Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Things were worse. So much worse.
Rafael had been relatively sure he could get Grace out of his system if they had a night together, but to leave things hanging like that, right in the middle of it?
To be tortured by the taste of her tongue, the way she squeezed her legs around him and stroked her fingers through his hair?
He was going to lose it. Instead of getting it out of his system, she’d hijacked the system.
She’d infiltrated him with her satisfied little moans and the eager yes she’d breathed into his ear.
It didn’t help that she’d also been so adorable and charming at dinner, chatting with the travel writer about America and leaning into the arm he draped over her chair, looking at him with big eyes and glowing cheeks, as if she was happy to be there beside him.
As if it was the most natural thing in the world.
And then she’d danced with him…
He sat at the kitchen counter the next morning slicing a pomegranate, drinking his coffee, and waiting for Grace to emerge from her bedroom.
She’d been on the phone with Alma forever, and Rafael hadn’t even tried to approach her after that, but if she joined him in the kitchen soon, they would have time—time to feed the hunger that was expanding in his belly.
Time to explore what was happening between them and to kiss and to finish what they started.
He didn’t know what would happen after that, and he was barely able to consider it.
He was consumed only by what would take place in the minutes after she opened that door.
It was as far into the future as he could imagine, because it was all he could think about.
Finally, Grace emerged, fully clothed, which was disappointing but not impossible to overcome.
Her hair was in a loose braid over her shoulder, and she was wearing one of those professor ensembles, a creamy blouse tucked into a colorful skirt, exactly the kind you might imagine an art history instructor to wear.
He couldn’t remember if he’d ever found it sexy before, but now his head was filled with pornographic images that revolved around that bohemian skirt.
He was still lost in dirty thoughts when he realized Grace was already across the room, standing right on the other side of the counter with a sheepish smile, fiddling with the end of her braid.
“I’ve still never eaten one of those,” she said, nodding toward the pomegranate.
He remembered this was one of his safe areas of conversation, and perhaps he should have taken it as a sign to retreat back to normalcy, to pretend nothing happened.
But his body was screaming to move toward her, to caress her, and he gave in easily, dropping the knife and moving around the counter until he was standing before her and ready to take her into his arms again.
She chewed her lip and gazed up at him, and just as he went to put a hand to her face, she said, “I was thinking…”
That could be okay. He loved when she was thinking.
He loved watching her concentrate, the little faded birthmark that darkened on her forehead as she tried to solve a problem.
He loved when she was lecturing him about Picasso or income equality or Sacromonte.
It was thrilling to watch her mind work.
“Si.?En qué estabas pensando?” His voice was deeper than he’d intended. What was the word? Husky. Gruff.
He stared as she inhaled the air in the space between them.
“I—uh—well maybe Alma interrupting was a good thing. We don’t want to make this too weird, right?
You’re one of the only people I know in the entire country of Spain, and I like you.
I like spending time with you, I mean. I don’t want it to get all wonky. ”
“What’s wonky?” The things she said sometimes. Who talked like this? Maybe if he could focus on the strange words, he could forget about their meaning.
“You know, like, all out of whack? Messed up?”
He nodded, but he was staring at her lips again. “Right.”
“You agree with me, then?”
No, I want to splay you across this counter and taste every inch of you. Rafael took a breath, trying to build something inside of himself brick by brick, something that wouldn’t topple over with the slightest look from her. “It makes sense. It would be complicated.”
“Exactly.” Grace looked relieved, happy they were on the same page. “It would probably be weird for Alma, and she’s my closest friend.”
Rafael nodded, hoping his disappointment wasn’t visible. It all made perfect sense. It was the reason he hadn’t made a move before last night. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it out loud. He didn’t want her to make the case against something happening between them. “Of course.”
Grace’s smile was perfectly friendly. “Okay, good.”
Neither of them moved for a moment. They just stood and stared at each other.
“You want to have a pomegranate?” he asked, backing into familiar, innocent territory.
“I do, but maybe later? I have to get to class.”
“Later then.”
“Great.” She hesitated for the first time, as if the planned part of her speech had come to an end, and she was wading into unfamiliar waters. “Um, yes, okay.”
Rafael put his hands in his pockets, a pretense of nonchalance.
“I’ll see you tonight.” Tonight, when he wouldn’t be able to put his hands on her again.
Tonight, when he would just have to lie there alone in his bed, even though she was so close, even though he knew the sounds she made when he pressed his mouth to hers.
What sounds might she make if he pressed his mouth to other places? He wouldn’t be finding out, apparently.
She finally turned and walked out the front door with a little wave. Rafael raised a hand before rubbing it over his face when she was gone. He let out a dramatic sigh. Santo cielo. Everything was so much worse.
They kept their distance for a couple of days, as much as was possible in a small apartment.
Grace seemed to spend longer days at the university and meet up with Alma more frequently after classes.
Rafael threw himself into his work and courting other clients, but one fact remained: the cave was littered with crates of priceless Picasso paintings, and Rafael had no idea what to do with them.
As much as he was dreading the long drive and the unavoidable proximity of his small vehicle, as much as he couldn’t imagine being tucked into a dark curve of the cave wall with Grace so near to him, he couldn’t put it off any longer.
He needed her help. And as uncomfortable as it might have been when he brought it up to her, she agreed easily enough.
It was awkward on the way there with nothing to focus on but the road and the tension between them. Rafael could barely think of a word to say to her after he’d explained the disastrous state of the exhibition.
Grace nodded along, but she looked distracted too, like she couldn’t quite concentrate on what he was saying.
She was wearing a silky purple scarf, and Rafael wanted to slide the material between his fingers, to tug at the fabric until it unraveled from her neck, coming undone. He wanted to make Grace come undone.
It was fine. Maybe he would go out with some friends that evening to take his mind off it.
He could chat with another pretty girl at the bar, and all would be right with the world.
It would settle back to the way it had always been.
No more longing or aching or whatever the hell this was.
It didn’t suit him. He was a man of action, a man who made detailed plans and executed them with precision.
He didn’t need to sit around pining. It was childish and ridiculous. It was beneath him.
Grace pointed at a sign that displayed a giant pomegranate, her face lit up with delight, and Rafael felt his chest tighten.
Okay, so his aching hadn’t subsided quite yet, but it would.
He just needed to get through this one difficult day, and then he wouldn’t be required to spend time with her anymore.
It was easier in Sacromonte when they had something to talk about.
They had quite a lot to talk about, actually, considering the utter disaster hiding out inside the walls of the cave.
There were packaged precious paintings everywhere, each one accompanied by pictures, notes, and measurements, and while Christian had been a stickler about temperature settings and humidity and special gloves, without anywhere for them to go, the pieces were just waiting for the meticulous art handlers to get them perfectly placed on the walls of the venue.
Christian was in a rush to get it all in order before something got damaged.
They’d also upgraded the security system in the cave, and Rafael gave a small nod to acknowledge the man in the suit near the front door.
He was included in the package Christian had purchased, apparently, or he was on a roster of bodyguards Christian seemed to have handy whenever he needed to protect something precious.
Grace barely seemed to notice the guard, sliding right past him and into the first room where priceless works of art rested in their expensive crates, waiting for examination.
“Holy shit,” Grace said, her mouth open with awe. She looked at him, as if for confirmation all of this was real. A flurry of art handlers rushed around, ensuring that each box was appropriately labeled and ready to be opened.
Rafael shrugged, but he couldn’t stop from grinning, pleased with how impressed she was.
Grace crouched down by the nearest crate and picked up the packet of literature from the side pocket.
She got to work in an instant, already spouting off knowledge about “periods,” early work, color, and brushstrokes.
Then Grace pointed at the painting that an art handler was unboxing with white gloves, an excited gasp escaping her lips. “Just look at this, Raf. Have you seen this?”