Consequences of a Hot Havana Night

‘Yes, because I’m with you,’ she said lightly. ‘Mr Big Shot from Havana.’

Havana—the word reverberated in the air between them. Since deciding to stay at the plantation neither of them had really talked about when they were going to go back. She knew he must be in contact with his office but, true to his word, he’d taken the promised step back from work and it hadn’t seemed to come up in conversation.

Only of course they couldn’t stay here for ever...

Judging by César’s expression, he was clearly thinking the same thing. His next remark confirmed her suspicion.

‘Talking of which, I suppose we should think about heading back fairly soon.’

He was staring right into her eyes and she tried to smile, to take his casual remark at face value even though she felt as though her heart had relocated to her throat.

‘Yes, I suppose we should,’ she agreed.

There was a short silence, as though he was waiting for her to say something more, or maybe to say something else himself, but then finally he nodded.

‘Do you want to go today?’ She braced herself for his reply.

He frowned. ‘No, there’s no rush. We can drive back tomorrow.’ He paused, his face stilling, and she sensed that he was working through something in his head. ‘Actually, I don’t think we’ll take the car. I don’t know if I told you, but I have a yacht—’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Of course you do.’

He grinned. ‘It might be fun to sail her down to Havana.’

‘Is this a good time for me to tell you that I’m really bad at tying knots?’

‘You are?’ His eyes

gleamed. ‘That’s a coincidence—so am I. Maybe we should spend tonight in the cabin, practising a few,’ he said softly.

* * *

Raising his hand to block out the glare of the sun, César gazed at the turquoise sea. It looked perfect.

He felt a thrill of anticipation—could almost taste the adrenaline. It had been months since he’d had a chance to get out on the water, and it felt great to feel the spray on his face. He felt lighter, as though the chains of his youthful stupidity were no longer restraining him. And they weren’t—thanks to Kitty. She had freed him, forced him to let go of the pain and the guilt, and now he felt at peace with his past.

And yet something still felt off-key and unfinished.

He looked across the deck to the waves beyond. Usually being on the yacht transcended his mood, but of course usually he sailed alone. His jaw tightened. Maybe inviting her on to the boat had been a bad idea.

For him, sailing was both a release and a challenge. He loved pitting himself against the strength of the sea and the pull of the wind, and he liked that version of himself.

He pictured Kitty’s naked body in the cabin below. Then again...

‘You look like a pirate.’

He turned. Kitty was standing behind him, wearing nothing but a bikini and one of his shirts. A couple of weeks of careful exposure to the sun had turned her skin the palest gold, and her breasts had rounded out a little. He felt his body stir.

Grabbing hold of the shirt, he tugged her towards him, a pulse of heat tiptoeing across his skin. ‘And you look like some incredibly sexy Girl Friday.’

She screwed up her mouth. ‘If that’s some misguided attempt to get me to scrub the decks, you can forget it. My talents lie elsewhere.’

He grinned. ‘Yes, they do.’

‘I was talking about making rum.’

‘So was I,’ he lied. Lifting his hand, he stroked her face. ‘Did you get some sleep?’

She nodded. ‘I went out like a light. I think it must be the—’ Her forehead creased.