Jeff has twenty-four hours in Pamplona during his tour of Spain – a well-earned vacation from his busy job as a Boston paralegal. Just enough to experience the first day of the famous San Fermin festivals, to enjoy the celebrations, party all night and, of course, take part in the Running of the Bulls. If he can flirt with an attractive tourists or pretty local, so much the better: he’s a single man and he’s not looking to change that.

Meeting Idoia, he’s taken aback by her looks, and the fact she gives him the time of day. She tells him she’s just practicing her English. He convinces her to join him in the town square for the official start of the festival. In the crush their bodies can’t help but touch the way he’d hoped. Idoia shows Jeff a side of Pamplona he’d never have seen without her, but she’s dismayed at his plan to run with the bulls. Jeff doesn’t want to upset Idoia, but his one night in Pamplona will be incomplete without a bull run. Will their relationship last the entire night, or will Idoia give up on Jeff as an arrogant idiot intent on needlessly endangering himself?

10% of the author's royalties will be donated to WWF, the World Wildlife Fund.

When he saw a big, open square up some steps from a junction completely blocked by a brass band and their entourage, he skipped up to it. The sun there was blinding and he wished he had his sunglasses: he’d left them in his luggage, just in case. Perhaps he could buy a cheap pair from one of the guys selling them along with watches and necklaces and hats, and every other kind of crap you could think of.

In the centre of the square stood a bandstand, its round ceiling painted blue and white. Musicians played drums and some clarinet-like instruments he’d never heard before. On one side of the square a concert stage and big screen had been set up, and opposite that was the Café Iruña, where Hemingway drank and wrote, and which was featured in his novel The Sun Also Rises.

Jeff wandered towards it, past groups of people sitting on benches and in circles on the concrete, drinking sangria and beer and God knew what else. He smiled to a few when he heard them speaking English, but passed on without stopping. Between the Café Iruña and the Hotel Perla, beside a strip of grass that looked like it was going to get plenty of use over the next few days, stood an information panel with a picture of Hemingway and an etching of the buildings in the square, detailing which the author had visited or stayed in. Jeff stood beside it and gazed around, taking in the scene. The square was quickly filling with more people. Soon, there would be no more room to sit down.

He turned back to the café, amazed to think that nearly a hundred years ago Ernest Hemingway had stood here, taking in this very scene—or something a little more sedate, Jeff supposed, since that was before the Australians started coming. Most of those were already out of their heads, their clothes stained purple and red from spilt drinks.

His gaze fell upon a girl sitting on the grass verge between him and the café. She was looking at him, but turned back to her friends immediately when he noticed. A slight smile hovered on her mouth, though, and as Jeff stared at her, she glanced back at him, her smile deepening.

Jeff’s gut tightened. Christ, she was beautiful. Really and truly beautiful. Her eyes were pale, dark-rimmed and deep-set in a heart-shaped face, with high cheekbones and a cute, pointy chin. Raven hair, parted in the middle and hanging straight and thick to her shoulders, framed her face. Her skin was deeply tanned and flawless, as far as Jeff could see from her arms and shoulders. Her skin tones contrasted wonderfully with the white t-shirt she wore tight against her breasts, and the white three-quarter-length trousers.

As he stared at the girl, his limbs began to tingle. His heart beat faster than a bullfighter’s when facing the horns. In a city full of pretty girls and handsome women, in a group of five other young ladies who were all very easy on the eye, this girl stood out. Despite the perfection of her face and hair, her skin and peachy breasts, what made her really stunning was her eyes.

When next their gazes met, Jeff saw they were a wonderful green, the color of sea glass. They drew his stare like the face of a mermaid, like the siren’s song entices the ears. He couldn’t look away, and his gut clenched tighter as excitement radiated through him.

Their gazes were fixed for so long that her friends noticed, and looked at him too. He stood there, spellbound, one hand gripping the edge of the information panel.

God, he had to talk to this girl.