Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Had she wanted him to kiss her? Rafael stood over his bed, unable to lie down.
It seemed possible she was expecting a kiss, but he couldn’t be sure.
It had been too dark to fully comprehend her facial expressions, but hopefully that meant it was also too dark for her to see his erection, and he’d tried very hard to hide that merciless betrayal of a bulge as he backed out of the room.
Grace was upset, and it obviously wasn’t the time for that kind of thing, but for a moment there it had seemed like that kind of thing wouldn’t be entirely unwelcome.
Rafael put both hands on his head. He couldn’t help it if this whole forbidden attraction scenario got him going. It would have been so easy to give into it, to lean in and let his lips touch hers, to find some quick relief for his wanting.
But no. He’d made a promise to himself not to try to kiss her again. He could just see it now—an exact repeat of what happened last time—her shock and hesitation, her confusion, the way she jerked away as if he was trying to bite her. Well, okay, he wanted to bite her. But in a nice way.
Once again, he imagined how easy this would be if she was just a random woman off the street.
One night together, and he would be cured.
This whole thing would be over and done with and he could get back to work without thinking of the way she twisted the little end of her braid between her fingers and without staring at her like a ravenous fool every time she walked into the room.
He pressed his hand against the tent of his sweatpants and rolled his eyes.
All she’d done was look at him, and his cock was acting like she’d been whispering filthy nothings in his ear. How had it all escalated so quickly?
He blew out a breath. He needed to get a handle on himself.
Actually, handling himself sounded like the best possible solution for the moment, so he would indulge that instinct.
He’d let himself think about her while he did it.
But tomorrow was another day, and tomorrow, he was going to stop lusting after Grace Cameron.
The next day, Christian’s mood was buoyant from the moment Rafael strolled into the cave at Sacromonte. "Look around, my friend! We're in business!"
If business meant that the cave was littered with tons of paintings, many of them still safely tucked into special boxes filled with foam and packing materials, then yes, they were in business.
“That was fast.”
“Wee hours of the morning,” Christian explained in Spanish. “Trying to avoid any traffic or prying eyes on the road. We’ll have another shipment in a couple of days, and the art handlers will work to get them into position when they’re all acclimated and ready to hang.”
Rafael almost laughed remembering when Christian had said the two of them could handle most of the exhibit, and now there were art handlers in white gloves rushing around in a frenzy.
He was happy to have them there, though.
Seeing the large crates everywhere didn’t exactly bring Rafael any comfort since he had no idea what the hell to do with them, but he was relieved he’d missed out on helping to haul them in.
His certainty that he would trip over a stone and send a priceless Picasso tumbling down the side of the cliff made him a bit paranoid.
“Speaking of prying eyes,” Christian began, and Rafael froze.
He’d been dreading this—a private conversation where Christian would tease him about this thing with Grace.
It was embarrassing enough that a client had witnessed his ridiculous infatuation, even worse would be to mull it over with them afterward.
But Christian surprised him. “There’s a travel journalist that’s been sniffing around, asking questions about what we’re doing here.
She says she loves this area and heard that we were up to something, and she might be interested in writing a piece about it.
I’m counting on you to nip that in the bud. ”
“You don’t want her to write about the exhibition?”
“And spoil all my secrets? Of course not! I told her you would meet with her, tell her about some of your other projects. I was hoping you might be able to distract her with some other exciting public event, and we can keep her from digging around here.”
Rafael thought for a moment. He supposed he could come up with something to talk about. Something that might make a good post on a travel blog.
“Do you want me to reach out to her?”
“No need. You’re having dinner with her tonight. She might bring her fiancé.”
Rafael’s mouth fell open. He was a bit surprised Christian would take such a liberty in making plans for him, but he halted his protest when he realized it wasn’t a bad idea. It would be good to have plans outside the apartment, to give Grace a bit of distance for the evening.
“You should take your girlfriend,” Christian said.
Rafael raised an eyebrow. “My girlfriend?”
“Yes, Senorita Cameron? The travel writer is American, too. Perhaps they’ll get along well. Just make sure there’s no mention of my secret underground exhibition.”
“Grace isn’t—we’re not—”
Christian laughed. “I didn’t think you’d get flustered so easily! I don’t care what she is to you, just ask her to the dinner. Show the writer and her fiancé a good time. Give her a story. I know you’re the best in the business, so it won’t be a problem, correct?”
Rafael stood very still, taking in everything Christian was telling him.
“Correct,” he said slowly. In an instant, Rafael completely changed his mind about how it would be nice to get some distance from Grace for the evening.
In fact, taking Grace out to meet new people and chat with a fellow American might not be the worst thing in the world.
She could use a night on the town to distract her from everything else she’d been going through.
Something casual and normal and fun. He could make that happen for her.
It wouldn’t be just the two of them, and it would still be a work event, all of it very platonic.
“I guess it’s settled then,” Rafael said.
“Good man.”
Rafael was used to this—giving the client what they wanted, going out of his way to please them. He’d learned it well from trying so hard to please his father for his entire life. In one area, at least, he’d been successful. With his father, not so much.
“Oh,” Christian called over his shoulder as he examined a painting. “Her name is Nora, by the way. She’s expecting a message from you to confirm the time.”
Rafael nodded distractedly. He would message Grace first, make sure she’d be able to go with him. Then he could confirm with the travel writer.
But when Grace’s reply came, he wasn’t sure how much to read into it. “I guess so,” was all she said. It didn’t seem to hold much enthusiasm, but Rafael would take it. Another night with Grace. Another night to prove to himself he had it all under control.
Raphael was humming as he rushed up the steps to his apartment, taking some of them two at a time.
Perhaps he should have been concerned about how much he was looking forward to seeing her, to taking her out for the night, even if it was just a matter of business.
But he didn’t even consider it. He wasn’t sure why he felt quite so buoyant, and he didn’t bother to question it.
He paused before he opened the door, though, remembering everything from the night before, how Grace pressed against him, his fingertips on her skin, her wet eyes fixed on his face.
She’d already been gone that morning when he finally rolled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen.
They had a little morning routine, but it wasn’t set in stone.
Sometimes she left early to get a jumpstart on grading papers or planning her lectures.
He’d tried to brush off the disappointment he felt when she’d already been gone, but a strange wistfulness had haunted his morning anyway.
With a hand on the door to his apartment, he took a breath, steeling himself for something, even if he wasn’t sure what it was. It was unusual for him to feel nervous. Restless, maybe. Fidgety. But not nervous.
He opened the door and scanned the room for Grace, finding her almost immediately where she was sitting in the middle of the sofa in her pajamas—those ridiculous flannel ones with the little hamsters all over them—a book opened on her lap.
He put down his bag and made his way toward her, as casual as could be.
She didn’t look up at first, so he just stood there watching her, waiting.
He imagined she was engrossed by whatever she was reading, and any moment she would turn to him with a smile.
Except that wasn’t happening. She was still just reading her book, not looking at him, and even though something prickled all over his skin, a feeling that something was wrong, he didn’t know for sure if he was correct.
He waited. He put down his keys and removed his jacket and waited some more. Still, she didn’t move. She didn’t acknowledge his presence. He also noted that she didn’t turn a page. She certainly didn’t look like she was prepared to go out to their dinner, even though she’d agreed to it earlier.
What was this? Was she so embarrassed by their late-night encounter that she wouldn’t look at him? Had he done something wrong?
Finally, he moved toward her, his heartbeat picking up as he grew more concerned. “Graciela?”
She exhaled. Slowly, she turned her head in his direction, but she stared off into the distance over his shoulder instead of looking him in the eye.
“How are you?” he ventured. His brain started whirring, scanning for any mistakes he had made, any other reason she might be upset with him.
It had only been a few minutes, but he already hated the feeling of this distance she was creating between them.
He held his breath as he waited for her to finally reply.