He chuckled at her assertion. “That right? You need me to repeat it?”
“Yes, please,” she said, aware that all the liquor she’d imbibed had made her bolder than usual.
Lifting her chin again, he lowered his head slowly, drawing his actions out with exaggerated care. “Pay attention this time,” he whispered.
Every neuron in her brain was focused on the glide of his thumb as he brushed it across her lower lip. Her breath caught. His digit slid to her chin and gently depressed it. As her lips parted, he dipped his head and fastened his lips to hers. His tongue stroked through the opening he’d created. What resulted was a wave of lust as their mouths merged.
Tightening her hold to keep from keeling over, Katrina clung to Mitch and kissed him back. Not one sliver of awkwardness or doubt pricked her—only wonder and a sense of belonging. Their breaths tangled as they sucked in oxygen to fuel their fast-beating hearts, but neither one of them could seem to stop.
A sudden thought burst Katrina’s bubble of contentment. He and his friends were not from Barcelona, nor even from Spain. Mitch would be leaving soon.
With an audible groan, Mitch tore his lips from hers.
“Damn,” he muttered, his expression pained.
Something deep within her clutched as she realized he’d been thinking the very thing she had.
“You’re beautiful,” he said on a note of lament.
Her heart gave a pang. “Thank you.”
“I wish—” He cut himself off and shook his head.
“You wish we’d met under different circumstances?” She hoped she was reading him right.
He nodded with feeling. “Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.”
Pleased to discover her feelings weren’t one-sided she added, “I want you to know I don’t usually behave this way.” The first rays of sobriety were casting light onto her inebriation, and her behavior. She didn’t want him thinking she made a habit of kissing the guests who came to her hotel.
“I know.” He traced the rise and fall of her knuckles.
His touch enthralled her. She desired nothing more than to be alone with him.
“Your brother upset you today,” he commented.
The reminder of what Jordi had told her wrested Katrina from her pleasant thoughts. She had to avert her face to keep Mitch from glimpsing her suddenly stricken expression. Filling her lungs with the smell of reality—of sweaty bodies and stale, spilled beer—she let the horror of what Martí intended overshadow her present contentment.
“I’m sorry. I have to go home now.” She slipped abruptly off the stool only to find her progress halted as a large hand encircled her wrist.
Without exerting an ounce of force, Mitch’s grip conveyed resolve.
“I’ll take you,” he offered.
Seeing his two companions, Chuck and Austin, dancing with a pair of brunettes, she shook her head. “No, no. Have fun with your friends. I can find my way back.”
With an admonishing look, he transferred his hand to her elbow and steered her toward the exit, at the same time emitting a sharp whistle that rang in her ears and garnered his friends’ attention. As they looked over, Mitch gestured with his head that he was leaving.
Katrina’s face heated as everyone in the vicinity also took notice—including Armando, who scowled over his beer bottle. In light of her and Mitch’s public kiss, who wouldn’t assume they were hurrying out of the club so they could sleep together?
It doesn’t matter what Armando thinks. At the same time a voice in Katrina’s head murmured, “Why not do it, if everyone thinks you did?”
Glancing at Mitch as he held the heavy door for her, her knees seemed to melt as she considered his raw masculinity. Her heart began to beat erratically. A cool breeze played with her hair, heightening her feminine awareness. When Mitch caught up her hand in his, all she could think of was how slight she felt walking next to him, how safely protected. She realized he was walking toward Hotel Leonardo without her instruction, proving he’d retained some sense of where they were.
“You’re safe with me, you know.”
His words confirmed what she had sensed from their first meeting—Here was a gentleman, a cavaller. The real question was whether he was safe with her, uninhibited as she was.
The impulse, so out of character, to fall into bed with a man she scarcely knew ought to shock her into shamefullness. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d known him all her life. Moreover, the thought of him leaving Barcelona in two short days left her grappling with desperation, as if she had to make a choice now or forever regret letting something rare and beautiful slip through her fingers.
Or was that her only motivation for wanting to sleep with him?
The memory of Martí’s intent ripped though her thoughts. She would do just about anything to forget what she’d heard—including sleeping with a man she hardly knew.
Chapter Five
Mitch could tell Katrina was sobering. So long as her hand was in his, she could walk in a straight line. In the quiet that fell between them, their footfalls echoed off the paving stones as they progressed through the labyrinth of narrow streets leading back to the hotel. Whatever had been troubling her about her interaction with her half-brother had evidently returned to weigh on her. He wished she’d tell him what it was, so he could help put it into perspective.
“I’ve never had a one-night stand,” she stated out of the blue.
The comment, so at odds with what he’d thought she was thinking, pulled Mitch to a stop. A gas lamp mounted by an old paneled door found reflection in Katrina’s long hair and put twin flames in her eyes as she lifted them inquiringly.
“Is that where this is heading?” He’d never had a woman proposition him before.
“Maybe,” she said, but it sounded more like a question than an answer.
While Mitch was certain sex with her would top any experience he’d ever had, only a schmuck took advantage of a woman who’d had too much to drink.
“I’m sorry, Katrina, but it wouldn’t be right for me to sleep with you,” he said with regret. But God knew he was tempted.
“Because I’m drunk?” she asked, heaving a sigh he found to be adorable.
“That’s one reason.”
“Because you’re leaving soon?” she asked again.
“That’s the other.”
Before he went and changed his mind, Mitch squeezed her hand and continued up the narrow street. Katrina fell into step beside him, notably silent.
They hadn’t walked ten feet when raucous laughter stormed up the alley behind them. A glance behind them showed three men hurrying to overtake them. The flare of a cigarette lit the face of Katrina’s old flame.
Armando sneered back at him, making it evident he was coming after Mitch, and he’d brought along reinforcements.
Realizing who was following them, Katrina gave a sound of disgust then directed a stream of Catalan over her shoulder. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out what she was telling Armando.
All the same, that man responded in English for Mitch’s benefit. “Oh, you want me to go home? But then I wouldn’t get to knock out your friend’s teeth.”
His companions snickered at his clever come-back.
Katrina’s grip tightened. “I’m serious, Armando. Leave us alone.”
“Why, so you can fuck an American rather than have sex with your own boyfriend?”
“You’re not my boyfriend,” she growled in disgust.
Mitch heard little beyond the man’s utter lack of respect. Sparing a thought for his folding dagger and backup blade, he decided he was better off using his hands so he didn’t incite his CO’s wrath by inadvertently killing a local.
Katrina must have felt him tensing. “Please ignore him. Let’s just go.” She tried tugging him away from the trio.
He backed her toward the nearest wall. “I’m sorry, honey. I can’t let that pass. Stay right here. I can handle this,” he assured her.
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“But there are three of them,” she cried in a frightened voice.
“I’ll be fine.” Squeezing her shoulders, he turned and walked toward his opponents.
Armando was all bravado as he tossed down his cigarette and swaggered up to Mitch. His two friends flanked him.
With no expectation of pacifying any one of them, Mitch noted each man’s stance and position, confident he could eliminate all three in short order—providing Katrina didn’t involve herself.
“American dog,” Armando spat. Balling up his fist, he started to pull his arm back when a familiar voice echoed up the alley.
“Hey, losers.”
Armando hesitated. Mitch groaned as Austin and Haiku materialized out of nowhere. Austin’s grin was like a jag of lightning. He closed in, rubbing his hands with gleeful anticipation while Haiku drifted in his shadow, almost invisible.
“Let’s even the odds, shall we?” Austin suggested.
Picturing the bloody aftermath and the ass-chewing he would get when news of the carnage reached Captain Montgomery’s ears, Mitch offered Armando an alternative. “Or you could just walk away.” Stepping aside, he gestured broadly to the empty street behind him.
In that precise second, two paramilitary members of the Guardia Civil rounded the street corner cradling their semi-automatics. Mitch’s concern rose exponentially. Suddenly, he had more than his CO’s reprimand to worry about. The guards’ steps slowed as they took in the belligerent stances of the late-night revelers they’d run into.
The presence of the guards convinced Armando to accept Mitch’s offer. With slouched shoulders and a muttered exchange, he and his friends hurried away, turning left at the intersection to avoid the Guardia Civil who remained on the opposite corner watching them go then turned their attention predictably to Mitch and company.
With Hotel Leonardo standing just beyond the guards, the foursome had no choice but to walk past them. Mitch’s civil greeting prompted a barked command, uttered too swiftly for him to understand.
Katrina responded with a word of compliance.
“What’d he say?” he asked once the guards were out of earshot.
“He said it’s past curfew,” she replied.
“There’s a curfew?”
“I guess there is now.” The tension in her voice made her sound perfectly sober. “There must have been a skirmish somewhere. I was afraid this would happen.”
Well, hell, Mitch thought. The fragile peace in Barcelona was starting to disintegrate. Maybe he and his friends ought to skip town and head to Seville two days early.
He thought about Katrina and immediately dismissed the idea.
As they neared the hotel’s whitewashed walls and wrought-iron balconies, he recalled her round-about proposition: I’ve never had a one-night stand.
Given her tense expression as she led them to the double-wide door and unlocked it with a card from her pocket, Mitch guessed the aberrant act was now out of the question. Between their run-in with Armando and the news that a curfew had been declared, she may have already forgotten their deep and sudden connection.
Taking the door from her, he ushered everyone inside. In the dimly lit foyer that smelled of dried flowers, he caught up to Katrina, catching her arm before she got away from him.
As she turned to look at him, he called to his buddies, who proceeded to the elevator. “Hey, I’ll be right up.” Then he looked back at Katrina. “Can I see you tomorrow?” Despite how strangely the night had turned out, he yearned to spend more time with her.
She broke eye contact and wet her lips as if thinking.
“Can I take you on a date?” he clarified.
She drew a breath, touching a distracted hand to her forehead.
Had she forgotten she was willing to sleep with him just minutes ago?
“You said you had the day off,” he reminded her. “I’m busy all morning with tours we scheduled, but I’m free at like five o’clock.”
“Five o’clock? Okay,” she finally said.
“Okay?” He wondered at her sudden profound distraction. Was Armando’s taunt bothering her? The news of a curfew instated by Madrid?
“Yes, a date would be nice.” She mustered a convincing smile for him, but all he read in her golden-brown eyes was concern.
“Meet you here in the lobby at five, then.”
Katrina nodded and said nothing more.
Wanting to remind her of their connection, Mitch bent and brushed a lingering kiss across her cheek. He was pleased to feel her response as she leaned into him. “Thanks for taking us around. I’ll see you here tomorrow.”
The silky texture of her skin under his lips made it hard to walk away. But he could tell she needed time alone—to ponder what?
Frustration pricked him. The only thing he could do in the limited time left to them was to show Katrina how real men treated their women. That way, she would never forget him, just as he was certain he would never forget her.
Chapter Six
“Guys, I’ve got to head back to the hotel for my date.” Glancing at his watch while seated on the upper floor of a moving double-decker, Mitch discovered that time had run away on him. Their trip to the Olympic Park, followed by lunch and a tour of La Sagrada Familia, had taken them late into the afternoon.
Haiku glanced at the map on his sat phone. Being the task unit’s chief communications officer, he could access data anywhere in the world—at least when a U.S.-owned satellite was orbiting overhead. Mitch’s iPhone, on the other hand, was useless whenever he went overseas.
“Get off at the next stop and walk north two blocks,” Haiku advised.
Austin, who was plugged into his music, looked over in time to see Mitch slide to the edge of his seat. “Get some for me, brother,” he called.
Mitch rolled his eyes. As the bus approached Avinguda Diagonal, he reminded Chuck about the newly instated curfew. Madrid had decreed that not a single soul should be walking the streets of Barcelona after three in the morning. Chuck acknowledged the reminder with a nod. The bus drew to a stop, and Mitch clambered off, hurrying in the direction of the hotel.
As he crossed the lobby, Katrina’s father, a careworn gentleman who’d taken the time that morning to answer their last-minute transportation questions, glanced up. Mitch’s respectful greeting went ignored. The man didn’t even seem to recognize him from earlier.
It occurred to Mitch that the tension in the streets was equally evident within the Ferrer family. The number of Guardia Civil in Barcelona seemed to have tripled overnight. Regardless of what sights Mitch and his companions had toured that day, there were paramilitary policemen everywhere, casing the streets, shooting suspicious looks at the locals.
Clearly, the guards were there to discourage acts of rebellion, but considering how much and for how many decades Catalans had desired their independence, Mitch figured it was only a matter of time before tensions turned into violence.
Still pondering Spain’s future, he showered and shaved in record time before donning a lightweight blue button-up, tan slacks, and boat shoes. The previous night’s near brush with violence reminded him to transfer his folding dagger from his jeans into the pocket of his slacks. The holster for his backup knife went around his left ankle, out of sight.
With a bounce in his step, Mitch left his room and headed for the lobby, arriving two minutes early.
Katrina was waiting by the check-in counter. Caught up in earnest conversation with her father, she failed to notice his approach. He sure as hell noticed her.
A black swing dress fell from her shoulders to the top half of her thighs, leaving most of her trim, golden legs bare. Her hair was caught up in a ponytail, drawing his attention to her slender neck and the smooth skin peeking through the embroidery at the back of her dress. Strappy black heels encased her dainty feet. If he could have gotten away with picking her up and carrying her to his room right then, he might have tried it.
Felipe caught sight of him first, directing Kat
rina’s attention over her shoulder. As she turned around, a convincing smile supplanted her agitated expression.
More family trouble, Mitch thought.
“Hello,” he said, wishing he’d brought a flower for her hair as he bent to brush her cheek. Her perfume, he decided, would have made the flower redundant. “You look amazing.”
She took in his neat attire. “So do you.”
Pleased, Mitch cast a respectful nod at her father. “I’ll take good care of her, sir,” he promised, but that man was already turning away, mumbling to himself.
“Ready?” Mitch asked Katrina.
With a game smile and a familiarity that warmed him, she linked her arm with his. “Let’s go,” she said, drawing him toward the exit.
“You feel okay today?” he asked. Her fresh complexion and sexy eye makeup betrayed scant evidence of their late outing the night before. “No hangover?”
“No, I’m fine. You?” she asked, as he opened the door for her.
“I couldn’t be better.”
“Great.” They stood on the stoop of the hotel grinning at each other. “Where are we going?” she prompted.
“I was hoping you could make that decision for me.” Filaments of sunlight slanted across the street, bathing the townhouses across the street in gold. “Where’s a good restaurant that’s close to here?”
“Hmm.” She turned her head predictably toward Las Ramblas, and her smile disappeared. “Let’s go this way,” she said, nodding in the opposite direction—one he’d never taken before.
Maybe she was remembering Armando and the crude words he’d spoken. Recalling his decision to eradicate that man’s memory from her mind, Mitch steered Katrina toward the inner part of the sidewalk, taking the curb side in the event of a runaway car.
She glanced at him sidelong, looking at first bemused and then touched. A small smile lifted at the corners of her pink-glossed lips.
He had a hunch he’d be kissing that gloss off her long before their date was over.
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