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“Yeah, I will definitely follow your advice for not getting a broken heart.”
“Good, now you have a hot boss and a vacation in Europe. You have a good time, and, you know…don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“You’d get arrested in twenty states for some of the stunts you’ve pulled.”
Tonya grinned. “I know.” With that, she ended the call.
Sandra sighed and pulled the video camera from her day bag. There were pickpockets everywhere in Barcelona, and many were loo
king especially hard for oblivious Americans. She stuck out with her red hair. She’d been paranoid and gripping her bag tightly all night in order to protect her baby. Setting the camera up on its collapsible tripod, she started recording.
“Hey, Mistress fans. I’m coming to you live, so to speak, from Barcelona’s world-famous harbor…”
***
“I was almost afraid you would turn me down,” Xavier said.
She offered him a tight smile, trying to keep herself professional. Of course, if that was what Sandra was entirely after, she’d have worn khaki shorts or a dark pencil skirt and a professional, lightweight blouse. Instead, she’d put on a sundress patterned with red roses and a slight slit up the right side. She’d bought it the other day and fallen in love with it instantly because of its flamenco flare.
“I’d never miss this.”
“Then I’m glad, Jules.”
She blinked, dazzled by his smile for a beat, before remembering she was back to going under her alias, a name no one had really called her since middle school. “Great,” she said, recovering from her pause as best as she could. “Now, shall we get started?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he replied, holding a crooked elbow out for her. “Please, follow me.”
She walked with him out of the hotel and to the street and then gulped. Sandra fervently hoped he hadn’t noticed her reaction. She’d assumed for some stupid reason that they’d take the metro like she’d been using to get around all week. How dense was she? Of course, Xavier Villalobos traveled in nothing less than a limo. That made her belly flare with warmth. It was like muscle memory. The last time she’d been in a limo with Xavier, she’d been the recipient of some truly mind-blowing orgasms.
The only saving grace she had to keep her from melting into a puddle right there was the fact there was no way it was the exact same limo.
“Are you okay, Jules?” he asked, concern coloring his words.
She nodded and stepped with him into the limo. The buttery leather was soft against her body, and again, memories of the last and only other time she’d ridden in one exploded across her memory—the feeling of his hands kneading her thighs, the flick of his tongue against her most sensitive lips, and the roughness of his stubble against her skin.
“Oh man.”
“You’re sure you’re ready for the Sagrada Família?” he asked.
“With you, Xavier, I’m not sure I’m ready for anything,” she said as the limo started down the ancient, cobblestone streets.
***
She’d always loved Gaudí’s style. Everything resembled fantastical gingerbread houses come to life, things from fantasy with bright colors and bulbous curves that didn’t seem to fit in the real world, as if they’d slipped into being from another dimension. There was something otherworldly about it. Not quite horrific, but definitely otherworldly in the designs. For a horror and fantasy buff like her, he’d always been a treat. Hell, if she had millions of dollars, she’d shoot all her movies in buildings or near structures he’d designed. She wasn’t sure why Hollywood directors didn’t. It would save a fortune on CGI when you had the perfect neo-gothic structures just waiting to be used.
Craning her neck up, she took in the sheer size of the cathedral before her. Seeing it in books or on the Web hadn’t prepared her. She felt like she was in Lord of the Rings and coming face to face with one of the two towers. Its large spires, shaped like honeycombs, reached into the sky. The main edifice almost seemed like the stone were melting in on itself; it was so irregular and bumpy from the myriad of statues of saints and angels on its front.
“It’s like out of a dream.”
“I used to think it was a nightmare,” he said. “When I was little, and we’d come to mass before we ended up in the States, I’d think that this was haunted. Maybe it was, although it’s not all that old. The building was started in 1882.”
“Started?” she asked.
“It won’t be finished to Gaudí’s specifications before 2026.”
She whistled as she fixed the silk scarf over her hair, a head covering she wore as a sign of respect for old world Catholic traditions. “He had a lot of specifications then. I’d seen the designs. I just never imagined something could take almost one hundred and fifty years to build.”
Xavier smirked. “Maybe that’s something he and I would have had in common. If you do something, then do it to the highest level. Be the best possible.”
