The Spanish Love Deception: A Novel
The Spanish Love Deception: Chapter 7

We had been driving in silence for the longest fifteen minutes of my life when I decided I could not take it any longer.

I wasn’t in the mood for small talk, and I knew that waiting for Aaron to say something would be like waiting for a brick wall to crack open and reveal the entrance to a wizardly world. But if I didn’t say anything to fill in this silence, I’d have to jump out of the moving car.

“So, a fundraiser.” My words fell into the reduced and quiet space, sounding too loud.

Aaron nodded, his gaze remaining on the road and both hands on the steering wheel. “For a good cause, naturally.”

Another nod.

“And it takes place every year?”

An affirmative grunt.

If he didn’t start talking, saying anything, I wouldn’t jump out of the moving car; I’d be pushing him out.

“And …” I needed a question that wouldn’t strictly require a yes or no answer. “How are the funds going to be raised?”

He seemed to consider that for a long moment, almost making me believe I’d really have to shove him out.

“An auction.”

Finally. “What’s being auctioned?” I fidgeted with the simple gold cuff bracelet that circled my wrist, waiting for an answer that never came. “Is it art?” I turned the smooth piece of jewelry around. “Golf lessons?” Another turn. “A yacht?” I looked at him. Nothing. No answer. “Elvis’s underwear?”

That got me a reaction. He sent me a puzzled look and then returned his attention to the road.

“What?” I shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll have you know that someone auctioned a dirty pair of undies Elvis had worn to a concert in the ’70s.”

I watched Aaron’s head shake. Mr. Proper was probably scandalized, but he was still not talking, so I kept filling in the silence.

“Chill. Nobody bought them.” I studied his profile for any reaction. Still nothing. “Or bid for them,” I corrected myself. “I don’t know much, if anything, about auctions.” More silence. O-kay. “But the conclusion was that, apparently, no one wanted Elvis’s used underwear.” I snickered. “Which, frankly, it sort of strengthened my faith in society. Not all is lost yet, right?”

A muscle in his jaw jumped.

“Who would want to own something like that? And what’s even more daunting, what for? To frame it?” A grimace bent my lips. “Imagine being invited to a home and replaceing a dirty pair of underwear framed, hanging above the sofa. Or the toilet.”

Aaron shot me a quick glance, something that looked a lot like wonder filling his eyes. Then, he finally spoke, “I never know with you, you know?”

And that’s what he decided to go with?

“You never know what?” Frowning, I watched his head give another light shake.

“I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.” His voice sounded almost thoughtful. “You always replace a way to catch me completely off guard. And that’s not something many people can do.”

Uh …

What was I supposed to do with that? Was that … a compliment? I had been rambling about Elvis’s used underwear hanging in somebody’s living room, so I was going to go with no. Not a compliment. Plus, this was Aaron we were talking about, so double no.

“Well, I have more fun facts for you, if that’s what you want,” I offered with a smile. “Of all kinds, not only underwear-related.”

“Of course you do,” he muttered.

“Unless you want to use this precious time to, I don’t know, give me some kind of context about tonight.” I waited one, two, three seconds. Once more, he seemed to fall silent when I asked. “You could maybe explain to me why I’m here, pretending to be your date. That’s a good start.”

His fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter; it was hard to miss because, well, I had been carefully watching him for the last couple of minutes.

And yet, he was still not talking.

I frowned, starting to feel frustrated in a way that wasn’t very charitable. “You said you would tell me everything if I agreed to come.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yep,” I answered, not getting why he was being so … privy. Although that was just how Aaron was, wasn’t it? It shouldn’t have surprised me.

I watched his hands move up along the steering wheel, the action tensing the fabric of his tux jacket. As I was unable not to notice how his arms filled the sleeves, my mind wandered away for an instant, this weird sensation I had experienced back in the apartment returning.

I was being sidetracked by … him. His presence, his proximity, the way he looked. Again. Objectively speaking, it was hard to do much else besides stare at him, dwarfing the car’s seat like he pretty much did with everything else—especially when he wasn’t talking and giving me an excuse not to. But there was nothing objective about the way my eyes involuntarily trailed up his arms, ending at his rounded and wide shoulders. Or the way they made their way up to his profile. Stoic. So stoic and serious. He wasn’t smiling—Aaron never did—and I’d never been more aware of that fact.

It wasn’t just the tux, I realized.

So far, I had somehow been able to overlook how attractive Aaron was. Not that I hadn’t noticed he was good-looking—I had. But I had only needed to remember his dry and sour personality to gloss over that rather quickly. But that did not change the truth. And that was that Aaron had all those things that made my head turn and take a second look. All those things I didn’t look for but for some reason I felt compelled by. All those things I wasn’t. Tall—he stood so tall and unmovable. All lean muscles and controlled movements. Every gesture so composed and disciplined. Or the way in which his pale skin and dark hair made his eyes stand out, a deep and intense shade of blue that I had never seen before I met him.

Ripping my gaze off him and settling my eyes on my hands again, I cursed myself for allowing my mind to go there. What the hell am I even doing? There were important things to discuss. I didn’t have time to think about his stupidly big and apparently alluring tux-clad body. Damn tuxedos.

“You are playing hard to get, Blackford. But it’s all right,” I said, realizing Aaron hadn’t given me that explanation he owed me. “I can guess why I’m here.” I’ll do that if it helps me to stop thinking crazy, stupid stuff about you. “I’m game if you are.”

More silence.

“All right, I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s play.” I shifted in my seat, angling my body to my left side. “Why am I here? Let’s see … am I here to protect you from a crazy ex-girlfriend?” Basic, but I had to start somewhere. “You look like a man who would attract crazy.”

He looked at me sideways, his forehead wrinkling. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He shook his head, returning his gaze to the road. “You know what? I don’t want to know.”

“Okay, fine. I guess that was a no. No crazy exes.” I brought my index finger to my chin. “Hmm … if it’s not protection you need”—I tapped my finger—“am I here to make someone jealous?”

“No,” he answered quickly.

“Are you sure?” I wiggled my eyebrows. “No former lover you want to get back at? Show the one who got away what she’s missing? Rekindle your love story?”

“I said, no exes.” His shoulders rose with tension.

“Okay, okay, I got it. Calm down, Blackford. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

I watched his lips twitch. In anger or humor, I didn’t know.

“I don’t know,” I continued, enjoying myself far too much. “If it’s not that, then—oh! Is it unrequited love then? It is, isn’t it?” I brought my hands together in front of my chest. “It’s gotta be someone unaware of your longing puppy eyes. No, wait. I don’t think you are capable of pulling off puppy eyes.” I tilted my head, something occurring to me. “You know that you can’t go around, giving women the cold eye if you are interested in them, right? I know puppy eyes was going a bit too far for you, but if there is someone out there who awakens that stone cold heart of yours—”

“No,” he fired back, cutting me off. “You are not here for any of that.” He inhaled deeply, his chest rising. Then, he puffed out the air. “I don’t like to play games, Catalina.”

My hands dropped to my lap. “This particular game or … games in general?” I paused, wondering where his reaction had come from. “Or are we talking about sexy games? Like seduction games?”

My lips snapped shut as soon as I heard my own words.

I couldn’t believe I had said that. To Aaron.

Neither could he, apparently, because he let out a … noise that I had the impression was supposed to be a laugh. Although it couldn’t have possibly been that, sounding closer to … something strangled.

“You …” His head swiveled with disconcertment. “Jesus, Catalina.”

Forehead wrinkling, I opened my mouth to say something, but Aaron spoke first, “If I end things with a woman, I end them.” His voice went at least an octave down, a rumble in the confined space between us. “And if I am interested in someone, I make myself heard. I will replace a way for her to know. Sooner or later, she’ll know.” Aaron didn’t look at me, not once. He just spoke with his gaze on the road ahead of us. “I wouldn’t use you, or anyone else, for something like that. As you said back in your apartment, I’m a big boy.”

I felt a wave of warmth climb all the way up to my face. Flushed. I was flushed, and my makeup was probably not doing anything to hide the dark shade of red spreading through my cheeks. I looked away. “Oh, okay.” I fought the urge to touch my face, check if the blush was heating my skin too. “I see.”

I wasn’t seeing a single thing. And frankly, I didn’t understand why his words were making me feel this way either. Or more importantly, why he had asked for my help if he didn’t play games and was a big boy.

But where this man was concerned, I hadn’t seemed to be understanding much lately. Especially when my body had decided to stop cooperating and was acting up in all these stupid ways that turned my skin warm and flushed.

I stared through the window, watching the city lights flick away as we drove. “You said you would tell me everything if I accepted to do this.” I swallowed, not wanting to sound like I cared as much as I did. “If we … did this thing for each other.”

“You are right,” he said, not adding anything else for a long moment, in which I didn’t turn to look at him. “I used to play football in college,” he admitted, catching me completely by surprise.

Very slowly, I gripped the strap of my seat belt while I tried to muffle down the holy shit that had traveled all the way to the tip of my tongue.

Okay, so that wasn’t an explanation. It wasn’t the answer I had expected. But it was the first thing I had ever heard of him that wasn’t work-related. In almost two years. So, if my ears were not deceiving me, Aaron had just opened up—for the first time ever. Because I’d count it as that. Just a tiny little bit, fine, but it was a crack on that hard exterior all the same. And all of a sudden, I wanted to swing a hammer and pummel my way to the other side.

“Football? The one with the helmets and the melon-like ball?” I asked instead, keeping my voice as flat as possible.

I wasn’t a sports doofus, but I was European. I needed to be sure we were talking about the same sport.

“Yes, not soccer. The one with the melon.” He nodded. “I played back home in Seattle, where I went to college.”

“Seattle,” I repeated, chewing on this new piece of information he had given me. More. I wanted just a little more. “That’s Washington up north, right? I know because of Twilight. Forks is supposed to be a few hours away.” I kind of regretted mentioning Twilight, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and besides the few places I had visited, my knowledge on American geography was based on books and movies.

“That’s the one,” he said, his shoulders relaxing down. Just an inch. Which in Aaron’s language meant green light for more questions.

“So, this thing we are going to tonight, does it have to do with your football days then?”

Aaron nodded. “I’m still invited to some events. Because I played, but mostly because of my family’s involvement in the NCAA,” he explained, driving us along one of the wide avenues in Manhattan. “Once a year, a charity event for an association of animal welfare is hosted here in New York, and a number of personalities attend.”

“Are you one of those personalities?” I’d have to Google what the NCAA was later, but I had a feeling there was something he wasn’t telling me. “Oh my God, Aaron Blackford, are you telling me you come from, like, a long line of football royals?”

Aaron’s brows knit. “Catalina.”

In pure Aaron fashion, that was all the answer I got.

“Will your family be there tonight then?”

“No,” he said, his profile hardening for a heartbeat and confirming my suspicions.

I guessed I’d have to Google that too.

“Tonight’s event is for raising money that will eventually go to shelter, rehabilitate, and replace homes for rescued animals in New York. I attend whenever I’m able to. It’s good to see a few people I’ve known for most of my life, and it’s for a cause I care about.”

I immediately forgot about whatever it was that he wasn’t telling me about his family. Aaron cared about the welfare of animals? About rescuing them and replaceing them new homes?

Right on cue, something fuzzy and warm tingled in my chest. And the feeling got only worse when I found myself picturing Aaron holding a bunch of cute puppies that he cared about and raised money for in his bulky arms. As he knelt on a field. In his football gear. Tight pants. Shoulders that went for miles. Dirt smudged on his cheeks.

That warmth turned a little thicker and harder to ignore.

“That’s … great,” I said, trying to kick those images out of my head. “Really nice of you.”

Aaron’s gaze turned to me, and one of his eyebrows went up. He was probably weirded out by how hard I was blushing.

Why can’t I stop blushing?

“Do you always bring a fake date to this event?” I blurted out without thinking.

“No.” Aaron’s lips pressed in a flat line. “I’ve always attended alone. This is the first time I’m bringing a date.”

A date.

A date?

My eyebrows wrinkled. A fake date, not a date.

I was about to correct him, but he spoke first, “We are almost there.”

I remained in silence as I processed everything I had just learned. This new depth of Aaron I had discovered. A little peek through that crack he had revealed to me. And all those dangerous mental images I had acquired, which, much to my dismay, would stick with me for a long time. That was something that needed some processing too.

“Wait,” I let out as he made a turn to the right. “You didn’t tell me what’s being auctioned. Or why I’m here.”

The vehicle came to a slow stop in front of one of the numerous skyscrapers on Park Avenue. Looking over, I spotted a parking valet waiting on the sidewalk.

Eyes wide, I turned to Aaron. A freaking valet? Shit.

His blue gaze settled on me one last time, and I swore there was something wolfish, something a little wild, about them.

“Me.” He tilted his head, holding my gaze. “That’s what’s being auctioned.” His voice matched the quality of his eyes, making a shiver trail down my arms. “And that’s what you’ll be bidding on tonight, Catalina. Me.”

Eyes even wider and jaw probably lying somewhere around my high heels, I blinked and watched Aaron throw the driver’s door open. He walked around the car as I—unsuccessfully—tried to gather my wits. He gestured to the valet not to open my door.

Aaron did.

The humid summer breeze grazed my arms and legs as this blue-eyed man, who I was starting to understand I knew little about, offered his hand.

“Miss Martín, if you please.”

I blinked at him for a long moment. My whole body numb with … things I failed to pin down and identify.

One of the corners of his lips bent with the start of a smirk; he was clearly enjoying how discombobulated I was. How scattered I must appear. God, he looked as amused as I had ever seen him.

“Today better than tomorrow, Catalina.”

That comment was so Aaron, so like the Aaron I knew and was familiar and comfortable with—the one who was curt and demanding, not the one who was taking me to a fundraiser so I could bid on him in an auction—that my hand shot to his, being immediately engulfed in his much larger one.

He helped me out of the car, the long skirt of my gown that wasn’t really a gown cascading down my legs. Aaron let my hand drop all too quickly, leaving my palm warm from his touch. Then, he held the massive and sumptuous door of the Park Avenue skyscraper open for me.

I took one step forward, trying to keep the hammering in my chest under control.

All right.

My other foot moved in front of me.

So, I’d be fake-bidding for my fake date tonight. For my soon-to-be fake boyfriend if our deal was still up after tonight.

No big deal, right?