by Pennza, Amy
Catalina looked between them. Oh, this was pathetic.
Juan let the officer look her fill for a moment, then gestured toward the tall security desk behind her. “Thank you so much for your assistance this morning, Officer. If you’ll be kind enough to buzz us out, we’ll be on our way.”
“Oh, of course!” The officer sprang to do his bidding like he was a king who just commanded a subject. Without looking at Catalina, she hurried to the desk. A second later, an electronic buzz filled the air, and the door leading out of the waiting area clicked.
Juan took Catalina’s elbow. “Let’s go,” he said in a low voice.
She jerked against his grip. It was the same arm the cop grabbed last night, and knives stabbed her shoulder. She ignored the pain. Right now, she had to concentrate on getting the hell away from Juan. She yanked harder. “I told you—”
“Not now,” he grated, tightening his hold. He turned her toward the door. Under his breath, he said, “Spare me the theatrics, Catalina. I need to talk to you…please.”
She stilled. Please? Juan Salvatierra never said that word. Until today, she would have sworn he didn’t know it.
He took advantage of her shock, propelling her forward and out the door. They entered a large courthouse lobby. Soaring ceilings reached twenty feet in the air. People bustled in and out of a bank of doors flanked by a metal detector on one side and a bored-looking cop on the other. He sat on a barstool, sipping coffee as people emptied their pockets into a gray plastic bin before shuffling through the detector’s arch.
Juan adjusted his grip, cupping his palm under her elbow as if he was assisting her on a stroll rather than forcing her to stay by his side.
Of course, he didn’t do it for her sake. She wasn’t about to kid herself into thinking Juan gave a crap about embarrassing her. But he most definitely cared about appearances. San Antonio’s most successful criminal defense lawyer couldn’t drag a resisting woman in a cocktail dress through a courthouse without attracting unwelcome attention.
“This way,” he said, guiding her toward a short set of steps leading to the exit. Sunlight blazed through the glass doors, spilling white rectangles on the marble floor.
Panic flooded her. Once he got her outside, appearances wouldn’t matter as much.
“No.” She dug in her heels, forcing him to stop or risk jerking her off her feet. “Not until you tell me what this is about.”
He dropped his hand and stared down at her. “I should think it’s obvious.” He ran his gaze down her dress. “You got yourself into trouble again. And once again, I got you out of it.”
Heat climbed her neck, but she forced calm into her voice. “Ah yes, you’re always rescuing me.” She tipped her head back so she could meet his gaze head-on. “Tell me, is this the kind of rescue where you get me fired from my job? Or the kind where you call my landlord and have me evicted?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You know my reasons for that.”
“Yeah, you’re a sanctimonious asshole.”
His nostrils flared. He opened his mouth as two women in pantsuits passed, their expressions curious. The cop by the metal detector set his coffee down, his full attention on the scene unfolding in the lobby.
“I’m leaving,” Catalina said. Eyes on the exit, she darted around him.
Fingers bit into her upper arm. She tensed, expecting another wrenching tug of war. Instead, he eased her against him. A dark, rich cologne swirled under her nose.
The hairs on her nape lifted. The lobby sounds faded, and her pulse leaped.
Just as he had with the corrections officer, he switched his tone and attitude with dizzying speed. He spoke low in her ear, his voice a dark rumble that filled her chest and stirred the fine hairs at her temple. “You’ve made your point. Now let me make mine. The judge assigned to your case is a personal friend. I make one phone call, and you’ll go to the county for at least ninety days.”
She stared at the patch of sunlight on the floor. Threats wrapped in silk. Yes, this was more Juan’s style.
“Ninety days is a long time, Catalina.” He stroked his thumb up and down her arm, the gentle touch at odds with his words. “You’ll lose your apartment, and I imagine your…business will suffer, no?”
It would, but not in the way he thought. She held her breath.
“You have two options,” he said. “Spend the next three months in jail, or come to my office and listen to what I have to say.”
Sit in a room alone with him, on his turf? He said he wanted—no, needed—to talk to her, but they both knew they had nothing to discuss. Her fate was sealed the second she gave her real name to the officer at the hotel. She thought fast. “That’s not necessary. I’ll…” She licked her lips. “I’ll leave San Antonio.”
“That wasn’t one of the options.”
Her heart pounded. How had she ever, even for a moment, thought she was getting out of the courthouse alone?
The metal detector let out a screeching alarm, and the man passing through it stopped and rolled his eyes. The cop heaved to his feet and grabbed a wand from a nearby table.
“Step aside,” he told the man. “Arms out, legs apart.”
In jail, they wanded prisoners like that before every meal. Before showers. Before going to bed each night. Before any random activity, for any reason.
“Well?” Juan said in her ear. “Which option will it be?”
He knew the answer. Damn him. But he’d make her say it anyway. “Your office.”
“The right decision.” Satisfaction threaded his voice—the assurance of a man who gets his way and takes pleasure in knowing he always will.
He stepped back.
She took a deep breath and whirled, bringing them face to face. She stuck a finger in his chest, right on top of his silk tie. His gaze widened.
“I’ll go with you,” she said, “but I’ve had it with men using my arm to steer. Touch me again, and so help me, I will cause a scene that makes headlines for weeks.”
He clenched his jaw.
Good.
A few people in the metal detector line stared, and one man turned to his companion and murmured something.
Juan glanced at them, then gave her a single, curt nod.
She let out her breath and lowered her hand. “Well, then. Lead the way.”
He held her gaze for a moment, then motioned her down the steps, clearly not trusting her to follow him.
A sigh rose in her chest. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could go home and put the past twenty-four hours behind her. She descended the steps and pressed the door’s push handle.
Brilliant sunshine hit her face. She squinted and threw up a hand.
“Straight ahead,” Juan said behind her.
She blinked her eyes open. A sleek gray Mercedes idled on the curb next to a prominent No Parking sign. She shot Juan a look. “Crime pays after all, huh?”
He ignored her. Now that he got his way, he wouldn’t waste any time bantering with her. On the plus side, he wouldn’t react to her insults, either. Was it petty of her? Maybe. But he already had the upper hand. She didn’t have to let him enjoy it.
Before she could toss more sarcasm his way, a young woman in a black skirt and suit jacket climbed out of the driver’s side and hurried around the front of the car.
“Is everything okay, Mr. Salvatierra?” she asked, her blue eyes huge behind a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. A riot of blonde curls framed her face, which was smooth and makeup free. Her hair bounced as she hustled over to Juan. “I wasn’t sure how long it would take for you to get your…” Her gaze fell on Catalina. “Oh.”
“His sister,” Catalina said, stepping forward and extending her hand.
“Foster sister,” Juan said, an edge in his voice.
Catalina made her tone light. “My parents were uneducated peasants. Juan’s are descended from Spanish nobility. His father was kind enough to take me in after mine died.”
“I’ve, ah, heard something about that,”
the woman said, her gaze sliding from Catalina to Juan as she shook Catalina’s hand. Her grip was strong, with a row of calluses on her palm.
Surprising.
Although, if she worked for Juan, she needed any toughness she could get.
“Catalina has the facts a little wrong,” Juan said. “But we can discuss it later.” He opened the rear door and motioned for her to get in, his eyes promising holy hell if she made trouble in front of his employee.
Conserve your energy. Isn’t that what her yoga instructor said? Some battles weren’t worth the effort. As much fun as it would be to needle Juan on the street outside the courthouse, she needed as much mental stamina as possible for whatever lay ahead.
He wanted to “talk.” Except Juan didn’t really talk. He commanded. He announced. When he felt generous, he informed.
He didn’t seem inclined to generosity today. Considering her arrest last night, she had a feeling today’s talk was going to take the form of a command.
She sighed and slipped past him. As she climbed into the car, Juan’s voice drifted over her head. “Take us to the office, please, Emily.”
Catalina watched through the windshield as the other woman rounded the front of the car. Although the boxy skirt suit did its best to conceal her figure, even the cheap cloth and unflattering cut couldn’t hide the soft, feminine curves underneath. Her hair could use taming, but the unruly mass only emphasized the purity of her features.
As Juan got in and closed the door, she murmured, “Please tell me you’re not making a play for that one. She looks eighteen years old.”
He settled into the seat’s plush leather. “She’s twenty-four,” he said in clipped tones. “She’s a first-year associate at my firm, and I’m hardly making a play for her.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said as Emily got in and closed the door. Catalina looked at Juan. “For her sake.”
He stared straight ahead.
“You’re not exactly young anymore. A thirty-four-year-old man probably shouldn’t chase after young girls. You’ll embarrass yourself.”
Still nothing, but his lips thinned.
Catalina smoothed her dress over her thighs. “So… What’s so important that you had to spring me from jail to talk about it? Doesn’t your fancy law office have a phone?”
“I tried to call you. Several times.” He looked at her, his hazel eyes hard. “Phone calls only work when the person on the other end deigns to answer.”
She gave him a tight smile. “Ah, yes, now that you mention it, you and I have had several interesting phone conversations in the past. Lots and lots of talks. In fact, I remember one in particular. You threatened to have security remove me from your mother’s funeral.”
He continued looking forward as Emily slid the car smoothly into traffic. “Yet you showed up anyway, despite my wishes.”
Long-buried hurt surfaced in Catalina’s mind—like the ache of an old bruise. Why had she brought this up? She had to swallow before she could reply. “She raised me,” she said. “She treated me like a daughter.”
“You disrespected her in life,” he said, his voice soft…dangerous. Clearly, five years wasn’t long enough to cool his anger. “You should have had the decency to respect her in death.”
The ache turned sharp, like the twist of a knife. She turned to the window. “You’re an ass,” she said under her breath.
Up front, Emily gasped. Her wide blue eyes met Catalina’s in the rearview mirror before jerking back to the road. Doubtless, she’d never heard anyone call her boss a name before—at least not to his face. Get used to it. Because in her experience, most people who spent time with Juan ended up cursing him.
She stayed facing the window for the rest of the drive, which was blessedly short, and breathed a small sigh of relief when they pulled into a familiar-looking parking garage. At least he hadn’t been lying about taking her to his office. It was safe, neutral ground.
Emily was out of the car and at the passenger door before Catalina could climb out of the low seat. “The office is this way,” she said, hitting the lock button on the key fob.
Catalina just smiled and nodded. This wasn’t her first time visiting Juan’s office, but Emily was new. She would have been in college the last time Catalina was here.
“So were you,” said a little voice in her head. With a jolt, she realized it was true. At nineteen, she’d laughed as Juan brushed against one of the office’s freshly painted walls, smearing light-gray paint on the seat of his dress pants.
He’d turned, his expression half confusion, half amusement. “What is it, bonita?”
“Nothing.” She pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t smile.
He tossed his briefcase on a stack of moving boxes and advanced on her, a playful grin on his face. “Nada? Are you sure?”
She backed up, her heart pounding. Oh, that smile. Did he know how devastating it was?
Still stalking forward, he raised his eyebrows.
Oh yes. He knew.
She bumped something, halting her escape. She half turned. An unfinished door blocked her path, a small round hole where the doorknob should be. She faced Juan. “Shouldn’t San Antonio’s top prosecutor have door handles?”
He seized her around the waist, pulling her against him. “Not a prosecutor anymore, princesa.” He glanced around the hall. “Once this place is finished, I hope to be San Antonio’s top defense attorney.”
“You will,” she said. Of course he would. He’d spent his whole life achieving the impossible—finishing high school early, earning a full scholarship to Princeton, graduating top of his class at Harvard Law. He’d just wrapped up two years as the youngest district attorney elected in state history. Everything he touched turned to gold.
His smile was soft. “Such confidence. If only everyone believed in me as much as you.”
“They do.” She gazed up at him, her eyes dropping to his mouth against her will. His lips were full and expressive…and soft.
He drew in a breath. “If you keep doing that, we’re going to be in trouble.”
“Doing what?”
His laugh came out more like a groan. He grasped her chin and tipped her head back. “Driving me crazy,” he murmured.
As his lips descended, she put her hands on his chest and ducked her head. “Juan,” she whispered, “we shouldn’t.”
Now he did groan. He released her chin and put his forehead against hers. With her eyes down, she felt rather than saw his smile. “Anticipación. I guess I can wait a little longer.”
Yes, but could she? Heat radiated from him, warming her front.
Or maybe that was just the desire curling low in her belly…and spreading to other places.
She took a deep breath. “It’s what we agreed on.” Was that her voice, sounding weak and indecisive?
He planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. “You’re right, bonita.” He stepped away, taking the warmth with him. He ran his hands through his hair, making his suit jacket part and reveal slim hips and strong legs. His tie pointed straight down, like an arrow leading right to his—
She jerked her gaze away.
“Want to grab some dinner?” he asked, clearly oblivious to the direction of her thoughts.
She pushed away from the door. Now this, she could handle. She put her hands on her hips. “Sure, but you’ll have to change your pants first.”
“What?” He glanced down, his brows pulling together, then yanked his head back up. Two spots of color burned high on his cheeks. “What are you…” He cleared his throat.
She stifled a laugh. Was there anything more fun than throwing Juan Salvatierra off guard? “You have paint on your ass.”
He looked blank. “My ass.”
“Mmmhmm.” She pointed toward the moving boxes. “From when you bent over.”
Relief washed over his expression. Then he craned his neck, straining to see his backside. He swore and swiveled back around, a self-deprecating grin on his face. “Well,
at least it’s a nice color.”
“Catalina.” Juan’s voice jolted her from her memories.
She jerked her gaze to his. Sounds from the parking garage intruded—muffled voices, the muted slam of a car door in the distance.
Juan wasn’t grinning now. He stood next to Emily, an impatient look on his face. Side by side, their business attire was a sharp contrast to Catalina’s cocktail dress. Humid summer air caressed her bare shoulders and played over the tops of her breasts.
She lifted her chin. She had nothing to be ashamed of.
Juan’s mouth compressed in a thin line. The warm, teasing man from her memory was gone.
Then again, so was the girl she once was.
Emily glanced between them, as if she sensed the tension. “Well, should we get going?”
“Yes,” Juan and Catalina said at the same time.
Emily gave a shaky nod. “Okay. Um, this way.”
Juan stared at Catalina a second longer. Then his frown deepened, and he turned away.
Her stomach clenched. Get through this and go home. That’s all she had to do. Whatever he wanted to say to her, it couldn’t be worse than anything he’d said in the past.
Emily led them through the parking garage to a discreet black door. Juan stepped forward and punched a code in a small panel set in the concrete. A red button flashed green. He opened the door and ushered them into a long hall.
Memories swept Catalina. Someone had switched the carpet from dark brown to midnight blue, but everything else was the same. Modern sconces marched along the walls, casting a soft glow over the hall. The overall effect was one of understated wealth—nothing ostentatious or flashy, just a subtle reminder that money was present.
She didn’t have long to dwell on the past, because Emily kept moving, her plain black pumps leaving little square divots in the carpet.
They reached a set of lacquered doors adorned with gold lettering that read Salvatierra Law Firm. Juan opened the door and paused, one hand on the latch. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he said to Emily.
“No problem, Mr. Salvatierra.” She stopped on the threshold and flashed Catalina a quick, sincere smile. “It was nice meeting you,” she said before disappearing inside.
