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

My body grieved the loss almost immediately, feeling cold and unbalanced without him.

Willing my legs to remain strong, I limited myself to following Aaron’s march to the door, feeling numb and all over the place. He looked back at me right before he opened it.

“Catalina.” There it was again. Not Lina. Catalina. “I’m glad I didn’t kiss you.”

Something halted in my chest.

“Why?” The word was nothing more than a shaky whisper.

“Because when I finally take those lips in mine, it will be the furthest thing from pretending. I will not be showing you what it would be like if you were mine. I’ll show you what it is. And I sure as hell won’t be showing how good I could make you feel if you called me yours. You’ll already know that I am.”

He paused, and I swore I could see the restraint in his posture. As if he was stopping himself from pouncing and returning us to our former position, right against the hard surface of the wardrobe door.

“When I finally kiss you, there won’t be any doubt in your mind that it is real.”

Chapter Twenty

The moment my eyes popped open to the glorious darkness that only a country where blinds were religiously installed could provide, I knew I wasn’t in my bed.

For one, I was used to waking up to bright beams of sunlight flooding my studio apartment. Then, there was the surface beneath me. It felt different. Softer and bouncier than the one my body was accustomed to. Same went for the pillow where my head rested—too flat and low.

But what really screamed at me that this wasn’t my bed—that I wasn’t in my apartment in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn—was the dead weight currently resting on my waist. It was heavy and warm and felt a lot like an oversize limb that surely couldn’t belong to me.

The drumming occurring in almost every corner of my head was probably not helping me get any clarity on what was responsible for that vise around my body. Or why I wasn’t in the comfort of my room, rolling in a mattress that had made it worth punching a hole in my bank account.

Blinking a few times as I brushed some of the sleepy locks of hair off my face, my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

My gaze searched for whatever was behind the weight on my midsection.

An arm. Just how I had suspected. It was dusted with dark hair and corded with muscle. So, it wasn’t mine. My eyes followed that muscular and long limb all the way up until reaching the very masculine shoulder it was attached to. A shoulder that led to a strong neck that ended in a head that—

Mierda.

The owner of all those body parts I had been studying in the darkness shifted. I froze. That robust and heavy arm that was latched to my waist moved slightly, his hand partially slipping beneath my shirt. All five fingers splayed on my skin.

My breath got stuck somewhere between my throat and mouth.

Do not fucking move, Catalina, I ordered myself.

But it was hard when those fingers felt so hot against my skin, causing my whole body to tingle.

Only a few inches separated me from Aaron.

Aaron.

Last night.

A series of F-bombs were dropped, blasting across my mind as blurry images flashed through my head.

No, no, no, no.

Those fingers brushed my skin again, and a deep and throaty noise left the man sleeping beside me.

A dream. All those images had to have been a dream because we couldn’t have almost kissed. That was completely crazy. That was—

At the fastest pace known to man, all the events from last night solidified. They tumbled down my memory, flashing behind my eyes and making me recall every last one of them. Each and every one of those images, snippets—memories—replayed in my mind in painfully slow motion.

All the sidra. Aaron’s fabricated story about how we had started dating. The way his eyes had been locked on me all through the night. Us dancing in the middle of a dark club with sticky floors, lost among the sea of bodies. My freak-out. Aaron sitting with me on the sidewalk, taking care of me, telling me about himself. Opening up and laying out a piece of himself for me. Him pressing me against the wardrobe. My body coming alive—being lit on fire—with all those featherlight brushes of his lips and fingers. Lina. Aaron had called me Lina. Right before he brushed his lips over mine.

We had almost kissed.

No. I had almost begged Aaron to kiss me, and I would have done more than just that.

“When I finally kiss you, there won’t be any doubt in your mind that it is real,” he had said that before going to check if what had burst our bubble of madness was Charo.

And I had lain on the bed and passed out immediately.

Fuck, fuck. Mierda, joder.

I needed to get out of this bed. I needed time to think, to process. Away from Aaron. Before I did something stupid. Or reckless. Something like almost kissing him.

A low groan climbed up my throat, and I had no other choice but to muffle it with my hand. The sudden motion made the mattress bounce under me.

Shit.

Aaron stretched beside me.

Don’t wake up, please. Please, universe. God. Anyone. I just need a couple of minutes to gather myself before I have to face him.

I felt Aaron’s body settle back, his breathing remaining deep and constant.

Returning my hand back to my side—very fucking slowly—I thanked the universe for listening to me this one time and promised I’d make up for it. I’d go to church with Abuela next time I came home, I swore.

I was being a complete chicken, but I wanted a few minutes to myself. Just so I could appease everything that kept darting through my mind. To make peace with it and move on like nothing had ever happened. Also, to hunt down a painkiller and kill the throbbing in my