Page 37 of My Spanish Love Affair

“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he says, his voice so soft. “I just like hearing you talk.”

I just look at him, totally unsure how to respond to that.

There’s something disarming about his sincerity - like it peels away all my defenses.

“Well,” I say, trying my best to play it cool. “If you ever need a bedtime story, you know who to call.”

He laughs, the sound warm, rich and genuine. “Noted.”

Time flies without my recognition, and it’s only when I look at the clock and note that over two hours have passed do I realise just how comfortable I feel around him and how easy it is to open up these parts of myself that I usually try to hide.

It’s admittedly… well,nice.

Chapter Fourteen

By the time that we leave, the night air has cooled, and Santi drapes an arm around my shoulders as we walk over to his car.

He’s warm and solid, his broad chest firm against my side as we walk in synchronised steps, and I can feel the faint tension of his muscles even through the fabric of his shirt. His forearm rests lightly over my shoulder, corded with the kind of strength that comes from years of training and pushing his body to its limits.

Not that I want to compare him to anyone else, of course; but I’ve never been with a man like Santi before. His sheer presence - his height, his broad, muscular build and the way he seems to fill the space around him - makes me feel protected, but there’s a softness in the way he holds me, too.

Like I’m precious to him. Or something.

“You cold?” he asks, his voice breaking through my thoughts.

“Not anymore,” I reply, blinking up at him through my lashes with a small smile.

He looks down at me, his expression softening. “Good.”

His hand gives a light squeeze to my bare shoulder, and I lean into him. As is becoming a routine for us, he makes a point of opening and closing the door for me as I climb into thepassenger seat; and as he drives me home, the conversation ebbs and flows with ease.

By the time that we reach my apartment door, my heart is in my throat.

He’ll surely kiss me again, right?

Santi turns to me. His expression is unreadable as his beautiful green eyes hold mine like they’re searching for something.

“I had a great time tonight,” he says softly, his deep voice low and steady.

The words are simple, but the way he says them makes my heart skip. He’d said the exact same thing after our first date, but standing here in the quiet hallway outside my apartment, the sentiment feels heavier, laden with something unspoken.

I smile, but the tension between us is undeniable now. My pulse quickens as I notice just how close we’re standing, the toe of his shoe almost brushing mine. The faint buzz of the air conditioning unit and the occasional muffled sounds from other apartments only makes the space between us feel more intimate, like we’re in a world all our own.

His gaze drops, lingering on my lips for a moment that feels infinite.

The air shifts, thick with anticipation, and every inch of me is hyper aware of his presence.

The way his broad shoulders lean just slightly toward me, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw catching the light, the way his hand hovers near mine but doesn’t quite touch.

My breath hitches as his hand finally moves, brushing against the bare skin of my much paler forearm before settling lightly on my waist. It’s such a small gesture, yet it sends a rush of warmth through me as my chest tightens with anticipation.

Neither of us speaks, the silence hanging between us like a thread stretched taut, ready to snap.

His thumb grazes my side, and I feel like the entire universe has narrowed to this hallway, this moment, this man standing in front of me.

For a second, we just hover. His eyes meet mine again, a question flickering there, unspoken but crystal clear.

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