Читать книгу Consequences Of A Hot Havana Night - Louise Fuller - Страница 12

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.