The Spanish Love Deception

by Elena Armas

  His lips fell on my skin once more, resuming where they had stopped. His mouth skimmed along my jaw, and my heart seemed to come back alive in my chest, making me realize I hadn’t really noticed how it had ceased to beat without his touch.

  “I don’t think I’d be able to deny you a single thing if you asked, Catalina.”

  He followed that with one openmouthed kiss against the side of my neck, almost ripping a whimper out of me.

  My eyelids must have fluttered because Aaron said, “No. Don’t open them yet.”

  And I didn’t. I couldn’t. Aaron was in absolute control of my body now.

  “Good girl. Keep them closed.” He brushed another openmouthed kiss as a reward. “We’ll play this game a little longer.”

  My stomach plummeted to my feet in response.

  “For practice purposes,” he said, and the hand that was cupping my head started trailing down, down, down over my clothes, stopping on my waist and leaving a burning path behind. It sent my head spinning. “I can show you exactly what it would be like.”

  I felt him fisting the fabric of my shirt, as if he was stopping himself from doing more. Then releasing it and returning his palm to my waist.

  “If you were really mine, I’d do this all the time.” His long fingers draped around my hip and pushed me against him from the waist down. Hot—he felt so hot and hard, branding my skin, even with layers of fabric separating us.

  “If you were mine, you’d crave this.” He then closed the rest of the distance that separated us very slowly. Bringing our bodies flush together with such softness and at such a painful pace that I praised and cursed him at the same time. “You’d welcome this. You would want it.”

  And wasn’t I doing all those things?

  Before I could delve into that, Aaron’s large body shifted, and my back was against a hard surface. My hand traveled across it absently. The wardrobe. He was caging me against what felt like the wardrobe door, and I didn’t know how we had ended up there. Not really. But he was pressing deliciously into me, sheltering me from the world around us. Like the human-sized shield he had shown me he could be for me. Rooting me to the ground and sending my senses flying all at once. So, I didn’t care. Instead, my body craved more contact. It throbbed for more.

  “If I were yours, I would not be capable of functioning without touching you.” His words made something in my chest constrict. “I couldn’t go a few minutes without doing this,” he added, squeezing my waist with his hand and slipping his thumb below my sleeping shirt, robbing me of the following breath. “Or something like this.” Aaron stepped further into me, pressing his hips against mine.

  A helpless whimper left me.

  The runaway thumb that had snuck below the fabric of my shirt trailed a few inches up my side, rumpling my shirt on its way.

  A very shaky exhale escaped my lips. I couldn’t do much more than that, hardly breathing, barely surviving until the next touch. Every nerve in my body felt like it was about to be lit on fire. My blood boiled, burning every vessel and organ in its path. Everything burned.

  I thought a new whimper had escaped away from me because I was rewarded with another openmouthed kiss. This time on my temple. Then, Aaron’s lips traveled down the side of my face, the air leaving them warm and enticing.

  His mouth stopped at my eyelids, still shut, and he held his lips above them for a second. It wasn’t a kiss; it was more of a featherlight touch. And, God, that soft brush of his lips alone was so sweet, so fucking tender that it made me want to weep.

  He continued down, stopping at my nose and repeating the soft caress.

  Then, he did it to my right cheek. My left cheek. My chin.

  Aaron left soft kisses everywhere he stopped, turning me inside out.

  Pure, unfiltered need pulsated through my body with every inch of skin his lips traveled. And when they reached the corner of my mouth, I felt like I would detonate like a bomb if he didn’t touch me there too. If he didn’t brush his lips over mine and kiss me.

  I felt the large and masculine body that pressed against me sigh. His lips hovering above mine.

  Breaking my restraint, my hand lifted and landed on his upper arm, which I discovered was braced against the wardrobe surface, right next to my head. Barely able to take ahold of his flexed biceps, I wrapped my fingers as well as I could around the hot and tense skin. Everything strained and tightened under my touch. And I wondered if he was holding himself back, holding back from wrapping both arms around me and lifting me in the air. Perhaps pressing me harder into his body. Or doing more than just leaving featherlight kisses and soft brushes of his fingers.

  Unsure if what he needed was my encouragement, I increased the pressure of my hold on his arm. My nails dug into his skin.

  A deep and throaty sound left Aaron’s mouth, landing right between my legs. Just where all the ever-growing need had gathered.

  I latched on to his arm harder, my body arching into him unconsciously, barely able to contain myself any longer. I was very close to begging, and I would if I had to. In response, Aaron came a little closer. Pressed against me a little harder.

  I could feel him throbbing against my belly.

  “Lina.” My name left his lips like a soft prayer. Or a warning. I wasn’t sure. “I’m going to kiss you.”

  His words fell on my lips, close, so close. So, I was left with no option but to increase the pressure of my fingers around his arm, so I wouldn’t dissolve right there. To slip away and disappear before I could touch him. And I wanted to so badly. His neck, his lips, his jaw, the little wrinkle between his brows—everything. I wanted to slip my fingers through his raven hair and run them down his chest, all the way to his thick thighs.

  I wanted Aaron to deliver his promise. I wanted him to kiss me.

  Another brief touch of his lips, this time against mine. Soft, full, sweet, just like honey running down my mouth. I wanted—no, I needed—more.

  “Please, Aar—”

  A door slamming shut somewhere in the apartment startled the plea out of my lips. Aaron’s mouth pulled back from mine before I even properly tasted him, my eyes falling back open.

  I was welcomed by the image of a man on the brink of losing control. His gaze was hazy, clouded by the same need that was pumping through my bloodstream.

  Aaron’s forehead fell on mine. I watched his chest heave, hauling air in and out of his lungs with effort. Just like mine was doing. And we remained in silence for a long moment, surrounded by only the sound of our wild and unrestrained breathing.

  “You called me Lina.” Out of everything that had just happened, that was what my foggy brain decided to go with. “You never do. You only have once.”

  Still resting on my forehead, Aaron’s head shook against mine. Very briefly. Then, a breathy laugh reached my ears. It made me smile.

  But that part of my brain that was supposed to work out all the rational reasoning came back to life, wiping that smile off my face.

  Holy shit. We almost kissed.

  Aaron had warned me he’d kiss me, and then he almost had. The man whose arms and body were currently caging me against a wardrobe had tortured me with his fingertips, his mouth, and then he had almost kissed me. Right after he called me Lina. But—

  “Oh my God,” I whispered. “What the hell was that noise?”

  Aaron lifted his head slightly, just enough for me to be able to watch how his eyes traveled across my face, bouncing from every spot he had brushed his lips over to the next, as if he couldn’t decide where to set camp. Eventually stopping at my lips. Something that looked a lot like pain flashed across his expression. “Your cousin, I hope.”

  Charo.

  Of course. That … made sense.

  Aaron sobered up slowly, his expression eventually going back to normal. “I’ll go check,” he announced before ripping himself off me.

  My body grieved the loss almost immediately, feeling cold and unbalanced without him.

  Willing my legs
to remain strong, I limited myself to following Aaron’s march to the door, feeling numb and all over the place. He looked back at me right before he opened it.

  “Catalina.” There it was again. Not Lina. Catalina. “I’m glad I didn’t kiss you.”

  Something halted in my chest.

  “Why?” The word was nothing more than a shaky whisper.

  “Because when I finally take those lips in mine, it will be the furthest thing from pretending. I will not be showing you what it would be like if you were mine. I’ll show you what it is. And I sure as hell won’t be showing how good I could make you feel if you called me yours. You’ll already know that I am.”

  He paused, and I swore I could see the restraint in his posture. As if he was stopping himself from pouncing and returning us to our former position, right against the hard surface of the wardrobe door.

  “When I finally kiss you, there won’t be any doubt in your mind that it is real.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The moment my eyes popped open to the glorious darkness that only a country where blinds were religiously installed could provide, I knew I wasn’t in my bed.

  For one, I was used to waking up to bright beams of sunlight flooding my studio apartment. Then, there was the surface beneath me. It felt different. Softer and bouncier than the one my body was accustomed to. Same went for the pillow where my head rested—too flat and low.

  But what really screamed at me that this wasn’t my bed—that I wasn’t in my apartment in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn—was the dead weight currently resting on my waist. It was heavy and warm and felt a lot like an oversize limb that surely couldn’t belong to me.

  The drumming occurring in almost every corner of my head was probably not helping me get any clarity on what was responsible for that vise around my body. Or why I wasn’t in the comfort of my room, rolling in a mattress that had made it worth punching a hole in my bank account.

  Blinking a few times as I brushed some of the sleepy locks of hair off my face, my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  My gaze searched for whatever was behind the weight on my midsection.

  An arm. Just how I had suspected. It was dusted with dark hair and corded with muscle. So, it wasn’t mine. My eyes followed that muscular and long limb all the way up until reaching the very masculine shoulder it was attached to. A shoulder that led to a strong neck that ended in a head that—

  Mierda.

  The owner of all those body parts I had been studying in the darkness shifted. I froze. That robust and heavy arm that was latched to my waist moved slightly, his hand partially slipping beneath my shirt. All five fingers splayed on my skin.

  My breath got stuck somewhere between my throat and mouth.

  Do not fucking move, Catalina, I ordered myself.

  But it was hard when those fingers felt so hot against my skin, causing my whole body to tingle.

  Only a few inches separated me from Aaron.

  Aaron.

  Last night.

  A series of F-bombs were dropped, blasting across my mind as blurry images flashed through my head.

  No, no, no, no.

  Those fingers brushed my skin again, and a deep and throaty noise left the man sleeping beside me.

  A dream. All those images had to have been a dream because we couldn’t have almost kissed. That was completely crazy. That was—

  At the fastest pace known to man, all the events from last night solidified. They tumbled down my memory, flashing behind my eyes and making me recall every last one of them. Each and every one of those images, snippets—memories—replayed in my mind in painfully slow motion.

  All the sidra. Aaron’s fabricated story about how we had started dating. The way his eyes had been locked on me all through the night. Us dancing in the middle of a dark club with sticky floors, lost among the sea of bodies. My freak-out. Aaron sitting with me on the sidewalk, taking care of me, telling me about himself. Opening up and laying out a piece of himself for me. Him pressing me against the wardrobe. My body coming alive—being lit on fire—with all those featherlight brushes of his lips and fingers. Lina. Aaron had called me Lina. Right before he brushed his lips over mine.

  We had almost kissed.

  No. I had almost begged Aaron to kiss me, and I would have done more than just that.

  “When I finally kiss you, there won’t be any doubt in your mind that it is real,” he had said that before going to check if what had burst our bubble of madness was Charo.

  And I had lain on the bed and passed out immediately.

  Fuck, fuck. Mierda, joder.

  I needed to get out of this bed. I needed time to think, to process. Away from Aaron. Before I did something stupid. Or reckless. Something like almost kissing him.

  A low groan climbed up my throat, and I had no other choice but to muffle it with my hand. The sudden motion made the mattress bounce under me.

  Shit.

  Aaron stretched beside me.

  Don’t wake up, please. Please, universe. God. Anyone. I just need a couple of minutes to gather myself before I have to face him.

  I felt Aaron’s body settle back, his breathing remaining deep and constant.

  Returning my hand back to my side—very fucking slowly—I thanked the universe for listening to me this one time and promised I’d make up for it. I’d go to church with Abuela next time I came home, I swore.

  I was being a complete chicken, but I wanted a few minutes to myself. Just so I could appease everything that kept darting through my mind. To make peace with it and move on like nothing had ever happened. Also, to hunt down a painkiller and kill the throbbing in my head. Coffee would be good too.

  And the first step was getting the hell out of this bed—from under the arm I had desperately been gripping for dear life only a few hours ago—as fast and as quietly as I possibly could before Aaron’s eyes opened and found me losing my shit.

  Lifting Aaron’s heavy limb as delicately and slowly as I could, I rolled to the side, right to the edge of the bed, and then I deposited his muscular body part back on the comforter. Aaron moved, turning on his back and lifting that arm that had been on top of me so it rested behind his head.

  That position caused his biceps to flex and look all big and delectable and—

  Jesus Christ, Catalina.

  Pulling my eyes off the man on the bed, I moved through the room on my tiptoes. I made my way out and closed the door behind me. My head fell on the wooden surface, and my eyes closed.

  “Vaya, vaya. Mira quién ha amanecido,” a high-pitched voice welcomed me from outside the kitchen. “Buenos días, prima.”

  The blood in my body froze.

  I couldn’t catch a freaking break.

  My lips curled with a forced smile. “Hola, Charo. Buenos días,” I greeted her, straightening my back and trying to look the furthest from someone who had just snuck out of a room.

  I walked into the kitchen, keeping my steps breezy and casual.

  Passing my cousin as she stood rooted to the white tiles, studying my every move, I proceeded to open cabinets and drawers, looking for the coffee beans so I could at least caffeinate my brain before Charo started the questioning. Or Aaron woke up and I had to face him.

  “He dejado una cafetera preparada,” Charo chimed behind me. She had prepared coffee for me. That could only mean one thing: she was up to something. “Está ahí, mujer. En la encimera.” Coffee was on the countertop.

  With my back still to her, I muttered my thanks and proceeded to pour some black goodness in a mug.

  Much to the displeasure of my hungover head—but not any surprise—she continued with her monologue before I could even take the first sip.

  “Hay suficiente para ti y para tu novio.” There was enough coffee for me and my boyfriend, she told me. “Imagino que no tardará en despertarse ¿no? Oye si quieres ir a llamarle para que no se enfríe el café …” Charo continued.

  If she was trying to get me to go fetch Aaron so the coffee she
had prepared wouldn’t get cold, she had another thing coming. The coffee would spontaneously turn into ice cubes before I willingly went back inside that room.

  “Menuda sensación ha causado en la familia. Tu madre no podía parar de …” And then she proceeded to tell me about when and how and what had been said about my—fake—boyfriend, Aaron, in the mere twenty-four hours he’d been in the country.

  Which had been a lot, considering the short amount of time.

  That was exactly why having Charo sharing accommodations with us was so dangerous. She had no social filters of any kind and no regard for privacy. I was genuinely shocked she wasn’t plundering herself into our room and taking my fake boyfriend out of bed, so she could continue her perusal.

  Charo’s chatter kept filling the kitchen as I nodded my head absently. “Y justo como le dije a tu madre, llegará un día en el que Lina tendrá que superar lo de Daniel.” Just how I told your mom, one day, Lina will have to get over Daniel. “Sino se va a quedar para vestir santos y …”

  Jesus, my cousin had just used that Spanish expression I hated so much. The one I had heard directed at me more than once, always muttered or whispered, or just like she had done, loud and clear. Se va a quedar para vestir santos. Which literally translated to something about dressing saints and meant that I’d stay single and dedicate my life to God for the rest of my life.

  Feeling completely defenseless, standing all alone with my cousin, I couldn’t decide if sleepy Aaron was a blessing or a curse anymore. Yesterday, when he had been with me, facing Charo, my sister, Daniel, and everybody else, it had been unexpectedly easier than doing that now.

  I realized now that as much as I had brought him to Spain with that particular purpose, I had never truly expected that it would work. Or that we’d become a team. That he’d instill strength in me—even if I’d use it to lie to my family—or that he’d make me feel like I wasn’t alone in this.

  And the scariest, most terrifying part was that all that was starting to bleed through the lines that defined our deal. In a little over a day.