Page 48 of No Darker Temptation

Mayor Saenz exclaims animatedly, reaching for my hand before Alejandro’s even had a chance to finish his sentence. To my surprise, he kisses the back of my knuckles. “Me alegra mucho que hayáis venido esta noche. Tenía muchas ganas de conocerte.”

I smile and nod, unsure of what to say. He’s speaking so fast my head is spinning.

“¿Vais a participar en la subasta?”

I almost suffer a minor stroke at his next question. I think he just used vosotros form, which high school Spanish class did not prepare me for, and I have no idea what a fucking subasta is.

This is going to be a long night.

Dinner is torture. I sit through two and a half hours of rapid conversation in a language I can’t speak all the while Alejandro keeps a hand on my knee, fingers traveling places they shouldn’t, and I spend the entire course trying to fend him off. I can only imagine how ridiculous I look sitting beside him. Flushed, burning red, quiet, and squirmy, while he dazzles and charms, that breathtaking smile of his reminding me why I was a lost cause in the first place. When he first set those eyes on me a year ago, thoughtful and beautifully hazel, that smile of his somehow boyish against his more rugged, masculine features, I was a goner.

At one point, I catch Pilar looking in my direction. She’s forced to smile when I meet her gaze head on and I lift my glass of wine in return, purposefully leaning into Alejandro when I do. He turns and follows my line of sight but Pilar immediately looks away, consuming her wine at a rate that ought to be concerning if I gave a shit.

“Well played,” he murmurs so only I can hear. A smirk dances across my lips. “I think you might be right about Pilar…she and Regina used to be friends in university. Maybe that’s why I never noticed.”

“Women notice everything. I’m surprised Regina never kicked her ass.” Her name tastes sour on my tongue.

“You look like you want to kick her ass.” There’s no mistaking the excitement in his voice when he says it, as if finding out he has a jealous girlfriend is a delight he’s eager to indulge in.

I hate it. I loathe it. My mother was a jealous woman and her behavior toward my father played a significant role in the demise of their relationship. I promised myself I’d never be like her which is why I always try to have a good handle on my emotions. Especially when it comes to men.

Apparently, not tonight and it’s all fucking Regina’s fault.

“You’re allowed to have friends who are girls.”

“I know I am. Just not friends like that. I’m fine keeping my distance. We were never close anyway.”

I decide to change the conversation before an ugly green beast rears its head. “So what’s this dinner for anyway?”

A muscle in his jaw jumps. He sets his wine glass down. “Answering honestly would be difficult.”

“It isn’t just about congratulating the new mayor?”

After a second he shakes his head.

“And why are you hosting?”

“Because I’m generous.” The way he says it makes my toes curl in my heels. “And the mayor and I need to have a conversation.”

I hold his gaze for longer than I intended and by the time I find the courage to look away I’m short of breath. He returns to his conversation and hand roaming, his fingers slipping between my thighs and further up. I clench them together but he pinches me through my underwear and I gasp, almost choking on my wine as it slithers down my throat.

“Alejandro.”

He barely turns away from the man sitting to his left but throws over his shoulder, “Just a minute, mi amor, the mayor’s telling me something.”

The mayor says something I can’t hear and the three people to Alejandro’s left laugh, all the while his fingers are pushing aside my underwear and gliding over the hot, slick bundle of nerves at the apex of my sex. A soft stroke, a tight pinch, but he smooths over the pain. My jaw clenches and I fist my hands in the tablecloth. More laughter and animated chatter as he moves deep, a single finger entering me and thrusting, the slickness down there loud enough for me to hear. And while I’m certain no one else can, not with the music, conversation, and clatter of silver against porcelain, fire whips through me. My cheeks and the tips of my ears burn and he pushes in deeper, harsher, rubbing against the walls of my sex until my legs are trembling under the table.

I try shifting, closing my thighs, pushing him away as discreetly as I can, but his thumb presses down on my clit and I chomp down on a piece of ice to keep from yelping. The woman to my right looks over and I smile awkwardly.

“Bit my tongue.” I make a show of cradling my cheek.

She nods politely and returns to her conversation.

By now I’m panting and doing a terrible job at hiding it. He inserts a second finger, thrusts further, hits just the right spot⁠—

I yelp. Cry out.

Push my chair away from the table as quickly as I can and send a glass of water flying while I do it. It splatters on my lap but barely. That’s not the point though. I need an excuse to flee.