‘I don’t even know your name.’ He sounded surprised.
‘It’s Cristina.’
He nodded. ‘Lucho.’
There was a low rumble of thunder overhead, and as they both looked up at the sky she took a deep breath. ‘You should go or you’ll get soaked.’
He nodded and dropped her hand, and quickly, before she could change her mind, she turned and began to walk away as the rain started to fall.
At first it was soft and light like tears but then almost immediately it changed. Heavy, fat droplets hammered her head and shoulders so that in seconds she was soaked and the pavement was awash with water.
Don’t look back, she told herself. This wasn’t meant to be. Just keep walking.
But she couldn’t just walk away. And, really, what difference would it make if she took one last look?
She turned, and suddenly her heart was hammering louder than the rain.
He was still sitting ther
e, watching her, rain running down his face.
Cristina shivered.
He was waiting.
For her.
For a moment she hesitated.
Don’t—don’t go back. It’s just because you’re nervous about tomorrow, and when you get nervous you make stupid decisions.
Her heart kicked against her ribs, and then she walking, running back across the square, and what she was feeling wasn’t nervousness but relief. And then he was pulling her against him, his mouth seeking hers, his hands sliding beneath the soaking fabric of her top.
They left the bike where it was, and ran to her hotel. Ignoring the startled glance of the receptionist, they stumbled up the stairs and into her bedroom.
He kicked the door shut and, bending his head, he took her mouth again. Rising on tiptoe, she kissed him back, her fingers tugging at his T-shirt, her mouth meeting his with urgent, frantic hunger.
‘No—’ Her eyes darkened with frustration as he broke away from her mouth and yanked his T-shirt over his head.
He was so gorgeous—all sleek, hard muscle and smooth skin, and a line of soft dark hair disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
Reaching out, she ran her fingers lightly over the hair, watching his muscles tremble, and then she breathed in sharply as he took hold of the zip on the front of her jacket and slowly pulled it down.
Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against hers, the dark grey of his eyes almost black. For an endless moment he stared at her, his breathing ragged, and then, lowering his mouth, he began to kiss her again—lips, neck, throat—each kiss leading on to the next one and the next.
As he buried his face against her neck she moaned softly, sliding her fingers up through his hair. Her head was spinning…heat was slipping over her skin as his hands slid under her top, under the bandeau she was wearing underneath and over her damp breasts, his thumbs caressing the hard peaks of her nipples.
For the second time that night her legs crumpled beneath her, and her fingers tightened in his hair.
She heard a hiss as he breathed in sharply, and then he was tugging down her shorts, lifting her up, his hands curving beneath her as he pinned her against the door with his body. She shifted against him, panting, seeking relief for the ache building inside her, until suddenly she couldn’t bear it any longer and her fingers clawed at his belt and zip, pushing his jeans down.
‘Wait…’ he muttered, and she felt her breath catch as he fumbled in his pocket and slid a condom on.
For a moment he held her gaze, and then, groaning, he forced her mouth back to his. Pushing aside the fabric of her panties, he thrust inside her. She arched against him, her nails biting into his arms, and then her muscles clenched and she cried out with pleasure as his body shuddered and slammed into her.
CHAPTER TWO
EVEN BEFORE SHE opened her eyes Cristina knew that Lucho was gone.