The Spanish Love Deception Elena Armas (free ebook reader for ipad .TXT) 📖

the center of the stage, relief taking over his wrinkled face. He bowed in my direction.

As much as I felt horrible and guilty and honestly a little terrified, I couldn’t help but smile at the man in return.

Willing my eyes to stay put—and not to jump to Aaron, who was a few feet to the left of the stage, waiting for his turn to be auctioned—I tried to shake off the deserved sense of guilt that had settled between my shoulders.

Chill. I needed to chill. Someone else would bid higher. The old man just needed a little push to get this going.

And that was exactly what I had done. Or what I had found myself doing after the five minutes of awkward and heartbreaking silence following that sweet-looking man stepping on the stage. I had recognized that smile immediately. It had been the same playing on TJ’s lips.

“Ladies and gentlemen, sixteen hundred for Patrick James.” Angela’s voice came through the speakers.

No hands rose in the air. Not even one.

Dammit.

Who I had assumed was TJ’s pops, Patrick, stood on the stage with his gray hair, suspenders, and back a little curved with age, looking completely out of place when compared with every other man who had been up for grabs—or bids, whatever—that night. He smiled, satisfied enough with just being there. With just having one bidder, which happened to be me. And that was bad, bad, bad. Because I was here to bid on Aaron. Not for a man that, according to Angela’s introduction, was a widower who was looking for a second chance not in love, but in living life.

Jesus, I’d take him on a date if I had to. I hadn’t been able to stand there and do nothing when a man who reminded me so much of my passed abuelo for some damn reason, a man I knew was TJ’s pops, waited for someone, for anybody, to bid on him. This was a fundraiser, for Christ’s sake. Weren’t people supposed to be donating their money?

That was what I had done. Only perhaps I had technically bid with money that wasn’t mine.

I grimaced.

Don’t look at Aaron, Lina. Don’t.

I’d pay for the donation with my own funds. The most pressing issue was, could I bid for two bachelors?

Shit. I really hoped so.

Angela continued pitching the sweet man on the stage. “Mr. James has an affinity for candlelit dinners, and he is a believer of fulfilling his own destiny.”

Patrick’s head nodded. No hands were visible.

Mierda, mierda, mierda.

I couldn’t look at Aaron. Not even when I could feel both his eyes boring holes in my profile. I’d bet he was fuming. But I’d apologize later. I’d … explain.

“He is a sailing aficionado, an activity he picked up ever since his grandson bought him a beautiful sailboat. One that he intends on putting to good use on his date.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I tracked down around five women who were in the mood for a sailing date placing their bids.

Relief filled me so instantly that I felt about ten pounds lighter.

My gaze searched for Aaron then. And it didn’t take me any time to find him. My eyes seemed to know exactly where he was standing.

My breath caught for a second.

Stupid, stupid tuxedo.

I had been so wrapped up in what was happening that he, looking all imposing and striking on top of that stage, caught me completely off guard.

The auction for Patrick continued in the background, my eyes making their way to Aaron’s. They were narrowed. Probably assessing what the hell that had been. Other than that, he looked … fine. Neutrally stoic. Just like he usually did. Except for the distracting tux that hung off his body like a glove.

Finding a little comfort in the fact that Aaron didn’t seem to be completely furious, I shrugged my shoulders and mouthed, I’m sorry, okay?

Aaron’s eyes narrowed further, and then his head shook lightly. You’re not, I watched his lips enunciate.

I huffed. I am, I mouthed back.

I was very, very sorry, and he—

He shook his head again, disbelief in his eyes. You’re not.

Aggravated by the words Aaron had mouthed—twice—even though he had every right to and I had sort of anticipated it, I threw both my hands up with irritation.

Jesus, this man—

“Nineteen hundred for the lady in midnight blue.” Angela’s voice reached my ears.

Wait, what? No.

I flinched, then dropped my hands to my sides, and stuck them there. Looking at Angela for confirmation of what I had done, even if this time accidentally, I found her pointing in my direction.

Shit.

Returning my gaze to Aaron, I watched him roll his eyes, lips pressed into a thin line.

Grimacing, I sent him a tight smile that I hoped communicated how really sorry I was and hoped Patrick had another one of those boats. Because I needed somebody else to bid on the old widower man.

Angela announced the next sum, not obtaining an immediate answer.

The guilt returned, together with a pinch of embarrassment. Which pushed me to pin Aaron with a serious look as I mouthed again, Sorry, very slowly and methodically. Making sure he understood the sentiment behind it.

Aaron’s eyes held mine, one of those deadpan expressions in place.

I swear. I made my lips form the silent words in a very exaggerated manner. Then, I curled my lips into a sad face, keeping the rest of my body still—just so I wouldn’t accidentally bid on any more bachelors. I am really sorry, I mouthed like a total idiot.

And I was. Sorry, that was. Although a bit of an idiot too.

A few heads turned and sent me a fair share of weird glances, but I didn’t let that deter me, and I kept my lips bent down. Telling Aaron with my eyes that I was sorry. Although, if you asked me, it was on him for bringing me of all people to do something that I was clearly not qualified for.

The sight must have been truly something because before I knew what was happening, Aaron’s