by Phoebe Conn
“Montoya wants to see us. Apparently there’re some complications we didn’t anticipate. Do you have time to come with me?”
“Yes, I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
He looked preoccupied when he came to the condo door, but he swept her with an appreciate glance and broke into a cocky grin. “That’s just not fair.”
She’d put on a short yellow dress with lime-green trim and a matching green jacket and looked down to see if something were wrong. “What do you mean?”
He helped her into his SUV, got in and just stared at her. “You look even more beautiful than usual. Did you just come in from a job?”
“No, I was at a spa. Maybe I’ll go again on Monday if it dazzles you.”
“You always dazzle me. I don’t know what Montoya wants, but it didn’t sound good, and I don’t want to imagine what it might be.”
She’d known he couldn’t stay angry with her and apologized as soon as she’d buckled her seat belt. “You were right yesterday. My plan was foolish. While it may have succeeded in some respects, I shouldn’t have risked meeting Lamoreaux when there was no way to accurately predict how he’d react.”
He leaned over to kiss her. “You’re forgiven, but I shouldn’t have gotten so angry with you. I hadn’t told you how René Charles was caught, and that was a major part of the problem.”
She leaned against her window to search his expression. He’d grown so serious it frightened her. “Tell me now.”
He gave her as brief an explanation as he’d written in his statement. “I’d wanted to lure Charles out so Montoya could arrest him, not fight him hand to hand. I was certain your plan could prove equally dangerous, and it did. I was mad at myself for not stopping you when you first thought of it.”
“We really need to tell each other the truth, whether it’s scary or not.”
“I’ve nothing less to confess. Do you?”
She gave her lips a suggestive lick. “Give me a while to think, and maybe I can come up with something.”
He caressed her cheek gently. “If it’s forgotten, let it go.”
Montoya met them at the front desk and escorted them to his office. Once they were seated, he leaned back in his chair. “While you’re here, Miss Santillan, you can give us your statement. Unfortunately, René Charles wasn’t fazed when he learned Lamoreaux had been arrested. It had been my hope he’d negotiate with whatever information he had about the man, but he’s sticking to his original story, although now he blames steroids for causing the murderous rage that cost Campos his life.
“As for Lamoreaux, he claims he contacted Mr. Campos because he admired his fashion photography and hoped Jaime could convince you to pose in a collection of nudes. When Jaime told him you wouldn’t even discuss being photographed in the nude, he says he had to be satisfied with hiring you for ads for his shoes. He was very pleased with them, by the way. He spent some time praising your beauty before I could convince him to focus on yesterday afternoon.”
Ana sat forward. “Are you saying there’s no way to tie Lamoreaux to Jaime’s death if René Charles won’t give you one?”
Montoya responded with a helpless shrug. “René says he’d worked as Lamoreaux’s chauffeur when the designer was in Barcelona. He told us Lamoreaux owns a popular French BD/SM magazine; he models sometimes, and that’s how they met.”
“I’ll bet Lamoreaux doesn’t brag about that,” Alejandro interjected.
Ana touched his knee. “He wouldn’t dare, or it would ruin his reputation in high fashion.”
Montoya nodded. “I’m also wondering what he would have done with the photos had you posed in the nude. He would probably have made the most of them. He might even have thought he could force you into a relationship with the promise he’d not publish them in his magazine.”
“Now I feel sick,” Ana said, growing pale. “Jaime talked about tasteful art photography. Lamoreaux had the audacity to ask me if I’d take over the project, but I refused.”
“You were wise to avoid it,” the lieutenant replied. “He’s hired a well-known attorney and quickly posted bail. Even if he did use René for muscle, I doubt he’ll come after you on his own.”
“But you’re not sure,” Alejandro stated. He reached for Ana’s hand and gave her fingers a loving squeeze.
“No one can be sure of anything, Mr. Vasquez. Lamoreaux presents himself as a responsible businessman who occasionally employed René Charles, and René’s the one who confessed to murder. Lamoreaux does admit to being overly fond of you, Ana, and he believes you simply misunderstood what he describes as a gracious invitation to visit his Paris home.”
Ana gasped. “You don’t mean it?”
“I do,” Montoya insisted. “He says you accepted gifts from him. Flowers, candy and kittens would be seen as romantic. You willingly posed in ads for his shoes and left his apartment on your last visit wearing a new diamond bangle bracelet. You invited him to meet you, reacted badly to his so-called invitation to visit Paris, overturned the table and broke his foot. Surely you can imagine how a skilled defense attorney could twist your testimony into a flirtation you’d encouraged until it ended badly. He appreciates your passionate nature, and while a broken foot is a great inconvenience, he asked me to assure you he’ll not press charges.”
“How generous of him. Does he still have his gun?” Alejandro asked.
“No, and he should behave well to ensure his chances of avoiding prosecution.”
“Should?”
“I can’t read minds, but his attorney has a high success rate with his clients. If we consider how your testimony would be twisted, Miss Santillan, all we can charge him with is lacking a permit for a handgun. That won’t require a trial.”
Alejandro nearly snorted. “So he’ll continue designing women’s shoes?”
“Probably. Scandal is always good for business. Now if you’ll write your interpretation of your conversation with Lamoreaux yesterday, we’ll be finished.”
Ana took the clipboard, but she was so angry she could barely hold a pen. “I remember it word for word.” She printed to make certain it was legible, then signed and dated the form. She laid the clipboard on his desk. “I should have worn a wire.”
Montoya laughed. “He would never have admitted to having anything to do with Jaime’s murder.”
“I’m not so sure,” Ana argued. “Is that all for today?”
“Yes.” The lieutenant rose and escorted them through the station. “If we meet again, I hope it will be under better circumstances.”
A fake smile flitted across Ana’s lips. “So do I.” She moved as quickly as she could on crutches and didn’t draw a deep breath until they were seated in Alejandro’s SUV.
“The paparazzi in Paris are even more rabid than they are here,” she mused aloud. “If one were to learn Lamoreaux published porn, or however his magazines can be described, the clientele for his elegant heels might shrink dramatically.”
“That’s almost too good, Ana.” Alejandro kept his eyes on the road, but his smile grew wide. “You wouldn’t want anyone to tie you to the information, so a phone call is out. An unsigned letter to a tabloid editor couldn’t be traced.”
“True, and I can’t think of any reason not to do it.”
“We did pose for his ads,” he reminded her.
“So what? If he’s out of business, he’ll have no reason to use them.”
“Montoya is probably right and scandal would boost his business rather than destroy it, so let’s think about it. I need to stop by my loft. Come in with me.”
He hugged her close as the elevator rose. “I want to show you something new.”
“More little houses?”
He unlocked his door and escorted her in. The worktable was a messy pile of scraps, but a beautiful model of a two-story Mediterranean-style home sat on his display table. Painted white with a red-tile roof, arched windows, balconies and a courtyard, it was as pretty a house as she’d ever seen. Behind the house, he’
d made a sturdy tree out of gathered sticks, and placed a tree house in the branches.
“I love the tree house!” she exclaimed. “I’m surprised, though. I thought you were concentrating on the Ortiz Lines. When did you have time to do this?”
“I made the time. I want to build a home for us where we’ll have plenty of room, and can even avoid each other if we need to. If you don’t like this one, I’ll design something else.”
Touched, she braced herself against the table. “It’s a lovely house, Alejandro. It’s poetry in three dimensions, don’t you think?”
He stepped close. “Are you giving me a star for the poetry element?”
“Yes, I am.” His kiss was tender and light, sweet, when she longed for passion.
“Good. I’ve found another American comedy that’s supposed to be even funnier than the last one we saw. Let’s go today rather than wait for tomorrow. I’ve found a new place for dinner.”
He appeared to be checking off a list and might propose under the moonlight, but her heart ached for so much more. “Could we stay here a little longer?”
“Of course. Do you want something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” She focused on the beautifully constructed model and searched for the right words while unshed tears formed a painful knot in her throat. “I appreciate everything you do, but you don’t love me, Alejandro, and some day you’ll meet a woman who’ll speak to your heart, and it won’t matter how many delicious dinners we’ve shared or where we live. You’ll choose her, and you’ll feel less guilty then if we don’t marry now.”
He stepped close to press her palm to his chest. “Are you finished?”
She’d struggled for every word and sighed as she nodded. They would know each other forever, but she wanted to be so much more than the mother of his child.
He pulled her into his arms. “You’re the only woman who’s ever touched my heart. Can you feel it beating? I can’t tell you the exact moment I fell in love, but I wouldn’t use it for an excuse when I let you believe we were married. You’d have dismissed it as a pathetic ploy.”
She raised her hand to slip her fingers through his glossy black hair. “You couldn’t be pathetic if you tried. I fell in love with you when all you knew was my first name. It was so nice not to question your motives when you wanted to be with me.”
He kissed her brow. “I let my father blow it apart, but you came after me.”
“Because I didn’t care about looking pathetic—but let’s not keep track of our mistakes. I made them too. Let’s cultivate the art of forgiveness.”
He crossed to his desk and removed a small velvet box. “I planned to propose tomorrow. The restaurant has a beautiful view of the city and live musicians who play love songs until midnight. It would have been a perfect setting, but I can’t wait. I miss you too much when we’re apart, and you make every hour we’re together a glimpse of paradise. I know I can be the man you deserve. Will you marry me?” He opened the box to show off a sparkling diamond solitaire.
It was a gorgeous ring, and his silvery gaze glowed with love. She rested her hands on his and took a deep breath. “This is really about you and me and not just the baby?”
“You and me,” he assured her. “I want us to be a real family whether we have one baby or half a dozen. My father set such a poor example. I promise I’ll do everything right and make you proud to be my wife.” He hugged her and whispered in her ear, “The next time you offer hot sex, I won’t leave. Will you please say yes so we won’t be late for the movie?”
He’d already shown her how wonderful a husband he could be, and such a loving man would be the very best of fathers. She didn’t care at all about going to the movies. “Won’t it be playing tomorrow?”
“Sure, but please don’t keep me waiting that long for your answer.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and placed a sloppy kiss in his ear. “Yes, I love you dearly, and I’ll marry you. We’ll make the best family ever.”
Thrilled, he picked her up and turned with her in his arms. “Let’s plan your dream wedding with the designer gown and your mother and stepfather and all your friends and my mother and the artist. Whatever you want to do, I’ll be fine with it. I just want you to be happy.”
“Let’s wait until I’m able to walk down the aisle without needing crutches. But for now, there is one little thing.”
He set her down and slipped the dazzling ring on her finger. “I’m almost afraid to ask what it is.”
“You needn’t worry. I was only wondering if you had any of the frosting left.”
He responded with a wicked grin. “I do.” He gathered her into his arms and muffled his laughter in her cascading curls.
About the Author
Always a passionate lover of books, this New York Times bestselling author first answered a call to write in 1980 and swiftly embarked on her own mythic journey. With more than seven million copies in print of her historical, contemporary and futuristic books written under her own name as well as her pseudonym, Cinnamon Burke, she is as enthusiastic as ever about writing.
A native Californian, Phoebe attended the University of Arizona and California State University at Los Angeles where she earned a BA in Art History and an MA in Education. Her books have won Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Awards and a nomination for Storyteller of the Year. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, Novelists Inc., PEN, AWritersWork.com and Backlistebooks.com.
She is the proud mother of two grown sons and two adorable grandchildren, who love to have her read to them. She loves to hear from fans. Please contact her through her web site: www.phoebeconn.com or her e-mail: [email protected]
Look for these titles by Phoebe Conn
Now Available:
Defy the World Tomatoes
Where Dreams Begin
Fierce Love
Fierce Pride
Retro Romance
Captive Heart
By Love Enslaved
Swept Away
Emerald Fire
Their affair is the main attraction…and the distraction a killer has waited for.
Fierce Love
© 2012 Phoebe Conn
Magdalena Aragon never thought she’d answer the summons of a father she’s never known. The world-famous, many-times-married matador has provided everything she needs—except his time. There’s only one reason she packs her bags for Spain: what her psychologist calls “closure.”
In spite of herself, she’s drawn in by her father’s charm, irresistible despite his desperate illness. Then there’s his handsome protégé, a rising star in a sport she hates, yet he sets her passions on fire.
With a past as shadowy as his Gypsy heritage, Rafael Mondragon has always had to fight for what he wants. His freedom, his dream to become a star in the bull ring, and now his mentor’s daughter, who stirs his every dark desire.
Certain she won’t be staying long, Maggie escapes from the craziness of her newly discovered, fractured family to indulge in a red-hot fling. After all, Rafael is the last man she could ever love. Her heart has other ideas.
The heat from their affair captures the attention of the wrong people—the tabloids, and someone who has a twisted sense of honor. By the time Rafael realizes Maggie is the real target, it could be too late to save her.
Warning: Hot sex, dangerous secrets, men who challenge death for sport.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Fierce Love:
Maggie had often felt like an outsider in her own family, but she’d had a pampered childhood and had always been loved. She could easily imagine Santos running through the streets barefoot, his hair too long, and in need of a bath. They were back on the freeway before she relaxed. “Barcelona is a beautiful city. The air here sparkles with energy. Except for the water, the terrain closely resembles Arizona. It’s easy to see why the Conquistadores were at home in America’s southwest.”
“You live in Arizona?”
“Yes,
in Tucson.”
“It’s close to the border with Mexico, isn’t it? I could come visit you when I fight there.”
Her first thought was to invite him to speak on her high school’s career day. She was certain no matador had ever been part of the program. “Yes, I suppose you could. Do you have a crew who travels with you?”
“No, I have to carry my own luggage and hire men to work in the ring.”
“Are they difficult to find?”
“No, but good ones are. Have you ever been to a bullfight?”
“No, I’ve read a lot about them, but I’ve never wanted to go.”
“Your father has films he could show you. He was among the very best.”
“So I’ve heard, but bullfighting is too violent for my tastes.”
“But it’s a very beautiful violence,” he argued. “You might learn to appreciate it.”
“I’d be more likely to sprout wings and fly home.”
He dropped his voice to a more sympathetic tone. “You should be more open to new experiences.”
“Does that line work on other women?”
“With me as the experience? I’m too busy to chase women. I want to know you; that’s a different thing.”
If her father weren’t Miguel Aragon, they’d never have met, and she couldn’t help but feel her father was a huge factor in his interest. “Thank you.”
When they reached her father’s home, he walked her up to the front door and leaned down to kiss her. It was another mere token of a kiss, as brief as the one when they’d danced. She knew he could do better, but turned away to reach for the doorknob and found the door locked.
“Oh no, I didn’t think to ask for a key and I hate to wake Mrs. Lopez.”
“Do you have a cell phone to call Santos or the twins?”