The Spanish Love Deception

by Elena Armas

  As I backed away some more, putting the right amount of space between our bodies, my gaze finally managed to take him in completely. From head to toe. And … yeah, from toe to head too. Because the soft fabric that had been pressed beneath my cheek a moment ago was a plain white cotton T-shirt. And the legs that had remained unmovable under my hug attack were clad in faded jeans. And the—

  Are those tennis shoes on his feet?

  Yes, they totally were.

  I had no idea what I had expected him to wear, but it surely wasn’t that. I hadn’t been prepared for the image of Aaron standing in front of me in something that wasn’t the long-sleeved button-down shirt tucked in his dress pants that I knew him in.

  Aaron looked relaxed. Normal. Not like the aloof stainless steel–working machine I was around at work. The one that screamed at you to keep your distance.

  No. Ironically, what I wanted was to press my cheek against his chest again. Which was absolutely ridiculous. And dangerous too. This new version of Aaron was just as dangerous as the one that smiled and laughed. Because I liked it. A little too much for the well-being of our plan. Or mine.

  “Catalina,” Aaron called, forcing my gaze to return to his face.

  Cheeks heating, I pretended I hadn’t been ogling him. And appreciating what I ogled.

  “Yes?”

  “I asked if you were done with that?”

  Mierda. “Done with what exactly?” I scratched the side of my neck, trying to conceal my embarrassment.

  “Panicking. About me not coming. Are you finally done with that? Because I am here now, just how I said I would be. And I wasn’t late. You just happened to be shockingly early.” He tilted his head slightly and then added, “For once.”

  Eyes narrowed, I checked the time on my phone. “Fine, you might be right.” I returned my gaze to his. “For once.”

  The right corner of his lips tipped up. “Good. So, now that we have established that,” he started, and I did not like one single bit how smug he looked all of a sudden, “do you think you are done looking at me like I have grown a second head too? Because I’d like to get going.”

  Busted. “Yep,” I squared my shoulders. “Done with that too.” I reached for the handle of my carry-on suitcase. “I just didn’t know you owned normal clothes.”

  Aaron cocked a brow.

  My treacherous eyes swept him head to toe again. Dammit, he looked really, really good, all cozy and comfy.

  I shook my head. “Come on, Mr. Robot. We have bags to check in,” I told him, forcing my eyes away. “Now that you are here and all.”

  Reaching for the weekender bag—which was filled to the brim—I lifted it off the floor, hung it off my shoulder, and tried to walk with as much grace as I could while probably looking a little bit like an overloaded Sherpa.

  In one long stride, Aaron caught up with me. I watched his eyebrow rise as he gave me a sideways glance. “How long are you planning on staying in Spain?” He eyed my two pieces of bigger than strictly necessary luggage. “I thought we’d be flying back on Monday.”

  “And we are.”

  Eyes wide, Aaron made a show out of looking me and my luggage up and down. “That’s how you pack for three days?”

  I quickened my pace while I tried really hard not to assplant on the terminal’s polished floor under the weight of the bag on my shoulder. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  Instead of answering, his hand on my arm stopped my course. Without giving me a chance to complain, he delicately snagged my bag and placed it on his shoulder.

  The physical relief was so immediate that I had to stop myself from moaning in response.

  “Jesus, Catalina,” he huffed, looking back at me, horrified. “What are you carrying in here? A dead body?”

  “Hey, this is not a regular weekend visit to the fam, okay? Stop luggage-shaming me,” I said to the scowling man walking beside me. “I had to fit loads of stuff. Makeup, accessories, hair dryer, hair straightener, my good conditioner, lotion, all the dresses I’m taking, six pairs of shoes—”

  “Six pairs of shoes?” Aaron croaked, scowling even harder.

  “Yes,” I answered quickly, my gaze hunting for the right check-in counter. “One for each of the three different outfits I need, plus the pertinent three backups.” I paused, thinking of something. “Please tell me you packed at least one backup.”

  Aaron rearranged my bag on his shoulder, shaking his head at the same time. “No, I didn’t. But I’ll be fine. You, on the other hand …” Another shake of his head. “You are—”

  “Brilliant?” I finished for him. “Astute? Gifted in the art of packing? I know. And I hope you have enough clothes in that tiny suitcase you are carrying.”

  “Ridiculous,” he murmured. “You are a ridiculous woman.”

  “We’ll see who’s the ridiculous one when something accidentally happens to your shirt, tie, or suit, and you have to wear one of my dresses to the wedding.”

  A grunt reached my ears. “Six pairs of shoes,” the scowling man in casual wear muttered. “Ridiculous woman packing her own weight in clothes.” He went on, almost too low for me to make out.

  “If it’s too heavy for you, you can give it back. I was doing fine myself.”

  His head shot in my direction, giving me a look that told me that wasn’t an option.

  Sighing, I accepted the help. “Thank you, Blackford. That’s very kind of you.”

  “And you were not doing fine,” he countered back, making me want to take back my thank-you. “You could have hurt yourself.”

  Aaron veered for the left, and I finally tracked down the counters matching the airline we were flying with.

  I followed him. “I appreciate the concern, Big A. But I’ve got my own set of muscles.”

  He brushed over my use of his nickname. “Of course. You have to be stubborn on top of ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath.

  I had to hide my smile. “Said the kettle to the pot.”

  With a last sideways glance, Aaron sped out, letting his long legs carry him away with his small and reasonable suitcase and my ridiculously brimming bag off his shoulder.

  From my position a couple of steps behind him, I had no choice but to let my gaze travel down his backside. A not-too-small and certainly not-very-quiet part of me was a little in awe by how his jeans hugged those muscled thighs, which had once propelled him across a football field. That same part got a little louder when my eyes trailed up, catching how his biceps, which I knew had carried a brown melonlike leather ball across that very same field, were bunched as his arm held the weight of my bag.

  Ugh. It was terribly disturbing how distracting Aaron’s backside was now that I knew more of him. Now that I knew all these tiny little pieces of his life.

  The ones I had found out about the night of the fundraiser, sure. But also those I had dug up when I Googled him.

  Yes, I had fallen prey to my curiosity. But just once. I had allowed myself to do that one single time.

  And that level of self-restraint hadn’t been easy to accomplish. At least not considering how everything out of my little Google rendezvous had been stuck in the back of my head ever since I indulged. Demanding to be acknowledged more often than I was ready to admit.

  My mind seemed eager on not letting go of the pictures of a younger version of Aaron—just as stoic, his shoulders as wide, and his jaw just as hard—dressed in a purple-and-golden uniform that made my heart rate grow a little quicker, only thinking about it. Or the headlines proclaiming that he had been a known name back in that day. But what I’d had more trouble forgetting were the articles—and there had been more than a couple dozen—praising his performance and foreshadowing the player he would become. But hadn’t.

  So, why hadn’t he? Why did the press coverage of his football career go for a few years and then stop altogether?

  That was something I hadn’t managed to find.

  And it only fueled my itch to know more. To learn more about this man
I had thought I had all pieced together but that I was learning I couldn’t have been any more wrong about.

  As if on cue, Aaron looked back at me. His brows rose on his forehead. “Is something wrong?”

  Caught a little off guard, I just shook my head.

  “Then, come on. At this pace, we will never make it to Spain.”

  “If only I were so lucky,” I mumbled. But then I shot forward, walking until catching up with him.

  Once again, Aaron was right.

  There were more pressing concerns to occupy my mind with.

  Like the plane we would be boarding in less than a handful of hours.

  Or the fact that once we did, there was no turning back.

  Because we were doing this. We were really doing it, and we had to ace it.

  By the time we landed in Spain, my family needed to believe that Aaron and I were happily—hearts bursting, birds chirping, and flowers blooming—in love. Or at the very least, that we could stand each other for more than ten minutes without causing an international war to erupt.

  And as much as I had no clue how we would ever manage to do that, I was sure of something. We, Aaron and I, would figure it out.

  We had to.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “And you said the desserts were nothing to write home about. Well, this chocolate cake tells a different story, pal,” I talked over my surprisingly amazing in-flight dessert. “Do you think I could ask for another serving?” I hummed in pleasure.

  Heck, it was so good that I wasn’t even ashamed to do that.

  Not even with Aaron occupying the lush first-class seat beside me. Oh yeah, because, apparently, I flew in first class now. I still hadn’t figured out exactly how I had let him ask—or rather demand—for an upgrade of my economy seat without even putting up a fight. But I knew it had included him throwing an arm over my shoulders and uttering the word girlfriend. Which, in hindsight, I knew it had blindsided me enough to somehow nod like a fool and place my passport on the check-in counter.

  He lowered the newspaper he had been hiding behind and revealed a cocked eyebrow. “Pal?”

  “Silence. I’m having a moment with my cake.”

  He sighed and returned to his reading.

  Holding my spoon in the air, I hesitated before taking it to my mouth. “You didn’t have to do that, you know? Paying for the upgrade of my tickets is too much.”

  I heard a noncommittal grunt come from him.

  “I’m serious, Aaron.”

  “I thought you wanted to eat in silence.”

  “I’ll give you back the money when we return from the trip. You are doing enough as it is.”

  Aaron’s sigh followed my words almost immediately. “There’s no need. I’m a member of the airline’s Sky Club, and I have plenty of miles,” he explained as I finally took that last bite of chocolate heaven. “And as I told you, this is time we can use to prep.”

  When I finally devoured what had just become the highlight of my day, I wiped my mouth with the napkin, placed it back on the tray in front of me, and turned to Aaron. “Which reminds me, break is over.”

  He ignored me.

  I poked the back of the newspaper with my index finger. “We have to get back to work. Come on.” Another poke. “Time to prep.”

  “Do you have to do that?” Aaron pleaded from behind it.

  “Yes.” I poked the newspaper a few times, making it impossible for him to keep reading. “I need your full attention. We have only gone through a few of my family members, and we are running out of time.” I tugged at one of the corners. “Do I have your attention?”

  “You don’t need to do any of that.” He lowered the large black-and-white-colored pages with a brisk motion. “You always have my undivided attention, Catalina.”

  That made my finger halt in the air.

  “Ha.” I narrowed my eyes. “Cute of you to try to buy me with cheap tricks.” I leveled him with what I hoped was a serious look. “Don’t think you are going to get out of it, sweet-talking me into leaving you alone. The international relationships of the United States of America are not important right now.”

  With a reluctant nod, Aaron folded it meticulously and set it on top of his tray. “All right,” he said, blue eyes focusing completely on me. “No distractions. I’m all yours.”

  All yours.

  My breath got stuck somewhere between my lungs and mouth. “Groom and bride?” I managed to get out.

  “Gonzalo and Isabel.” He rolled his eyes, as if I could do better at testing him.

  Challenging me.

  “Trio of cousins, who you will not listen to a word that leaves their lips?” I paused and then tilted my head. “Especially if it starts with, Hey, do you want to hear something funny?”

  “That would be Lucas, Matías, and Adrián.”

  He hadn’t hesitated. Well, good. Those savages were dangerous; you never knew what would come out of their mouths. Or them in general.

  “Parents of the bride and your supposedly future parents-in-law if you were serious about me, which you totally are?”

  “Cristina and Javier,” he answered immediately. “I should be polite but address them by their first name, or they will be offended and think I’m a pretentious ass.” Aaron paused after repeating my earlier words exactly. He adjusted his big body in the more than spacious seat, making it look smaller and cramped. “Javier is a university History professor and speaks English fluently. Cristina is a nurse, and her English is … just not as good. However, she is the one I should be more wary of. Even when it looks like she doesn’t understand me, chances are, she is still weighing my every word.”

  I nodded, secretly impressed. He was acing all my questions—for the second time. Not that I was surprised. He had proven in the past that his determination knew no limits when it came to success, no matter the task. Aaron didn’t half-ass things; he delivered the best results. Always.

  Good. He was going to need all his determination with the Martín family and the rest of the wedding party.

  But that didn’t mean I was completely satisfied. Not yet.

  “Parents of the groom?”

  “Juani and Manuel,” Aaron shot back quickly.

  Nodding my head, I watched his mouth open, knowing what was going to leave out of it before it did. Those were the parents of the groom’s brother too. Who was my ex.

  “Okay, next question,” I rushed out. “Cousin who you must avoid at all costs unless I am with you to control the situation?” Turning in my seat, I sat on top of one of my legs and faced him completely.

  In an attempt to see how he worked under pressure, I schooled my face with my most assertive expression.

  Aaron’s jaw twitched, and he looked distracted.

  Dammit. Was he hesitating? He couldn’t.

  An objection was about to leave my lips when he recovered, beating me to speak. “Charo.” The name of my cousin sounded different from Aaron’s lips, the word adorned with his strong American accent.

  And I would have instantly criticized his pronunciation, if not for what he did next and the shock that it induced in my body.

  His arm rose in the air, his big hand reaching for my face very slowly. My eyes bounced from that hand to his face, finding his gaze fixated somewhere to the right of my lips. And then, before I could stop what was about to happen, his thumb made contact with my skin. Very softly.

  He was brushing my cheek. Very close to my mouth.

  All and every complaint died and went up to heaven the moment his finger swiped over my skin.

  He started talking again, looking engrossed by the motion of his thumb. “Charo,” he repeated distractedly.

  While I … I simply remained frozen in place. Feeling how that simple contact against my skin seemed to awaken little fires all across my body.

  “You said I must run away from a red-haired woman with inquisitive green eyes and little to no shame. And that would be Charo.”

  How such a gentle con
tact could scorch my skin so effectively was something that I … couldn’t understand. My lips parted, a shaky breath leaving them.

  Only then did Aaron’s eyes look up and meet mine.

  My blood swirled, rising to my neck, my cheeks, my temples. Spreading out as I held his gaze, the blue in his eyes turning a little darker.

  When Aaron looked away, just as he retrieved his thumb, I felt myself relax. But it was short-lived because as soon as my gaze fell down and found his hand as it hovered in the air, I discovered with horror that there was a smudge of chocolate on his thumb.

  Both of which had been on my face less than a couple of seconds ago.

  Oh Lord.

  And yet, what almost knocked me off my seat and to the carpeted floor of the aircraft turned out to be something else entirely. Not the knowledge of learning I had been talking for a small eternity with cake hanging from my face. Nope. Or the knowledge I had done that in front of Aaron, who would probably use that against me in the future. No. What almost knocked me on my ass, if not for the seat belt, was Aaron leading his finger to his mouth, parting those lips that were so often pressed in an unamused line, and wiping the chocolate clean off his thumb.

  Chocolate that he had just retrieved from the corner of my mouth.

  A riot of emotions burst inside my belly as I watched his throat gulp it down, appreciation flashing through his face.

  And I … holy shit. I just stared at him, completely … enraptured. Utterly shocked.

  I should have been appalled. But I wasn’t. My brown eyes were now fixated on Aaron’s mouth, noticing how all the heat that I’d felt in my face traveled around my body to all kinds of interesting places, all the while keeping my eyes where they were. On his lips.

  Out of my peripheral vision, I made out how Aaron cleaned his hand methodically on the napkin that rested on my tray.

  “You were right; the cake was that good.” He cleared his throat, as if nothing had happened. “As I was saying, we should avoid your cousin Charo.”

  When my gaze somehow managed to make it back to his eyes, I felt all kinds of hot, bothered, and weird.