Spanish Nights

by Valerie Twombly

  Nikki snorted. “No woman is fine not having sex for two years. It's just not natural.” She followed her to the kitchen. “Besides, how can you write a steamy romance when you've forgotten how to fuck?”

  She unscrewed the cap to the bottle of Moscato and filled her glass to the rim. Setting the bottle on the counter, she pushed it toward her friend. Nikki was like a sister to her. She'd stop in and stay for as long as she could between assignments and she'd been there when Makayla had to go to court for the divorce. Nikki had been her rock. She took a long sip of wine, letting the sweet taste coat her tongue. God, her friend was right though. She'd let Eric ruin her life, but could she pick up the pieces again?

  “It's not that I don't want sex.” She closed her eyes trying to remember what it felt like to be wanted and realized she had no idea. Eric certainly hadn't needed her. Did a man exist that could make her the center of his world or was she living in a fairy tale? “You're right. How can I write romance when I've forgotten what it's all about?” She opened her lids to find her friend staring at her, a twinkle in her green eyes.

  “Then I can call?”

  “Why not? I've got nothing to lose.” Makayla raised her glass and the girls clinked the cheap crystal together. Maybe this would be the turning point she desperately needed.

  *****

  After a nine-hour flight and four hours on a bus, Makayla was exhausted to put it mildly. As they reached the top of the mountains and headed into a small valley, the village came into view. Her excitement grew. She’d never left the country before and truth be told, Spain had always been at the top of her wish list. She was lucky to have such a good friend in Nikki; even more so that Nikki had friends in high places. She would have never been able to afford to rent a villa in this sleepy, little town.

  As she gazed through the dirty window, she noted how the homes were sprawled out from the town square and grew bigger in size as they reached the outskirts. It was obvious the people with money either lived or vacationed here.

  The sun was low in the sky by the time they pulled into the local service station that doubled as the bus station. Darkness would be upon them soon. Kayla departed the bus and searched for the people designated to take her to the villa where she’d be staying.

  A young man, who appeared to be in his teens, stood with a sign in his hand that read: Makayla. She approached. “Hello, do you speak English?”

  The boy’s face lit up. “Oh yes, senorita. Are you Makayla?”

  She giggled. “I am. I just need to get my bags and then we can go. So what’s your name?”

  “Lucas, and I will help you with your cases.”

  She smiled. “Your English is very good. Oh look, they’re unloading now.”

  The pair walked back to the bus and grabbed the two suitcases she’d brought. “Okay, lead the way.”

  Lucas waived his hands in the air. “No. No. Let me carry those for you.”

  “Okay,” she laughed and followed him to a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle where he popped open the trunk and shoved her bags inside.

  With a slam of the lid, he smiled. “Get in and I’ll drive you to your villa.”

  She folded herself into the passenger seat and in no time they were buzzing along a winding street dotted with white stucco villas. After ten minutes, he pulled in front of a small one-story building surrounding by a wrought iron fence.

  “This one is yours. The Nolan home.” He jumped out of the car and pulled her bags from the trunk. With one in each hand, he rolled them up the walk and unlocked the door.

  Makayla followed him inside, pulled some cash from her purse and stuffed it into his hand. “Thank you very much.”

  He nodded and gave her a wide smile. “Gracias, señorita.” Then ran back to his car.

  She shut the door and flipped on the wall switch. The living room and kitchen were one big room covered in terra cotta tile. A brown suede sofa sat facing a large screen TV. The kitchen, with its brightly painted cabinets lent a perfect contrast.

  She stifled a yawn, grabbed her bags and headed to find the bedroom. Jet lag had set in and she desperately needed sleep. Too tired to unpack, she climbed into bed and fell asleep to the scent of Jasmine carried in by the breeze.

  Morning brought sunlight filtering through the vanilla colored sheers. She stretched and threw off the covers. Looking across the room, she remembered she hadn’t even unpacked yet so she rolled out of bed and made her way down the short hall to where her luggage still stood by the front door. Pulling the bags behind her, she stopped mid-way to the bedroom.

  “Oh, coffee.” She eyed the machine sitting on the counter and prayed there was something to put in it.

  After a quick look in the refrigerator, she found the coffee and set the pot to brew while she headed for the shower.

  Thirty glorious minutes later she was clean and sipping a steaming cup of caffeine in the tiny courtyard to the rear of her villa. Colorful garments floated in the breeze on a clothesline behind her and were framed by white-capped mountains. The scene was surreal. Next on the list, a walk around the neighborhood and then she’d unpack.

  Chapter Three

  Armand stared out the window and looked down the hillside at the village. His village. A place that had first been his purgatory was now his home. As if he'd had a choice. Cyndel had condemned him to the Pyrenees Mountains of Spain but his real home was high above the mists.

  Stripped of his Jinn magic and unable to leave the mountain range, he had built a life here as best he could. A modest cabin had turned into a tiny village and now it was a small town with all the modern-day conveniences. Because he'd retained his immortality, he had to be resourceful so the people here wouldn't become suspicious. They believed his forefathers were the original founders and builders of their small community. That meant he had to make an excuse to leave for several years then venture into a cave his brother, Crone, had carved out for him with his magic. There he lived until the locals grew older, and he would come back stating he was a relative of the deceased and start his life over again.

  It was a lonely existence to say the least, one he hated and had been his hell for the last thousand years. No matter what his family had tried, they had been unable to break the curse, but Armand refused to give up hope. There had to be a way to return him to his former life, though he wasn't sure he even remembered how to be a Jinn. Armand hadn't felt his Jinn stir since he'd been imprisoned here. Often the heat was so unbearable he would lie in a tub of ice just to cool down. Being unable to release his power or shift to smoke was like keeping an animal in a cage. He was slowly suffocating.

  After a few hundred years, Armand had finally grown accustomed to living as a human and had come to love the people of his community. They relied on him and he threw himself into looking after their needs. There wasn't a building in this town he hadn't assisted with either financially or physically. Thanks to Crone, who brought him gold and jewels during his visits, he had at least been able to live comfortably.

  He turned from the window and strode to the front door, stopping to look at the pictures of his family. Crone had been kind enough to take the photos and frame them, then hang them as a gift. Efrain, his father, looked every bit a king. His jet-black hair was kept short, but his chiseled face showed a little wear. Armand wondered if he had caused his father's stress and it ate at him. His entire family had tried to reason with Cyndel and except for the fear of Armand never being released from his curse, his brothers would have killed her.

  Next was Crone, the only family member allowed to visit, and he was grateful for that. The others had tried, but the curse Cyndel had used kept his loved ones away. For some reason however, Cyndel had allowed Crone to come once every six months. It was the only thing that kept him sane.

  Lazaro was the baby. Only a child when Armand had been cast out, the photo now showed a grown man, and it pained him he had missed his little brother growing up.

  He fisted his palms. Anger bubbled up that Cyndel
had caused him so much anguish because of her greed. He'd actually considered years ago giving in and marrying her, but Crone had assured him the family would get through the nightmare. His father wanted him to hold onto his beliefs.

  He stared at Lazaro's picture. He would have already reached his immortality: the time when he stopped aging and his looks froze. His baby brother had always held a special place in his heart. He looked so much like their mother who had died in childbirth. It was the only time a female was vulnerable. He remembered his father's devastation. His parents had loved each other with every fiber of their souls. It was a love Armand had hoped one day to have and the reason why he refused to marry Cyndel. Now he kept his heart locked behind a frozen block. He couldn't love a mortal then watch her grow old and die. And what of their children? He could never bear to watch his offspring pass before him. Instead he acted the playboy, satisfied his needs then moved on, always painfully aware of the many broken hearts he left in his wake. It was better that way.

  Armand scooped up the bouquet of violet orchids he'd picked from the garden earlier and walked out the door. The late morning sun had already turned the air to a pleasant seventy degrees so he decided to walk. Following the brick path, he took a sharp right and headed down the hill. His mission today was to greet a visitor staying at the Nolan home. Armand had started the tradition of welcoming guests when the first settler had asked to build here. The Elders passed on to their children the stories of Armand's ancestors, how they always took time from their day to greet a lonely stranger, even housed and fed those passing through. Little did they know it was Armand himself. It was the only thing that gave him purpose. This town, these people. They belonged to him and he would always make sure they were cared for.

  After several minutes, he found himself in front of the Nolan home knocking on the heavy wooden door. A scurry of footsteps met his sensitive ears before the door opened.

  He took a step back. The most exotic vision filled the void. The woman was stunning. Wide, brown eyes filled with curiosity looked back at him. His gazed dropped to full red lips and the sudden urge to taste them had his mouth watering. He couldn't stop staring at her beauty. By all the gods, he’d lost his tongue and had forgotten why he was there.

  *****

  Makayla had been surprised by a knock on her door, but even more so when she flung it open to find the most stunning pair of almond-shaped blue eyes she'd ever seen staring back at her. It took her only a moment to realize the pools of sapphire were attached to one gorgeous man.

  She blinked.

  Nope, still there and still just as breathtaking as before. Men like that only existed in … well, not where she lived anyway.

  “Uh, can I help you?” God she hoped he spoke English. Nikki had assured her there wouldn't be any problems with language here. She didn't know a lick of Spanish. Wait … was he holding flowers? She blinked again.

  “Good morning, señorita.” He tipped his head and it was then she really took notice. His hair, a warm brown, hung in messy waves to his collar. The sun glistened off it, catching the golden highlights that made her want to touch each curl and entwine it around her fingers.

  “My name is Armand. I'm here to welcome you to our small community.” He thrust the flowers in front of her. “For you.”

  She reached for the bouquet, fighting to keep her hand from trembling. His thick Spanish accent made her want to drool. God, I need to stop staring. “Thank you, these are beautiful.” His fingers touched hers as she grabbed the flowers and sent fire straight to her sex. Her imagination began to whirl with all the things those hot digits could do to her. She swallowed hard and pushed the thoughts from her head. Great Kayla, nothing like wanting to hit on the first man at your door.

  “It's also customary that I give you a tour of our town, but first would you join me for coffee?”

  “Coffee?” Had he just said something about a tour? Wait, how did a Spaniard have blue eyes?

  He flashed a smile. “Unless you prefer tea or another beverage. The local cafe has lots of items to choose from. They also make wonderful sweet rolls if you haven't yet eaten.”

  “Umm, do you make it a habit to bring flowers and offer breakfast to strangers?” Makayla had been warned the people here were friendly. Still, it was weird to a girl who originally came from Chicago; she found it difficult to shove away years of always being wary.

  His smile remained. “Actually, yes I do. It's something my family has done for decades. My forefathers started this village many years ago and it's become a tradition to always welcome our newcomers with hospitality.”

  Now she felt like a total ass, and her gut told her the guy was genuine. “I'm so sorry. Of course, I'd love coffee and I haven't had time to see the village yet. I might incorporate it into my next novel. I bet there's a ton of history here.”

  He tipped his head. “You're a writer?”

  Makayla stepped back from the door and decided it wouldn't hurt to invite him in. “I am. Would you care to come in? If you don't mind waiting, I'll place these in some water and change, then we can go.”

  “Thank you and please, take your time.”

  He strode into the small entry as if he owned the place and she couldn't help but take a look at his backside. She stifled a moan. Just as she suspected, the behind was just as delicious as the front. She slipped past, trying not to touch him in the small confines of the vestibule.

  “Please come in and have a seat. I'll only be a couple of minutes.” She directed him to a chair in the living room then headed for the kitchen to find a vase. After procuring the glass from an open shelf, she spun around to find the sexy Spaniard standing directly behind her. Had he been any closer, their bodies would have greeted each other in a most intimate fashion.

  She looked up into his beautiful eyes and swallowed. “Oh, goodness. You startled me.”

  “My apologies, señorita, but I don't believe you ever told me your name.”

  She set the vase in the sink and filled it with water then moved it to the counter. He occupied the confined space of the kitchen, not only with his large frame, but something else. His mere presence commanded attention. There was a kind of power that exuded from him, and it made her a bit edgy in a way hard to define. Sexual? The man dripped sexual energy, but there was more to it. Kayla shook it off to simply being in close confinement with a Spanish god.

  “I don't know where my manners are today.” She extended her hand. “Hi, I'm Makayla Farren, but my friends call me Kayla.”

  He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, which he brushed across the top of her knuckles ever so gently. His eyes met hers and darkened. In that moment, she sensed something familiar about him. That was impossible. They'd never met before. She fought to slow her pulse and tried to ignore the sensation his kiss left on her skin.

  “Señorita, I hope you'll allow me to call you Kayla. It's a most beautiful name.” His deep voice wrapped around her and caressed, causing bumps to skip across her skin. At the moment, she'd allow him to call her anything.

  Kayla smiled. “I'd best change so we can go.”

  He released her hand. She backed away, turned and headed directly to the master suite at the back of the house. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and tried to catch her breath. She looked down and noted her hands shook along with her knees. Her skin tingled like it had been kissed by the sun and for once in her life she was warm.

  “Okay, Kayla, center yourself. You're about to spend the morning with the most handsome man you've ever laid eyes on.” She hurried across the room and grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand. Scrolling to Nikki’s number she sent a quick text of thanks to her friend with a promise to follow up later.

  She moved back to the other side and grabbed a pair of shorts from the dresser. Slipping her leg through the opening, she couldn't help the visions of him still racing in her head. Eyes so blue, they reminded her of a tropical lagoon. Then there was his body. Good god almighty, what a
body. If it looked that good in jeans and a polo shirt, she could only imagine what he might be like nude.

  “Christ, I need to stop before I spontaneously combust.” She snapped the shorts, pulled on a T-shirt and ran a brush over her hair. She checked her reflection in the mirror. “This will have to do. It's not like you're going on a date, Kayla.”

  Chapter Four

  Armand watched in amazement as the girl known as Kayla fled the room. He'd met many beautiful women in his time, but this one had managed to do something not even he could.

  Stoke the embers that were his Jinn.

  When their fingers had touched, he felt a stir but wrote it off to his imagination. However, when he'd brushed his lips across her hand there had been no doubt. The Jinn long buried deep within him tried to roar to life. Was it simply a coincidence? There seemed to be something magical about her, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He would, though. His fingers, his tongue. He vowed as he stood in her small kitchen that he would take her in every room of the house. He would fill the small villa with her screams of pleasure and she would beg him for more. If such brief contact did this, then he could only hope fucking her might break his curse. He leaned against the counter and watched for her return. Why though? What was special about her? He searched his memories for anything that might fill in the gaps, but he had nothing.

  He inhaled. The scent of strawberries filtered through his senses, stirring his cock. He licked his lips and couldn't help but wonder if she would taste as sweet as his favorite fruit.

  Within minutes, the seductive female returned dressed in a pair of shorts and a yellow tee. His gaze moved directly to her breasts, noting how the fabric clung to the rounded mounds and accented them. Did she realize her nipples poked through the thin material and begged him to suckle one into his mouth?