Page 38 of My Spanish Love Affair

The weight of the moment presses against my ribs, and then,finally, he kisses me.

It’s soft at first, tentative, almost like our first kiss all over again. It’s as if he’s giving me a chance to pull away - heaven knows why, since it’s the last thing I’d ever want - but the second I lean into him, it shifts.

Santi’s large hand tightens its grip on my waist, and he uses it to pull me closer as my fingers find their way to the back of his neck, tangling in his dark hair. He’s mentioned that he wants it cutting, but I love the way his locks feel between my fingers.

His other hand moves to cup my jaw, and his calloused thumb brushes lightly against the curve of my cheek as his tongue runs against my bottom lip. I open up for him instinctively, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

I moan into his mouth as I lean towards him, my hands coming to rest on his firm chest, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. The hallway disappears, and everything but the feel of his lips on mine fades into nothingness.

I lose myself in him, my senses overwhelmed by his touch, his taste, his scent. When we finally pull apart, I’m breathless, my heart pounding and my breathing ragged.

His breath is warm against my cheek when he speaks.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he murmurs, his voicehusky.

I can’t help but smile, my fingers still trailing through his hair. “I’m glad you did.”

His forehead comes to rest lightly against mine, our noses brushing intimately. I bite down on my bottom lip as I smile, and a question comes to mind. I hesitate, a little unsure, but then the words tumble out before I can second-guess them.

“Do you want to come in?”

Those beautiful green eyes search mine, and for a moment, I think he might say no.

But then he nods.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

We step inside, and I flick on two of the lamps rather than the main light before I lock the door behind us. The apartment is clean and tidy -thank you, past-self- and since Santi doesn’t drink alcohol while the season is in full-swing, I offer him a glass of lemonade.

He stands in the middle of the lounge, his hands tucked into his pockets as I place a glass down on the kitchen counter.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I say, gesturing over to the couch.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

Instead of answering, I move out of the kitchen - the lemonade now forgotten - and step closer.

Something shifts, and the air between us feels charged, electric.

I’m so used to doubting everything, but there’s nothing about Santi that has given me any cause to ever feel uncomfortable or unsure in myself, so I give into my instincts and wrap my arms around his neck.

His response is immediate, and his large hands come to rest on either side of my waist as he pulls me tightly against him.

The warmth of his touch seeps through the fabric of my sundress, grounding me and igniting something deeper all at once. I feel the strength in his grip - not possessive, but steady, as if he’s anchoring me to the moment - and I lift up onto my tiptoes, my lips pressing against his in a gentle stroke.

Whatever doubts I’d had about letting someone in melt away as his mouth moves against mine. Our kiss is slow at first, with gentle brushes of tongues, but it grows into something deeper, more insistent.

His taste is intoxicating, and his fingers trail away from my sides and up my back, leaving a path of heat in their wake, before settling at the base of my neck. He tilts my head slightly, deepening the kiss, and a soft sound escapes me as he maneuvers my body. It’s a mixture of surprise and surrender, and it’s then that Santi pauses, his forehead coming to rest against mine as his breath comes in shallow bursts.

“Olivia,” he murmurs, his voice husky, almost reverent.

I pull back just enough to look at him, my hands resting lightly on his broad, muscular shoulders. His green eyes search mine, and the usual playful glint I see in them has been replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

“For the first time in a long time,” I whisper, my voice catching, “I’m not worried about anything else. All that matters to me… is this.”

Tension still thrums between us, our bodies impossibly close, but his lips curve into the faintest of smiles. His thumb brushes against my jaw as one of his hands moves to cup my face, and his gentle touch sends a light shiver down my spine.

“You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that,” he sayssoftly.

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