After Hours Bundle (44 page)

To be honest, he could have solved the problem quite easily. But he could smell the sweet citrus scent of her hair as it blew across his chin, and his arm seemed to fit perfectly around her, and then she looked up at him with those wary green eyes. “Alejandro?”

He really couldn't help it. He bent his head and kissed her, tasting and parting her lips—those lips that were way too soft for the words that came out of them.

She went rigid for a moment, and then relaxed in his arms and melted into him with a sigh.

He brought his free hand up and cupped her jaw, tangled his hand in her hair and kissed her even more deeply, exploring her mouth with his tongue, touching hers, stroking. Kate made an incoherent sound and backed away, only to catch the heel of her flip-flop in the sand and fall over Gracious.

Their tender moment ended in an explosive squeal, flying sand and an undignified shriek. So much for romance.

He was Mr. Smooth. But as Alejandro helped Kate up, dusted her off, calmed the pig and steered all of them back to the stretch of sand outside her condo, he knew one thing: he definitely wanted to keep kissing this woman. He wanted to kiss her in much steamier places, and without anything baggy and ugly obscuring her body.

“Don't do that again,” Kate said, avoiding his gaze.

“Why not? You liked it.”

“Because I'm not sure
why
you did it.”

“I did it because I liked it, too.”

“Is that the only reason?”

He stared at her, half amused and half annoyed. What, did she think he was after her money?

Her hair flew out around her face in all directions, courtesy of the wind. With her thin frame, she looked like a suspicious Yankee dandelion. “Should there be another reason?”

Kate avoided the question with yet another one. “Besides, how do you know I liked it? I might have been faking it, melting into your arms just so I could yank off your nuts.”

“Dios mio!”
Alejandro dropped the pig's leash and took Kate by the shoulders, while she looked up at him with mingled fear, belligerence and hope. Then he dropped his mouth to hers again. “You,
mi vida,
are a head case.”

He parted her stubborn mouth with his and slid inside, finding sweetness where she pretended only vinegar lived. He found her sharp tongue and sucked it until it softened and mated with his. He could taste her reluctance but also a growing excitement, a core of wildness that he wanted to split open and savor.

When he raised his head, he played to that wildness. “You know where I'm going to do that next,
mi amorcito?
Hmm?”

She gazed up at him and shook her head.

“Between your legs.”

Grinning, he caught the hand that came up to smack him and wrapped it around the pig's leash instead. “Good night, Kate. See you in class.”

She appeared to have lost her voice. When she found it again she yelled after him, “I'll see you in
hell,
sport.”

He turned and grinned at her as he walked away into the night. “Great. I hear they have plenty of beds there.”

T
HE
L
ATIN
L
OVER
had kissed her. Kate still couldn't quite believe it. Or rather, she could believe he'd done it, but not that she'd let him. She lectured herself sternly.

He's a hound. He'd seduce anything in a skirt, and he's just after you because of the Spinney money and the challenge. Remember, he said that flirting is a genetic trait in him—he can't help it. So what are you doing, letting him stick his tongue into your mouth? What are you doing, allowing him to talk to you that way?

But his dirty words had given her a dirty thrill. Heat, moisture and electricity had flashed to the very place he'd said he wanted to kiss next. And they flashed there again as she thought about him.

She poured a little Purina Mini Pig Chow into a bowl for Gracious, amused that the pig started drooling and making noise as soon as she saw the bag. Then her amusement vanished.

Is that what I'm doing? Drooling and squealing over Alejandro Torres? Well, that's disgusting.

Still, the guy could kiss. And his chest! She could tell, even through the T-shirt, that his torso rippled with muscle. Was his family business a chain of gyms? Did he work on engines all day? No—no grease under the nails. In fact, they were immaculate. But whatever Alejandro did, it was very male-oriented.

Kate found herself wondering just what he looked like without his shirt. Then she wondered what it would be like to kiss him without his shirt, be captive against that solid, hard chest. And finally she dispensed with his pants, too—who needed those, after all?

Alejandro strutted stark naked through her mind, and then turned around and strutted back. He winked at her. Kate turned down the air-conditioning, since the temperature seemed to be rising in the condo.

The problem was that however outrageous, the man made her feel things, made her feel alive. Shocks had rushed through her as soon as he touched her lips, threaded his fingers into her hair, hauled her against him. She'd almost liquefied.

Spinneys didn't liquefy. She was certain of it. None of those prune-faced people peering out from the gilt frames in her parents' formal living room had ever had a sexual urge: impossible. Spinneys didn't make love; they bred the next generation.

Spinneys especially didn't hook up with very tan, muscular hunks o'burnin' love who could model tighty whities on a billboard or star in a Bowflex commercial. But…maybe Just Kate did. And hadn't Maria Shriver married Arnold Schwarzenegger?

Hadn't Kate come down here to Miami to escape being a Spinney? Break out of the preppy WASP mold? Wasn't her goal to shake her booty on that table and have a good time?

Yes, it was.

So where did that leave her as far as twining tongues with Mr. Latin Lover? He'd probably helped dozens of women dance on tables. So maybe she shouldn't act so predictably, Waspishly outraged at his words. Maybe she should hold him to his dirty promise, and use him for her own ends. Maybe Just Kate had a new boy toy, and the power could be all hers. She just had to figure out how to take it.

 

T
HE FLUORESCENT LIGHTING
in the auditorium flickered and vibrated, hurting Alejandro's eyes and annoying him. Thank God there were only fifteen minutes left of marketing and then they only had to get through the last class of the day: stats.

He'd come in a couple of minutes late as usual, earning a glare from Kurtz. And Kate hadn't saved him a seat—stupid to be disappointed, since she'd tried to slap him for what he'd said to her, but he was. So he sat in the back row in case he fell asleep.

“Now for your semester projects,” Kurtz announced. “They will be worth fifty percent of your grade, so be thorough. I want you to work in pairs, and each pair will identify a business in the Miami area that you feel could benefit from a marketing analysis, new direction and plan. You will complete the analysis, come up with that new direction and forge a business plan that supports and executes the new approach. It's a bonus if you can get the business to actually implement it, but of course I won't grade you on that aspect. Any questions?”

Kurtz clarified a few things that students had concerns about. Alejandro wondered if Spinney Industries had a Miami office he and Kate could study. Or there was always Benito's, the restaurant around the corner from After Hours. Benny hadn't been doing so well lately, since a bottle of chianti had fallen on a customer's head and given the guy a concussion. Benito was worried about a lawsuit, and his concerns had affected his cooking.

Alejo waylaid Kate as she exited the auditorium. “Hello,
mi amorcito.
”

“Well if it isn't the Latin Lover,” she said with a smirk.

Interesting. He'd been expecting the silent treatment. “No, no. You can't call me that. It's far too generic. I'm unique. You wouldn't just kiss any Latin Lover, would you, Kate?”

“Lower your voice,” she snapped, looking around to see if anyone had heard. She was so repressed it made him smile. He pushed her even harder.

“You're embarrassed to kiss me? Why is that? Are you afraid that once we sleep together, I'll wave your panties around like a flag? I won't, you know.”

“Aren't you presuming a hell of a lot, sport?” Her cheekbones flashed at him and her eyes glinted dangerously.

He looked into her eyes for a long moment and watched her color rise adorably. “No,” he said simply.

She flushed scarlet. “Wrong answer.”

“You're sure about that?”

Kate didn't reply. A pulse beat, wild and irregular, in her throat. It told him all he needed to know.

“So, about the project. We are still teaming up, aren't we? Or are you welshing on our deal, concerned about your self-control around me?”

Her mouth opened, and then she shut it with a snap. “Listen here, sport. I don't welsh on deals and I don't have
any
issues with self-control. Got that?”

He nodded. Did she call everyone
sport
when she was angry at them? It was vile. “So why don't we both think of a few businesses over the next couple of days and get back in touch?”

“Why don't we just meet tomorrow?”

Because I'll be fondling ladies' feet all day.
“I work tomorrow.”

“What is it that you do, again?”

“Accounting,” he lied. It was sort of true. He did keep the books for the business.

“Can't you meet for lunch? It's nowhere near tax season,” she pointed out.

He shook his head with regret. “I have a client whose books are in bad shape.”
Yeah, if Peggy doesn't start balancing the checkbook when she orders supplies, I'm going to wring her little red-headed neck.
Again, it wasn't a total lie….

“Well, okay. I guess we can talk about it when you come for the delicious tripe dinner with Wendell on Saturday,” she said. “And now that I know your true colors, I won't even feel bad about inflicting him on you. You deserve him.”

 

I
T WAS A
sad fact of life that Wendell Spinney IV, Kate's cousin, looked much more like a pig than, well, a pig. Wendell had been born with sparse blond hair, a wide, moon-shaped face, florid skin and a nose that had an unfortunate tendency to turn up at the end. While he didn't snort, per se, he wore a permanently disgruntled expression that made him look as if he were about to do so.

Kate stared ahead impassively as they walked from her car to her residential building. Like most of the high-rises in Miami, it was tall, sleek and white. Glass doors protected the entrance and inside was a veritable jungle of tropical plants and a small fountain, as well as a modern concierge desk well-manned by helpful staff.

Her cousin swept his muddy-blond hair off his forehead and complained for the seventeenth time about the humidity. “Tell me again why you decided to move to Hell's Sweaty Armpit?” he asked, the damp circles under his own arms growing.

“Business school,” she reminded him.

“And what's wrong with Wharton?”

She sighed. “Everybody we know goes to Wharton.”

“So? That's a good thing. And it's still in
America.
You don't have to learn Spanish up there.”

“Careful, Wendell—your flabby racist underbelly is showing. I happen to like Miami, humidity and all, so if you want to stay in my condo, you'd best watch your mouth.”

He curled his lip. “And if you want my votes for your muscular dystrophy charity then you'll watch yours.”

She'd forgotten how loathsome Wendell could be, but apparently she was going to remember over the next five days. Goody. They stepped into the elevator and she punched the correct button. They rode up in silence.

The elevator opened at her floor, and they got off, Wendell rolling his suitcase behind him. They arrived at her door and she opened it, ushering her cousin inside.

Immediately he went to the sliding glass doors and took in the view. “Not bad,” he said. “What did you pay for this place?”

Typical Wendell. Before she could answer, the clatter of mini-pig hooves on the hardwood floors had him turning around. “Katy, what in the—” His jaw went slack at the sight of the porcine visitor.

“Wendell, this is Gracious. She's staying with me for a few days, while her owner is out of town.”

“The hell she is!
I'm
staying with you for a few days.”

“So is she.”

Wendell squinted at the pig in disbelief. “I'm not living with a barnyard animal.”

Gracious grunted at him, backed up, sat down and squealed, laying her ears back. Then she looked up at Kate, clearly echoing Wendell's sentiments. Kate translated the squeal to mean, “I'm not hanging out with that fat, preppy cretin.”

“You're both going to have to deal with one another,” she said, her lips twitching.

Gracious heaved herself to her feet and waddled over to sniff out Wendell's suitcase. She nudged it with her snout and knocked it over.

“Hey!”

She laid her ears back and cocked her head at him. Then she started snuffling around the zipper.

“Get away from there!” Wendell ran forward, waving his arms, but didn't have the desired effect. Gracious snorted, squealed and redirected her energies: she charged him.

Wendell changed directions on a dime and fled in the other direction, but the pig was fast—who knew?—and pursued him into the kitchen, knocking against his calf with her snout. Wendell leaped for the counter and hauled himself up onto it belly first, his legs flailing. “Kate, do something!”

Gracious appeared very pleased by his response. Kate could have sworn she was grinning. She squealed and then snorted for punctuation.

“You threatened her, Wendell. For all intents and purposes, you charged her first. She was just standing up for herself.”

“Lock her up!” he yelled.

“Gracious, come here.” Kate tugged gently on the pig's collar, and after a couple of tries got her to follow her into the bathroom. “Look, sweetie, there's a nice fuzzy rug to lie on, okay? I'll get you an apricot. Don't let the mean man hurt your feelings.”

“Mean man?” Wendell hollered. “For God's sake, Katy! Do you have a goat in the bedroom? Chickens in the pantry?”

Kate shut the door on Gracious and went back to the kitchen, hands on her hips. “Wendell, you can come down now. Let me show you to your room.”

He slid off the granite countertop and onto the floor with a grunt. Then he stalked to his suitcase, wiped imaginary specks of pig drool off the zipper, and towed it after him to the guestroom, where he eyed the air mattress with even more outrage. “You can't expect me to sleep on that! I told you to get a bed.”

“That is a bed.”

“No, that's a rectangular balloon.”

“Wendell, this room is going to be my office and I don't want it filled with a huge guest bed that will hardly ever be used. It's going to be occupied by a desk and a chair and a filing cabinet.”

“You said you would get a bed.” His tone was belligerent.

Kate looked heavenward. “Take it or leave it. If it bothers you so much, I can make you a reservation somewhere.”

Wendell grumbled a bit more and partially unpacked his suitcase into the room's closet, pointing out that she had no chest of drawers, either. Then he requested a cappuccino.

She didn't own an espresso machine. Totally demoralized, her cousin allowed her to take him to the News Café on South Beach, a spot even Kate knew about. It was a gorgeous morning, with few clouds in the sky. They parked on Collins Avenue and walked the few blocks to Ocean Drive. Wendell had plenty to occupy him in making fun of the tourists.

“Check out that hideous Hawaiian shirt, Katy,” he said with a smirk. She ignored him, because sitting right there at one of the little café tables was none other than Alejandro Torres, with not one but
two
beautiful women. So that's what good-looking Latin men did on the weekends in Miami.