by Marin Thomas
“Figures,” he grumbled, then meandered toward the tree to join the other men.
Instead of irritating her, Aaron’s inexperience had the opposite effect. She enjoyed watching him flounder his way through each day—not because she found his mistakes entertaining or humorous, but because no man had ever wished so badly to impress her.
Hammer poised in the air, he glanced at her. Their gazes collided, and it was as if the kiss they’d shared over a week ago had happened moments ago. The same hot, tingly sensations rocked her—double the intensity.
Never breaking eye contact, he dropped the hammer to the ground. With purposeful strides he ate up the distance between them, stopping when his chest—bare chest—was inches from her face.
“You keep ogling me,” he accused.
The scent of male sweat and faded aftershave tickled her nose. Oh, Aaron. I can’t stop thinking about our kiss. “I’m not ogling you.”
“Little liar.”
Mesmerized by the tiny bead of perspiration rolling down one hairless, smooth pectoral muscle, Jennifer struggled to follow the conversation. “Liar?”
“You can’t keep your eyes off me.”
Aaron…sweet temptation. His carefree, easygoing manner had changed when they’d kissed in the warehouse. The intensity of his mouth on hers had taken her by surprise. She’d tasted passion—real honest-to-goodness man-to-woman passion. The way he’d slid his hand up her neck and had cupped the back of her head as he’d pressed his mouth harder to hers…The way his chest had shuddered when their tongues had tangled for the briefest second…
“I have to make sure you attached the boxes to the house correctly,” she insisted.
His gaze softened and he lowered his voice. “And you can make sure by staring at my butt?”
“I am not obsessed with your…your…” She snapped her mouth closed. She’d never been a very good fibber.
He grinned. “You know what?”
Don’t ask. “What?”
“I’m glad you like my butt.” He leaned in. “Ask me why.”
The whole conversation was totally inappropriate. Good grief, they were standing in the middle of Mrs. Benitos’s front yard, surrounded by gawking construction workers. Don’t… “Why?”
“Because I happen to like your sassy fanny.”
The whispered confession sent heat rushing to her face.
“Hey, anglo!” Juan hollered, as he carried a ladder to the front porch, where the light kit waited to be installed. “Those boxes won’t hang themselves.”
Never taking his eyes off her face, Aaron insisted, “I don’t think Juan approves of me and…you.”
Me and you? That Aaron thought of them as a couple caused her heart to stumble. “He can be a little overprotective.” She’d put up with Juan’s annoying tendency to hover and interfere any day. He’d been a solid wall to lean on during the dark days that had followed her mother’s and brother’s deaths.
“Or maybe Juan doesn’t approve of me as a babysitter?”
A sweet ache gripped her chest at the memory of Aaron’s antics in the kitchen with Juan’s boys. If there was ever a man meant to be a father, it was Aaron. She wondered why he’d never gotten married. Steal-your-breath gorgeous, well mannered and a genuinely nice guy didn’t add up to alone. Single by choice or waiting for that special woman? Don’t even go there. You could never be that special woman.
“The boys keep asking their dad when the big anglo is coming to visit. Your fruit-snack tricks really impressed them.”
His laughter drew attention from the crew. “I’d be happy to return for an encore performance.”
Smiling, she motioned to the window boxes. “Juan’s right. The boxes won’t—”
“Yeah, yeah. Just stop looking at my you-know-what so I can get some work done around here.”
Jennifer didn’t answer as he strode away. She was too busy watching his you-know-what.
AARON WADED through the happy-hour clientele crowding the patio of La Cantina, a popular Hispanic bar five miles from Mrs. Benitos’s house. Once inside the bar, he hugged the back wall, searching for Jennifer and the rest of the crew. The thundering rhythm of a base guitar shook his chest, as his ears winced at the squeals of an accordion played by one of the men in the eight-member band onstage.
Stomach tied in knots, he felt like the new kid on the block who’d been invited to tag along with the neighborhood gang. After being treated as an outsider at the construction site for the third straight week, he’d almost dropped a heavy drill on his foot when Pedro—in broken English—had invited him for beers with the crew.
When he’d reported back to work this past Monday, Jennifer had pulled him aside and explained that he’d be working by himself on various projects. He’d felt about as unwelcome as a horse fly at a picnic. Though he hadn’t asked, he’d figured the crew had complained about his inexperience. That hadn’t bothered him as much as the idea that maybe Jennifer had regretted kissing him and didn’t intend to risk the chance of him blabbing about it to the crew. He wasn’t the kind of guy who gave play-byplays of his love life. Jennifer should know that about him by now. Why should she? You haven’t spent time alone with her. A problem he planned to remedy. The sooner the better.
“I see you found the place.” Jennifer’s half shout caught his attention. He whirled, almost knocking her backward.
She’d made a pit stop at her place and cleaned up before arriving at the bar. She’d changed into white jeans and a burnt-orange tank top that molded to her breasts and showed a hint of cleavage—enough to leave a man speechless when he first laid eyes on her. The silky strands of her hair cascaded down her back like a midnight waterfall and her peach-colored toenails peeked through the straps of her sandals.
He felt like a bum standing next to her. He’d had to take a sponge bath using fast-food napkins and the melted ice from his water jug. At least he’d had an extra clean T-shirt in the truck.
“We’ve got tables in the corner.” She pointed across the sea of bobbing bodies on the dance floor.
“Lead the way.” Aaron dogged her heels, noticing the male attention she attracted as she sauntered up to the bar. No surprise that men found Jennifer attractive, sexy and hot. But the thought that one of them might have been a past lover caused Aaron’s hands to curl into fists. He’d never felt this way about a woman, which confused him because Jennifer wasn’t his woman. Yet.
“Are you drinking Corona?” he asked, leaning in so she could hear him.
Her hair tickled his face when she shook her head. “I’ll take a Tecate.”
The bartender spotted them. “Two Tecates,” Aaron ordered. At Jennifer’s surprised expression, he shrugged. “When in Rome…” Her throaty laughter loosened the knot of nerves in his gut. He tossed a ten on the bar and received seven dollars in change. Assuming the barkeep had made a mistake, he left three singles and put the rest in his wallet.
The big, burly man ignored the money as his eyes soaked up Jennifer. “The señorita’s Tecate is on the house.”
No way would he allow the man to buy Jennifer’s beer. He slid the dollar bills forward. “Your tip.” Grabbing the cans in one hand, he pressed the other against Jennifer’s lower back. Certain he had the bartender’s attention, he moved his palm lower, resting his hand above the swell of her fanny. She’s mine, buddy.
Jennifer maneuvered through the crowd toward the cluster of tables in the back corner. Juan held out the chair next to him for the boss lady. The remaining empty seat happened to be on the far side of the table. Ignoring the laughter in Juan’s eyes, Aaron sat.
Since the crew spoke in Spanish and he didn’t understand a word, he paid attention to the band onstage. The musicians pounded out a song and the lead singer screamed into the microphone as if in excruciating pain. A few minutes later, the music ended abruptly, the singer’s wailing voice trailing off into an eerie silence. When the performers set their instruments aside and made their way to the bar, he shifted in his s
eat, startled to find several pairs of eyes on him.
“What? I mean, ¿qué?”
Chuckling, the crew lifted their cans high in the air. Aaron joined the toast, then sampled the beer. He preferred Corona but the Tecate’s mild flavor wasn’t bad. The salt shaker traveled around the table and Jennifer and the others sprinkled the tops of their cans. He did the same, surprised that the salt made the beer taste better.
A moment later a waitress set a basket of chilies on the table. He reached for one, but Jennifer’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.
“Habañero chilies are very hot, Aaron.”
Slouching in his seat, Juan taunted, “Maybe the anglo is chicken, no?” When he repeated his sentence in Spanish, a hush fell over the table.
Oh, hell. Aaron doubted the chilies were any different from the jalapeños he ate on his nachos. As he’d said earlier, when in Rome…He grabbed a chili from the basket and bit off the end. A streak of fire ripped through his tongue and the piece of chili catapulted out of his mouth and landed with a thwack against the front of Juan’s shirt.
Too busy guzzling his beer, Aaron didn’t pay attention to the crew’s raucous laughter and finger pointing. Miraculously, the waitress appeared with a bottled water, and only after he drank the entire contents did his salivary glands stop squirting like an irrigation sprinkler.
“Go ahead and laugh—I deserve it,” he admitted when he was sure he wouldn’t drool down the front of himself.
Juan flicked the half-chewed chili off his shirt, then raised his beer can in a silent salute. A few of the men left the table and walked to the stage, where they struck up a conversation with members of the band.
Motioning to his empty beer can, Jennifer asked, “How did you like the Tecate?”
“The beer’s great, but next time I’ll pass on the chilies.”
“You were a good sport, anglo” Juan offered.
When it became obvious Juan wasn’t leaving the table, Aaron asked, “How are your kids?”
“If not for my little Sophia, los muchachos would make me loco.”
“Five kids must be a handful.”
Juan shrugged. “María loves children and I love María.” His eyes softened as if he were imagining making love to his wife right there on the table.
“María says she wants another baby soon.” Jennifer’s seductive laughter warmed Aaron’s belly. The sound conjured up an image of her in the bedroom—intense, yet playful and fun.
“María says she wants another baby, but really it’s that she can’t keep her hands off me.”
Underneath Juan’s sexual banter, he sensed the man held his wife in high esteem and, more than likely, worshiped the ground she walked on. Is that what Jennifer craved in a man? Someone to adore her?
He’d never felt adoration for a woman. Wasn’t sure he even knew what was involved in adoring a woman. But if ever a female could arouse such feelings in him, he suspected Jennifer would be the one.
“Time to call María and check on the kids.” Juan left the table. When the band began another set, the rest of the crew joined the fans near the stage, leaving Jennifer and Aaron alone. Finally.
“Can I get you another drink?” he offered.
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
He wished they were anywhere but a noisy, crowded bar where intimate conversation was impossible. Motioning to the band, as the lead vocalist attempted to swallow the microphone, he asked, “What’s the song about?”
“The music is called norteña. Very popular in northern Mexico. The lyrics are about life along the border, drugs, desperadoes.”
“Pretty intense.”
“Right now he’s singing about a rejected lover.” Grabbing Aaron’s hand, she stood. “Let’s find a quieter spot.”
You read my mind.
Zigzagging through the crowd, they crossed the room to a side exit. The door opened onto a small patio. The gurgling from a water fountain created a cozy atmosphere. There were no empty tables, so Jennifer sat on the wide cement ring surrounding the fountain. Aaron joined her and they both stuck their hands in the trickling water.
“How often do you drop by here with the guys?” he asked.
“I tag along once a month to catch up with what’s going on in their lives.”
Aaron thought about his employees. He had no idea what most of them did outside the office. To his way of thinking, they were entitled to their private lives. “Why do you care what the crew does after-hours?”
Her eyebrows dipped. “I care because we’re a family.”
Interesting. He’d never considered his own employees as family.
“Families help one another. If I know what’s going on in their lives, I can be there if they need me.”
“How would they need you?” He wanted to understand what ways Jennifer involved herself in their personal lives.
“Pedro’s wife was diagnosed with breast cancer six months ago and he doesn’t have health insurance. I would never have found out if I hadn’t tagged along with the crew to the bar. After several drinks he broke down and confided in me.”
“Will his wife be okay?”
“Too early to tell, but she’s a fighter. Pedro couldn’t afford the medication his wife required. I contacted an organization that helped get the pills at a reduced cost.”
A regular Florence Nightingale. “Since when do construction foremen—women—file medical claims?”
Her brown eyes softened. “They don’t. But like I said, the crew is family. I feel responsible for them.”
Responsibility. Obviously, it didn’t upset Jennifer the way it bothered him. “Why?”
“Why what?”
He hadn’t realized he’d spoken his thoughts. “Why would you intentionally take on someone else’s problems when you already have enough in your life—your brother demanding a master’s degree and your sister entering college in the fall?”
“Helping others makes me feel good.” She rubbed the tips of her shriveled fingers together but avoided eye contact, making him wonder if there was more to just feeling good that drove her to assist others.
Sensing he’d touched upon a sensitive subject, he changed topics and asked, “Have the police found out anything more about the missing money?”
“My boss said they have a suspect but are waiting to gather more evidence before they issue an arrest warrant.”
“Someone in the company?”
“The FBI wouldn’t say.”
That topic exhausted, he asked, “What do you do to unwind at the end of the day?”
“Girl stuff.”
“Girl stuff? You mean shopping and getting your nails done?”
Flicking her short, stubby nails under his nose, she laughed, the trill warming his insides. “These nails haven’t had a manicure in years.”
“Okay. No manicures. How do you spend your spare time?”
“I read.”
“I enjoy reading, too. I’m a Dean Koontz fan. Some of his books give me the willies.”
“I like—”
“Wait, let me guess,” he interrupted, certain he knew exactly what a woman with a soft, caring heart would read: a book with a happy ending. “Romance novels.”
“On occasion. I mostly buy nonfiction.”
At first, that surprised him. Then he remembered she’d missed out on the chance to go to college. He imagined her mind hungered for knowledge. “What kind of nonfiction?”
“I have a collection of hardbacks on presidential wives. Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and Eleanor Roosevelt are two of my favorites.”
“Do you prefer Democrats or Republicans?”
“Both. I’ve found something admirable in each and every first lady.”
He tucked away the tidbit of information for future reference. Now that he realized she enjoyed reading about women in powerful positions, he planned to buy her the bestseller that had hit the shelves a few weeks ago. The book detailed the double life of a female CIA operative whose own govern
ment had compromised her identity. Reviewers had praised the book for its emotional intensity. “When you’re not reading, what do you do?”
“I used to play tennis. I wasn’t very good, but I enjoyed the exercise.”
“What made you quit the sport?”
“I had other priorities.”
If he could play with Jennifer, he’d be willing to give tennis a try. “When was the last time you hit the ball around?”
“A long time ago.”
Her answer was firm and flat and so final that it spooked Aaron. He suspected something specific had happened to make her give up the game. The conversation was drifting toward the serious side, so he decided to lighten the mood. Grasping her damp hand, he coaxed, “Dance with me?”
Laughter twinkled in her eyes. “This isn’t dancing music.”
“Not true. Let me show you.” In one smooth motion, he tugged her to her feet and slid an arm around her waist. The muscles in her lower back tightened beneath his fingers, and he held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t pull away. She didn’t.
Encouraged, he set her left hand on his shoulder, then trapped her right hand against his chest near his thumping heart. The top of her head barely met his shoulder—she was by far the shortest woman he’d ever dated. He nuzzled her temple and breathed in the herbal scent of her shampoo.
They swayed more than danced. Perfect.
The tiny dynamo in his arms ignited his body. Making love to Jennifer would be nothing short of mind-blowing both physically and emotionally. But what shocked him to the core was the realization that the more he learned about this woman, the more he found himself questioning his own purpose in life. Jennifer Alvarado stirred his soul.
“Aaron. Earth to Aaron?”
“Huh?” How could a man keep track of his thoughts with a woman like Jennifer in his arms? “Sorry. What did you say?”
“People are staring at us.”
A glance around confirmed her observation. “Let them stare.” A couple walked past and accidentally bumped her, sending her hip into his crotch. He grinned when her lips parted.