In his exuberance, he sloshed wine out of his glass.
She chuckled at his “oops!”—liking the fact that he could laugh at himself along with her.
“I get a little excited when it comes to my job.” He wiped at the spill on his tan cable-knit sweater with a napkin.
She nearly suggested he take the sweater off, rinse out the wine before it set. But that suggestion seemed too . . . well, suggestive.
No way was she opening that Pandora’s box.
“There are two other agencies in the mix,” Tomás continued, thankfully unaware of the side trip her train of thought had taken. “But I will win this account.”
She didn’t doubt it in the least.
“Linton and love, with you for a lifetime.” Yaz murmured the words, drawn into his advertising world by his charisma’s pull.
“Not too bad.” He toasted her with his glass. “You got any more?”
She grinned. “I can see why you’re so good at your job. Your excitement’s catching.”
“I think the same thing about you in class. You’re pretty amazing.”
Her cheeks heated, and it had nothing to do with the fire blazing in front of them. More like, the one crackling inside her at his praise.
“Pues, not everyone can be as good as us, right?” she teased.
He threw back his head and laughed, a deep throaty bellow that rumbled through her, reaching deep recesses she’d convinced herself to ignore.
“You are too much, you know that?” he said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Tomás chuckled. He shifted his feet off the coffee table to crook a knee on the sofa cushion between them. “It’s not often I get to discuss work like this at home. Usually it’s Barbies and Disney Channel with Maria. I try to give Mrs. B her privacy in the evenings. This is nice.”
Yeah, it was.
“That’s what friends are for, right?”
She threw the word out there for both of their benefit. Damn if she couldn’t completely keep the wistfulness out of her voice.
She took another sip, her gaze meeting his. A log crackled and split, shooting sparks into the air behind the grate. The jazz music in the background swelled to a crescendo, before drowsily reaching its end.
The word “friends” hung between them, daring either of them to deny it.
She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.
She knew better though. New York beckoned—even if there were times she wondered whether or not it was the right place for her.
Tomás leaned over to pick up the wine bottle, breaking their unspoken connection. He tilted the bottle toward her. “More?”
“Half a glass. I still have to drive home.” Plus, she needed to keep her wits about her.
He refilled their glasses and they settled into an easy silence until the next song started.
“Ooh, one of my favorites,” Tomás said as Etta James’s sultry voice crooned “At Last.”
Before Yaz realized his intent, he put down his glass, rose from the couch and held his hand out to her. “Will you give me a dance, Ms. Yazmine?”
She hesitated, certain that saying yes, as badly as she wanted to, wasn’t a smart move.
“C’mon.”
The teasing glint in his eyes paired with his dimple’s wink was too much for her to resist.
She placed her hand in his. The warmth from his palm and the inviting grin on his handsome face were another one-two punch to her flagging determination to keep things between them platonic.
He led them to the area in front of the fireplace and she moved into his arms easily, as if it was where she was supposed to be. For this moment, she’d allow herself the treat.
Still holding on to her hand, Tomás slid his other arm around her waist, firmly guiding her body closer until her chest pressed against his. Yaz tipped her chin to rest it on his shoulder, her temple pressed against the side of his face as he swayed them to the music.
They moved in a slow circle and she closed her eyes, giving in to the pleasure of being in his arms. His musky, earthy scent mingling with the smell of burnt wood in the crackling fire created a heady incense that made her woozier than the wine.
“I haven’t done this in ages,” Tomás said softly.
“What?”
“Dance.”
“Are you kidding? You danced in class on Wednesday,” she answered, enjoying the rumble of his laughter and the way it shook his muscular chest against hers.
He spun them in another slow circle, then she yelped in surprise when he leaned her over his arm for a deep dip, holding her in place so she had to squeeze his shoulder and hand for balance.
“Somehow, this isn’t quite the same,” he said, his voice gruff.
His eyes flared, his face a silhouette of angles in the firelight.
Dios mío, was he going to kiss her?
Did she want him to?
Who was she kidding? Of course she did.
Before she could figure out what to do if he leaned in for a kiss, Tomás pulled her up to stand, deftly moving them back into the song’s tempo again. As if he wasn’t affected by the electricity humming between them.
Her legs shaking, Yaz followed his lead.
Then he started humming softly in her ear, the slightly off-key tune endearing. It was as if his voice, his strength, his . . . everything hypnotized her. Made her forget reality.
Fear born from self-preservation choked the breath from her. She could not fall for this man. It would derail all her plans. All Papi’s plans for her.
Thankfully the poignant song drew to a close and Yaz took a step back. Her mind grasped for something to help get them, get herself, back on track as “friends.” Panicked, she blurted out the first thing she thought of.
“I don’t mean to pry, and you can tell me to butt out if you want, but I was wondering about Maria’s mother. You haven’t mentioned her.”
Tomás’s mouth thinned. He dropped his arms from around her, turning his head to stare intently into the fire.
Yaz held her breath, uncertain if she had overstepped her bounds.
After several tense moments, he moved to sit back down on the sofa.
Gingerly she followed suit.
The question had been traipsing in and out of her mind since earlier this week when she’d noticed that all the photos in the house were of Tomás’s family or Mrs. Buckley. Maria had taken great pride in “introducing” Yaz to her family via each and every picture. During the tour the little girl had made a vague comment about her mom going away, but hadn’t elaborated.
“I wondered when you’d get around to asking,” Tomás finally said. “Most people jump right in, whether it’s appropriate or not.”
He shifted on the cushions, crooking his elbow along the back of the leather sofa. “Kristine and I met right after I moved to Chicago. Our agencies teamed up for several accounts. It was a bit of a whirlwind between the two of us. Fast and furious, you might say. The marriage was a spur-of-the-moment decision when we were in Vegas for a conference.”
Yaz swallowed a gasp of surprise at his admission. He didn’t strike her as the impetuous type.
“About eight months in she got pregnant, unplanned. Turns out neither of us really knew what we were getting into. Or with whom. I guess you could say we both went in with blinders on. And the pregnancy ripped those off pretty quickly. That’s when we realized I wanted a career and a family, Kristine only wanted the career.”
Yaz watched Tomás in the flickering firelight, the half shadows making the angles of his stoic expression more harsh. His words and tone were impassive, as if he shared the details of someone else’s story, not his own life-changing divorce.
“Kristine grew up an only child with a mom more interested in her own wants and needs. They weren’t close. Barely even spoke during the holidays. She never mentioned her dad, and her grandparents had passed when she was younger. It’s ironic really. Kristine used to rail about her mom’s selfishnes
s. But when it came down to it, Kristine was exactly the same.”
He traced the lip of his wineglass with a finger, his gaze lost in his story. “We hired Mrs. B right before Maria was born, because Kristine wanted to go back to work as soon as possible. It didn’t matter. Kristine lasted about six months of motherhood before deciding she’d had enough.”
He paused, his jaw tightening. Yaz couldn’t tell if it was a sign of his lingering hurt or leftover anger. Or both.
She didn’t ask. Instead she let him get the whole sordid story out, sorry she’d even brought it up. Sure, her curiosity about his ex might be satisfied, but she hadn’t meant to dampen his mood.
“Her company opened an office in London and she jumped at the opportunity to get away,” Tomás continued. “Made it clear in no uncertain terms that her job meant more than we did. The divorce was simple and quick. She willingly signed away all parental rights. As far as the courts are concerned, I’m Maria’s only parent.”
Tomás took a hefty gulp of his wine, punctuating the end of his tale.
Yaz sensed his buried pain, saw it in the hollowness of his dark eyes. A kindred pain burned in her chest. She’d experienced rejection’s vicious bite, too. Still smarted from it.
“Relationships can really suck, huh?” she muttered.
Tomás huffed out a harsh breath, but didn’t say anything as he refilled his glass with the last of the wine bottle.
“I can’t imagine a mother leaving her child behind, especially one as precious as Maria,” she murmured.
He jiggled his glass in a small circle, intently watching the liquid spin, edging close to the rim, but not quite enough to spill over.
“Kristine wasn’t—still isn’t, I guess—wired to have a family. The only contact I’ve had from her since the divorce was a ‘desist’ response to an email I sent with a picture of Maria on her first birthday.”
“Wow.” The word slipped out before Yaz could stop it. The idea of not even wanting a picture of your daughter was completely mind-boggling.
“Yeah, that surprised me, too.” Tomás nodded slowly, staring down at his glass. “But deep down I knew the truth. Staying with Maria and me would have held Kristine back. Eventually she would have resented us. My mistake for jumping into something too quickly, without enough forethought. One of my rare impulsive moves. But I can tell you one thing—”
He looked up at Yaz, his determined gaze piercing her in the dim lighting. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
Her mind ran through everything she’d learned about his ex and she kept coming back to one question. What kind of idiot walked away from her own child, not to mention a man as dedicated to his family as Tomás?
Sure, Yaz was walking away from the idea of having a family, but it wasn’t the same as abandoning one she already had.
“So, you’re sticking with single parenting, or have you thought about marrying again?” she asked, surprised at the stab of disappointment the thought gave her.
He shrugged. “We’re holding our own. It’s not always easy. But I do know, I won’t get involved with another woman without first being positive she’s a good match for me. And especially for Maria.”
“That’s difficult to judge right off the bat. Even when you think you do know someone, who’s to say they won’t blindside you at some point anyway?”
“Well, I plan on making sure she’s the right type.”
“Right type?” The fire popped, as if echoing Yaz’s bewilderment.
“Yep. Mrs. B and my mom have been hounding me to find a mom for Maria, but before I start dating anyone, I need to make sure she wants the same things I do. I’m not taking any chances again.”
“News flash!” She tilted her glass toward him, emphasizing her point. “It’s not always that easy.”
Tomás pshawed at her comment. “I’ve planned every career move I’ve made, from high school to college to now, and it’s worked so far. I didn’t do that with Kristine. I jumped first and thought later. Like I said, won’t make the same mistake.”
“But you’re not talking about a career move,” she countered, pulling her knees up onto the couch and angling more toward him. “I mean, what exactly makes a woman ‘right’?”
“Someone who wants to be a loving parent to Maria, and any other children we have together. Someone who’s a partner, not a corporate climber with a career-before-family mentality.”
“Um, excuse me? Hello, Mr. Workaholic.” She gave him a wiggle-fingered wave.
“Hey now.” He pushed her hand down, trapping it on the back of the sofa under his. “I’m working on that. Not counting tonight, I’ve been home at a decent hour all week. I even made it to dance rehearsal on Wednesday.”
Yaz slid her hand out, enjoying the warmth of his too much for her own good. “I’ll give you this week. Let’s see how it continues.”
“Slave driver.”
She narrowed her eyes, but her glare turned into an eye roll at his grin. “Let me get this straight, you’re looking for a woman with a strong mom instinct and no workaholic tendencies. Anything else?”
“Sense of humor. Dependable. Trustworthy.” He slowly ticked off the items on his fingers. “A team player.”
“As long as it’s your team?”
“Mine and Maria’s. We should all want to be on the same team.”
“That doesn’t sound very romantic.” More like pragmatic. “What about love, attraction?”
“Love, as in the mushy, I-can’t-get-you-out-of-my-head type?” Tomás scoffed. “Doesn’t interest me. I tried that once. Lust fades. I’m more interested in finding a companion. Actually, until Mrs. B had to leave, I wasn’t thinking about this at all. We were doing fine. But I’ve realized I can’t rely on nannies to help me provide stability for Maria long-term. I need a partner.”
“Ay, que deprimente.” If the wine bottle hadn’t been empty, Yaz might have poured herself another glass.
“It’s not depressing. It’s called being realistic.”
She wrinkled her nose in distaste. Sure, companionship might seem better than being alone, but what he was talking about felt hollow. Empty.
Tomás quirked a brow at her. “Don’t tell me you’re a hopeless romantic who believes in love and hearts and roses. I thought you were a diehard ladder-of-success climber.”
His words held a ring of challenge, almost like he was egging her on, daring her to deny them. Then again, maybe it was her own insecurity, her own indecision and uncertainty, coloring her mindset.
Uncomfortable, Yaz tucked a loose strand of hair from her ponytail behind her ear. He was dancing too close to her darkest secret. A fear she had only hinted at with Cheryl the last time her friend had been home.
“I’m both,” she finally answered. “While marriage and a family may not be in the cards for me, my parents were living proof that a good marriage is possible. Your idea sounds a little calculated. When love bites you, it bites you. Right or wrong, there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“You speaking from experience?”
She sucked in a sharp breath. Memories of Victor and his selfishness, of her naïveté in believing she could have it all, clamored to the surface.
Buying herself some time to answer, she drained the last of her wine.
“Want me to open another bottle?” Tomás offered.
“No, it’s late.” Leaning over, she set her glass on the coffee table. “I should get going.”
“Funny . . .” Tomás narrowed his gaze, assessing her. “You had plenty of time when I was spilling my dirty secrets. I ask one question and suddenly ‘it’s late’?”
That was her cue to exit stage right.
“Speaking of secrets, if all you’re looking for is a partner rather than a romantic connection, you might get lucky at Hanson’s. Word’s out about me helping with Maria, and a mom asked me about you after class the other night.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.” Yaz grinned at his scan
dalized expression. “Let me know if you want her number. She’s a divorcée, two kids about seven and nine. Pretty nice lady from what I can tell. But I can ask around.”
“No!” Tomás was up and off the sofa like a hot ember from the fire had popped out and landed on him.
Yaz laughed, enjoying his wide-eyed horror as she unfolded her legs and stood up. “Hey, I don’t mind helping you out if you’d like.”
She stepped toward the foyer, Tomás coming up behind her.
“No gracias, I don’t need any more matchmaking. I’ve got Mrs. B and my mom riding my tail as it is. Which reminds me, I forgot to mention, Mrs. B called today.”
“And?”
They stopped in front of the coat closet in the darkened entryway. Tomás snagged her jacket off a hanger, then held it up so she could slip her arms in the sleeves.
“Her daughter was put on full bed rest. Mrs. B has to stay until the baby arrives. Probably the end of December, maybe even the first week of January. I put in a call to the nanny service this afternoon. They’re going to let me know about a replacement tomorrow.”
Yaz froze, her right arm partially in her jacket sleeve, her body waging an internal skirmish. Ay, her head told her to do one thing. Her heart wanted something completely different.
She closed her eyes, agonizing between the two.
Por favor, this was a no-brainer. When would she get a chance like this again?
She spun around, pulling the jacket out of Tomás’s hands. “Tell them never mind. That you already have someone.”
He drew back, his brows angling down in confusion. “Who?”
She met his gaze, begging him with her eyes to agree.
“No.” He put up his hands, palms facing her. “You’ve got enough on your plate already.”
“I can do this. It’s three weeks, four tops.”
She could see his indecision, practically watched his mind going through his options, thinking of every angle or alternative to ensure he selected the best one, like he apparently did with everything else. Even his love life, if you could call it that.
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