"But why?" I asked, watching as he used the utensils to place a piece of rustic toast with tomato and some kind of meat on it onto the plate in front of me.
"Because I told him not to," he said with a shrug. To be in a world where someone wouldn't even look at a person just because he was told not to? I felt like I'd walked into an episode of the twilight zone.
I swallowed as he cut off a portion of the potato omelet and dropped it on my plate. "So, Rafe Ibarra?" I asked, deciding to change the subject. A one-night stand wouldn't be an appropriate time to tell him to reevaluate the way he ordered people around, so I had to work around how heavy that felt in my gut.
"Rafael Ibarra, if you want to be technical," he said, glancing up at me with a serious look, as if waiting for a moment of recognition that didn't come.
"I'm sorry. I don't know anyone in Ibiza. Is that a name I should recognize?" I asked shyly, taking a sip of my freshly squeezed orange juice.
He shook his head with a broad smile. "No. I like that you do not know of me," he said. The words felt like the truth, not like something he said to placate me.
I refrained from asking more, deciding I would simply Google the name after we went our separate ways, but that brought another question to the forefront of my mind. "I'm a little surprised I'm still here," I admitted. "What am I still doing here?" I asked, picking up my fork and bringing a bite of the omelet to my mouth. I groaned the second the flavor exploded on my tongue, and his eyes dropped to my mouth as I chewed.
Feeling suddenly shy as his eyes darkened and he pressed his lips together while he watched me, I recognized that it felt similar to how he watched me in the shower. My fork fell to the plate with a clatter as I took another sip of water.
"How long are you in Ibiza?" he asked, picking up his fork with a smirk that made me clench my thighs together. It was so sinful, such an arrogant tip of his lips that displayed how much he enjoyed the way he affected me.
I'd have been lying if I said there wasn't something captivating about knowing he wanted me. That he looked at me and thought about my mouth or about being inside me. Under any normal circumstances, I might have doubted the thoughts swirling inside his head. I might have questioned if he could possibly want me the way I wanted him. But Rafe left no doubt. Even when he didn't speak the words, his eyes and body spoke for him.
His eyes very rarely left me, his stare probing and intense in a way I'd never experienced. If he was a businessman, I imagined it served him well as an intimidation tactic. With me, it convinced me to take my clothes off and give him things I had no right to give.
"Nine days. I fly home early on the twenty-fifth," I said, taking another bite of omelet.
"Your plans?" He didn't eat, too focused on watching me. It made me stop eating myself, feeling unnerved by the conversation for reasons I couldn't explain. It was innocent enough. Small talk, really. But something about his stare felt meaningful, like we stood at a precipice and there would be no going back.
"Some sightseeing. The beach. I'm sure my friends will drag me to some clubs," I said with a shrug.
He reached across the corner of the table, catching my chin between his fingers and leaning close as he rested his elbow on the surface. "Do you really want to spend your time in the typical tourist attractions and parties where you can't take a breath without someone bumping into you? Or do you want me to show you the real Ibiza? The Ibiza I love?"
"What, for nine days?" I asked with a laugh. "Why would you want to do that?"
There was a pause before his answer, his forehead creasing as he huffed a disbelieving breath. "I enjoy being with you. Is that so wrong?"
"You barely know me," I pointed out, ever the pessimist. He'd likely tire of my more reserved behavior and wish he'd chosen someone more adventurous to spend his time with than me.
"I'd like to remedy that," he said. I crossed my legs, leaning back from his touch while his fingers snapped together once I removed my chin. He scowled at the distance between us, leaning back in his chair. "It's your decision, Princesa," he said carefully with a soft voice. His cell vibrated on the table, and he turned a glare to it before heaving a sigh. "I need to take this. Make the right choice," he said, standing from the table and making his way out onto the balcony that wrapped around the suite as he answered and barked orders in Spanish. He pulled the glass panels closed behind him, cutting off his voice as I stared at him in shock.
Nine days with a man who tempted all the parts of me I should push back into the cage. Ten days with a man who could show me everything.
He could show me places I'd only ever dreamed of seeing, teach me things I'd never be brave enough to ask for back home.
I should have listened to the warning in my head. The nagging sense that I'd never want to leave when he finished with me.
I didn't.