by Pamela Ann
You know what they say: when there’s a spark, fire was close behind.
It was draining—fighting this invincible force between us. I had tried everything in my power to squash whatever it was. But when the lights shut off, the curtains drawn, the Spanish man would appear in my dreams, showing me what he wanted to do to me.
The images were vivid, beyond erotic, and unquestionably raunchy. Each night, I’d wake up in the middle of my dream, troubled and aroused like never before. The slick evidence would be between my legs, but for the life of me, I couldn’t bring myself to rub that button and unleash something I wouldn’t be able to control.
My dreams were becoming a hindrance to life itself. It made it impossible to calmly, rationally talk to him without my mind drifting to my pornographic nightmares. I wished to bury myself with shame.
The previous night, Anton and I’d had a lengthy conversation. And I admit, there were several instances when I was tempted to divulge these disturbing thoughts. But each time I tried, I managed to stop myself from spilling my shame. It would’ve granted immense relief to confide to someone, but at the end of the day, I believed there was no way of taking it back. Then those thoughts wouldn’t stay in my dreams. They’d become more real—realer than I ever wanted them to be. I couldn’t place myself in that position while I was stuck on this gorgeous island for weeks on end.
After the wearisome day I had, I couldn’t wait until I was alone. The car service had just dropped me back off at the hotel. It was a balmy evening, and the sweet, salty scent of the sea hung heavily in the air, beguiling one’s senses.
It was past seven and the beachgoers, had all retreated indoors to freshen up for tonight’s festivities—mainly clubbing and beach parties. The thought of partying and enjoying the night away while dancing up a storm made me miss my friends. The downside of shooting outside the country was the loneliness that accompanied it. Nighttime was when it severely thrived.
“Buena noches, Señorita Quinn,” Esteban, the jolly doorman, warmly greeted me as I entered the hotel’s reception area. After living here for over a week, it was safe to say I knew everyone.
Meeting the doorman’s cheerful smile, I nodded. “Buena noches, Esteban,” I replied back just as my stomach grumbled in protest. My hand immediately covered my bare midriff as if to hush it because there were a lot of folks brushing past me, desperate to get to their destination.
Upon entering the air-conditioned lobby, I zoomed past a dozen of Japanese tourists who were engrossed in their maps and scrolling at photos. I was just about to press the call button on the lift when I spotted Juan from my peripheral view, walking in long strides, purposely trying to catch up to me.
What does he want now? The man seems to be too dense not to take my hints. I’m not interested, but here he goes again … fuck.
My heart rate accelerated as the Spanish drew closer. This reaction had been an unwelcomed aftereffect whenever he was in close range. A nuisance I could do without. That and the man himself.
Irked at my treacherous body, I enthused my resting bitch face, barely acknowledging him when he towered inches from me. In my delicate five-feet-four frame, the man loomed over me with his over six-foot stature.
My pulse quickened. Breathing ragged. However, I remained steadfast with my mission—repel. Repel the fucking evil that was provoking me.
“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked, still sporting that blissful persona, while glancing upwards to the lift indicator ticking its way down to the lobby.
I hate it when he’s all smiles and happy. It makes it harder to ignore him. There’s something weird about overly happy people. Fucking get it together; life isn’t all that great.
Okay, that’s rather mean, but for fuck’s sake, just stop fucking smiling!
When I didn’t immediately respond, Juan’s fathomless pools honed in on my face. They caressed, roving over my delicate neck before halting on my lips.
Bitch, please, I irritatingly thought as I clutched my purse strap tighter. My stomach began to churn as if I was getting sick. Yes, this attraction was nothing short of sickening. Vile. Beyond appalling.
Breathe.
It’s not that serious, Cara.
“Cara?” he softly chimed, taking a step closer to me. “I asked you a question.”
Damn him.
My head remained unmoving, staring straight ahead. “I’m heading to Sweden on Sunday to see River.” My tone was cool, unfeeling.
“Well, I’m heading to Barcelona tomorrow night. Why don’t you come? You’ll be catching your flight from there, no? Why not make the most of it?” he cajoled, remaining hopeful.
I considered his question with great gravity.
Party with him? Right.
Happiness all around? Not.
The thought of being close to him for hours on end didn’t seem all that feasible to me. He was probably on some happy recreational medicine because it was abnormal to be this cheerful all the goddamn time.
Maybe you’re what’s wrong with you? Maybe it’s your darn attitude that needs a hefty dose of whatever it was he’s having?
I frowned, wondering if there was any truth to that thought. There probably was. I mean, there was a good reason I wasn’t popular in any of the schools I had attended, due to this bitchy persona. And still, years later, the sparkly temperament hadn’t worn off. Well, imagine that.
The lift had finally arrived and the doors parted. I immediately darted into it, needing space from him.
Color me not so surprised when Juan joined in, unwilling to let go of the subject. “You’ll like Barcelona. It’s a beautiful city with a lot to offer. It’s time you explore Spain. We don’t get enough days off as it is.”
Damn. He was targeting my weak spots. Experiencing culture firsthand was something I had a hard time resisting. And one I couldn’t indulge as much due to all sorts of reasons. Now here came an opportunity, and I wasn’t even blinking twice before my mind immediately rejected the offer.
Apart from the view of the airport, I didn’t know much about Pablo Picasso’s city.
Barcelona, how I want to meet thee.
Maybe suffering his presence for a short span of time wouldn’t be so bad. He wasn’t all that annoying when I had alcohol in my system. Maybe I was being too hasty and judgmental, which tended to be the case when I didn’t know how to handle certain situations, like a virile men named Juan Torres.
“I … don’t know,” I found myself saying, highly considering his invitation now.
The lift dinged our arrival, depositing us on our level. We both simultaneously stepped out of the moving steel contraption. My eyes were glued to the wide, sweeping, intricate patterns on the carpet while I strolled alongside him, deeply pensive.
“Live a little. I’ll show you the city with what little time we have, then we go party afterwards,” he continued to enticingly drawl.
His words stuck to me, resulting in deep contemplation.
Should I or should I?
Since I was already heading that way, why shouldn’t I jump at the chance, right? Juan, though a massive flirt of epic proportion, wouldn’t dare cross the line. And if he did … well, my fighting classes would come handy.
I only had one life to live. Might as well indulge once in a while.
“Fine, I’ll go, but do let me know which hotel we’re staying at so I can book my own room.” We were nearing my suite, so I pulled my keycard out of my purse, not willing to waste another minute.
Juan’s eyes crinkled as he triumphantly grinned at me, quite ecstatic on his tiny accomplishment of getting me onboard. “There’s no need. We have a place to stay. I promise you will have your own bedroom. Does that satisfy your requirements?”
He was one of those people with expressive faces, and when he smiled, his entire face lit up, granting you one of those heart-warming, unforgettable expressions.
Sometimes, I begrudgingly admitted, he could be quite disarming, annoyingly so.
&
nbsp; “Sounds … fine.” I halted as we reached my room.
Exhausted from the long day we had, inviting him inside just didn’t sit well in my already grumpy state. However, Juan seemed like he didn’t feel like parting from my stellar company. Well, too bad. He had to find another person to entertain him. Before the sex scenes, I was that person, but since then, I had avoided him like a plague.
Going for an overnight in Barcelona contradicted my actions. But, oh well, I was a young woman, and females were famously known for being prone to indecisiveness.
“Okay, we’ll leave right after we wrap up tomorrow night.”
“Got it, thanks.”
“Te estaré observando, Cara.” He made a little bow, as if quite honored, before he threw me one last lingering look, heavily loaded of contemplation and wonderment. Then he retreated across the hall, assumingly heading back to his quarters.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I grumbled in protest.
Sliding my key into the slot, I panted as I entered my suite, still affected by his unadulterated desire for me.
The prickly aftermath would’ve been bearable if he hadn’t bestowed me those come-hither eyes. If he intended to seduce me with his machismo techniques … well, he could think again.
Though I never gave any sign that his intentions were reciprocated, he didn’t appear to be discouraged. It was all about the Spanish bravado. Men around here apparently weren’t taught what the word “no” meant. They went after what they wanted, no matter the cost. They had a deep-rooted love affair with the color crimson. It represented fiery passion, virility, blood, and raw power. The Spanish altered angst to a new playing field.
How was that for modus operandi?
//
After shooting, we immediately hopped on to our flight. I didn’t get the chance to freshen up nor change my outfit, so I was stuck wearing a crumpled white sundress and stilettos—I knew it wasn’t the ideal airport footwear, but I couldn’t spare time to change.
My flight to Stockholm was at seven in the morning, so I had little time to engage in whatever endeavors Juan would indulge me in.
There was a chauffeured car ready to take us to our next stop. Ever since we landed, Mister Don Juan hadn’t taken a breather from his phone. I didn’t get the opportunity to properly ask where we were staying. I should’ve inquired during our flight, but instead I took that opportunity for a quick nap.
I get it that he was so darn popular, but hello … I needed some info here.
I scrutinized his expressive face before diverting my attention to the moving scenery. I had a tough time seeing anything since it was dark and the driver aimed at breaking world records with his superb driving skills. The man had some fixation on using the breaks at every goddamn opportunity. I lost count how much I almost hit my forehead on the back of the front seat’s headrest. And all the while, Juan Torres, still oblivious, was engaged in a verbal battle with someone.
The man spoke with his hand. It darted in the air, snapping fingers, slapping his knee in frustration. Had I not been slowly stewing in my sad, little corner over here, I would’ve found it amusing.
When it appeared that he finished his endless round of calls, we arrived at our destination.
“Where are we?” My eyes roved at the gleaming building where a uniformed concierge began to pace towards our parked vehicle.
Juan glanced at me with his lips pressed together, as if his mind was elsewhere. “Hmm? Oh, um, it’s one of my parents’ homes. I figured we’d be more comfortable here than staying at a hotel since we’ve been living in one for some time now.”
Did that mean his parents were here or what? It felt daunting to be in that bizarre position.
A worried look must have begun to set on my face because Juan’s gave me the gleaming eye.
“Calmate cariña, the apartment’s empty.” He reached out across the small gap between us and gave my hand a light squeeze, as if to reassure me. “My friend’s having a party at midnight, so we have a couple of hours to kill. We’ll go have dinner, then we’ll see where to go from there before we party, sí?”
I made a nod as I consciously pulled my hand away. “Very sí.” If my ears were to judge my intonation of Spanish, I sounded highly retarded. Hopefully after the filming was done, I could go home and be able to moderately speak it.
Juan opened the door and slid out of the black leather seat, as did the driver. As they began to exchange words, I gathered my nude Chanel handbag and my scarf, and vacated the car.
I stood on the pavement, eyes surveying the view that I had over looked before. A seafront view of the beach. I took a deep breath and silently noted that Cala Galdana had sweeter air. Without much traffic on the island, pollution wasn’t rampant compared to one of the largest metro cities in Spain. Even still, beachfront views guaranteed beautiful sunsets and sunrises; some of the simplest yet beautiful experiences to have.
“Hola Señorita.” The concierge nodded his head towards me before the driver opened the boot of the car. “Señorito Torres, como esta usted?”
“Oye, Pablito! Buen amigo, como estas?” Juan laughed and happily hugged him.
Juan’s genuine happiness was infectious, and I found myself smiling at the two. They looked like they had known each other for a long time. I supposed Juan used this place quite often.
After they finished their cozy reunion, Juan then spun in my direction, eyes warm and smiling as he gently placed a hand at the base of my spine. With his looming, tall frame, he hovered above me before his slightly dipped his head. “Agustín will bring our things upstairs. Come, I want us to get settled quickly so we can venture out and explore to your heart’s delight.”
Ignoring this newfound intimacy that Juan was exhibiting, I’d rather focus on the impending adventure than start an argument with Juan, who vowed to be my tour guide, even though most places were probably closed at this late hour.
During the elevator ride, Juan stood close to me. Not the smothering kind or evading my personal space, but close enough that I could smell his cologne and the warmth coming from his body. My senses were so accustomed to his scent now that my body had the same stirrings when I was …
Licking his torso.
Biting his neck.
Nipping his ear—
Fuck! What the fuck, stupid brain? Throw me into the fires of Hell, why don’t you?
I shut my eyes before I stifled a groan, chanting and praying for those damn images to die out like pouring gallons of water over an open fire.
It wasn’t like I wasn’t already fighting this sexual tension between us. Fanning the flames would ensure my already tattered resistance failed. And I couldn’t have that. Not tonight. Not ever.
Again, I chose to ignore the shenanigan. What else could I do? Addressing it would be suicide. So here I was, faking a yawn as I took a few steps away from him. I’d have gone farther, too, but I’d already hit the mirrored paneled wall, leaving me no space to maneuver.
“Why do you do that?”
He sure as hell slow this one…
I blinked a few times, feigning innocence. “Whatever do you mean?”
He raised his brow, scrutinizing. “You’re avoiding me.”
“I’m right here; how am I avoiding you, genius?”
“You always move away. Every. Single. Time. Para qué?”
Ugh. WTF.
“I have a phobia with enclosed spaces or when someone gets too closed to me. Claustrophobia; have you heard of it?”
God, Cara. You suck at lying. Phobia. Really? Wasn’t it hours ago when you were sucking lips with him?
We didn’t have the opportunity to continue discussing my new disability because we had arrived at the top floor. The doors opened to a brightly lit hallway, and we strode towards the south wing. Upon reaching the massive oak doors, Juan unlocked it and pushed it open. We were greeted with complete darkness upon entering the foyer.
“Un segundo, cariña.”
The penthouse suite w
as just as I imagined, the kitchen and living room overlooked the glittering Mediterranean. Baroque meets modern chic.
The entire apartment had white marbled flooring, floor to ceiling walls everywhere. One could already envision how bright and sunny it’d be in the morning. The apartment was meticulously clean. The surfaces gleamed of germ-free environment. A polar opposite of mine. Obviously, my apartment wasn’t a pigsty, but there were days that I’d slack on thorough cleaning, like any normal person without an OCD would.
I caught myself in the middle of the living room, quietly observing the people below. At this hour, it was full of groups of friends and lovers strolling about the pathway close to the shore.
“My sister Juana comes around here often ’cause her boyfriend’s from here,” Juan calmly informed me.
Just then, there was a loud knock, indicating Pablito’s arrival.
So there was Juan and Juana. How cute. I wondered what his sister was like while I faintly listened to Juan thanking Pablito.
The loud thud of the door being shut closed made me look up, and I saw Juan passing through the hallway, announcing he was depositing my measly carry-on luggage into my designated bedroom.
Curious, I strode away from the living room and followed, leading me to a room located on the left. He quickly pointed out that he would take the one of the right. The room wasn’t massive, but large enough to accommodate a queen-sized bed, a baroque chaise lounge, and a vanity. It didn’t take a wild guess that this room was probably his sister’s.
Juan laid my luggage flatly on the chaise’s velvety cushion then spun around to face me, arms loosely planted on both side of his hips with an expectant look on him.
Before that calm exterior turned into something sensual, I best break the silence while I had the chance.
Appearing interested in what the bathroom looked like, I took a quick peek before asking as I flipped the light switch, “What time are we going out to eat?” I needed a good hot shower.
The bathroom had everything I needed. Most especially a separate bathtub large enough to fit two people. Not that I intended to use it with anyone. Ew.