Catch Me in Castile

by Kimberley Troutte

  Emotion I couldn’t decipher passed over his face. “I know.”

  He had his own hardships to bear. I wasn’t about to drop mine in his lap. “Santiago, all I want to be right now is on vacation. I need a break from my life. When I get home, I’ll try to sort out what I want to be when I grow up.”

  “Fair enough.” He still eyed me suspiciously. “How long will you be staying?”

  “Trying to get rid of me already?” I teased, but thought it might be true.

  “No. How long will we be fortunate to have your company?”

  “Ah, a charmer you are. My condo is rented out for the summer, so I have three months to play around. I’ll probably travel Spain a bit. See the sights.”

  “Why don’t you stay here the whole time?” His mouth opened in surprise as if he hadn’t meant to say that at all.

  “Here? In your home?”

  His lips parted, but no sounds came out.

  I kept my answer light. “That would be imposing. Something my mother tells me not to do.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. What in the world was he debating in that glorious head of his? Finally he said, “The house is big. I’d appreciate it if you keep Maria company while she settles back in. It will be good for her to look after you. I’m not here often. I have a flat downtown, closer to the hospital.”

  “Oh.”

  “Please consider staying. Here.”

  “You and Maria are very kind. I’ll think about it.”

  Oh man, that devastating grin.

  We switched gears and I asked him about his career, while the candlelight shimmered in his eyes. He had a general practice, was trained in internal medicine and elected to the position of Chief Medical Doctor at the Salamanca hospital.

  I smelled modesty. “Impressive. Where’d you go to school?”

  “I graduated from UCLA. Pre-Med. My graduate work was here, in Salamanca.”

  “You must know Dr. John Stapleton at UCLA,” flew out of my mouth before I had a chance to rein it in.

  He thought a moment. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Which medical department is he in?”

  Holy crap, please tell me I did not drop my psychiatrist’s name into casual conversation with the sexiest man on the planet.

  I ran my hand up the back of my neck. “Um, not sure.” Think, Erin, think. “Hey, I almost went to UCLA too. USC has a better Economics department.” I drew lazy eights on the glass table with my fingers, trying to calm myself. “Too bad I can’t speak to you ever again.”

  “What?”

  “We’re rivals.”

  “I hope not. You make me look good on the dance floor.”

  Nope, did that all by himself. I wondered for a millisecond about Helena. Had she gone home? Could I be so lucky? “I, uh, noticed you dancing with a lovely lady over there.”

  “With beautiful red hair?”

  “That would be the one.” I resisted touching my own sandy locks. “Is she, are you two, you know?”

  “Helena is a friend of mine who volunteers at the hospital.”

  “Say no more.” I held up my hand. “Been there myself.”

  He frowned, studying my face. “Been where? The hospital?”

  I blushed. “No, I meant you don’t need to tell me about your relationship. I understand the need for—” I searched for the appropriate word, “—discretion at work.”

  He smiled and leaned a little closer. “Helena and I are friends. You had male friends at your last job, right?”

  Dry gulp. “Not friends, exactly. More like spiteful, vicious—Ow!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  I rubbed my shoulder. “Something pinched me. Do you have mosquitoes here?”

  His face was serious “What happened in your job? Did someone hurt you?”

  He seemed determined to make me tell him the gory details. I wasn’t going there. Not anymore. I looked into his sensitive eyes. “My life is…” I thought about Maria, “…littered. I’m trying to clean it up. And I will. For now, I’m seizing the day one moment at a time. Starting with this one.”

  I flattened my palms on the round table and leaned closer. He watched curiously as I moved toward him until we were face to face. Softly, I kissed his lips. Calculating career woman would never dare do such a thing. The newly developing goddess in me was feeling reckless. Alive.

  I meant for it to be a soft peck, a gentle caress. I had absolutely no intensions of flicking the tip of my tongue across his bottom lip, deepening the kiss, sucking his delicious bottom lip into my mouth, and running my fingers through his glorious black hair. None at all. But the best laid plans…

  Chapter Six

  The attraction raged like a storm out of control, snapping and crackling under Santiago’s skin. He couldn’t help it. The dancing had warmed his blood and the fire roaring inside the woman threatened to consume him.

  Erin was beautiful beyond words. She was also smart, sensitive, and courageous. But he saw something else behind those deep honey eyes that scared him. Every now and then he caught a flash of anguish, a twist of her pain, buried deep in her psyche.

  It ate at him. He wasn’t good at sitting idly by while a beautiful woman was tortured before his eyes. And why she kept looking over her shoulder was beyond him. Hallucinations? Post-traumatic disorder?

  Damn it! What happened to her?

  Don’t get involved, he warned himself. I can’t fix her.

  Besides, he had more than enough problems to worry about. No, he had to squelch the firestorm spreading through his veins. For both their sakes.

  But when her lips met his…

  Dear God, when she kissed him electricity sparked through his nervous system and lightning struck his heart. It was as if he’d been zapped by the hospital’s defibrillator. His mind was five seconds behind, trying to comprehend the situation. And when her tongue ran across his bottom lip, slowly, sensually…mierda, he had to learn how to breathe all over again.

  Erin Carter was a force of nature, unlike anything he’d ever seen. Lord help him, he wanted to seize the lightning in his fists and dive headlong into the storm.

  Pulling back slowly, still inches from his lips, I asked, “Any more questions?”

  I was thrilled to see the dangerous sparkle in his eyes. “What questions?” He rose quickly and offered his hand. “Dance with me.”

  Happy all the way down to my little dancing toes, I took his hand. As if on cue, the band played a slow song and someone dimmed the lights. We rocked slowly to the music. Delicious heat spread through me when he turned his head toward mine and gazed deeply into my eyes.

  I thought we were floating on a cloud until the corner of my eye caught a glimpse of “beautiful red hair”.

  Great, here comes hospital gal-pal, Helena.

  I ground my back molars together and warned myself not to get suckered. If he had something even remotely serious going on with Helena, I should walk away…right…now. I stopped dancing.

  “You okay?”

  “I really shouldn’t get in the middle of…” I looked around and Helena was gone. Funny, Santiago hadn’t paid any attention to her at all. Walk away now, I warned myself. N-o-w. “…the dance floor, it’s pretty crowded.” My legs simply refused to listen to logic.

  “Need fresh air?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.” Funny, how easy it was to walk away from the dance floor with him. Traitorous legs.

  He grabbed two flute glasses and led me toward the French doors.

  “On the balcony?” I croaked.

  He stretched his hand toward me. “The view of Salamanca is amazing. Especially when it’s this clear.” His gaze raked over me. “And beautiful.”

  I took his hand in mine and stepped haltingly over the threshold. He was right. It was beautiful, in a gut-wrenching sort of way.

  Fear slid into my chest and gripped my heart. I fought back against the panic attack. I was suddenly afraid of heights? How had that happened? I’d scaled Half Dome in college, f
or heaven’s sake.

  Don’t go crazy, don’t go crazy…

  I flattened myself against the wall, miles from the edge of the balcony. He leaned against the wall too. Turned on his side, his shoulder rested against the smooth stucco. His lips were tantalizingly close.

  Tipping his glass toward mine, he toasted, “Amigos nuevos.”

  “New friends.” Our glasses clinked together. A slight breeze cooled the heat on my face. Tiny white lights twinkled all around us. I started to feel calmer with my back to the wall. “Thank you so much for throwing this party.”

  “My pleasure. I enjoy being with you.”

  “Really?”

  “Fun, smart, beautiful.” He tapped the tip of my nose lightly with his index finger. “What’s not to like?”

  From inside the house the first few notes played of “Hero” by Enrique Iglesias.

  I pressed my palms against Santiago’s chest and feigned melting. “I love this song.”

  He took the glass from my other hand and placed it with his on the balcony ledge. Turning around, he smiled, wrapped one arm around my waist and held the other out for me to take. “We have to dance to your favorite song.”

  “Here?” I squeaked.

  “Why not?” He cocked his head at me.

  “No reason.” Except maybe for an overwhelming, irrational fear of plunging to my death. What in the world was the matter with me?

  He pulled me closer and sang the words softly in my ear. Santiago’s voice was deep and sensual. Suddenly, it wasn’t fear taking my breath away.

  A slow burn spread inside me. His warm hand pressed the small of my back, drawing me even closer. Our hips moved against each other, smooth as warm caramel. Resting my head on his shoulder, our bodies molded together, moving in perfect rhythm. My heart thumped wildly against him and my chest rose and fell with his.

  When the song ended we held each other for a long delicious moment, the air pure electricity between us. Santiago dipped me. My lips were a breath away from his. His intense gaze lingered there before wandering back to my eyes.

  He wanted to kiss me. Badly. He brought me back up. “We’d better go inside.”

  “Um, sure, okay.” My cheeks were, without a doubt, flushed scarlet. Heat surged through my body with no place to go. I dropped my gaze to the tiles to hide the pure desire in my eyes and collided into him.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you’d stopped—” I was bewildered by the expression on his face. “What’s up?”

  “Erin, I’m stuck on you.”

  Did he mean he was attracted to me? When he moved his hand, my whole gown moved too. Darn, he was being literal.

  “Hey, hold on there, cowboy.” I clutched the front of the dress.

  “My cufflink is entangled.”

  Nice twist of fate. I wondered if I could keep him forever. “Careful. That strand of pearls you’ve hooked is keeping my dress on. If you pull too hard, this American might really embarrass herself in your country.”

  “Come inside.” His arm remaining where it was, he gently guided me inside though the crowded hall and into a guest lounge. “Sorry. I don’t think it wise to go much further.” He had trouble meeting my gaze.

  “Good thinking. I’ll turn around and you try to free yourself.”

  I rotated slowly to face the mirror. His knees pressed against the back of my legs. In the mirror, I could see his fingers working with a surgeon’s skill on the pearls.

  Oh. My. God. Strong, capable and gentle all at once, a girl could fantasize all day long about those hands.

  Down, girl. A whole party was waiting outside the door.

  “Don’t worry, the chances of the dress falling apart are slim,” I joked.

  There was a significant pause before he spoke. The smile he gave me was loaded with heat. “How slim?”

  In the mirror, my eyes locked onto his. “One could hope?”

  He bent and placed his lips on the back of my neck for a long, luscious moment.

  “What if I can’t free myself from you?” he whispered. His free hand wrapped around my midsection and hugged me to him. “What then?”

  I let my head fall back against his chest, savoring the feel of him. The rise and fall of his breath blowing gently on the back of my neck made loose tendrils of my hair dance.

  “Then the dress will have to come off. And your tux.”

  His free hand was making slow circles on my abdomen. Looking into the mirror, his gaze fixated on my parted lips. “The tux has to go?”

  “It’s only fair,” I teased, my voice huskier than normal. “Every last stitch.”

  He spun me around and kissed me. Hard.

  I’d waited my entire life for that kiss. My arms curled around his neck, pulling him closer. His cologne, musky and manly, wafted up to my nose. His champagne lips were more potent than anything I’d ever tasted. I was swamped with passion. His. Mine. Ours. The world fell away. I soared, hanging onto him as my only connection to this earth.

  One of his hands pressed into the small of my back, skin on skin, as if we were still dancing. The other cupped my cheek, gently, lovingly. It blew my mind he could be gentle even as his lips seared mine. Is this how it felt when someone actually cared?

  Dear God, what I’ve been missing.

  Our tongues met and a whole new dance began—faster, hotter, a salsa too sexy to be rated. Gentleness was consumed by need, want trumped all. His emerald eyes were dark, almost black as they bored into mine.

  He kissed my lower lip, sucking gently and then releasing. My heart broke when he pulled those lips away and soared again when they moved to the sweet spot beneath my jaw. He kissed, sucked, and nibbled my earlobe.

  My breath caught. I threw my head back, waves of excitement making my head spin. I wanted those magical lips everywhere, all at once. Desperate to feel his skin, I snaked my hands underneath his tuxedo jacket. Far too much material came between us. I wanted it gone. All of it. Now.

  His breath was warm and heavy in my ear. “Erin.”

  “Hmmm?” Damn it! How do these buttons work?

  “Erin, we can’t.” He pressed his hands to mine, just as one of the buttons gave way.

  “Can’t?” I breathed in his manly cologne. My heart threatened to arrest.

  Gently, ever so gently, he lifted a loose strand of hair off my cheek and tucked it behind my ear. He groaned. “We better go back.”

  Did he mean back to the party or back to where we were before we kissed? I forced myself to play it lightly, “At least you’re free.”

  He frowned, not understanding.

  “Your cufflink?” I lifted his arm and flicked the gold link.

  “How did that happen?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Behind them, Serena smiled.

  dc

  Many hours later the band went home and I hauled my tired body off to bed. I was exhausted and fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. As I slipped into REM, a barb of fear jabbed through my subconscious. Something was waiting for me. Something scary.

  With a throbbing urgency, I was dragged to a place I didn’t want to go. My sleepy brain dug in its heels, fighting as best as it could, but was no match for whatever was sucking me in. In the deepest part of sleep, my muscles were paralyzed when I saw her.

  Sitting on a high-backed velvet chair, a young woman runs a brush through her black hair with long, deliberate strokes. Her gown is centuries old and the color of the sky. The eyes gazing into the silver-framed mirror flash gray in the candlelight. Her features are delicate, beautiful, haunting.

  Who is she? She doesn’t see me at all. I am a spirit floating on a dream. I move closer.

  The chair, the mirror, the gown are all very old. She can’t be more than seventeen or eighteen, but hardship has etched her face and aged her eyes. Standing behind her, I am close enough to smell a hint of violets drifting up from her hair. I want her to see me and tell me why she’s so sad. I reach out to tap her shoulder. A lock of jet-
black hair twists around my finger. It’s like touching fog. I can only feel the essence of the curl, mostly the damp and cold. I let it go.

  Who are you?

  “Serena,” she answers my thoughts. “I will help you win your love, if you help me find mine. Please say-on.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  In the mirror her face twists with pain. Sorrow, deep and raw, consumes her and I know instantly she will not survive it. No one could bear such agony.

  “You will not say-on?”

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  Sadness rises up from her like a frigid mist, lifting from her hair and circling all around me. It pulls me closer. I feel lost, disoriented. I can’t see through the cold, cold haze. My world falls away. I am lost.

  When the mist clears, I gasp. I am the one sitting on the velvet high-backed chair gazing into the silver-framed mirror with eyes the color of fog. My blood runs cold.

  I’m dead.

  dc

  “Evil done steal her away,” Rosa had said. “We call it de darkness. And it can take any one of us.”

  My eyes popped open.

  “Holy crap.” I rolled over to see the clock. “Five thirty?”

  I’d only been asleep for three hours. Who could go back to sleep after that dream?

  I wrapped myself in a midnight-blue silk robe showered with delicate pink-and-white flowers. Maria had generously loaned it to me the day she came to my house to help me pack. Yanking the red-hot silk number Jack had given me out of the go-to-Spain pile, she had said, “No unnecessary reminders, Erin. I’ll loan you one.”

  Quietly, I barefooted down to the kitchen. A box of chamomile tea sat on the counter proclaiming to be calming, so I made a cup and carried it out onto the dew-drenched balcony. Flattening my back against the wall, I morning-dreamed about one enchanting evening.

  I replayed it all in my head—the smile on his face when he first saw me, his laughter, the smell of him, his hand pressing the small of my back, the intensity in his eyes, those magical lips… What a night.