Carlos’ laughter was so deep and wicked it brought to mind some unbidden visions of her and Carlos, alone in a sweat-soaked bed, breaking all the rules of her guarded and sheltered life. She mumbled, “I wouldn’t want to do anything your mother would disapprove of either.”
He let out a breath in an amused snort. “My sister? My mother? I’m a grown man, Monica. I’ve been making my own decisions for a while now.”
Emotions battled within her. Didn’t he realize it was difficult for her to say no to him? To turn her back on her fantasies and let her responsible side be front and center?
He reached out and locked her hands, now trembling with uncertainty in his own. He lifted them to his face and kissed them while he stared into her eyes. “I’d like to take you out to dinner. Talk awhile. Get to know you better. I’m not asking for a commitment, and I’m not asking my family for permission.” He brushed his lips over the backs of her knuckles, and she felt a trail of desire dive-bomb to her stomach. “What’s the harm in saying yes?”
Before she knew what her traitorous mouth was doing, she whispered, “Yes,” and leaned in for a kiss, which Carlos was only too happy, by all appearances, to deliver. Her heart responded by doubling its pace, and her knees grew shaky, threatening not to hold her weight.
“Saturday night,” he whispered while their faces were still close. She nodded. He walked her to her car, waited till she buckled her seatbelt, then he leaned in for one last pulse-racing kiss. He pushed the door closed with a wave.
When had it happened? When had her common sense left her? True, she didn’t want to upset Mrs. Garcia or Luisa. True, she didn’t want to break the rules of her volunteer organization and harm the job she was doing. But those weren’t the only reasons she’d said no in the first place.
She had never been out with a man like Carlos. Dark, handsome, dangerous. Not even close. Their worlds were universes apart. She had no experience in her tame, calm existence with the Carloses of the world. And the thought of spending an entire evening with him put her out of her comfort zone.
Would she be safe with him? Or, once she was out with him, would she want to throw safe out the window?
Black. White. Khaki. An occasional red.
Monica never realized her wardrobe was so boring. Probably because she rarely thought about her clothes, one way or the other. She dressed for comfort and by habit. If she found an outfit she liked that felt and looked good, she’d reach for it in her closet again and again. But tonight she wanted something different. Tonight was her date with Carlos, and none of her regular clothes were right. She wanted something colorful, flattering and just a touch daring. Something that gave her wow-factor. Because Carlos deserved to dine with a woman who had at least as much wow-factor as he did.
No, she wouldn’t think about that. She would steer clear of thoughts about why he asked her out in the first place, when he could be with any woman he wanted. And she would definitely steer clear of picturing in her vivid imagination the scores of fashion-model women he’d most likely dated in his past. Picturing those thin, gorgeous, worldly women walking at Carlos’s side would serve absolutely no purpose at all.
She sighed and looked back in her closet. Time to call in reinforcements.
Monica sat in her living room, tapping her foot and staring at the clock. Two hours till date time.
A minivan screeched to a halt in her driveway and Monica couldn’t help her relieved smile. If anyone could help her with her wardrobe shortcomings, it was Barbie. She, of the weekly shopping expeditions. She, who could rattle off designer names like Monica could recite the last few years’ Best Actor Nominees.
The door flung open and Barbie steamrolled in, carrying Mae, with Spencer hanging on to her free hand. When he saw Monica, he skipped over and threw himself against her knees, hugging tight.
“Spence, don’t knock your aunt over, honey,” Barbie said as she set Mae on the floor and extracted her daughter from a puffy lavender snowsuit.
Monica squatted and ruffled his hair with a grin. “How’s it going, sport?”
A crease formed between Spencer’s eyebrows, confused at Monica’s favorite greeting for him. “I’m not baseball.”
Meanwhile, Monica caught a glimpse of her sister’s back as it disappeared down the hallway and into her bedroom. She pushed to her feet and followed Barbie. Unfortunately, by the time she reached her bedroom, a quarter of the contents of her closet had formed a pile on the carpet.
“Hey! Cut that out.” Monica dashed to the pile and began retrieving her clothes.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll clean up when we’re done. I just don’t see how you can get to your party stuff when all your work stuff is up front.”
“Party stuff?” Monica said blankly.
“Yeah, you know – your New Year’s Eve and evening wedding stuff.” More black slacks and button-up sweaters hit the floor. “Where are they?”
Before Monica could muster up a response, Barbie reached the back of the closet and turned, her hands up in a confused gesture.
“I – I – don’t have any.” Monica sighed.
“None?” Her sister looked at her like she had two heads.
Exasperated, Monica said, “Barbie, think about it. When was the last time I went out for New Year’s Eve? The last four years I’ve been babysitting.” Your kids. While you and your husband went out for New Year’s Eve.
A crash came from the direction of her kitchen. She looked around. “Spencer?”
Barbie shooed her away with one hand. “It’s a good thing I brought a few key items of my own, then. You go see what he’s doing, and I’ll work magic in here and put a killer outfit together. Go on.”
Monica started to argue but another crash sidetracked her and she ran down the hall without a backward glance. She didn’t want to wear Barbie’s clothes. Her sister was shorter and a little slimmer. Although they had shared clothes in high school, and she could probably do it now, her sister’s style was much more … flashy than hers.
She reached the kitchen and saw with relief Spencer had located her Tupperware cabinet and had pulled out several unbreakable containers. At her approach, he looked up with a panic. “I’ll clean up!”
“Okay, buddy. Have fun, but stay out of trouble.”
He nodded and started mumbling an unrecognizable monologue. Monica took a seat at her kitchen table and kept an eye on him.
Wasn’t that why she’d invited Barbie over? Because she wasn’t capable of putting together an outfit that didn’t look like she was headed into the office? This was Barbie’s specialty. The least she could do was keep an open mind.
“Spence, I’m going back to my bedroom. Stay right here, and don’t do anything dangerous, okay?”
The little boy nodded. Heading down the hall, Mae crawled toward her. “Barbie?”
“Yeah, I’ll be done in a sec.” Monica heard more fabric swishing sounds; probably Barbie abusing more of her garments. Baby Mae plopped backward on the hallway floor and erupted into loud, unhappy tears.
Monica picked her up and patted her back, shushing and bouncing on her toes.
Barbie’s voice came from down the hall. “She probably wants a bottle. Check the diaper bag I left near your front door.”
Sighing, Monica carried the crying child to the living room and located the bag. She’d watched Mae enough times to know how she preferred her formula, slightly warmed. She struggled to remove the lid of the bottle and stuck the tip of one finger in. Chilled. She kept up her bouncy step and comfort noises while she carried the baby to the kitchen.
Careful to step over the growing collection of plastic ware on the floor without dropping her niece, she put the bottle in the microwave and set the timer. Mae increased her wailing.
When done, Monica replaced the lid, shook the bottle and stuck the nipple in the baby’s mouth. Beautiful silence at last, interrupted only with occasional sucking sounds.
Barbie appeared in the kitchen. “Okay! I’m re
ady to unveil the perfect outfit for your date with … what’s his name again?”
“Carlos,” Monica murmured, but her sister was racing down the hall again. Monica followed her slowly, balancing the baby and the bottle.
“Ta da!” Barbie sang, and gestured with Vanna-arms to a combination of clothes on her bed. Monica stood in the doorway and stared, wide-eyed. Barbie was right – it was the perfect outfit for a first date. It had stepped right off the pages of Mademoiselle, and had probably been photographed, worn by scores of Hollywood It-Girls.
It was a sleek silver knee-length dress – form-fitting in all the right places, low-cut to reveal a daring swash of cleavage. Monica was sure it was designer, although labels had never been on her priority list, so she had no idea who had made the breathtaking garment. The thin straps would reveal plenty of skin, and Monica knew she’d be hoisting them self-consciously all night. Silver strappy shoes with high heels lay on the bed, along with shimmery silver hosiery, and a silver pillbox purse. A stunning ensemble, one Barbie had probably worn to a political gala and looked fabulous.
Monica sighed. Staring at the gorgeous outfit, she knew it had been an ill-fated decision asking Barbie for help. The gorgeous outfit was all wrong. It wasn’t her, not by a long shot. She decided then and there that she would not wear that dress on her date with Carlos.
Years of practice dealing with her sister trained her to keep her decision to herself. Now she’d just have to convince Barbie to leave as quickly as possible so she could get on with picking something out that was comfortable and respectable.
“Yes.”
Barbie beamed. “You think?”
“Absolutely.” Monica nodded.
“You’ll look great in it! It’ll really accentuate your breasts and your legs. You don’t do that enough, you know. They’re your best features, but no one would ever know it because you don’t flaunt them.”
“Well,” Monica moved to Barbie and pushed Baby Mae into her arms, “I knew I could count on you. Now, not to be rude, but I need to get busy putting this stuff on before Carlos comes.”
Barbie received her daughter while Mae stared up at her with adoring eyes. “Oh, I’ll help you. And what about your makeup? I brought …”
“No, no, I’ll be fine. Really. I have loads of makeup, and the clock is ticking.” Monica started toward the door, coercing her sister down the hall.
“But can’t I meet … what’s his name again?”
“Not this time, Barb.”
“Okay, well, if you’re sure.” They had almost made it to the front door before Barbie remembered her son. “Spencer! Come on, honey, we’re going now.”
Spencer ran from the kitchen and jumped up and down, trying to land a kiss on his favorite aunt’s face. Monica put her hands on his shoulders and bent down to him, determined to avert a bloody nose or other disaster.
Barbie and her crew were halfway to her car when she yelled, “Have fun! I want to hear all about it tomorrow.”
Monica waved, nodded, closed the door and heaved against it, breathing deeply. Hurricane Barbie, always exhausting. She checked her watch. She now had less than an hour before Carlos picked her up and she still had no idea what to wear. On her way to her room, she glanced in the kitchen, and of course, of course, the bowls were not only still out, they were strewn across the entire kitchen. She detoured and spent a few minutes organizing and tidying up.
She arrived in her bedroom and it looked like a bomb had gone off, clothes everywhere – on her bed, on her floor, draped over her desk chair.
“Thanks for the help, sis,” she muttered and got to work.
Chapter Five
The first sound she heard that was out of the ordinary was the growl of a high-performance engine on the street outside her house. Moments later, the doorbell rang, and despite the fact that she was expecting it, Monica jumped in her seat.
She sprang to her feet and ran to the door. Counting a slow one, two, three, she swung the door open. And got lost in the oddity of seeing Carlos on her own doorstep.
“Hi.” He looked absolutely gorgeous – even better than she’d seen him before – hair still moist from a shower, a thin dark sweater stretched tightly across a very fit and buff chest, covered with a worn leather jacket. He looked like he could’ve walked off the cover of a magazine. And the fact he had come there for her – it was breathtaking, at the very least.
“Hi.” She grinned at him. “Would you like to come in?”
He smiled and walked past her into her tidy living room. She couldn’t help admire the spectacular view of his rear end in the snug jeans he wore.
Oh boy, she was in trouble tonight. The sight of him sent her hormones into overdrive, and if she didn’t watch out, she could easily fall in love with this handsome, dark lothario. Which would be the absolute worst thing to allow. He was Luisa’s brother; Senora Garcia’s son. Never a good idea to mix business with pleasure.
Plus, he wasn’t her type. She’d have no idea what to do with a man like Carlos. He’d launch her completely out of her comfort zone. Although staring at him now, she suspected she would enjoy the trip.
“You look very nice,” he said politely. She looked down at her wardrobe choice – khaki slacks and a bright red sweater. In an attempt to differentiate the outfit from the many occasions she’d worn it to work, she’d added a pair of dressy high heels.
“Thank you. And you look very nice, too.” She squeezed her eyes shut at her understatement of the year. “Nice” wasn’t exactly the adjective she’d use to describe the way he looked, but she didn’t want him to know that.
“Do you like Mexican food?”
“I sure do.” What better tour guide through Mexican food delicacies?
“Then, let’s go.”
When they reached his car, she gave a low whistle. This was a real man’s man’s car. Although she wasn’t a sports car aficionado, she recognized a collector’s model when she saw it. “Nice car.”
He looked at her with appreciation in his eyes. “Thanks. 1972 Gran Torino. I got a hold of it when it had been in a crash and I slowly brought it back to life. Started with the engine, rehauled the entire thing. Then I did the body work. Pounded out dents, smoothed everything down. Finished up with a paint job.”
Monica ran her fingers over the shiny black finish. “You’re great with cars.”
Carlos chuckled. “Yeah, my one talent in life.”
Monica pulled her hand back abruptly. From the looks of him, there was at least one other talent she could think of him possessing.
“So, is that what you do for a living? Work with cars?”
He nodded. “I work at a garage all day, doing mechanics, engine work. Then I take jobs on at night, mostly like this. Body work and recovery.”
“Great skills to have.”
He shrugged. “There’s plenty of work.”
So, he and his mother worked two jobs apiece to make ends meet and provide the best they could for Luisa. She wondered if she would’ve shown the same admirable work ethic if her family situation had required it.
Fifteen minutes later, she glanced out the window. They were driving through a section of St. Louis she was unfamiliar with. A fast food wrapper skittered down the sidewalk and a big, scruffy cat jumped down from an open steel garbage can. Convenience stores occupied every corner, broken up mid-block by an occasional ethnic grocery or restaurant. Spray painted murals covered the cement walls that separated a bus stop from the next storefront, and occasional pedestrians ventured out into the early evening in small packs, gripping the hand of a child, hurrying him along, intent on their destination.
“I’ve never been in this part of town.”
He looked over at her. “It’s a little bit of a drive, but well worth it, I assure you.”
“Isn’t this …?”
He looked at her curiously.
She couldn’t help asking. “Dangerous?”
He blinked, shook his head. “You’ll be safe with me
, carina.” Carlos pulled the car to the curb, shifted it to Park and leaned toward her, his arm resting on the headrest behind her. “Relax. I’m not going to let anything hurt you. You’re as tense as a guitar string. What’s wrong?”
She looked at him and realized she felt safe with this dark, rough man who put her on edge with his good looks. He wouldn’t let anything hurt her. She smiled. “Nothing’s wrong, Carlos. Not a thing. I’m in good hands, and we’re going to have a great time tonight.”
He returned a grin and gave a quick nod. “I certainly hope so.”
With Carlos’ guidance, she tried just about every Mexican food she ever heard of and lots she hadn’t – all washed down with a flow of the sweet margaritas. And not the frou-frou frozen kind they served at imitation Mexican restaurants. Here at El Diablo’s, they served authentic Mexican food and drink. The margaritas at El Diablo’s were served straight up on the rocks.
At Carlos’ request, their waitress delivered a parade of Mexican delicacies to their table. Monica decided on her favorites: tacos and tamales, of course, but also chile renellos, ceviche and huachinango.
“Mmm,” she moaned at her latest culinary discovery. “It’s all so good. I had no idea Mexican food could taste like this.”
“Is that because your idea of Mexican food is what you find at Taco Bell?”
She gave him a guilty look. “I suppose it is. Not exactly authentic, huh?”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing better than real Mexican cuisine.”
She took one last bite from her platter and pushed it away. “Does your mom cook like this?”
He considered. “She can, but she doesn’t very often.”
Monica nodded, understanding. Mrs. Garcia didn’t have the free time it would take to concoct dishes like this. “Have you ever brought her here? I’m sure she’d enjoy it.”
He shook his head, but didn’t speak. She looked up at him and saw he was taking notice of something across the room. Following his gaze, she saw a beautiful olive-skinned woman approaching, an enticing grin on her face. Her hair was the biggest, wildest thing on her – her body was very tight and small, and her clothes were too.
Inner Diva Page 6