The-Spanish-Love-Deception-www.indianpdf

much in his eyes. They distracted me, stole away my sanity.
“We are not in Spain any longer. This is real life. And this”—I waved a
hand between us—“is going to complicate things.” Or perhaps it was the
other way around—him being promoted to a position above me would
complicate whatever this could be.
He snatched my hand and brought it to his chest. So warm and firm, so
full of all the things I wanted but was terrified to reach for. “We’ll talk about
it. Later, once we have cleaned up and I have you comfortable and relaxed.”
His other hand came to my chin, tilting my head back so he could peer into
my eyes. “And tomorrow, we’ll talk to HR. We will ask Sharon, if that gives
you any peace of mind.”
Why? Why, world? Why did he have to be so thoughtful? So fucking
perfect?
“But before doing that, you’ll have to give us a chance.” It was his turn
for a shaky breath to leave his lips. “Do you trust me?”
My hand, which still rested over his chest, right above his heart, fisted the
fabric of his shirt. Unable to do anything else but hold on to him. “Take me
home, Aaron Blackford.”
STARING at the screen of my phone, I deliberated for the hundredth time if I
should reply to the message with the truth.
She’s gonna flip. She’s going to kick my ass so hard that she’ll send me
right back to Spain.
Lifting my gaze off the screen and looking at my reflection in the mirror
—Aaron’s bathroom mirror—I didn’t like what I saw. It had nothing to do
with the bags under my eyes or the messy knot that had been promoted to
chaotic probably somewhere across the Atlantic Ocean. What bothered me
wasn’t something I could point out with a finger or fix with a shower, a few
hours of sleep, and a brush.
Turning away, I leaned on the edge of the impressive and enticing
bathtub. Large enough to accommodate two Aarons, just like everything else
in his apartment. Spacious and luxurious in a very sober and tasteful way. It
suited him so perfectly.
I peered down at my phone again to reread her message.