Chapitre 1
STEPHEN
I look at Catherine working in the flowerbeds in front of the house, arranging the expensive palms and cycads she bought to go with the hibiscus she planted last summer. She is turning my house into a botanical garden, as Jake would say. I watch her from my seat on the porch, my tablet in hand, trading stocks and managing my portfolio. She looks rugged, wild, and she’s smiling. That smile. The exact same one that completely took my breath away in that club in Barcelona.
She was on the dance floor, wrapped in another guy’s arms. He was athletic, way taller than the average Spaniard, with the same thick, brown curly hair. She was laughing, and he was looking at her with pure devotion. I remember finding myself deeply, viscerally jealous. Jealous of not being that guy with her, even though she was a complete stranger to me. When they split up, he kissed her forehead. I found it odd at the time, too brotherly to be her lover.
She started walking toward the bar to get drinks, and I moved into her path. Not because I wanted a drink, but because I needed a closer look. She leaned her elbows on the counter, and I couldn’t help but notice how perfectly her dress draped over her. It was one of those backless pieces that revealed her entire spine down to the base—the exact spot where I immediately pictured my hands holding her, keeping her right where I wanted her. A heavy physical tension suddenly flared, my crotch tightening instantly behind my jeans as I stepped up to the bar beside her.
When she turned her face to look at me, I immediately noticed that she wasn’t wearing any makeup. It was refreshing. I’ve always liked natural women, but in a club setup like that, I was used to picking up girls with way too much lipstick to ever be classy. Not that it mattered; back then, it was always about a quick conquest. Casual flings used to be one of my favorite hobbies, second only to flying and surfing.
She wasn’t smiling the first time she looked at me, but I saw in her eyes that she found me attractive. I caught that distinct spark for a brief second. Then the bartender handed her the drinks, and she headed straight back to the dance floor to join that guy. She slammed her drink down in one shot. I didn’t look away. I’m not into women who drink too much and I was in no mood to chase another half-drunk bimbo who couldn’t string two coherent sentences together, but something about the raw confidence in her posture kept my eyes locked on her. I’m not a drinker; I don’t drink at all. Okay, maybe a single glass of wine at my father’s place for Christmas, but that’s it. My brain is way too important to mess with. Besides, I had a flight to land the next morning, and it needed to be exactly on time. Most pilots hit the bars during their layovers, drinking and doing cocaine, but not me. I want to stay sharp. It’s exactly why I became a captain at thirty-four, while they’ll be stuck as first officers for the rest of their lives.
Within minutes, she was back at the bar ordering again. I stood closer to her this time. Maybe she even came to stand beside me on purpose. That was when I heard her order from the bartender in fluent, natural Spanish, speaking with an effortless ease that told me she was completely at home here:
— Otro vaso de agua mineral, por favor.
I knew what mineral water meant. She turned her head, looked at me completely unapologetic, and spoke:
— What? It’s hot in here! I need to replenish my fluids. I’m Canadian. I’m not used to all this heat.
I was captured by her sharp, brilliant brown eyes. A persistent semi-erection began to strain against my underwear, a stubborn physical ache triggered by nothing more than the confident curve of her neck and the total authority in her gaze. Just then, the guy from the dance floor waved at her. He was standing with someone else and gestured to let her know he was leaving the club. She just waved back and turned her gaze back to me.
— My cousin, she said. Don’t worry, he won’t hit you if you finally decide to talk to me. Besides, his hands are worth millions.
My voice finally found its way up from the back of my throat, and I managed to ask:
— A surgeon?
She laughed.
— God, no. A model for all those fancy European designers. He’s half-Spanish on his father’s side. Personally, my designers are more Patagonia and Arc’teryx than Gucci. She laughed again. We live in completely different worlds, but I love him.
She was talking way too much. And I absolutely liked it.
She looked at me with that smile, and I swear, I fell in love with her at that very moment.
— So, she said, I guess with that accent, you’re not European...
I didn’t know why, but I suddenly felt like it was too cringe to just say I was American to a Canadian woman, so I only gave her one word:
— Georgia.
She laughed and shot back immediately:
— You know Georgia is a European country too, right? Most Americans don’t know a damn thing outside the States, but since you’re actually here, I guess you know a little more than the average guy. Why are you here all by yourself anyway, American boy?
I gathered every ounce of confidence I could find in my soul and looked straight at her.
— I’m a pilot, I said.
But it didn’t have the grand effect I was counting on to get back in the driver’s seat. Usually, when I tell a woman I fly commercial heavies across the Atlantic, keeping two hundred passengers perfectly safe, they get impressed. They start acting childish, giggling, and practically touching my arm to see if I’m real. But she just stood there, staring at me, analyzing me.
Finally, she said:
— So, you’re only here on a twenty-four-hour layover, trying to pick up a girl, bring her back to your hotel, and then just ghost her.
She had been running the conversation since the very beginning, but it was my turn to take the lead.
— And what about you? I asked. Why are you here?
— I’m on vacation, staying at my uncle’s place for the summer, she replied. I’m still at the university, in biology.
She extended her hand for a handshake.
— Catherine.
I grabbed it out of pure reflex.
— Stephen.
— Nice to meet you, Captain Stephen.
— Murray, I corrected, a little too quickly. Captain Stephen Murray.
— Okay, so I guessed correctly.
I narrowed my eyes, waiting for her to explain herself.
— I saw you walk into the bar with those two guys, she said, pointing toward my colleagues on the dance floor. One of them had kept his pilot shirt on and was currently putting his uniform hat on a girl’s head, kissing her deeply. She continued, Since you’re the only one who isn’t drinking, and you keep an eye on them like a hawk, I figured you were the highest-ranking officer.
— So you already knew I was a pilot.
— Yes, she said with a smirk. But I wanted to see if you would actually try to use that card on me.
I stared at her, completely captivated. My cock was pulsing hard against my jeans, fully erect now, driven mad by the fact that this woman had entirely checkmated my ego before I even made my play. For the first time in my life, my usual lines were useless, but my competitive drive kicked right in. I smiled, leaned a little closer into her space, and told her that if she was going to analyze me like a science project, the least she could do was let me buy her that water.
We stayed at that counter for the next three hours, completely oblivious to the loud music and the crowd around us. She was sharp, quick-witted, and matched me step for step. By the time we walked out into the cool Barcelona night air and headed toward my hotel, the games were over. The tension between us was so thick it was driving me insane.
When I finally leaned in and took her mouth, the impact was more than anything I could have imagined, even though every single cell in my body was already screaming that she was the one. Despite all her arrogance and confidence, she surrendered completely in my arms that night in my hotel room, exactly the way I’d pictured it from the very first second I set my eyes on her. I didn’t understand why she actually fell for me, but I knew I was the luckiest man on earth, and I had absolutely no intention of letting her go.
