Consequences of a Hot Havana Night Page 4

  Groaning, he raised his hips, shrugging himself free of his trousers, and then he leaned backwards, taking her with him.

  His pupils flared and for a second she rode him lightly, teasing the hard, straining length of him, revelling in her power to arouse him. And then, gripping his shoulders for balance, she parted her legs and guided him inside her.

  He breathed in sharply. His jaw was taut with concentration, the muscles in his arms and chest bunching as she began to rock back and forth, her breath quickening in her throat as his fingers moved between her thighs, working in time to the fervent, pulsing ache there.

  His eyes locked on hers—dark, rapt, blazing. ‘Mírame! Look at me,’ he said, his voice hoarse.

  She was fighting for control. Heat was gathering inside her and she clutched frantically at his arms, pulling him closer and then pushing him away, needing to let go but wanting to make it last for ever.

  Her muscles clenched, her breathless body gripping his. She felt his hands catch in her hair and suddenly she couldn’t bear it any longer. Arching against him, she tensed against the heat and the hardness, shuddering helplessly. He groaned, pushing against her, seeking more depth, and then, gasping into her mouth, he thrust upwards.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SLOWLY CÉSAR BREATHED OUT, his eyes blinking open. For a moment he didn’t know where he was—and then he remembered. He must have fallen asleep for a moment, lulled by the languid warmth of her body and the sudden heaviness of his own limbs.

  Fixing his eyes on the ceiling, he frowned. It had been a long time since he had held a woman close like this, more than a decade, at least. But then today had been exceptional for any number of reasons.

  His chest tightened as he felt the most exceptional of those reasons shift beside him.

  Glancing down at her naked body curled around his, he felt his pulse accelerate. He’d just done the one thing he’d sworn never to do again—he’d let his libido dictate his actions.

  He grimaced. As if he needed any reminding about the consequences of that youthful, humiliating indiscretion. They were branded in his conscience and he could still feel his parents’ shock and disappointment across the years. After he’d made such a fool of himself with Celia he’d sworn never to let a woman get under his skin. And he’d kept his promise.

  Until today.

  Until...

  He gritted his teeth. Maldita sea! Thanks to his sudden and completely uncharacteristic loss of self-control he didn’t even know her name, but the strength and speed of his desire had caught him unawares. He should have fobbed her off on the road. Better still, he should have called Andreas, his head of security, and let him deal with her. It was his job, after all. But instead he’d let himself be distracted by a curving pink mouth.

  He could have called a halt when she’d leaned forward and kissed him with that same perfect, pink mouth, but as her lips had melted against his, his brain, his body, his self-control had gone into meltdown. His past, his promises had been forgotten. Nothing had mattered but her. His whole being had been fixed on the need to touch and taste every inch of her, and even now his still-hungry body was clamouring for more.

  But perfect pink lips could still lie and deceive and frankly there was no need for him to go there again. He might have been young, but he was a quick learner—and that lesson had been well and truly drummed into him.

  His mouth twisted. So what now?

  As though she could hear his thoughts, the woman shifted against him, and instantly his groin began to ache. Reluctant to reveal the hard proof of her ability to turn him on, he started to move. But she was already inching backwards, peeling her damp skin away from his and scooping up the muddle of clothes from the floor in one graceful movement.

  Was she practised at this?

  The thought snagged in his head and then he pushed it quickly away. It was none of his business, and besides he wasn’t in any position to judge.

  ‘Here,’ she murmured. ‘These are yours.’

  Looking up, he gritted his teeth.

  She was pulling her blouse over her head and, catching a glimpse of her pale, curving breast, he felt his skin twitch, his body hardening and aching with a sudden, sharp, serrated hunger. She looked impossibly sexy, and suddenly the heated, passion-filled minutes of earlier felt like just a taster before the main meal.

  He wanted more. He wanted to feel that soft skin next to his and the whisper of her breath against his mouth.

  He felt another twitch of desire—although this time it might just as easily have been irritation.

  Obviously he wanted more.

  His last ‘relationship’ had ended a little over seven weeks ago and, having been flat out at work ever since, trying to resolve this damned trademark dispute, he’d neglected his personal life. Although, given how hard he tried to maintain boundaries, maybe impersonal life might be a better description.

  Either way, to put it bluntly he hadn’t had sex in a long time, and this beautiful, uninhibited woman standing in front of him had stirred his hunger.

  So what if she had?

  It had happened, and it had been incredible. Better than incredible, he thought, his heartbeat jerking as their tangle on the sofa replayed inside his head. And he wasn’t going to pretend that he wouldn’t willingly pull her back onto that sofa and carry on where they’d left off. Or deny that she was attractive, or that he was attracted to her. But whatever this was—this thing he was feeling, this unruly, insistent enchantment that had sneaked up on him unannounced—he wasn’t going to act on it again, no matter how hollowed out with longing he felt.

  In fact, his unprecedented physical response only increased his determination to stay cool and detached. For he’d already made the mistake of trusting his body before, and his libido had been proved a poor judge of character.

  He glanced down at the scars that ran across his chest and down his muscled abdomen. They might come from a different kind of foolhardy behaviour, but they were honestly acquired, and not the result of emotional weakness or self-delusion.

  There would be other women, and next time he would look where he was going.

  A breath of cool air drifted over his skin and, leaning forward, he took his trousers and shirt from her outstretched hand and started to get dressed.

  In his experience, women normally tried to extend this moment. It was one of the reasons he always preferred to find somewhere neutral to meet. But this woman hadn’t even wanted to know his name, and having sex with him didn’t appear to have changed that fact.

  It was a completely new experience for him—one that in theory he should welcome. And yet he found himself feeling slightly aggrieved by her lack of curiosity.

  But then in some ways—although he wouldn’t make a habit of it—his anonymity, and hers, was actually a bonus. For the first time in his life he’d had sex with a woman who didn’t know or care who he was and, weirdly, he found himself trusting her more because of that.

  This hadn’t been some carefully planned attempt to seduce him. Nothing was fake. She hadn’t told him she loved him or that he was special, nor made any promises. They had both got what they wanted and now they could get back to their lives.

  He buckled up his belt and began pulling on his shirt, ignoring the slight tightness in his arm as he pushed it into the sleeve.

  ‘Is your arm okay?’

  Looking up, he felt his pulse slow. A lock of that glorious red hair hung loosely across her forehead, and he had to stop himself from reaching out and smoothing it away from her face.

  ‘Yes. Good as new.’

  Holding his gaze, she gave him a small stiff smile. ‘I’m glad.’

  There was a moment of silence, and then she cleared her throat. ‘Look, I don’t really know what’s normal for this situation. I don’t usually do this kind of thing, you know—’

  He waited a m
oment, then shrugged. ‘Me neither.’

  Watching the tic of tension along the curve of her jaw, he knew for certain that he’d got under her skin. What was less certain, though, was why that mattered to him.

  She flushed. ‘Okay, well... I’m sure you’ve got things to be getting on with.’

  His hand stilled against the top button of his shirt. In other words she wanted him to leave. She was kicking him out.

  ‘Of course.’ He felt a twist of irritation, followed by a sudden intense need to dictate the terms of their encounter. Deliberately slowing down the buttoning of his shirt, he glanced assessingly round the room. ‘Nice house,’ he said slowly. ‘How did you find it?’

  Her eyes met his. ‘It came with my job.’

  He felt a ripple of disquiet. ‘What job?’

  She frowned, not at his question but at the terseness in his voice that he hadn’t bothered to disguise.

  ‘I work for Dos Rios—you know, the rum. You might have heard of them.’

  His chest tightened. Dos Rios had a policy of providing temporary accommodation for consultants and overseas contractors. His PA would know the details, but obviously he wouldn’t have been notified. The comings and goings of his employees was way below his pay grade.

  ‘I should do,’ he said. ‘As the business was founded by my family.’

  He paused, watching her face as he let his words sink in.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The colour had drained from her cheeks. She was staring at him in confusion.

  ‘I—I didn’t—I don’t...’ She was struggling to speak.

  ‘Understand?’ He finished her sentence. ‘Then perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is César Zayas y Diago.’

  * * *

  In the still, tense silence that followed his remark, Kitty felt her insides loosen. ‘No, you can’t be,’ she said hoarsely.

  Her stomach was in freefall.

  It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be, she thought frantically. She’d been in the labs only yesterday, and surely somebody would have said something about his imminent arrival.

  He must be lying.

  Only her skin felt suddenly too tight, her heartbeat too loud, and as though she was looking at him for the first time she registered the tiny pleats at the top of his shirtsleeves; the expensive dark suit trousers and the handmade black leather brogues.

  His eyes rested on her face and she felt a prickle of heat spread over her skin as he held out his hand.

  ‘I assure you I am.’

  His voice had grown cooler, its authority no longer like quicksilver beneath the surface but smooth and inflexible like high tensile steel, and with a pang of acceptance she knew that he was telling the truth.

  There was only one thing to do and, feeling her breath ricocheting against her ribs, she took his hand and shook it briefly.

  His eyes raked her face and then he smiled. Only it wasn’t the slow, languorous smile of her imagination. Instead it was cool and assessing and uncompromising. The smile of a CEO...the smile of a boss.

  Her boss.

  Her heart was leaping against her ribs. Surely there was some mistake? But she knew that there wasn’t. No matter which way she turned, the picture and the facts were still the same.

  She’d just had sex—wild, unplanned sex—on a sofa with the man who signed her paycheque.

  Her head was spinning.

  In the five years since Jimmy’s death she’d not so much as looked at a man—she certainly hadn’t been intending to meet one today. Ironically, if she had been, she would have been taking more care and she might not have stepped out in front of his bike.

  But out there on the road there had been more going on than just a near accident. They might not have collided physically, but some invisible chemical reaction had been set in motion.

  Her pulse pitched, carried along by another current of panic.

  If he’d simply summoned her into his office and introduced himself, like any normal boss, this would never have happened. But, no, he’d had to fall off his motorbike, so she’d had all those unnecessary and confusing and unguarded emotions churning around inside her. And that tension between them had kept on winding tighter and tighter.

  Remembering the feel of his body against hers, she felt heat wrap around her face. With him she had become another person. His hands, his mouth, had unlocked a wildly passionate woman. Her hunger had been beyond her control—she hadn’t known it was possible to feel what he’d made her feel. It had been incredible, and she was still reeling from what had happened. And the fact that she had made it happen.

  She had wanted that tumult of touch and release. She had wanted the solid weight of a man’s body pressing into her. She had wanted him.

  Not love or commitment. Not a future or a soulmate. She knew the void in her heart would never, could never, be filled by any man, because she knew the other side of love was loss, and she simply didn’t have it in her to deal with that terrible ache of loneliness.

  After Jimmy had died the pain had been unbearable, and she’d sworn never to allow herself to be that vulnerable again. It was easier simply to shut down that part of her life rather than risk having it snatched away again.

  But she was still a woman, and this man was so gorgeous, and suddenly that had been enough. Enough for her to let go, to let her hair down. Only now she understood that a part of why it had been enough had been their anonymity and the knowledge that she would never have to see him again.

  And now it turned out that she was working for him.

  She looked up at him, dazed and then out of nowhere she pictured her sister’s face. Lizzie wouldn’t care that César was her boss. She would argue that desire was a great equaliser. Of course that was hard to do when your skin was still humming from the heat and hardness of your boss’s body, but she couldn’t change what had happened so she was just going to have to face it head-on.

  Her stomach clenched. And becoming a widow had taught her all she needed to know about facing difficulties head-on. ‘I didn’t know who you were.’

  His eyes found hers. ‘Clearly. Unless you always try to kill your boss and then seduce him.’

  Her cheeks felt suddenly hot. ‘I didn’t try and kill you. You nearly ran me over.’

  He stared at her impassively. ‘But you did seduce me.’

  She felt her stomach knot. It wasn’t a question, and there was no point in lying. ‘If I’d known who you were—’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘So you work for me?’

  ‘I work for Dos Rios.’

  After what had just happened between the two of them it seemed important to differentiate between the man and his business.

  The slight curl to his lip suggested that he registered her intent. ‘In what capacity?’

  ‘I’m working on the anniversary rums,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m Kitty Quested.’

  They’d already shaken hands, so instead she forced her mouth into a small, stiff smile. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of the corner of the sofa, and her pulse moonwalked backwards. This polite formality after the fierce intimacy of earlier felt horribly artificial and unsettling.

  Looking up, she met his gaze. He smiled—the kind of smile that made it difficult to swallow.

  ‘I remember,’ he said slowly. ‘Blackstrap.’

  The word echoed like a gunshot around the quiet room. She felt a ripple of panic. He was going to sack her. ‘I know what you’re thinking...’

  ‘And I know what you’re thinking.’ He held her gaze. ‘But, no, I’m not going to fire you. And, yes, with hindsight, that—’ he gestured towards the sofa ‘—was probably a bad idea, but it’s too late to worry about that now.’

  He paused, and she felt her face grow warm as his dark green eyes dropped to her mouth.

  ‘In fact it
was too late way back when I saw you out there on the road.’

  Her breath caught in her throat. She felt her body stirring, and then a swift rush of shame. How could she have such a strong response to a man who, to be frank, she hardly knew? When the man she’d loved, and still loved, was dead. It made no sense, and it was going to stop now.

  Whatever connection they had, it would be better, simpler, safer if it existed solely on a professional basis from now on.

  ‘This won’t happen again. Obviously.’ She spoke in a rush, needing to know that he understood and felt the same way as she did. ‘It was just...’ She searched for the word.

  ‘Sex?’ he suggested.

  Her cheeks were growing pinker, but she held his gaze. ‘Yes, it was just sex, and what’s more important is our working relationship, so I think it would be best if we just put it all behind us.’

  He stared at her in silence. Then, ‘That won’t be a problem,’ he said softly. ‘From now on you and I have a clean slate. But you don’t need to worry about our working relationship, Ms Quested. I really don’t spend much time in Havana.’

  His words were clipped, his expression impassive.

  ‘Enjoy your time at Dos Rios and I wish you luck in the rest of your career.’

  She watched as he turned and walked quickly across the room. As the door closed behind him, she breathed out unsteadily.

  He was gone, and that was what she wanted.

  Better still, it sounded as though there would be no chance of them ever meeting again, and that was what she wanted too.

  It was better that way. Her throat tightened.

  All she needed to do now was make herself believe it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HUNCHING OVER THE screen of her laptop, Kitty stared despondently at her notes. She was trying not to panic but there was no point in denying the obvious: after weeks of trial and experimentation, she was stuck.

  Straightening her spine, she gazed around the space-age Dos Rios labs, breathing unsteadily, suddenly ridiculously close to tears.