“We’re lucky we’ll be able to enjoy this dazzling attraction.”
No matter how many times I visit the La Sagrada Familia church, I can never get enough of the rich history of this unfinished century-old basilica. Catalan architect Antoni Gaudí has designed a very unusual construction, which has become Barcelona’s most famous and most visited tourist attraction.
For our second stop, we visit the Picasso Museum. I can’t say I’m a fan of the artist, but it would be wrong to come to this city without paying homage to one of the world’s most famous painters. Right before lunch, we linger for hours in the Barrio Gotico Gothic quarter admiring the beautiful churches, busy plazas, bustling markets and historical museums.
At one o’clock we’re both famished and in dire need of food. Lunch is the most important meal of the day in Barcelona and it usually includes three or four courses. Nikolaj and I decide to break with tradition and we opt for one of the smart eateries in the Old City that offers one course with dessert. We want to make the most of this day and a two-hour lunch break is not part of the plan.
After a succulent light Spanish meal, we indulge in bizcochos while sitting at the Park Guell. Gaudí’s modernist park on Carmel Hill overlooking Barcelona is truly a work of art.
“I’m a much better cook than I am a baker, but when I returned to New York after my first trip to Barcelona, I promised myself I would learn how to make these bizcochos,” I say. “I practiced for weeks, but I could never get these light spongy cakes just right. I was only sixteen and I could barely find my way around a kitchen, but I was determined to recreate these little desserts because I couldn’t get enough of them during my trip. My paternal grandmother took me under her wing in the kitchen one day, after I had failed so many times, and showed me how to perfect the sweet brandy sauce that brings the cake to life and the rest is history.”
“So I can place my order for when I’m in New York.”
“You’re funny.”
“I don’t want this to come out the wrong way, but I don’t see you as a chef. It should be a crime punishable by death to lock you up in a kitchen.”
“Hmmm. I’m never sure if you’re paying me a compliment or not. Cooking was my passion. I’d run home after school each night and create a feast for my family and I still managed to do all my homework and graduate high school and college with honors. There were only four of us, but I cooked as if the Queen of England was coming for dinner. My parents lamented the astronomical increase in our food bill, but I couldn’t stop. It was more than a phase and it was deeper than an obsession. It’s like it was in my blood.
“Desserts were a challenge for me. When I cook, I can unleash my creativity and I don’t have to be boxed by rules. I can add a dash of this and a pitch of that and still maintain the integrity of the recipe. Pastries are a totally different ball game. You have to follow the recipe to the letter or you screw up the chemical interactions between ingredients and end up with a disaster. I hated it at first, but in time, learning how to make some of the most complicated desserts in the culinary world forced me to become a more patient woman.”
“Why didn’t you pursue that career?”
Great question. How can I explain so much old baggage?
The truth is that the idea of bumping into Luke Elliot Rutherford with his new, more proper fiancée was too much for me to bear and running away from the profession I once loved was the easy way out.
“You can’t wear designer clothes and prepare a mean bolognese sauce at the same time.” I laugh.
“Of course, silly me.”
“I love cooking, but I don’t think I could have done it long term and I surely couldn’t imagine preparing hundreds of meals each day for hungry crowds. My mother always said it was a shame to trap so much energy in a hot kitchen. Of course, my decision to change career didn’t take into account the explosion of food TV. Who knows, maybe I could have been a celebrity chef and seduced foodies with my cooking.”
“Honey, I doubt many guys would care about your cooking. It’s a definite bonus, but you seduce men with more refined skills.”
“You say that because you haven’t tasted my cooking.”
“Are you extending me an invitation?”
I don’t cook for men. Just like sleepovers, I find it too intimate, but for some reason, the idea of preparing a few of my specialty dishes for this guy turns me on. “It depends.” I run my thumb along his jaw before touching his lips.
“On what?” he says, grabbing my wrist and fixing his blue eyes on me.
“On how well you fuck me tonight,” I whisper.
He holds my gaze and his sly grin becomes a full smile. “I guess I’m coming over for dinner.”
Damn him for being so self-assured.
The last stop on our itinerary is Casa Batlló. This remodeled nineteenth-century building is another one of Gaudí’s many masterpieces. I call this living art because it’s filled with depth, history and originality. My sister, Sofia, loves this unique architecture because she always thought it resembled a fairytale castle.
She’s such a romantic.
“This city is so beautiful,” I say. “More beautiful than I remember.”
“It has a unique charm and a special kind of vibe you don’t find anywhere else in Spain. I must confess, discovering the city through your eyes was a thrilling experience.”
“I still can’t believe you flew all night to spend time with me.”
“It was worth it for the obvious,” he says with glee in his eyes. “But I was also able to get to know you better.” He taps his finger against my nose.
“I don’t do this often.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t spend time with the guys I usually see,” I say, lowering my eyes. “I try to keep it to sex and nothing more.”
“Is it possible you might like me more than you’re willing to admit?”
I shrug my shoulders, unwilling to answer his question. I didn’t expect to enjoy his company this much, but he’s made this day magical.
“Why don’t we head to the fountain and then we’ll head to the Mandarin Oriental for dinner?”
“Look at the time,” I say, checking my watch. “You’re right, let’s go. We don’t want to lose our reservations.” I’m grateful he’s changed the subject.
We arrive at the Font Màgica in time for the seven o’clock show. The plaza is packed with hundreds of curious tourists and Barcelonans alike, eager to be dazzled by the gushing water, multicolored lights and booming music. The electronic choreography is so grandiose it makes the fountain show at the Bellagio in Las Vegas look like a warm-up.
I’ve seen this show dozens of times, but I’m never tired of the enchanting dance of lights.
Although it’s extraordinary and well worth the detour, Nikolaj and I remain behind the crowd to make a quick exit at eight o’clock and dash off to the hotel to get ready for our dinner reservations.
BOOK 2—THE BILLIONAIRE’S DESIRE
Chapter Eight
“I can’t believe how ravishing you look tonight. Every man in this restaurant is tripping over himself to take a glance at you.”
When we got back to the hotel, I had to fight off Nikolaj or we were going to miss our dinner reservations. It’s true we could have enjoyed a few hours of sex and then ordered room service, but I really wanted to come to Moments because the food is simply out of this world.
After I kicked him out, I was able to get ready for the evening. I decided to keep the same blush-colored underwear, fully expecting he’d continue to fantasize about ripping them off before having his way with me. I selected a sleeveless pale pink dress encrusted with beaded detailing covering the bust and the top of the shoulders. Everything about this dress screams feminine and demure. Only my big curly hair reveals my wilder side.
When Nikolaj saw me arrive in the lobby, his jaw dropped and he took a step back. I knew instantly I had him where I wanted him. He had been looking at me since he ope
ned the door to let me into the back of the chauffeured Benz. He was almost shy during the ride to the restaurant, but the occasional glances and cocky smile suggested I had seduced him with my look. Now we’re sitting at a table in the restaurant together gazing in each other’s eyes.
“Thank you, Nikolaj.”
“I loved your hair in the ponytail you had earlier today because it revealed your beautiful features, but when your black curls cascade around your face and down to the middle of your back, it makes me lose it. You look so exotic and so sultry.”
“You’re going to make me blush if you don’t stop.”
“When you came down to join me in the lobby I was so much in shock, I couldn’t find the right words so I fumbled to say that you looked pretty, but pretty doesn’t do you nearly enough justice.” His eyes are piercing mine and the desire I see makes me lower my gaze.
Those blue eyes are irresistible.
“You don’t look so bad yourself and you clean up quite nicely,” I manage to respond, still under the spell of his compliments.
He’s wearing another impeccably tailored suit. He looks like a dashing Danish James Bond in his black jacket and slim-fitted trousers. It takes a man with style to pair a perfectly folded pocket square with a crisp white shirt the way he has. I must admit the cufflinks add a sense of elegance to an already sophisticated suit.
The man looks like a freaking model.
The waiter returns with our drinks and breaks the sexual tension.
The early fall gastronomic tasting menu is outstanding. We indulge in a seven-course meal fit for a king. Every single dish is to die for, but I sincerely think I hear angels sing when I sink my teeth into the mouthwatering Crema Catalana. This Catalan version of the creamy and lavish French crème brûlée nearly makes me weep—it’s that divine. Nikolaj opts for the mascarpone flan topped with clementines soaked in Grand Marnier and from the look on his face, I’d have to say he enjoys his dessert as much as I do mine. The sommelier’s wine recommendations only heighten the rich flavors of our delectable meal and sinful desserts. The evening mood is mellow and other than a few furtive looks at my cleavage, Nikolaj is uncharacteristically subdued.
Hmmm, he’s too tame tonight. I think I need to spice things up.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to run to the bathroom.”
He gets up like a gentleman and waits for me to leave the room before sitting back down. I lock myself in one of the stalls and place my evening clutch on the hook behind the door.
I’m sure he won’t be able to remain this stoic when he sees what I have in store for him.
I lift my dress and unfasten my garter belt before sliding out of my lace panties.
God, they are so wet. I can’t believe how he turns me on.
I secure my stockings, fold my underwear inside the palm of my hand, grab my clutch and walk out. I sashay back into the main dining room like a woman on a mission. Nikolaj gets up when he sees me ready to pull out my chair, but instead of taking my seat I get so close to him, I can nearly hear his heart beat.
“Is everything okay?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You look like you’re up to something.”
“Now why would you say that?” I whisper as I gesture at him to come closer. I’m aware all eyes are on us and it’s such a powerful aphrodisiac for me. “I find myself in an embarrassing situation.”
“Oh? What do you mean?” he asks, playing along.
I pull open the lapel of his jacket and I slip my wet panties inside his pocket. “My panties are drenched with my own juices because you’re so freaking hot in your perfectly tailored suit. I’m so fucking turned on and I’m counting down the minutes until my pussy clenches around your nine-inch cock,” I whisper in his ear before taking a step back to meet his gaze.
His body instantly stiffens and he looks at me with dark eyes.
“I was hoping you might be able to hold on to them for me until we get back to the hotel,” I continue, leaning back into him.
He flashes an incredulous look and opens his jacket to see if I’m bluffing. He touches the fabric inside his pocket and finds my gaze. He opens his mouth to let out a retort, but the waiter approaches our table with my Spanish coffee and his glass of aged rum.
“I guess there’s plenty more for us to savor,” I add, looking at him with heavy eyes.
The after-dinner drink is decadent, smooth and it goes down easy, but he asks for the bill when I’m halfway through my cup. He pulls out his black American Express and flings it on the table to pay for our meal and asks the waiter to call a car.
He hasn’t even looked at me since I slipped my underwear in his pocket and I’m not able to tell if he’s annoyed with my actions or if he’s turned on.
“Come on, we should go now. The car must be already waiting,” he says, pulling me out of the restaurant.
We ride back to the hotel in silence. He turns his head decisively towards the window, making it impossible for me to catch his attention.
“Nikolaj, is everything okay?” I ask, unable to take this tension any longer.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” he responds without ever looking at me.
When we arrive at the hotel, he gets out of the car, steps inside the lobby and waits for the chauffeur to let me out. I meet him, but he’s still avoiding my gaze.
Why the sudden change in his mood?
We ride the elevator to our room like strangers and I’m thankful for the group of drunken rowdy Germans who fill the uncomfortable silence. When we get to the suite, he lets me in and locks the door behind him. I wait for him to turn around, but it’s as if he’s too fascinated by the paint on the wall to even look at me.
Fine. If he’s going to be so cold, I’m going to draw a warm bath and go to bed early. I turn on my heel, fuming.
“Take the dress off.”
His words stop me in my track.
“What?” I turn around to face him.
“Take. The. Dress. Off.”
So he was turned on, but he didn’t want to let on. Well, two can play at this game.
“Do you mind? I need help with this zipper,” I say, flinging my long hair over my right shoulder and looking at him from under my eyelashes.
“Ciara, I don’t think you’ve heard me.” His eyes are dangerous.
“I did, but I thought you’d want to help me slip out of this.”
“If I touch what you’re wearing, I’ll rip it off you. It’s too pretty for me to destroy,” he says, taking a step and closing the gap between us.
“Oh? What do you mean?”
“You made me nearly lose my mind in Toronto and for the past six days I’ve been dreaming of fucking you in every possible position. You’ve been wearing garter belts since this morning and I’ve had a hard-on all day imagining what you’d look like undressed. You know exactly what effect you have on me and you push me to the brink by slipping your wet panties inside my pocket in a public place knowing full well I won’t be able to turn you over the table, yank up your dress and fuck you.”
“I was…”
I’m worried I’ve gone too far and I’m desperately trying to find the words, but he cuts me off. “You were what? Trying to turn me on? Pushing my buttons? I’m only a man, Ciara.”
“I was only…” I can’t even think straight. His eyes are burning mine, sending shock waves down to my aching clit.
“Do you have any idea how much I want you?”
My heart is pounding like crazy as he gets closer.
“I’m going to fuck you and I’m going to make you come until you scream out my name and when you think you’re too exhausted, I’m going to fuck you again and again and again. Don’t ever tease me in public unless I can get inside your pussy quickly.”
I open my mouth to respond, but his words are so raw, I can’t think of anything to say. I want him and I want him now.
“Do I have to repeat myself?” he says, gesturing at the fact
I’m still fully clothed.
I shake my head and throw my clutch on the chair. I turn my back to him, afraid he can read the burning desire in my eyes. I unzip my dress with shaking hands and let it pool at my feet.
“Good girl. Now, turn around.”
I obey and face him.
He pulls out my wet panties from his pocket and brings them to his nose. “I’ve wanted to smell these since you tucked them inside my pocket.”
“Oh, God.” I exhale. He’s killing me here.
“I’m going to teach you not to act like a bad girl in public. When I’m done, you won’t be able to stand let alone walk.”
“I’m sure with a little persuasion, I could have convinced you to fuck me in the men’s bathroom at the restaurant.”
He flashes me a dark look and stares at me for what seems like an eternity. “Turn around,” he roars.
“If you’re going to fuck me from behind, I hope it’s doggy style.”
I know I’m pushing his buttons, but I can’t help it. I want him to be so horny he pounds me like a Mack truck.
“Bend over.”
Oh, this is going to be good. I fold my body and hold onto the chair for balance. I wiggle my ass, hoping to excite him even more as I turn my head to catch his gaze.
“You think you’re still in control?” He grabs my hips and pulls me towards him. “Do you feel my cock?”
“You’re so fucking massive,” I whimper, pressing my ass further against his nine-inch cock.
“Yeah, it’s going to be so deep inside you, you’ll be begging for mercy.”
“Are you making a promise or an empty threat?”
The first slap stings and shocks me.
Slap.
I haven’t been with a guy who’s had the balls to spank me in a long time.
Slap.
Nikolaj spanks me again and again and again until I scream. My body jerks forward with every blow as I gasp for air.
“I thought you liked it rough?”
“I do.” Shit. “But you merely caressed me,” I pant, trembling.
The next slap is so strong I take a step forward, afraid I’ll fall off my heels.
The Billionaire's Desire Page 7
