Her cheeks began to burn with a heat that had nothing to do with the sun. Except she wasn’t about to erase the memory of their first meeting for anything.
‘What are you thinking about?’
She glanced up, her heart suddenly beating too fast. César was leaning against the doorframe, his green eyes roaming slowly over her near-naked body. He’d obviously just got back from his run. His black T-shirt and shorts were damp with sweat, and his golden skin and the stripes of shadow and sunlight across his face made him look almost tigerish.
‘Oh, nothing really,’ she lied.
Unpeeling himself from the wood, he sauntered over and bent down to kiss her. His lips were soft, and instantly her blood seemed to turn to air. As he dropped down beside her on the lounger she took a small breath. Even though it was no longer new to her, his beauty still dazzled her.
‘So why are you blushing?’ he said softly.
She punched him lightly on the arm. ‘I’m not blushing. I’m warm.’
His eyes met hers and then dropped to the veranda floor. ‘Were you working?’
Her cheeks grew warm. ‘I didn’t mean to, but then I thought of something and it all started to come together.’
‘I’m happy for you.’ He held her gaze. ‘I know how frustrating it is when something’s just out of reach.’
She frowned. ‘I’m not out of reach.’
There was a short silence, and then he smiled. ‘No, you’re not. And you weren’t blushing because you’d been working.’
‘I wasn’t blushing,’ she protested.
‘It you don’t tell me I’m going to have to read your mind.’
Cupping her face in his hand, he held her gaze, and, wriggling free, she started to laugh. ‘Okay, fine—I was blushing. But I don’t want to tell you what I was thinking about.’
‘Why not?’
He started to nuzzle her neck, his fingers moving lightly over her skin, and she breathed out unsteadily. Now her whole body was growing warm. ‘A woman should have some mystery.’
Raising his lips from her neck, he lifted his face. ‘But I want to know everything about you,’ he said softly.
Her pulse was beating out of time. There had been other moments before when he’d been gentle, like when she’d told him about Jimmy, so why did this feel different?
It wasn’t. It shouldn’t be.
The fact that he had opened up to her was obviously a positive, but he didn’t love her, and she didn’t love him, and that was what she wanted—what she needed. Because the flipside of love was a pain she couldn’t go through again.
So it didn’t matter that his words made her chest feel tight. Nothing had changed between them, and if that wasn’t clear right now it was probably just down to what he’d told her yesterday playing on her mind. Even if he was saying things that went beyond the bedroom-based borders of their relationship—a relationship that would end when one of them tired of the other.
Or at least the physical side would end. Her hand slipped down to rest on her stomach. There would still always be this link between them.
Reaching up, she took hold of his T-shirt and pulled him closer. ‘I was thinking about the first time we met.’
She watched his face still, as she’d known it would, but not before she caught something flickering across his eyes. It was there and gone before she had a chance to make sense of it, and it was easy to push it aside when his hand was warming her skin. To let herself be distracted by the fine dark hair on his wrists.
‘Do you remember?’
‘How could I forget?’
She felt his fingers slide over her stomach protectively.
‘That evening is burned into my memory. Even when I shut my eyes I can still see you on that sofa.’
She shivered. Her body was starting to ache. ‘I can see it too,’ she whispered. ‘But my eyes are open.’
They reached for one another at the same time.
* * *
Later, he re-tied the strings of her bikini and she smoothed his hair into some sort of order.
‘It’s the least I can do after ravishing you.’ She smiled, wanting to tease him, liking the way one side of his mouth curved higher than the other when he smiled back at her.
‘Thank you,’ he said softly as she leaned back and admired her efforts. Lowering his mouth, he pressed a kiss to her hand. ‘How do you feel about barbacoas? It’s just that I got a call this morning from Pablo. He’s a neighbour, and he and his wife Julia are some of my parents’ oldest friends. They’ve invited us over to his estate for lunch.’
‘Really?’
He lifted her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. ‘I’m guessing my mother must have rung Julia and told her about us, but if you don’t want to go it’s not a problem.’
‘Of course I want to go.’ Glancing down at her bikini, she frowned. ‘Will it be really formal? Because I don’t have anything smart with me.’
He shook his head. ‘No, not at all. It’ll be fun—just food and dancing and dominos. Pretty much your average Cuban Saturday family gathering. They’ll be loads of niños running around, the teenagers will all be eyeing one another up, and as soon as we walk through the door you and I will get cornered by the abuelas.’
He grimaced.
‘You’ve heard of the Spanish Inquisition? Well, the Cuban abuelas have their own version. They’ll be grilling me all afternoon and then serving me up with the mojo instead of the usual hog roast.’
She burst out laughing. ‘I thought you said it was going to be fun?’
He grinned. ‘I’m joking. I will probably have to answer a few questions—’ his eyes gleamed ‘—but they’ll spend most of the afternoon trying to feed you up.’
* * *
Two hours later Kitty was standing downstairs, waiting for César to join her. He’d had some clothes sent over for her when they’d decided to stay on the plantation, and she’d chosen a long apple-green dress covered in tiny leaves that Lizzie had bought her for her birthday last year. It was loose enough to wear in the heat, but it felt less casual than wearing a skirt and blouse.
In fact, maybe she could send Lizzie a photo of herself wearing it. She held her phone at arm’s length, trying to fit herself into the frame and stay in focus, but it was harder than it looked.
‘Do you want me to help?’
She turned. César was strolling towards her, a key fob dangling from his fingers. She stared at him blankly.
He frowned. ‘I thought I’d drive—unless that’s a problem?’
Her heart thumped inside her chest. She shook her head. It wasn’t the thought of him driving that had caused her fingers to freeze around her phone. César was wearing pale green linen trousers and a cream shirt, rolled up to the elbows. He looked both cool and mouthwateringly sexy.
‘You’re not wearing a suit,’ she said unnecessarily.
He glanced down. ‘No, I thought maybe I wouldn’t today.’
She swallowed, her eyes snagging on the golden skin and corded muscles of his arms as he took a step towards her, his hand reaching for hers, his green gaze moving slowly from her eyes down to her toes.
‘You look beautiful.’
He pulled her towards him, twirling her expertly into the warm solidity of his body, curving his arm around her waist so that the soft green of his trousers seemed to melt into the leaves of her dress.
‘We match,’ he said softly.
His green eyes were intent on her face and she realised that they were both smiling. She felt that sudden tightening in her chest, except that it wasn’t exactly a feeling of tightness but more as though a balloon of happiness was swelling beneath her ribs, so that she could almost feel herself lifting up off the ground.
And why shouldn’t she feel happy? For such a long time it had felt as if she was just going through the mo
tions. It hadn’t even been grief—just a sense that life was passing her by while she was treading water and trying to stay afloat.
But now she had a job she loved in a country that was starting to feel like a second home. She was having a baby, and in César she had a beautiful, tireless lover. That was enough.
It was a short drive to the Montañez estate. As they walked into the garden, he turned and caught her eye and she nearly burst out laughing, because it was exactly how he’d described it—right down to the teenagers eyeballing one another and the hog roast cooking slowly in the afternoon sun.
As predicted, César did get cornered and cross-examined, but even though she couldn’t follow every word of the conversation it was clear that he was doted on by the abuelas.
Lunch was served in the shade of the house. The centrepiece of the meal was the pork, accompanied by chicharrones—bite-size pieces of crackling which tasted incredible with the citrusy mojo sauce—but there were also huge platters of avocado and pineapple salad, and of course congri, the famous rice and beans dish that was both delicious and comforting.
Leaning back against the extra cushion that her hostess, Julia, had insisted that she have, Kitty gazed down the table, her eyes drawn to where César had been dragged by the other men to smoke cigars.
It was the first time he had left her side all afternoon. When they’d arrived he’d led her between the clumps of guests, introducing her in both Spanish and English, acting as a translator when necessary, and all the time his arm had rested lightly against her back.
She knew, of course, that he was just being polite—attentive in the same way as when he’d gone and found her a non-alcoholic drink—but even so she had felt herself responding, wanting to draw closer, to lean into him.
Right now he was lounging in his chair, talking, his green eyes dark beneath the shaded canopy, surrounded by men smoking, and sipping ron. She watched as he said something and a burst of laughter floated towards her, momentarily drowning out the more sedate sound of the dominos clicking against the tabletop.
He held up his hand, tilting the rum so that the men watching him all tipped their heads to one side, and she found herself smiling. With his gaze fixed on the glass in his hand, and his arm resting casually against the back of the chair, he looked less like a CEO and more like his Roman namesake: Caesar addressing his senators.
Behind them on the lawn some of the children were playing chase, but two of them—a girl and a younger boy, brother and sister maybe—stood side by side eating coquitos, their eyes wide as the others zig-zagged past them.
Kitty watched as the boy held up his caramel-covered hand, frowning.
The girl shook her head. ‘Puaj! No me toques!’ Turning she tugged the jacket of the man nearest to César—Pablo’s nephew, Jorge. ‘Papi, Javi está todo pegajoso!’
Picking up a napkin, the man reached down—but his son was too quick and, laughing, grabbed César’s leg and hauled himself onto his lap, burying his face against his shirt.
Oh, no. Kitty held her breath. She could see the sticky smears even from where she was sitting. But, waving away Jorge’s apologies, César grinned, and then, gently grabbing the little boy’s hands, he held them out to be wiped clean.
Her chest was aching. He was so sweet. His patience, his gentleness, reminded her of Jimmy—and yet for the first time ever she couldn’t picture Jimmy in her head. His familiar features seemed to have faded, no longer sharp but blurred and growing fainter.
Around her, the noise of the party faded too, drowned out by the hammering of her heart. She stared at César, mesmerised. This was what he would be like with his own child. The thought made her whole body swell with happiness, so that she couldn’t hold in her smile. Only there was a lump in her throat too. For, even though she knew there was no point in thinking it, it was impossible not to imagine that if they were a real couple then together they would be a family—the kind of family that she’d dreamed about for so long.
As though feeling her gaze, César glanced up, his eyes seeking hers. It was the kind of private look that only couples shared—a mix of tenderness and understanding that made her feel dizzy. Except they weren’t a real couple. Just two people taking one step at a time...
She managed to keep smiling as César stood up and strolled over to where she sat, concern in his eyes. ‘Is everything okay? You look a little pale.’
She nodded, still smiling. ‘I’m always pale.’
He sat beside her, his green gaze resting on her face, and then, reaching out, he rested his hand lightly on her stomach. ‘If it’s a girl I want her to have your hair.’
Ignoring the way her pulse skipped forward, she cleared her throat. ‘And if it’s a boy I’ll let you clean him up when he’s been eating coquitos.’
Grinning, he leaned forward and plucked a beautiful white flower from the arrangement on the table. ‘Here.’ Gently he slotted it into her hair. ‘My mariposa.’
She felt her heart bump against her ribs. ‘I can’t be your mariposa. It’s the Cuban national flower and I’m a foreigner.’
His eyes collided with hers. ‘Actually, it’s a foreigner too. It comes from India. In the Revolution, Cuban women who helped the rebels used to wear them in their hair.’
‘Well, I’m helping you with your rums, so does that make you a rebel?’ she asked teasingly.
‘Not today.’ He grimaced. ‘Today I need Julia to report back to my mum that I was the perfect gentleman. Speaking of which—would you like to dance?’ He glanced down at his shirt. ‘Or am I too sticky?’
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. ‘You’re not sticky, you’re sweet,’ she said.
And, standing up, she let him lead her beneath the huge shaded gazebo to where couples were circling to salsa music. Curving his hand around her waist, he pulled her close.
‘Everyone’s looking at us,’ she whispered.
‘Not us.’ He gazed down at her, his green eyes dark and intent. ‘They know me far too well to find me in any way interesting. It’s you they’re looking at.’
She felt her pulse slow. If only she could freeze time, capture this moment. Heart pounding, she stared at him, wanting desperately to memorise every detail of his face.
‘Yes, because I’m with you,’ she said lightly. ‘Mr Big Shot from Havana.’
Havana—the word reverberated in the air between them. Since deciding to stay at the plantation neither of them had really talked about when they were going to go back. She knew he must be in contact with his office but, true to his word, he’d taken the promised step back from work and it hadn’t seemed to come up in conversation.
Only of course they couldn’t stay here for ever...
Judging by César’s expression, he was clearly thinking the same thing. His next remark confirmed her suspicion.
‘Talking of which, I suppose we should think about heading back fairly soon.’
He was staring right into her eyes and she tried to smile, to take his casual remark at face value even though she felt as though her heart had relocated to her throat.
‘Yes, I suppose we should,’ she agreed.
There was a short silence, as though he was waiting for her to say something more, or maybe to say something else himself, but then finally he nodded.
‘Do you want to go today?’ She braced herself for his reply.
He frowned. ‘No, there’s no rush. We can drive back tomorrow.’ He paused, his face stilling, and she sensed that he was working through something in his head. ‘Actually, I don’t think we’ll take the car. I don’t know if I told you, but I have a yacht—’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Of course you do.’
He grinned. ‘It might be fun to sail her down to Havana.’
‘Is this a good time for me to tell you that I’m really bad at tying knots?’
‘You are?’ His eyes
gleamed. ‘That’s a coincidence—so am I. Maybe we should spend tonight in the cabin, practising a few,’ he said softly.
* * *
Raising his hand to block out the glare of the sun, César gazed at the turquoise sea. It looked perfect.
He felt a thrill of anticipation—could almost taste the adrenaline. It had been months since he’d had a chance to get out on the water, and it felt great to feel the spray on his face. He felt lighter, as though the chains of his youthful stupidity were no longer restraining him. And they weren’t—thanks to Kitty. She had freed him, forced him to let go of the pain and the guilt, and now he felt at peace with his past.
And yet something still felt off-key and unfinished.
He looked across the deck to the waves beyond. Usually being on the yacht transcended his mood, but of course usually he sailed alone. His jaw tightened. Maybe inviting her on to the boat had been a bad idea.
For him, sailing was both a release and a challenge. He loved pitting himself against the strength of the sea and the pull of the wind, and he liked that version of himself.
He pictured Kitty’s naked body in the cabin below. Then again...
‘You look like a pirate.’
He turned. Kitty was standing behind him, wearing nothing but a bikini and one of his shirts. A couple of weeks of careful exposure to the sun had turned her skin the palest gold, and her breasts had rounded out a little. He felt his body stir.
Grabbing hold of the shirt, he tugged her towards him, a pulse of heat tiptoeing across his skin. ‘And you look like some incredibly sexy Girl Friday.’
She screwed up her mouth. ‘If that’s some misguided attempt to get me to scrub the decks, you can forget it. My talents lie elsewhere.’
He grinned. ‘Yes, they do.’
‘I was talking about making rum.’
‘So was I,’ he lied. Lifting his hand, he stroked her face. ‘Did you get some sleep?’
Consequences of a Hot Havana Night Page 14