Consequences of a Hot Havana Night

‘Why do you care?’

She stared at him, dumbfounded, winded by the harshness in the voice and by the realisation that this was how he saw her. She might be in his bed and carrying his child, but his thoughts were off-limits.

Avoiding his cool, green gaze, she breathed out unsteadily. ‘You seemed upset. I just wanted to h-help.’ She stumbled over the word.

‘Kitty, please. I’m sorry.’ His voice had changed, the harshness fading. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’ Reaching out, he took her hand, his eyes soft now, contrite. ‘I was angry. With my father. Only I took it out on you.’ His jaw tensed. ‘I don’t even know why I said anything. I knew he’d get mad.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I told him I was thinking about climbing El Capitan.’ Catching sight of her baffled expression, he said, ‘It’s a nine-hundred-metre granite slab. In Yosemite.’

Thinking about his scars, she felt her heart do some kind of complicated two-step against her ribs. ‘Your dad’s probably just worried about you.’

‘Probably.’ His forehead creased. ‘He can’t understand why I’d want to do something like that.’

Kitty stared at him. ‘And why do you?’

Now he was staring at her—only she got the sense that he wasn’t seeing her, but someone else. Maybe the question had never occurred to him. Probably it hadn’t, given that he appeared to divert all his non-work-based energies into riding motorbikes and climbing ridiculously high pieces of rock.

‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘My life is pretty full-on. Sometimes—a lot of the time—it’s difficult to switch off. But when you’re on a motorbike, or climbing without a rope, the consequences of making a error are so stark you have to concentrate completely, and it’s kind of peaceful.’

Peaceful? How could hanging onto a rock face be in any way peaceful?

He gave her a small, tight smile. ‘I know it sounds crazy, but time seems to slow right down. Everything disappears. You’re just in the moment and it’s like you’re dancing with the rock. And when you reach the summit you have this euphoria...’

She nodded, but her hand crept over her stomach. How could anything or anyone compete with that? ‘It sounds incredible.’

He paused as though he was hunting for words or trying to make a decision. She caught sight of the wariness in his eyes and she waited, half expecting him to close down the conversation.

‘And it helps,’ he said finally.

‘With what?’

‘My frustration.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Not that kind. I’m talking about my parents. I love them. They’ve always put me first and given me everything. But it just frustrates me that I can’t give them what they want.’

What do they want? The question formed on her lips but she didn’t need to ask it. She knew what they wanted.

Her chest felt tight. Guiltily, she remembered the conversation they’d had about telling their families about her pregnancy. She’d been so wrapped up in her own concerns she’d not even considered his wishes.

‘Yes you can.’ Reaching out, she took his hand. ‘Tell them about the baby. We can tell them now, if you like.’

His eyes met hers, then glanced away, and she pressed her hand protectively against her stomach.

Just for a moment, idiot that she was, she’d thought he was upset at having to keep their baby a secret from his parents, but actually he was worried about them learning the truth.

The shock of this discovery took her breath away.

‘I suppose this isn’t exactly what they planned,’ she said flatly. He didn’t reply, and she felt her pulse accelerate. ‘Did they have someone else in mind?’ She took a deep breath. ‘Did you?’

‘No—and no. But they had hopes.’

He smiled then, only it was a smile that made her feel hollow inside.

‘They’ve always had hopes for me.’

‘Then they must be very proud,’ she said quickly, trying to ignore the needles of misery piercing her skin. ‘You’ve built an empire.’

He nodded. ‘They are proud. But they’re very traditional...old-fashioned. To them, money and status is a bonus. It’s family that matters.’