Sold on You (3 page)

"Absolutely," he replied, his eyes warm and inviting.

His fit body moved with lithe grace as he led her to the dance floor with his hand at the back of her waist. Gabriela looked around and admired how elegant the other guests looked in their evening attire. With a pang of regret, she glanced at her brown suit and red stilettos and felt a hysterical giggle bubble up inside her at how ridiculously out of place she looked in the lavish ballroom. Oh well, it was worth the shock on Marcos' face. She'd only done it to give him a hard time.

When they approached the dance floor, the music slowed to a tango. The first strains of music brought Gabriela back to a poignant memory when she was ten and her father had taught her to dance the tango. The following week, her mother had left him and Gabriela hadn't found out why until she was much older. Squelching the bittersweet memory from her mind, Gabriela sucked in her breath when Marcos took her in his strong arms and began to masterfully move to the stirring melody.

Marcos led her and she had no choice but to follow, increasingly aware of his large hand firmly splayed at the small of her back and his lean hipbones pressed against hers. Up close he smelled divine and he danced exceptionally well—she had to give him that much. It took a skilled dancer to execute the tango with such long, elegant steps
.

"Where did you learn to tango so well?" she asked breathlessly, her pulse fluttering wildly.

"My Argentinean grandmother taught me."

"Your grandmother?"

"Yeah, she raised me."

"That explains everything."

"What do you mean?" he asked, dipping her effortlessly.

Her face flushed pink from the dip, Gabriela said, "You're spoiled rotten. I'll bet your grandma let you believe the sun rises and sets with you."

"Why so antagonistic?" His voice was a low growl in her ear as his arms held her close.

Gabriela tried to pull back, but he gripped her securely and rested his sharp jaw against her temple. "You're used to getting everything you want," she said, trying to ignore the giddy rush of excitement he stirred inside her.

Marcos ignored her barb and led her through more intricate steps. She gave as good as she got, her body fused with his in the passionate dance. A crowd gathered round to watch and Gabriela was sure her face was tinted deep pink. It didn't help that her whole body pulsed with excitement as his masterful moves stoked a fire deep in her belly.

Alex called out from the crowd of onlookers. "Save a dance for me, Gabriela. I'm a better dancer than Marcos," he taunted merrily.

"Ignore him," Marcos said. "You're my date tonight."

"Only because you outbid everyone, flaunting your money," she retorted, her breaths coming out fast.

Marcos flashed a wry grin. "My grandmother is going to love you."

Gabriela's feet missed a beat. "Your grandmother?"

He nodded. "She's flying all the way from Buenos Aires to meet my fiancée. That's where you come in."

Gabriela leaned her head back and squinted at Marcos with suspicious eyes. "Why?"

"I need you to pretend to be my fiancée this weekend."

"No way. I'm not doing it!" she said fiercely. She pulled back with a jerky movement, but Marcos held her steadfastly and the crowd cheered. Gabriela blushed furiously realizing they were encouraging Marcos to turn their tango into a dance of dominance.

"Don't be difficult. The old lady is eighty-five and wants me to get married before she dies," he muttered through a tight smile.

"Why did you pick me and not one of your flavors of the month?"

"You're Latina. And you're conservative with old-fashioned values."

She bristled with affront.
Who did he think he was, judging her like that?

"I'm not old-fashioned. You only know me from work," Gabriela retorted. To prove it, she wrapped her leg around Marcos' lean hip in a stylized tango move. He responded by tilting her body backward until her straining bosom was directly beneath his face. The blood in her veins heated and her heartbeat pounded at the dark, smoldering look in his eyes. Gabriela's leg quivered as she tucked her foot behind Marcos' leg and slid it down, feeling the hard length of his thigh and calf muscles beneath the tuxedo pants.

"You're right, I don't know anything about your personal life," he conceded in a rough whisper, lowering his face toward hers. "What matters is how you appear to Abuelita Coqui. That's her name by the way."

Marcos' lips were so close to hers, Gabriela's breath caught in her throat. "Don't you.... feel guilty... um... lying to her?" she faltered, trying to ignore her overheated body,

"I'm doing it to make the old lady happy before she dies."

"You just want to save your hide," she said, gathering enough gumption to give a scornful toss of her head.

Marcos tightened his hold on Gabriela. When she retaliated with a haughty stare, his face came closer until his perfect nose nearly touched the tip of her upturned one. "Will you do it?"

The music ended and the audience clapped enthusiastically. "No," Gabriela said and headed to the table on wobbly legs, wondering if they'd carry her back to the table without buckling. Her head was spinning from Marcos' outrageous plan while her senses reeled madly after the sensual dance he'd performed so flawlessly. Without turning, she was vividly aware of Marcos following behind her.

"If you refuse, I'll have to find someone else," he said as soon as they were seated.

Just like that?
He was already dumping her and they hadn't even finished dinner, all because she refused to play along with cockamamie idea. "Your plan bothers me on every level," she said, giving him a stern look.

"I heard the Fresh Start Center is hurting for funds," he said as his unwavering gaze coolly waited for her reaction.

Gabriela sighed with frustration. "It is. Why else do you think I'd agree to being auctioned off?"

"It would be a terrible shame for them to lose out on all that money," he said, keeping a keen eye on her.

Damn him! He drove a hard bargain.
Gabriela frowned as she mulled it over. He was right, she'd hate to deny the charity his donation... but pretending to be his fiancée was a tall order...

"Won't you do it for the charity?" he asked, his tone persuasive and velvet smooth.

"Let me think about it," she said airily.

Gabriela dug into the chocolate raspberry mousse and savored it without looking at him. Her hips didn't need the added calories, but her nerves needed the indulgence. Dom Perignon, dessert, and a suave, handsome escort. This should have been a dream date, but the sly doctor was trying to coerce her into lying to his grandmother!

Marcos leaned back and studied her with probing eyes. "You don't seem to have a very high opinion of me."

His blunt statement reminded her of the times she'd butted heads with him over the allotment of hospital funds. Somehow, he'd always managed to pare down the sum she requested for her unwed mothers.

"Can you blame me? I'm not impressed by your reasons for duping your grandma," she said in an equally blunt tone.

"Fair enough. Let me explain." He forcefully exhaled his breath. "Ever since my little sister, Marisol, got married and had the twins, Abuelita Coqui's sole purpose in life has been to get me married. I was planning on visiting her in Buenos Aires for Christmas, but when I learned she was going to play matchmaker, I told her I was already in love and engaged to be married." He groaned. "I never imagined she'd book a trip here instead—during Christmas no less—to meet a fiancée who doesn't exist."

"Aw, poor guy," Gabriela said and enjoyed watching him get hot under the collar. "What about your parents and the rest of your family?"

"I only have one sister and she lives in Miami. I can handle her. As far as my parents, they have no idea about my personal life. The most important one to please is Abuelita Coqui."

Gabriela wondered at his disdainful tone when he'd mentioned his parents, but she decided not to go there. Clearly, he had a soft spot for his grandma and that was kind of endearing. But his tactics for making her happy were skewed in his favor.

"I don't believe in lying to an elderly woman. On the other hand, I don't see how I can refuse, given your generous donation." She emitted a long-suffering sigh. "I guess I'll have to agree."
It was only one weekend.

His face lit up with a triumphant smile. "Good. You won't regret your decision."

She gave him a pointed look. "Let's be clear on one thing. The date officially ends on Sunday evening."

"No problem. My grandmother will only be here for the weekend," he said. "Marisol and her husband Clay will pick her up and return to Miami on the same day."

"Fine. It's a deal then," Gabriela said, washing down the last spoonful of creamy mousse with a long sip of champagne.

"There is one more thing..." he said hesitantly.

"What?" she asked, narrowing suspicious eyes at him.

"No offense, but we need to give you a make-over."

How rude of him.

"You know what? You're delusional if you think you're going to give me a make-over!" she huffed.

He smiled. "Pity, I was going to offer you my Saks credit card for a new, glamorous wardrobe."

"What's wrong with the way I dress?" she demanded.

"I prefer the red hot number you were in earlier. Why do you dress so primly all the time?"

"I want to be taken seriously." She'd had size 36C breasts and a curvy bottom since she'd turned twelve and it hadn't been a picnic fending off sexist men and their remarks.

"We won't get you anything blatantly sexy. Just an elegant, stylish wardrobe," he said smoothly.

"What makes you the fashion expert, Tim Gunn?"

"I'm holding the wallet and I have good taste," he said confidently.

"Gee, how did I get so lucky?" she quipped, even though she was bristling inside. She could feel her mouth tightening and steam about to come out of her ears, but she forced her features into a cool façade.

Part of her was insulted by the cocky doctor's cavalier offer, but the other part was strangely tempted.
Free rein on his credit card?
She'd have to be a fool not to take him up on it. She'd never been able to spend much on clothes since most of her paycheck went toward paying for her hard-earned beach apartment. Her one, sinful indulgence was beautiful lingerie... but he'd never know about that one.

"All right," she said, hiding a wily smile. She was going to make him pay through his teeth for his arrogance.

"There's one condition."

"What is it?"

"I go with you."

She frowned at him. "Why? Don't you trust me with your credit card?"

"I don't trust your wardrobe choices. The only thing that keeps you from looking like a nun in that drab brown suit is the red stilettos," he said with a wry shake of his head.

Okay, so she wasn't a fashionista, but the last person she would want to help her select a wardrobe was Marcos Calderon.

Nevertheless, it
was
a bit unrealistic to expect him to just hand over his credit card. Since he was eager to spend money on making her over into what his grandma would approve of, why not indulge in a wardrobe she could ill afford?

"I guess you can come along," she said after making him wait for her reply. "But I have final say on what we buy."

He winked at her. "We'll compromise."

"Fine," she said, not thrilled that Marcos had managed to turn everything around to suit him.

Gabriela gazed at the too handsome man before her and wondered what she'd signed up for.

Chapter 3

Savoring the crisp beauty of a clear December morning, Gabriela sipped her steaming
cafe con leche
as she stood on her balcony overlooking the palm-tree-lined street. A light breeze wafting in from the ocean chilled her flesh, still warm from her recent shower. The ocean air made her think of her mother sailing the Mediterranean Sea on a honeymoon cruise right now. She chuckled, remembering how her mother had dragged her along on a Caribbean cruise last summer with every intention of finding a mate for Gabriela. But instead, it was her matchmaking mother who had ended up meeting her future husband.

She was delighted that her mom
,
who'd worked hard all her life to provide a good life for her, had finally found happiness. Smiling to herself, she pushed a damp tendril out of her eyes and froze when she saw a tall man with an athletic build get out of a silver Porsche Carrera convertible. He shut the door and ambled toward the sidewalk leading to her apartment building. She hadn't put on her contact lenses and couldn't quite make out his features, but the self-confident swagger tipped her off to his identity.

Marcos Calderon!

She was about to turn and run inside when he looked up and waved, flashing a broad smile. What was he up to? It was only eight o'clock in the morning, two hours shy of the time they had agreed to meet at the Waterside Shops.

Marcos must have run up the stairs because just as she headed to her bedroom to dress, she heard an insistent knock on her front door. It would serve him right if she ignored his summons, she told herself grouchily. But after the fifth hard knock, it was obvious he wasn't going to give up and leave.