A memory of the excitement and the intensity of those races popped into his head and suddenly he was pushing his chair back and walking round the table to where the stone parapet edged the balcony.
Leaning forward, he gazed intently at the little boats. ‘Yes, they are. It happens most weekends here in the summer. A bunch of local kids take their boats and race round the island. It’s what me and my brother used to do when we were old enough to sail on our own. When were little we used to make bets on which boat would win.’
Cristina edged forward, drawn in by this sudden shift in conversation, and by the unexpected softness in his voice.
‘How did you choose?’
She tensed as he turned towards her, fearing that she’d somehow spoilt the moment and that her casual question would be enough to make him retreat back into his anger and contempt.
But after a couple of seconds he shrugged. ‘Bas just picked his favourite colours. So basically red or yellow sails, or best of all a combination of both.’
Taking a sip of her drink, she frowned. ‘Why red and yellow?’
‘They’re our family colours.’
Remembering the crest on the side of the limousine, she gave a nod of understanding.
‘Right—so what about you? I suppose you did some incredibly complicated mathematical equation to work out the odds?’
She stared at him curiously, but she wasn’t really expecting him to reply. Judging by the way he was managing the conversation, the chances of him answering a direct question with a straight answer were remote to non-existent. Just like her father, he knew the risk of sharing too much personal information. It was safer by far to guide the conversation into more neutral territory, or better still talk about other people.
He held her gaze. ‘Actually, I used to choose the shabbiest-looking boat.’
‘You did?’
He nodded. ‘I’ve always had a soft spot for the underdog.’
Her pulse twitched, and she felt a flush of colour warm her cheeks. Unsettled by the effect his words were having on her, she stared past him at the boats.
‘So prove it.’ The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. ‘Pick a boat.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Fine. The boat with the white sails is mine. You can have all the rest.’ Taking a step forward, he held out his hand. ‘Deal?’
It was more than a wager. It was a dare.
She shook his hand, almost forgetting to breathe as his warm fingers curled around hers. ‘Deal.’
He tightened his grip. ‘So, will you stop jumping to conclusions about me if I win?’
She lifted her chin. ‘Only if you do the same with me. But let’s just see what happens.’
To Cristina’s amazement, Luis won.
‘How did you know that would happen?’
Luis shrugged. ‘Simple. Whoever’s crewing that boat doesn’t care about showy sails, just about sailing.’
‘That’s it?’ She stared at him in disbelief.
Watching her eyes widen and soften, he felt a sudden rush of longing like a punch to the chest.
‘Well, that and the way they were hugging the coast. It meant they didn’t have to fight the winds when they got past the headland.’
His smile curved up, and Cristina breathed in sharply as it hooked her somewhere low in her stomach.
Unsmiling, Luis was stupidly handsome. But when he smiled his beauty was like the sun itself—impossible to ignore, mesmerising, dazzling. It made her forget his lies and his accusations.
She was still thinking about that smile when she excused herself to check her phone. After Laura’s call she had been too scared to answer it, choosing instead to leave it on silent. But she’d checked her phone at various intervals in the day, and each time there had been several missed calls and messages from Laura.