“What’s wrong with this one?”
“It’s not safe.”
“For you or for me?”
“For you. I can take care of myself. I’m a guy. You’re a foreigner in a strange land and you shouldn’t be subjected to these kinds of living conditions.”
“It’s all I could afford,” I blurt out before realizing I wish I hadn’t.
“Let’s go to the front desk. We’ll get you an upgraded.”
“They’re sold out…I think. Plus I don’t want to spend any more money.”
“It’s on me.”
“I can’t accept,” I say wondering why he’s acting so strange. Is he really just concerned about my safety? If only he knew how I worked in a kitchen around knives and boiling water and all kinds of other hazards. This place is nothing compared to the dangers I face everyday at work. We’re constantly understaffed. I think it’s because the owner is trying his best to maximize profits, we have on the job incidents all the time…burns, cuts, all kinds of stuff. It’s what happens when you overwork the same few people for years at a time, but I’m in no position to complain. I need the money, plus my mom worked for that owner for years so I kind of feel like he did me a favor by hiring me.
“Please. I insist.”
“And I insist we go have a fun day like we were about to do before suddenly…I don’t know exactly, but things got weird.”
He looks at me and sees I’m not messing around. I think the thought of me backing out on our time together is more important than anything else to him right now, or at least my safety in this room later. Maybe he figures if I’m with him I’m safe, or that he’ll talk me into it later. Either way I don’t care, but even though I’m talking tough I know that I can’t let him walk out on me…not that he would.
I’m developing feelings for him so quickly. I want to just chalk it up to everything that’s happened in the last hour, but it’s not just that. Yes, releasing my mom’s ashes, almost drowning, and then him saving me and whisking me away on a Vespa all qualify as highly emotional experiences, but there’s something more to him. This isn’t some local guy just out to hook up with a tourist. He’s actually concerned about my safety. He genuinely cares about me in a way no one has since my mother passed.
“Okay,” he says, but I can tell he’s not happy and that we’re going to revisit this at some point. Just not now.
We walk out of my room and I lock the door behind us but before I can put my keys in my pocket he takes them from my hand in one fluid effortless motion and sticks the other key in the deadbolt, locking it too.
“I’m not even going to be inside,” I say.
“But that vase is important to you and I need to know it’s going to be there when we get back.”
“You mean when I get back,” I say as he puts my keys in his pocket. What the heck?
“We. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
This is the point where I should probably turn and run or demand my keys back so I can get my things and check out…and go to a new place where he won’t find me.
But I don’t have the money and it’s the height of tourist season. And as much as I don’t want to admit it to myself I like his protective vibe, so I don’t argue.
We walk out the door and get back on his bike.
“You like Picasso?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. “How did you know?”
“I saw your sketchbook by the bed. Want to see some of his original works?”
“Here?”
“The Juan March Museum has some on display.”
“Yeah. That would be great,” I say.
“Hold on,” he says, and I wrap my arms around him and off we go weaving through the beautiful little quaint streets as I hold on to him from behind, unable to get my arms all the way around him, but I sure do enjoy trying as it allows me to feel his muscles underneath the white T-shirt that was stored underneath the seat. I’m not sure if it’s his T-shirt though as it seems way too small for his big frame even though it’s one of those generously cut summer T-shirts.
I love how everything here is so casual and beachy, but he seems a bit more on the serious side…at least when in comes to me.
CHAPTER 7
Leo
We spend the next hour inside the museum looking at Picasso’s works. We even hire a private guide to explain some of the inspirations behind the pieces and learn about the ways in which Picasso worked.
Paying the guide with wet money that was inside the Velcro pocket in my swim shorts gets a curious look, but she accepts it anyways. I remind myself to check the Vespa to see if there’s some cash under the seat. We usually store a fifty-euro note there in case of emergencies.
It’s really fun and I can see from Lily’s face that she’s having a blast. It’s crazy to realize it now, but we were having so much fun and had such a strange way of meeting that we hadn’t actually learned each other’s names until the guide introduced herself to us.
It’s just that I feel so comfortable around her. She feels so familiar to me, which makes no sense as it’s clear we come from two different worlds.
But regardless I think we’re still the same people inside. We’re simple people who just want to enjoy life with our own families. The topic of families comes up when the guide mentions Picasso had four children, and then she asks me if we have any children.
We as in the two of us. Together.
I know we must look like a couple the way we get along and talk about all the pieces together. I like that Lily can appreciate this artwork in a way that isn’t stuffy like I’ve grown accustomed to in places like this. Galleries are often full of people who pretend the work is deeper than it is, or that they know something that everyone else doesn’t, or any other kind of bragging. I like that she knows a little, but also knows that she doesn’t know too much. And neither do I.
We’re honest about it with each other, but I’m not honest when I answer the guide.
“We just had our first,” I told her. She looked at me like I was crazy or that she might have recognized me, but being in just a simple white T-shirt, that’s not exactly my proper size making me look more like a tourist and not someone with a tailor staff at the ready, and flip flops and still having my hair messed up from the beach she must have thought there was no way it was me. This day, this time with Lily, has been so fun and so refreshing.
“Congratulations!” the guide said, but she didn’t press for more details.
“Thank you,” I say. As the guide turns to show us the next piece Lily pokes me in the ribs and gives me a “what in the heck are you doing,” look.
What I’m doing is making her mine as I poke her back, as she playfully tries to avoid it but I’m too quick, and then gently take her arm in my hand.
There’s no way I’m letting her go. Not today. Not tonight. Not ever.
We step out of the museum and I spot a Picasso souvenir shop across the street.
“Want to try on some Picasso dresses to remember this visit?”
“Remember, how could I forget,” she says as she turns and flashes me that thousand-watt smile that shines brighter than the sun.
She finds one that she likes and steps inside the changing room to try it on.
The minute she steps out I’m floored.
I thought the dress would be too quirky to actually wear, but on her it looks incredible.
“Now you’re literally a piece of art yourself,” I say. “And I’d take this day with you over any of Pablo’s paintings.”
“Thank you!” she says as she twirls around feeling great about herself. I like the way she’s feeling so good as being around her makes me feel a lot more than good. I’m busy trying to hide my erection, which has been with me since we met, when I see the shopkeeper’s eyes drift lower as her dress spins up higher.
“She’s mine,” I growl at him and his shoulders shrug and his body pulls away from me.
I grit my teeth and find myself snarling at hi
m without even realizing what I’m doing. I feel my fingers dig into my palms as I form fists wanting to punch this guy for trying to sneak a peek at what isn’t his.
I take a step closer to him stepping in-between him and Lily but in doing so it gives him a better look at my face.
“I’m sorry Your Highness,” he says. This is exactly what I didn’t want.
I look at his sign and see the dress if fifty euros. I quickly pull the money out of my pocket and hand it to him.
“Let’s go,” I say to Lily, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. “You look too good in this not to wear it all day.”
She gives me a confused look but doesn’t protest. “Thank you,” she says. “But I’ll pay you back.”
“You already did,” I say.
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes you did, because now I get to have dinner with you.”
“Dinner?”
“That’s your dinner dress now.”
“I am getting hungry,” she says.
“So it’s settled.”
“At least let me pay for dinner.”
“I don’t know where you’re from, but I was taught that a lady never pays when she’s accompanied by a gentleman,” although my thoughts about her are getting far removed from anything gentlemanly as the day progresses.
“Thank you,” she says. “But we can talk about it.”
“Over paella,” I say.
“Pie what?”
I laugh at her accent. “Paella. It’s a famous Spanish dish from the sea. You’ll love it.”
“If you’re there to share it with me I’m sure I will l—, I’m sure I will,” she says stopping before she says the word love, but I noticed. Did I ever notice.
But we have to get out of here immediately as people are starting to notice me and once they do the palace will find out where I’m at and the best day of my life will get a lot more complicated.
And I don’t want complicated.
I want her. And I will have her.
CHAPTER 8
Lily
As we drive across the island my mind starts to notice things, but maybe it’s just the heat.
I could have swore the shopkeeper called him Your Highness, but then again that’s what we say to someone who’s acting all high and mighty so maybe that’s what he meant by it. And the guy said it in English so maybe he just thought he was a tourist who was demanding too much. I’m not sure as I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation.
But I did see things, as in the people that seemed to be doing a double take on him just before we left. And I thought I saw a couple people taking pictures as we sped away.
But why would they be taking pictures of us?
Did the story about him saving my life somehow get out?
Is he famous or something?
I mean he does have movie star good looks and the body to match. And he must have at least some money judging by the hotel where he is staying. It practically looked like a palace from the outside. I can only imagine how incredible the rooms are and how much they cost per night.
But the only imagining I’m doing right now is about the two of us. This day has been more fun than I’ve had in…I really don’t know how long. Maybe ever as crazy as that sounds.
And I just don’t want it to end. I want to pay for my own things, but I really don’t have the means, and I know that shopkeeper wasn’t going to accept a credit card. At dinner they should and I’ll pay for the both of us then.
All I know is I want to spend as much time with him here as possible. I don’t want this night to end, or these three days to end.
I’m already thinking about how I can convince him to come visit me back home.
Am I losing my mind?
I could blame it on the sun, or my mood, or being on a holiday, which actually feels like a holiday now. But I’m not one to make excuses. This is something so much more than that.
And when we sit down for dinner and our conversation shifts from Spanish artwork to current events and even celebrity gossip and our favorite movies of all time I realize that we really do connect on a lot of levels.
Good looks fade, or at least they usually do, but good conversation never gets old. And he’s got it in spades. We’ve got it in spades.
And it doesn’t hurt that he found some restaurant where the waiters all seem to know him and we have the place all to ourselves.
He told me he comes to Mallorca every summer with his family and they eat here often, but when I ask about his family he just tells me they’re having dinner close by the hotel tonight and that he has dinner with them the other three hundred and sixty-four nights a year and missing one dinner won’t hurt anything.
And not only that but he insists this dinner is the best he’s ever had.
But I have to be careful because he’s so charming he could charm the pants right off me, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I hadn't been thinking about it for a few hours now.
The way he touches my hand. The feeling of his body in my hands as we speed around the island on the Vespa. The way he takes me by the back of the arm or even by the small of my neck or shoulders when we’re walking and he directs me.
I’m not used to this kind of intimacy with a guy and it has me thinking he could very well be the guy I want to experience another kind of intimacy with…the ultimate kind.
But I’ve always told myself I’d save that for the one, but after today I can’t deny I’m feeling like the one could very well be him.
My momma was a tough lady, raising me all by herself. She experienced heartbreak herself when her smooth talking boyfriend, my dad, walked out on her. She was never bitter about it, preferring to focus on the positive, but when I was old enough she did warn me about the dangers of guys trying to talk their way into your pants…or more appropriately charm you out of yours.
But with Leo there’s no pressure and no sexual talk at all. He has said a few things today about me being his, but I guess I could interpret that as being his date for the day, even though he says it with a lot more conviction than it being just that.
But how could he really mean that? We’re not even from the same country? On a day to day basis we speak different languages? And he’s clearly from a different world, even though I know little about it so far it’s enough to know it’s much more interesting and luxurious than mine.
But when he feeds me our chocolate cake dessert from his spoon I know we speak a universal language…romance. And Spanish does sound sexy and technically is a romance language, literally.
After we finish dinner I tell him I should probably be getting back, even though I don’t want to.
“But the night is still young,” he says. And it makes me think that I am too compared to him. I’m only twenty-one and he tells me he’s thirty-three. That’s twelve whole years, but it doesn’t seem like it. He’s fun and energetic when the situation calls for it, but also mature and responsible like a real man too.
In short he’s perfect. And he makes me feel tiny and feminine in his presence. He is the perfect man and this is the perfect day.
But the sun and all our activities and the jet lag start to catch up with me. And pile on an entire piece of chocolate cake and it’s definitely time to get some rest.
And when we get back to my hotel I let him know I need to use the restroom really quickly before I tell him goodnight.
But when I come out of the restroom he tells me to pack my things. Although the island is safe he says my room is musty, smells a bit moldy, and isn’t fit for a princess.
No one’s called me princess, ever, and his charm finally works on me.
I check out and he drives me to another hotel. He promises me it’s run by a family friend and that it’s complimentary for him, and therefore me. I resist when I see it, but okay…maybe not as much as I should.
And when the bellhop takes us to the top floor and the doors open my jaw drops.
There’s a one hundred and eighty
degree view of the sea, a bottle of champagne on ice, and a bed that’s practically bigger than the entire room I just vacated.
But before I can even take it in, Leo tips the bellhop, pulls me in close and stares me in the eyes.
I hear the elevator ding, letting me know the bellhop is gone and that we’re now alone.
“I had an incredible time today with you and I’m going to be back in the morning to pick you up so we can do it all over again,” he says.
Possessive Prince: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 66) Page 3
