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

shoulders shook a couple of times, his stance broke, and one of his hands went to the back of his neck as his head dipped. I couldn’t see his face, so I had no clue of what was going on. All money was on him bursting in frustration and anger and turning into the Hulk. And just when I was about to really start worrying, he lifted back that raven-haired head of his and revealed something I would never have bet on.

The biggest, widest, and handsomest smile was splitting his expression. Wrinkling the corners of his eyes. Transforming him into a man my eyes couldn’t take in fast enough. A man I had never seen before. One who was beginning to make it really, really hard for me to hate.

My own face lit up at the sight. I felt my cheeks tense with my answering grin—one just as big, just as wide, just as unexpected.

And then Aaron started laughing. His head tilted back, and his shoulders shook with laughter. And he was doing it on a stage, in front of all these people and in front of me, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Neither did I, apparently. Because in that moment, the only thing I could focus on, think of, care about was Aaron’s unexpected and glorious smile and laughter. So much that my fingers itched to pull out my phone and snap a photo so I had proof that this had happened. So I could revisit the moment—in which Aaron Blackford, someone who had the power to irritate me with nothing but a word, had fucking lit up the place with a smile he had kept locked up from me ever since I met him—whenever I wanted.

And how messed up was that? Or furthermore, how messed up was it that I didn’t even care about it being messed up in the first place?

Before I could recover from it—the effect of something as mundane as a smile, but that was so rare in the man my eyes couldn’t stop looking at—he was striding toward the center of the stage.

Angela’s voice left the speakers. “Lovely. I’m sure Patrick and his lucky bidder, the lady with the blue fan, will enjoy whatever he has prepared.”

Too caught up in my fake date who knew how to really smile, I hadn’t noticed someone bidding for Patrick.

“And last but not least, we have Aaron Blackford. Ladies, gentlemen, let’s start at fifteen hundred and remember—” Angela’s eyes widened, and then she chuckled. “Oh, I guess I don’t need to remind you to please place your bids on our last bachelor tonight if you want to contribute to the cause.”

Looking around, I found the reason why. More than ten different people had their arms already in the air.

“I love seeing your involvement,” Angela continued with a knowing smirk. “Fifteen hundred for the lady in red.”

Turning, I located this involved with the cause lady in red. She was in the first row of people, and she looked about twenty years older than me, give or take. And while I didn’t want to be judgmental or superficial, only by looking at her, I could imagine how generous her donation would be.

My gaze shot back to the stage, clashing against Aaron’s. That grin had been wiped off, his features now hard and empty. I felt a pang of disappointment I had no time to inspect.

I had one job tonight, and I was failing at it. For the second time.

Readying myself, I released a breath. I couldn’t let myself be distracted by something as wonderfully shocking yet pointless as Aaron’s ability to smile or laugh.

“Seventeen hundred?” Angela announced, and I gestured with my hand to place my bid. Too late. “For the lady in red.”

Lady in Red had beaten me—and around another five or six hands—to it again.

A quick look at Aaron’s tense shoulders told me he felt as unhappy about it as I was.

I squared back my shoulders, focusing on Angela and her next words.

“Wonderful,” she said into the microphone. “Let’s raise this up, ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Blackford is after all in high demand. How about nineteen hun—”

My hand shot up in the air, keeping an eye on Lady in Red, whose bid had been faster than mine. Again.

Angela chuckled and pointed at Lady in Red again, acknowledging her bid.

To my shock and surprise, Lady in Red turned in my direction with a smug smile on her face.

My eyes narrowed. Oh, hell no. This wasn’t about charity. This had just gotten personal.

Angela announced the next amount, and I launched my hand in the air with impressive speed, so much that I almost pulled a muscle, but Angela’s next words made up for possible injuries.

“For the lovely lady in midnight blue.” Angela smiled from behind the stand.

I returned it, feeling a weird burn in the pit of my stomach, matching the one on my shoulder.

Next bid was called, and it was mine again.

Ha! Suck that, Lady in Red.

As if she had heard me, her head whirled around. Her eyes narrowed to very thin slits, and her lips pursed. The woman whipped her blonde hair back and dismissed me.

I knew in that moment that I had been right to assume this was personal. This lady was after Aaron. And I wasn’t going to let her get my Aaron—

Not mine, I corrected myself. Just Aaron.

I wasn’t going to let her get Aaron.

The call for the next bid came, and before Angela’s words were out, it was already mine. Lady in Red sent me a look that could have frozen the sun on a heated New York summer day, and I was tempted to stick my tongue out, but after reminding myself that would be about a hundred ways of inappropriate, I limited myself to smirking.

Lady in Red and I battled for about five or six more rounds. Each of them becoming brisker, our arms flashing up faster, the looks we sent each other growing icier. My breath quickened,