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‘I presume you are not on the pill?’
Her eyes widened. She shook her head slowly, feeling like a complete idiot for not having thought of that.
‘I see.’
‘But you used protection, so there’s nothing to worry about, right?’
‘Condoms are not one hundred per cent effective. There is a possibility that you have conceived my child.’
She dropped her hands to her sides, the idea exploding in her mind, so she shook her head without even thinking it through.
‘That can’t be—’
‘Of course it can be.’ His voice was without emotion, and yet she felt it emanating off him in waves. ‘I would expect you to contact me if there are any consequences from what we just shared.’
‘There won’t be,’ she said, because it had to be true. She had never thought about becoming a parent. It wasn’t something she’d ever craved, and it certainly wasn’t on her agenda any time soon.
‘You will let me know either way.’
She swallowed past a heaviness that had built in her throat. ‘I’ll let you know if there’s anything to know,’ she conceded. ‘Of course.’
Silence fell. He stared at her as though he were trying to read her mind and a moment later, a grim tone to his voice, he asked, ‘Did I hurt you?’
She blinked, not understanding at first. ‘When?’
‘I was not gentle. Not like I would have been, if I’d known—’
‘Oh.’ She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. ‘No. I’m—fine.’
But she could see guilt about the corners of his eyes and wanted to alleviate it better.
‘I don’t know if I’m meant to say this, because, you know, I have no experience, obviously, but I actually really liked that you weren’t gentle. I liked...’ She pulled her lips to the side, wondering if she was admitting too much to him. She shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’
He expelled a slow breath, as though he was relaxing, but for Sienna the panic was just setting in. Olivia worried about her so much, if Sienna were to have fallen pregnant poor Olivia would probably insist on moving home to England, just to help. If she thought there was even the slightest chance, Olivia would swing into full-blown protective-older-sister mode.
‘Listen to me.’ Sienna lifted her hand to his chest, pressing it there with urgency. ‘No one can know about what we did.’
His eyes narrowed, darkening. ‘I am not in the habit of sharing my exploits with other people, Sienna. My opinion is that private lives should remain exactly that—private. I wasn’t intending to discuss what we shared with anyone.’ But there was a tone to his voice, as though he was torn about something, as though he was unsure.
‘Good.’ She was, momentarily, placated. ‘As far as I’m concerned, what happened between us was about you and me and nobody else. No one needs to know. Especially not my sister or Luca. They’d completely flip out and they’ve got enough going on in their own lives without having to worry about mine.’
‘I will tell nobody.’
He dropped his arms, taking a step away from her, then reaching into his wallet and removing a black business card. ‘But do not forget, Sienna. You’ll call me if there is any news to deliver.’
She took the card, stared at the number and, when she looked up, Alejandro had turned his back and was walking away, disappearing into the balmy night air.
Eight dates after leaving Rome, Alejandro had to admit two things to himself: he was bored out of his brain, and he wanted to see Sienna again. To be fair, it hadn’t taken him eight dates with eight separate women to realise he was trying to replace rich red wine with tepid water, but he was stubborn, and thinking about Sienna seemed particularly stupid, given that Luca was his best friend and he would definitely not approve of the X-rated direction of Alejandro’s thoughts. And yet, here he was, disappointing yet another old flame by not inviting her home with him, knowing that bedding another woman wouldn’t work.
He didn’t want to have sex with just anyone.
He wanted more of Sienna. He wanted to explore her properly. To taste her. To tease her. To watch her in the full light as she came apart at the seams. He wanted to make her explode, one passionate caress after another, until he was the only person who could put her back together again. He wanted to let their chemistry burn hot, until it had finally burned out, and then he wanted to walk away, just as he had this time. But it had been premature. He’d made a mistake.
Was it one he could fix?
He strode into his penthouse, through the large open space with double-height ceilings, his eyes travelling the details of the skyline visible from the floor-to-ceiling windows and wrap-around terrace. The ornate, recognisable roofs of the Passeig de Gràcia stood in the foreground and, beyond them, Barcelona glittered like an overflowing jewellery box. He paused just long enough to grab a beer from the fridge and kick off his shoes, then he swung open the glass doors to the terrace, stepping out with a grim expression on his handsome face.
Eight days.
