The Spanish Love Deception

Chapter 51

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

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“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.”

I felt my cheeks heat, so I distracted myself, taking a sip from my fancy flute glass.

We had been chatting with her for a few minutes now. And the whole time, I had been silently watching the woman

with fascination. Her elegance and poise had me in awe. And unlike more than a few people here, she had kind eyes.

The fact that she was the mind behind tonight’s event was only the cherry on top.

“So, tell me”—Angela’s lips inched higher—“you’ll be taking part in this year’s auction too, I presume? I still haven’t

gotten the chance to check the final list.”

“Yes, of course,” Aaron answered from his post at my side.

We hadn’t had time to discuss what the deal with this whole me bidding for him was. By the time I had somehow

pulled it together, we had been walking out of the elevator and into the party. We’d been quickly jumping from one

small group of people to the next, so I hadn’t had the chance to interrogate him about it.

“That’s lovely to hear.” She took a sip of he

r drink. “I had my doubts, if I may be completely honest.” Angela threw her head back and laughed. “Last year’s

auction was … intense. Very entertaining, to say the least.”

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