Overwhelmed by the lavish interior, she smoothed a hand over the soft nappa leather of the seat. “This is nice.” She kept her voice neutral so as not to gush.
Esteban sat on the other side of a console that separated them from each other. “A splurge, I know, but why have money if you don’t buy nice things?”
Why indeed?
Chapter 7
They took MacArthur Causeway away from South Beach. The highway connected the mainland to the man-made islands in Biscayne Bay, one of which was Star Island, where Esteban’s home was located.
Both sides of the iron gates folded inward when they arrived, revealing the splendor of the well-lit grounds and the restored 1929 Mediterranean-style home he’d fallen in love with the minute he’d seen it. The mansion had been previously owned by a pop star, and as such, he’d had to tone down the ultra-glam décor to suit his personal taste. Otherwise, it contained everything he needed, and was the favorite of his homes, even more beloved than the one he owned in Argentina.
With nine bedrooms and twelve bathrooms, the two-story house offered enough space for two families to live comfortably. Instead, the only occupants were he and his housekeeper, Delores, whose private quarters were in a wing upstairs with a separate entrance. His driver Abel lived in the guest house on the property, readily available all hours of the day and night.
Esteban watched Sonia’s wide-eyed expression as they crossed the courtyard to the front door, her gaze sweeping over the expansive grounds and palm trees, whose leaves shimmied in the balmy night air.
“Wow,” he heard her murmur, and wondered if she’d even realized she’d spoken.
“You flatter me with your reaction. I can’t wait for you to see the inside.”
“I hope I don’t sound too gauche, but this place is gorgeous. I can’t wait to see the inside, either.”
She laughed, and the sound made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. She had a lovely smile and a beautiful laugh. Everything about her was beautiful, and it pleased him that she had a beautiful personality to go along with the outer package.
He entered the code at the door and flung the door wide, allowing Sonia to precede him into the interior.
“Lights on,” he commanded, following close behind her, and the front foyer became bathed in the luminescent glow of the recessed bulbs.
He heard Sonia’s sharp intake of air as her heels clicked on the surface of the white tile. For him, appearances were everything, and it was not only important to have a beautiful exterior—the interior of the home had to be splendid as well. This house fit the bill. It made quite an impression on anyone who walked into it for the first time.
The front hall opened into a sunken living room that dominated a third of the first floor, filled with comfortable chairs set up in various seating arrangements to facilitate conversation around coffee tables, and a round table at one end. Windows extended the full length of the room, and outside, the ninety-foot swimming pool looked like black ink. Beyond that was Biscayne Bay, reflecting the light of the full moon. Day or night, it was a spectacular view, and he didn’t hide it behind curtains or blinds or any other type of obstruction.
“It’s elegant but comfortable-looking,” Sonia said.
“I can’t take the credit. My interior designer worked closely with a host of people on this place.” He took a look around, as if seeing it for the first time. “She added warmth, comfort, and style.”
Sonia stepped down into the living room, and Esteban’s gaze gravitated to the delicious swaying motion of her hips. Her full behind was displayed in a pair of slacks that showed off its roundness. Biting his bottom lip, he smiled to himself. He had to get this woman into bed.
“She did a good job. Your home is beautiful.”
“She understood me and my needs. I like to collect beautiful things. Paintings, sculptures—”
“Women?” She arched a brow, a playful gleam filling her eyes.
She was flirting with him.
Esteban smiled slowly. “No, not women.”
“No? You have somewhat of a reputation.”
“I admit I like beautiful women, their softness and curves, and it’s fascinating that they’re the result of God making a mistake.”
“You should be careful what you say.” She sounded appalled. “A mistake?”
“Yes, a mistake. God created man, and then he realized he could do better. Then he created woman.” He flashed his most dangerous grin, the one that could make a nun drop her panties.
Sonia took a tremulous breath. “Hmm, good answer,” she said, but her voice sounded steady.
She pointed at one of the paintings on the wall, and then her eyes narrowed as she looked at the others in the room. “These are like the prints at your restaurant. Are these also works by Benito Quinquela Martín?”
“They are.”
She walked over to one for closer inspection and then glanced at him. “It’s an original.”
Esteban stepped down into the living room and went to stand beside her. He inhaled the sweet scent of her perfume—a flowery fragrance that had teased his nostrils all night.
“I had to outbid a particularly persistent opponent at an auction for that one.”
“But you managed.”
“I always win,” he said.
She watched him from the corner of her eye. “Is that the reason you were determined to have this piece? To win?”
“I greatly admire his work. Martín was from the La Boca neighborhood, and as you can see, his work paid homage to the port and its workers. He lived in that neighborhood until he died.”
“How old was he?”
“They think eighty-six.”
“They think?”
“He was an orphan, and the nuns who found him didn’t know his real birth date, so they gave him one.” Esteban swiveled away from her, suddenly anxious to change the topic.
“That’s why you like his work so much,” she said quietly.
He turned to face her again, agitated by her comment. “Excuse me?”
“You’re an orphan, too. That’s why back at the restaurant you didn’t like when I said you had the restaurant industry in your blood.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets as the area between his shoulder blades grew tight. He stared out the window at the night, his jaw clenched so hard he couldn’t speak at first. She’d surprised him by getting so close to the truth. “My mother wanted me. My father did not. My mother died when I was three, and I was put in an orphanage.”
The words came out in a clipped monotone. He couldn’t remember the woman who had given him life, but was grateful for the photographs of her in his possession. His father, dead now, had never shown any interest in Esteban.
“We have something in common,” Sonia said softly.
His head swiveled back to her.
She shrugged. “My mother died when I was young—older than you, though. I was eight. Her brother took me in and raised me. Uncle Rowell loves me as much as he does his own daughter. One day, I hope to pay him back for his generosity.”
“An older couple who couldn’t have children adopted me when I was six. They’re both gone now.” His shoulders relaxed at the commonalities between them.
They looked at each other, and a silent understanding developed as they experienced a moment of shared pain.
Straightening, Esteban dismissed the sadness that threatened to overtake him. “You’re here to see my wine collection. Follow me.”
The cellar had been installed near the kitchen in a temperature-controlled room, hundreds of bottles protected behind a door made of tempered glass. Distressed walls met wood and stainless steel wine racks that climbed to the ceiling, custom-built to accommodate a collection that boasted vintage from around the world. On the back wall there was a ladder and a mahogany humidor that kept Esteban’s cigar collection in excellent condition, and in the middle of the floor, a stainless steel tasting table showcased a collection of recently importe
d Torronté bottles on the lower shelf.
He watched Sonia move along the wall, eyes scanning the labels, and finally lifting a bottle to admire it. She replaced it and picked up another one.
“Musigny 2003. Would you share this with your guests, or is it only for personal consumption?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On the person, and the guests.” He took the bottle from her and picked up the corkscrew.
“What are you doing? You’re not going to open it, are you?”
“I am. This is wine you drink to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?” she asked, eyes wide.
He removed the cork. “Working together. Isn’t that cause for celebration?”
“It is, but that’s also a forty-five-hundred-dollar bottle of wine. There are cheaper ways to celebrate.”
“I have two more on the shelf.”
She followed his line of sight. “Of course you do.”
Esteban poured them each a glass and set the bottle on the table. “Cheers. To new endeavors.”
“To new endeavors.”
They clinked their glasses together.
Sonia inhaled the fragrant bouquet and then swallowed a mouthful, closing her eyes. “Oh, that’s incredible,” she breathed.
“It’s a pleasure talking to you,” he said.
“And why is that?”
“You appreciate the same things I do. It’s not often I run across a woman like you—one with whom I have a lot in common. We can talk about the restaurant business, and I don’t have to work so hard to explain everything to you.”
“Hmm, I know what you mean. It’s hard to get friends to understand the intricacies of the work I do. They think I sit around and drink wine all day. Although…” She looked at her glass and laughed. “You’re not quite what I expected.”
“No?”
“I thought you were an arrogant ass.”
“Maybe I am an arrogant ass, and I’m playing nice to get what I want.”
She hesitated in lifting the glass to her lips, watching him closely.
He drained the wine from his glass, never taking his eyes from her. She tilted the glass to her lips, averting her eyes to the shelves again.
“Have you ever been to France?” he asked.
“No.” She still didn’t look at him, studying the variety of vintage on the shelves.
“You should see France. I’d love to take you one day.”
Swinging her head in his direction, she asked, “Are you always so generous to your employees?”
“Only the ones I take a special liking to.”
She set down her glass. “I think it’s time that I leave.”
“So soon?”
“It’s late.”
It wasn’t.
Esteban placed a wine stopper in the bottle, and they exited the room.
“I have to fly back to Argentina for a few days, but I’ll be in touch when I get back,” he said, escorting her to the door.
“Thank you. I look forward to hearing from you.”
They walked out to the car, and Abel, who had remained in the front seat, hopped out to open the door.
Esteban caught her hand before she had a chance to slide in. He dusted two kisses along the inside of her wrist, noting the sudden surge of her pulse beneath his lips and the way her lashes lowered in response.
“Buenas noches,” he whispered, before releasing her.
Without a word, she hurried into the car and Abel shut the door.
Esteban watched until they disappeared through the gates.
In the back of the Maybach, Sonia didn’t want to dwell on Esteban, but she couldn’t help it. His lips had touched the inside of her wrist instead of the back of her hand and lingered inappropriately long. The simple touch had inflamed her skin and awakened a craving for more—more kisses, more touching. She was out of her depth with him.
She pressed a hand over her rapidly beating heart. She’d enjoyed herself and him too much. He’d been a gentleman, but no matter how much he said this was purely about business, it was obvious he wanted her. If she were completely honest, she wanted him, too, which made this relationship a dangerous proposition. Several times she caught herself flirting with him, an absolute no-no.
As the vehicle rolled down the causeway, she looked out the window at the twinkling lights of the approaching skyline. Before too long she would be back at her small one-bedroom, a huge difference from the grand home she’d recently left. You could literally drop her entire apartment into his living room and still have room to spare.
Being wined and dined by a charming man was definitely seductive, and it became clear how women could get caught up in being arm candy for a man like Esteban. The luxury car, grand home, and fine dining were all very enticing.
But she had principles and was too smart to get seduced into such a lifestyle.
She just had to keep reminding herself of that.
Chapter 8
Sonia stepped out of the shower and rubbed lotion all over her body. Once she’d finished, she left the bathroom. Pedro was sitting on her bed.
“What do you want to do today? I thought maybe we could go to brunch. We haven’t done that in a while.”
He had a rare Sunday off, so they’d decided to spend it together, and brunch was something they used to do when they started dating, but hadn’t done in a long time. She looked forward to sitting together and chatting over a nice meal. He’d become less outgoing—at least, less outgoing with her—and wanted to spend all his time with his male friends.
She opened the drawer and pulled out a pair of panties and a black-and-white short-sleeved romper. Since Pedro remained silent, she looked over her shoulder as she discarded the damp towel to the recliner. His gaze flicked over her naked body, but there wasn’t much of a reaction, which reminded her they hadn’t had sex in a while. She couldn’t even remember the last time.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Sonia pulled the underwear up over her hips. They were deep blue, cotton, and comfortable. No point in putting on anything sexy, since Pedro didn’t seem interested. His dissatisfaction with work had put a damper on their sex life, and the only time he reached for her was when he seemed overwhelmed by his biological urges. At that point, she felt like little more than a tool for release.
Why were they even bothering anymore? Had they already outgrown each other after little more than a year?
“There’s something waiting for you in the living room. You had a delivery,” he said in a taut voice.
Sonia frowned at him over her shoulder. “I didn’t order anything recently.”
“It’s obvious you didn’t order it, but it was ordered for you.”
She snapped her bra in place. Pedro’s face was cemented into very serious lines.
Wiggling the romper up over her hips, she stuck her hands through the short sleeves. After quickly finger-combing the curls in her hair in the full-length mirror, she went into the living room with Pedro practically breathing down her neck, he was so close behind her.
In the doorway, she pulled up short, her mouth falling open when she saw the gorgeous bouquet of red roses. The huge display sat on the coffee table between the two loveseats. There must have been four dozen of them—vibrant, blood red, and filling a crystal vase.
“Did you…?”
“Not me,” Pedro said, arms crossed over his chest.
Sonia walked slowly over to the flowers, removed the card, and read the note.
Thank you for last night and the pleasure of your company. I’ll call you when I’m back in town. Esteban.
The words suggested intimacy. She could almost hear the low rumble of his voice, the Spanish-accented tone making the words sound as sensual and seductive as a love poem. Heat filled her stomach, and Sonia almost lifted the note to her nose, as if the scent of his cologne—that brash, bold scent of citrus and spice—would be on it.
“Who is Esteban?”<
br />
She jumped. Pedro was looking over her shoulder. She’d been so taken with the message and the flowers that she’d temporarily forgotten she wasn’t alone.
“The guy I mentioned I had the meeting with last night. He owns Patagonia hotel and restaurant.”
“That’s who you had dinner with? I don’t think you mentioned it.”
“I did.” But you never pay attention to anything I say.
“Mhmm.”
Something strange was happening. She looked at Pedro with critical eyes. She’d appreciated his physique in the past, but now his lean, wiry build appeared slight compared to Esteban’s broader frame. And he was a big man, an inch or so taller than Esteban. Yet compared to Esteban, he came up short.
“He certainly seemed interested in you. Tracked you down to offer you a job, and now sent you four dozen roses. He really likes you, huh?” He glanced at the flowers and looked at her again, narrowing his eyes.
“He likes my work.”
“Is that what he’s referring to in that note? Sounds more personal than business. Why would he need to call you when he’s back in the country?”
“Because he wants me to work for him. That’s what this is all about, Pedro.” Sonia set the card on the table and was about to walk into the kitchen, when Pedro caught her arm.
He studied her face. “You like this guy?”
“What?” She laughed, a guilty flush heating her skin. “What kind of question is that? This is business.”
“He’s rich.”
“I don’t care about money. You know that.”
“Everybody cares about money, Sonia.”
“Fine, I care about money, like everyone else. But people care about it to different degrees. It doesn’t rule my life.”
She yanked away her arm, annoyed at his suggestion that Esteban’s wealth impressed her. And so what if it did? Anyone would be impressed by the lifestyle he lived with a driver, a housekeeper, jetting back and forth between continents, and a multimillion-dollar home on the water.
More Than a Mistress (Latin Men Book 5) Page 5