Her nipples perk up at the heat of my breath. My tongue darts out, and I lick the closest one to me. I taste her sweet, soft skin. Hovering over her, I pull back to gaze at her, turned on by the erotic sight of her dark, rosy hardness.

Her nose pokes up under the black silk blindfold I’ve placed on her face. It cradles her features, padded under her eyes. She can’t see what I’m doing, but she feels it, and she senses me. We move together in harmony. Her muscles flick along her form in a pattern, giving me an idea of where she thinks I’m headed next.

She’s right.

My fingers trip down her body. Between her breasts. Down the lines of her belly and over her naked hip bones. To the little dip in front. And down.

I stroke her center gently with my rough fingers. She’s warm and wet and alive and all mine. Sexy, undiscovered territory. There’s so much she hasn’t tried. She’s been untainted and innocent like pure water.

Not anymore.

Her legs widen, letting me in, allowing me to fuck her with my fingers.

“Mr. de la Guerra. Do you have an answer?”

My head jerks up with a start to fix on my professor’s raised eyebrows. Several dozen of my fellow classmates turn toward me, expecting my response.

I have none.

Joder. My hands form fists as I fight a boner the size of a spire of the Sagrada Familia cathedral in Barcelona. Kim sits at the next desk with a furrowed brow and crossed arms.

Yes, beautiful. I’m daydreaming about you.

I flinch and try to be discrete as I adjust myself. While English to Spanish translation is easier for me than the reverse, I can’t translate shit if have no idea what he said. “I don’t know,” I admit to the professor. He tilts his head down and frowns, then calls on another student.

Kim extends her finger and grazes the back of my hand, whispering, “You okay? Are you sick?” She’s wearing a white, sleeveless button-down shirt and a pair of khaki shorts with sandals that give me a great view of her legs. As usual, she’s classic and fresh, like a crisp, ripe apple.

She’s so ripe, I want to bite her.

Forcing my fists to unclench, I say with a low, strangled voice, “I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

That’s true.

What’s more accurate is that I’m wondering what the hell happened. That gentle nudge of my hand is the only physical contact we’ve had in more than a week.

Since school’s started, she’s been frosty. Other than obligatory conversation to coordinate getting her to school and back, she’s left me alone. Completely alone. No comments in the car. No talks on her bed. No sitting next to me at dinnertime.

She’s studied. Helped Mari Carmen make gazpacho, a cold, garlicky soup made with cucumbers and tomatoes. Surfed the internet on her laptop. But to me, she’s been an ice planet with no life forms.

Is she worried about school? What did I do to get the silent treatment?

I’ve no clue, and I can’t read her face right now. I think she’s figured out my dirty thoughts—given that her eyes traveled to my crotch—and she’s very amused. But like all week, her face changes to this distant, flat coolness. She nods and turns to give her attention to the front. I let out my breath and do the same, passing the rest of the hour attempting to pay attention while secretly drawing her in my notebook.

After class I meet up with her outside in the hallway, which is really an open-air corridor facing out to a square patio. She’s standing by a planter with her books in her arms. I place an elbow above the wall next to her. “Next time wake me up, will you? Save me from embarrassment?”

“No.” Her feet are planted wide on the ground as she leans in to me with a smirk on her pretty lips. She swats my bicep. “I rather enjoyed that. Serves you right to fall asleep in class. What were you dreaming of?” Thank God she’s back to flirting with me.

My eyes fly wide open. “The history of the House of Bourbón.”

“Liar. I think you were thinking of something different than that.” But the teasing tone in her voice drops out, and her face loses her revived spunk. “Maybe you should keep sleeping. You make me look like a star student.”

“Since when have you been thinking you’re going to do better than me?”

“Your study habits are appalling. I know if I apply myself, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Oh, is that right? Since you bring up kicking my ass, guapa, maybe you’d enjoy a good spanking.” The words slip out, and I hold back a curse, because I’d like nothing more.

Her hand touches her throat. She swallows and says in a husky voice, “Maybe I would.”

I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. We stare at each other. The electricity that dropped since we first met is zinging around again, bouncing from her to me and back again, making my arms tingle.

She chews her lip and averts her eyes, casting around for something else. Her shoulders perk up. “There they are.” She runs down the hall toward Trent and Dani, leaving me admiring her great culo.

What the hell is going on?

I know there’s something between us that we’re fighting, but I can’t keep living like this—the tension will make me explode.

It’s how it’s been all week—her drawing away, and me wanting to get closer. An example? We’ve met up with Trent and Dani at Bar Marueco twice this week to practice translation. But she doesn’t sit by me like that first night. Instead, she sits next to Dani, talking nonstop about Spain and travels and all sorts of things. I drive her home in silence.

It’s only fair. I have no claim to her. I need to fix this pain. Even if I can’t touch her, I still want to get to know her, because the silent treatment isn’t working for me.

So maybe it’s friends. We can be friends.

I catch up with her, determined to keep her talking with me.

“How are classes?” Dani asks both of us. At school, Trent stands a respectful distance away from her, acknowledging that she’s a professor. But their synchronized body language tells anyone with a brain who is paying attention that they’re in love. He mimics her actions, and she does it right back. There’s a dance of their movements showing how in tune they are with each other.

Watching someone in love when you’re in pain sucks.

“I just told Tavo I’d kick his butt, but truthfully, it’s harder than I thought, learning a language,” Kim says. “Although I knew it wouldn’t be like class, I mean I had four years of it. You’d think I’d be able to speak it better, but I can’t. I don’t even pick out words in ordinary conversation. It’s frustrating.”

Trent nods. “Right? And the Spanish here has such a strong accent. It takes a while to get the hang of it. You need to practice more ordinary conversation.” He points to me. “Tavo can help you. He helped me a lot.”

“You’ve gotten a lot better,” I acknowledge.

“And you couldn’t say much in English either.”

“True.” I turn to Kim. “I’m willing to help, you know. To practice.”

It will be no sacrifice to spend more time with her—except I may be sacrificing my heart.

Her chin tips up. “I’d like that.”

“Then that’s the plan.” Against my better judgment.

“Thanks for taking the time to help me.” Kim tucks her feet under her on the couch and watches me with those clear, expressive eyes. Ones that have become sadder since she’s been here. While that verve that underlies her spirit is still there, it’s been tamped down.

Maybe I can help to get it back.

“Es nada.” I wave my hand. If only she knew how much it means to me to be anywhere near her. But I keep my feelings in check so she won’t feel uncomfortable.

She pulls at her blouse and arranges the legs of her shorts. “I’m so lost. Not knowing the language, I mean.”

“We can’t have you lost.” I grab the remote. I don’t know if I should go next to her or not, so I compromise by sitting on the floor, leaning my back against the couch close to her legs. “Entonces vamos a practicar.”

“You’re right. Practice makes perfect.” Her knee bounces near my head. “I guess part of doing something new is being bad at it at first. I’m used to already knowing how to do things.”

My hands go behind my head, and I resist stilling that knee with my palm. “Then let’s get you into the unknown. Let’s let you be bad at something for once. That’s the only way to get better.”

“It’s just frustrating. I want to download the entire Spanish language into my brain. Learning curves suck. I’m impatient, I guess.”

I twist my torso to gaze at her. She’s yanking at her hair in clumps. “So you want the end result, not the journey.”

Her hands still and clasp loosely in her lap. “No,” she says quietly. “I want the journey.”

“Then let’s begin. Immersion is a good thing. I learned a lot of English by watching TV. Let’s watch something, and you translate to me what you think they’re saying.”

“Okay.” She sits so still it’s almost eerie.

I turn on the tele. While we have original programming, much of Spanish TV is dubbed from English. I’m a particular fan of Los Simpsons. As I flip around, I stop on one of the greatest films ever. “Desayuno con Diamantes!”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“Qué coño.” I shake my head. “You call it Breakfast at Tiffany’s. There’s the poster,” I say, pointing. “You’ll love it.”

“Yeah? It looks good. I haven’t seen many old movies. What’s with you and old things?” She gestures around my place. “Old movies, old music?”

“It’s not as old as Spain.”

She grins. “True.”

“I like American things.” And I’m including her in that statement, whether she knows it or not.

Music plays at the beginning of the movie, and Audrey Hepburn walks down a perfect street. Kim nails the initial dialogue, but after about ten minutes, she starts sputtering. “I can’t do this! They talk too fast. Their voices are weird. They don’t sound right at all.”

“Keep trying.”

“Why is she putting on lipstick using a mirror in her mailbox? Something about not worrying … Taxi. I understood that. Taxi is the same in both languages. I don’t know. I mean, she said I don’t know. Dar mucha prisa. That means she’s in a hurry, right?” Collapsing back on the couch, she wails, “This is so hard! I’m only picking out a word every once in a while.

I kneel beside her. “Are you understanding it?”

“No. I’m getting what’s going on, though.”

“Let’s just watch it then.” She joins me on the floor. I put my arm behind her on the couch cushion, careful not to touch her.

And as the movie plays, she watches, rapt. I translate parts that she doesn’t understand. After about a half hour, she chirps, “I understood an entire sentence!”

“Bravo!” I laugh, and we look at each other. I want to kiss her, but I can’t, so I don’t.

I think she wanted me to kiss her, though.

When we get to the scene in the movie where Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard pass a day doing things they’ve never done before, like drink champagne before breakfast, go to the public library, and shoplift, Kim snuggles under my arm.

Her closeness, her smell. She’s driving me wild.

“I understand her.” She points to Audrey Hepburn.

“Holly Golightly?”

Nodding, she says, “I’m just like her. From a podunk town. I’ve never been anywhere. I’ve never experienced anything.”

My English still is far from perfect. I scratch my head. “Podunk means?”

“Hick.”

That’s no help. “Hick means?”

“Country. Small town.”

I furrow my brows. “Like here?”

“No. I mean that people all think the same. It’s not just boring, you don’t get to experience all the diversity you would in a big city with more people. Everyone knows me. I went to elementary school, high school, and college with the same people. Over here, it’s really cool because there’s no expectations as to how I’m supposed to behave. I could reinvent myself like Audrey Hepburn.”

“And that’s what you want?”

“That’s exactly what I want. That’s why I came here. I didn’t want to be stuck. I didn’t know precisely what I needed, I just knew I was missing something.” I nod along with her words, completely understanding.

And not just those about the small town.

I’d been missing something in my life, and I didn’t know what it was.

But it was her.

My face is ten centimeters from hers. “Do you want to do that?”

Her pert nose flares. “Do what?”

I bop her nose. “Do things you’ve never done before.”

Watching the joy return to her face is a pleasure unlike any I’ve felt before. The Kim I met at the airport is back. The one with spirit. “Yes,” she whispers. “Yes.” Her back straightens. She blinks rapidly and licks her lips. Then with a little clap, she squeals, “Yes! This is what I want!”

Caught up in her happiness, I laugh out, “So what’s one thing you want to do?”

Without any hesitation, she knows. “I want to eat new foods. I already am—”

“I’ll have to feed you a tortilla del Sacromonte.”

I’m going to hell for suggesting that.

She grabs my shoulder. “What’s that?”

This is a gift. I can’t help but tease her. “A delicacy.”

“I’ve seen episodes of Weird Foods. What is it?” She’s sitting on her hands, she’s so enthused.

“An omelet made from beef testicles and brains.”

I’m amused watching her react. Besides the eyes widening and neck veins popping, she makes a retching noise. “Oh my God. Maybe I’m not that brave. It’s for real?” A giggle escapes her mouth, which becomes uncontrollable.

I start chuckling. It grows and grows. I hold my sides as I keep laughing and laughing, until I howl, “Yes, es verdad. It’s a special dish from Granada.”

Her next words wheeze out as tears run down her face. “You haven’t had it. Have you had it? Oh my God, you’ve had it. That’s … disgusting. Or amazing. Or—what was it like?”

“Quite good. Shall I ask Mari Carmen to prepare it?”

The look on her face is worth all the precious metals in the royal armory. Wide eyes, shaking her head, sobering up. “Nuh-uh. I’m not ready for that. I want to try new things, but that’s like saying I want to try building something for fun, and I’m thinking model airplane while you sign me up to build a whole skyscraper.”

“It’s okay—”

“Or I want to get a pet and you send me a gray whale.”

I’m still laughing. “You don’t have to go that far. Why don’t I teach you the guitar like we talked about?”

“Yes. Please. And I want to help you harvest the olives.”

“You must.”

“And travel everywhere we can within a day trip, at least.”

The possibility of an overnight trip with Kim suddenly explodes in my head. Kissing in a gondola in Venice along a canal out of the way. Naked together before a roaring fire in a cabin in the Swiss Alps. Partying in Mykonos and then sleeping in late after—

“And get a tattoo.”

I stare at her. “For real?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I think what I want to do is dye my hair.”

I pick up a lock and let it flop on her face, then I tickle her nose with it and she laughs. “What color?”

“I don’t know. Blue or red or green or purple. Something wild. I’ve been talking to Dani about it.”

What would she look like with colored hair? She’s so classic. Adding that edge to her look might make her even more irresistible. But I know from too many fights with Mari Carmen about hairstyle not to comment. “This is your chance. No one knows you here. Do what you like. You’d look beautiful no matter what you did.”

A genuine, huge smile stretches her lips. “It’s like that Amish thingie.”

“What is Amish?”

“It’s a religious group in the United States that’s very conservative in dress and the way they live. Most of them don’t use electricity or anything modern. They have a thing called rumspringa, which is a period of time where their youth are allowed to go and explore the modern world and figure out if they want to come back. It’s like they’re allowed to be wild.”

“A gap year.”

“Yes. This is my one chance to get all of this out of my system before I settle down.”

“I don’t know if it’s your only chance. But let’s make the most of it.”

“I’ve only called my parents once since I’ve been here,” she whispers. “Although I have emailed them.”

“That’s a good start.”

We’ve been talking and disregarding the movie, which is still playing. As we settle back against the couch to watch it, she again curls up under my arm. Putting her head against me, she asks, “What about you? Is there anything you’ve never done before, Tavo? We should do it.”

I laugh. “I can think of many things I’ve never done before.”

And they all revolve around her.

When the movie finishes, I stroll with Kim back to the main house. While I don’t hold her hand, I’m as close to her as I can get without touching. I drop her off at her room to study and head back through the kitchen.

Guillermo’s in there drinking Cola Cao. “I’ve been out in the huerta. I think it might be early November for harvest. They’re farther along than we thought.”

“I know. We’ll get it done.” I retrieve a glass from the cabinet.

“It’s a ton of work, Tavo. I’ll help.”

I think about pouring myself a glass of water, but instead I make it wine. “Yeah, yeah. You can help.”

For so long, I’ve been seeing him as my little brother, but he’s getting older. He’s almost as tall as me, and he’s filling out. Maybe it’s from all the “work” he does out in the orchard. We’ve scorned all his talk about taking over the farm because he’s too young, but maybe I can train him. He knows most of it, anyway. Just a few things our padre didn’t let him do.

I take another look at him. He is getting older. “What’s up with you and Sonia?” I ask.

“Nothing. I wish there was something.” Instantly, he’s on alert. A vein stands in sharp relief on his skinny neck. His hand shakes.

That’s the kind of reaction I was expecting.

“Tavo. Tell me the truth. Do you love her?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t know what I’m going to do about her. She doesn’t listen.”

“I heard you, Gustavo. I heard you fucking her.”

“I’m not gonna deny that happened—” but there’s a knock at the door. It opens. And Sonia walks in.

Joder.

She spears him with a cutting glare. His face is so impassive, you’d think he was the statue in the middle of Plaza de Colón. With nothing more than a “Ciao,” he slides out.

I don’t want to be left alone with Sonia. Especially not one looking at me with Puss in Boots eyes. Smacking her gum, she prowls over to me, wearing high heeled sandals, a shiny top, and white pants. I’d take a step back, but I’m already plastered against the counter.

“Why don’t you have time for me?” she asks. “I never see you.”

This again. “Sonia—”

“I miss you. Do you miss me?”

“Sonia—”

She cuts me off again. “I want you around so you can be more involved with my project.”

“What project?” I don’t care about her project, but it’s plain she’s not going to leave until she gets whatever she came for.

A phone materializes from the white pants. Not sure from where, since they’re so tight you can see that she’s wearing a nude-colored g-string. “You’ll be so excited.” Her fingers dash over the screen like she’s playing castanets. She pulls up an Instagram account called “Ginger Snaps.”

“Okay. Look, Sonia—”

“Are you going to ask me what Ginger Snaps is?”

I let out my breath and resist the urge to wring her neck. Speaking evenly, like I’m talking to a child, I say, “Sonia. Why does it say Ginger Snaps?”

“That’s my online name!” She squeals.

With a better look at the screen, I see picture after picture of her around her farm in revealing clothes. I knew she was attractive. But. “Joder. Two million followers?”

“I’m getting sponsors! But I want to mix up the content. You know. They want a love interest. If I had you, we’d make a gorgeous team.” She reaches up, and her lips press against mine. I pull back immediately in disgust.

“No, Sonia—” I haven’t touched her since Kim got here, and I hope to never touch her again.

“What’s wrong?” With a finger on my lip, she pouts.

I’ve had enough. I never want to hurt a woman. But there are times when I need to make things clear. “Let’s … let’s not do that—”

Fury registers on her face. “It’s that American, isn’t it?”

I wish it were.

“No. She has a boyfriend.”

Her hands ball into fists, the points of her nails pressing into the palms of her hands. “But ever since she came, you haven’t paid any attention to me.”

I barely paid any attention to her before, too. Heat flicks up my spine. I don’t want to yell at her, but—

“I’ll show you,” she announces. “I will show you how well we go together. You’ll see. It’ll be worth it.”

Shaking my head so vehemently, I see stars, I protest. “No, Sonia—”

“What’s not to like about this?” She gestures down her slim hips. “And you know what happens if we don’t?”

“Now that’s not right—”

“It’s more right than you know.” Spinning on the heel of her sandal, she flounces away. With her hand on the doorknob, she hisses, “I will see what my father thinks about this.”

“Fine. Go tell him. I will save my family some other way. I’m not marrying you. You’re seeking to chase my family off land that we have lived on for six generations. That will kill my grandfather. That will make my grandmother mourn. And you will have their blood on your hands. My siblings and me, we can find another place. And my mother can stay with us. We will take care of her. My aunts and uncles too. But the loss of the way of life. That is on you.”

With a last flounce, she goes out the door.

My stomach drops to my knees.

Did I just doom everyone?