by Ann Mcintosh
And the insight into another facet of Regina’s personality added a new layer to the thrum of awareness he constantly felt being in her company, giving it a new depth.
Now, as she paused in the act of eating her dessert and watched the band setting up on the low, beachside platform, he gazed at her clear-cut profile, trying to discern what it was that attracted him so.
Yes, she was beautiful, and carried herself with almost regal poise, but that in itself didn’t explain his overwhelming interest. Her razor-sharp intellect certainly contributed, yet also was just a part of the equation.
Then she turned to him and said, in that cool, contained way she had, “It’s a shame they’re just setting up to play when we’re about to leave.”
It struck him then, as it had in the past.
He had an overwhelming desire to ruffle her, break through the barriers she placed between them, and see the real woman behind the wall.
Oh, she’d probably say that what he saw was who she was, but now he knew, for a fact, that there were parts of her securely hidden away, and he wanted to see them on full display.
There had been a flash of that other persona in the way she’d taken Mrs. Morales’s hand, as though it were second nature.
And another glimpse when she’d spoken about her parents, and the latent pain had so briefly been revealed.
Even the way she’d just spoken, distancing herself from whatever wish she may have to stay and hear the music.
At work she was forthright and fearless, but outside of it there was a subtle subtext of denying her own desires and emotions, as though to indulge them in any way would be a weakness.
“We could have a coffee,” he said, catching the waiter’s eye. “And at least hear a couple songs.”
For an instant he thought she was going to refuse, but as the waiter approached, she said, “I think I’d like that.”
As the waiter walked away again to get their drinks, Regina glanced to the left, over his shoulder, and her eyes widened.
“Is that...?”
He followed her gaze, in time to see the owner of the bar greeting a few people near the door leading to inside the restaurant. The famous singer smiled, exchanging a few words with the customers at each table as she passed.
“It is, indeed,” he replied to Regina, unable to hold back his smile when he saw her amazed expression. Even she wasn’t immune to being starstruck. “And it looks as though she’s making the rounds. You might even get to meet her.”
“You wait until I tell my friend Cher about this,” she said, regaining her poise, but smiling wider than he’d seen her do before. “We used to belt out her songs in the basement when we were young.”
It took a few minutes for the singer to get to their table, and when she did, her gaze tracked from Regina to Mateo, and back again.
“Good evening,” she said, in her distinctive, slightly husky voice. “I hope you’re having a good time here with us?”
“It’s been wonderful.” You’d never know from Regina’s cool smile and calm voice that she’d just been geeking out over the other woman’s presence. “Thank you.”
“Will you be singing with the band tonight?” Mateo asked, hoping the answer would be in the affirmative. Hearing some of the songs she used to sing with her friend would make the evening all the more special for Regina, and knowing that made him bold enough to pose the question.
The singer gave him a bright smile.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. “If I do, will you promise to get up and dance?”
“Of course, if my lady agrees,” he replied, and gained himself a little wink.
They both looked at Regina, who, after a brief hesitation, shrugged and smiled slightly.
“Why not?”
“Then I will,” the Diva said, casting a knowing eye over their table, just as the waiter returned with their coffee. “By the time you’ve finished those, I should be ready.”
When she’d moved on to the next table, Regina lifted her coffee cup but paused with it a few inches from her lips. “Do you even know how to dance to eighties music?”
“Nope,” he replied, mirroring her actions and taking a sip of his coffee. “But I’ll do my best not to embarrass you.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly, and she shook her head. “I won’t be the one embarrassed,” she replied, with her customary insouciance.
And as Mateo chuckled in agreement, he also thought he was beginning to understand how to deal with Regina Montgomery’s wall of reticence.
No pushing, no forcefulness. Make it her decision, always, and see where things led.
Not the easiest of paths for a man used to getting his own way a lot of the time, but one he would stick to, in the hopes of getting what he really wanted.
Regina Montgomery, naked in his bed, crying out with pleasure.
* * *
Regina sipped her coffee in silence, her gaze firmly fixed on Mateo’s face. Torn between amusement and surprise, she didn’t know whether to laugh or frown.
So she did neither.
Instead she tried to figure out his mindset from his expression.
She’d never countenanced being bossed around, and had quite a bit of experience with men who tried to do just that. Most of the time, men tried to push her to do what they wanted when she was reluctant. And the approach was either an aggravating macho shove, or a smug I know what’s best for you.
Nothing got her back up quite like feeling as though she was considered an onlooker in her own life, unable to make the decisions that were best for her. At times like that she beat a hasty retreat, or administered a verbal smackdown guaranteed to let the other person know she wasn’t up for it. At all.
Yet, she also wasn’t used to being deferred to in quite this way. At no point tonight had she felt him exerting his masculinity, or acting as though to prove who wore the pants. Yet, he was no wimp, either, and their conversations had been spirited and lively, with both of them sticking to their guns when appropriate.
It was an ingrained impulse, this need to question his character and motivations. Unfair, perhaps, but necessary. She knew she wasn’t imagining the attraction swirling between them, but past experience told her to be guarded, and watch out for the inevitable domineering traits to surface.
So she’d watch and wait, and enjoy herself in the meantime. The singer they’d just met was best known for a series of fast-paced pop hits of the eighties and nineties, and Regina had no objection to an energetic turn on the dance floor.
It would also be a great way to see Mateo in motion, too.
As she sipped her coffee, she looked forward, if she were honest, with a fair amount of anticipation to see what would come next.
The evening had been enjoyable, even though she’d found herself opening up to Mateo in ways she normally wouldn’t. Speaking about her parents was something she rarely did, except with her oldest and closest friends. Yet, talking to him was so easy she’d hardly hesitated. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel see and heard, in the best possible way.
Perhaps even a little bit understood, although that, too, might just be an act.
The band started up, playing an instrumental rendition of a current hit, the upbeat song seemingly setting the stage for their boss’s turn at the microphone. As the song was ending, Regina saw the Diva making her way up on stage, and the crowd all clapped and cheered.
Mateo smiled, and when the noise calmed down slightly, he leaned closer and asked, “Are you ready?”
Regina didn’t think she was: not for the dance, and not for him, but she nodded anyway and took his hand when he held it out. As he led her away from the table, she was aware of some eyes turning their way, but most people were focused on the woman at the mic, and Regina paid no attention to the others. They didn’t concern her.
B
ut what did concern her was the fact that when the band started playing again, it wasn’t one of the singer’s dance hits, but one of her sultry, sexy ballads.
And the way Mateo looked down at her as they stopped at the edge of the dance floor, snagging her gaze and refusing to let it go, the gleam in his eyes making her heart beat an erratic tattoo.
She expected him to pull her close, but instead he simply squeezed her hand, and Regina found it was she who moved toward him and into his waiting arms.
Again he disconcerted her, by keeping a bit of distance between them as he placed his hand on the small of her back and began to move to the music.
Oh, the man could dance!
No rent-a-tile, as her granny used to call it, when she’d see people locked together on the dance floor, hardly moving. Instead he was master of the smooth, luscious sway and step, his only guidance to her coming from the light movement of his hand on her back, and the gentle motions of the other hand, holding hers.
As they swept across the floor, their bodies brushed occasionally, lighting sparks to flash and sizzle beneath her skin. Regina realized she’d melted into the dance, was letting him set the pace and increase the elaborateness of the steps, and following him with complete trust.
Ceding to his calm, gentle, yet completely masterful control.
How crazy to feel secure and aroused by it all, at the same time.
To feel desire building, just as the singer’s voice built with each repetition of the chorus.
To have heat—which had nothing to do with exertion—grow throughout her body, until she was all but aflame.
No longer able to hold his gaze, she let hers fall away, realizing her mistake when it dropped to his mouth.
Those lips, always sensual, were now firm, yet even sexier than before.
They seemed the embodiment of the same control he was now exerting over her body, as he led her through the most erotic dance she’d ever had.
And how she stopped herself from leaning just those couple of inches necessary and kissing him senseless, she would never know.
CHAPTER SIX
AS THEY WALKED back to the table, energy still thrummed through Regina, and arousal coursed, thick and hot across her skin. A glance at Mateo seemed to find him amused, unmoved by what had been for her one of the most—if not the most—sensual events of her life.
Mateo pulled out her chair and Regina sank into it, glad to be off her somewhat shaky legs. The Diva started singing one of her Latin-inspired dance hits, and Regina shook her head.
“That’s not what I was expecting, when she asked if we’d dance,” she said as Mateo helped her push her chair in toward the table. “I think we were set up.”
He’d bent closer to hear her over the music, and his breath—warm against her ear—made her have to fight a shiver, when he replied.
“I think we acquitted ourselves well.”
“Well, you certainly know how to move.”
“It’s in the genes. My mother was a dancer,” he explained, before straightening and gesturing to the waiter for the bill.
She’d have liked to get more information about that, but the music was too loud, so she waited until after he’d paid and they’d stepped outside the restaurant to wait for his car.
“Did you say your mom was a dancer?”
Mateo smiled one of those tender tilts of his lips that came out whenever he spoke about his family.
“Yes. When she and my father met, she was dancing with a troupe in Buenos Aires, as a way to put herself through university. Once she got her degree, she stopped dancing professionally, but she still knew how to move. She taught all of us kids. Us older ones anyway. She didn’t have the opportunity to teach the others.”
The regret in his voice wrung her heart. He was clearly so devoted to his family and the legacy his parents left behind that she couldn’t help but be touched.
Yet, it distanced her from him, too. Each story about his family seemed to highlight the differences between them. His childhood sounded like the dreams she’d had as a young girl, of a family filled with laughter and loving support—a fantasy to the woman who’d had to scratch and claw and sacrifice to make something of herself. In her mind, there was no point of intersection between them besides both being doctors, and the incredible lust she had for him.
Lust she wasn’t even completely sure was reciprocated.
“So did you teach them?” she asked, continuing the conversation.
Mateo laughed, the sound both amused and rueful.
“You were definitely an only child,” he replied, still chuckling. “I realized early on that while they’d accept me as an authority figure, none of my youngest siblings had any interest in learning anything like that from me. I offered, but both Ben and Micah looked horrified and declined, and—having learned my lesson—I enrolled Serena in dance class, figuring if she liked it, she could continue going.”
Another dream Regina had had as a little girl that never came to fruition, but she pushed the slightly sour thought aside, to ask, “Did she like them?”
The valet pulled up in Mateo’s car, and Mateo opened her door for her as he replied succinctly, “Two left feet, in that respect. She’s a handy soccer player, though.”
Regina found herself laughing as she watched him walk around the front of the car.
As he closed the door and reached for the seat belt, he asked, “Nightcap, before I take you home?”
She hesitated, unsure of how wise it would be to spend more time in his company. Mateo created a rare maelstrom of emotions in her—desire, tenderness and, yes, even longing—that she instinctively knew was dangerous. But Miami was just a waypoint on the path to her ultimate destination. What harm could truly come from enjoying him while she could?
“Sure,” she said.
Then, as he put the car in gear, she wondered if the nightcap he offered would be at his house. If it were any other man, she’d think so, but Mateo wasn’t like any other man she’d been out with, and constantly surprised her.
And she still couldn’t decide whether that was just his usual personality, or she was being played in some way.
Either way, she was determined not to lose her focus because of a pretty face and a winning persona. Not that she was usually susceptible to doing any such thing, but she couldn’t be too careful.
The last few months had been stressful, and alleviating that stress by coming to Miami had also left her on slightly shaky ground emotionally. It was the first time in years she’d done something that wasn’t directly tied to her long-term goal.
Sure, it would be an interesting addition to her résumé, but it hadn’t been in the plan, and she chafed at the thought that this side trip might actually be detrimental to her career. Not that it was in the same category as the initial embarrassment over Kevin’s betrayal, but there was always the fear that she’d diminished her worth at the hospital in San Francisco.
All those worries had, she realized, made her question every decision she made, almost obsessively. Even at work, where she was usually at her most confident, she found herself double- and triple-checking actions that were basic or routine.
“So what do you plan to do for the rest of the weekend?” he asked, pulling out of the parking lot and turning the car north.
“Actually, I have a distant cousin who lives in Boca Raton, and I promised to go visit her,” she replied.
She’d been dreading going, just because she really didn’t know Marilyn very well, and didn’t know what to expect when she got there. Now, though, she was glad to have something to do, even if just so Mateo wouldn’t feel as though he needed to step in and entertain her.
“I didn’t know you had relatives here in Florida.”
“This is my grandmother’s cousin’s family, so, like fourth cousins twice removed or something like that?”
> He chuckled. “I’ve never been able to work out those family connections. Everything is just ‘cousin’ to me.”
They had left most of the nightlife behind and were crossing the barrier island, away from the sea and toward Biscayne Bay.
“Do you have a lot of family here?” She remembered he’d said his parents had met in Argentina, and was curious.
“I have an aunt and some cousins in Texas, but most of the rest of the family is in Argentina. When Mom and Dad died, my aunt Leona came from Texas and lived with us for about eight years. She’d gone through a divorce the year before, and I think she was happy to get away for a while.”
“Did she bring her kids with her?”
Mateo put on his indicator and waited for a car to pass before making a left-hand turn into a dimly lit driveway. On either side were chain-link fences overgrown with flowering vines.
“They were all grown up by then,” he replied. “She was older than my father by six years, and married fairly young.”
At the end of the driveway was an electronic gate, which opened as the car approached. They drove through into a parking lot with a long, low, brightly illuminated building on the other side. Beyond it, there were glimpses of masts, and the occasional gleam of lights on water.
“Where are we?”
“It’s a private marina and yacht club,” he replied, slotting the car into a parking space. “It’s a nice place to have a drink and see the city from across the bay.”
“You have a boat here?”
The more she heard, the farther the distance between their life experiences seemed to grow. Private yacht clubs were still, even at her comfortable stage of life, beyond her reach.
“Actually, the membership belonged to my father, and he’d bought Ben a small sailboat one birthday, after he’d expressed an interest. The boat is still moored here, until Ben is settled and can decide what he wants to do with it, so he only gets to sail it when he comes home for holidays.” He gave her a grin, as they both undid their seat belts. “I laugh to myself when I see Ben’s dinky little boat up on a rack and compare it to the monster vessels tied up in the water, but, hey, it’s still a boat, right?”