“Philippa.”
“Yes, Mr. Alesini.”
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
Her face shifted into a neutral expression. With a curt nod, she said, “Yes, sir.”
Deep in thought, Cortez went into the garage. He climbed into the black Mercedes-Benz and drove through the gate. A quick glance at the clock on the dashboard let him know he had plenty of time before his dinner meeting at nine. Perfect, since he had to stop at the office to pick up and review several documents beforehand.
Tonight’s meeting had been one he’d tried to avoid, but he was knee-deep in contract negotiations with the management team of a hot new boy band one of his scouts had seen playing at a riverside cafe in the Puerto Madero neighborhood. His record label, Musica Fuerte, wanted to sign them, but the boys’ team of three—made up of two of the boys’ parents who happened to be attorneys—was playing hardball. They knew the bankability of the young men. They were at the right age, ranging from fifteen to seventeen, good-looking, all played instruments, and sang in both Spanish and English.
The potential to make them into megastars was evident. He envisioned them becoming very popular in Latin America and even having crossover success in the United States, something he himself had only achieved on a small scale. If he could get their parents to adjust their unrealistic demands.
Cortez cruised to a stop behind several cars at the traffic light.
The outdoor cafés were filled with patrons sipping coffees, tea, reading, and chatting with friends. It reminded him of another time—the day he’d met Nadine. After their initial meeting, they’d had a whirlwind romance. Her family had warned her about her unemployed foreign boyfriend and his seductive conversation, but she’d ignored them all, as completely enamored with him as he had been with her.
Cortez gripped the steering wheel and accelerated behind the advancing traffic. Sentimentality threatened to overtake him, and much as he tried, he couldn’t shake off the memories.
Her bottom may be a little fuller, her hips a little wider, but in essence, Nadine was the same woman he’d met fifteen years ago at that café—long before his singing career catapulted him to international stardom. At that first meeting, she’d made more than a great first impression on him.
He’d fallen in love with her.
Chapter 3
Fifteen years ago
Again and again, Cortez’s eyes drifted to the young woman seated two tables over. She was hard to miss. Her thick hair was twisted into chunky plaits that she’d secured at her nape in a huge ball. Her skin stood out in stark contrast to the fairer-skinned people surrounding them, and unlike everyone else, including him, she sat alone, head bent over a book that had claimed her attention for the better part of thirty minutes.
Beside him, his lunch companion chuckled softly. Blond, with a winsome smile in a slightly pudgy face, Alec Rasmussen had become a close friend not long after he and Cortez met at a club a few years ago.
“Why don’t you go talk to her?” Alec asked.
Cortez crumpled a napkin in his hand and tossed it onto the table. “What’s the point? She’s probably only here for a short time.”
“Even better. Then you could have a fling and be done with it. No different than the others.”
Ever since Alec’s divorce had become final, he’d made sure to sleep with as many women as possible. He claimed to no longer believe in love and never wanted to get married again. He hung out in clubs with Cortez and his band, Los Tigres, which allowed him to indulge in the same women who flocked the stage whenever they performed.
“Maybe,” Cortez murmured. But somehow he knew that wasn’t true. This woman was different. She had an air about her. Something indefinable that had drawn his attention from the moment he spotted her.
She flipped a page in her book and happened to look up at him. Noticing him for the first time, she smiled—an expression so unguarded in its friendliness, he felt as if someone had jabbed him in the stomach with drumsticks. He was so shaken, he didn’t realize he hadn’t smiled back until she frowned and returned her gaze to the pages in front of her.
He had to get to know her.
Without a word to Alec, Cortez stood on legs that barely supported his weight. He’d never before experienced this type of reaction to a complete stranger. In fact, he was accustomed to women being overwhelmed by his presence, simply because he was a musician.
Standing on stage, sweat pouring down his face, strumming the guitar as he pelted out the latest tune he’d written, the screaming, jostling bodies offered encouragement on the road to fulfilling his dream of being a recording artist. For the first time, he understood the adoration he often received and almost laughed at the thought that for a change, he was the one weak-kneed.
Cortez walked over to her and stood beside the table, waiting for the young woman to look up again. When she did, her eyes filled with question.
“Buenas tardes,” she said, in a voice that brushed over him with the sensuality of soft silk and elicited shivers on his skin.
Shivers. He actually felt shivers at the sound of her voice.
“¿Puedo ayudarte?” she asked.
Cortez swallowed. Even with the distraction of unstable knees and goose-pimpled skin, he managed to pick up on the fact that she was indeed a foreigner. By her accent, an Anglophone. Perhaps from the United States.
“Yes, you can help me. Do you mind if I join you?” He gestured at the empty seat, holding his breath as he awaited her response.
She hesitated at first, her dark eyes flicking over the rest of the diners before returning to him. “No, I don’t mind.”
He breathed and sat down, giving her the smile he had forgotten earlier. “Pardon me for being so forward, but I couldn’t help but notice you while I was sitting with my friend.”
She didn’t reply, but a faint, pleased smile lifted the corners of her lips. He wondered if they were as soft as they looked. Pillowy and full, they captured his attention for a moment as he imagined sucking her lower lip into his mouth and gently nipping it with his teeth.
She wasn’t unfriendly, so he relaxed and leaned forward on one forearm. “Where are you from?”
“Atlanta.”
“In Georgia?”
She giggled. “Yes.”
“Why do you laugh?”
“Geor-gee-ah. I like the way you said it.”
“Ah, you’re making fun of my accent.” He filled his voice with fake hurt.
Her eyes widened. “No, not at all. My Spanish pronunciation is really no good, so I’m not one to judge. It’s just cute the way you said it.”
“Cute?”
“Yes.” She bit her bottom lip, perhaps a little embarrassed, or perhaps flirting with him. Either way, he was intrigued.
“How do you say it?” he asked.
“Georgia.”
“Geor-juh,” he repeated, mimicking her accent. “I like my way better.”
“Oh really?” Her entire face smiled—her eyes, her lips, her skin. He had an overwhelming desire to keep that expression on her face.
“What brings you to Buenos Aires?”
“I work for an import/export consulting firm out of Atlanta. We offer advice and training for small businesses in Georgia that want to get involved in international trade.” She spoke slowly, cautiously, still feeling him out. “They sent me here to work with a supplier and to get a better grasp on the language.”
“A career woman.”
“Something like that,” she said.
Despite having local notoriety, for the time being, he only made a modest living as a musician. Los Tigres often performed for free in exchange for exposure and publicity. A woman like her might not be too interested in a man without stable employment. That didn’t mean he couldn’t try, though. All kinds of women were attracted to musicians—doctors, teachers, and corporate executives. And hopefully, an import/export consultant from Atlanta.
He never took his eyes from her face, giving he
r his undivided attention. It was a ploy he’d used in the past to get women, but this time he was genuinely interested in everything about her. “How long will you be in Argentina?”
“Five more months.”
“You’ll practically be a native when you leave. You’ll have time to experience our culture, our food, our people.”
“In between working,” she said pointedly.
“Of course. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Cortez Alesini. What is your name?” He extended his hand.
“Nadine…” She trailed off without giving her last name.
They shook hands, and when she tried to pull away, he held on for a fraction too long before allowing her to withdraw.
He didn’t push. There would be ample time for that later. “How do you spell your name?”
“N-A-D-I-N-E.”
He pretended to give the name some consideration, playfully stroking his jaw. “I would say Nah-deen,” he said.
She shrugged. “Your pronunciation is different, but not so bad.”
“I will call you whatever you wish from now on,” he said, lowering his voice.
Her eyes widened at his impertinence. “From now on? Mr. Alesini—”
“Please, call me Cortez.”
“Cortez.”
Shivers anew when she said his name. All up and down his spine. “Yes?” he said politely, though his imagination had started to run wild with impolite thoughts. Like how would his name sound on her lips when she breathed it in his ear? Taut and damp beneath him, shivering as her fingers dug into his back? He couldn’t wait to find out.
“What makes you think you’ll have future opportunities to say my name?” She sounded mildly defiant, and the challenge in her eyes sparked determination in him.
He sat back in the chair, considering the best way to answer the question without scaring her off. Choosing to be forthright, he said, “We will be spending a lot of time together, Nadine.”
“Is that so?” She clasped her hands on the table, punctuating the sarcastic question with a raised brow.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “A lot of time.”
Then he smiled. It was irrelevant to him whether or not she believed him, because he decided right then and there he was going to marry Nadine with no last name.
And he would give her his.
Chapter 4
“Nadine, I am so sorry!”
Elsa sounded genuinely distraught on the phone, but Nadine didn’t want to belabor the point about the lack of communication regarding the accommodations. Staying here meant she could spend more time with her daughter. Besides, her former sister-in-law had a full house over there, and even though it was after midnight, by the sound of the loud music and voices in the background, they had no intention of going to bed anytime soon. Staying at the mansion meant she had a better shot of keeping her sanity.
As the youngest of the Alesini children, Elsa was last to get married and a bit spoiled. At thirty-one, she was by no means a baby, but being twelve years younger than Cortez and fifteen years younger than Gustavo—the oldest—meant her older brothers often treated her more like a daughter than a sibling. Lucky for her, she would continue to be spoiled by her future husband, the wealthy son of a metals exporter.
“Don’t worry about it, Elsa. It’s fine. It’s not as if Cortez and I can’t get along.”
“You are not angry, then?” the younger woman asked cautiously.
“Of course not. I know you’re busy with the wedding preparations, and that’s what you need to concentrate on.”
“Ay, there is so much to do. Thank you for understanding. You are my sister, and I want you to be comfortable.”
“I am comfortable. Don’t concern yourself with me and my needs. What about you? Do you need me to do anything?”
“No, Mamá is here, my friends, and I am—” She broke off, her voice breaking. “I am so happy. Only two more days.”
Nadine smiled, recalling how overwhelmed she’d been around the time of her own wedding, marrying a man in a foreign country and giving up her job to stay and make a life with him. Her friends and family had thought she was crazy, but she’d been high on love—a love stronger than the most potent of drugs.
She and Cortez didn’t have much money at the time, so the wedding ceremony had taken place at Gustavo’s estancia, a 200-acre ranch three hours outside of the city. With the mountains as a backdrop against the setting sun, she and Cortez said their vows in front of his entire family, her new friends, and the only members of her family able to attend—her parents.
“If you need me, you know you can call me.”
“I will. See you Saturday!”
The call disconnected and Nadine sat on the side of the bed for a minute. It was strange to be back in this house as a guest when she knew every corner and cubbyhole and had been instrumental in designing much of the space. She’d selected linens for the beds, drapes for every window, and chosen furnishings shipped from abroad because they fit the specific décor of a room.
Pushing up from the bed at the grumbling in her stomach, she knew she had to eat something, even if only a snack. She quickly washed her face and brushed her teeth, then glanced down at her attire.
She hadn’t brought a robe since she’d expected to be staying with Elsa, but the comfy shorts and tank top she slept in were decent enough to wear walking around the house. There wasn’t much chance of anyone roaming through the halls at this hour anyway.
Closing the bedroom door as quietly as she could, Nadine tiptoed to the room next door. Easing open the door, she peeked in on her daughter, sleeping fitfully on the bed, before easing it shut again without a sound.
She crept down the stairs, stopping on the bottom step when she heard a sound, or thought she did. Tilting her head, she listened for movement or voices in other parts of the house, but heard nothing.
Finding her way in the dimness, she padded barefoot across the cool travertine tile that filled the open foyer, silently cursing herself for forgetting her bedroom slippers. At the back of the house, she fumbled for the electronic panel on the wall and illuminated the spacious kitchen.
Squinting, she waited until her eyes adjusted to the bright light before making her way to the French door refrigerator, a monstrosity of steel and glass that Cortez had insisted they buy, the one concession she and Philippa allowed him when they had worked on designing the kitchen.
Nadine perused the shelves through the glass door, stacked with containers full of leftovers from the dinner Philippa had prepared. Before she indulged, she wanted something to drink.
She reached up and grasped a glass in the cabinet, and at the same moment, the hairs on her arms shot straight up. Immediately on alert, she swung around to find Cortez standing at the door.
He always moved so quietly and used to sneak up on her and steal a kiss or grab her around the waist and sweep her off the floor. Perhaps that’s why she’d developed such an uncanny ability to detect whenever he was nearby.
“Find everything you need?” he asked.
“Yes. I was thirsty. Getting something to drink.” She held up the glass as proof, but her hand trembled slightly, and she set it on the counter, suddenly nervous. Immensely uneasy.
“I’m thirsty, too,” he said, coming toward her.
She stood there, immobile, unable to budge an inch as he neared, even when he reached up to the shelf behind her. The subtle scent of his skin swept below her nostrils, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek, grasping the counter behind her and not letting go until he’d moved away.
He appeared perfectly calm as he pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator and poured himself a glass. She, on the other hand, had to force her breathing to return to normal.
Cortez tipped his head back and swallowed the water in what seemed like only a couple of gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as the liquid swept down his throat. He’d made something so simple as drinking water appear manly and sexy.
He h
eld out the bottle. “Would you like some?”
“Yes.” Her throat was rather dry.
He filled the glass and she gladly swallowed a mouthful, wetting her parched throat.
Against her will, her gaze traveled down over his torso. She tried not to look, but his firm body was right there. She only had to stretch out a hand and she could touch the cluster of dark hairs on his chest, dragging her fingers through them to where they narrowed down into a thin column and disappeared below the waistband of his black silk pajama bottoms.
“Like what you see?”
Her eyes snapped up. The heat of mortification burned her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Don’t apologize.” A muscle in his jaw tensed, the way it did when he reined in deep emotion. He set the bottle back in the refrigerator. “I have to admit, I do find it odd, though, that you would look at me like that.”
“I don’t know what you think you saw, but I assure you it was your imagination,” Nadine said stiffly.
His eyes slid to her. “Yet you were about to apologize.”
Once again, her cheeks burned hot. “I could accuse you of the same thing. You practically gave me a physical this afternoon.”
“I’m not the one in a relationship.”
“I’m not in a relationship.”
“No? What about the man you’re seeing?” He set his glass in the sink.
“Who are you talking about?” Nadine asked, genuinely confused.
“The doctor,” he bit out.
“Clark?”
His shoulders drew taut as tightened guitar strings. “Is that his name?”
Cortez obviously knew much more than he let on, which made her wonder how he knew about her friend in the first place. Their conversations centered around Antonella, and every now and again he caught her up on news about one of their mutual friends, but they never discussed their paramours. Though she wasn’t even sure Clark could be classified as one.
For years she feared jumping back into the dating pool, searching for a connection like the one she and Cortez had shared. Then a few months ago she met Clark, a single father whose boys attended the same Catholic school as Antonella.
Still in Love Page 2