After Hours Bundle (61 page)

One Year Later

A
FTER
H
OURS OVERFLOWED
with people of every age, sex and lifestyle, and most of them were dancing. If they refrained from toe-tapping, then they laughed long and loudly. And if they didn't dissolve into mirth, they flirted wildly and spent buckets of money.

Alejandro still couldn't quite believe it. They'd been popular before, with a good crowd most nights, but this went beyond all expectations. He caught Kate's eye across the room, and she grinned, her hair as messy as it had ever been in spite of Marly's best efforts to tame it.

He loved her crazy hair. As much as he loved her.

He wanted to marry her. He really did. The realization hit him in the face, along with Heather Carlton's pink lizard handbag.

“Hey, Romeo. I was
talking
to you,” she said.

“Uh. Sorry,
mi amorcito.
I was trying to see if they needed anything behind the bar.” Not that anyone could see the bar at the moment….

“Well, I was asking you a question. I know you, um, have certain feelings for me, and I wanted to let you down easy, but—” She heaved a deep and dramatic sigh which jiggled her considerable pink cleavage.

Could it be? Was he about to be paroled from Heather Carlton without offending her? He'd dreaded announcing his retirement to her for fear she'd take it personally.

She glanced quickly behind her to the long row of pedicure stations, each manned by a big, strapping young man in a muscle shirt. “But I'm switching to Raoul.”

Praise God and all His angels! Alejandro clapped a hand to his heart. “I don't know what to say.” He swallowed, bent his head and then raised his chin again, taking a deep, stoic gulp of air. “I am devastated.”

“I feel really bad,” said Heather.

Alejandro put out a hand, palm forward. “I know.” He took another deep breath. “I will recover. I will…get over it. Go to him. Be happy.”

As Heather minced away, Alejandro blessed Kate over and over, for recommending to him that After Hours hire only gorgeous hunks to do their pedicures from now on, and pay them double as incentive to get over the macho issue.

The clientele—ninety percent female anyway—had tripled since then, and they were already opening two new locations to accommodate all the desperate housewives—and tired female executives—out there.

The music behind him reached a crescendo and the feet thundering on the bar stopped as the Brazilian pop song ended. His guys weren't stupid, and they knew they got better tips as their shirts got tighter and the bulges in their pants got more pronounced.

Alejo hid a smile as he spied both Shirlie and Nicky with huge wads of dollar bills, evaluating the gyrating bulges. Did they have no shame?

He happened to know that a couple of the guys employed rolled tube socks, but if it excited the customers and his gullible staff, then why should he care? He laughed when he saw a couple of the Fab Four hoisting themselves up onto the bar. He made his way over there with some difficulty. “Don't let either of them fall,” he admonished one of the bartenders. “And if someone has to drive them home later, make it Esteban.”

He picked his way through the crowd, searching for Kate, and marveled again at the crowd. This was far better than the A they'd gotten from Professor Kurtz. This was pure gold—and it hadn't only been Kate's doing. He smiled with pride. No, it had been his idea to turn After Hours into a real bar—with the added benefits of salon and spa facilities.

Peggy's fiancé, Troy, owned the whole strip mall, and had made it possible for them to take over the business next door and knock down the wall between the two spaces. After Hours stayed open now until 2:00 a.m. and served hard alcohol, another reason the money continued to pour in.

Marly, engaged to Governor Jack Hammersmith, was boogying down with him in a corner while a photographer stalked them without subtlety.

Peggy and Troy were MIA, but Alejo had noticed a flickering light under the back treatment room door, and nobody was scheduled for a massage with her tonight. He grinned. Now he
really
wanted to find Kate.

His grin disappeared as he saw Tia Carlotta dressed in something low-cut and red, dancing much too close to that damned tree man. He pushed his way through the crowd until he got to her. “Tia, may I speak to you for a moment?”

She rolled her eyes and told
Stan
that she'd be right back.

“Tia, what are you doing here?”

“Checking on my investment,” she said, hands on her hips. Her bright red lipstick was a bit smeared, and Alejo shuddered as he thought about how it might have gotten that way. The possibility that his aunt might have a sex life revolted him.

“Why is Stan the tree man here with you?”

She dimpled and fanned herself with one hand. “Eh? Stan—he come to make sure he got all the, how you say, roots out of ground.”

I'll just bet he did.

“He grind the stump,” she said, patting her hair. Was that henna in it?

And what else is he grinding?
Alejandro cast a suspicious glance toward Stan.

“He
loooove,
” Tia purred, “my
cau-cau.
”

“You're feeding some tree guy now, instead of me?”

“Why not, eh? You eat with that
gringa
now.” She wrinkled her nose. Tia was not partial to Kate, as he'd feared, and the feeling was mutual.

“But she feeds the steak to the dog, not me!” He still hadn't gotten over that.

“Alejo, this is no my
problema.
Manuela, God rest her soul, would want me to find happiness. Now, I get back to dancing, yes?”

“Tia, I thought you hated the idea of me turning the salon into a bar. You said it would never work. You said you wanted to pull your money out, and predicted degenerate behavior here!”

“I never say such thing. Manuela, God rest her soul, would not want you making up stories. Now, Alejandro, you get me a mojito, eh? Your Tia is dying with thirst.” And she pinched his cheek and gyrated away to Stan the tree man, who eyed his Tia's backside in a way that made Alejo want to take him down and grind
his
stump.

However, she probably wouldn't thank him for that, so he shook off his disgust and made his way toward the bar again.

A high-pitched shriek rent his eardrums and he looked toward the source of it. To his amusement Kate was being pulled up forcibly onto the bar by two big male dancers.

“No!” she said. “No, no, no!” They laughed and hauled her up anyway. They sandwiched her between them, doing a little shimmy.

“No, really!” she shouted, crossly, her wiry hair standing on end. “Spinneys do
not
dance on bars…” Then she stopped, an arrested expression on her face. “Alejandro, I need a table,” she yelled. “A small round one.”

“Why? Are you going to serve tea in my bar?”

“Not exactly,” said his love, a smile playing under those killer cheekbones of hers. “There's something I swore I'd do before my thirtieth birthday, but I didn't quite make it.”

Puzzled, Alejandro went to the back of the bar, where he saw Luis, Carlos and Franco sitting around a small table and testing their ability to hold tequila. Luis winked and hoisted a shot glass to him. “Eh, Chivo!”

“That's Señor Chivo to you, my friend.” And so saying, he plucked their table right out from under them, dropping the tequila bottle into Franco's lap.

He strode back to the front of the bar with his prize, placing it in front of Kate. “Your table awaits,
señorita.
”

She gulped and then hesitated. “Will you put me on it, please?”

Highly entertained, he caught her around the waist, lifted her and set her on the tabletop. Around them people started whistling and clapping.

Kate stood stock-still for a long moment, twin spots of color riding high on her cheekbones. Then she tucked her crazy hair behind her ears and began to dance. She moved her hips and her shoulders, her knees and her feet. She tossed her head and raised her hands into the air, finally whooping in exultation.

“I thought Spinneys didn't make public spectacles of themselves!” Alejandro shouted up at her.

“They don't,” she answered, grinning. “But sometimes Just Kate does.”

“Brava!”

“Of course, my family would consider this highly indecent,” she told him as he swung her down.

“It was your brilliant marketing idea to have the guys dancing on the bar for clients. You're just encouraging them, that's all. It's part of your job.”

She made a face at him.

“Speaking of indecency,” he continued with a wicked grin, “I really think we should check on the inventory in the supply closet. Don't you?”

“I don't think that's necessary, Alejandro.”

He pulled her close so that she could see just how necessary it was. “Really, I think we're low on, uh, shampoo.”

“You are
so
transparent.”

“Yes, but I am cute, no?” Alejandro took her hand and tugged her behind him to the supply closet, but curiously it was locked. “Damn. I'll have to go and find the key.”

Muffled laughter came from inside the closet. Then a familiar female voice said, “Alejo, you open this door and I will bleach your hair while you sleep.”

“Yeah,” came another voice, this one deep and masculine. “And I'll pass a bill making it illegal for you to get a hard-on anywhere in the state of Florida.”

Marly and Jack had pre-empted them!

They tried the office next, but soft moans and rustling came from behind that door, too. What the hell? Tia Carlotta's prediction had come true. After Hours was hosting some serious hanky-panky.

“Fine.” Alejandro gritted his teeth. “Then it will have to be the bathroom.”

“Spinneys,” declared Kate, “do
not
do it in bathrooms.”

“Spinneys,” said Alejandro, “will do it anywhere we can, and if the bathroom is occupied, I think we are down to the Dumpster.”

“What is the matter with you? You're crazy. I'm not having sex with you in the garbage.”

“Did I ask you to have sex with me in the garbage?” He threw up his hands. “No, I did not. All I wanted to do was find a somewhat private place to tell you that I have to insist on marrying your bony, snooty, uptight little ass!”

Kate blinked at him. “Oh. Really?”

“Yes, really. Though that is not the way I meant to phrase it….”

She reached up to touch the muscle jumping in his jaw. “That's okay. Spinneys don't do sappy public proposals, either.” She looked around, but nobody was paying any attention to them. “So, keep it quiet. I might even say yes, since I've gotten kind of attached to you. Only for the free pedicures, of course.”

He bent to kiss her. “Kate Spinney, will you marry a former male manicurist? With a prenuptial agreement, of course.”

The very unsentimental apple of his eye actually got tears in hers, to his surprise. “Yeah, I would. If you'd consider marrying a vice president of either tampons or wart cream.”

He burst out laughing. “Excuse me?”

“Really,” she said seriously. “Wendell's just been put in charge of the hemorrhoid and suppository products up in Boston, which leaves me the choice of the other two. Spinney Industries is moving them to the Miami division.”

He looked down into her green eyes and frowned. “I thought you said you were a
shampoo
heiress, Kate.”

She squirmed. “Well…the company really did start with shampoo, back in 1914. But let's just say it's diversified a lot, and our branch of the family is in charge of the more embarrassing stuff. I kind of omitted to tell you that.”

He grasped her by the arms, wanting very badly to shake her until her teeth rattled.
This
was the woman who'd given him hell for not being straight with her? The woman who'd demanded an abject apology from him for lying—and taken it, too, when it had only been accidental?

He was going to wring her snotty, East Coast little neck. “Let me get this straight. Are you saying that—” Words failed him.

Her green gaze slid away from his, and then she squinted up at him hopefully, lip caught between her teeth. “Oh, come on, sport. It was just a
little
white lie. An omission, that's all. Now, what kind of engagement party do you want to have?”