Her Accidental Husband (6 page)

It wasn’t like Payton hadn’t noticed Cruz’s dangerous good looks when she’d first seen him. But after she overheard him insulting her, sight unseen, it had been easier to envision some added horns and a tail making him a caricature of pure evil. It was easier to loath and dismiss him as a jerk, because then she could ignore the fact that being near him set her blood boiling in more ways than one.

But now, with their new and tentative truce, and his surprisingly supportive demeanor over the past few hours, it was harder for her to put up her usual blockers where he was concerned. Which could get dangerous.

Couldn’t he at least have BO? Or flat and greasy hair? But no, he smelled decidedly masculine in the close quarters of the car, something like incense and leather. Dark. And
of course
his hair was lustrous. Almost disgustingly so.

Gah. She needed to clear her head. Where was a familiar tune to sing to?

She didn’t know any of these songs. It was a road trip. They needed tunes. Okay,
she
needed tunes. It was just how it was done.

“Hey, do you have any music on that phone of yours? I think this car can sync with your phone’s Bluetooth, if you have something worth listening to.”

“No.” He continued to click away at the keyboard.

“No, seriously. I won’t critique it—well, not too much. But I need something I can sing to.”

“I don’t keep music on my phone,” he said matter-of-factly.

What?
She shot him a disbelieving look.

“Eyes on the road,” he reminded her, without taking his attention off the laptop screen.

“You’re kidding me, right? You’ve got to have something.”

He shrugged. “Never had a need for it. My phone is for making calls and texts and for sending and receiving emails when I can’t be on the computer. Those are the only reasons I need a phone. If I wanted to listen to music, I’d buy a radio.”

“You know, for a guy who can’t be more than…forty—”

“
Thirty-five
.”

She suppressed a smile, knowing very well how old he was but enjoying the rancor in his tone. “Thirty-five, then…you sure act like you’re seventy. I bet you yell at small children who step on your lawn back home too.” Which again she knew wasn’t true because he lived in a condo up by the Capital. Not that she’d been stalking him, but Kate had mentioned it once in passing. “And I bet you bemoan the invention of the television and the arrival of that devil music called rock and roll.”

She snuck another glance at her now silent partner. His jaw flexed, either in irritation or humor, it was hard to tell. “So why even get a smartphone if you’re not going to take advantage of all the features? What about apps? Have you downloaded any of the free apps? Twitter? Facebook?”

“Please,” he said, and made a face. “What a waste of time.”

“Netflix? Pandora? What about Fandango?” More head shaking. “Okay, so you and Becca are out on a date and—”

“I told you I’m not seeing Becca anymore.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. So you’re out on a date with
someone
and you both decide you feel like a movie. What are you going to do? Find a paper? Call the theater? With the app, you just touch the screen and it lists all the theaters in your area, what movies are playing, and show times. You’re totally set. It’s magic,” she said and snapped her fingers for effect.

“I can assure you, when I take a woman out on a date, I know the plans for the evening ahead of time. I don’t ‘wing it.’”

She gave him a sideways look. “Wow. You’re certainly Mr. Spontaneous, aren’t you?”

“I told you. I don’t like surprises. I like to know what’s going to happen when I can.”

“All right. So walk me through one of Cruz Sorensen’s signature dates.”

He ignored her, typing a few sentences on the screen instead.

“What, is it a secret? Proprietary information? Come on. Humor me. I have no music or other entertainment. So you have to give me something.”

“All right. For a first date, I usually try to determine what the woman’s interests are and tailor the evening accordingly. For example, Becca is a dental hygienist who I happened to know enjoyed funny movies and—”

“Dental hygienist?” she interrupted, unable to resist. “Don’t tell me. Did you actually ask her out while she was digging in your mouth? Is that how you met her?”

“—and flowers.” He finished. “And yes. I met her at the dentist on my six-month visit.”

“Romantic.” She chortled. “Does that mean you’re going to have to find a new dentist, now that you’ve called it off?”

His fingers paused over the keyboard. Probably picturing a rabid Becca gripping sharp metal tools as she told him to open up. Ha.

“All right. So back to the date. Becca—and every other human on the planet—likes comedies and flowers. So what?”

“For our first date, I took her to a comedy club and then made her dinner and dessert at my place.” The smug smile on his lips told her dessert was likely a euphemism, and she rolled her eyes. What a guy. “Our second date, we went to an outdoor showing of a Sundance flick up at Red Butte Gardens. She was impressed with both choices.”

Payton had to give him points. Those did sound pretty good. Better than the old dinner and a movie option—not that she didn’t love that too. But there was something to say about originality. “Okay. What about me? Based on what you know of me, where would you take me for a first date?”

He turned to her, and she felt those discerning brown eyes studying her carefully.

Do
not
squirm.

“That would depend on the season. If it were summer, I’d say one of the outdoor concerts the symphony puts on at Park City. We’d bring our own blankets and wine and lay out under the stars.” She worked to keep her jaw from dropping open. It was exactly her idea of a night out. Had Kate told him? He continued, “In the winter? Maybe a show at Capital Theater and dinner or… Actually. Scratch that. Hockey. Yes, definitely hockey, and dinner would be nachos and hot dogs from the concession stand.”

“Hockey?” That hadn’t been anything near what she’d expected to hear. “Now you’ve overplayed your hand. I don’t even like hockey.”

“Have you ever been to a hockey game?”

She paused. “Well, no. But I don’t have to see the game to know I wouldn’t like it.”

“Which is why it would be memorable. And how can you possibly know you don’t like something that you haven’t tried?” He shot her a disgruntled look. “My point is, I think we can both agree that, contrary to me, you get a thrill out of the unexpected.” For some reason, it struck her that he said this in an almost admiring tone. “And then I’d probably offer some dessert after,” he added, and she glanced over to see a smirk touch those lips. “At my place.”

She laughed. “I’d just bet you would.” Only, the thought of heading to Cruz’s for some dessert and all that it might involve actually sent a jolt of excitement through her. And a little terror.

In Cruz’s hands, she didn’t know what she might be capable of.

She noticed he was still staring at her and she felt her cheeks warming, almost as if he could read her mind and knew what delicious things she’d envisioned. She cleared her throat. “You definitely seem to have it all down to a science. You hook the girl in, then when she’s positively enamored with you and orders the embroidered towels from Pottery Barn with your names entwined, you cut her loose and move on to the next hapless victim.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I do,” he said in a droll tone, turning his attention back to his computer. “And above my headboard are the nicks I’ve made for each conquest.”

“Come on. You’ve almost said as much yourself, and I quote, ‘Things have gotten a little busy at work and I wasn’t able to give her what she was looking for,’ which is code for”—she lifted her hands from the steering wheel a moment and made air quotes—“a serious relationship. You run at the first sign someone wants something more than a casual fling.”

He truly looked perplexed. “Well, of course. I want to be honest with them. My life, my immediate and future plans, they’re wrapped up in Sorensen Construction right now. It’s best to be upfront with the women I date. Becca made it clear she wanted to take things to another level. Something I’m not prepared to give her or anyone at this time in my life.” He said it, however, almost as if he’d
never
have the time.

“Wow, you sure are a romantic.”

“Just realistic.”

“Have you always been like this? Wasn’t there anyone who you ever wanted something more with?”

“Not since I was seventeen. Seventeen, naive, and hormonally challenged.”

She didn’t know if she felt sympathy for him or wanted to kick him. “How is wanting to spend your life with someone naive?”

“I’ll tell you another time,” he said in that smug way of his. And for a second she imagined some poor moony-eyed teenaged girl handed her heart by Mr. Sensitive. “Just remember we weren’t all born with a silver spoon in our mouths, the world at our feet. Look, I have a conference call I need to make in another hour with Dick Eastman and want to have some figures ready. Can we table our discussion for the time being?”

“Fine. Whatever.” She returned her attention to finding a song on the radio. Why did he have to bring it back around to her and the fact that she came from wealth? They were talking about love here. Or whatever came close to it. The subject was definitely not over.

Because she was curious now as to what happened to the naive seventeen-year-old Cruz Sorensen that had made him the cynic he was now.

Chapter Six

C
ruz held the phone up, dread building in his stomach. Where were the service bars? Any bar. Anything to ensure he could make this call. He hadn’t worked his ass off the past few years to culminate in this one deal, only to have it fall apart because he couldn’t make the final phone call.

Ten minutes ago he’d had full service. He should have just had Payton pull over then. But he’d known how important it was to both of them to close the miles between them and that wedding.

“Anything?” she asked him.

He let his silence confirm the fact.

Three minutes passed. He only had two minutes until he was supposed to make that damned phone call.

Then, there it was.

One—no, two bars now. “I’ve got something.” He looked at the road ahead of them. No sign of a road or turn off. “Pull over.”

“What? We’re on the interstate. I can’t just stop here.”

“Look, it’s imperative I make this call now, and we don’t have the luxury of waiting for the next exit.” He kept his tone even, but there was a steeliness beneath it. She sighed and turned on the blinker.

A horn blared from behind them as their car slowed down, and Payton swerved and let out a squeal of terror. “I hope this call is worth more than our lives.”

He continued to stare at the phone and no sooner had the car stopped than he had thrown the door open and was stepping out. He glanced back to see Payton shaking her head at him before turning her attention to the radio.

A minute later, Dick Eastman was on the phone, his voice that familiar booming sound equal parts friendliness and confidence. “I’ve looked over all the final numbers you’ve proposed.” Even with the noise of cars passing by, Cruz could hear paper rustling. Dick was old school, preferring hard copies in his hands over email. “And even though it’s not the lowest offer I have on the table in front of me, your numbers are reasonable. But as you know, it’s your company’s quality guarantee that has made this easy for me.”

Cruz was careful not to sound too eager. “Glad to hear that, Dick.” Using the man’s first name still felt odd to him, but Dick had all but insisted. “I assure you quality is paramount in all of our ongoing concerns. We have a deal then?”

Dick paused and the seconds ticked by abnormally long. A gust of wind brought a swirl of dirt up around Cruz’s feet. “Well, son, the pen is right next to me now and I can say that this thing is almost as good as yours. However…”

Cruz’s hope that had spiraled a moment ago sank. That single word couldn’t be good.

“One thing you probably know about me by now is that a lot doesn’t get past me,” the old man continued, and Cruz could picture Dick sitting in his massive office in a pinstripe suit and cowboy boots propped up on the desk. Like he’d seen too many Dallas episodes—new and old—and considered himself a regular old J.R. Ewing. He just needed a ten-gallon hat to finish the picture. “I like to keep my finger on the pulse of everything and everyone that could impact me and mine. Family, that is. And I know for a fact that you’re en route to a family event somewhere south of the Rio Grande. With my son’s fiancée, I hear.”

Shit. How the hell did he know already? In the back of Cruz’s mind he’d hoped that eventually his acquaintance and partnership of sorts with Payton would reach the old man’s ear in a positive way, confirming that Cruz was a man to be trusted. But to hear old Dick Eastman already knew was a little…disconcerting.

Then there was the fact that, according to Payton, the engagement was off. He didn’t think it was his place to share the news with the man now. He’d hear about it soon enough.

He cleared his throat, wishing he had a bottle of water from the car with him to wet his parched throat. “Yes, sir. Payton Vaughn and I happened to be on the same flight that—”

“Frankly, I don’t care a pirate’s fart about the hows and whys of why you’re together and you want to know why? Because I know you’re not an impetuous man, Cruz. You weigh the risks and rewards in just about everything you do. And diddling your most important client’s future daughter-in-law would not only be imprudent, it’d be downright suicidal to this partnership.”

Diddling?
The old man certainly had a way with words. Not that there was any worry there. Payton Vaughn had as much interest in him as she did the guy who’d filled their gas tank earlier.

“No, what I want to discuss with you is a little different,” Dick Eastman continued. “I’m betting that at some point during this road adventure Payton has shared something of the drama going on between her and my son. She’s a beautiful girl and just as expressive. I don’t see how she couldn’t be. But I assure you; it’s simply a lover’s quarrel that will be put to rest as soon as they can clear the air. My son may be foolhardy, but he’s not a complete idiot.”

More silence and Cruz had to admit, he was still unsure where this conversation was going. So he agreed with the old man. “Right. Of course, I’m sure that’s all it is.”

“See? I knew you would understand.”
He did?
“I know from her mother that the gal feels that she has to cancel the wedding to save face under the circumstances.”

Ah, Payton’s mother. That’s probably how Dick Eastman knew about their current predicament. He hoped.

“But I know you can make her see the idiocy of that plan. She and Brad are going to be married in a couple months and eventually, they’ll be giving me several grandkids that I can pass everything on to. The Vaughns are a respectable family, and I couldn’t ask for a better match. We already think of her as a daughter.”

Hell, put like that, Payton’s estimation that the man saw her more as a brood mare than a member of the family, was looking even more spot on. Chosen for her pedigree, her bloodlines. “I don’t think I understand what you are asking of me, sir.”

He turned back to the car, where Payton was mouthing the words to some song she must have found on the radio. When she saw him staring at her, she tilted her head. Then crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him. His lips twisted in a smile despite himself and the nature of the conversation going on at that moment.

“I need you to make sure she doesn’t do anything too…impetuous. Crazy. Dear girl she is she just might run off with some Mexican field worker to prove a point.”

He spewed the last as if a Mexican field worker was worse than a psychotic murderer. Forgetting that Cruz and his family—on his mom’s side—were Mexican. Not that it surprised him, but it rankled.

“Not that we couldn’t extricate her from such an unsavory predicament, but you can see how avoiding the whole thing would be best. Can I trust you to watch out for the girl? Maybe even get her to see reason and realize that Brad’s the only man for her. I think I can say with absolute certainty that you do this little favor for me and this contract is as good as signed and notarized come Monday morning. What do you say?”

Payton had her thumbs stuck in her ears now, her fingers waving at him like she was three years old. Trying to throw him off his game he’d bet. Completely oblivious that she was the topic of the conversation at this point.

It grated on him to even have to agree to anything under these circumstances. But ultimately, he realized that he was already taking care of her and making sure she reached their destination safely—as he’d promised his brother and Kate. He’d just continue to do what he was doing.

If Dick Eastman thought it was as some favor to him, then so be it.

“Yes. Of course. I’ll see that Payton makes it to the wedding and is safely boarded on a flight home come Monday morning. With no extra…complications.”

T
he gurgling of Payton’s stomach just after noon became too persistent to ignore any longer. Since Cruz’s business call nearly an hour ago, he’d been quiet.

Well, quiet was something characteristic of Cruz. It was more of a quiet brooding.

She hadn’t dared utter a peep, instead letting him take the wheel and buckling herself in the passenger seat until his mood improved. To kill time she’d started putting together a playlist, a task that had kept her busy up to now.

“I don’t know about you, but as delicious as the first four Kinder Bueno bars were,” she said, referring to the chocolate-covered, hazelnut-flavored sugary goodness candy bars she’d bought a full case of earlier, “I don’t think I can eat another one before I get actual food in my stomach. Any chance we might be able to stop for some lunch?”

Cruz pulled himself from the zombie zone he’d been in the past hour to glance her way. “You’re hungry?” He seemed to think about that for another few seconds. “Yeah. I guess I could stand to eat something not coated in chocolate. It may throw us off our schedule a bit.”

“I’m willing to risk it. Especially if there’s a clean restroom included in this plan.”

“We’re almost to Zacatecas. I know a place we can get some food.”

Half an hour later, Payton stared up in wonder from the car window at the beautiful architecture of a city that, up until today, she’d never heard of. The façade of many of the structures was actually…pink.

“It’s sandstone,” Cruz explained. “The pink? Most natives call the city ‘
con rostro de cantera rosa y corazón de plata
.’ It means ‘face of pink stone and heart of silver.’”

She’d be lying if the sound of the curling
Rs
under his tongue didn’t do something to her. She cleared her throat. “Silver?”

“There are silver mines in the hillsides surrounding the city.” With ease, Cruz commandeered the streets and eventually found a parking spot. “We can walk to the restaurant from here. Come on.”

A tall pink structure that she was certain was baroque in style soared above them. A church, maybe? With turrets and a dome.

“This is the cathedral,” Cruz said, again, reading her mind.

It was definitely cooler than she thought it would be, and she wrapped her sweater around her a little tighter. Unlike the ugly concrete on most U.S. streets, the streets here were paved with stone, giving it a charm she wouldn’t have expected.

Okay, walking around in this somehow magical city where she could feel the history and mystery surrounding her, with a well-versed and incredibly hot guide had a charm all its own as well.

The savory smell of spices and roasting meat reached her, and her mouth watered as her stomach wrenched inward in hunger. They turned the corner and she blinked at the marketplace that spread before her. Like eye candy, she took in the colors and variety of objects available to buy, from silver jewelry and Panchos, to leather, wine, and all variety of sweet confections.

As if sensing her yearning to stop and ogle a display of silver jewelry, Cruz laughed and tugged at her hand—which instantly drew her attention at the feel of his hand on hers, even if momentarily. Her hand tingled where he’d touched it. “I thought you were hungry. It’s just over here.”

Cruz led her inside a brightly colored and crowded restaurant and grabbed them a table, obviously familiar with the place and the protocol. The server came over and Cruz broke into his melodic Spanish, keeping her spellbound even if, for all she knew, he was ordering pig intestines and cow brains as their entrees. At least it sounded romantic.

She studied him, so clearly at home and comfortable in this place, something she hadn’t seen before. Gone was the all-business, no-smiles man she was used to, replaced with someone who actually looked like he was on vacation—and enjoying himself.

He stopped a moment to look at her, a smile lighting his eyes, and her belly twisted again. Okay, maybe lower than her stomach, definitely lower. Especially when he rubbed the dark stubble of his chin as if he was considering something before turning back to the server.

“
Gracias
,” he said as the guy walked away, and returned his attention to her. Cruz asked her something.

“What?”

He gave her a bemused smile. “I said I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for you.”

“Oh. Not at all.”
Not when you talk like that
.

“Don’t worry, nothing too exotic. Just a sampling of the local specialty.”

A few minutes later, their server brought them each a plate filled with steaming tortillas filled with some savory goodness that had her mouth watering.

“They’re
gorditas
,” he told her.

She looked at the thicker than usual tortillas on plates before them. “Okay. I know I’ve heard of those on the menu at Taco Bell, but can you remind me what they are exactly?’

“I thought you might want to sample a few. One is filled with
rajas
—that’s a mild green pepper—another with a mole sauce and rice, and some with various cuts of meat and sauces and cheese.”

Each one had to have at least four hundred calories. Maybe five. “Good thing I’m no longer dieting. Give me three.”

“Seriously? What on earth would you be dieting for?” he asked and pulled a stack of the stuffed round
gorditas
onto a plate.

“My mother’s idea. Which was why when she ordered my one-of-a-kind designer wedding dress, she ordered it one size too small. I barely managed to squeeze into it at my last fitting. But…” she paused in chewing, remembering the soft, silky fabric that caressed her skin. “It did look gorgeous.”

What would she do with it now?

“I won’t even try to understand what goes into the mind of a woman who thought you needed to lose weight.”

“I doubt after this adventure I’m going to be able to squeeze into it. These are really good, but my mouth…” she waved her hand in front of it, as if she could cool the rising temperature.

He pushed another
gordita
toward her. “Here. This is milder. Might lower the heat in your mouth.”

She bit into it, aware of his gaze still on her. The milder cheese was helping ease her discomfort. “Thanks.”