“Don’t be afraid,” he said, the sweet plea flickering in his eyes.
Fear was underrated. Right this minute, she was clinging to every ounce of it to prevent her from acting like a horny teenager. Giving in to the insane craving for Alejandro would complicate everything. “I’m sorry, Alejandro. I don’t think I’m ready for more.”
“It’s okay.” He watched her in silence, the spark of desire vanishing from his eyes. With a blank expression, he quirked his lips to one side and said, “Good night, Sydney.”
Without looking back, she forced her legs to dash to her bedroom.
Good night? No chance of that.
Chapter 5
Sydney sipped her black coffee, her fingers tapping on the small china cup. The liquid was strong, hot, and had a much better taste than the crap she drank in the US. Enjoy it. Once everything is sorted, you will go back to your crummy life. And crummy coffee.
Oh how she missed her crummy life. Her job. Glancing around the breakfast table, filled with fruits and pastries, she bit her lip. She would only go back to her life, when they had a clue about the dude who’d attacked her. And how Patty died.
Hmmm…She was pretty sure Patty wouldn’t just drop dead from a heart attack. Besides, it was too much of a coincidence. Patty promised her she would tell the police the next day, about the message Frank had told her. Then, that same night, she dies. God. If she didn’t hate the police that much, and hadn’t asked for her friend’s help—maybe, just maybe, Patty would still be alive. Cold sweat beaded her upper lip, but Sydney wiped it with the embroidered linen napkin. No. She didn’t have time for guilt, or regret.
She tossed back some more coffee, hoping it would shoot some adrenaline in her system. Adrenaline. With shaky fingers, she sat the cup on the pristine tablecloth. That was it. What if the killer had injected some kind of substance in Patty’s system to fake a heart attack? A large dose of potassium? No, that would take too long.
“Buenos dias,” Alejandro said, pulling a chair next to hers.
Her pulse jolted. She had been so wrapped up in her theory she hadn’t noticed him walking up to the table. Better that way. When he was close, it was hard enough to focus on anything…but him, and his underwear-melting smile.
He grabbed a piece of brioche and slathered it with butter. “What’s on your mind?”
“Cyanide,” she said, the name of the powerful chemical compound striking her like thunder. “Of course. It’s fast acting, and the symptoms would be similar to a heart attack,” she said more to herself than to him.
He frowned. “Care to elaborate on that one?”
“Alejandro, we need to ask Joe if they performed an autopsy on Patty. I’m thinking they could have injected a dose of cyanide in her, which would make it impossible for her to breathe, and kill her in a matter of minutes,” she said, her voice wavering at the end.
Alejandro pulled his cell from his pocket. “I’m on it.”
“On what, my darling?” his mother asked, joining them in the dining area.
It was early morning, but the woman’s face already looked flawless, with a layer of makeup just a notch lighter than what she had on the previous night. A blue ensemble of pencil skirt and flowing silky blouse, adorned by a baroque brooch, completed her look.
“Nothing you should worry about, Madre,” Alejandro said, and poured himself some orange juice.
Constanza thinned her lips, in an expression of someone who was trying hard to sketch a smile. “Well, then. Where are you kids off to today?”
“I have work to do,” Alejandro said.
“Mi hijo, can’t you procrastinate just this once? You should take Sydney and show her around. Isn’t that why you brought her? To enjoy the city?” she said, and Sydney wondered if she traced a bit of challenge in his mother’s voice.
Alejandro cleared his throat. “Of course. I can spare a few hours.”
“Good.” Constanza winked at Sydney. “If you excuse me, I have to call my stylist. Tonight’s the fund raiser, and I’m not sure yet about the shoes,” she said, and sauntered out of sight.
“What now?” Sydney asked.
Alejandro faced her, and she almost pushed back her chair. It was hard sitting next to him, catching a whiff of his tantalizing scent of peppermint aftershave and clean soap. He had showered; no doubt. “We play along. Look, I’ll call Joe.”
“I’d like to speak with him, too,” she said.
“Great. Let’s go to my office, we’ll do a web conference.”
The two of them headed to the home office. He made a gesture for her to enter first, and as she heard the click behind them, she realized he was closing the door for privacy. Her stomach began to churn, but this time it was for a different reason than the panic she experienced at the hospital. It was no longer the fear of being confined that surged through her. It was the raw realization that they were alone, locked in, without the safety of a common area such as the dining table.
Last night…she had been alone with him, and dang it, she had enjoyed it. The kiss they shared flashed through her mind, and she folded her arms over her hardening, fast responsive nipples. She watched him turn on the computer with a click and text Joe a message.
Within a few minutes, Joe, the forty something detective, appeared on the sleek computer screen. She expected him to be older, somehow, not the dark blond-haired man with not enough gray in his groomed beard.
“Joe, I need to know if they did an autopsy on Patty. There’s a possibility she was poisoned, perhaps from cyanide, it’s a very powerful chemical.”
“I already looked into it. No autopsy was done,” he said, his voice flat. “She was sixty-years old. An attendant at the hospital tried to save her but it was too late. They ruled it as heart attack.”
“Seriously?”
He shrugged. “Autopsies are not mandatory unless there’s a suspicion of foul play. Plus, it’s the holiday season. Everyone is busy and overworked.”
“Can we get one now?”
“We need her husband’s authorization. That means he’d have to know of our hunch. Can you trust him?”
“I…I met him a couple times. I can try to call him and explain,” she said, her voice trailing off. Shit. She tossed a glance over to Alejandro, and his own eyes flickered with what had to be frustration. Telling Jacob about her theory would put them all in jeopardy. But if an autopsy could set them straight, what did she have to lose?
“Are you sure about this?” Alejandro asked after they finished the video call.
“Yeah.”
***
Alejandro’s gaze soaked in her profile. They walked side by side, after a vigorous city tour of Casa Rosada and La Boca. She had spared a few words when admiring the vibrant colors of la Boca, but that had been it. Ever since the kiss the night before, he’d been trying his best to leash his longing for her.
His mother had insisted he show her the sights, and although they had to fight the crowd of European tourists and the Christmas shoppers, that had been the right thing to do. She had tried to contact Jacob, but a family member said he was too upset to take calls. Sydney had decided to give it another day. Staying home and waiting for more news from Joe would raise suspicion. He knew his mother well enough to want to prevent her from over-worrying about a possible threat.
When they arrived at Cementerio de la Recoleta, she glanced around the crowd taking pictures. “This is—”
“A Cemetery. It’s one of the most beautiful cemeteries in the world.” He stretched his hand out for her, but instead of taking it in hers, she drew back with an uncomfortable shrug. Why the hell was she acting like that? Last night, he’d burned for her. He’d longed to take off her clothes and screw her in the middle of the living room. And now, that skeptical expression took over her face. “Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He dove his fingers into his hair, and cleared his throat. What was wrong with him? She had just lost a friend. “This is a famous tourist attraction, when I thought about
killing time until we hear back from Joe—”
“It’s okay.” She dismissed him with a shrug. “What’s interesting here?”
“Eva Peron’s grave is ahead.”
Going against his custom to let the woman walk in front, he strode in the direction of the grave. Staring at the sway of her hips was a liability at this point. Besides, he wouldn’t take the risk of nudging her elbow or sliding his hand over the small of her back. His libido stirred in him, and he quickened his pace. Calmate.
“Hey, Carl Lewis. If we’re racing to burn the calories from breakfast, you could have let me know. I would have put on tennis shoes.”
He looked over his shoulder and fought a smile, then pointed at her black boots. “Your feet will get very hot inside those. Why didn’t you pick something more practical?”
“It was winter in Chicago and I didn’t have time to go through my summer clothes given the circumstances,” she said.
“I can arrange for new clothes for you.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
“Are you sure? I can throw in some shoes. I’d love to see your toenails out and about.” His gaze fell to her parted lips, and she slightly slumped her shoulders. When he stared at her again, she was quickening her pace, even though it took him one good stride to keep up with her efforts. Miss Attitude was fighting the attraction too, wasn’t she? Good to know. Or was it?
“And I want to see this Eva Peron person you keep raving about.”
“You never heard of Eva?”
“Cool it, Mr. Rosetta Stone. Of course I have.” She winked, and a strange sensation brewed in his stomach, traveling up his chest. Every time she gave him a snarky retort, he imagined all the wicked ways he would like to respond—like kissing her senseless, and intertwining his fingers in hers during a long session of love making.
She contemplated the family tomb with Eva’s life-size statue, and squinted against the sun. The ensemble of blue shirt and Bermuda shorts was a tad informal and out of place to his mother’s standards. In the crowd, dressed casually, she was just one of them. He took a couple of steps back, and glanced over his shoulder to ensure that the bodyguards followed them at a safe distance.
Rays of sun glowed on her hair, turning it almost orange in the broad daylight. He lowered his sunglasses, and a tremble went through him at the sight of her lips, breaking into another smile.
“Lovely.” She pointed at the tomb.
“So are you.” He angled toward her, and lifted his hand to stroke her cheek. Her eyes followed the movement of his fingers, but this time she didn’t flinch, or move away. No. She stayed grounded, and upped her brow in acquiescence.
He outlined her jaw, and an inexplicable strand of pleasure bolted through him. With her, the smallest caress was the gateway drug to a blazing desire. The chatter around them shifted into white noise, and he zoomed in on her. She stepped back, not scared but inviting him, and he strode forward until she reached a big walled tomb. With a groan, he pushed her against the wall, the coolness of the marble contrasting against the heat oozing from her.
She chuckled, and a shade of pink spread across her cheeks.
Why was it? Why did he feel compelled to have her at any cost? He was Alejandro Soto. Women flocked to him, pleased him, and admired him. And he…admired them back. Screwed them. Made sure he kept them at a distance; he’d thought Carla, being so like him at first, would be a great lifetime companion. Nonetheless she had proved him wrong, and that had made him question the validity of the institution. If someone who came from his world didn’t appeal to him after a while, how about someone completely different? How would they ever work?
And Sydney…she intrigued him. Deep down though, she deserved better than him. Emotionally, what could he bring to the table? And why couldn’t all the common sense in the world stop him from doing what he was about to do?
He lowered his lips to hers and snatched her into his arms, and all doubts dissipated in front of him. Their tongues clashed, and he ran his fingers in her hair, pulling her head close to him, wishing they were alone. Desnuda…
“You’re so sexy,” he whispered into her ear, licking her earlobe and feeling her shudder against him. “I don’t want to stop.” He voiced his thoughts, and mentally cursed himself a second later.
She put her hand on his chest and created a gap between them. “And get us thrown out from one of the most beautiful cemeteries in the world?” Her heavy breathing betrayed the playfulness in her voice. She was affected too, and despite him wanting to kick himself for being too blunt, hope brewed inside him. The previous night, she had been scared even. Was she starting to come to terms with their undeniable attraction? She had told him she wasn’t ready and he respected her decision. Rushing her into something she didn’t want wasn’t his style. How could she deny him, though, when her eyes shimmered and sent him the message she had yet to acknowledge?
“It will be worth it.”
“You’re very convincing.” She bit her lower swollen lip, as if musing over the possibilities. “But my wayward ways are behind me.”
He ran a finger down her nose. “Pity.”
A powerful flash made him jerk back and close his eyes. When he opened them again, more flashes. Four, no, five paparazzi circled them, and there was a growing audience of people behind them, no doubt curious.
“Mr. Soto. Is this your new girlfriend?” asked one of them in Spanish.
“What is her name?” asked another, snatching a picture of her.
A scorching frustration washed over him, and a different kind of heat slid in his veins. Wasn’t he old news by now? He pulled her into his embrace and murmured, “Don’t say anything, and don’t look at the cameras. Don’t give them a shot.”
Compliant, she strode alongside him, staring down. The journey to the exit proved difficult, as the cemetery was like a maze of small houses where entire families were buried. He kept ignoring the questions all the way until the exit, when only two of them followed them.
A flash. “Mr. Soto. Just a word, please. Does she know about Carla?”
“Does Carla now about her?”
Next to him, she stiffened, her discomfort palpable. “What is going on? What are they saying?” she asked.
“Is she American? Does she know about the assault charges?” one of them asked in English.
“What charges?” Sydney stopped walking and turned to him. A pang of fear crossed her face, and he wished he could punch the paparazzo right there and then.
“Is this a bump on her forehead?” a pap asked, shortening the gap between him and Sydney.
“Get away,” he growled at the man, who continued to take a shot of her expression. “Give this to me.” He yanked the camera from the man, then shoved the pap aside just enough to retrieve the memory card. Sure, Alejandro was going against his own rule to ignore the bastards, but he couldn’t expose Sydney. She wasn’t used to the limelight. What if they had a slow news day and wanted to discover who his new girl was? Her life would be exposed on a stupid tabloid, and he wouldn’t allow it.
Besides, the last thing he needed was attention drawn to him, what with trying to figure out who had attacked her and what Frank’s message meant in the first place.
The paparazzo lost his balance and fell on the ground. “You assaulted me. You damaged my camera!” he screamed, rubbing a hand over his scratched elbow. The other photographers took shots of his acting, of course, and a few pedestrians started to gather around them; they exchanged glances and whispered to one another. How was that for laying low?
“Send me the bill, idiota,” Alejandro said between his teeth. The veins on his temples about to pop.
The limo pulled up to the curb, and Sydney hesitated to get in. The paparazzi spoke loudly, and he rushed her inside. “Get in. It’ll only get worse.”
He pushed the button to lift the privacy window. As soon as the driver disappeared from sight, he breathed and peered at her. She sat across from him; legs clenched together
and shoulders tight. She was turned to the window, but he doubted she paid any attention to the view.
“Tell me about the assault charges,” she said at last, her voice firm, and cast him a glance.
He cracked his knuckles. He hadn’t planned on explaining about the botched scandal Carla plotted against him under pressure. Talking about it was new to him. Truth was, the few real friends he had didn’t need clarification, and the media rejoiced in fabricating lies. But she just sat there, with her gaze on his. There was a trace of apprehension in her face that hinted either way she wouldn’t like what she was about to hear.
“I was engaged to a woman named Carla.” He sighed. “We moved in together, and she started to go nuts on me.”
She folded her arms. “How nuts?”
“She became someone else. She tried to control me, acting super jealous when I never gave her any reason to. Then, she moved on to keeping tabs on me, hiring a detective to follow me around. After we argued, she would lock herself in the bathroom and cut herself. I begged her to get help, but she didn’t want to. One day I had it. I broke up with her. She wanted to get back at me so she hurt herself and told the police it was me. That I had assaulted and hit her.”
Color vanished from her face. She unfolded her arms, then touched the door handle, her fingers clenching it with white knuckling intensity. Was she scared of him? He leaned forward, and she pressed her back against the seat, with a smothered gasp. “Did you do it?”
“God, no. Of course I didn’t.”
She cleared her throat, and her voice faltered. “Would you admit to it if you had?”
He thrust his fingers through his hair, irritation creeping under his skin. How could he expect her to trust him? “Are you for real? Sydney, I didn’t hit her or any other woman. I would never—”
“You pushed that guy aside and tossed his camera on the floor,” she blurted.
“I wanted his memory card.”
“So when you want something, you do everything in your power to get it? Am I one more thing you want?”
Red Hot Christmas Page 21