Definitely not the sort of thoughts a good Catholic girl should have.
With no towel, the shirt clings to my wet skin. It’s not as bad as my underwear, but I still feel vaguely on display.
When Ricardo reaches me, the lines of his face still hardened in anger, I welcome his presence. Mostly because of the way he looks storming toward me in nothing but his dark underwear has to be at least as distracting as I was. Even I can’t pry my eyes away from every ripple of his abs, bulge of his shoulders and arms, thick cords of muscle lining his thighs.
What a picture the two of us must present.
I fully expect the sound of sirens from police cars that surely everyone on the beach must have called by now.
But this is Ibiza.
Apparently, almost anything goes. By the time Ricardo has wordlessly changed back into his clothes, grabbed his shoes, and stormed off toward the bar, I see that most of the spectators have already lost interest. I reach down to grab my bra and shoes and quickly run after him.
Inside, he walks behind the bar and grabs his things from behind the counter. He’s kept his shoes off to let the sand dry so he can wipe it off later, and carries them in his other hand.
I linger in the doorway, watching him. My feet are too sandy to put my shoes back on either. Besides, the clunkiness of them makes me feel silly. There’s also the fact that they are the last remnants of my life as a “postulant.”
After what just happened, it would feel sacrilege to don even the harmless shoes.
When he comes from around the bar, he stops long enough to stare at me with barely contained frustration.
Considering what we did in the water, I get it. It was my introduction to the pleasures of the flesh, and it left me filled with turmoil. I can only imagine what it would be like for someone who was used to all the wicked delights that lay beyond that threshold.
“We should head back,” He says as he sits in a chair to put on his shoes. “We leave for Barcelona first thing in the morning. We might as well get our rest.”
At least he’s not asking any more questions. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I’m hoping his lack of curiosity is due to exasperation rather than having enough information to satisfy his needs.
I follow him out of the bar and up the walk toward his scooter. The ground is just hot enough to have me reconsidering going barefoot. I suppose once I get on the bike, I’ll have to put these shoes on, if only to keep my hands free to hold onto him as we wind our way back up to his sparse apartment.
“Well, well, it seems I’m not the only one who decided to stick around!”
I stop in surprise at that announcement. Ahead of me, Ricardo seems even more surprised—and pissed the hell off. The angry look on his face disappears as he turns to greet the same man I’ve turned to stare at.
The man is good looking in a way that would probably fit in well in Southern California. With his shaggy blonde hair, tanned skin, and a shit-eating grin that hints at trouble, definitely more Venice Beach than Malibu. The two girls on either side of him only prove the point as they giggle in uninhibited delight just being pressed into his well-defined sides.
Despite how perfectly they fit the mold of hot-and-willing American coeds, his eyes still land on me with undisguised appreciation. Something about it has me wishing I had taken the time to put my bra on.
His eyes roll over to Ricardo, now accompanied by a teasing smirk.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend?”
Chapter Seventeen Enrique
As if this late afternoon couldn’t get any worse.
This is a monkey wrench in the works I definitely don’t need. That instinct I had not to tell him about my little treasure here kicks in once again, this time with warning bells.
“I thought you were leaving on the afternoon ferry?”
In retrospect, I should have known Ulrich would be sticking around in Ibiza from the way his eyes lingered over the group of young women on the beach earlier. It seems he managed to snag a few of them to extend the after-work “happy hour.”
Any excuse to avoid going home.
It’s something we have in common.
“I found a reason to stay,” he says with a grin, looking at his two companions. “Actually, two reasons.”
They laugh appreciatively.
I’m still recovering from the edge that “Diabla” had my body teetering on the edge of. At least my dick has received the urgent message and obeyed my mental orders to stand down.
The way Ulrich’s eyes wander over her as she stands next to me does nothing to calm down my sensibilities. I’m used to him playing the shameless flirt, but something about him doing it with this woman, in particular, has me irritated.
He’s in full smirk-mode when his taunting gaze comes back to me. “I’ve just been informed by these two lovely ladies from America that there is a particularly fun party happening tonight. You two should join us. Apparently, it’s set to be a wild time.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
The last thing I need is another “wild” time with la Diabla.
“We’re actually going to call it a night. I’m off to Barcelona first thing in the morning, so we need our rest.”
“Such a shame,” he says, still looking at her—a little too closely for my tastes. His eyes come back to me, and he grins. “I hope you won’t be getting too much rest.”
An almost imperceptible sound comes from the woman next to me, obviously taking issue with
