Chapter Three
“Lordy, my feet hurt,” Austin griped, propping his smart-looking cowboy boots on the cross bar at the base of Mitch’s stool.
Across the pub table, Mitch shot Chuck a dry look. They had both told Austin before leaving the hotel to wear his sneakers as they were going to walk all afternoon throughout the city, exploring every nook and cranny before taking refuge in a cool, dark tavern. As it was only eight, they would drink a couple of beers at the bar first, then move to a tale for dinner, resting their feet before dancing the night away.
“The only source of knowledge is experience,” Chuck murmured.
“Who said that?” Austin challenged him.
“Albert Einstein.”
“You can’t argue with Albert,” Mitch chimed in.
A wedge of evening sunlight entered through the establishment’s front door, and all three SEALs looked up from the bar to see who was coming in.
Austin recognized her first. “Hey, isn’t that the receptionist at our hotel?”
Mitch straightened on his stool. Pleasure shot through him at the sight Katrina made, haloed by the sun’s gold rays as she stood in the open door a minute searching the restaurant area. She wore the same white blouse she had worn at the front desk that morning. It was obvious she had come straight from the hotel to meet someone.
Loath to have her turn and walk out, Mitch stepped off his stool. “I’m going to go say hi.” As he started out in her direction, Katrina caught sight of whomever she was looking for and struck out in their direction, disappearing behind a partition separating the bar from the dining area.
Mitch moved to where he could see her again, then froze to find her standing, arms akimbo, over a table littered with empty beer bottles and occupied by four men. One in particular, stocky and several years older than she, returned her disapproving glare with a belligerent expression.
Damn, she has a boyfriend, was the first thought that flitted through Mitch’s brain, and she just caught him out drinking with his friends.
Well, of course she would have a boyfriend, as gorgeous as she was. On the other hand, he consoled himself, their break up looked imminent.
Keeping himself tucked out of sight, he waited to see what happened next. Katrina’s tense voice reached his ears. She was issuing a request in Catalan. When three men scraped back their chairs and left the table, it was obvious she’d asked for a moment alone with her boyfriend. As they sauntered to the bar, Mitch pretended to tie his shoelace.
An urgent conversation reached his ears. Uttered in rapid Catalan, he could make no sense of it. The man whom Katrina addressed as Jordi refused to answer her pointed questions. It sounded like she threatened him. He thumped his hand on the table, causing Mitch to straighten in the event he needed to intervene.
He peeked back at the bar, where Jordi’s three companions were ordering more drinks, taking no notice of the Americans. Hearing Jordi mutter something in a growl, Mitch eased out of hiding and slipped into a chair unnoticed.
Katrina stared at Jordi with an expression of horror. The pallor in her face wasn’t simply a product of the pendant light hanging over their table.
She hissed something at the man across from her. Jordi then shoved his chair back, violently, causing Mitch to slide a hand into his pocket reaching for his spring-loaded, folding dagger as Jordi shot to his feet.
“Calla!” he shouted, which Mitch recognized as shut up.
Mitch was about to spring out of his own chair and cross the room to dissuade the boyfriend from further outbursts when the man tossed down a wad of euros and left the table. Passing Mitch, he skewered him with a suspicious glare, then made his way toward the door, gesturing with an impatient wave for his friends to follow him.
Looking back at Katrina, Mitch found her staring at him with her mouth hanging open.
She did not look happy to see him. Summoning his courage, he released the dagger in his pocket and crossed to where she sat.
“Where did you come from?” The way she switched so effortlessly from Catalan to English impressed him.
“I was sitting at the bar with my friends. We saw you come in.” He glanced back at the door just as Jordi’s friends were leaving. “Everything okay between you and…that guy?”
A crease appeared on her smooth forehead. “My brother,” she said. “Half-brother, actually. We had different mothers.”
Their familial relationship cheered Mitch immensely.
She, on the other hand, looked devastated as she dropped her gaze to the table.
“Sounded like you were arguing,” he gently pressed.
She drew a deep breath as she lifted her eyes. “It’s not something you want to hear,” she said, politely telling him to butt out of her business.
He nodded with acceptance. “Would you care to join us for a drink since you’re already here? Then maybe dinner after?”
Pulling out her cellphone, she glanced at the time. “Sure. I could use a drink right now.”
Whatever her reasoning, he was just happy for the company. “Great. We’re at the bar.” Subduing a grin to a mere smile, he pulled her chair back. Then, with a light hand on her sleeve, he steered her around the partition back to the bar, where Chuck and Austin sat waiting. They both came to their feet, looking impressed at his accomplishment.
“Katrina, this is Chuck,” Mitch said, making proper introductions.
Haiku ignored her proffered hand and bowed to her Japanese-style.
“And this is Bam-Bam,” he added, ribbing the kid by using his pet name.
“Austin,” Bam-Bam corrected him, pumping Katrina’s hand over-enthusiastically.
“Nice to meet you, Austin.”
Mitch swiped a seat from the empty table and set it behind Katrina’s sweetly shaped bottom, right next to his stool. As she perched herself on it, he caught a whiff of her perfume, something sweet, yet bright and sensuous. It made him want to put his nose to her neck.
He put a hand lightly on her shoulder. “What can I get you from the bar?”
She tipped her head back to look at him. “I’ll take a dry martini,” she said, adding the type of gin she preferred, “and three olives, please.”
“You got it.”
Whatever she and her brother had discussed, it had clearly rattled her. With his teammates engaging her in conversation, Mitch stepped toward the bartender to relay her order. He made up his mind right then and there, he was going to divert Katrina from whatever unpleasantness had just ensued and give her something good to think about.
Chapter Four
Katrina laughed so hard tears squeezed out the corners of her eyes and slid down her cheeks. Being this drunk was a little frightening. If not for the secure arms on either side escorting her along one of the many crooked side-streets splintering off Las Ramblas, she would have fallen on the paving stones. Mercifully, it was Saturday night and Sunday was her one day off each week. She suspected in a few hours, she would rue her over-indulgence. Then again, what might have been the worst night of her life was proving highly entertaining.
Mitchell Thoreau and his two friends had just about succeeded in helping her forget what Jordi had confessed earlier that evening. Even in her present state of hilarity, though, the memory of it had the power to sober her. It lay against her conscience like the sharp edge of a razor pressed against her jugular. She couldn’t afford to ignore it much longer, but for the next hour or two, she would do her best.
Joining her fellow carousers in a song she didn’t know, she led them toward the only dance club that stayed open until dawn. Since breaking up with Armando, Katrina had ceased to visit Razzmatazz. But what better time to make an appearance, should Armando be there, than in the company of not one but three virile men?
As they waded into the crush of humanity, ears assaulted by throbbing techno music, Katrina’s gaze went straight to the head of coal-black hair on the dance floor. Armando gyrated against the lush curves of a brunette. The betrayal to which he’d subjected Katrina the year before scarcely stung. With relief, she grabbed Mitch Thoreau’s hand and tugged him toward the dancers. Of her three new acquaintances, she felt powerfully drawn to him, like she’d known him all her life.
To her delight, he moved with subdued grace and perfect rhythm. Pinning his laser-blue eyes on her person, he watched her as she danced. A suggestion of a smile hovered on his handsome, ruddy lips. From the corner of her eye, she saw Armando do a double-take as he caught sight of them. Glimpsing jealousy in his expression, she proceeded to give her ex-lover something to regret and executed a move that would have made Beyoncé jealous—if the floor hadn’t suddenly tipped.
Feeling herself fall, Katrina braced herself for humiliation, only to feel herself snatched upright again. Mitch set her back on her feet, only this time she was in his arms, properly subdued, and suddenly, pleasantly aware of how solid and strong he was.
“Okay, there?” He managed to sound concerned even while there was laughter in his voice.
“Fine.” She felt her face grow hot.
He regarded her a moment. “You sure?”
An unexpected wave of nausea rolled through her. “Actually, I think I might throw up,” she amended.
“Let’s go sit down.”
Supporting her as they went, Mitch helped her off the dance floor and away from the deafening music to the corner of the club. His friends had managed to secure a table there. Chuck guarded their camp while Austin cruised the dance floor’s perimeter looking for potential dance partners.
As Katrina went to climb onto a stool, Mitch spanned her waist and set her effortlessly atop it. He pushed a full glass of water into her hands. “Time to hydrate,” he suggested.
Touched by his thoughtfulness and a little bemused by his manhandling, Katrina stopped thinking of Armando and regarded Mitch over the top of her glass before taking a long drink. Until they’d touched shoulder to thigh minutes ago, she had never considered getting involved with a guest in her hotel. Having felt an unmistakable spark—one that was still warming her insides—she wondered if she ought to let her hair down a little and enjoy herself while she could.
“I almost made a fool of myself,” she admitted, lowering her glass.
“My fault.” His blue eyes seemed to burn through the shadows as he considered her. “Shouldn’t have let you drink so much.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “You think that’s up to you?”
Her feisty question made his mouth twitch. “Apparently not. The least I can do is catch you when you fall.” He glanced toward Armando, who had left the dance floor himself and was brooding at the bar. “Old flame?” Mitch guessed.
His astuteness surprised Katrina. “Yes,” she admitted, hearing bitterness in her voice. She had let her rose-tinted glasses blind her to Armando’s philandering nature.
Mitch, still standing, moved closer. His thigh brushed her knee, heightening her awareness of him. The scent of sports soap teased her nostrils.
He sent her a crooked smile. “What’s his name?”
“Armando.” She couldn’t recall what she’d ever seen in him.
“Don’t look now but he’s watching us.”
The intel made her pulse quicken.
“Want to make him jealous?”
His smile widened to a grin, making him suddenly, unbearably appealing.
Thoughts of Armando could not have been farther from her mind. “Honestly, I don’t care what he thinks,” she retorted with a toss of her head.
Mitch caught her chin with warm fingers, bent at the waist and brushed his lips lightly, over hers, causing Katrina’s eyes to widen in surprise. When he straightened again, she searched his expression with puzzlement. “Did you want to make him jealous?” she asked.
Mitch shrugged. “Not really. I just wanted kiss you.”
“Oh.” Well, that was different. His words stoked the warmth inside of her, turning it into a bonfire. “I’m sorry, but that kiss happened so fast I think I missed it.”
He chuckled at her assertion. “That right? You need me to repeat it?”
“Yes, please,” she said, aware that all the liquor she’d imbibed had made her bolder than usual.
Lifting her chin again, he lowered his head slowly, drawing his actions out with exaggerated care. “Pay attention this time,” he whispered.
Every neuron in her brain was focused on the glide of his thumb as he brushed it across her lower lip. Her breath caught. His digit slid to her chin and gently depressed it. As her lips parted, he dipped his head and fastened his lips to hers. His tongue stroked through the opening he’d created. What resulted was a wave of lust as their mouths merged.
Tightening her hold to keep from keeling over, Katrina clung to Mitch and kissed him back. Not one sliver of awkwardness or doubt pricked her—only wonder and a sense of belonging. Their breaths tangled as they sucked in oxygen to fuel their fast-beating hearts, but neither one of them could seem to stop.
A sudden thought burst Katrina’s bubble of contentment. He and his friends were not from Barcelona, nor even from Spain. Mitch would be leaving soon.
With an audible groan, Mitch tore his lips from hers.
“Damn,” he muttered, his expression pained.
Something deep within her clutched as she realized he’d been thinking the very thing she had.
“You’re beautiful,” he said on a note of lament.
Her heart gave a pang. “Thank you.”
“I wish—” He cut himself off and shook his head.
“You wish we’d met under different circumstances?” She hoped she was reading him right.
He nodded with feeling. “Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.”
Pleased to discover her feelings weren’t one-sided she added, “I want you to know I don’t usually behave this way.” The first rays of sobriety were casting light onto her inebriation, and her behavior. She didn’t want him thinking she made a habit of kissing the guests who came to her hotel.
“I know.” He traced the rise and fall of her knuckles.
His touch enthralled her. She desired nothing more than to be alone with him.
“Your brother upset you today,” he commented.
The reminder of what Jordi had told her wrested Katrina from her pleasant thoughts. She had to avert her face to keep Mitch from glimpsing her suddenly stricken expression. Filling her lungs with the smell of reality—of sweaty bodies and stale, spilled beer—she let the horror of what Martí intended overshadow her present contentment.
“I’m sorry. I have to go home now.” She slipped abruptly off the stool only to find her progress halted as a large hand encircled her wrist.
Without exerting an ounce of force, Mitch’s grip conveyed resolve.
“I’ll take you,” he offered.
Seeing his two companions, Chuck and Austin, dancing with a pair of brunettes, she shook her head. “No, no. Have fun with your friends. I can find my way back.”
With an admonishing look, he transferred his hand to her elbow and steered her toward the exit, at the same time emitting a sharp whistle that rang in her ears and garnered his friends’ attention. As they looked over, Mitch gestured with his head that he was leaving.
Katrina’s face heated as everyone in the vicinity also took notice—including Armando, who scowled over his beer bottle. In light of her and Mitch’s public kiss, who wouldn’t assume they were hurrying out of the club so they could sleep together?
It doesn’t matter what Armando thinks. At the same time a voice in Katrina’s head murmured, Why not do it, if everyone thinks you did?
Glancing at Mitch as he held the heavy door for her, her knees seemed to melt as she considered his raw masculinity. Her heart began to beat erratically. A cool breeze played with her hair, heightening her feminine awareness. When Mitch caught up her hand in his, all she could think of was how slight she felt walking next to him, how safely protected. She realized he was walking toward Hotel Leonardo without her instruction, proving he’d retained some sense of where they were.
“You’re safe with me, you know.”
His words confirmed what she had sensed from their first meeting—Here was a gentleman, a cavaller. The real question was whether he was safe with her, uninhibited as she was.
The impulse, so out of character, to fall into bed with a man she scarcely knew ought to shock her into shamefullness. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d known him all her life. Moreover, the thought of him leaving Barcelona in two short days left her grappling with desperation, as if she had to make a choice now or forever regret letting something rare and beautiful slip through her fingers.
Or was that her only motivation for wanting to sleep with him?
The memory of Martí’s intent ripped thought her thoughts. She would do just about anything to forget what she’d heard—including sleeping with a man she hardly knew.