Burning Barcelona Nights

Chapter 1: Sparks in the Spanish Heat

The sultry air of Barcelona clung to my skin as I dragged my suitcase into the cramped apartment we’d rented for the month. I’m Mia, and this was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime with my tight-knit group of friends—all couples, mind you, which made me the odd one out. But the real kicker? I was stuck sharing a room with Luca, the insufferable brother of my best friend, Marco. Luca and I had history—bad history. Think oil and water, cats and dogs, or better yet, a lit match and a barrel of gasoline.

‘Well, well, if it isn’t Princess Mia,’ Luca drawled, leaning against the doorframe of our tiny shared room, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. His tousled black hair and that infuriating smirk made my blood boil before he even opened his mouth. ‘Didn’t think you’d show up. Thought you’d chicken out of slumming it with the rest of us.’

I rolled my eyes, brushing past him, my shoulder grazing his chest just enough to send an annoying jolt through me. ‘And miss the chance to watch you make a fool of yourself? Not a chance, Luca. I’m here for the front-row seat.’

He chuckled, low and dangerous, stepping closer so I could feel the heat radiating off him. ‘Oh, sweetheart, the only show here is you pretending you don’t care. Keep it up. It’s cute.’

I spun around, my hazel eyes narrowing. ‘Call me cute again, and I’ll shove that smirk so far up your—’

‘Whoa, easy there, tiger,’ he interrupted, hands up in mock surrender, but his gaze lingered on my lips a second too long. ‘Save that fire for the dance floor. Or, you know, for when you inevitably trip over your own ego.’

I scoffed, turning to unpack, but I could feel his stare burning into my back. The room was a shoebox—two twin beds barely a foot apart, a single window overlooking the buzzing streets of La Rambla, and tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. I hated him. Hated his cocky attitude, his sharp tongue, the way he always knew how to get under my skin. But damn if I didn’t notice the way his shirt clung to his shoulders, or how his voice had a gravelly edge that made my stomach flip in the worst way.

That first night, we all hit a local bar, the kind with sticky floors and pulsing reggaeton. Luca made a point of flirting with every girl who glanced his way, shooting me smug looks over his shoulder as if daring me to react. I didn’t. Instead, I danced with some random guy, letting his hands linger on my hips just to see if Luca’s jaw would tighten. It did. And I hated how much I liked that.

‘Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Mia,’ he muttered later, cornering me by the bar as I ordered another sangria. His breath was warm against my ear, and I cursed the shiver that ran down my spine.

‘Jealous? Of what? Your parade of desperate admirers?’ I shot back, turning to face him, our bodies too close in the crowded space. ‘I’m just enjoying the view of you striking out. Again.’

His lips twitched, and for a split second, I thought he might close the gap between us. Instead, he stepped back, raising his glass. ‘Keep telling yourself that. But we both know you’re watching me closer than anyone else here.’

I wanted to slap him. Or kiss him. Or both. But I just smirked, downed my drink, and walked away, my heart pounding harder than the bass. Back at the apartment, we retreated to our room in stony silence, the air crackling with unspoken words. I changed into a thin tank top and shorts, hyper-aware of his eyes on me as I climbed into bed.

‘Don’t get any ideas, Luca,’ I snapped, pulling the sheet over me. ‘I’d rather sleep on the street than deal with your nonsense.’

He laughed, stripping off his shirt with infuriating nonchalance, revealing a torso that was annoyingly sculpted. ‘Don’t worry, princess. I wouldn’t touch you if you begged me.’

But as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t ignore the heat pooling in my core, the way my skin prickled at the thought of him just inches away. I hated him. I did. But as the night deepened and his steady breathing filled the room, I found myself wondering—just for a moment—what it would feel like to give in to the fire between us. To let it burn us both.