The Spanish Love Deception by Elena Armas (the mitten read aloud TXT) 📗

Another nod.

“And it takes place every year?”

An affirmative grunt.

If he didn’t start talking, saying anything, I wouldn’t jump out of the moving car; I’d be pushing him out.

“And …” I needed a question that wouldn’t strictly require a yes or no answer. “How are the funds going to be raised?”

He seemed to consider that for a long moment, almost making me believe I’d really have to shove him out.

“An auction.”

Finally. “What’s being auctioned?” I fidgeted with the simple gold cuff bracelet that circled my wrist, waiting for an answer that never came. “Is it art?” I turned the smooth piece of jewelry around. “Golf lessons?” Another turn. “A yacht?” I looked at him. Nothing. No answer. “Elvis’s underwear?”

That got me a reaction. He sent me a puzzled look and then returned his attention to the road.

“What?” I shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll have you know that someone auctioned a dirty pair of undies Elvis had worn to a concert in the ’70s.”

I watched Aaron’s head shake. Mr. Proper was probably scandalized, but he was still not talking, so I kept filling in the silence.

“Chill. Nobody bought them.” I studied his profile for any reaction. Still nothing. “Or bid for them,” I corrected myself. “I don’t know much, if anything, about auctions.” More silence. O-kay. “But the conclusion was that, apparently, no one wanted Elvis’s used underwear.” I snickered. “Which, frankly, it sort of strengthened my faith in society. Not all is lost yet, right?”

A muscle in his jaw jumped.

“Who would want to own something like that? And what’s even more daunting, what for? To frame it?” A grimace bent my lips. “Imagine being invited to a home and finding a dirty pair of underwear framed, hanging above the sofa. Or the toilet.”

Aaron shot me a quick glance, something that looked a lot like wonder filling his eyes. Then, he finally spoke, “I never know with you, you know?”

And that’s what he decided to go with?

“You never know what?” Frowning, I watched his head give another light shake.

“I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.” His voice sounded almost thoughtful. “You always find a way to catch me completely off guard. And that’s not something many people can do.”

Uh …

What was I supposed to do with that? Was that … a compliment? I had been rambling about Elvis’s used underwear hanging in somebody’s living room, so I was going to go with no. Not a compliment. Plus, this was Aaron we were talking about, so double no.

“Well, I have more fun facts for you, if that’s what you want,” I offered with a smile. “Of all kinds, not only underwear-related.”

“Of course you do,” he muttered.

“Unless you want to use this precious time to, I don’t know, give me some kind of context about tonight.” I waited one, two, three seconds. Once more, he seemed to fall silent when I asked. “You could maybe explain to me why I’m here, pretending to be your date. That’s a good start.”

His fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter; it was hard to miss because, well, I had been carefully watching him for the last couple of minutes.

And yet, he was still not talking.

I frowned, starting to feel frustrated in a way that wasn’t very charitable. “You said you would tell me everything if I agreed to come.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yep,” I answered, not getting why he was being so … privy. Although that was just how Aaron was, wasn’t it? It shouldn’t have surprised me.

I watched his hands move up along the steering wheel, the action tensing the fabric of his tux jacket. As I was unable not to notice how his arms filled the sleeves, my mind wandered away for an instant, this weird sensation I had experienced back in the apartment returning.

I was being sidetracked by … him. His presence, his proximity, the way he looked. Again. Objectively speaking, it was hard to do much else besides stare at him, dwarfing the car’s seat like he pretty much did with everything else—especially when he wasn’t talking and giving me an excuse not to. But there was nothing objective about the way my eyes involuntarily trailed up his arms, ending at his rounded and wide shoulders. Or the way they made their way up to his profile. Stoic. So stoic and serious. He wasn’t smiling—Aaron never did—and I’d never been more aware of that fact.

It wasn’t just the tux, I realized.

So far, I had somehow been able to overlook how attractive Aaron was. Not that I hadn’t noticed he was good-looking—I had. But I had only needed to remember his dry and sour personality to gloss over that rather quickly. But that did not change the truth. And that was that Aaron had all those things that made my head turn and take a second look. All those things I didn’t look for but for some reason I felt compelled by. All those things I wasn’t. Tall—he stood so tall and unmovable. All lean muscles and controlled movements. Every gesture so composed and disciplined. Or the way in which his pale skin and dark hair made his eyes stand out, a deep and intense shade of blue that I had never seen before I met him.

Ripping my gaze off him and settling my eyes on my hands again, I cursed myself for allowing my mind to go there. What the hell am I even doing? There were important things to discuss. I didn’t have time to think about his stupidly big and apparently alluring tux-clad body. Damn tuxedos.

“You are playing hard to get, Blackford. But it’s all right,” I said, realizing Aaron hadn’t given me that explanation he owed me. “I can guess why I’m here.” I’ll do that if it helps me to stop thinking crazy, stupid stuff about you. “I’m game if you are.”

More silence.

“All right, I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s play.” I shifted in my seat, angling my body to