Lust in Translation Read online

  “Oh, forget it,” she muttered to herself. She might as well be comfortable if she was going to be embarrassed. Besides, a sundress covered all the things she obviously couldn’t handle him seeing ever again.

  …

  The woman ran hot and cold faster than the shower this morning. After they’d checked out of the hotel, she’d been pleasant enough as they took the tour of Fallingwater, one of the homes renowned architect Frank Lloyd Wright had designed. But once they were back in the car, she snagged the brochure from the center console and ground out what he guessed were a few choice words in rapid-fire Spanish.

  “What is your problem now?”

  She shook the brochure at him as he drove back to the freeway. “This is your plan, isn’t it? To see as many of these houses as you can as we cross the country?”

  “I don’t have a plan.” Though that sounded like a great one. He’d taken the brochure because it had a great picture of Fallingwater. He’d been amazed by the simple, elegant geometry of the design. The reinforced concrete was a stark contrast to the waterfall, the free-floating platforms in opposition to the natural stone the home was built into.

  “And the fact that there are a dozen homes in the Chicago area listed in this brochure has nothing to do with agreeing to get to Chicago tonight?”

  That did it. She’d been off all day. He’d let it slide, thinking she might still be spooked by the hotel, but it had to stop. He pulled to the side of the road, threw the car in park and turned to face her.

  “You wanted to get to Chicago tonight. I counted five times you said it over that awful burned coffee this morning.” He watched as she stared out the window, the fingers of one hand toying with the white strings of her bikini top. They peeked from under the elastic bodice of a pink bandeau sundress that clung everywhere he’d wanted to, and left every curve of her shapely legs on view to taunt him.

  “If we make it to Chicago we’ll be back on schedule.”

  “Whose schedule, Jaime?”

  Finally, she turned to face him, her brown eyes sparking. “Mine. Chicago tonight, Iowa tomorrow, Oklahoma…Ay caramba.”

  He leaned his head back against the headrest and stared at a sky so blue it almost mocked him. “What now?”

  “There are more of these places in Oklahoma.”

  “Oregon too,” he deadpanned.

  “What is it with you and Frank Lloyd Wright? They are just houses.”

  She missed the point completely. “He was an artist. His medium was architecture. He blended design and the environment into harmony. You never go to museums?”

  “Of course, but―”

  “He’s the most famous architect America has ever produced. You don’t have to be interested, but show some respect.”

  She slid lower in her seat. “I don’t mean to be awful. I just want to go home.”

  Her words punched him in the gut. She didn’t just want to get home. She wanted to get away from him. “Because of last night?”

  She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “It’s not every day a haunted house tries to turn you into a Popsicle. Twice.”

  Jaime had been the one to turn the shower cold, but pointing that out would end the conversation. “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

  She sighed, staring out the window again. “I don’t. It was probably some prankster.”

  He cleared his throat. “Your room wasn’t cold.”

  She whipped her head around, her wide brown eyes staring up at him. “Excuse me?”

  “When I went in it was the same temperature as mine.”

  She glared at him. “And still you kept me in your bed?”

  “You were freezing, and quite satisfied to be warmed up, as I recall.”

  Her cheeks pinked and she bent in her seat, reaching into her bag for sunglasses. “You don’t have to be so smug about it.”

  “Who’s smug?” His brow furrowed. “Wait. What is smug?”

  She groaned. “Full of yourself. Conceited. Egotistical, Arrogant.”

  “Ah, suffisant.”

  “Isn’t that sufficient?”

  “Exactly.”

  She pursed her full lips and huffed a breath, her reaction making him want to smile. He fought the urge, guessing that making another joke right now would make her scream, and not in a good way.

  “Do you regret what happened last night, J’aime?” Please say no. He didn’t like the feeling that he’d taken advantage of her. She’d been nearly frozen, and he’d only meant to warm her up, but they’d both been caught up in the heat.

  She shrugged, her painfully erect posture reminded him of how stiff Allison had been last summer. Maybe Jaime was more like her sister than he’d realized.

  “Are you a virgin?”

  “Me?” Her eyebrows arched over the frames of her sunglasses. “No, but―”

  He relaxed. “Good. I thought maybe you were waiting, like Allison.”

  She slid the sunglasses down her nose, peering at him over the frames. “You think Allison is really still a virgin?”

  She sounded like she doubted it. “You’re asking me?”

  “I mean, she says she is.” She pushed her glasses back up. “But she’s getting married, so I assumed…”

  “They stayed in separate rooms when they came to Paris on holiday.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I couldn’t believe it either. She told Trent on their first date she was saving herself for marriage.”

  Jaime started to giggle. “That’s what I get for ignoring my mother. If I would have listened, maybe I’d be the one planning a wedding.”

  “To Trent?” Xavier joined in the joke, glad chastity wasn’t something the sisters had in common.

  “Oh, that would truly be funny.” She sobered, looking at him. “Not that he isn’t great for Allison. But he and I?” She shook her head.

  “So Trent’s not your type. What kind of man are you looking for?”

  “I’m not.” She nodded emphatically. “I’m looking for a job and an apartment. Finding a good hairstylist is higher on my list than finding a man.”

  “Oh, is that why you’ve been so short with me? You think I’ve fallen in love with you and want to delay more of your plans than just your trip home?”

  “J’aime,” she lowered her voice doing a weak impression of his accent. “J’envie de toi.” She glared at him, her chin jutting forward. “I want you. Women are so beautiful after sex. Those two pick-up lines are in direct opposition.”

  He opened his mouth to speak but paused, not wanting the words to come out stilted. He should apologize, but for what exactly? Wanting to enjoy a trip? Wanting to enjoy her?

  “I offended you, so you blasted me with cold water?”

  “That was your haunted hotel.”

  He bit his cheek to keep from grinning. “So now you believe in ghosts.”

  She threw up her hands and then pressed them to her temples. “Can we please just get on the road? We have a long drive ahead of us.”

  “I’m on vacation. I want to enjoy myself. I’d like to enjoy you. Last night was amazing.”

  “Last night was an unwanted complication instigated by supernatural phenomena.”

  “So the ghosts made you do it? That’s what you’re saying?”

  “I have no idea what came over me. I’ve never been naked with a man I didn’t at least consider marrying.” She folded her hands in her lap, the flirty ruffle of her pink dress barely covering any of her curvy thighs.

  “It’s not so complicated. We’re young, free, attracted to one another. Why not make the most of the trip?”

  “It’s not responsible.”

  He rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Be responsible in Oregon, J’aime. Take some time off from always doing the smart thing and enjoy life.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips for a brief kiss. “Enjoy me.”

  “Are you suggesting we have an affair until the trip is over?”

&nbs
p; “We just live for the day. What happens, happens. There’s no point in being frustrated now or awkward later because we both have plans for September. This is August. Let’s enjoy it.”

  “And when September comes?”

  “I have to get back to work, and you will too.”

  She smiled, but not the carefree one he liked or the forced one that annoyed him. This was sad, and he knew he’d said exactly the wrong thing.

  “No, thank you. Let’s just head to Chicago.”

  He didn’t want that to be the end of it. He hadn’t had to pursue a woman in years, his status and bank account garnering him more interest than he had time for. Finding out he wasn’t enough on his own smarted a bit, and made him determined to keep trying.

  “Why Chicago?”

  “Excuse me? Why aren’t we moving?”

  “Why do you want to stop in Chicago?”

  “I always stop in Chicago.”

  He tapped his finger on the steering wheel, waiting for an explanation.

  “My college roommate lives there. I stay with her instead of a motel.”

  He put the car in gear. “Call her and let her know we’re coming.”

  “We? You want to stay at my friend’s apartment?”

  He shrugged, pulling back onto the road and envisioning the map of the U.S. in his mind. “We’ll stop for lunch in Ohio, and dinner in Indiana. That will make Illinois my eleventh state this trip.”

  “You expect to make it to Chicago today, with two stops? Not going to happen, mon ami.”

  Silly girl, he’d never backed down from a challenge in his life. “I’ll make you a deal. I don’t complain about Chicago today, you don’t complain about Madison tomorrow.”

  “No way. Wisconsin is not on the way to Oregon.”

  “Sure it is, just not on that map you made up. Now do we have a deal?”

  “Fine. It doesn’t matter anyway. If we stop twice, we’ll never make it to Chicago tonight. So when midnight comes and we’re not there, you’ll be quiet as a pumpkin and let me take a turn driving so we’ll keep going. Towards Oregon.” She relaxed into the seat, a self-satisfied grin making her lips so kissable he couldn’t wait to get to Chicago.

  …

  Jaime gripped the armrest on the door, cursing him for suggesting that stupid bet. He was going to kill them, just so he could get to Chicago by midnight and win.

  She’d learned a delightful assortment of French profanity as he sliced through traffic, weaving from lane to lane. Her shoulders tensed as he accelerated into a swarm of cars as if this were a video game.

  If his Ohio stop had been along the freeway, she might not be picturing herself hugging the airbag. But no, Mr. Man-without-a-plan had to venture an hour out of the way to find Sandusky because a roadside billboard or twelve advertised the best haunted house in the U.S.

  Touring a house that was supposed to spook you was much more fun than the hotel that actually had spooked her, plus it’d had air conditioning. If she weren’t in the car with let’s-shag-until-we-get-where-people-know-us Xavier, she’d be down to her bikini in this heat.

  “Did you forget this car has brakes?” she asked, trying to read the road signs in the dark as he zoomed down the interstate at nearly double the legal speed limit.

  “Just trying to get you to your friend’s house before you turn back into a pumpkin.” Somehow, it seemed he had the ability to frighten other cars away from the fast lane.

  With only thirty minutes until midnight, they steered past a half-dozen near misses to cross the Illinois state line. Which meant they might actually make it to Chicago, and the next day would be lost to his pointless meandering. They’d be back on schedule, but only long enough for him to ruin it again.

  “For the record, the coach turned into a pumpkin, not Cinderella. I need you to slow down. I need to be able to read the signs since I don’t have my map with the exit numbers circled. With a car like this, there are places in Chicago you don’t want to be at midnight.”

  He obliged her, toning it down to just north of the speed limit. “Tell me about this friend of yours.”

  “Carla? She lives in Skokie, so we need to keep an eye out for the right freeway. See, that sign says two miles to the interchange.”

  “Got it. What brought Carla to Skokie?”

  “Jewish delis. She’s from the Midwest, so for her Skokie is convenient to make it to her folks for holidays, but far enough away that they don’t stop by unannounced.”

  “Bright girl.” His plan was to move his father to the summerhouse to achieve the same effect. “Is she Jewish?”

  “No, I corrupted her in college. She can’t eat a white-bread bagel or a sad pastrami on near-rye anymore.”

  “You’re Jewish? I thought you were Mexican.”

  Jaime turned, catching his profile in the light filtering from the streetlamps. “What does being Mexican have to do with it? There is hardly a country that doesn’t have a Jewish population. Have you ever heard of the lost tribes?”

  “Not since Hebrew school.”

  “You’re Jewish?” She breathed a sigh of relief when he took the right exit.

  “There is an echo in this car.”

  Jaime shook her head and smiled. “Before we head to Wisconsin tomorrow, let’s get some take-out at one of the delis for lunch.” Surprised she had something in common with this man who was her polar opposite, Jaime hoped to redeem her country in his culinary eyes. He hadn’t been shy about his dissatisfaction with the food thus far. If he really was Jewish, he wouldn’t be able to resist Chicago deli fare.

  “Sounds good to me, but what is a white-bread bagel?”

  “It should be illegal is what it is. A squishy, doughy mess.”

  “Sounds horrid,” he mocked, and then pointed to a road sign as they passed. “Chicago, and we have six minutes to spare.”

  “You’ll need them. Skokie is north of Chicago.”

  Chapter Five

  “Have you slept with him?” Carla tilted her head towards the den where Xavier still slept on the couch.

  Jaime twisted on her barstool in Carla’s kitchen. Technically, yes, but that wasn’t what she meant. “No. He’s just giving me a ride to Oregon, and I’m making sure he gets there some time this century.”

  “So you’re not interested?” Carla sipped her coffee.

  “No.” Tempted, yes. Interested in being his vacation entertainment? She knew better.

  And yet, she’d always admired her friends who didn’t shrink away from their sensuality, who didn’t keep it locked up in the box marked safe. Every relationship she’d been in grew out of friendship, attraction blossoming with familiarity. What she felt for Xavier was just plain lust.

  “Then can I sleep with him?” Carla wiggled her manicured brows suggestively.

  Jaime’s stomach clenched at the thought. Usually she liked how fun and free Carla was, but this was not the time or place. “We’re leaving when he gets up. You won’t have a chance.”

  “I could find him in the shower.” She licked her lips, which churned Jaime’s stomach even more. “He’s really hot.”

  “Down, girl. I didn’t bring him here to pimp him out. I wanted to see you, not see you on the make.”

  “Oh, so you are going to have sex with him.” Carla laughed loud enough to wake the dead. “Usted es ir a desgastar el petate el con,” she teased in a singsong voice. “Usted es ir a rechinar la cama.”

  “That doesn’t sound pleasant,” Xavier called groggily from the other room.

  “Carla thinks she’s funny,” Jaime called to him. Hopefully he wouldn’t be able to translate this early in the morning or else he’d know exactly what they’d been talking about. She turned to her friend and said between clenched teeth, “Ve a chuparle el peson ha un chango.”

  “Okay, now that sounds painful.” Xavier sat up on the couch, stretching his arms overhead. “What are you hens going to do with a monkey?”

  “Did he call us hens?” Carla laughed.


  “Hens, wrestlers, monkey lovers. My Spanish isn’t good enough first thing in the morning to be sure.” Bare-chested, he sauntered into the kitchen and leaned against the tiled counter.

  Carla laughed again, loud and bawdy. She set her elbows on the counter, pressing her breasts together with the sides of her arms and showcasing more cleavage than should be legal over her thin tank top. The move might be subtle if Jaime hadn’t seen it work so well before.

  “Cool it, Carla. You’re wasting your time on him. He’s gay.” Jaime got up from her stool, observing Xavier’s pursed lips and the defeated sloop of Carla’s shoulders.

  Carla’s giggle bubbled up behind her, turning her from the cupboard she was reaching into for more coffee.

  “Jaime, that’s just your luck, isn’t it? You’re on what could be a terribly romantic adventure, with a gay guy.” She had the nerve to keep laughing.

  “Having my car stolen isn’t the start of anything romantic.” She placed her hands on her hips, wondering how Xavier would make her pay for her lie. She shouldn’t have to do much, she’d already agreed to Wisconsin.

  “It isn’t since he sleeps with men.” Carla looked at Xavier. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  “Of course not,” Xavier replied in English, and then he turned on her in rapid-fire French. “You want me to show her how gay you think I am? You’re too afraid to admit you want me, but the thought that someone else might be interested in me scares you more.”

  “Woah!” Carla held up her hands. “What did he just say?”

  Jaime felt his green-eyed scrutiny on her, but she didn’t want the effect to show and expose her lie. “He’s trying to talk me into being an interpreter. Just ignore him.” Jaime turned her back on them both.

  “Wow. If you two want to talk privately, you can just ask. You don’t have to show off how many languages you freaks speak. You’re both weird, for the record.” With a shake of her head, Carla excused herself for a shower.