The Saint's Devilish Deal (17 page)

“How do you know about my system?”

“I needed to double check one of the Monday deliveries and you were still sleeping.” He shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. These guests whose paperwork you’ve been ‘filing’ haven’t charged anything to their rooms, they haven’t eaten any meals. Why don’t you stop hiding from your job and embrace all of the challenges it offers?”

He didn’t raise his voice, but Esme felt shamed all the same. She hadn’t been hiding, she was only. . . hiding, she admitted. From the crew, from his friends. From him. Because that fall on the surfboard had messed everything up. She should be mad at him for taking her out in the water, for exposing her to all that adrenaline. She wasn’t, though. She liked the adrenaline. She liked him.

She loved him, and he was leaving in just over five months. He wanted her but he didn’t need her.

Sadly, she shook her head. “I don’t want to fight and I don’t need more challenges, Santiago, just making sure Casa survives is challenge enough for me.” Handing over a sheaf of papers, Esme sat behind her desk and clasped her hands on the blotter. “I wrote up the ad copy and roughed out a couple of advertorials for the magazines. There you go. My morning’s work.” Work she was proud of until she realized she was fighting for something she couldn’t have.

He sat, crossing one bare leg over the opposite knee, thumbing through her work. Every inch the professional despite his casual attire. “These are good,” he said, placing one page behind another. “Better than good. Perfect.” Santiago tossed the papers to the desk, grabbed Esme’s hand, and pulled her to her feet. “Come with me,” he instructed and half dragged her from the office.

“I know how to walk, Saint,” she said when they crossed from the parking lot to the wooden steps leading to the beach. “You can let go of my hand now.”

“And let you return to your hidey-hole? I don’t think so.” He marched with her across the sand, barely slowing down for her to pull the strappy, spike-heeled sandals from her feet. Santiago kept walking, past the photographer and a bride-and-groom couple, past the assistant holding a giant silver circle reflecting sunlight onto the pretending-to-be-newlywed couple, and into the tent.

Where Esmerelda’s own face peered from one of the screens looking as if bliss was a mere heartbeat away. Who had taken candid shots of her with Santiago last night?

“Before you take another bite out of me, I had no idea Leo arrived early until he showed me these pictures an hour ago.”

Esme released the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding and reached toward the screen. Leo had captured the essence of romance when he snapped the picture of Esme pressed against Santiago on the terrace, he’d put sensuality on the screen with the image of Santiago feeding her a grape, and made it seem old and yet still new with the picture of them reading on the chaise.

“Oh. My. God.” All the feelings she hid behind her suit were exposed for everyone to see. He’d probably already guessed she was back under his spell. Nothing to do about it now.

“That better be a good thing because there is no way I’m re-creating these pictures with Teena.”

“Better than good. These are. . . magic.” Esme turned to face Santiago, refusing to show her embarrassment because her feelings for this man who annoyed and attracted her were all over the computer screens. “This is exactly what I hoped we would get today.”

“Me, too.”

“Then why all the sex on the beach shots?”

He reached a hand up to trace her hairline. “Because sex does sell, pequeña, and we aren’t going to put all of our eggs in the luxury travel, family-friendly magazines. But I am sorry I didn’t make a point to get you down to the beach this morning.”

“Me, too. For not coming down here first thing.”

“Why didn’t you?” His brow creased as if her answer was the most important thing in his life at that moment.

I needed a little space from you. I need to keep my distance because you’re leaving. But she couldn’t pour her heart out to a man who didn’t commit. She might love this crazy, insufferable man, but how could he understand how out of her depth she had felt? Not just with the work, but with the people? On paper, Esme measured up to be a great hotelier. Could he understand that she wasn’t sure she measured up in real life? So, instead of confessing, she stuck with what she knew: work.

“I wanted to make sure the guest’s rooms were perfect and then there was the check-in paperwork. Marquez isn’t coming in today so I wanted to get started and then—”

“Liar.” But the words were sweet against her skin. “You’re here now and I need a signature release on these pictures so we can wow high-end travelers next month.”

 “Esme! Miss Esme,” Gloriana called from the beach. Waving a thin envelope, she hurried across the sand. “A messenger came, he said this was urgent and should be opened right away.”

No return label on the envelope. She opened it and pulled away from Santiago. Her stomach dropped and she swallowed hard. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. She repeated the words silently as she grabbed for a pen and scribbled her name across Santiago’s photo release. In the grand scheme of things, the invitation in her hand didn’t matter. What mattered was Casa Constance and the ad campaign that might save it.

“Esme?” Santiago reached for her but Esme avoided the contact, shoving the release into his hands and dropping the invitation on the table.

“You should have answered at least one of the phone calls. The pleasure of your company has been requested at Isla Magdalena. It’s your father’s birthday party, don’t be late,” Esme said and walked away from Santiago on legs that felt like Jell-O.

Chapter Eleven

“She is your match, pequeño.”

“She is a good friend, Mama,” Santiago said. He looked across the dance floor to Esme, half hiding behind a palm branch. She wore the purple sheath again, and this time he vowed to see the kind of lingerie she chose beneath it.

He wanted her. The realization was a lightning bolt to his brain. Since she blew onto the beach this morning and then stormed back off after delivering the invitation he’d wanted to talk to her. But instead of talking he’d coerced her into coming to this party where she was obviously uncomfortable.

He wanted her to be happy, yet he was tearing away the home she loved. He was no kind of friend to her.

“She is more than a friend, mi hijo. Don’t try to fool your old mother.” Magdalena Cruz looked into Santiago’s eyes and for a second he was a young boy again with a vivacious mother who loved to laugh. A boy considering telling his mother he was in love, but this wasn’t the time and his mother wasn’t the woman to confide his secrets in. At least not this secret. For now, it had to be enough that there were no shadows in her eyes. “Tell me, when can your lovely friend come and have lunch with me?”

When hell freezes over. Of course, he couldn’t say that, not to Magdalena because she wasn’t the problem. The glowering man at the head table—the only man in the world who didn’t want to celebrate his birthday—was.

“We’re very busy readying Casa for guests. Why don’t you stop in for lunch one day? Gloriana would love to cook for you.”

“Oh, Santiago, that sounds wonderful.” Her eyes shuttered as she looked through the terrace doors. “But I need to tell her all about Cruz men. What better place than home?”

“Ahh, Mama, but no two Cruz men are the same,” Santiago teased. A frown crossed his mother’s face and he wanted to kick himself. Rather than laughing with him, she would take the comment as a recrimination. He squeezed her hand, but she was lost to him.

At a tap on his shoulder, he turned. Eduardo. Santiago tensed for a confrontation.

“How are things at my villa?”

“It isn’t yours yet, Father—”

“No business talk tonight.” Magdalena’s voice lost a bit of its depth with the words and her fingers tightened on Santiago’s wrist. “Tonight we celebrate my husband’s life.”

Santiago clenched his jaw. What was there about his father to celebrate?

“I would like to dance with my beautiful wife on my birthday.” The words had the desired effect, at least on Magdalena. She smiled prettily and willingly went into her husband’s arms. Before Santiago could say anything Eduardo swept Magdalena into the crowd of dancers.

*

Esme told herself she was there for purely mercenary reasons. The excuse lasted for all of five minutes. Watching the formally attired crowd from a corner while she pretended to sip a glass of champagne, Esme admitted the truth. She was at the party for Santiago. The craziness of the photo shoot aside, she trusted him to keep the whole truth about the villa to himself. He’d saved her life when she stupidly fell into the ocean. He’d been honest about his accident and from what she had been able to find on the Internet, he had cut his ties with his family.

No, she wasn’t here to catch Santiago in the act of giving up company secrets—and how melodramatic was that? She was standing in this corner because he asked her to be there.

From what she could see, he didn’t need her here, either. He wanted her here. That was enough for Esme.

As Eduardo twirled Magdalena around the dance floor, Santiago headed straight for Esme’s side, a strange expression on his face. Anger? No. Concern, perhaps. For her? Esme couldn’t image why.

“Still hiding out?” he asked, cocking his brow in question.

“Not hiding out. Observing,” she said from her place to the left of the head table. Where she was partially hidden by a gorgeous Christmas palm.

Santiago snatched a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “Is that what they call it in California? Go on, please.”

“You have no idea how fascinating the rich and moderately famous can be.” Esme sipped champagne and then discreetly pointed the glass toward a couple sitting to the side of the band. The woman, dressed in a sapphire blue and emerald green sheath with feathers adorning her hair, twirled a golden ringlet around her index finger. The man, in a white linen suit and with just a fringe of hair left on his head, sat with his arms crossed and his feet tapping in annoyance. “Those two are completely mismatched. She is obviously a gold digger and he is looking for a new trophy wife, right? However, if you look a little closer, they’re playing footsie under the table and watching each other very closely. Plus, she just told him she was pregnant and the look on her face was truly happy, not just I’m-getting-out-of-the-prenup happy.”

“She told him she was pregnant at a party?”

“Okay, I made that part up, but whatever she said a few minutes ago made both of them very, very happy. Real happy, not bored-and-faking-it happy. It also increased the footsie action.”

“Maybe she agreed to play with whatever sex toy he purchased because his old-man-equipment doesn’t work so well anymore.”

She slapped his shoulder. “You’re terrible, Saint. Sister Immaculada would not be impressed.”

“Dance with me.” Santiago placed his hand at the small of her back and heat raced up her spine. Her body wanted to follow him, desperately, but she held back. Staying in the background at his family home was one thing. Flaunting her appearance was quite another. From the first time she visited Puerto Vallarta, Eduardo Cruz intimidated Esme. His blustery exterior didn’t hide a sensitive heart but a block of frozen tundra, and she hadn’t been able to fit an icepick into her evening bag.

Esme shook her head. “I’m happy being invisible back here in the corner.”

“Do I need to remind you of our agreement?”

“We agreed that the extreme sports were part of my ‘re-training’. Dancing in your father’s home isn’t an extreme sport. Although it could be hazardous to my health.”

“Mmm.” He leaned closer, nuzzling her neck with his nose. “Dance with me, pequeña”

Her insides were quivery, wanting to be closer to Santiago, but she made one more attempt at avoiding the dance floor. “I already had two hours of sunbathing beside the pool today. That and my double-dose of excitement yesterday should exempt me from stepping on your toes on the dance floor.”

“For today.” He sighed against her ear and she shivered.

Esme wasn’t certain why, but Santiago’s acceptance disappointed her. She didn’t want to dance around the floor, waiting for Eduardo to pounce on her. She should be happy they were going to stay hidden in this corner of the room. So why wasn’t she?

“If you’re really, really nice, I may dance with you later,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him.

“I can be really, really good with that kind of incentive.” He was quiet for a minute, his hand drawing circles over the silk of her dress. She sighed and leaned against him. “Does this mean we aren’t fighting any longer?” he asked.

“We weren’t fighting, at least not today. We disagreed, most co— people do,” Esme said, and swallowed a gulp of champagne to cover the near gaffe. Couple? She nearly referred to them as a couple. Not a good idea. They weren’t a couple. They were partners in a business for the next few months. Bedmates. That was all. When Santiago said nothing, Esme felt compelled to speak. Her words tripped over one another as she tried to make sense of the cacophony in her head. “It’s just been weird adjusting to the fact that Aunt Constance didn’t trust me with her baby.”

“She didn’t not trust you, Esme—”

Before he could say anything else, Tobias took the stage, silenced the band, and clapped his hands together. After welcoming the guests and wishing Eduardo a happy birthday, he motioned for the lights to dim. A slim man in a white chef’s coat and tall pastry hat wheeled in a monstrous cake bearing a striking resemblance to Casa Constance into the room. Candles reflected off the tiny cake-hotel’s windows, shined onto fondant-created people and flickered across a swimming pool filled with blue tinted sugar. The crowd broke into a chorus of “Happy Birthday” as the cake came to rest at the head table.

Santiago’s mother clapped. “A wish, Eduardo, you must make a wish.” She smiled happily as the crowd hushed in anticipation.

Eduardo looked annoyed. Clenching his jaw, he declared, “Tonto! I do not want that cake or this party and I will not blow out ridiculous candles like a four-year-old. You will not make a fool of me, Magdalena, when you are already the fool.” He stormed onto the terrace.