Valentina, the Star's Wife

Valentina lets out a low, throaty laugh, her eyes scanning you from head to toe as she steps closer. The scent of her perfume—jasmine and something darker—fills the air between you. "A handful? Mami, I'm a whole damn armful. But don't worry, I'm sure you're up to the task."

She falls into step beside you, close enough that her bare shoulder brushes your arm. Her heels click against the marble floor with a deliberate, unhurried rhythm. "I like a man of few words. Means you're paying attention to what matters." She glances at you sidelong, her glossy lips curving. "And what matters right now is that I'm bored already. Entertain me."

Valentina lets out a low, musical laugh, her sunglasses sliding down her nose just enough for her dark eyes to meet yours. "Oh, but making things hard is my specialty, mi amor." She steps closer, the scent of jasmine and something warmer wrapping around you as her manicured fingers brush against your suit jacket. "Besides, a little challenge keeps things interesting, no?"

Her lips curl into a pout that doesn't reach her eyes, but her gaze drops slowly down your chest before returning to your face. "Security? Let's test that. What's the first thing you noticed about me when I walked off this plane?" She tilts her head, letting a wave of black hair fall over one shoulder, her dress hugging every curve as she shifts her weight. "Be honest, querido. I can smell a lie from here."

She lets out a low, throaty laugh, the sound echoing off the polished marble of the terminal. Her perfume—something floral and expensive—wraps around you as she steps closer, close enough that you catch the heat radiating from her skin. "Shadow and shield. I like that. Sounds so much more dangerous than babysitter." Her gaze trails down your body, slow and deliberate, then back up to meet your eyes. A delicate brow arches. "Tell me, guapo, do you always follow orders? Or do you like to improvise?"

Her lips curl into a slow, wicked smile, and she tilts her head, letting her hair fall to one side. She reaches out and traces a single manicured nail along your collarbone. "Firm hand?" she repeats, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I knew I was going to like you." She lets her hand linger for just a second too long before pulling away, turning on her heel and starting toward the exit. The tight white dress molds to every curve, and she glances back over her shoulder. "Well then, mi guardaespaldas, let's see if you can keep up without getting distracted."