Shifting down beneath the duvet, she gazed up at the ceiling. From the sharpness of the light creeping beneath the curtains, and the buzz of traffic in the street, she guessed that it was probably time to get up.
And she would get up—only not just yet. For getting up would mean having to accept that what had happened last night was over, and she wasn’t quite ready to do that.
Closing her eyes, she rolled on to her side.
Her body felt pleasurably blurred at the edges, and her lips were still tingling. Lifting a hand to her mouth, she touched it lightly, feeling her lips curve into a smile as she remembered everything.
A wild, breathless happiness was swirling inside her. She could hardly believe that any of it was real. Meeting him in the club, spilling his drink, following him outside and his bike refusing to start—
Groaning, her cheeks suddenly burning, she buried her face in the pillow, remembering how she’d pulled that can from her handbag…
Her pulse stumbled.
And then the storm had started. Thunder—and rain like a monsoon.
He’d been soaked to the skin.
But he had waited for her.
The heat on her cheeks spread as another memory came to her. Of her body anchored to his…and of his dark, steady gaze watching her until the moment he’d buried his beautiful face in her neck and shuddered deep inside her.
She shivered, remembering, her thighs pressing together, pressing against the warmth and the tenderness there.
That had been the first time…
Later, after she’d lost count of the number of times and ways they’d made love, he’d pulled her against him, his eyes still dark, but soft with sleep, and kissed her gently.
She bit her lip. His intensity, his stamina, his skill hadn’t surprised her. But that kiss had. Or maybe her response to it was what was so surprising.
She’d never felt like that with any man before. She had wanted him so badly. Her need for him had been fierce and absolute and unstoppable—like a river breaking its banks. And he had needed her too. She had never felt so wanted, so desired.
Opening her eyes, she bit her lip. Or so certain.
Normally, even the thought of intimacy with a man triggered a loop of self-doubt and distrust inside her head, so that she was already questioning her behaviour and possible responses before anything had even happened.
Her mouth twisted. And for good reason.
She’d only had a handful of relationships, but they’d all ended the same way—with whatever boyfriend it had been telling her that she was too difficult, too demanding. In other words nothing like the carefree young woman they had fallen for.
After what had happened with Dominic she’d given up. It was easier that way. Easier and less exhausting than caring about someone only to be inevitably let down.
And she’d stuck to her pledge.
Until last night.
But she didn’t regret it. Lucho had been a great lover. He had made her feel desirable and sexy. Okay, he hadn’t said much, but she was glad about that for last night she hadn’t wanted to talk.
And if they had talked she would have been busy now picking over his words.
Rolling over, she pulled one of the pillows towards her and hugged it against her stomach, the faint lingering scent of his cologne making her think of night and heat and rain about to fall.
Lucho hadn’t needed to talk. To big himself up. Why would he?
He was gorgeous. All lustrous golden skin and lean muscle, and those dark eyes that had seemed to swallow her whole.
And she liked the fact that he had been happy to communicate through touch, his fingers writing poems on her body, his warm breath against her throat a wordless promise of infinite pleasure. His silence had nothing to do with laziness or shyness, but contentment. He was one of those rare people who was happy living in the moment, without expectations or regrets and with nothing to prove.
Unlike her.