Cristina stared at him in silence.
She had hesitated before coming over. He’d been so patronising and rude to her. But then she had spilled his drink over him, so maybe that made them equal. It was a pretty lame argument, but before her brain had had a chance to object she had already been walking across the square.
‘I didn’t plan on throwing your drink over you—as you yourself pointed out. Now, do you want my help or not?’
Luis stared at her for a long moment. Her voice was husky—distractingly so. Was this some kind of trick? Or a joke.
‘You want to help me?’ he said slowly. ‘I’m—’
/> ‘Touched?’ she suggested. ‘Grateful? Pleased?’
‘Actually, I was going to say surprised. And a little nervous maybe.’ He glanced over at her shoes.
Her mouth twitched. ‘Well, I probably would have broken my leg or my neck if you hadn’t caught me, so I guess it’s only fair.’
‘It’s more than fair. It’s magnanimous, given that I not only walked into you but then failed to apologise for doing so.’ His grey eyes were level with hers. ‘I’m sorry. I was the one who wasn’t looking where I was going.’
As his gaze held hers Cristina felt her heart thud against her ribs. Even though it had been a little awkward, she liked that he had picked up where they had left off. Liked that he was honest enough to admit that he’d been wrong.
And, although he might not say much, she liked that he meant what he said.
‘Don’t you need to get home?’
Home. The word made her breathe in sharply. She shrugged.
‘Right now, I don’t really have one. I’m just travelling.’
Feeling suddenly horribly self-conscious, she glanced down at the Ducati.
‘I don’t know this model, but I’m almost sure you don’t need a toolkit to fix it.’
Watching his mouth turn up at one corner, she felt a rush of heat tighten her skin. It was impossible not to imagine what he would look like if he smiled properly, or what it would be like to be kissed by that mouth.
Feeling his gaze on her face, and terrified that her thoughts might somehow be visible, she frowned. ‘Did I say something funny?’
‘No, I’m just tweaking my mental picture of you. I had you down as a party girl, not a back-warmer.’
She took a step towards him, her eyes narrowing. ‘Is that right? Then maybe what you need isn’t a toolkit but a little imagination. Or perhaps a little less prejudice. Women ride motorbikes on their own these days, and guess what? They don’t even do it side saddle.’
Meeting her gaze, Luis felt something soft and dark stir inside in his blood as she took another step closer and touched the fuel tank between his legs.
He sighed. ‘You’re enjoying this.’
She nodded. ‘A little. You were pretty mean to me.’
Watching her fingers stroke the warm gleaming metal, he felt his stomach tense.
‘Is this some kind of hands-on healing?’
Her fingers stilled and she cleared her throat. ‘Your bike is really clean. In comparison to your boots, I mean.’
They both looked down at his scuffed and dust-covered boots.
Despite himself, he was interested now. ‘Okay, Nancy Drew, I got my bike washed this evening. And, no, it’s not something I do very often but I have done it historically and I’ve never had a problem. And besides, it worked fine when I rode over here tonight.’
‘Was it washed by hand?’
He frowned. ‘No—pressure-wash.’