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.’
She nodded. ‘Okay...well, I could be wrong, but water might have got into the ignition switch. It probably just needs a spritz of some kind of water-displacer.’
He stared at her, his pulse jumping with excitement, his hands tightening in a gesture of pure possession. He wanted her as he had never wanted any woman. Only the fact that, however deserted it appeared to be, they were still in a public place stopped him from reaching out and—
Stomach clenching with desire, he pushed aside an image of her splayed against the gas tank and said dryly, ‘That’s good to know. But as I don’t have any—’
He broke off in disbelief as she opened up her handbag and pulled out a small spray can.
‘I know how this must look, but I don’t normally carry this stuff around with me,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s just that the window in my hotel room is so squeaky that I can’t sleep. Anyway, I complained, and when I was going out this evening the guy in reception gave me this.’ She held out the can. ‘It’s worth a try.’
Luis wanted to ask her to rewind and repeat everything she’d just said, but instead he took the can and sprayed the ignition switch. He waited a moment, and then turned the key. He grinned as the snarl of the engine punctured the silence in the square.
Cristina blinked, and then smiled too. It was impossible not to. For, even though it was a dark and starless night, his smile made her feel as though the sun was rising and it was a new dawn.
She felt her heart skip a beat.
No wonder she’d tripped earlier.
Since finding Dominic, her on-off boyfriend of several months, in bed with her flatmate, she’d sworn off men. But there were men and then there was fate.
And surely that was why she had spilt his drink over him. Why his bike had failed to start. And why she’d ended up booking the worst hotel in Segovia, possibly in Spain.
‘Thank you.’
He was holding out the can to her.
‘It’s okay. You can keep it.’
‘But your window—’
‘It’s fine. I probably won’t sleep tonight anyway. My mattress is really hard, and I think it’s going to storm later. It’s so hot and humid now.’
Luis felt his body tense. Hard. Hot. Humid. Why did every word she said make him think of sex?
Gritting his teeth, he ignored the blood pounding through his veins and forced himself to speak. ‘So how did you know what was wrong?’
Cristina hesitated. Good question. However, the completely truthful answer was not one she was about to share with a perfect stranger—no matter how tall, dark and handsome.
It would take too long, and—her skin tightened over her cheekbones—it would be too humiliating to reveal the mend-and-make-do life she and her mother had been forced to live for so many years. But, just as she always did, she would tell him one truth.
Her eyes met his. ‘My dad had a motorbike. Not like this one, but I took it over for a bit and I got to hang out with bikers—and they can’t shut up about ignitions and sparks.’
She winced inside. What was she doing, rambling on about bikers as if she was some kind of Hell’s Angel?
‘Anyway...’ She glanced up at the sky. ‘I should probably be going. It’s late, and I want to get back to my hotel before it starts to rain.’
That wasn’t true. The thought of her bedroom, dark and quiet, filled her with dread. She didn’t want to be alone. But tonight was not the night to mess up, and how could taking this handsome stranger back to her room be anything but a risk not worth taking?
She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye,’ she said woodenly.
He took it, and at the touch of his fingers heat flared inside of her—and something bittersweet. A sense of what might have been if they’d met at some other time.
‘Let me give you a lift. Please. It’s the least I can do.’
His voice jolted her back to reality and, swallowing down the ache in her throat, she shook her head.
‘No, really—it’s fine.’ She pointed at one of the side streets off the square. ‘My hotel is literally down there.’
He looked at her for the longest time, then frowned.
‘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 there, 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