She stared at him blankly. What was she supposed to say? The truth? That she don’t want to become her mother. Or be with a man like her father. That she didn’t want to get hurt and that although having sex with him would be incredible it would also ruin her life—the life she’d only just got back.
Her throat felt tight with panic.
No, she couldn’t tell him the truth, for that would mean revealing more about herself than she had ever shared with anyone.
‘Because I don’t want it. I don’t want you.’
An ache was building in her chest. She wanted to change her mind. To rewind back to the moment before she saw that photo and to close her eyes. But it was too late.
‘But I thought—’ he began.
‘Then you thought wrong,’ she said curtly, wincing inside as she spoke. ‘I don’t want you here and I’d like you to leave. Please.’
She watched his face twist, harden.
‘You don’t want me?’
He said it slowly, as if he didn’t believe her, and judging by the look on his face he didn’t. For that she could hardly blame him. She didn’t believe herself either.
‘So this…’ He gestured towards his unbuckled belt. ‘This was you not wanting me?’
She cleared her throat. ‘You misunderstand me.’
Her voice sounded too clear, and too high, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to get the words out so that he would leave before she fell to pieces.
‘I do want you—but only because you’re here.’
He took a deep breath. ‘Is that right?’
Words failed her and she nodded. Suddenly she was hanging on by a thread. ‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
But her apology went unheard. Before she had even finished speaking he had turned and stalked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.
She collapsed onto the bed.
Some men would have lost their temper. One or two might even have ignored her protests and carried on. Most of them would have slammed the door.
But not Luis.
Her eyes were burning. People said that the truth hurt. And it did. Only nobody ever said that lying hurt more. Worse, she clearly had a natural propensity for deceit, so that after years of believing she was her mother’s child it turned out that she was actually more like her father.
Overwhelmed with confusion, and misery, she fell back against the pillow, and began to cry softly.
CHAPTER SIX
STRIDING INTO HIS BEDROOM, Luis resisted the urge to slam the door and instead began pacing frenetically across the floor. He felt as if he’d been hit by a truck. He could see his body and yet it seemed unconnected to his brain. Or rather the mass of tumbling, incoherent blink-and-you’d-miss-them thoughts that appeared to be all that remained of his brain.
What the hell had he been thinking?
Glancing down at the hard outline of his erection pressing against his trousers, he gritted his teeth. Not much, apparently. Or at least nothing that had anything to do with logic or common sense. His entire being had been focused on the need to take Cristina in his arms.
And not just for some hot, feverish kisses either.
The truth was that he had wanted her in the most basic, primitive way. Needed her in the same way that a starving dog needed a bone.
He started pacing again, his footsteps matching the thumping of his heart. It had been just like that night in Segovia—only this time the storm had been beneath his skin, a whirlwind of heat and desire, spinning out of control, whipping his senses until he’d had no choice but to reach out to her.
His chest was burning and he realised that he’d been holding his breath, his rapt body caught up in how it had felt to touch Cristina again, to lose himself in the sweetness of her kiss.