Those ocean-blue eyes shifted to my lips briefly. So quickly that I was convinced I had imagined it. It didn’t matter though because then his face dipped, getting as close as it had ever been and making me forget all about that. Making me notice instead details that I had never paid attention to before. Like how full those lips were, which I saw pressed in a line so often. Or how his eyelashes were long and dark and framed the blue in his eyes so perfectly. Or how I could see the lines of the soft creases adorning his forehead, right above the spot where that frown that was almost a fixed feature rested.
I was so lost in all that that one of my feet tripped again, but Aaron’s arms tightened their grip around my waist as he shifted his head to one of my sides.
“Aren’t you supposed to be good at this, Catalina?” he asked a few inches from my ear. I felt the air leaving his mouth on my temple.
Trying not to pay any extra attention to how close his mouth was from my face, I focused on my feet and answered almost absently, “What do you mean?”
Aaron’s diligent and smooth motions spun us one more time to the soft tune.
“I thought you were supposed to carry the beat in your blood,” he explained in a low voice, his head not giving up an inch of space. “Or was it the music in your veins?”
I hoped my ears were not red with embarrassment. “This is not my style,” I lied. I’d never done a worse job at dancing, and it had nothing to do with the music and everything to do with the man I was currently flush against. “Or maybe it’s my partner that’s not the best fit.”
Aaron chuckled. It was low and short-lived, but it reminded me of the way he had laughed earlier, leaving me a little out of breath.
And so, I inhaled through my nose, trying to restore my breathing and immediately regretting it. Because what an awful idea that had been. The worst idea. All I had accomplished was filling my lungs with Aaron’s scent.
Aaron’s very nice and very heady and very, very masculine scent.
Could I unsmell it, please, universe? Please.
“Was that you admitting something you are not good at?” Aaron asked, pulling me out of my head. “To me?”
“I never claimed to be a spectacular dancer.” Not when my partner was someone who certainly succeeded in distracting me so damn much. “Plus, all that rhythm in your blood stuff is nothing more than a stereotype. There are more than a few hundred Spaniards who can’t follow a beat to save their lives.”
“I bet there are. I’ll keep leading then.” His voice was low, a little closer to my ear than before. “But just in case you belong to those few hundreds.”
“If you must,” I muttered because what was the point of denying something that was so obvious? I was doing a poor job at it. “I didn’t know you danced.”
Just when I thought it was physically impossible for Aaron’s body to fold around mine any more, for our bodies to come any closer, he dipped his head further. Impossibly low. His lips hovered directly above the shell of my ear. “There are a few things you don’t know about me, Catalina.”
My body went even more rigid in response. A flutter taking flight in my stomach.
I forced myself to remember that I was here to pretend I was his date—of sorts. That I had put on a little show at fighting that woman over him at the auction. So, fake or not, to everybody else, I was supposed to be someone who would welcome this kind of closeness and not someone who would jump back, startled.
So, I settled my hands on his hard chest with a little more decision. Unfortunately, the gesture only managed to turn that flutter in my stomach to a full-on flapping and waving and whirling riot.
“What’s on your mind?” Aaron asked, sounding genuinely curious.
Being caught off guard by the question—and the interest—I blurted the first thing that came to mind, “You said this had nothing to do with a woman.” I shifted my palms across his chest. “But it looked to me like it had everything to do with one.”
“I’ve never seen Mrs. Archibald so riled up,” he admitted.
I adjusted my hands on his chest again, trying not to get lost in how warm his skin felt, even beneath all the layers of fabric. “So, you are familiar with this Mrs. Archibald, huh?” I felt his head nod once, his jaw brushing my temple. “Let me guess. Tonight was not her first time getting into a little charitable quarrel over you.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Aaron Blackford, the cougar magnet.” I laughed lightly, the sound coming out a little shaky.
A soft puff of air hit my ear, rousing a wave of shivers. “It wasn’t only Mrs. Archibald enthusiastically bidding, if memory serves me well.”
“Smug,” I muttered.
But Aaron was right. There had been many other people—younger, attractive—interested in him.
“Is this why you asked me to be here?” Aaron didn’t immediately answer, so I continued, “I guess it all makes sense. What Angela said earlier and TJ kind of confirmed.”
“And what’s that?”
“That Aaron Blackford is scared of a bunch of overly motivated wealthy ladies who want to buy his company.”
His palms shifted on my back, spinning us into the changing rhythm of a new song. “Are you teasing me?” he said right into my ear.
I was. But I would never admit to such a thing out loud. I felt myself relax just the splinter of a hair in his arms. “Does it happen often?”
“What exactly, Catalina?” he asked very slowly. “Almost being exchanged for a man with a boat or having a questionable dancing partner?”
“Neither.” Feeling the smile tugging at my lips, I went on, “Women flaunting themselves at you. I saw how tense you were on the stage. You looked ready to jump out and get out of there.” I thought about that for a second. Him bringing me here … it kind of made sense now. “Does that kind of attention make you uncomfortable?”
“Not always.” I felt the brush of his jaw against my cheek, the simple and light gesture causing an electrifying wave of sensation to trail down my neck. “I’m not scared of a woman’s interest in me, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t send them all away.”
“Oh, okay.” My voice came out breathy and unsure.
Of course he didn’t. I was sure he had needs. And those needs were something I wasn’t willing to think about with his arms around me.
Aaron’s right hand shifted on my back, trailing down an inch or two. Meanwhile, the skin of my face—no, my whole freaking body—burned.
His arms tightened around me one more time.
“Thank you,” he said.
And I felt those two words like soft puffs of air against my hair.
“What for?” My voice was barely a whisper.
“For not stepping on my foot.” I opened my mouth to apologize, but he continued, “But also for not being deterred by Mrs. Archibald. Last year, things got a little … uncomfortable when she found out our date consisted of cleaning dog kennels and spending a couple of hours walking and playing with them.” I felt his sigh on the skin on the side of my neck. “Not that it dissuaded her this year.”
Something that felt a lot like protectiveness flickered in my chest.