by Lea Santos
“How about a few pictures?” someone called from the back.
Again, Madeira turned, her lips close enough to nibble, neck close enough that Grace could see the strong, oddly sexual pulse. “You up for some photographs, Gracie? Or did you have other plans in mind?”
The silk ties and bedposts flashed through Grace’s traitorous mind again, and she glanced away. “Pictures are fine.”
“Where do you want us?” Madeira stood, then held out a palm for Grace. Grace accepted the contact. Madeira pulled her to her feet, obviously mindful of Grace’s injured leg, way too close for Grace’s peace of mind. “Not that Gracie wouldn’t look perfect against any background,” Madeira said, her voice a sexy murmur.
“Down here.” One photographer, wearing a multi-pocketed khaki vest and a matching baseball cap turned backwards, pointed to a grouping of large plants arranged in bulbous terracotta cauldrons by the entrance.
Madeira kept hold of her hand as they wound their way off the dais toward the spot the photographer had indicated, and Grace allowed herself to enjoy the strong warmth of Madeira’s grip, which, on the one hand, felt like a lifeline. Part of Grace knew Madeira was on her team in all of this, just as she’d been since she’d crawled beneath Grace’s demolished Explorer and wiped the blood from her face. On the other hand, Madeira was a massive risk, one Grace needed to avoid.
She’d do that.
But later, she decided suddenly.
Right now, she was going to indulge in the sensations, all in the name of giving the paper and news stations their story. What could it hurt?
“How about a couple of the two of you embracing?” the photographer suggested, pulling Grace back into the present. “Or maybe a kiss—”
“No kissing,” Grace snapped, emphasizing the words with a dictatorial slash of her free hand. She hadn’t meant to bark at the guy, but kisses were definitely out. She’d be a goner if she locked lips with Madeira, even just for show.
Surprise shut the photographer’s mouth, and he cocked his shaggy head like a dog trying to understand his owner’s unwillingness to hand out a treat.
“I’m sorry, but no way,” she repeated, her tone softening.
“Aw, you sure, Gracie?” Madeira’s eyes shimmered with mirth, and Grace knew this was payback for the thigh squeeze. “I’ll make it as chaste…or unchaste…as you want, darlin’.”
Ignoring Madeira and the throbbing in her body, Grace turned to the photographer, crinkling her nose and striving for a good mix of nerves and innocence. “Not in the paper. I’m not that kind of woman.” She tugged up the neckline of her sweater as casually as she could. No sense giving her a flash of the VIXEN to contradict her claim.
Madeira slipped a possessive hand against the small of her back and spoke to the photographer in a just-between-us kind of tone. “You heard her, brother. No kissing.” She eased Grace against the length of her—Jesus, super-hard—body, wrapping her arms around Grace from behind. Possessively, but with a painful shot of cherishing on the side. “Sorry to disappoint, but a lady gets what she wants when she’s with la ladróna de corazones. Especially this lady.”
Madeira turned toward Grace, a don’t-be-afraid-of-the-big-bad-wolf expression transforming her face from merely gorgeous to tummy tightening, lick-your-lips sexy. “And that’s a promise,” Madeira finished, her tone a husky drawl meant just for Grace’s ears.
The photographer laughed, then Snap! Snap! Snap!
Flashbulbs everywhere.
When the light show ended, Grace, struck dumb by her own lust, pulled out of Madeira’s embrace and shrank as far as she could into the shadows of the plant’s large leaves. Madeira—big shocker—stood a bit forward, joking with the photographers and basking in the limelight, completely oblivious to Grace’s inner turmoil.
So much for shaking Madeira’s confidence.
In a moment of utter clarity, Grace realized with dismay that Madeira held the media, the situation, and her firmly in the palm of that sexy, no doubt talented hand.
Definitely a sign.
More like a bad omen.
*
“Were you just trying to get my attention in there, Gracie,” Madeira teased, “or sampling the merchandise?”
Grace should’ve known Madeira would call her on the thigh squeeze the moment the conference room cleared. What an error in judgment that had been. They’d barely walked out the door before Madeira pounced on the topic like a cat on a lame bird.
“You do remember that was all for show, right?” Grace asked, her tone droll.
As they made their way through the labyrinth of hallways side by side, Madeira grinned at her. “Was it?”
“Of course,” Grace murmured, taking an inordinate amount of interest in the drab artwork on the walls.
“Well, you letting your fingers do the walking probably didn’t do much good for the show.” Madeira paused until suspense made Grace glance over. Madeira grabbed Grace’s hand and held it. “As far as I can tell, the only two people who knew what was going on under that table were you and me.”
Damn. So much for a good excuse. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” Grace reluctantly extracted her hand, watching as Madeira peered down at her empty palm, then back at Grace, quizzically. Grace shrugged, by way of explanation. “You don’t have to keep up with the charade. The press conference is over.”
“Maybe I just wanted to hold your hand.”
Whirling, Grace faced her. “Madeira, I thought we’d both made ourselves clear in the bathroom.”
“We did, about the whole commitment issue. Neither of us is into it. I’m cool.”
“Then you’ll forgive me for reminding you that my hand is not yours to hold.”
“Okay, if that’s the way you feel. But I’ve been thinking…” Madeira tapped her index and middle fingers rhythmically on her chin.
“Uh-oh. You. Thinking. That can’t be good.” Grace tried to play it off casually, but inside, all her systems were revved. She crossed her arms—a protective gesture. “Thinking what?”
“I like you, Gracie.”
“Well…” Grace moistened her lips and tried not to look like a hungry dog who’d just been thrown a bone “I like you, too. That doesn’t alter our basic incompatibility.”
Madeira moved forward. Grace backed up. When the wall prevented any further retreat, Madeira braced her palms against it, caging Grace in a position that felt way too close to sexual. “We aren’t destined for forever.”
“Absolutely not.”
“But I can’t seem to find any reason why we shouldn’t see each other casually. Can you?”
Astonished, Grace’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at Madeira as if she’d gone over the edge. She pushed against her hard, flat torso until Madeira backed off. “Uh, yes! There is one very big reason.”
“Which is?” Madeira truly looked baffled. Jesus, how could one woman be so sure of herself?
Grace spread her arms. “I have no desire to be your next conquest, Madeira. And don’t bother telling me it would be different between us, because I’ve been there.”
“That does present a problem.” Madeira studied Grace for a minute then crossed her arms. “Can I ask you one question?”
“Whatever. I guess.”
“Are you attracted to me?”
Grace groaned, turning to continue down the hall. “Never mind, you can’t ask me a question.”
Madeira’s knowing laughter taunted her from behind. Catching up, Madeira slipped her hand around Grace’s arm until their gazes locked. Madeira’s eyes warmed with sincerity. “Don’t be mad, Gracie. I’m just playing with you.”
She sighed, giving her a grudging smile. “I’m not angry, I just don’t want to play. Or be played. You’re impossible. Can’t we leave things how they are between us and be done with it?”
“That depends. How are things between us?”
Grace pondered this. “We’re…friends, I guess.”
Madeira nodded. “Bueno. G
ood place to start.”
“Good place to stay,” Grace countered.
Madeira shrugged, ending the nonchalant motion with a sly glance. “Fair enough. But if you ever change your mind—”
“I won’t.” Grace stopped by the front doors and offered her hand, a firm, businesslike smile on her face. “But, anyway, thanks again, Madeira. For everything.”
“Uh-oh, this sounds like good-bye.”
“What else would it be?”
Instead of taking her hand, Madeira hiked her chin toward the doors. “Can I at least walk you to your car?”
“Actually, you can’t. I didn’t drive.” She pulled her phone from her purse and waggled it. “I need to call my sister to come and pick me up.”
“Oh. Well, I can drive you home.”
Alone.
Together.
In an enclosed place.
Dangerous prospect and way too enticing for Grace’s well-being. “Ah, no. That’s okay. Lola is expecting my call.”
“Yes, but aren’t you forgetting one very important thing?”
“No.” Grace frowned, second-guessing herself. “I don’t know…am I?”
Madeira jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m holding your bear hostage in my truck.”
Grace clapped a hand over her mouth. Jesus, how could she have forgotten Ms. Right? “God, where’s my brain? I’ll just get her from you and then—”
“I’ll drop you at home.”
“No.”
“Come on, Gracie.” Madeira cocked her head. “I’m an easygoing woman, but you’re starting to insult me. I’m offering to drive you home, not relieve you of your virtue.”
As if she could. Grace barely avoided releasing a snort.
“I’m clear on the fact you don’t want me. Okay?”
It’s not that I don’t want you, Grace’s rocket-impulsive mouth almost blurted. Luckily, she squelched the urge just short of launch. That would’ve been a deadly take-off. She blew out a breath and raked her fingers through her hair, knowing deep inside that Madeira was right. It was a ride home. Period. Why did she feel the need to fight so hard?
Why?
She knew why.
She was attracted to Maddee—Jesus, when had she started to think of her as Maddee?—with a ferocity that stole her breath, and if Madeira—keep it professional—got an inkling of that, she’d be relentless in her pursuit. Grace had played that game before and lost. The challenge, then, was to remain gracious while preventing Madeira from reading her. They were rational adults. Attraction or not, they could handle a few moments alone together, couldn’t they?
“Okay, a ride home,” Grace said, holding up a finger and bestowing her most stern teacher look. “But I’m not kidding, Madeira. Nothing more than that between us. Ever.”
“Ever?” Madeira smiled. “That’s a little extreme. You want to add a loophole for your own peace of mind?”
Despite herself, Grace laughed. “I have an idea. How about you just stop flirting with me?”
Madeira scoffed. “I suppose you’d order a zebra to stop being striped, huh, Gracie? Flirting is my nature.”
“Fine. Flirt all you want, then.” Grace flicked her fingers in disdain. “But I promise you, it won’t get you anywhere.”
“Get me anywhere?” Madeira held up her palms like a falsely accused woman. “That’s a pot-calling-the-kettle-black comment if I’ve ever heard one. Keep your hands off my thighs, then talk to me about getting somewhere.”
After a short exclamation of surprise Grace wasn’t able to prevent, she turned and flounced as best she could toward the parking lot. She managed to keep her spine stiffly erect, but her tummy trembled as she walked. Her thoughts flitted from Madeira’s damned magnetism, to her own damned Benedict Arnold desire, and to the damned realization she’d probably never recover from this run-in with Madeira Pacias. All the while, Madeira’s rich, rolling laughter trailed behind her like a bad reputation.
Chapter Six
Él que algo quiere, algo le cuesta.
He who would have the fruit must climb the tree.
“Well? What do you think?” Madeira stood in the warm kitchen next to Simon, waiting impatiently for Toro’s and Iris’s opinions of the newspaper articles that had been written as a result of the press conference.
“I think you are at my house way too early on a Sunday morning,” Toro told her little sister in a glum tone.
“You know what I mean.” Dispatch came over the air, and both Madeira’s hand and Simon’s went automatically to the volume knobs on their respective portable radios. The morning felt too young for the brash interference from the radio traffic.
Restless, Madeira shifted her weight from one leg to the other. All through the night, Simon had humored her by haunting the newspaper boxes in their district. Madeira had been unable to relax until the Sunday papers hit. They’d collected them all, read the articles, then managed to drive around until the crack of dawn before Madeira couldn’t stand it anymore and stopped to place a call to her sister. At Iris’s invitation—despite Toro’s protests about the ungodly hour—they’d stopped by the house for free coffee, and also to get third and fourth opinions on the news. Madeira had quickly introduced her partner and dispensed the papers to Iris and Toro, who were still drowsy and pajama-clad. Toro was grumpy; Iris was not.
The scent of apple cinnamon coffee cake rose from the oven to spice the air, and gentle fingers of morning sunlight reached through the kitchen window, tickling the household awake.
“They’re not so bad, huh?” Madeira prompted, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.
Iris tucked her hair behind one ear and glanced cryptically into her coffee cup, saying nothing.
“What? Why are you so quiet, sis? I know you must have something to say.” Disconcerted by her hesitation, Madeira moved to the coffeepot and topped her mug, turning to lean against the counter, Rocky boots crossed. The position said “casual,” in direct opposition to the churning anticipation in her gut.
Iris scooted out her chair and turned to face her. “I have a lot to say, but why should I? You’ll just accuse me of being too much of a romantic if I give you my opinion. Hit me, Mad.” She held out her mug, and Madeira brimmed it.
“I won’t. I promise.” Madeira mimed a quick X over her heart then crossed her fingers playfully.
Iris shook her head with a smile, set down her mug, then picked up the Post article written by Harold. “Fine, you asked for it. It’s just, you’re so focused on the articles.”
“Well, of course. What do you expect?”
“I expect anyone who shares the same genes with my gorgeous partner to be deeper than that.” Her eyes scanned the article a moment, then she held it out toward her. “Look at this picture, Mad. What do you see?”
“Me?”
“Don’t be a dumbass.”
Lips pursed, Madeira bent forward and scrutinized it. It struck her as odd that they’d chosen to publish a hastily snapped shot from when she’d first arrived instead of one of the more orchestrated photos from the press conference. She had to admit, though, this more candid photo really captured the feel of the reunion. At least how it had felt to her.
Inevitable.
Poignant.
So right.
“Well?”
Madeira straightened, unwilling or unable to give in to the feelings. “I’m hugging her. So what?”
“No. Look deeper. Look at your face.” The paper crackled as she foisted it toward her. “At your expression.”
Madeira knew what Iris was getting at, but she didn’t want to address the look of utter adoration captured by the camera’s too-perceptive eye. What did it matter? In an effort to evade the topic, Madeira sucked in one cheek and angled her head to the side. “My face…yes. Good-looking chica, if that’s what you’re getting at.” She positioned her thumbs and fingers to make a small square box and turned it this way and that, pretending it was a movie frame. “That’s a Hollywood face
right there.” She smacked the paper with the backs of her fingers and postured like a peacock. “Angelina, watch out.”
Iris ignored Madeira’s posturing, turning the photo back toward herself. “You are thrilled to see her, Mad, and you can’t deny it. I have never seen you looking like that with anyone. And hell, I’ve seen you with practically everyone.” She shook her head. “First you whine and moan about the reunion, then the camera catches you looking like you couldn’t let go of her if you tried. You big faker. I don’t care what you say, it’s completely romantic.”
“That’s what I told her,” Simon said.
“It’s not completely romantic. It’s completely staged.” Madeira stretched her shoulders, avoiding Iris’s gaze and wanting to punch Simon for selling her ass out.
“Do you like her, Madeira?” Iris asked in an almost plaintive tone.
“I don’t even know her. I mean, sure I was glad to see her. I thought she was dead, Iris. I’m not a complete cad.”
Toro snorted.
Madeira burned her sister a glare.
“That’s not what I mean.” Iris sighed, perusing the photo as she ran her finger over the angles of Madeira’s face as the camera caught her embracing Grace for the first time. “Forget it. You’re in denial and it’s too early to play shrink.”
“Denial?” Why did her entire circle of friends and family seem against her all of a sudden?
Iris ignored her. “I’m going to get an extra copy later and FedEx it to your mother. Won’t she just love to see her girl looking so happy?”
“What are you, nuts?” Madeira snatched the paper away from Iris, her eyes immediately drawn to the bright red of Gracie’s sweater, the fullness of her lips as she smiled in Madeira’s arms. God, she fit so well there. Madeira’s chest tightened with the soul-deep, visceral memory. “Send this and Mamá will start planning our forever-after together before the week is out. Before you know it, my life will be ruined.”
“Mamá doesn’t have to ruin your life,” Toro groused. “You do a good enough job on your own with your reckless ways. Damn. You are in denial.” She glanced at Iris. “My babe is right.”