The Spanish Love Deception

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“I’ll be your date to the wedding.” Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

Words I had never—not even in my wildest dreams, and trust me, I had a vivid imagination—conceived

of hearing from that deep and rich tone reached my ears.

Looking down at my coffee, I squinted my eyes, trying to search for any signs of noxious substances

floating around. That would at least explain what was happening. But nope.

Nothing. Just what was left of my Americano.

“I’ll do it if you need someone that badly,” the deep voice came again.

Eyes growing wide, I lifted my head. I opened my mouth and then snapped it closed again.

“Rosie …” I trailed off, the word leaving me in a whisper. “Is he really there? Can you see him? Or did

someone spike my coffee without me noticing?”

Rosie—my best friend and colleague in InTech, the New York City–based engineering consulting

company, where we had met and worked—slowly nodded her head. I watched her dark curls bounce

with the motion, an expression of disbelief marring her otherwise soft features. She lowered her voice.

“Nope. He’s right there.” Her head peeked around me very quickly. “Hi. Good morning!” she said

brightly before her attention returned to my face. “Right behind you.”

Lips parted, I stared at my friend for a long moment. We were standing at the far end of the hallway of

the eleventh floor of the InTech headquarters. Both our offices were relatively close together, so the

moment I had entered the building located in the heart of Manhattan, in the vicinity of Central Park, I

had gone straight to her office.

My plan had been to grab Rosie and plop down on the upholstered wooden armchairs that served as a

waiting sitting area for visiting clients, which were usually unoccupied this early in the morning. But we

never made it. I somehow dropped the bomb before we ever sat down. That was how much my

predicament needed Rosie’s immediate attention. And then … then he had materialized out of

nowhere.

“Should I repeat that a third time?” His question sent a new wave of disbelief rushing down my body,

freezing the blood in my veins.

He wouldn’t. Not because he couldn’t, but because what he was saying did not make any freaking

sense. Not in our world. One where we—

“All right, fine,” he sighed. “You can take me.” He paused, sending more of that ice-cold wariness

through me. “To your sister’s wedding.”

My spine locked up.

My shoulders stiffened.

I even felt the satin blouse I had tucked into my camel slacks stretch with the sudden motion.

I can take him.

To my sister’s wedding.

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