“I apologize if I offended you,” Miguel said.
“You didn’t.” Samirah squared her shoulders and shook off the feelings of regret that stole into her consciousness. There was no point in beating herself up over what happened. “Like I said, I’m an excellent cook, and the Hills are happy.”
“Are you familiar with Ecuadorian cuisine?”
Samirah nodded, eyeing him suspiciously.
This time, he chuckled, and the sound generated warmth in the depths of her belly. “You look as if you don’t trust me. Shouldn’t I be the one concerned, since you sneaked onto my property without permission?”
“I’m not concerned, I’m just wondering where you’re going with your line of questioning.”
“Nowhere, except I thought maybe one day you could have pity on a poor, helpless bachelor and fix me a meal some time.” He looked anything but helpless. With his rugged good looks, she suspected he had a legion of women clamoring to cook his meals—among other things.
“Maybe,” she said slowly.
“One meal, one day when you’re free. That’s not too much to ask for not speaking to the Hills, is it?”
“No, I guess not.” Then she added, “Saturdays are best, because it’s my day off, and I could—”
“I’ll let you know when I want you.”
His words jolted her, causing a rush of heat to suffuse her breasts. The way they slid off his tongue, deliberate and slow, made her feel what he said and what he meant were very different. It could be a nuance of language, or it could be he knew exactly what he was saying and was making good use of double entendres.
“All right.” She took a quivering breath. “Since we’re in agreement, I’ll be on my way.”
“How about we shake on it?” He extended his hand.
Samirah hesitated. Silly, really, because it was only a hand, but she felt a nervous tremor inside. She looked down at his long, tan fingers as if they were a rattlesnake getting ready to strike.
“I won’t bite.” Almost immediately, her mind extended his words to, Unless you want me to.
She placed her hand in his, and he enclosed hers in a warm clasp. There was nothing remotely sexual about a handshake, but she felt his touch to her very core, and when she looked up at him, the heat in his blue eyes made the breath lodge in her throat.
“Thank you, Mr. Delgado.” She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.
“Call me Miguel. There’s no need for such formality between neighbors.” A smile touched his sensuous lips.
“Thank you, Miguel.” She tugged harder this time, and he released her.
Without another word, Samirah left the way she came, practically fleeing across the yard. She maintained her stride, even though her legs developed a disturbing rubbery texture that made it difficult to walk. She felt his eyes on her the entire time.
* * * *
Miguel watched her walk away and slip back between the boards of the fence. He wanted her. Badly. Holding onto her soft hand, he could hardly think of anything else but dragging her closer and crushing her mouth under his. Was she that soft all over? Did her wild streak translate into the bedroom?
He was no fool. Despite her refusal to engage him at the bar, he recognized the interest in her eyes. The extra swing she’d added to her hips last night to tease him when she walked away had only served to confirm it.
He shook his head in an effort to dispel the image of Samirah’s dark, wet skin in the revealing suit, but it didn’t work. The triangular material of the bikini left little to the imagination, not doing a very good job of covering her generous breasts, which overflowed over the top and sides of the barely there material. The thin straps appeared ready to snap, unable to contain their immense package.
He stared into the pool, remembering her fluid movements in the water. A woman like her would be perfect. They could have a brief affair that ended when she left. No demands for a relationship and no unwanted publicity.
Miguel made his way back into the house. It might be fun to get to know her better. Maybe it was his lucky day. Maybe fate had served her up on a platter for him after all.
Chapter Four
Samirah took a quick shower, shampooed her hair, and blow dried it straight. She pulled her hair back and slipped on a tank top and a comfortable pair of jeans before returning to the kitchen.
From the window, she could see Miguel’s house, and her heart still raced after seeing him again. Although she realized he could have complained about her, somehow she’d managed to dodge that bullet.
Her brother Adam had gotten her this job, sourcing it through his international placement firm. It had been a lifeline because she’d become upset over the difficulty she’d experienced finding another steady job after she was let go from the hotel. She couldn’t risk giving her brother’s company a bad reputation. He would never forgive her if she did. Hell, she would never forgive herself.
Samirah returned to the task of cooking dinner and had the pot simmering on the stove when a taxi pulled up outside the gate and her employers descended. Geneva’s limited mobility had prompted them to hire outside help. Cost had been no object, as Thomas was a retired executive from a top investment firm. The Hills had been living in Cuenca for almost five years, lured by the low crime rate, comfortable year-round climate, and the low cost of living.
They were two very active seniors, and the limitations brought about by the accident curtailed their activities. They had photos on the walls and in albums showcasing their pastimes, including horseback riding, sports fishing, and cycling.
Samirah watched Geneva use her walker and move gingerly up the walkway. As they rounded the corner of the house, she went to the front door and flung it wide.
“Hey, there, how was it today?” she asked in a cheery voice. She’d learned right away Geneva did not like her therapy sessions, and she could be grumpy for hours afterward if she and Thomas didn’t find a way to lift her spirits.
“Horrible. Simply horrible,” the other woman grumbled. She set her walker at the bottom of the three steps she had to climb. “Thomas, stop hovering,” she snapped over her shoulder.
Seeing the man’s exasperated expression, Samirah gave him a sympathetic smile and wink over his wife’s head.
“Come on, Geneva, you know he’s only trying to help.” She retrieved the walker and set it inside the door.
“I can do it myself,” Geneva said.
She placed her hands on the black handrails Thomas installed after her surgery. Geneva had missed her footing on these steps and broken her hip when she fell. Samirah had heard Thomas say on several occasions if he’d had the railings installed in the first place, the accident wouldn’t have happened. Even though Geneva didn’t blame him, he was still filled with guilt.
Thomas continued to hover behind his wife as she grasped tightly onto the black metal with both hands and hoisted herself up one stair. “There you go,” he coaxed.
“Thomas,” Geneva warned.
Samirah stood back and watched the older woman, on alert to stabilize her in case she couldn’t make it. She had already made progress in the short time Samirah had been living with them. When she first moved in, it had taken both her and Thomas to help Geneva up the stairs. She could do it on her own now, but it was a slow, harrowing process.
Minutes later, Geneva stood on the threshold, breathing heavily from the effort. Tiny beads of perspiration had popped out on her upper lip. Her short, silver hair was damp around her forehead.
“Just a few more steps,” the older woman said to herself. She rested her hands on the walker and started the journey to the great room.
“Looking good,” Thomas added, to his wife’s exasperation.
Finally, Geneva breathed a heavy sigh and settled onto the sofa with a pillow at her back. Two large ceiling fans circulated cooling air throughout the room. “Smells good in here.”
“The soup will soon be finished.” Samirah took ice water to each of them. “What did th
e therapist say about your progress?”
“She said I’m coming along well and maintains six to seven more weeks of therapy should suffice. I can hardly wait. The pain is unbearable, and I absolutely hate the therapy sessions.”
Thomas mumbled something. “What was that?” Geneva asked sharply.
“Nothing, my love.”
The corners of Samirah’s lips lifted upward. “I’m glad to hear your recovery is going well.”
“Yes, it’s unfortunate what happened. As we get older, we become clumsier, and the old bones are not what they used to be.” Geneva sighed heavily. “Oh, after you left this morning, we saw our neighbor, the artist. He’s back from his trip to Miami.”
No kidding. “How well do you know him?”
“Not well, my dear. He’s not the friendliest chap, but we’ve spoken a few times. He seldom has company, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him have a woman over there, unless he scuttles them in at night. His mother’s the only woman I’ve seen him with, and that was about two years ago when she and his little brother came for a visit, wasn’t it, Thomas?”
Thomas nodded his agreement.
“I met him last night at the bar where I go to sing karaoke, but I didn’t know he was the artist you referred to as Delgado.” Samirah’s contract required her to be available to the Hills at night should they need her, but they did allow her the indulgence of going to karaoke once per week for a couple of hours.
She went to the kitchen to finish the dinner preparation.
“At karaoke?” Geneva asked in an incredulous voice.
Samirah smiled at the woman’s tone. “He said he and Seth are friends.”
“Oh, that makes more sense. I couldn’t imagine him participating in Karaoke Night.”
Thomas chuckled. “Certainly not. He doesn’t strike me as the type.”
“True. He tends to keep to himself—a very low key young fellow. His sculptures are wonderful, though. The large ones are my favorites, Samirah. They’re huge and depict the life of the indigenous people of Ecuador. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”
Samirah retrieved dinner rolls from the oven and set them on a cooling rack on the counter. “How much do his pieces sell for?” she asked, as she brushed melted butter and honey across the tops of the hot bread.
“It’s obscene. Absolutely obscene,” Geneva said, though Samirah could hear the adoration in her voice. “I heard he sold one of his pieces to a private European collector last year for almost a hundred thousand dollars.”
Samirah’s movements stilled. “No way.”
“It’s true,” Thomas confirmed. “The deal was struck in Miami, and apparently a bidding war broke out between the two collectors, which inflated the price. The European collector won, and he had his personal curator fly into Miami to complete the purchase and accompany the sculpture back to…Spain, I think.”
“I’m in the wrong business. I shouldn’t be cooking, I should be sculpting!”
“You and me both!”
The three of them laughed.
From the corner of her eye, Samirah saw Geneva nudge Thomas.
After clearing his throat, Thomas said, “Samirah, my dear, I have an awfully big favor to ask of you.”
“Thomas, if you begin like that, she’s bound to say no.”
He sighed. “We told you about the fundraiser at the University of Cuenca to benefit the arts. Well, we had purchased two tickets before Geneva’s accident. It’s little more than a week away, and she won’t be up to attending, of course.” Regret filled his voice.
“But he can go,” his wife added.
“I’d rather not go without you and leave you here alone.” Samirah smiled at the sweetness behind Thomas’s words.
“I’ll be fine.” Geneva took over the conversation. “Samirah, my dear, we thought you might like to go to the event with Thomas—keep him company, and then we won’t waste the other ticket. You can keep an eye on him for me to keep the floozies away.”
Samirah choked back a giggle. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d heard the word floozy—if ever. “I would love to go.” She halted her preparations. “I’m guessing it’s a formal event?”
“Black tie is required, so you’ll need a nice cocktail dress or a gown.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. I could go to the mall and shop for an outfit.”
She was almost four hundred dollars richer after her karaoke win, which meant she could afford to splurge on herself. The last time she’d been to an event that required she get dressed up was when her sister and husband renewed their vows four years ago. It might be fun to get dressed up and mingle with a different crowd.
“Splendid!” Geneva said. “But since we’re asking such a big favor of you, take time off tomorrow to go shopping.” She beamed happily. “You’ll have such a lovely time, Samirah. We’ve gone the past few years, and I must say I’m always impressed by all the lovely art the students produce. They donate original pieces, and at the end, they’re auctioned to raise money. The auction has grown quite a bit, and this is the first time it’s taking place at the university. Someone knew someone who knows the chair of the art department, and he agreed to allow the event to take place there.”
“Sounds like fun, and I don’t mind going, but what about you, Geneva? Will you be all right here alone? In your condition?”
“I have to agree with her, my dear,” Thomas piped up. She could well understand the concern etched in Thomas’s face.
“Poppycock! I’ll be just fine, and Samirah, I’m sure you’ll find something suitable at the local mall. Thomas, you will go and have a good time. I won’t hear another word about it.”
“My dear—”
Geneva shook her head stubbornly. “Go, have a good time, and bring back something we can hang on the wall.”
“Well…if you think you’ll be all right…” He looked doubtful.
“If you’re sure,” Samirah began, “I’m fine with it. I’ll keep the floozies away from him.”
“It’s settled,” Geneva said in a resolute voice.
After dinner, Thomas began the arduous task of helping his wife up the stairs to their bedroom since she refused to set up a bed downstairs. Samirah knew they wouldn’t be back down for the rest of the evening, but if they needed her, they could call the private line in her suite. She washed the dishes and straightened up the living room before going to bed.
Her mind strayed to Miguel next door. She’d managed to keep thoughts of him at bay during most of the night, but now those thoughts encroached, and with them the reminder of his touch and the way his long fingers had stroked along the inside of her arm.
Lucky for her she didn’t have any reason to interact with him again. If Geneva was correct about him keeping mostly to himself, it would be easy to steer clear of him. She probably didn’t even have to concern herself with cooking a meal for him. All she had to worry about right now was finding a dress for the fundraiser.
Miguel Delgado was the least of her worries.
Chapter Five
On Wednesday, Samirah ran some personal errands in town before catching the bus to the mall late in the afternoon. She hated shopping, though, and finding a dress she liked might be difficult. She tended to be picky, preferring to wear clothing she felt expressed her individuality and personality.
Dressed comfortably in a pair of tennis shoes, shorts, and a T-shirt with a rhinestone design on the front, she visited several stores before wandering into a boutique. She explained the type of outfit she needed and the occasion. The salesperson, who turned out to be the owner, showed her several black dresses, but Samirah didn’t like any of them.
“I’m not going to a funeral,” she said to the woman in Spanish. “Do you have anything with brighter colors? Maybe red or blue, or even green?”
The woman pursed her lips and looked Samirah up and down. “I have a few you might like.”
She took her over to a rack and one by one withdrew dresses in different sty
les, holding up each one to get Samirah’s approval. Before long, they’d chosen three and Samirah went into the small dressing room to try on the first one. A few minutes later, she emerged and stood holding up the bodice of the too-large strapless dress. It would have to be altered, but she liked the way the fabric felt against her skin and the ankle-length hem made her feel elegant.
“What do you think?”
“Absolutely beautiful,” a male voice said. She whirled around to see Miguel against the wall. The sight of him made her heart slam against her chest so sharply she didn’t doubt the next day her ribs would be bruised. He looked like he was holding up the wall with one shoulder, in a pair of faded jeans covering his long legs, casually crossed at the ankles. “It looks too big for you, though.”
“Are you following me now?” Samirah asked.
With an indolent smile, he straightened and came toward her. His clear blue eyes held a bit of mischief, and she realized she would be in trouble before he opened his mouth. “I was passing by when I saw you go into the dressing room to change. I thought I might be able to offer some assistance.”
“How kind of you,” Samirah said, her voice edged with sarcasm, “but I don’t need any assistance.”
“It would be helpful to get a male point of view, don’t you think?” He asked the question in Spanish and looked at the shop owner for concurrence, which she readily offered.
“Another opinion is always helpful,” the woman said, watching them with interest.
Helpful for whom? Samirah wanted to know. Miguel said something to the woman in Quichua, the second most popular language spoken in Ecuador. It dated back to the time of the Incas, and Samirah didn’t speak a word of it. The woman laughed and responded to him.
“What did you say to her?” Samirah demanded.
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