Consequences Of A Hot Havana Night

Breathing out in relief, she lifted up her hat and fanned her face—and then froze. Half hidden by the dark green vegetation, sunlight dappling their backs, were a group of the wild horses that roamed the estate.

Her heart gave a thump. She knew from conversations with Melenne, who came in three times a week to clean the cabaña, that the horses were not wild in the sense of dangerous, they were just not ‘broken’. They moved freely, foraging in the woods, and it showed in their satin-smooth coats and toned muscles.

They were so beautiful, she thought, feeling a lump building in her throat, and tentatively, slowly, she took a step closer, holding out her hand to the nearest one. She held her breath as he gazed at her assessingly, and then her pulse darted as his soft, velvety nose snuffled against her fingers.

Breathing out cautiously, she held her hand steady—and then suddenly there was a rumbling growl from behind her, and as one the horses turned and wheeled away between the trees.

What the—?

Turning round towards the noise, Kitty lifted her hand to shield her face as a burst of sunlight hit her eyes. The noise swelled into a roar and there was a gleam of metal. She gasped, the sound choking off as a motorbike and its rider reared up in front of her. She got just the briefest impression of dark eyes narrowing in surprise, and then everything seemed to go into slow motion as the bike swerved away from her, skidding, tilting sideways, sliding smoothly across the coarse-packed dirt until finally it came to a shuddering stop.

For a moment, time contracted to a heartbeat.

Was he hurt?

Was he—?

She couldn’t even think the word—and she pushed it away. She was struggling to breathe, her brain scrabbling, her mind stunned, disbelieving what had just happened. And then something opened inside of her chest, and even as panic jostled with fear she was running towards the bike.

The rider was already on his knees, and as he clambered to his feet he glanced up at her and swore in Spanish under his breath—or at least she assumed by the tone of his voice that he was swearing. Her Spanish lessons had been more focused on conjugating verbs than on cursing.

As she reached the bike she stopped and glanced back down the road, stomach clenching. From here it was possible to see clearly in both directions. Had she been standing on this spot she would have seen the bike, and he would have seen her, and the accident would never have happened.

The randomness of it made her head spin. In contrast, the motorcyclist seemed remarkably unperturbed.

Watching him, she felt her skin start to prickle. He was pressing his hand against the chassis of the bike as though it was one of the horses he’d startled, making the muscles beneath his oddly formal white shirt strain against the poplin.

He looked so vivid and real and she hated that he might have been hurt; hated too that she had unwittingly played a part in his accident. If only she had been standing where she was now. But then she would never have met him—this man.

Her breathing jerked as the thought sneaked into her head from nowhere and refused to leave.

It had been a long time since a member of the opposite sex had even registered on her radar, but this man resonated.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the underside of the bike’s wheel, still spinning slowly, and she was grateful for the reminder of what had so nearly happened and how she should react, for otherwise her brain might not have remembered what passed for acceptable behaviour.

‘Are you okay?’

He lifted his gaze and for a moment she forgot to breathe as dark green eyes the same colour as the pine trees behind her stared at her in confusion. And then she realised she was speaking in English.

She blinked. ‘Sorry, I mean...se hecho daño?’

He shook his head slowly, his gaze fixed on her face, and she saw that his expression had shifted from confusion to something like irritation. Instantly the sick panic she’d felt at watching the bike’s wheels slide from under him was replaced by a bubbling rush of anger.

‘Cómo—? I mean, puede—? Oh, what’s the word?’ She broke off in frustration. She was too angry to think straight in her own language, let alone in Spanish.

‘That would depend, I suppose, on what it is you’re trying to say.’

Her stomach clenched. He was speaking English—fluent, almost accentless English.

But clinging onto her outrage, she pushed past her astonishment. ‘How could you be so reckless? You could have been hurt. Or worse,’ she said accusingly.

‘Unlikely. I wasn’t going that fast. Besides...’ He paused and then almost casually hoisted up the right leg of his trousers and showed her a thin, knotted scar running up from his ankle. ‘I’ve done far worse.’

She gaped at him in silence, too stunned to respond and dazzled not just by the effortless way he switched between languages but by his casual lack of concern for his own safety. A sliver of anger she didn’t really understand twisted inside her as she watched him lean over the bike and haul it upright, nudging out the kickstand with his foot.

‘How about you?’

He still hadn’t turned to face her, but as he glanced over a jolt like a pulse of electricity passed between them as his eyes locked onto hers, his green gaze so intent she felt flushed and dizzy.

‘Are you okay?’

She stared at him blankly. He sounded businesslike rather than concerned, but she barely registered his words. She was too distracted by his face. Caught in the sunlight, it was beautiful. The straight nose and jaw were outlined in gold, his skin clear and bright like a just lit flame.

Like a just lit flame?

She felt herself tremble as the words echoed inside her head. Thankfully she’d only thought them and not actually said them out loud, but what was she thinking?

Easy question.

Wrong answer.

She was thinking about his mouth and how it would feel pressed against hers.

She frowned, flustered by her unexpected and unwelcome reaction to a stranger—a stranger who had scant regard both for himself and the safety of others. A stranger who couldn’t even be bothered to turn and face her.

Her heart began to beat faster, and she had a sudden impulse to turn and dart back beneath the trees. Only there was something in her that wanted to know what would happen if she stayed.

‘I’m fine. Although I’m surprised you’re bothering to ask.’

She spoke quickly, her words tumbling over themselves, for she was not by nature a confrontational person—a character trait that had only been reinforced by months of sitting in hospital waiting rooms and dealing with a conveyor belt of compassionate but phlegmatic specialists and consultants.

But something about this man...something in his manner...sparked against her like a match striking tinder.

He tipped his head back, his lips parting slightly as though internally questioning what he’d just heard.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

He spoke softly, but there was an edge to his voice that made the hairs stand up on her arms. But remembering how the wild horses had scattered at his approach, her irritation was rekindled and she felt the last of her panic disappear in the face of his level gaze.

‘It means that you almost ran into me.’

His eyes flashed, the whites glinting like teeth, but his gaze stayed locked on her face. ‘Yes, because you stepped out in front of me. I only came off the bike because I had to swerve to avoid hitting you.’

Her cheeks coloured and she hesitated. It was true, she had stepped out into the road... But, glancing back at him, she gritted her teeth. He wasn’t even wearing a helmet. How could he be so arrogant, so blasé?

Suddenly her whole body was shaking. She had a sharp, vivid memory of Jimmy, sitting on the sofa in his pyjamas, his face grey with exhaustion, and her heart began to pound with anger. Jimmy had lived his life so carefully, and yet here was this man—this arrogant, reckless man—taking stupid risks, taunting fate, challenging his own mortality.

‘Well, you wouldn’t have had to swerve if you hadn’t been going so fast,’ she said hotly, gesturing towards his scarred leg. ‘Which is clearly something you make a habit of doing.’