One Night with the CEO (8 page)

She looked up at him then. “I’m fine.” And that was true. “Thanks for getting me in the water.”

“You’re welcome. To be honest, I don’t think there’s much you can’t do if you set your mind to it.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” she murmured against him.

Her lips grazed his chest, and he stopped rubbing her arms. She affected him. That much she knew. He affected her, too. But she couldn’t afford to be distracted by him, so she didn’t acknowledge the accidental touch and enjoyed the view of the ocean instead. The waves rose and fell in an even tempo that lulled her into a state of calm.

He loosened his hold on her. “Still okay?” he asked softly.

She looked up and stared into his eyes, mesmerized by the way the water had spiked his thick eyelashes. “Yes.”

His lips parted. Perhaps in silent invitation. She imagined her lips pressed against his and gathered the courage to ignore the consequences of what she was contemplating. The sand beneath her feet shifted as she rose on her toes. Just a kiss. That’s all she needed or wanted. But then she saw it: a wave that likely reached Mark’s shoulders, which meant it would certainly surpass hers. Karen’s heart raced, and her stomach knotted in protest.
Oh, shit.
Oh, shit. Oh, shit.
She turned and hightailed her ass out of the water, a graceless mess of flailing arms and legs.

She’d run so fast she could hardly catch her breath. Panting, she turned just in time to watch Mark emerge from the water. The wave had drenched him, but he didn’t seem put out by that fact.

He reached her in seconds. “Take a deep breath, Karen. You’re safe.”

She was safe, but she wasn’t well. She gulped in air, her frayed nerves refusing to settle down. Her stomach roiled as she tried to even out her breathing. It was no use, though. Unable to contain her nausea any longer, she bent at the waist and vomited at his feet.

Karen squeezed her eyes shut.
I wish I were home. I wish I were home.
If clicking her feet would have done any good, she’d have done that, too. Great. Just great. Cock-blocked by a freaking wave. But it was just as well. She had no business tempting herself with the likes of Mark Lansing.

F
or a solid ten minutes, Karen had considered wearing sunglasses to the wedding. She needed something—anything—to help her hide from the embarrassment of yesterday’s debacle. Mark had been a good sport about it, of course, but the odds of her being able to look him in the eye after she’d upchucked next to his Italian leather sandals looked bleak. Which made his arrival at the wedding venue bittersweet.

The man wore a suit well. He’d opted not to wear a tie, choosing instead to leave the top two buttons of his dress shirt unbuttoned. Even from here, she could see the outline of his thighs each time he took a step. And when he settled his frame next to Ethan on the lawn, he placed his hands in his pockets, causing the fabric of his pants to stretch across his crotch.
Definitely a mountain. No molehill there.

She knew now that despite his impeccably groomed exterior, Mark could be playful, too. She imagined he’d be the kind of man who’d screw you against a wall with his intense eyes boring into yours and then joke with you about how you almost broke him the minute he pulled out. And this was not the most appropriate place for her to picture all that in her head.
Damn. Just. Damn.
Luckily, a quick glance at Abuela Marta rid her of her naughty thoughts.

Karen took her position at the edge of the gazebo. The wedding planners had staked out a grassy area several hundred feet away from the visitors’ entrance to Castillo de San Felipe del Morro, or El Morro as it was referred to by the islanders. The vast lawn generally provided no shade, but Gracie had arranged for the ceremony site to be covered by cream-colored canopies with ivy entwined around their posts.

Karen glanced at Mark’s face as he surveyed the expanse of land and buildings that made up the almost five-hundred-year-old fort. His eyes darted from structure to structure, finally settling on the restored lighthouse near the fort’s tip. Just beyond the lighthouse, the bottom of the fort’s walls, in some places over one hundred and forty feet high, met the deep blue waters of San Juan Bay.

“It’s breathtaking,” Mark said.

Karen wrestled with her hair, which had lost its battle with both the humidity and the breezes coming off the bay as soon as the wedding guests had begun to trickle in. “I couldn’t agree with you more. It’s a perfect blend of culture, history, and nature.”

“And if that weren’t enough to defend the island, this heat will scorch your ass to smithereens, too.”

Karen smiled. Several strands of her wayward hair stuck to the back of her neck, unable to hold the loose waves she’d spent so much time perfecting that morning. “Yes, there’s that, too.”

Beside them, Ethan alternated between eyeing the sky, checking his watch, and surveying the cobblestoned streets that led to the lawn. Mimi stood on the outskirts of the gathering and chatted with one of Karen’s male cousins.

Mark shifted closer to Ethan. “You ready, E?”

Ethan shoved his hands into his black tuxedo. “I’m ready. Not even a speck of doubt in my mind, and that’s some heady shit. I can’t wait to see her.”

When Karen heard Ethan’s words, her eyes watered. Ethan’s love for her sister made her happy—and inspired a touch of envy as well. What would it be like to be loved by someone so convinced that you were their “one”?
The one.
No man had ever been devoted to Karen in the way Ethan was devoted to her sister.

Mark’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Here she comes.”

A stately limousine came into view. Her parents exited first, followed by the officiant. Their father turned and reached out for Gracie’s hand.

Karen whipped her head in Ethan’s direction, just in time to witness his audible intake of breath. The photographer swooped in to capture the moment when the groom first laid eyes on his bride. Mark leaned in and whispered something to Ethan that made him smile. Mimi, meanwhile, rushed over to take her place next to Karen.

Gracie, flanked by her parents, walked toward her groom. Her face couldn’t have been any brighter; her smile couldn’t have been any more joyful. She only had eyes for Ethan, and Ethan was so focused on his bride that Karen watched for signs that he was actually blinking.

Gracie wore a simple cream silk-organza gown, the ends of which floated around her ankles. Her hair, styled in a seemingly effortless side bun that had taken her stylist a few hours to achieve, complemented her vintage veil, the very same veil their mother had worn for her own wedding three decades ago.

As Gracie approached the arch, Karen saw Abuela Marta dabbing her eyes with a kerchief. Even her tough-as-granite grandmother couldn’t hold back her emotions in the face of so much beauty.

Gracie’s parents kissed and hugged her before Ethan took her hand. From that point, they walked together, and then they faced the officiant. After the officiant had greeted the guests, he informed them that Ethan and Gracie wanted to share a few words before they exchanged their vows.

The bride and groom faced each other and held hands. Ethan spoke first.

“The morning of my sister’s wedding, I asked her, ‘Em, how’d you know you were making the right decision? How’d you know he was the one?’ She looked at me with a wistful expression and said, ‘When you no longer need to ask that question, when the decision becomes as certain as your next breath, that’s when you’ll know.’” And as much as I hate to admit when my baby sis is right, I can’t deny the truth of those words, because that’s how I feel about our love, Gracie. It’s a foregone conclusion. As certain as my next breath. A truth I neither can nor want to deny. You don’t make me strive to be a better person. I
am
a better person now that you’re in my life.”

Gracie’s eyes watered. Couples moved closer together. A child in the second row—Ethan’s niece, she believed—made a show of gagging at Ethan’s sentimental words.

Gracie took a deep breath and exhaled. “Love isn’t calculated. It never comes to you by design. Often it catches you by surprise. I never dreamed I’d find someone who believes in me in the way you do. I never dreamed I’d find someone who doesn’t want to change me. I never dreamed I’d find someone who thinks about my happiness before his. So in many ways, you see, today isn’t a dream come true. It’s much more than that, because you’ve given me the love I never dreamed of and so much more.”

Karen wanted the same. Someday. Someday far, far away.

The reception ballroom, with its black-and-white-checkered floor, featured old world flair and a touch of modern ambience. Gracie and Ethan stood on a small balcony overlooking the dance floor, a photographer at the couple’s side.

A twelve-piece band, which only moments ago had played a lazy jazz song, picked up the tempo.

“
Vamos a bailar!
” the lead singer called out. “We’re gonna dance!” He cupped his ear to the audience. “I say
baila
, you say,
wepa!
” He pointed to the crowd. “
Baila!
”

“
Wepa!
” the guests cheered.

Guests sprang from their chairs and rushed to the small dance floor to join the fun.

With only fifty or so guests at the reception, Mark spotted Karen easily. Once again, she’d piled her hair on top of her head, leaving a few ringlets to cascade along her neck and back. She danced with one of her cousins. Well, Mark hoped he was a cousin, but then the man’s hand slid from her shoulder to her waist and he gave her a seedy wink. Not a relative, then. And it didn’t matter. Really. As soon as the reception ended, he’d head back to his suite, far away from Karen and the charm of Old San Juan.

He nursed his drink, intermittently taking big gulps and savoring the bitter bite of alcohol. He stopped himself from finishing it, knowing he needed his faculties to give the best man’s speech.

His face partially hidden by the rim of his tumbler, he watched Karen weave her way through the guests. She smiled at him and reached for his hand. “C’mon, Lansing. You can’t leave Puerto Rico until you’ve danced salsa.”

Shit.
How was he supposed to keep his distance while his hands rested on her waist? And as she shook her hips, no less?

He set the tumbler on a passing server’s tray, but he hesitated to grab her hand. Her smile disappeared, leaving an expression of wariness in its wake. As he contemplated his next move, she swung her arms around her back and pivoted to leave.

What the hell was wrong with him?
He could handle a fucking dance. Well, his dancing prowess was questionable, but he could survive a dance with her, if only so he didn’t have to watch her shuffle back to the other side of the ballroom like a girl rejected by a silly boy at her first middle school dance. He reached out and touched the back of her arm. “Wait. You’ll have to teach me.”

She spun around, and her eyes lit up. “I’d love to.”

They walked together and found a spot on the dance floor. She helped him place one of his hands on her shoulder blade. Being the suave man that he was, he stumbled as she adjusted them into the right position. She moved closer, staring into his eyes, and then she brought his other hand to her waist. “Usually, we’d hold our hands outstretched, but I think this will be easier.”

He gulped and stared right back. But they didn’t move, and then the band began a new song, this one eliciting universal approval from the crowd.

“Popular song?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. This is El Gran Combo. A beloved Puerto Rican Salsa band.”

“What are they saying?”

“‘
Brujeria
’ is the name of the song.” She licked her lips and pressed her body against his, maneuvering them into the correct position. “She’s bewitched him. A
bruja
is a witch.” She stepped back. “Now, to make this work, watch my feet.”

Still holding on to her, he created space between them and watched her feet in the spiky sandals she wore.

“It’s a simple motion. Move your left foot forward, and then switch your weight, so that you can move your right foot back.”

He tried to copy her movements, but he failed to achieve the same result. “Wait. What was that you just did? You kicked out your foot. And you paused.”

She snorted. “Don’t worry about kicking your foot out. You’re not ready for that.”

He tried again.

“Yes, that’s it. Be sure to swing your hips; they’ll move naturally with your footwork.”

“
Your
hips move naturally with the footwork. Mine? Not so much.”

“You’re doing great, Mark. Just do what feels good to you.”

Right about now something else entirely would feel good to him.

After tripping on his own feet a few times, he eased into a comfortable pattern, his feet mirroring her footwork as well as could be expected.

Karen looked up at him, her radiant smile revealing the dimples in her sun-kissed cheeks. “Ready to spin me?”

“Nope, I’m good.”

“C’mon, Mark, have faith in yourself. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I spin you so hard and fast that you tumble into a table?”

“Have faith in
me
, then. I promise I won’t let you hurt me.”

“All right. If that’s what you want, you can’t claim later that I didn’t warn you.”

She swung his hand above them and spun herself around, which would have been fine if she hadn’t ended the spin with her butt pressed against his crotch. She turned her head to the side, and her cheek brushed against his chest. “See there? No one got hurt, right?”

His balls disagreed. They hurt. And tonight, they’d be blue. So very blue.

He dropped his head, pressing his face against her neck. Not an advisable move, but he couldn’t help himself. Maybe the song itself had powers: the power to ensure that any man who danced with a woman would be entranced by her.

A weathered hand opened a wedge between them. “
Basta!
” Abuela Marta exclaimed through gritted teeth. “What are you doing? This is a wedding.
Ahora no es el momento para el baile sucio.
”

He didn’t have to understand Spanish to know Abuela Marta didn’t appreciate how he and Karen were dancing. Well, he didn’t like it either.

Karen took Abuela Marta’s hand. “
Lo siento, Abuelita
, but it’s not dirty dancing.” She shimmied her shoulders. “Just a little sexy, sexy.”

Abuela Marta harrumphed and shimmied right back. “Well, too much of that and soon you’ll have little babies, babies.” She turned to Mark. “My granddaughter’s got big plans.
La doctora de la familia.
”

Karen rolled her eyes and drew her grandmother to her side. “Yes, and a little dancing isn’t going to change that. C’mon,
Abuelita
, let’s dance.” Karen walked away with her grandmother. Before she disappeared into the circle of dancers, she turned her head and mouthed “Sorry” to him.

He saluted her and strode to the bar. “Bourbon. Neat,” he told the bartender. Yes, that’s what he needed: a stiff drink—to match his stiff dick.

Two strong drinks later, the wedding coordinator tapped his shoulder. “Mr. Lansing, we’ll start the toasts in a few minutes, okay? We’ll begin with Ms. Ramirez and end with you.”

He slipped a hand in his pants pocket and pulled out the toast he’d written a week ago. “Yes, that’s fine.”

The band ended its lively song, and the lights flickered. With a swipe of a towel across his damp face, the lead singer returned to the mic. “Ladies and gentleman, please take your seats.”

The guests looked around and then trickled off the dance floor. Karen hugged her grandmother, and then she walked across the room. Her eyes grew wider with each step, and her mouth rounded, as though she were taking and releasing deep breaths.

Mark jumped onto the stage and joined her. She held the mic in a death grip, her knuckles as white as the pristine tablecloths in the room. She glanced at him, but her eyes lacked any focus at all. He tried to give her an encouraging smile, but she looked past him and bit her lip. The chatter eventually died down, and with no speech to fill the void, a smattering of whispered conversations followed.

Still clutching the mic, Karen dropped her head and stared at her shoes.