Wrong answer.

      She was thinking about his mouth and how it would feel pressed against hers.

      She frowned, flustered by her unexpected and unwelcome reaction to a stranger—a stranger who had scant regard both for himself and the safety of others. A stranger who couldn’t even be bothered to turn and face her.

      Her heart began to beat faster, and she had a sudden impulse to turn and dart back beneath the trees. Only there was something in her that wanted to know what would happen if she stayed.

      ‘I’m fine. Although I’m surprised you’re bothering to ask.’

      She spoke quickly, her words tumbling over themselves, for she was not by nature a confrontational person—a character trait that had only been reinforced by months of sitting in hospital waiting rooms and dealing with a conveyor belt of compassionate but phlegmatic specialists and consultants.

      But something about this man...something in his manner...sparked against her like a match striking tinder.

      He tipped his head back, his lips parting slightly as though internally questioning what he’d just heard.

      ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

      He spoke softly, but there was an edge to his voice that made the hairs stand up on her arms. But remembering how the wild horses had scattered at his approach, her irritation was rekindled and she felt the last of her panic disappear in the face of his level gaze.

      ‘It means that you almost ran into me.’

      His eyes flashed, the whites glinting like teeth, but his gaze stayed locked on her face. ‘Yes, because you stepped out in front of me. I only came off the bike because I had to swerve to avoid hitting you.’

      Her cheeks coloured and she hesitated. It was true, she had stepped out into the road... But, glancing back at him, she gritted her teeth. He wasn’t even wearing a helmet. How could he be so arrogant, so blasé?

      Suddenly her whole body was shaking. She had a sharp, vivid memory of Jimmy, sitting on the sofa in his pyjamas, his face grey with exhaustion, and her heart began to pound with anger. Jimmy had lived his life so carefully, and yet here was this man—this arrogant, reckless man—taking stupid risks, taunting fate, challenging his own mortality.

      ‘Well, you wouldn’t have had to swerve if you hadn’t been going so fast,’ she said hotly, gesturing towards his scarred leg. ‘Which is clearly something you make a habit of doing.’

      ‘Like I said, I wasn’t going fast. This is a brand-new bike.’ He gave her a disparaging glance. ‘I only picked it up today, so I’m still breaking it in.’ Eyes narrowing, he shook his head dismissively. ‘I’m guessing you’ve never owned a motorbike.’

      No, she had never even ridden a motorbike. They were noisy and dangerous: today was proof of that. And yet she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like riding a bike with him. She could picture it perfectly—knew exactly how it would feel to lean into that broad back, to feel the bands of muscle tense against her as he shifted gear or leaned into a turn.

      Her hands felt shaky, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. Glancing over at his bike, and trying desperately to hang on to her indignation, she ignored the prickling heat rising over her collarbone. Just because it was new, it didn’t mean he shouldn’t pay attention to other road-users.

      ‘No I haven’t,’ she agreed, her hands moving of their own accord to her hips, her brow creasing. ‘But it wouldn’t matter if I had. It still wouldn’t change the fact that you should watch where you’re going. This isn’t a racetrack, you know.’

      She frowned, her brain backtracking. How had he got into the estate anyway? The gates required a code. Maybe he’d wanted to show off his stupid bike to one of the staff, or perhaps he was picking someone up—either way it wasn’t something she wanted to get involved in.

      She glared at him. ‘And you should be wearing a helmet.’

      ‘Yes, I should,’ he said softly, his green gaze resting on her face.

      Something in his simple, uncompromising answer made her blood start to hum. She held her breath.

      In the distance she could see the sea. So far she hadn’t found anywhere on the estate where it wasn’t possible to catch a glimpse of the unruffled turquoise water, and usually her eye sought it out. But today it was him, this man, who drew her gaze. Only why did he make her feel that way?

      The situation—lone female on a deserted road with a strange man—should be making her feel uneasy, but she wasn’t scared at all. Or not scared by him anyway, she thought, her cheeks suddenly hot as her eyes flitted hastily over the enticing curve of his mouth. The only threat was coming from her own imagination.

      She felt another twitch of panic.

      Her СКАЧАТЬ