Page 44

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

Elvira gives her a sad smile and lets go, watching her walk back to her station and stand in front of the iron. She came close to inviting her to dinner tonight, or this weekend, but she decides it's better to take it one step at a time—for now, she's made it clear that Claudia isn't alone.

At ten o'clock at night, Laia is sitting in her car in front of Claudia's building, engine off, jacket draped over her legs, head resting against the headrest, certain she won't come out—because she has a burn on her arm that must still be hurting, and nobody in that condition should feel like doing anything other than resting after an exhausting day like this one. But then the door opens and Claudia steps out wearing her coat, her hair pulled up in a soft updo, phone pressed to her ear.

Laia can't believe it and mutters a curse under her breath as she grabs her things and gets out of the car, checks before crossing the street, and quickens her pace along the sidewalk until she catches up with her.

Claudia glances at her sideways for a moment and keeps walking while Pol explains that he has a cold and isn't going out tonight either. She tells him about the burn, says she's fed up and needs to clear her head, then wishes him a quick recovery and finally hangs up.

"Are you seriously going out tonight?" Laia asks, still surprised by this woman's energy.

"Don't start, Laia, I'm really not in the mood to argue tonight," she says without slowing down.

"I'm not arguing, but you have a burn." She points at the arm as if Claudia might have forgotten. "Someone could bump into you and hurt you. Why don't you stay home?" she presses, a little breathless, because Claudia walks at a pace that's hard to match.

"It's a superficial burn that doesn't affect my movement, so I don't see the problem."

"Wait, please." Laia steps in front of her and blocks her path, determined to play her last card.

"What?"

"Tomorrow morning I have to go back to the sample warehouse. I told your aunt you'd come with me, but if you go out tonight you'll be hungover, or worse—you won't show up."

"I'll be perfectly fine tomorrow." Claudia takes a step sideways to keep moving, but Laia moves with her and blocks her again.

"Not if you're getting home at three a.m. Please. Let's go back."

The pleading tone makes Claudia hesitate for just a second, but then she looks down at her hands—still trembling from the stress—and she knows that if she goes to bed she won't be able to sleep, not without burning off some energy first, and lately she only knows one way to do that that actually works. She takes a step toward Laia and suddenly they're close enough that Laia can smell that subtle perfume Claudia always wears, the one that slips into her lungs and makes her close her eyes for a moment, and when she opens them, Claudia's are dark in the low light of the street—or at least that's what she thinks.

"I need to get laid, Laia," she says point-blank, not looking away. "So I'm not going home. I need someone to touch me and help me stop thinking, which means I'm not going back inside until that happens." She pauses, and her next words leave her mouth before she has time to think about them, fired off like a missile. "If you want me to come back, then sleep with me."

Laia blinks, but her answer comes just as fast as Claudia's offer.

"Okay," she says, her heart somewhere south of her stomach.

Claudia's eyebrows rise.

"Okay?"

Laia's knees are unsteady, her mouth is dry, and the skin on her arms and the back of her neck is standing on end—to say nothing of the fact that every drop of blood in her body has rushed to a single point.

"Yes," she says, and Claudia goes very still for a moment, eyes completely dark, brows drawn together.

She can't think straight. Her mind right now can only process that Laia said yes and then said it again, so her body takes over her head, her hand reaches out, takes Laia's, and pulls. Laia follows, feeling a low hum in her ears, the skin of her hand tingling from the contact, her mouth so dry her tongue feels glued to the roof of it. She doesn't know where they're going—Claudia turned down a side street before they reached the club, and now she's pushing through the door of a bar Laia has never been in, though Claudia clearly has, because she walks toward the back without hesitating, pushes open the bathroom door, and steps into a stall, pulling Laia in after her until her back is against the door when it closes. And then she kisses her.

She does it hungrily, putting her hands on her neck and claiming her mouth as though she hasn't eaten in days. Laia has the feeling that her feet aren't touching the ground, that her body is floating on pure pleasure, and that she won't be able to hold herself together under the precision with which Claudia's tongue moves through her mouth, exploring every corner as though that's its only purpose in the world. They break apart to breathe and Laia gasps—a low, deep sound that Claudia silences with her lips, its vibration traveling straight between her legs. She can't think. It's as if her body has finally found what it's been looking for, and Laia's has too, because the assistant has put a hand at the back of Claudia's neck and is working her mouth as if it's the only thing she knows how to do.

Claudia pulls back a few inches to look at her—to make sure this is real and that she hasn't conjured Laia's body in another woman—but Laia is right there, looking back at her with wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and uneven breathing, and Claudia returns to her lips with more urgency than before, dropping her hand from her neck down across her collarbone until she reaches one of her breasts and covers it completely, pressing with a gentle firmness.

Laia moans against her mouth and starts to tremble when Claudia's hand descends across her stomach and her fingers play with the waistband of her pants—but then, as if someone has flipped a switch, the Vidal heiress takes a step back and presses her own back against the wall, staring at her.

Laia feels a constant hum between her ears, a sharp sound that cuts through her head and makes it impossible to hear anything other than that or the frantic pounding of her own heart. She can't believe this is happening—that Claudia has chosen her over anyone else she could have, that her tongue has been inside her mouth and her restless hands on her body. She's trembling, and her core is aching and insistent, so now it's her turn to close the distance, grab Claudia by the lapels of her shirt, and kiss her again. For a moment Claudia lets herself go again and thinks only of how badly she wants to push her underwear aside and feel how wet she is, to bring her to orgasm and hear the sound of her moans against her neck—but then that same thought from a few seconds ago comes back, harder, and she puts her hands on Laia's shoulders and pulls away, taking a step back.

"You don't actually want this," she says, breathless, pushing loose strands of hair from her face.

She can't get it out of her head that Laia said yes only to get them back quickly—not because she wanted this, but because she and her stupid sense of duty had decided it was the right thing to do.

Laia looks at her. Her lips are swollen from the kissing, her shirt is wrinkled, and her eyes are wide open as though she's just woken up from a nightmare. Her breathing is ragged and she doesn't seem able to find her way back to air, so the words aren't coming either—and even if they were, what would she say? That yes? That there's nothing she's wanted more than this since the moment she met her? Claudia would think she's a stalker, and that that's why she keeps following her when she goes out even though it's obvious she can't do anything to stop her. At least until tonight.