One Month with the Magnate

by Michelle Celmer

  He wasn’t wearing a suit. Or a tie. Or a shirt. Or even shoes. All he wore was a pair of black silk pajama bottoms slung low on his hips. That was it. His hair was mussed from sleep and dark stubble shadowed his jaw.

  Oh boy.

  Most men declined with age. They developed excess flab or a paunch or even unattractive back hair, but not Emilio. His chest was lean and well-defined, his shoulders and back smooth and tanned and he had a set of six-pack abs to die for. He was everything he had been fifteen years ago, only better.

  A lot better.

  Terrific.

  She realized she was staring and averted her eyes. Was it her fault she hadn’t seen a mostly naked man in a really long time? At least, not one who looked as good as he did.

  Lenny had had the paunch, and the flab, and the back hair. Not that their relationship had ever been about sex.

  Ever the dutiful housekeeper, she said, “Sit down, I’ll get you coffee.” Mostly she just wanted to keep him out of her half of the kitchen.

  He took a seat on one of the stools at the island. She grabbed a mug from the cupboard, filled it and set it in front of him.

  “Thanks.”

  Their eyes met and his flashed with some unidentifiable emotion. Amusement maybe? She couldn’t be sure, and frankly she didn’t want to know.

  Make breakfast, run and hide.

  She busied herself with cutting up the vegetables that would go in the omelet she planned to make, taking great care not to slice or sever any appendages. Although it was tough to keep her eyes on what she was doing when Emilio was directly in her line of vision, barely an arm’s reach away, looking hotter than the Texas sun.

  And he was watching her.

  She would gather everything up and move across to the opposite counter, where her back would be to him instead, but she doubted his probing stare would be any less irritating. She diced the green onions, his gaze boring into her as he casually sipped his coffee.

  “Don’t you have to get ready for work?” she asked.

  “You trying to get rid of me, Isabelle?”

  Well, duh. “Just curious.”

  “I’m working from home today.”

  She suppressed a groan. Fantastic. An entire day with Emilio in the house. With any luck, he would lock himself in his office and wouldn’t emerge until dinnertime. But somehow she doubted she would be so lucky. She also doubted it was a coincidence that he chose this particular day to work at home. She was sure that every move he made was calculated.

  She chopped the red peppers, trying to ignore the weight of his steely gray stare.

  “I want you to clean my bedroom today,” he said, reaching across to the cutting board to snatch a cube of pepper.

  Of course he did. “I thought it was off-limits.”

  “It is. Until I say it isn’t.”

  She stopped chopping and shot him a glance.

  He shrugged. “My house, my rules.”

  Another calculated move on his part. He was just full of surprises today. He was manipulating her and he was good at it. He knew she had absolutely no recourse.

  He sipped his coffee, watching her slice the mini bella mushrooms. But he wasn’t just watching. He was studying her. She failed to understand what was so riveting about seeing someone chop food. Which meant he was just doing it to make her uncomfortable, and it was working.

  When she couldn’t take it any longer, she said in her most patient tone, “Would you please stop that?”

  “Stop what?”

  “Watching me. It’s making me nervous.”

  “I’m just curious to see what you’re going to cut this time. The way you hold that knife, my money is on the tip of your thumb. Although I’m sure if we keep it on ice, there’s a good chance they can reattach it.”

  She stopped cutting and glared at him.

  He grinned, and for a second he looked just like the Emilio from fifteen years ago. He used to smile all the time back then. A sexy, slightly lopsided grin that never failed to make her go all gooey inside. And still did.

  She preferred him when he was cranky and brooding. She had a defense for that. When he did things like smile and tease her, it was too easy to forget that it was all an act. That he was only doing it to manipulate her.

  Although she hoped someday he would show her a smile that he actually meant.

  “Despite what you think, I’m not totally inept,” she said.

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “So the pan on the stove is supposed to be smoking like that?”

  At first she thought he was just saying it to irritate her, then she remembered that she’d been frying potatoes. She spun around and saw that there actually was black smoke billowing from the pan.

  “Damn it!” She darted to the stove, twisted off the flame, grabbed the handle and jerked the pan off the burner. But she jerked too hard and oil sloshed over the side. She tried to jump out of the way, but she wasn’t fast enough and molten hot oil splashed down the skirt of her dress, soaking through the fabric to the top of her thigh. She gasped at the quick and sharp sting. She barely had time to process what had happened, to react, when she felt Emilio’s hands on her waist.

  He lifted her off her feet and deposited her on the edge of the counter next to the sink. And he wasn’t smiling anymore. “Did you burn yourself?”

  “A—a little, I think.”

  He eased the skirt of her uniform up her thighs. So far up that she was sure he could see the crotch of her bargain bin panties, but protesting seemed silly at this point since he obviously wasn’t doing it to get fresh with her. And she knew there was something seriously wrong with her when all she could think was thank God I shaved my legs this morning.

  The middle of her right thigh had a splotchy red spot the size of a saucer and it burned like the devil.

  Emilio grabbed a dish towel from the counter and soaked it with cool water, then he wrung it out and laid it against her burn. She sucked in a breath as the cold cloth hit her hot skin.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes dark with concern. “Do you feel light-headed or dizzy?”

  She shook her head. What she felt was mortified.

  Not totally inept, huh?

  She couldn’t even manage fried potatoes without causing a disaster. Although, this was partially his fault. If he’d worn a damn shirt, and if he hadn’t been looking at her, she wouldn’t have been so distracted.

  Emilio got a fresh towel from the drawer and made an ice pack large enough to cover the burn, while she sat there feeling like a complete idiot.

  “I guess I was wrong,” she said.

  He lifted the towel to inspect her leg and it immediately began to sting. “About what?”

  “I am inept.”

  “It was an accident.”

  Huh?

  He wasn’t going to rub this in her face, try to make her feel like an even bigger idiot? He wasn’t going to make fun of her and call her incompetent?

  Was this another trick?

  “It’s red, but it doesn’t look like it’s blistering. I think your uniform absorbed most of the heat.” He laid the ice pack very gently on the burned area. The sting immediately subsided. He looked up at her. “Better?”

  She nodded. With her sitting on the counter they were almost eye to eye and, for the first time that morning, she really saw him.

  Though he looked pretty much the same as he had fifteen years ago, there were subtle signs of age. The hint of crow’s-feet branded the corners of his eyes, and there were a few flecks of gray in the stubble on his chin. The line of his jaw seemed less rigid than it used to be, and the lines in his forehead had deepened.

  He looked tired. Maybe what had happened at the refinery, compounded by his deal with her, was stressing him out. Maybe he hadn’t been sleeping well.

  Despite it all, to her he was the same Emilio. At least, her heart thought so. That was probably why it was hurting so much.

  But if Emilio really hated her
, would it matter that she’d hurt herself? Would he have been so quick to jump in and take care of her? Would he be standing here now holding the ice pack on her leg when she could just as easily do it herself?

  He may have been hardened by life, but maybe the sweet, tender man she had fallen in love with was still in there somewhere. Maybe he would be willing to forgive her someday. Or maybe she was fooling herself.

  Maybe you should tell him the truth.

  At this point it would be a relief to have it all out in the open. But even if she tried, she doubted he would believe her.

  “You’re watching me,” he said, and she realized that he’d caught her red-handed. Oh well, after last night he had to know she still had feelings for him. That she still longed for his touch.

  She averted her eyes anyway. “Sorry.”

  “Did you know that you cursed? When you saw the pan was smoking.”

  Had she? It was all a bit of a blur. “I don’t recall.”

  “You said ‘damn it.’ I’ve never heard you swear be fore.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t have anything to swear about back then.”

  It wasn’t true. She’d had plenty to swear about. But she had been so terrified of slipping up in front of her father, it was safer to not swear at all. He expected her to be the proper Texas debutant. His perfect princess. Though she somehow always managed to fall short.

  She still didn’t swear very often. Old habits, she supposed. But sometimes a cuss or two would slip out.

  He lifted the ice pack and looked at her leg again. “It’s not blistered, so it’s not that bad of a burn. How does it feel?”

  “A little worse than a sunburn.”

  “Some aloe and a couple of ibuprofen should take care of the pain.” He set the pack back on her leg. “Hold this while I go get it.”

  She was about to tell him that she could do it herself, but she sort of liked being pampered. He would go back to hating her soon, and lusting for revenge. She figured she might as well enjoy it while she could.

  Isabelle heard his footsteps going up the stairs, then coming back down and he reappeared with a bottle of aloe and a couple of pain tablets. He got a glass down from the cupboard and filled it with water from the dispenser on the fridge. He gave her that and the tablets and she dutifully swallowed them. She assumed he would hand over the bottle of aloe so she could go in her room and apply it herself. Instead he squirted a glob in his palm and dropped the ice pack into the sink.

  There was nothing overtly sexual about his actions as he spread the aloe across her burn, but her body couldn’t make the distinction. She felt every touch like a lover’s caress. And she wanted him. So badly.

  So much for trying to resist him. He wasn’t even trying to seduce her and she wanted to climb all over him.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked.

  He braced his hands on the edge of the counter on either side of her thighs and looked up at her. “Truthfully, Izzie, I don’t know.”

  It was the probably the most honest thing he had said to her, and before she could even think about what she was doing, she reached up and touched his cheek. It was warm and rough.

  His eyes turned stormy.

  She knew this was a bad idea, that she was setting herself up to be hurt, but she couldn’t stop. She wanted to touch him. She didn’t care that it was all an illusion. It felt real to her, and wasn’t that all that mattered? And who knows, maybe this time he wouldn’t push her away.

  She stroked his rough cheek, ran her thumb across his full lower lip. He breathed in deep and closed his eyes. He was holding back, gripping the edge of the countertop so hard his knuckles were white.

  She knew she was playing with fire and she didn’t care. This time she wanted to get burned.

  Eight

  Isabelle leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Emilio’s cheek. The unique scent of his skin, the rasp of his beard stubble, was familiar and comfortable and exciting all at once. Which was probably why her heart was beating so hard and her hands were trembling. The idea that he might push her away now was terrifying, but she wanted this more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

  She kissed the corner of his mouth, then his lips and he lost it. He wrapped his hands around her hips and tugged her to the edge of the countertop, kissing her hard. Her breasts crushed against his chest, legs went around his waist. This would be no slow, sensual tease like last night.

  She had always fantasized about their first time being sweet and tender, and preferably in a bed. There would be candles and champagne and soft music playing. Now none of that seemed to matter. She wanted him with a desperation she’d never felt before. She wanted him to rip off her panties and take her right there in the kitchen, before he changed his mind.

  She tunneled her fingers through his hair, fed off his mouth, his stubble rough against her chin. He slid his hands up her sides to her breasts, cupping them in his palms, capturing the tips between his fingers and pinching. She gasped and tightened her legs around him, praying silently, Please don’t stop.

  He tugged at the top button on her uniform, and when it didn’t immediately come loose he ripped it open instead. The dress was ruined, anyway, so what difference did it make? And it thrilled her to know that he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.

  He peeled the dress off her shoulders and down her arms, pinning them to her sides, ravaging her with kisses and bites—her shoulders and her throat and the tops of her breasts. Then he yanked down one of her bra cups, took her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, and she almost died it felt so good.

  Please, please don’t stop.

  She felt his hand on her thigh, held her breath as it moved slowly upward, the tips of his fingers brushing against the crotch of her panties…

  And the doorbell rang.

  Emilio cursed. She groaned. Not now, not when they were so close.

  “Ignore it,” she said.

  He cursed again, dropping his head to her shoulder, breathing hard. “I can’t. A courier from work is dropping off documents. I need them.” He glanced at the clock on the oven display. “Although he wasn’t supposed to be here until noon.”

  This was so not fair.

  He backed away and she had no choice but to drop her legs from around his waist.

  This was so not fair.

  “You’re going to have to get it,” he said.

  “Me?” Her uniform was in shambles. Ripped and stained and rumpled.

  “Consider the alternative,” he said, gesturing to the tent in the front of his pajama pants.

  Good point.

  He lifted her off the counter and set her on her feet. She wrestled her dress back up over her shoulders and tugged the skirt down over her thighs as she hurried to the door. With the button gone she would have to hold her uniform together, or give the delivery guy a special tip for his trouble.

  She started to turn and Emilio caught her by the arm.

  “Don’t think for a second that I’m finished with you.”

  Oh boy. The heat in his eyes, the sizzle in his voice made her heart skip a beat. Was he going to finish what he started this time? No, what she had started.

  The idea of what was to come made her knees weak.

  The doorbell rang again and he set her loose. “Go.”

  She dashed through the house to the foyer, catching a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror by the door. She cringed at her rumpled appearance, convinced that the delivery person would know immediately that she and Emilio had been fooling around. Well, so what if he did? As long as he didn’t recognize her, who cared?

  Holding the collar of her dress closed, she yanked the door open, expecting the person on the other side to be wearing a delivery uniform. But the man standing on Emilio’s porch was dressed in faded jeans, cowboy boots and a trendy black leather jacket. His dark hair was shoulder length and slicked back from his face, and there was something vaguely familiar about him.

&nbs
p; He blatantly took in Isabelle’s wrinkled and stained uniform, the razor burn on her chin and throat, her mussed hair. One brow tipped up in a move that was eerily familiar, and he asked with blatant amusement, “Rough morning, huh?”

  Emilio cursed silently when he recognized the voice of the man on the other side of the door. After three months without so much as a phone call, why did his brother have to pick now to show his face again?

  Talk about a mood killer.

  He just hoped like hell that Estefan didn’t recognize Isabelle, or this could get ugly.

  Emilio rounded the corner to the foyer and pushed his way past Isabelle, who didn’t seem to know what to say.

  “I’ve got this,” he said, and noted with amusement that as she stepped back from the door, she shot a worried glance at his crotch.

  “I’ll go change,” she said, heading for the kitchen.

  “Hey, bro,” Estefan said, oozing charm. “Long time no see.”

  He looked good, and though he didn’t appear to be under the influence, he was a master at hiding his addictions. Estefan was a handsome, charming guy, which was why people caved to his requests after he let them down time and time again. But not Emilio. He’d learned his lesson.

  “What do you want, Estefan?”

  “You’re not going to invite me inside?”

  With Isabelle there? Not a chance. If he had the slightest clue what Emilio was doing, he would exploit the situation to his own benefit.

  “I don’t even know where you’ve been for the past three months. Mama has been worried sick about you.”

  “Not in jail, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  No, because if he’d been arrested, Alejandro would have heard about it. But there were worse things than incarceration.

  “I know you probably won’t believe this, but I’m clean and sober. I have been for months.”

  He was right, Emilio didn’t believe it. Not for a second. And even if he was, on the rare occasions he’d actually stuck with a rehab program long enough to get clean, it hadn’t taken him long to fall back into his old habits.