He kisses me. This time, it’s out of desperation. All I can think about is kissing him and letting him kiss me.
What is going on?
I want to control myself, but I can’t. I’ve never been a toy for any man, but he manages to play me every time. I want him as much as I need air to breathe, and that scares me. My sex is on fire, my skin is burning, and I feel my panties moistening. All I want is for him to undress me and take me.
I look him right in the eyes. I love his serious tough-guy face. It drives me crazy. He’s so sexy and devastating that I’m incapable of saying no to anything he asks. It’s the first time in my life I’ve felt this way, and I don’t think there’s anything I can do to stop it. He unbuttons my pants. His hand swiftly finds its way into my panties.
“You’re wet for me,” he whispers.
He pushes his hand down farther, and I feel one of his fingers come inside me and then, seconds later, another. He grabs me by the hair, tugs on it, and makes me look up. He kisses me again, impatiently, while his knee pries my legs open and his fingers begin to pump in and out of me. With his mouth on mine, I swallow my moans; my orgasm is so close.
“Come for me, Jude.”
Once more, my body responds to his words.
The gleam in his eyes makes me crazy, makes me want him to undress me, to throw me on the floor and slam his penis inside me. I bite my lip. If I don’t, I’ll scream and the whole office will come running to see what’s going on.
“Jude, let yourself come.”
My back tenses and my legs arch as I gladly let him overwhelm me. My muscles contract over and over under his touch, and I feel my inner thighs get wet. Eventually, he slows down, stops, and when he finally pulls away, I want to protest. He takes my head in his hands again.
“You owe me an orgasm, sweetness,” he murmurs.
I can’t respond.
All I can do is open my mouth and tangle my tongue with his. I love his exciting, dangerous taste as I forget about everything around us again, and about my anger too. I don’t want to think he uses me like a toy. I don’t want to remember he’s my boss. Simply put, I don’t want to think.
Two minutes later, our breathing having returned to normal, he ceases pressing me against the filing cabinet, and I regain control of my body. I curse.
What have I done, again? How can I be such an idiot every time I see him?
“Have you thought any more about my proposal?” he asks.
I try to meet his eyes, but I find that whenever I try to confront the Iceman, I lose my composure.
“I answered you yesterday, and I said no.”
He purses his lips and I sigh.
“Why are you so stubborn?” he says. “What I’m proposing will also bring you some financial benefits.”
“Just financial?”
Eric’s mouth had started to form a smile, but now the smile stops cold.
“That depends on what you want. You decide, Jude. Right now, I need an assistant. Sex will happen if it needs to happen.”
“And if I refuse to let it happen?” I ask, trying to believe my own lie.
He lowers his hands to my pants and buttons them back up.
“I’d accept your refusal,” he says evenly. “Someone else will agree to it.”
What kind of imbecilic, conceited, full-of-himself jerk . . . ?
Then he exits the archive room, abandoning me. For a second, I close my eyes and scold myself. Why am I so damned easy when I’m with him? I finally straighten my shirt and hair and go after him. He’s already at his computer, his face all scrunched up. I make my way calmly to the door.
“I told you I’d give you until Tuesday for an answer, and that’s how it’ll be,” he says before I can leave his office. “Now you can go back to your desk. If I need you again, I’ll call.”
I’m flabbergasted. I leave his office. I close the door and lean back on it while looking around for a few seconds. Everyone in the vicinity of my desk is working. It seems no one has a clue about what just happened. I grab my bag and go to the bathroom. I need to wash up.
Twenty minutes later, I’m at my desk. Miguel and my supervisor have returned. Eric and I don’t talk; we don’t even look at each other. At two o’clock, his office door opens, and he and my supervisor emerge. “We’re going for a bite to eat, Judith,” she tells me.
I nod and breathe, relieved. I see Miguel gather his things as my phone rings. It’s my sister.
“Judith, you have to come home now!”
I close my eyes and sit down. My legs are shaking. I don’t need her to say any more. I know what’s happening.
When I hang up, I suppress my tears. I don’t want to cry at the office. I’m a tough gal, and that’s not my style. I look for Miguel and find him talking to Eva. They look like they’re flirting. I tell him something urgent has come up and I won’t be back this afternoon, but he’s not paying too much attention. I return to my desk, sit down, drink some water, and gather my things.
My hands are trembling, and my face is flushed. I need to cry. I make the effort to turn off my computer, contain my pain, and make my way to the elevator. When I get to the lobby, I run to the parking lot, and that’s when I let the tears flow.
At home, my sister’s eyes are wet with tears. Curro is having a really hard time breathing. I immediately call my veterinarian. The vet, who’s known me for years, says he’ll wait for me at the clinic.
At four thirty in the afternoon, after a shot the doctor gives him to ease the transition, Curro leaves me. I’m left with a broken heart and the feeling that this is an irreplaceable loss. I lean over his lifeless body on the table. I kiss him and caress his furry head for the last time, as hundreds of tears cloud my eyes.
“Goodbye, love,” I whisper.
15
At seven o’clock the same evening, I find myself sitting on the couch at my sister’s house.
My cell buzzes. My friends want me to go to Cibeles to celebrate the Euro Cup win. But I’m not in the mood for a party. I turn off my cell. I don’t want to hear about anything or anyone. I’m too sad.
My sister hugs me, but inexplicably, I feel a need for the arms of a certain person. Why?
At nine that evening, I turn on my cell and take a call from Fernando. My sister contacted him, and he has offered to come to Madrid to comfort me. I don’t want him to. After talking to him for a few minutes, I hang up and turn off my cell again. I get something to eat and then decide to go home.
When I get there and go to the bathroom to wash my face, I hear a knock on the door. Convinced it’s my sister, I open the door and instead find a grim-faced Mr. Zimmerman. What is he doing here?
He’s surprised when he sees me, and his expression changes completely. Otherwise, he doesn’t move a muscle.
“What’s going on, Jude?”
I can’t respond. I begin to cry again. He remains frozen in place, and so I come up to him, to his chest, and he hugs me. I need that hug. I hear the door close behind him, and I cry shamelessly.
I don’t know how long we’re like that until, suddenly, I become aware his shirt is wet from my tears. I push away from him.
“Curro, my cat, died,” I manage to say.
I can’t help beginning to cry again. I feel him pulling on me when he sits on the couch. He sits me next to him. He is completely flustered. He doesn’t know what to do. Finally, he gets up, brings me a glass of water, and makes me drink. Five minutes later, I feel a little calmer.
“I’m sorry, Jude. I’m so sorry.”
I try to swallow the knot of emotions that threatens to untangle again. Hugging him, I lean my head on his chest. This time, the simple act of his caressing my hair and arm comforts me.
At around midnight, I’m still overwhelmed by sadness, but I can control my body and my words, and I sit up to look at him.
“Thanks,” I say.
He presses his forehead to mine.
“Jude . . . why didn’t you tell me? I would have gone
with you and . . .”
“I wasn’t alone. My sister was with me at every step.”
Eric rubs his thumbs under my eyes to wipe away my tears.
“You need to rest. You’re exhausted, and you need to relax.”
I nod. But then I see his movements are somewhat stiff.
“Are you OK?” I ask.
Surprised by my question, he just stares at me.
“Yes, it’s just that I have a little bit of a headache.”
“If you’d like, I have aspirin in the medicine cabinet.”
I see him smile. Then he kisses my head.
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll pass.”
I need to sleep, but I don’t want him to go, so I hold on to his shirt to keep him from leaving.
“I would like it if you stayed with me, although I know that’s not possible.”
“Why is that not possible?”
“I don’t want to have sex,” I whisper with an overwhelming sincerity.
Eric raises his hand and touches my face with a tenderness that, until this moment, I have never experienced from him.
“I’ll stay with you, and I won’t try anything unless you ask me.”
This surprises me.
He stands up and offers his hand. I take it, and he leads me to my room. Astonished, I watch as he takes off his shoes. I do the same. Then he takes off his pants. I do the same. He leaves his shirt on a chair and just keeps on his black boxers. Sexy. He pulls back the blanket and gets into the bed. In keeping with what I’ve asked, I take off my shirt, then my bra, and I pull an undershirt and pajama shorts from under my pillow. They feature the Tasmanian Devil. He grins and I roll my eyes.
After I put on my pj’s, I open a small round box, extract a pill, and swallow it.
“What’s that?”
“My birth control,” I explain.
An instant later, I’m lying next to him. He puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me toward him. Then he kisses the tip of my nose.
“Sleep, Jude . . . sleep.”
His closeness and his voice relax me; and tangled up like this, I fall into a deep slumber.
16
My alarm clock rings. When I check, it’s seven thirty.
I reach to turn it off. I stretch lazily on the bed, and then my brain snaps awake. I look to my right and see Eric is gone. My mind becomes aware of all that has happened, and I quickly sit up.
“Good morning,” I hear a voice say.
I look toward the door and there he is, fully dressed. I check out his clothes and am surprised that the suit and shirt he’s wearing aren’t what he had on yesterday. He reads my mind.
“Tomás brought these over about an hour ago.”
“Did your headache go away?” I ask.
“Yes, Jude. Thanks for asking.”
I reply with a sad smile. I get up without being fully conscious of what a horrible sight I must be. My hair is a mess, my eyes are crusty, and I’m wearing my Tasmanian Devil pj’s. As I walk by him, I get on my toes and give him a peck on the cheek.
“Good morning,” I mutter sleepily.
I head toward the kitchen, ready to give Curro his medicine, when I see all his things gathered on the counter. I come to a dead stop and feel Eric behind me. But he doesn’t let me think. He grabs me by the waist and spins me around.
“To the shower!” he commands.
When I finish and come into the bedroom to get dressed, Eric is gone. I hurry to pull a bra and underwear from my drawer and put them on. As soon as I’m presentable, I go out to the living room and find him reading a newspaper.
“I just made some coffee,” he says, looking up at me. I watch him fold the newspaper and get up; then he kisses me on the head.
“Today you’ll go with me to Guadalajara. I have to visit the branch there. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve already told the office.”
I nod, not wanting to talk or protest. I drink my coffee, and when I go to put the cup in the sink, I feel Eric behind me, although this time, he doesn’t touch me.
“Do you feel better?” he asks.
I want to cry again, but I take a breath and manage to avoid more tears. Wearing the best of my smiles, I turn around and move the hair from my eyes.
“We can leave whenever you want.”
We go down, and Tomás is waiting for us with the car. During the hour it takes to get there, Eric and I go over various documents. I’m in charge of keeping the Müller Company’s branch offices up to date, which means I know almost all the supervisors. Eric tells me he wants to learn absolutely everything about each branch office: productivity, how many people work in each factory, and their efficiency. This makes me worry he’s going to start firing people left and right. But he lets me know that’s not his intention. To the contrary, he wants to try to make his products more competitive and to open up the market.
We arrive in Guadalajara at ten thirty. I’m not surprised when I realize Enrique Matias doesn’t find my presence out of place. He greets us affably, and together we go to his office. For three hours, he and Eric talk about productivity, the needs of the business, and a million other things. Sitting discreetly in the background, I take notes on everything. At one thirty, when we leave, I’m glad to see they’ve come to an understanding.
I get a text message from Fernando, and I curse to myself. To get his messages while I’m with Eric makes me feel bad. But why? I’m not serious about either of them.
Heading back to Madrid, Eric suggests we stop and eat at a town along the way. Tomás stops at Azuqueca de Henares, and we dine on a delicious lamb dish. As we eat, Eric receives various messages. He reads them with a furrowed brow but does not answer them. At four, we get back on the road. When we arrive at the Hotel Villa Magna, I get tense. Eric notices and takes my hand.
“Relax. I just want to change so I can spend the evening with you. Do you have any plans?”
“I have something at six thirty,” I tell him. “If you don’t have anything better to do, maybe you’d like to go with me. That way, I can show you my second job.”
That surprises him.
“You have a second job?”
“Yes, you could call it that, although this is my last year. But I don’t plan on telling you any more about it unless you come with me.”
I notice his smile as he gets out of the car. I follow him.
When we get into the elevator at the Hotel Villa Magna, the operator greets us and takes us directly to the top. Eric drops his briefcase and cell on the table as soon as we enter his spacious suite. He goes into the room we didn’t use that day I came to play. His cell buzzes. I can’t help looking at the screen and read the name Betta. Who could that be? Two seconds later it buzzes again, and the screen reads Marta. Well, he is very sought after.
I’m restless. I touch the beautiful coffee-colored couch and look out at the Japanese garden as I try to keep my breathing in check. If Eric should pop out of that room naked and invite me to play with him, I’m not sure I could say no.
“We can go whenever you’d like,” a voice behind me says.
I turn around and see he has put on a pair of jeans and a maroon T-shirt. He’s incredibly handsome. Elegant, like always. The best part is that he’s keeping his promise, to the letter, not to touch me. Curiously, I’m feeling a bit disappointed that he hasn’t swept me away on a sea of lust, as he usually does.
Ten minutes later, we’re back in the car with Tomás, heading to my apartment.
When we walk in, I immediately feel Curro’s absence. Eric notices and kisses me on the head.
“C’mon, it’s almost six. Hurry or you’ll be late.”
That reanimates me.
I go to my room and change into a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a blue T-shirt. I put my hair up in a high ponytail. I don’t need to look at him to know he’s observing everything I do. My skin gets warm whenever I’m around him. I grab my camera and a small backpack.
“Let’s go,” I say.
I guide Tomás through Madrid traffic, and in a few minutes, we’re at a schoolhouse door. A surprised Eric gets out of the car and looks around. There appears to be no one here. I smile. I take him by the hand and pull him along. We enter the schoolhouse, and his perplexed expression grows more pronounced. I like to see him disconcerted.
A few seconds later, I open a door marked “Gymnasium,” and we’re engulfed by a tremendous buzz. In an instant, dozens of girls aged seven to twelve run screaming toward me.
“Coach! Coach!”
“Coach?”
I grin and shrug.
“I’m the soccer coach for the girls’ team at my niece’s school,” I explain before the throng of girls reaches us.
He starts to open his mouth, then just smiles. The girls are all over me, hanging on my arms and legs. I joke around with them until their mothers peel them off me.
“And who is this guy?” my sister asks.
“A friend.”
“Well, well, well, that’s some friend!” she whispers, and I’m beside myself.
The girls’ mothers all become extraordinarily attentive in Eric’s presence. It makes sense. Eric reeks of sensuality, and I know it. After she says hello to everyone, my sister pesters me until I finally give in and introduce her to Eric.
“Raquel, let me introduce you to Eric.” He stands up to greet her. “Eric, this is my sister, and the little monkey around my leg is my niece, Luz.” They trade kisses.
“Why are you so tall?” asks my niece.
“Because I ate a lot when I was little,” Eric says.
“Why do you talk so weird?” Luz asks. “Is there something wrong with your mouth?”
Eric squats down to my niece’s level.
“It’s because I’m German, and even though I speak Spanish, I can’t get rid of my accent.”
My niece looks up at me, amused too.
“Whoa, the Italians beat you guys bad the other day.”
My sister, embarrassed, pulls my niece away. Eric comes back up.
“A chip off the old block,” he whispers in my ear. We both laugh, and then the girls run toward me again. This isn’t a practice session; it’s the summer party the moms have put together to mark the end of the school year. For an hour and a half, I talk to the girls, hug them goodbye, and have my picture taken with them. Eric remains seated up in the bleachers, but from his expression, he seems to be enjoying the show.