So not his type at all—and yet he had followed her.
Still not entirely sure why he had done that, but somehow reluctant to leave, Luis shrugged off his jacket and pushed his way to the front of the bar.
‘Una sin.’
At least that was something that had changed for the better in the five years since he’d been away. Alcohol-free beer was widely available now, and an acceptable substitute for the real thing.
Not that it would have made any difference if it hadn’t been. He would drink dishwater rather than break his vow. Never again would he risk that loss of control that had ripped his world apart.
Staring straight ahead, he lifted the glass to his lips. He had deliberately chosen to sit with his back to the red-haired woman, and she should have been out of sight and out of mind. But, despite not actually being able to see her, he could still sense her every move. Could picture her hand reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear, almost hear that soft, sexy laugh that hinted not just at fun and flirtation but at a fantasy come true.
Annoyed with the direction of his thoughts, but unable to stop himself, he looked up at the mirror above the bar, his eyes fixing on her reflection. Instantly he regretted his lack of self-control, for she was laughing at something one of the men was saying, her hand brushing against his arm as she leaned in closer to him.
Luis scowled. No doubt he was her boyfriend—for now. The rest were just watching and waiting. Or maybe she was watching and waiting to see which of the men in the room were prepared to make a move.
His eyes narrowed and he felt a swirling anger mingle with his desire as he realised that he himself was included in that demographic.
Why, then, did he find her so damn desirable?
It didn’t make any sense that someone like him would be attracted to someone like her—especially not now. Tonight of all nights he needed to stay detached. Yet, like a bull mesmerised by that flash of red, he could feel himself being drawn to her.
He ran his hand wearily over his face. It must be tiredness…or the heat.
Right, he mocked himself. Or maybe, like every other man within a five-mile radius, he wanted what she was offering.
Glancing over his shoulder at the group of men, he felt his chest tighten. Even from here he could feel their longing, spilling into the dark club.
Like it or not, he was no different.
His heartbeat slowed. Except that he was.
Sure, he’d had girlfriends. No one special, though. And nor was there likely to be any time soon, for more than anything he needed to be certain—and certainty was not a part of the dating equation. Chasing women was definitely not his thing either. It was Bas who had loved the thrill of the chase.
His hand tightened involuntarily around the glass.
The thrill of the chase—even just thinking the words made him feel slightly sick and, tilting his glass, he gazed down at the swirling contents and tried to distract himself from the guilt and remorse building inside his chest.
It didn’t work. And suddenly he knew that it was time to leave. That his little adventure was over.
Keeping his eyes low, he breathed out softly, then still clutching his glass, he turned and—
The glass slammed against his chest, beer slopping down his T-shirt.
He heard a soft cry of surprise, and then the reflexes honed by years of riding motorbikes kicked in. Reaching out, he grabbed the arm flailing in front of him just as his startled brain realised that it was her—the red-haired woman.
*
Cristina Shephard gasped.
One moment she’d been taking a selfie on her phone—the next she was falling forward. Her one conscious thought was, I knew I shouldn’t have worn these heels, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, she was being pulled upright, strong hands curving around her wrist and waist.
She breathed out in a rush as those same hands spun her round. ‘Sorry…’
Why was she apologising? she thought dazedly, almost forgetting to breathe. He’d walked into her. But she knew why, and as her fingers curled into warm, hard muscle she gazed up at the man in front of her.
All evening she’d been aware of him. How could she not be? He dominated the whole club—and not just because he was handsome in a way that made you look twice…actually, three times. First to check you weren’t seeing things. Then to marvel at such blatant perfection. And finally just to savour his extraordinary masculine beauty.
He was just so cool. With or without the leather jacket, he had an aura of calm assurance that suggested he was bigger than the sum of his problems. Or hers.