He might have been—would have been—suspicious of her motives had she only bothered to sweet-talk Sofia and Agusto, but he’d watched her with Pilar and with Gregorio, the estate’s elderly and quite deaf groundsman, and she behaved with exactly the same easy empathy.
Behind him a wave splashed loudly against the rocks and, aware suddenly of his own stillness and silence, he cleared his throat. ‘I decided to come back early…’
He hesitated. Having started to speak he now realised that not only did he not have a reason for coming back ahead of schedule—or at least not one he was prepared to share with Cristina—he also hadn’t considered the possible interpretations of his change of heart.
‘I was planning on meeting with some potential investors tomorrow, only my team are still working on the pitchbook so—’
He broke off as Cristina looked up at him blankly. ‘What’s a pitchbook?’
‘A pitchbook is a presentation we give to investors. It outlines the firm’s strategy, its principles, performance and terms of investment.’
‘Oh, I see.’
Watching her nod slowly, he gritted his teeth. For some reason he wished that they hadn’t started talking about work. Maybe it was because he was wearing swimming shorts, not his suit, or perhaps it was just that—weirdly—it didn’t seem that important right now. Either way, he knew that he wanted to make it clear to her that his life wasn’t all meetings and memos.
His eyes met hers. ‘And, of course, I wanted a swim.’
‘You did?’ Her chin jerked up, brown eyes widening with surprise.
‘Is that such a shock?’
He held her gaze, and it was as if a pulse beat in the air between them.
Cristina blinked. ‘Well, yes…kind of. I mean, I haven’t seen you out of a suit since I arrived. I just thought maybe you didn’t do beaches or swimming or getting wet.’
She glanced furtively at the line of fine dark hair disappearing into his shorts, trying not to remember what lay beneath.
‘I got pretty wet in Segovia,’ he said quietly. ‘Or have you forgotten?’
No, she hadn’t forgotten. Remembering how he’d stripped off his sodden T-shirt in her bedroom, she felt her pulse began to beat out of time.
Shaking her head, she waited for her heart to slow before she replied. ‘Not at all.’
A warm breeze was catching the ends of her hair and grateful for the chance to distract herself—and him—from the conversation, she ducked her head.
Grabbing the wayward curls, she said, as casually as she could manage, ‘I’m sorry for interrupting your swim. I just needed a run, and… Anyway, I’ll get out of your way—’
For a moment she thought he was simply going to nod and walk back to the pool, but instead he stared at her in silence, his grey eyes fixed on her face.
‘Why did you need a run?’ he said finally.
Her throat tightened.
Good question.
Unfortunately the answer was not so straightforward.
Her mouth felt dry and, stalling for time, she shrugged. ‘I don’t know… It’s so beautiful here, and I like running.’
Luis stared at her. His question had been innocuous enough, and yet she looked not just startled but dismayed.
‘It is very beautiful,’ he said slowly. ‘And I’m glad you like running. But that doesn’t answer my question. Why did you need to run?’
Cristina felt a familiar panic rising inside her. Her ribs seemed to be closing, so that it hurt to breathe. How was she supposed to answer him? One thing was certain: it wouldn’t be with the truth. She could just picture his face changing, pity overshadowing his curiosity as quickly as a cloud blotting out the moon.
And yet his voice was gentle. ‘I run too. Back in California. I have a house by the beach, and when I can’t sleep I go for a run there.’
The painful sensation beneath her ribs was fading.
‘I run to escape.’
The words were out of her mouth before she’d even realised she’d spoken, and she felt a rush of fear. But, looking up at him, she saw that there was no pity in his eyes, no contempt curling his mouth.
‘It doesn’t have to be running. I just need to be moving. Otherwise I get these thoughts and I can’t do anything.’
‘What thoughts?’
‘That I’m stupid. That I fail at everything.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘That even though I run I’m always the runner-up.’
Luis felt his heart twist. Even without the sight of her hands clenching he could hear the strain in her voice, and he wanted more than anything to take away her pain. But he didn’t know what to say. Bas had always been the one who knew the right words.
‘You’re not a runner-up,’ he said gently. ‘You got this job on merit. Justifiably. Because you’re extraordinarily talented. You need to believe in yourself.’
Her mouth slanted upwards, but her smile was taut and unhappy. ‘That’s easy for you to say.’
Pressing the toe of her trainer into the unforgiving limestone, Cristina felt her body stiffen as he took a step towards her.
‘No, it isn’t.’
Something in his voice made her look up.
‘Every day I miss my brother so much.’ He glanced past her, his face clouded with emotion. ‘That’s why I come here. It was our place. It’s where I feel closest to him,’ he said simply. ‘We used to sneak out at night. Even when he was really young Bas was a rule-breaker. He loved taking risks.’
Suddenly it hurt to look at his eyes, and she thought her cheeks might crack with the effort of keeping her expression even. ‘And you don’t?’
His gaze switched to her face. ‘No. I tried…’ He gave her a small, tight smile. ‘After Bas died I thought that if I acted like him then maybe I could somehow keep him alive. So I started to take risks. I surfed the biggest waves I could find. I jumped out of planes—’
He made it sound ordinary, but she could feel the pain beneath his words.
‘What happened?’
He shrugged. ‘I had to stop. My parents…’ His mouth thinned. ‘They had enough to deal with as it was, and it was upsetting them.’
Around them, the air was heavy and silent. Even the waves seemed to have stilled.
‘But you still ride motorbikes?’
He shook his head. ‘That was a one-off. I was keeping a promise to my brother to take the road trip we always said we’d do.’
She nodded, but there was a choking feeling in her throat and she felt suddenly sick with herself.
Luis hadn’t been playing at being a biker in Segovia. He’d been grieving for his brother.
Without thinking she reached out and took his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Luis. About your brother. And about all those things I said—’
He shook his head. ‘I deserved them. I was being self-righteous and unfair.’
His fingers tightened around hers, and she felt her stomach squeeze. ‘And I was stubborn and short-tempered,’ she said.
‘Sounds like we’re made for each other,’ he said softly, and she felt her heart clench as he leaned forward and kissed her.
Luis could hardly breathe. He hadn’t intended to kiss her, but feeling her mouth soften against his made it impossible to still the longing in his blood. Deepening the kiss, he curled his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, his fingers threading through her hair. She tasted so sweet, and he wanted her so badly, and yet—
From somewhere deep inside he felt a ripple of panic rise to the surface, and slowly, dazedly, he kicked back against the relentless tide of his longing.
Gently, he broke the kiss and took a step backwards. ‘I can’t do this. I’m sorry.’
Her eyes widened and he swore silently, for the expression of shock and hurt on her face tore him up inside. But there was nothing he could do.
Cristina made him lose control, and he couldn’t afford to lose control. She had the power to turn his life upside down and that wasn’t something he could allow to happen—particularly no
w.
‘Please forgive me…’
Her mouth quivered, and he knew that if she spoke, or touched him, he would change his mind. He’d surrender to the desire beating in his blood whatever the consequences.
But she didn’t say anything. Instead she backed away from him and then, turning, she ran lightly across the rocks.
He watched her head towards the pine trees, waiting until she’d disappeared before he breathed out.
It was the only choice, he told himself firmly. And the right choice. So why, then, he wondered as he started to walk slowly back towards the forest, did it feel as if he was making a mistake? And why did it hurt so damn much?
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘TO SOFIA, MY beautiful wife, mi corazón.’ Lifting his glass of champagne, Agusto gazed at his wife, his dark grey eyes tender. ‘Feliz cumpleaños.’
Across the table, Cristina raised her glass and echoed his words.
‘Happy Birthday, Mamá,’ Luis said softly. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’
Sofia nodded, her eyes dropping to the beautiful sapphire necklace that had been her husband’s birthday present to her. ‘How could I not be, cariño?’
She ran her fingers lightly over the gleaming blue stones.
‘This is one of my most favourite places in the world, and I’ve had the most wonderful day of being spoiled with all these beautiful gifts. But having you back, Lucho, is the best present of all. I’m so glad you could be here.’
Cristina felt her heart bump against her ribs. It was the first time she’d seen Luis properly since their encounter by the tidal pool the night before, so that was no doubt one reason why her nerves were humming. But it was also the first time she had heard Sofia call her son by that particular name, and the shock made swallowing the mouthful of champagne difficult.
For so long it had been easier to imagine that Lucho didn’t exist except in her memory, but now her cheeks tingled as she realised that he was real. Real and sitting next to her.
Luis smiled. ‘It’s lovely to be here.’
Watching his face soften, Cristina held her breath. His smile was spectacular, but it was lucky that he didn’t smile often, she thought. It was hard enough trying to keep control of herself under normal circumstances, but when he smiled—
She shivered, remembering the kiss they’d shared at the pool last night, and how simply and carelessly she had responded to the hard press of his body. How it had been Luis who had pulled away.
Her pulse quickened. Stumbling back over the rocks and through the pine trees, her self-control in shreds, she had tried telling herself that she’d had a lucky escape. That he shouldn’t matter more to her than any man ever had or should.
Her fingers tightened around her glass.
In other words, too much.
He might have ended the kiss, but she had seen his face—seen that he was torn, barely controlling himself. He wanted her as badly as she wanted him, and suddenly, with an intensity that hurt, she wished that she could turn back time. Go back to that shabby little hotel room in Segovia when it had been just him and her and a bed, and no past or doubt or confusion.
Her heart gave a jump. Except that she still wouldn’t trust herself not to try and make that chemistry between them into something more.
Her breathing stilled and, suddenly aware that the swell of conversation around her had stopped, she looked up and found three pairs of eyes watching her.
She blinked. ‘Sorry—I was miles away.’
‘It must have somewhere you were very happy.’ Sofia smiled at her.
Glancing over at Luis, she found him watching her meditatively his dark gaze reaching inside of her. ‘It was.’ Meeting Sofia’s gaze, she smiled. ‘But I’m very happy to be here too.’
How could she not be?
La Almazara was not just a restaurant, it was a gastronomic legend. Despite its rural location on a tiny Balearic island, the converted olive mill attracted visitors from all over the world—she’d read somewhere that every year several hundred thousand people tried to reserve a table there but only a lucky few managed to get one.
Glancing down at her starter of bean soup and jamón jabugo, Cristina felt her pulse accelerate. It wasn’t the exclusivity of the restaurant, or even the incredible food that made her feel like one of the lucky ones. It was the fact that Sofia, and Agusto had included her in their private family celebrations.
Her shoulders stiffened as she remembered back to the birthdays and Christmases after her father had left. Her mother had tried—they both had—but it had been such a struggle.
As an assistant housekeeper at one of the embassies in London, her mother worked long hours for a salary that had to support both of them and never quite did. On the plus side, her job was live-in, but the rooms had never felt like a home, and it had been difficult for either of them to relax there. And the nature of her mother’s job meant that any private celebration always seemed secondary to the needs of the family in residence.
Oh, how she’d envied them—those people with their birthday cakes, their turkey and their tinsel, their board games. It had made her feel like the little match girl in that story, shivering outside in the cold, her nose pressed against the glass. And being a paparazza had only exacerbated her sense of being uninvited and unwelcome.
Only now here she was. A guest of the family.
She hadn’t expected to be asked, and had initially declined. But Sofia had refused to accept her answer, and Agusto had backed her up, and in the end she’d capitulated.
Of course that hadn’t stopped her worrying about what Luis would think when he found out. But ever since breakfast, when Sofia had invited her, she’d had other, more pressing concerns. Such as what the hell was she going to wear?
Glancing down at the green silk dress that skimmed her body and left her shoulders bare, she suddenly wanted to smile and keep on smiling. It hadn’t taken long to answer that question. This trip was a work assignment, so she’d brought work clothes. Smartish trousers, shirts, a couple of skirts, some T-shirts, and—yes—one dress. Only it was navy, knee-length, and she’d only packed it because it didn’t need ironing.
It certainly wasn’t something she would have chosen to wear to an elegant restaurant like La Almazara, where presidents and painters mingled with Hollywood A-listers. She’d actually noticed an action movie star and his latest girlfriend on the way in.
It all felt slightly surreal—but not as surreal as returning to her room and finding this dress and a pair of beautiful gold ombré heels in her wardrobe, with a note from Sofia entreating her to wear them.
It was such a sweet gesture—and so generous. Even from just looking at the label inside the dress, and the red soles on the shoes, she had known that this outfit had cost more than her mother’s monthly pay packet. And, although she had already thanked Sofia and Agusto, she wanted to make sure that they understood how grateful she was.
‘It really was very good of you to invite me,’ she said quickly. ‘And so kind to give me this dress and the shoes. It was such a lovely idea.’
‘Querida!’ Leaning forward, Sofia smiled. ‘You really don’t need to keep thanking me. But, actually, it wasn’t my idea.’ Turning to her son, her face softened. ‘It was Luis who suggested it this morning, when we were talking about the meal.’
Cristina froze, the other woman’s words sending shock waves down her spine.
‘Luis…?’ She swallowed. ‘But I thought—’
Sofia shook her head apologetically. ‘I know you did, and I wanted to tell you the truth only Luis asked me not to—’
She broke off as a waiter approached the table with another bottle of champagne and spoke softly into her ear.
Turning towards her husband, she said, ‘Cariño, apparently Felipe and Isabella Alba are here tonight, and they have ordered this beautiful bottle of champagne for us.’ She smiled at Cristina. ‘Would you excuse us for a moment? We should go and thank them.’
Cristina nodded, and
then, as they made their way across the restaurant to an elderly couple, she turned towards Luis and said quietly, ‘Why did you do that?’
His grey gaze rested on her face. ‘This place has got a reputation for being swanky, and obviously you didn’t know you were coming here…’ He hesitated. ‘I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.’
His voice was gentle, but that wasn’t why her skin grew warm. It was his words. There was nothing dramatic or striking about them. But they didn’t need to be because they were true, and that was the most important thing. She had mattered to him, and he had cared about her enough to actually do something.
She steadied her breathing. ‘Thank you for doing that for me. It was really thoughtful.’
He met her eyes and she felt her skin start to prickle. His smile might be spectacular, but that gaze… It seemed to pierce her skin, hold her still so that she couldn’t move, couldn’t look away, couldn’t even breathe properly. No one had ever looked at her like that, with such intensity of focus, and her body tensed with fear and fascination.
‘My pleasure.’
Caught off guard by her unaffected expression of gratitude, Luis felt his pulse skip a beat with guilt. It was true that he had been worried about her feeling uncomfortable, but that wasn’t the only reason he’d talked to his mother. In so many ways Cristina reminded him of his brother. Like Bas, she was an odd mix of confident and vulnerable, and she was also stubborn and proud like him too. It had been all too easy to imagine her deciding that none of her clothes were suitable for going out in public with his parents and simply excusing herself.
And he’d wanted her to be there.
His jaw tightened. After he’d pushed her away last night he’d found it impossible to sleep. He’d just kept picturing the expression on her face—the hurt and confusion—and the way he’d let her leave. All night he’d been on the verge of going to her room so that he could explain. But of course that would have meant telling her why his brother was dead, so instead he had spoken to his mother.
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