Chapter 8
Chapter eight
She unlocks the door and gestures for me to step inside.
Her rental is simple. One couch, a small flat-screen television connected to a small kitchen.
Tall windows overlook the narrow street below.
A short hallway leads back to the bedroom, I’m guessing and probably the bathroom.
There’s a loaf of bread on the counter next to a few bottles of wine lined up like plans she hasn’t made yet.
“My home for the month.” She sets her key down on the counter. “It’s cute enough.”
“Nothing wrong with a safe place to sleep.” I wink.
Her laugh comes out low, surprised. She reaches for a bottle. “Wine?”
“Only if we give it room to breathe.” I reach for the corkscrew.
She glances at me, amused, and nods. “Spoken like a true expert.”
“Well,” I smirk, unashamed, “you opened the door for it.”
We dig through the cupboards, find a decanter and I pour it carefully, watching the dark red swirl and settle. Our silence stretches, easy but charged. I want to kiss her again, but I resist.
For now.
She’s breathtaking. Barefoot. Hair loose from its knot, a few strands brushing her collarbone. Her lips are flushed from the wine and our kisses. The thin strap of her black dress slides off one shoulder, exposing a hint of freckled skin.
She isn’t posing. Or trying too hard. Rosa is a real woman.
It’s hard to stop staring.
“Give it ten minutes.” I manage to set the wine bottle down.
“Ten minutes, huh,” she repeats, half-teasing. “You’re very precise.”
I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “Habit of the trade.”
Rosa blushes and looks down, her hand hovering near the decanter as if searching for something to do.
I reach for it first, along with two glasses. “Come on.” I nod toward the couch. “Let’s be comfortable.”
She hesitates, follows me over. I set everything down on the coffee table. We sit close, not touching. The cushions dip toward the center where our knees nearly meet. She folds one leg beneath herself, hem of her dress brushing her knee.
Funny, for all my self-control, my pulse doesn’t care about patience.
Rosa glances toward the decanter. “So this is what we do while we wait? Stare at the wine?”
“We talk.” I lean toward her. “Or pretend not to think about kissing again.”
Her mouth curves. “Maybe both.”
I shake my head. “You surprise me, Rosa Delgado.”
“Good. I like surprising people who think they’ve figured me out.”
I watch her, the playfulness in her voice catching somewhere deep. “I didn’t expect you to be…”
She tips her head, cautious. “What?”
“Funny. Self-depreciating. Gorgeous. Someone I can’t stop thinking about.”
Doubt flickers in her eyes. “You’re not seriously trying to flatter me.”
I shake my head. “No, of course not.”
“Uhh.” She exhales, half laugh, half warning. “You barely know me, Santiago.”
“I know what happens to my heart when I look at you,” I admit quietly. “I haven’t been able to stop reliving every moment of our flight.”
She hides her face behind her hand. “You’re trouble.”
“Probably.” I take her hand and move it away. “Maybe the good kind?”
Her laughter fills the small room, rich and unguarded. When it fades, she studies me. “How old are you, anyway, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Forty-five,” I say. “And you?”
“Thirty-three.” She swirls the decanter absently. “You’ve achieved a lot at such a young age. You seem to have balance. My sister says I work too much to have a life. She might be right.”
“If I remember from our plane conversation, she’s the one who just got married?”
She nods. “Marcella. She’s a lawyer and used to be a workaholic. Until she met her husband, Seamus. He’s a surgeon, eight years younger. Now she’s full of advice about balance between love and work.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You sound unconvinced.”
“She means well.” Rosa fiddles with the hem of her dress. “I don’ t have a point of reference. I’ve never had a serious relationship, unfortunately. A few attempts. Turns out, I’m usually terrible at reading the situation.”
I shake my head. “I bet if you thought about it, your gut knew. I find it hard to believe your instincts are so off. You read flavor better than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“It’s not the same.”
“It’s close,” I insist. “It’s mostly about trusting yourself and your instincts.”
She hesitates. “I guess you have a point. For me it’s easier with food. I know what to do with food. With people? Not so much.”
“Anyone would be lucky to be with you, Rosa.”
Her eyes flick to mine, uncertain. “Well, thank you. I haven’t…done this in a while.”
“What’s a while?”
Her lips press together. “Ummm. Embarrassingly, years.”
I nod slowly, absorbing, not startled so much as honored she’s willing to be honest with me. Now I know how important it is for me to be careful with her.
She watches me intently. “You think it’s strange.”
“No, It makes sense. You’ve been focused on other things. I was actually thinking all the better for me.” I squeeze her fingers and let go, reaching for the decanter. The wine should be ready.
I pour us each a generous glass and hand her one. Her fingers brush mine. Tentatively. We clink.
“What are we toasting to?” she asks.
“To instincts worth following.”
She holds my eyes as we drink. The wine is deep, alive. Exquisite.
Rosa swirls the liquid in her glass. “So, what about you? Any girlfriends since your divorce?”
“None. As for the rest…it’s been well over a year.” I lean back on the couch. “I filled the void with strangers for a while. It didn’t take long to realize meaningless sex was emptier than being alone.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m here, with you. I can’t explain it other than to say you’ve reawakened something dormant.”
My straightforward words hang between us. I’m shooting my shot. The ball’s in her court.
Finally, she laughs nervously. “You talk like a man who’s pretty self-aware. You seem to know what you want.”
“I do.” I take a long sip.
“What?”
“You.”
She looks away, then back. “Once again, I find it hard to believe. You don’t know me.”
“Rosa, trust me. I know enough.” I hold her gaze.
“You carry the world on your shoulders and pretend it doesn’t hurt.
You think control keeps you safe when it’s making you tired.
You’ll do anything for the few people you allow into your life.
I also think you’re lonely, hiding behind work. I know this because I’m the same.”
Her breath catches.
“You’re here for a month, right? Let’s take a chance on each other and spend it together. Neither of us has anyone relying on us. Let me show you Spain. It would be my honor. Best of all, you won’t have to plan a thing. I already have a ton of ideas.”
She bites her lip. “I wasn’t looking for a tour guide.”
“I’m not offering to be your tour guide. I’d like to see if this thing between us is what I think it is. Let’s indulge. Wine. Food. Romance. Whatever you’re up for.”
The air changes. Her pulse jumps in her throat, visible in the dim light.
“You’re serious?” she whispers, as if the thought of hanging out with me is incomprehensible.
“Completely.”
Something in her breaks free. Fear or hunger, I can’t tell. She moves first, quick and impulsive, kissing me before I can finish the thought. Then suddenly she’s grabbing at my cock through my pants, her grip awkward and too tight.
I cover her hand, steady, not stopping her but also making sure she understands I don’t expect this from her. “Easy, Rosa. This isn’t about me tonight. I want it to be about you.”
She looks at me almost in awe. Like she’s never heard of such a thing.
“I want to give you a chance.” Her voice catches.
I search her eyes. “Good. Shall we head to your bedroom?”
“Yes.” She nods, a small but monumental gesture.
I rise and offer my hand. Her fingers slide into mine and immediately something shifts in the air between us.
With absolute certainty, I know nothing will be the same after tonight.