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

are going to tonight, does it have to do with your football days then?”

Aaron nodded. “I’m still invited to some events. Because I played, but mostly because of my family’s involvement in the NCAA,” he explained, driving us along one of the wide avenues in Manhattan. “Once a year, a charity event for an association of animal welfare is hosted here in New York, and a number of personalities attend.”

“Are you one of those personalities?” I’d have to Google what the NCAA was later, but I had a feeling there was something he wasn’t telling me. “Oh my God, Aaron Blackford, are you telling me you come from, like, a long line of football royals?”

Aaron’s brows knit. “Catalina.”

In pure Aaron fashion, that was all the answer I got.

“Will your family be there tonight then?”

“No,” he said, his profile hardening for a heartbeat and confirming my suspicions.

I guessed I’d have to Google that too.

“Tonight’s event is for raising money that will eventually go to shelter, rehabilitate, and find homes for rescued animals in New York. I attend whenever I’m able to. It’s good to see a few people I’ve known for most of my life, and it’s for a cause I care about.”

I immediately forgot about whatever it was that he wasn’t telling me about his family. Aaron cared about the welfare of animals? About rescuing them and finding them new homes?

Right on cue, something fuzzy and warm tingled in my chest. And the feeling got only worse when I found myself picturing Aaron holding a bunch of cute puppies that he cared about and raised money for in his bulky arms. As he knelt on a field. In his football gear. Tight pants. Shoulders that went for miles. Dirt smudged on his cheeks.

That warmth turned a little thicker and harder to ignore.

“That’s … great,” I said, trying to kick those images out of my head. “Really nice of you.”

Aaron’s gaze turned to me, and one of his eyebrows went up. He was probably weirded out by how hard I was blushing.

Why can’t I stop blushing?

“Do you always bring a fake date to this event?” I blurted out without thinking.

“No.” Aaron’s lips pressed in a flat line. “I’ve always attended alone. This is the first time I’m bringing a date.”

A date.

A date?

My eyebrows wrinkled. A fake date, not a date.

I was about to correct him, but he spoke first, “We are almost there.”

I remained in silence as I processed everything I had just learned. This new depth of Aaron I had discovered. A little peek through that crack he had revealed to me. And all those dangerous mental images I had acquired, which, much to my dismay, would stick with me for a long time. That was something that needed some processing too.

“Wait,” I let out as he made a turn to the right. “You didn’t tell me what’s being auctioned. Or why I’m here.”

The vehicle came to a slow stop in front of one of the numerous skyscrapers on Park Avenue. Looking over, I spotted a parking valet waiting on the sidewalk.

Eyes wide, I turned to Aaron. A freaking valet? Shit.

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