The Spanish Love Deception novel Chapter 51

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His blue gaze settled on me one last time, and I swore there was something wolfish, something a little wild, about them.

“Me.” He tilted his head, holding my gaze. “That’s what’s being auctioned.” His voice matched the quality of his eyes, making a shiver trail down my arms. “And that’s what you’ll be bidding on tonight, Catalina. Me.”

Eyes even wider and jaw probably lying somewhere around my high heels, I blinked and watched Aaron throw the driver’s door open. He walked around the car as I—unsuccessfully—tried to gather my wits. He gestured to the valet not to open my door.

Aaron did.

The humid summer breeze grazed my arms and legs as this blue-eyed man, who I was starting to understand I knew little about, offered his hand.

“Miss Martín, if you please.”

I blinked at him for a long moment. My whole body numb with … things I failed to pin down and identify.

One of the corners of his lips bent with the start of a smirk; he was clearly enjoying how discombobulated I was. How scattered I must appear. God, he looked as amused as I had ever seen him.

“Today better than tomorrow, Catalina.”

That comment was so Aaron, so like the Aaron I knew and was familiar and comfortable with—the one who was curt and demanding, not the one who was taking me to a fundraiser so I could bid on him in an auction—that my hand shot to his, being immediately engulfed in his much larger one.

He helped me out of the car, the long skirt of my gown that wasn’t really a gown cascading down my legs. Aaron let my hand drop all too quickly, leaving my palm warm from his touch. Then, he held the massive and sumptuous door of the Park Avenue skyscraper open for me.

I took one step forward, trying to keep the hammering in my chest under control.

All right.

My other foot moved in front of me.

So, I’d be fake-bidding for my fake date tonight. For my soon-to-be fake boyfriend if our deal was still up after tonight.

No big deal, right?

Chapter Eight

When Aaron had mentioned fundraiser, followed by auction, I had pictured a fancy but frilly room filled with wealthy and uptown old people. Don’t ask me why. But I had not expected the spectacular rooftop where we had been welcomed with a flute glass of the tastiest sparkling wine I had ever had the pleasure to drink. And surely, not the trendy—and rather extravagant—array of people of all ages and backgrounds in attendance.

Who knew that the upper spheres of the Big Apple could be so … colorful?

Not that I had met everybody here. Actually, we had pretty much stuck to those somehow related to the football world. Which seemed natural after Aaron’s revelation about his past and his family involvement in it. For the last hour, I had been introduced to a couple of coaches and team coordinators, a sportscaster, and a number of influential people whose positions I wasn’t familiar with but that I nodded to like I knew exactly what they did. The only people we had talked to outside the sports bubble were a few entrepreneurs whose corporations, enterprises, and whatnot I had never heard of either.

Every time we encountered a new group of people, Aaron introduced me as Catalina Martín, not adding any kind of label before or after my name. Which somehow helped me lose all that tension I had carried with me from the car drive and definitely aided with my newfound intention of trying to enjoy myself.

This was my first time at an event like this one, and it would most likely be my last, so the least I could do was have fun.

“I already said so, but I’m so happy to see you, Aaron.” Angela, a lady in her fifties who was clad in a dress that was probably worth two or three times my month’s rent, smiled. “Especially with someone on your arm.”