Consequences of a Hot Havana Night

by Louise Fuller

  ‘Is everything okay?’ she said quietly.

  The other woman nodded.

  ‘Baby’s CRL is just under three centimetres, so I think we’re looking at about nine weeks. When you see Dr Moreno you can discuss booking a second scan. We’ll be able to see a lot more detail then, but right now everything looks great. Now, I’m guessing you’ll want a photo?’

  Kitty found her voice. ‘Yes, please—and thank you.’

  Her eyes found César. Since shaking hands with the sonographer he hadn’t said a word, but she had expected him to echo her thanks, to see a reciprocal joy on his face. Only he didn’t speak. He just kept staring at the screen, his expression intense, his eyes fixed on the shifting image.

  She was about to prompt him when a low but distinctive buzzing filled the small room.

  ‘Sorry, I need to take this.’

  He didn’t sound sorry and, glancing over, she saw that he didn’t look it either.

  Pulling out his phone, he stood up. ‘Excuse me. José, gracias por llamarme...’

  Watching the door close behind him, she felt a slippery rush of panic. She’d pictured this moment inside her head so many times in the past, and it wasn’t supposed to look like this.

  Her heart was suddenly too big for her chest. But why had she ever thought this would work with him? She didn’t know this man, so how could she begin to know how he would react to anything? More importantly, how could she expect to bring up a child with him?

  * * *

  Picking up his coffee cup, César glanced at the darkening sky. The air was hot and sticky. It was going to rain—and it needed to rain to break the tension in the air.

  Jaw tightening, his eyes flickered over to where Kitty sat on the other side of the table, her grey gaze fixed on the horizon. If only the rain could also ease the tension between them.

  After the scan they had driven to his sugar cane plantation for lunch. He’d told himself that he needed to speak to his estate manager, José Luis, in person, and he’d told Kitty that he wanted to show her a part of Cuba she hadn’t seen. But the truth was that he had simply needed an excuse to drive somewhere—to have an actual, achievable destination in one area of his life.

  He took a mouthful of coffee. Since leaving the clinic he’d been trying to think it through logically—but no matter that he had a picture of his as yet unborn son or daughter tucked in his jacket pocket, he still couldn’t imagine being a father in just under seven months.

  Glancing up, he felt his pulse accelerate as he caught sight of his reflection in the veranda window.

  You don’t need to imagine it, he told himself, remembering that tiny heart squeezing rhythmically on the screen. Just take a good look at yourself because it’s already happened. You are a father.

  A father?

  Even just thinking it was like being hit by a truck. It was ridiculous. He wasn’t in a relationship, he wasn’t qualified, and he certainly wasn’t ready—

  His face stiffened.

  Ready? Just as he hadn’t been ready to take over the business?

  He felt a familiar rush of shame and regret. When his father had sat him down and told him that it was time for him to step up he hadn’t refused outright, but his stunned silence had been enough of an answer, and with a little persuasion from his mother his father had acquiesced to his plea for ‘just one more year’.

  And it had been the biggest mistake of his life.

  He’d been like some puppy, let off the leash for the first time, rushing up to greet each and every stranger like a long-lost friend. No wonder Celia had found it so easy to string him along. The further she’d thrown the stick, the faster he’d had run to catch it and give it back to her. Except he hadn’t given her a stick, but a ring. And not any old ring either, but his grandmother’s engagement ring.

  Blotting out the memory, his hands gripped the coffee cup more tightly. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t ready. There was no question of him not stepping up this time. How could there be?

  It might be a future he hadn’t imagined, but this was his child, and he had meant what he’d said to Kitty. He wanted to make this work. He wanted to marry her. And he’d thought—hoped—that the scan, that seeing their baby together, might nudge her towards changing her mind.

  His eyes flickered across to where she sat beside him, silent and still. But instead she had retreated further, and it was his fault.

  He knew his silence had hurt her, and he knew he shouldn’t have taken that phone call. But he’d had no words—or none eloquent or poetic enough to express the swelling tangle of his feelings on seeing his baby’s heartbeat. Not to voice the fear or the wonder, and certainly not the fiercely protective urge he’d felt deep in his guts, not just for the baby but for Kitty too.

  There had been no filter, no shield to protect himself, and he’d felt horribly exposed. So when he’d felt her gaze on his face he’d ignored it, not wanting to take on the intimacy of that shared moment and all that it implied.

  But that baby growing inside her was so much more than just a baby.

  It was a test.

  A test that so far he’d failed.

  He might have succeeded in getting Kitty to live under his roof, but how was he supposed to present that to his parents? They would be confused and disappointed. Again.

  No, he needed to marry Kitty—only right now she was barely talking to him.

  He gritted his teeth. Actually, he had a strong suspicion that she was ignoring him, but what was he supposed to do?

  He didn’t coax women or chase after them. Not since Celia. Not since he’d made a fool of himself. It had been the first and only time in his life he had felt helpless and exposed, and he didn’t want to feel like that ever again. So, even though he hated letting fear dictate his actions, he’d set up his life so he would never have to feel that way with any other woman.

  So that he could always walk away.

  Only he couldn’t walk away this time.

  He breathed out unsteadily. He didn’t want to walk away this time. Or at least, not alone.

  Pushing back his chair, he stood up. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’ She stared at him warily and, breathing slowly, he held out his hand. ‘Please, would you come for a walk with me?’

  He watched her face, seeing the conflict, the uncertainty, and then finally she nodded.

  They walked slowly, side by side. Behind them jagged green mountains rose up to meet the brilliant blue sky and lush vegetation crowded the path, purple and pink flowers speckling the dark leafy foliage like stars in the night sky.

  She was wearing the same dress she’d worn the other day, and its simplicity combined with her loose hair gave her a breakable quality.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  She stared up at him. ‘Fine. Just a little tired, really. It’s probably the heat.’

  He studied her face. Her cheeks were flushed, just as they had been when she’d kissed him in the club—and, feeling his body respond to the memory of where such a kiss could lead, he gritted his teeth.

  Persuading Kitty to move in with him had been a compromise—a first step towards getting her to change her mind about marrying him. Only he was starting to wonder if it had been a good idea after all. Being around her was torment enough, but after the passion they’d shared this awkward formality was like a slap in the face.

  Pushing aside his frustration, he glanced up at the sky. ‘It’ll rain soon, and then it’ll be cooler. Or we could take a shower. There’s a waterfall just down here.’

  He held back some overhanging branches and Kitty brushed past him. He heard her soft intake of breath and tucked it away, gratified by her reaction but not quite ready to admit how gratified.

  He stared at the waterfall, trying to picture it through her eyes, to feel her wonder as she gazed at the low outcrop of rock and the gentle cascade o
f water tumbling into the shimmering sapphire pool.

  ‘It’s beautiful. So, is this part of your business empire?’ Her eyes were clear and grey, but she looked more nervous than curious.

  He shrugged. ‘In a way. Obviously the business needs cane, and I like knowing the provenance of my raw materials, but having all of this lets me play at being a farmer.’ A drop of rain hit the water, then another, and another.

  ‘Here, take my hand.’ He led her up to where the rocks overhung the clear turquoise water. ‘We can wait here.’ He took a breath. ‘And while we’re waiting we can talk about what happens next.’

  Her expression shifted minutely, her mouth stiffening. ‘I thought this was what happened next.’ She spoke carefully, as though she was confirming a booking at a hotel or restaurant.

  ‘It was, but now that we’ve had the scan I thought we should think about what we want to tell our families.’ He wasn’t going to demand that they marry—not after what had happened last time—but their living together hadn’t answered all the questions raised by the pregnancy.

  There was a silence, and then she cleared her throat. ‘The truth, I suppose.’ She bit her lip.

  He felt his eyebrows draw together in a frown. He’d assumed that she’d already rung her home, but clearly she hadn’t. That surprised him, and it stung too—more than he cared to admit.

  ‘Don’t you want to tell your family?’

  ‘I do...it’s just that I don’t know how to tell them.’ Her voice was taut, stretched tight like the string of a kite.

  ‘Are you worried they’re going to be upset?’

  She looked up at him, her grey eyes wide with confusion. ‘Upset? No, of course not.’ Her voice was shaking. ‘They’ll be delighted...’ She hesitated. ‘They know how much I wanted to get pregnant...how long Jimmy and I tried. All they want is for me to be happy.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’ He paused, remembering her shuttered expression when he’d talked to her on the beach. ‘Look, I know how it must have sounded earlier, but I’m not questioning my paternity. That’s not why I arranged the scan. In fact, I didn’t arrange it. The clinic suggested it and I thought it was standard.’

  ‘I know.’ She lowered her head. ‘It’s not you.’

  César took a breath. He was caught between the need to know more and the need to keep his distance, but if he wanted to keep his distance then why was he even here? If he’d meant what he’d said then, whatever this was, he couldn’t leave her to deal with it alone.

  His mind inched forward and then stopped, teetering on the edge of a new and previously unconsidered outcome. ‘I thought you said you didn’t have any regrets. Have you changed your mind? About the baby?’

  He spoke calmly, but he felt pain saying the words out loud—a pain that was equalled by his relief as she shook her head.

  ‘No—no!’

  She looked up, her eyes wide with shock and denial, and he could hear the strain at the edges of her voice.

  ‘I want this baby.’

  Her shoulders hunched, and he stared down at her, then slowly reached out and took her hand. He wanted to help, or at least to understand.

  ‘So what’s the problem?’

  ‘That’s the problem.’ She pressed her knuckles against her mouth. ‘I wanted a baby for so long, for Jimmy, for us, only now I’m pregnant and he’s not here. And I should be miserable, but I’m not.’

  She looked up him, her distress so undisguised that it hurt to look at her.

  ‘Kitty, it’s okay.’

  Watching her attempt to control her tears was worse than seeing her actually cry. Unpeeling her hand from her mouth, he pulled her closer.

  ‘Look, you’re putting too much pressure on yourself.’

  His fingers tightened around hers. Celia’s tears had been meaningless, manufactured on demand to manipulate his emotions, and normally if a woman cried he wanted to leave. But Kitty’s pain was raw and real, and her grief transcended his need...his wish to stay emotionally detached.

  And so what if it did? He was only doing what he did every day as CEO of a global business. Doing what he did best: staying calm, making things happen, finding solutions. And in this case that meant holding Kitty’s hand and being strong for her.

  ‘This is all new and confusing, but it’s okay to be happy about the baby.’

  Her eyes were bright. ‘And I am happy—I’m so happy. But I just feel so guilty.’

  Guilty. The word resonated inside his head as he stroked her back. He knew all about feeling guilty. Guilt had driven his life, overriding all other impulses, good and bad, and changing him into this guarded island—an emotionally autonomous man focused on work.

  But his guilt was penance. Kitty’s was undeserved.

  ‘For what?’

  She hesitated.

  ‘For what?’ he asked again. ‘For carrying on? For having a future?’

  She shook her head. ‘I wish it was that. That’s what I should be feeling—and I did at first. I want to feel it now, but all I can think about is you. And what happened with you.’

  His body tensed as he braced against the memory of that moment. The spray from the waterfall was warm, but not as warm as the heat licking his stomach—a heat that had nothing to do with his memories and everything to do with the woman holding his hand.

  ‘You shouldn’t feel guilty about that.’

  He was close enough to see the scattering of freckles along her cheekbones and the pulse working at the base of her throat. His body tightened with need.

  ‘I don’t. I feel guilty for wanting it to happen again.’ Her free hand bunched the fabric of her dress. ‘I don’t know why I feel like this...’ she whispered.

  His body stilled, mirroring the tension in hers. ‘I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not,’ he said carefully.

  She bit her lip. ‘I wasn’t expecting anything to happen—and then, when it did, I thought it was because I was here and because it’s been so long since there was anyone...so long since I even wanted anyone. Only it wasn’t that. It isn’t—’

  His breathing stilled. In her villa, he’d wanted her in the moment. He could still remember the intensity of his desire and, more erotically, of hers—the swell of blood, the heat, the way her body had fitted against his.

  Now, though, in the face of her honesty, he could admit that it hadn’t been enough. That even as he’d turned and walked away he had been craving more, and it was a need that wasn’t diminishing.

  Need.

  The word made his heart beat faster. But why? He wasn’t talking about emotional entanglement and neither was she. He was talking about lust. Sex. Desire. An elemental, physical yearning like hunger or thirst.

  He shifted just a fraction, feeling the slight swell of her stomach. But this baby—their baby—was a connection that went beyond mere lust. They were bound by DNA now, and that was bigger than both of them, so he didn’t have to fight this—just accept it.

  She breathed out unevenly and, heart pounding, he stared into her eyes, mesmerised by the longing he saw there...a longing he knew was mirrored in his own green gaze.

  He felt a spinning sensation, almost as though he was drunk. In a way he was...drunk on the realisation that he was just a man, and she was just a woman, and they were equal. Equal in their need and their want. And by giving in to that want he would let go of the mistake he’d made and the fear that he’d let control his life for so long. For too long.

  ‘I want you,’ he said softly. ‘And I haven’t stopped wanting you since I walked out of your front door all those weeks ago. It’s not wrong or right—it just is.’ He touched her face, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip, exulting in the feel of her skin, the heat of her breath. ‘I can’t fight this any more. I don’t want to fight it.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want to fight it e
ither.’

  His blood felt like air in his veins as she leaned forward and flicked her tongue over his lips—and then, threading his hand through her hair, his mouth seeking hers, he kissed her fiercely.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE SOUND OF the water was rushing in time with her breath.

  Inching backwards, she stared up at him dazedly. Her head was swimming, and nothing seemed to matter except his taut profile and the urgent, hungry beat of her heart.

  ‘Your jacket...’ she whispered. ‘It’s getting wet.’

  ‘So is your dress.’ His voice was hoarse.

  Her throat was dry. ‘Then help me take it off.’

  They reached out for one another, his hand locking in her hair as she grabbed at his shirt, their mouths colliding as they kissed hungrily, tongues probing, lips bruising.

  He groaned into her mouth and they broke apart, panting.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.’ His eyes, fiercely green, burned into hers.

  ‘So have I,’ she whispered.

  His face was taut and she could see the muscles in his arms tensing, as though he was having to hold himself in check. She felt a rush of blood, hot and sudden, at the hunger in his gaze.

  ‘So what are you waiting for?’

  His eyes were trained on her face. ‘The baby. Is it okay to—? I don’t want to hurt you.’

  She slid off her sandals, reached out and touched his chest. ‘You won’t.’

  Her head was spinning, her pulse racing. She felt as though she was melting. She wanted him so badly—wanted him as she had never wanted anything or anyone...ever. And this wasn’t about some fantasy. This was real. And it was what they both wanted. That was all that mattered.

  Reaching up, she slid her hands beneath his shirt, shaking with the freedom of being able to touch him and the relief that she didn’t have to stop—that he didn’t want her to stop. She clutched at his shoulders, pushing her tongue into his warm mouth as they moved as one, stepping into the shallow water, circling through shafts of raindrops, bodies pressing together in time to the beating of their hearts.