Authors: Phoebe Conn
“It’s too involved to describe on the phone, but it will only take a few minutes of your time. You’ll thank me, I’m sure.”
Alejandro doubted it. “I’ll be there.” He ended the call and quickly wished he’d been too busy to go anywhere tomorrow except to see Ana.
The
Mediterranean Goddess
was a modern cruise ship booked months in advance for luxury cruises in Greek waters. In port for a week between voyages, it was the perfect location for a magazine spread on resort wear. The designer, a petite woman named Lee-Lee, knew the owner of the cruise line, and Orlando Ortiz met them as they came on board.
“Please let us know if there is anything you need,” he announced graciously. “My staff is at your disposal. I recognize most of you from your photos, but it’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”
Ana returned his smile, but when his glance remained on her a moment too long, she grew uneasy. He was an attractive man, perhaps in his fifties, but she trusted her intuition, and the intensity of his gaze worried her. She was relieved when he didn’t remain on deck to watch the shoot.
Ana always found working with Lee-Lee amusing. The designer insisted upon overseeing every detail of hair and makeup and emphasized her directions with whirling gestures that frequently made everyone duck. Teresa used her magic with makeup and hair to transform the models into flawless beauties and handsome hunks despite Lee-Lee’s interference. When Armand was ready to shoot, they were all dressed in their first outfits.
Gian Carlo Maxim was one of men working that day. He gave Ana a begrudging nod, and just for spite, she responded with a dazzling smile. He was dressed in a ship’s officer’s white uniform, and she posed with him in a bright red bikini with red stiletto heels. With false eyelashes, her hair blown by Robert holding a portable fan, she stood at the rail and leaned against Gian Carlo, posed as every man’s dream of a vacation lover.
She saw Orlando Ortiz approach out of the corner of her eye but didn’t glance his way until Armand gave them a break.
“Miss Santillan,” Ortiz called. “How pretty you are in red. Do you have a minute? I’d like you to meet my son.”
When Alejandro stepped out from behind his father, she couldn’t have been more surprised, but she was delighted to see him, even in her full Ana Santillan regalia with copper eye shadow and false eyelashes that were longer than a giraffe’s. It was a secret she wanted to let go. Smiling widely, she took a step toward him, but he swept her with a disgusted glance, turned on his heel and stalked away. Orlando regarded her with a vicious smirk, clearly enormously pleased with the difficult scene he’d created. Instantly sure he’d been the one who’d hired a detective to follow her, she disliked him all the more. The models and crew on the deck had all fallen silent, but the noise of the port was only slightly louder than her wildly beating heart.
“What have you done?” she asked.
“Why nothing at all, Miss Santillan. I just wanted my son to meet you, but apparently you two are already acquainted.”
Gian Carlo moved up behind her. “What’s going on?”
Orlando Ortiz strutted away. Ana wouldn’t chase him along the deck in a bikini, and she’d no idea where Alejandro might have gone. “I’m not sure, but I’ll straighten it out when we’re finished.” Everyone gaped at her, including Lee-Lee, but this wasn’t the time for a lengthy description of her love life. “What’s next, Armand?”
“Do you need a minute?” the photographer asked.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” She just wanted the shoot over with quickly so she could see Alejandro and straighten out whatever hideous mess his father had created for them.
“Why did Orlando’s son leave?” Lee-Lee asked. “We could use a beautiful young man with his dark brooding looks in the evening-wear scenes.”
“I can be as brooding as you need,” Gian Carlo quickly offered, and regarded the designer with a threatening glare.
Lee-Lee sighed. “I guess that will have to do. I want the other girls with Gian Carlo now. Wave as though you were telling someone good-bye on the dock.”
Ana changed into her next outfit, and Teresa touched up her makeup, but Lee-Lee changed her mind about which girls she wanted in which clothes and Ana had to dress again. She stopped looking at the time, but it was late afternoon before they finished and rode back to the advertising agency’s office. She went straight home from there to shower and dress. Fatima nearly danced around her, asking questions.
“Why are you in such a hurry? Just call the man and tell him you need more time. I’m sure he won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late for your date.”
“We don’t have a date, and I need to speak with him in person, Fatima.”
“Oh, there’s a problem? The weekend didn’t go well?”
“The weekend went beautifully, or at least Saturday night did. I won’t explain today’s mess until I’ve solved it. Good-bye. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Fatima picked up the kittens so they’d not be stepped on as Ana left, but she put them down quickly before they licked her fingers with their rough little tongues.
Ana’s knock on Alejandro’s door brought only a hollow echo. She pressed her ear against the wood, but there was no trace of life behind the door. She sat down at the top of the stairs and pulled her book from her bag, prepared to wait as long as it took for him to come home. When she heard his step on the stairs, she jammed her book in her bag and leaped up to face him.
He stopped when he reached the landing below her. He looked no happier than he’d been on board the
Mediterranean Goddess
. His deep voice held a low, growling threat. “You’re not welcome here.”
“Why not?” she countered.
He came on up the stairs and went around her to lean against his door. “How much did my father pay you to date me?”
Insulted clear to the bone, she clenched her fists. “I’d never met him before today, and I don’t work as a paid escort. We met by chance. I didn’t stalk you.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure who you are, Ana, or who you’ll be tomorrow. Your face is on billboards. You must have laughed at me the whole time we were together for not recognizing you.”
“Never. It was wonderful.” She took a step toward him, and he turned the key in his lock. “Could we please talk inside?”
He opened his door. “I told you you’re not welcome here. Go home and forget we ever met.”
“I will not. I didn’t tell you I was a model because it was so nice to be treated like an ordinary girl rather than a celebrity. If you’d stayed with me yesterday, I would have told you. I said there was something I needed to tell you tonight. I may have omitted a few things, but I never lied to you, Alejandro. I love being with you.”
He stared at her and shook his head sadly. “You look so damn sincere, but that’s what you do for a living, isn’t it?”
“No one is paying me now. When you walked away from me today, your father’s face lit with a vicious triumph. Does he enjoy hurting you? Does he ruin every relationship you have? If he said he’d paid me, then he’s a damn liar on top of being cruel.”
“He just showed me a few of your ads and asked why I didn’t know who you really were. You could have told me you were a model. It wouldn’t have mattered to me.”
“Why does it now?” she shot back at him. “Didn’t your father have some tabloid photos to show you? I’m sick of being followed by paparazzi, and if I’d been recognized with you, you would have been on the front page of the tabloids too. Most men don’t want that kind of notoriety. I wanted to date you without being followed and endlessly photographed.”
He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a clipping and handed it to her. “Here you are with Miguel Aragon. Was he the man you would have married?”
Ana had the clipping at home. It had been taken a couple of years ago when Miguel was still healthy, and they went out often. He always smiled and waved for the paparazzi, while she hung back and dipped her head to avoid them. Just looking at Miguel’s photo gave her heart a painful twist. She pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I loved him dearly, and he’s gone. I want to be with you now. Is that impossible to believe?”
“How can you go from a famed matador to a complete unknown? No woman wants that.”
“I do. Now can we please go into your studio and talk before all your neighbors open their doors to listen?”
He shook his head. “I want you to go home.”
“Are you going to let your father win? How late does he stay at his office? I’d like to drop by and see him on the way home. Did he tell you he’s had a detective following me?”
That stopped him. “You’re kidding.”
She shook her head. “How did he find out we were dating? Did you tell him?”
A look of tired regret swept his features. “I did, but I didn’t know your full name, so I couldn’t tell him.”
“Speaking of names, why do you use Vasquez instead of Ortiz? Shouldn’t you have told me the Ortiz shipping line belongs to your family? Or do you keep quiet about it so women won’t date you solely for your family’s money?”
“I prefer my mother’s name. Do you imagine we’re a pair because we’re both liars?”
She kept her voice soft and conciliatory. “Neither of us is a liar, Alejandro. I understand perfectly why you’d keep your family name secret. I’d appreciate the same consideration from you.”
He did not appear to be in a conciliatory mood. “Is that your Porsche parked out front?”
“It is. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Nothing, I suppose. I still want you to go home. If you don’t leave, I will. I could be gone for days, and you’ll get awfully sore sleeping out here on the stairs.”
Clearly he meant it, and his hostile rejection hurt badly. She started down the steps, but turned back. “I’m not giving up. You’re worth fighting for, and I’ll go, but you’ll know where to find me when you realize you’re making the worst mistake of your life.”
“I’ve already made it with you.”
“Not even close,” she shot back at him and ran down the stairs. She heard him slam his door before she’d reached the street. She hadn’t shed a tear since Miguel had died, and she wasn’t going to sob pathetically now, but she was furious with Orlando Ortiz. She’d not go to his office today, but there had to be another way to tell him what she thought of him in obscenely precise terms.
Chapter Six
Alejandro’s studio looked empty without Ana. He threw his keys on the worktable and opened the refrigerator for a beer, but left the bottle on the counter unopened. He’d never seen the point of getting drunk over a woman when he’d be the one to suffer with a hangover. Hell, he’d never cared enough about any of the women he’d dated to turn the sorrow of a breakup in on himself, until now.
He’d felt more for Ana than he had for all the other girls combined, but nothing about the beautiful model had been real. She’d been as intangible as smoke, and she’d amused herself playing erotic games with him. If his father hadn’t recognized her, she would probably have kept at it until he somehow stumbled over her fame. He’d never made such a gigantic fool of himself over a woman, and, disgusted for still wanting her, he did a computer search. Her website showed her work to every advantage. He lost himself in her again and couldn’t turn away.
When Fatima came into work Tuesday morning, Ana was still in bed with an ice bag on her head. “I’d say good morning, but this does not look good,” the housekeeper mused.
“No, it isn’t.” She gave Fatima a brief summary of her romance with Alejandro. “I can understand his being surprised I’m a model, but not to such an extent that he wouldn’t want to see me again.”
The housekeeper tied her apron strings. “Men are often slow to follow their hearts. Give him a few days, and you’ll hear from him. Now, why don’t I make you some crema catalana?”
“That’s diabolical, Fatima. You know we shouldn’t stifle our emotions with food.”
She agreed with a slightly dipped head. “Of course not, but you do need to eat, and crema catalana is one of your favorites.”
“That’s true, and I have an appointment with the shoe designer this afternoon, so I should eat something.” She remained in bed while Fatima got busy in the kitchen. She heard the buzzer from the security desk but let her housekeeper answer.
Fatima came into her bedroom. “There’s a florist’s deliveryman here with a bouquet of yellow roses. There’s a card with them. Should they send him up?”
Elated to think Alejandro had come to his senses so soon, Ana left her bed and grabbed her satin robe. “Yes, please tell Henry I want the roses.” She waited in her room until Fatima placed the bouquet on the coffee table, but when she opened the card, she was badly disappointed. “They’re from Lucien Lamoreaux, the shoe man. He says he’s looking forward to meeting me today.”
“I’m so sorry they’re not from Alejandro, but they’re beautiful roses. We can still enjoy them.”
Ana nodded and went back to bed.
Striving to lift her mood, Ana wore red to her agent’s office. She arrived fifteen minutes early, but Lucien Lamoreaux had come earlier. “Miss Santillan, you’re even more beautiful in person.” He turned her hand to kiss the soft skin of her inner wrist. “What a delight it is to meet you. I’m sorry if my gifts didn’t please you, so I’ve begun again with roses.”