The Saint's Devilish Deal (9 page)

He was suddenly glad he’d convinced Gloriana to use them as taste-testers for a few new dishes she wanted to add to the villa’s menu. He had his walls back in place and he would keep Esme all to himself.

Her step faltered a few steps above him and Santiago reached out with his hand to take her delicate fingers in his grasp. That same tantalizing spark reignited, burning a path straight to his groin. Esme seemed to float down the last steps before landing gracefully before him.

“Pequeña,” he said and brought her hand to his lips to brush against her knuckles. The fire burning in his belly soared a few more degrees at the light touch.

Keep it together, Cruz.

Esme snatched her hand from his grasp and took a deliberate step back. “So, dinner. Where are you taking me?” She clasped her hands behind her back, which only served to push her breasts and his pulse rate higher. She swallowed. He really had to stop reacting to her every move like the predator he felt like or she would go running into the Mexican night and he’d never see her again. Then where would his plans for the villa, for Esme herself, be?

“A new place. You may have heard of it,” he said, putting his hand on the small of her back to lead her to the kitchen. Dinner warmed in the oven and Gloriana should have the salads ready by now. The kitchen table was empty, save for an arrow drawn on a small piece of note paper pointing into the main dining room.

Santiago led Esme through the door and smiled. Perfection. Esmerelda Quinn was a sucker for candlelight, moonlight, romantic dinners, and sweet puppy dogs. She would be putty in his hands soon enough.

Candles covered every surface in sight, the only illumination save the last rays of sunshine streaming through the tall west windows overlooking the sea. White gauze curtains gently billowed as the ocean breeze caught them. The French doors, leading to a terrace filled with ferns and frangipani and then down to the infinity pool, stood open as well as the windows, allowing the sea breeze into the room to mix with whatever dish Gloriana had created for their main course. A square crystal vase with white orchids and greenery created a simple centerpiece for their table, which was set with Constance’s favorite china and silver. Gloriana had even fashioned their linen napkins into hearts somehow. Covered dishes waited on the table and wine sat, breathing, to the side. No hovering waiters. They had the space to themselves.

If they could create this atmosphere every weekend night, the villa’s restaurant would become the place to eat within two weeks. Tonight, though, was all about the woman on his arm. The woman whose breathing was shallow and quick as she glanced around the room.

“You didn’t make me get dressed up for sandwiches and beer by candlelight, did you?” she asked, trying to cover the tension she radiated with humor.

“No,” he said, seating her before rounding the small table to sit. “Sandwiches and beer would be sacrilege considering our surroundings.” He reached into the chilled bucket at his elbow, poured a glass of cabernet sauvignon for each of them, and then raised his glass. “To new beginnings,” he said, “and a stunning new partnership.”

Esme raised her glass and lightly tapped the rim to his. “To Constance.”

Santiago barely held back a moan with his first taste of salad. Roasted almonds crunched with leafy greens, jicama, and blue cheese crumbles. A hint of lemon added zest to the simple vinaigrette dressing. Santiago watched Esme take a small bite, close her eyes, and smile. Definitely a recipe to keep on the menu. He took a few more bites before realizing Esme stared expectantly at him.

“My apologies. I got lost in the food for a moment,” he said. “I should be a better dinner companion.”

“This is a working dinner, not a date, Santiago.” Esme waved off his apology and took another bite. “So, this ad campaign. Are we going for high energy, big adventure in the ads? Or will we use your friends to show how relaxing a place like Casa Constance can be for the rich and famous?”

“Why don’t we see how everything shakes out next week? For now, how do you like your salad?”

Esme lifted another bite of lettuce, almonds, and blue cheese to her mouth and chewed. “Lovely. We should definitely add this to the menu when we open. Speaking of opening, I was thinking about breakfast. Con has always provided staples but not a full-on menu. I think we should change that. If we’re selling adventure, why not also sell a breakfast that will fuel them all day?”

Santiago didn’t want to talk about breakfast or the villa. He wanted to talk about the candlelight, to take a walk along the shore. But he shouldn’t want that so he said, “Breakfasts would be a good addition.”

She pushed the salad around her plate for a moment before saying, “And I think we should go for high energy with the shoot. We’re targeting a higher income client, and that clientele plays as hard as they relax. One photo of the pool and terraces will tell them how relaxing a stay here could be, but for high-adventure travelers we’ll have to be more creative and—”

“And, nothing.” And forget his promise not to get personal. Esme looking like this called for personal, not business. “This conversation is best saved until the photographers and models arrive,” he said, cutting off her rambling with a swipe of his hand. “Tonight is about this fabulous meal and getting reacquainted. I have missed you, pequeña.”

She shook her head. “Which part of me did you miss? The tag-a-long girl you hid from? The girl you seduced in a vineyard?”

“I missed all of you.”

“I wasn’t hard to find, even for a globetrotting surfer.”

Santiago leaned forward in his chair so that he could more clearly see the glints of green fire in her eyes. “Perhaps I was not ready to find you until now.” If he were half as smart as his brother he would have followed her to the ends of the earth to explain why he did what he did. At the time, though, it had seemed more important to become the man Esme had needed him to be. To be that man, he’d needed to strike out on his own.

“Well, now that you’ve found me, we should really be on the same page about the campaign layout before everyone arrives on Monday.” Half-eaten salad forgotten, Esme scooched back in her chair as if she desperately needed that extra inch of space separating them.

“Why not approach the shoot with fresh eyes and minds once the crew arrives?”

“Because a good campaign needs a plan. We don’t need two hundred pictures of the beach, the pool, the kitchen, or the rooms, and we certainly don’t have the capital to pay for such a large campaign,” she said, clenching her jaw. Dios, she was beautiful. “These images need to tell a story and for there to be a story there must be a plan.”

She wasn’t talking about the ad campaign, he realized. She was talking about his innuendos at the front desk. His Esme wanted some kind of safety net before diving headlong into the affair looming before them. Well, he couldn’t give her that. He had no future to offer her. “Wrong. We need a fresh campaign. We need different images, not staged boring beach and pool shots if we are to stand out from every other resort in this area. So we’ll talk about the campaign after you’ve experienced a little of the high adventure you keep talking about. Right now, try the wine.”

“We toasted ten minutes ago.”

“Yes, we clinked glasses and said a few words but not even a drop of this fabulous blend passed your lips.” Santiago sat back in his chair, studying her. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were afraid a little wine might go to your head. That this dinner might be finished in the quiet of a bedroom—” her cheeks flushed at that “—or that we wouldn’t be able to restrain ourselves to make it out of this room before passion overtook us.”

Esme swallowed, her right hand remained in her lap while the left clenched her salad fork as if it were a life preserver. “I prefer white wine.”

Santiago chuckled. “You’re a beautiful liar,” he said, reaching across the table to take her fork from her hand. He placed it beside the plate and smiled. “Your first alcoholic drink was a white wine spritzer, you graduated from sparkling wines to reds in about ten seconds, and you’ve been hooked ever since.”

“You make me sound like a lush.”

“No, pequeña, a fan. Why deny yourself?”

“I was seventeen, white wine spritzers are nothing like the actual wine, and this dinner isn’t about memory lane,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We have a business to run so could we please concentrate on that?”

“No. The state of Casa Constance might give us indigestion. Besides you weren’t talking about business just now. You wanted some kind of declaration from me before we go upstairs.”

Esme’s jaw dropped, in surprise or anger, he wasn’t sure which. “I was not talking about you and me. There is no you and me.” She waved her hand between them. “The only ‘you and me’ left is the pair that is supposed to save Casa.”

“But not until Wednesday. So why don’t you enjoy the wine.”

A frustrated sigh escaped Esme as she pushed away from the table. “This is ridiculous. What is deemed appropriate dinner conversation in the Cruz family?”

He shrugged. “Business, how many times Santiago messed up that day, how wonderfully Tobias did in school. I try not to gauge the success of my dinner conversation according to my family.”

“Fine, talk. About anything.”

“I tried. But you won’t taste the wine.”

“Don’t be difficult. Surely there is some topic of conversation that doesn’t include your family, my resort, the renovations, the guests coming in, or the ad campaign.”

“We could talk about Napa.” She glared across the table at him. “Or not.”

“You know, for a man who could buy and sell any property in the world, who has dated debutantes, Hollywood starlets, and the famously rich you should really have a better patter down.”

“You know my dating history?”

“Everyone knows about your conquests, Saint. You carelessly brush past a woman in the airport and it’s front page news.”

“And that is why you are afraid to talk about anything except work.”

“Wrong, I want to talk about work because we have a lot of it to do.” A lot of work, yes, that was why she didn’t want to talk about the past or make silly small talk about. . . whatever. It had nothing to do with the fact that Santiago’s presence still made her stomach turn and her heart flutter. Still being attracted to him was ridiculous and yet she was. Her armor wasn’t working. None of the high fashion dresses or hair-dos in the world could protect her from Santiago when he turned on the charm. She tossed her napkin in her lap and stood. She needed to get out of here before her out of control emotions led them back to Napa.

“Thanks for a lovely dinner, Santiago. I’m only glad your stunning conversational skills weren’t caught on camera this time around.”

*

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, but Esmerelda’s head was dull and foggy. She pushed gauze curtains from the window and squinted at the bright sunlight dancing along the rippling waves of Banderas Bay. Her empty beach loomed but down the beach children ran through waves while their parents watched from under striped umbrellas. A puffy cloud crossed before the sun, shadowing the beach a bit. Santiago was probably down there, wandering the beach and looking like he belonged. For the first time the thought didn’t annoy her.

The cloud passed by so she had to squint to see the beach clearly once more. Stupid sun, why couldn’t it have hidden away for a few more hours?

She should have had a drink with the infernal, charming, and all-too-alluring man or, at the very least, finished dinner. Instead she’d run from the table as if he might leap across to attack her. She’d acted like a spoiled child. He had to know now that she was thisclose to falling head over heels in love with him again. God, what was she thinking? She’d tossed and turned most of the night, half afraid Santiago would follow her through the villa and to her room and half terrified that he wouldn’t.

In the end he hadn’t although there were footsteps outside her bedroom door sometime after midnight. The sound made her breath catch, but there was no knock on the door and a while later the footsteps faded away, leaving her with the feeling she should have opened the door rather than wait for a knock. Then she could have apologized in the blackness of night and possibly ignored the look of triumph on Santiago’s face. Now she would have to face him in the cold light of day.

Esme showered and dressed, leaving her hair to dry in curly waves down her back. No suit today. Saturdays called for flirty dresses and, to be honest, after the fiasco that had been dinner, she just didn’t want to keep pretending she had everything she wanted. Because, in truth, she had no clue what she wanted other than saving Casa Constance.

No, that was a lie. She also wanted more of those smoldering looks Santiago sent across the table. So she chose the yellow and brown maxi dress with strappy, flat sandals to show off her purple toenails. Esmerelda picked up the discarded orchid from last night and inhaled its fragrant scent.

Santiago’s eyes, dark and curious, teased her senses looking exactly as they had last night. The memory made butterflies swarm in her stomach. She grinned and then, before she could drop the flower into the trash bin, selected a thick book from the shelf and placed the petals between the pages. Esme closed the book and shook her head, replacing it before she could change her mind. A memento of the night before wasn’t necessary; she would remember the effect Santiago had on her body for the rest of her life. In fact, she shouldn’t want a reminder of the night before, and yet she did. Before she could over think her actions, she left the suite.

Santiago was probably gone for the day, but she needed to clear the air between them. He’d brought up Napa, he’d been nothing but pleasant, and he’d watered Constance’s plants, so find him she would.

Apologies. Before she came to live with Constance when she was a teen, it seemed her entire life was one big apology. For being too loud in the kitchen, for wanting too much attention from her sick mother. For wanting her father to, just once, come to a teacher conference or school play. Living with Constance after the car crash changed all of that. For the first time in her life Esme didn’t need to apologize for being a kid, and she had sworn she would be the best person she could.