by Lia Lee
“Not a great one. I brought my camera for a bit of filming when I’m off the clock.” She blanched. “Unless that’s not okay.”
“You have eight-hour days. Whatever you do around that is on your own time.”
“Cool.”
“So can you film?”
She hesitated and then pulled her hand away. He loathed the loss of contact, but it was for the best. She’s just an employee. You have to remember that. As he watched, she pulled out her phone from her purse and then turned it on.
“I can make a small video on my phone. The quality will be crap, but it’ll be fun for a behind-the-scenes post to get them anticipating all my Spanish sightseeing at night.”
“You’re lucky then. Barcelona has a fabulous nightlife. Nothing even starts there before ten or eleven. It’s a lovely city.”
“I can’t wait to see all the Gaudí structures. Talk about trippy stuff!” she said, futzing with her hair and getting into position.
“I can take you.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized it. Javier had only advised that he didn’t have sex with his nubile redheaded valet. His brother never said that he shouldn’t act as a tour guide.
“You can?”
“If you’d like to see something when I’m not in meetings, then I would feel bad letting you wander around such a large city on your own.”
“I can handle myself,” she said, sitting up higher in her chair and tilting her chin up at him. “Like I said, DC’s a tough city and I’ve had jobs before where I got off at two or three a.m.”
“Do you speak Spanish?”
“I took one year in high school before switching to German.”
“I can help you there. Seriously, on Friday I’ll be done with my first round of meetings and I’ll be happy to show you around the Sagrada Família and the Park Güell. It’s all Gaudí, all the time.”
“I don’t want to impose,” she said.
“I want you to experience my city, and I’d love for you to see it as I do,” he said.
“You’re from Barcelona? I assumed you were American.”
“I am on my mother’s side. She’s a Clifton, some old New England deal, but she met my father traveling for summer school in college. Javier and I were born here when my family was living in the States, but this is definitely my city. It’d be my honor to introduce an American to everything.”
She frowned. “I don’t want…it’s not inappropriate, is it?”
“Not at all,” he lied. If you wear something less frumpy, though, I’ll probably combust with need, but we’ll worry about that when we get there. “Think of it as me doing my part for tourism.”
Jules nodded. “We’ll see, okay? You might be exhausted by Friday.”
“Trust me. I’d still be up for you.”
She smiled tightly, and he hoped she hadn’t taken it as a double entendre. He really hadn’t meant it that way, but in retrospect, it sounded like a bad come on. “Sounds neat. Now, let me work my magic,” Jules continued, shaking out her thick red hair one more time. “When I nod, I’m recording.”
“I’ll zip it,” he said, mimicking the turning of a lock in front of his lips.
“Thanks!” she said, then gave him a brisk nod. “Hey out there all you Mistress fans! I’m coming to you live from thirty thousand feet over the Atlantic Ocean…”
***
He knew it was a mistake when he did it. Well, not a mistake. More like a terrible idea. He had a meeting in eight hours with a foreman who was barely keeping order in the factory as it was. The last thing that Xavier needed was to be looking up one Juliet Gaines, aka Mistress of Schlock, on the Internet. He should be in bed, asleep, and getting primed for his rigorous week. But he’d already gotten a front row seat to the enthusiasm of Jules’s performance and fallen for the way she seemed to transform on camera, the way she shone with an inner light. He needed to see that for himself.
His laptop was set up on his legs while he lounged in his hotel room and booted up her channel. Pressing play on a random recced video, he knew then that he was in big trouble.
Huge, actually.
While Jules might have been forthcoming about her channel, she hadn’t exactly disclosed her dress code, or the lack thereof. His newest valet hadn’t been kidding about the Elvira bit. She had a tight spandex dress on in a deep crimson that hugged every curve and plunged low over her breasts. Her face was coated in pale pancake makeup that made her delicate skin even more creamy and appealing, and the fake fangs drew extra attention to her ruby red lips.
Blood flooded down to his member, and Xavier was rock hard in an instant. His testicles were already drawn up against his body and heavy with need. He barely paid attention to her words as she joked and quipped about I, Frankenstein. He was too mesmerized by the way she flipped her hair in the lights, the teasing hint of her lips as she talked, and the ample curves of her cleavage.
He wanted her.
I can’t have her. Damn it! The last thing I need is to prove Javier right.
But it wouldn’t hurt anything if he fantasized, if he pushed lust-filled thoughts about Jules aside after he indulged just once. It would take the edge off, and then he’d be able to show her around the city on Friday without coming off as over the top. It really was the only sensible thing to do.
Totally.
He set the computer on his bedside table and then slipped out of bed long enough to take off his pants. Then, thinking better of it, he rummaged through the bathroom until he came back with some of the hotel’s lotion.
Leaning back on the mattress, Xavier closed his eyes and let his hand curl around his length. He pumped back and forth, letting the friction build slowly. In his mind’s eye, it wasn’t his hand that was stroking him; it wasn’t his thick fingers over his shaft but Juliet’s delicate and nimble ones, the ones with the polish that was slightly cracked earlier on the plane. It was her sweet scent of jasmine and honey that he smelled, and her soft voice that would call to him as he thrust into her.
Heat spread through his torso, a delicious caress of fire and magma working its way over his body. It encouraged him to intensify his pace, thrusting his length into his hand, pounding into it. If he ever could let himself make love to Jules, he’d go slow and seduce her the way a woman as beautiful and as lively deserved.
But now?
Now he was a prisoner of his own passion. He needed to cool his own burning desire, douse his bubbling veins with ice water and chase the heat raging through him away. He thought of her, of the way her soft red locks would feel strewn across his chest. Xavier fantasized about the softness of her breasts when he’d knead them between his hands. He craved the taste of her tongue on his own.
His testicles tightened and the heat grew into a raging forest fire over his skin. He came then, screaming her name so loud that, for a moment, Xavier feared the hotel staff would send someone to knock on his door and make sure he was okay. But no one came.
Xavier fell back onto the mattress, panting on the bed.
“Damn it. What am I doing?”
That was a fucking good question, because no matter what he’d assumed, the passion for Jules hadn’t gone away. No, it was like throwing gasoline onto a bonfire, and he was roaring for her.
And that could only lead to trouble.
Chapter Four
“Wow!” Tonya said on the other end of the video chat. “That’s a hell of a view.”
Sandra nodded and looked over the pier she sat by down at the harbor. She was off her work for the day and watching the sun set over the pale, colonial-style buildings that rimmed the water. The sunlight danced on the eddies of the small waves, turning the royal blue water orange. The seagulls strolled past her and down to another tourist, one they could scam bread out of. The light summer breeze blew around her and she pulled her jacket more tightly around her arms. The first week in Barcelona had been busy, although by night she’d already seen a flamenco dancing club and taken a stroll across the La Ramb
la with all its tourist tents and shops. It was Thursday, and if Xavier hadn’t just been blowing smoke, he’d be taking her to see the Gaudí inspired sites around the city the next day.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
On one hand, he was as gorgeous and enticing as ever. She’d have to be crazy not to want to spend more time with him. Then again, Sandra knew that Xavier was her weakness. She just wanted to be near him and smell that cinnamon scent that seemed to emanate from his aftershave, burning her nose in all the right ways. If they spent the day together, she wasn’t sure she could keep it professional. She definitely didn’t know how well she could keep herself from falling for him all over again.
“And he doesn’t even remember me,” she muttered.
“Hello?” Tonya asked, waving her hand in front of the camera on her end. “You went all on with the hundred-yard stare and the mumbling. Are you okay? I know jet lag’s a bitch, but I thought you’d be over it four days in.”
“Oh, I feel a lot better than I did the first day. They always say don’t go to sleep, just jump into your routine. However, they don’t tell you that pulling a thirty-six-hour day just makes you crash harder. I don’t know how Xavier…um…Mr. Villalobos does it.”
“So, it’s Xavier now?” Tonya teased, drawing out the syllables of his name.
“It’s not like that. He did offer to take me to the Sagrada Família church and some other sites tomorrow in his free time. He said it would be a welcome break.”
Tonya chewed her bottom lip. “Cool.”
She narrowed her eyes at her friend. “That does not sound like ‘cool.’ It sounds like you want to say something, like you’re holding back.”
“I think it’s good. I think you could use some fun between the channel and the maid work.”
“Valet,” she corrected.
“You know what I mean. You’re a complete workaholic. Also, is the Big Boss cute?”
“He’s gorgeous. I’ve seen uglier male models, not gonna lie.”
“Yeah, could be fun. The one thing you’re not good at is keeping it casual, Sandra.”
“I could be!”
Tonya rolled her eyes. “Nope. You were thinking about wedding dresses after about two months with Zane, and we know that was a train wreck. Then you have that great, hot night with that guy at Atlantis. What was his name again?”
Sandra hoped she wasn’t blushing too brightly, although that was the curse of the redhead. “Um, you know. After he didn’t call…” Not that I gave him my number, exactly. “I worked to suppress his name.”
“Eventually.”
Well, not at all, but you’d absolutely murder me if you knew how well Xavier knows me.
“I know, but I’ve learned more. I’ve been burned twice lately, and I can have a good time with Xavier, see a church for God’s sake, and keep myself calm.”
“But he’s totally gorgeous, right?”
“Yes, but some of us, Tonya, aren’t walking bags of hormones.”
Her friend grinned back at her. “That’s a shame because you’re missing out. I’m trying to look out for my best friend. Don’t get too deep in, Sandra. Zane almost ruined you, and I don’t want you to have to work so hard to put the pieces back together again. Go, see what happens, and don’t expect more than a fling if it happens at all, okay?”
Sandra nodded and swallowed hard before she could speak. The truth was after that night at Atlantis, she’d been more obsessed with Xavier, the man who’d made her feel pleasure like she’d never known and whom she’d never thought she’d see again.
The man she was going to spend the day with tomorrow.
Man, she was so screwed, and not in the good way.
“Sandra?”
“Yeah, I will definitely follow your advice for not getting a broken heart.”
“Good, now you have a hot boss and a vacation in Europe. You have a good time, and, you know…don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“You’d get arrested in twenty states for some of the stunts you’ve pulled.”
Tonya grinned. “I know.” With that, she ended the call.
Sandra sighed and pulled the video camera from her day bag. There were pickpockets everywhere in Barcelona, and many were looking especially hard for oblivious Americans. She stuck out with her red hair. She’d been paranoid and gripping her bag tightly all night in order to protect her baby. Setting the camera up on its collapsible tripod, she started recording.
“Hey, Mistress fans. I’m coming to you live, so to speak, from Barcelona’s world-famous harbor…”
***
“I was almost afraid you would turn me down,” Xavier said.
She offered him a tight smile, trying to keep herself professional. Of course, if that was what Sandra was entirely after, she’d have worn khaki shorts or a dark pencil skirt and a professional, lightweight blouse. Instead, she’d put on a sundress patterned with red roses and a slight slit up the right side. She’d bought it the other day and fallen in love with it instantly because of its flamenco flare.
“I’d never miss this.”
“Then I’m glad, Jules.”
She blinked, dazzled by his smile for a beat, before remembering she was back to going under her alias, a name no one had really called her since middle school. “Great,” she said, recovering from her pause as best as she could. “Now, shall we get started?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he replied, holding a crooked elbow out for her. “Please, follow me.”
She walked with him out of the hotel and to the street and then gulped. Sandra fervently hoped he hadn’t noticed her reaction. She’d assumed for some stupid reason that they’d take the metro like she’d been using to get around all week. How dense was she? Of course, Xavier Villalobos traveled in nothing less than a limo. That made her belly flare with warmth. It was like muscle memory. The last time she’d been in a limo with Xavier, she’d been the recipient of some truly mind-blowing orgasms.
The only saving grace she had to keep her from melting into a puddle right there was the fact there was no way it was the exact same limo.
“Are you okay, Jules?” he asked, concern coloring his words.
She nodded and stepped with him into the limo. The buttery leather was soft against her body, and again, memories of the last and only other time she’d ridden in one exploded across her memory—the feeling of his hands kneading her thighs, the flick of his tongue against her most sensitive lips, and the roughness of his stubble against her skin.
“Oh man.”
“You’re sure you’re ready for the Sagrada Família?” he asked.
“With you, Xavier, I’m not sure I’m ready for anything,” she said as the limo started down the ancient, cobblestone streets.
***
She’d always loved Gaudí’s style. Everything resembled fantastical gingerbread houses come to life, things from fantasy with bright colors and bulbous curves that didn’t seem to fit in the real world, as if they’d slipped into being from another dimension. There was something otherworldly about it. Not quite horrific, but definitely otherworldly in the designs. For a horror and fantasy buff like her, he’d always been a treat. Hell, if she had millions of dollars, she’d shoot all her movies in buildings or near structures he’d designed. She wasn’t sure why Hollywood directors didn’t. It would save a fortune on CGI when you had the perfect neo-gothic structures just waiting to be used.
Craning her neck up, she took in the sheer size of the cathedral before her. Seeing it in books or on the Web hadn’t prepared her. She felt like she was in Lord of the Rings and coming face to face with one of the two towers. Its large spires, shaped like honeycombs, reached into the sky. The main edifice almost seemed like the stone were melting in on itself; it was so irregular and bumpy from the myriad of statues of saints and angels on its front.
“It’s like out of a dream.”
“I used to think it was a nightmare,” he said. “When I was little, and we
’d come to mass before we ended up in the States, I’d think that this was haunted. Maybe it was, although it’s not all that old. The building was started in 1882.”
“Started?” she asked.
“It won’t be finished to Gaudí’s specifications before 2026.”
She whistled as she fixed the silk scarf over her hair, a head covering she wore as a sign of respect for old world Catholic traditions. “He had a lot of specifications then. I’d seen the designs. I just never imagined something could take almost one hundred and fifty years to build.”
Xavier smirked. “Maybe that’s something he and I would have had in common. If you do something, then do it to the highest level. Be the best possible.”
Sandra sighed and thought about her life. She had some of the success she wanted, was close to her special silver button, but it wasn’t what she truly wanted. One day, she wanted her name in lights, wanted it to be said in the same breath as someone said Coppola (either of them) or Scorsese. At the end of the day, she was still famous for mocking other people’s work…well, as famous as one could be on the Internet, and was stuck spending her days cleaning toilets and scrubbing dishes.
“I think you should be the best too,” she echoed as they entered into the cathedral up its mountain of steps. “Sometimes, though, I think life can derail you.”
“Well, you’re the one with the entertaining-as-hell video channel.”
She paused as they entered into the nave. “You saw my channel?”
“You told me about the Mistress of Shlock, so I had to look it up,” he added casually. “The review I saw was funny, well written, had great editing and a cute skit at the end.” He winked at her. “Bonus, the outfit you had on was amazing.”
Sandra wanted to groan. Her getup for Mistress of Schlock wasn’t pornographic, but it wasn’t exactly work appropriate either. The thought of Xavier seeing her like that was mortifying. Well, the current boss version of Xavier.