by Sienna Mynx
For an instant her breath hitched in her throat.
“May I?” he asked, as the young server quickly helped him from his coat. He removed his sunglasses and slid into the booth seat with her. Didn’t he just ask for permission? Wow, look at his eyes. The man had a dreamy pair that no sane woman could turn away from. A tawny shade of brown peeked at her from under the shadow of dark lashes. His eyes spoke to her, reading her, pulling back the veil of shyness and demanding she respond to him with all the confidence she could muster. The shameless awakening of her desire for him spread through her chest like a flash fire. She burned within to say or do something to make him speak to her to again. This can’t be a coincidence; I’m not that lucky.
Then he also shed his suit coat, and she noticed the tiny gold watch chain clipped to his vest. It was odd that a man like him, young and virile, would have something so distinctly conservative and old fashioned. Her inspector’s eyes, trained to see the details in any situation, took note that his rugged handsomeness didn’t seem to mesh with his professional attire. However, she would never complain, the man could hang a suit. His white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, revealed a few wisps of chest hair. He appeared relaxed and completely at home. Marcella inhaled a careful breath and again tried to speak. The server came over with fresh glasses and uncorked a wine she didn’t order. He handed Diego the cork, which he sniffed then nodded. The sample poured in her large goblet was generous. She lifted the glass of cassis-tinted wine, and took a fortifying sip. He did the same.
“Uh, yes, you can join me.” Marcella finally summoned a response to his original question, and set the wine list down.
“Gracias, Señora. ¿Cómo te llamas?” he asked.
“Garcia, Marcella Garcia.” She extended her hand. He captured it in his and kissed her knuckles never breaking the exchange between them.
Marcella’s brows lowered and she pressed her lips together shyly. So he’s Latin? The brush of his lips over her hand sent ripples of excitement through her. She loved Latin men. Richard had been Jewish, and quite handsome with his dark olive skin and blue eyes. This man however, he had swagger. He reminded her of the men she grew up with back in Brooklyn. She studied his bronze skin and muscular build. What was he, Puerto Rican, Dominican?
Those chocolate drop eyes were hot on her, and that devastatingly handsome face relaxed into a challenging smirk. Once more, his intense stare reflected an uncanny awareness of her. Her cheeks warmed. There remained an air of mischief in his smile. It sparked her perilous urge to play with fire, to get burned by whatever fate had in store for her now.
“Um…your name?” she said with a soft chuckle.
“Forgive me.” He pressed his hand to his chest. The platinum watch on his wrist peeked out through his sleeve, diamonds glistening around the bezel.
What is that watch worth, ten, twenty thousand? It’s far too extravagant for everyday wear, and kind of gaudy—a major turnoff.
Marcella secretly deducted cool points from Mr. Casanova. She remembered the men back home with fancy suits and sexy smiles who had tried to court her mother. Most of them were criminally inclined. It would be such a disappointment if he turned out to be a man of flash and no substance.
“They call me Diego.”
“Call you Diego? Is it your name or a nickname?”
He chuckled. “It’s my name.”
“Do you have a last name?”
He nodded. “Andes.”
“Nice to meet you, Diego Andes.”
“It is my pleasure. You tempt me, eres muy atractiva. It’s my pleasure to meet you Marcella,” He spoke words slightly foreign to her with quiet emphasis.
Uh-oh, Marcella thought. This flirtation would be far from harmless. Marcella hadn’t anticipated such familiarity with him, but it felt natural. Even though he didn’t strike her as a man who casually approached women in a restaurant, he was smooth, a bit too smooth. Diego said he found her attractive, and the way the words rolled off his tongue in that deep timbered voice of his, she had been convinced. Unsure of the intent of the compliment, she held to her poise, and gave him a soft smile. The air of superiority about him made her a bit uncomfortable. She looked away from his intense stare hoping the waiter would return. It had been quite a while since she’d been physically aware of a man, and not since Richard had she even considered dating.
“Señor Andes!” The manager gasped from across the room. He hurried over. A short man with an evaporating hairline, his eyes bulged out of their sockets and his hands waved around him nervously as he bumped customer chairs and tables trying to quicken his greeting. Marcella frowned at the near panicked state of the man. Even the patrons in the quaint little eatery turned their heads in curiosity.
The man bowed his head in respect. “We didn’t know… I didn’t know. We were told to expect you tomorrow. Lo siento.” The man said it all without taking a breath. Marcella looked over at Diego. He just stared at the man, expressionless. “Oh, yes, of course you are here for lunch? Excúseme, I will make sure the chef knows. Carlotta! Carlotta! ”
Marcella followed the animated man as he ran off a list of instructions to his staff in Spanish. Everyone moved with urgency, giving nods of respect to Diego. It made her feel a little sad for the worried actions of the workers, and a little uncomfortable.
“What was that about? Those people, they act like you’re royalty or the devil.” She chuckled.
“Let’s just say I’m close with the owner.” He gave her a clipped response, another hint of a smile to his lips.
“Mr. Juarez? Yes I met him.”
Diego’s stare hardened. Again she felt the tense vibe from uttering the man’s name. Why was the man viewed as a pariah to people in his own business?
“I have a question, Marcella.”
“Okay?”
“Have you decided on the menu?”
It wasn’t the question she anticipated. Something in his tone and manner said he knew she hadn’t. But she shrugged it off. “Actually I’ve never eaten here. I work close to here, so I’ve eaten at a couple of places along the boardwalk.” She swallowed her voice, she barely knew him, she certainly shouldn’t reveal more than what was cursory. “I’ve nibbled but not dined. No, no I haven’t decided.”
She wanted to smack herself in the forehead. He now had her as nervous as the wait staff. He snapped his fingers. A young petite woman appeared, smiling and nodding at them both. Diego ordered something in Spanish for them to eat. Marcella’s ears perked and her legs crossed under the table. She savored the sound of his language with each accented consonant. She always wondered about her mother’s first meeting with her father. How he pulled her in. Her mother was strong, confident, but mysterious as a woman. For starters, she harbored no ill feelings over the breakup with Marcella’s father. She always shared sweet stories and memories of the man, and for Marcella this was both confusing and disheartening. If her father was such a great guy, then why did her birth send him away?
“Sounds good, what is it?” she asked, not catching some of it.
“A surprise,” Is all he would say. “Do you know the history of Port Delgado, Marcella?”
“Ah, no, I’m not originally from here.” She said again giving away too much. She bit down on her bottom lip to stop the habit. He didn’t seem too bothered by her unwillingness to share. It dawned on her that people, upon meeting him, gave information quickly just from his presence.
“Just after World War II, there was a large migration of immigrants from South America, Colombia, Brazil, Costa Rica, into California. Instead of settling in the overcrowded cities along the California coast they migrated even further north and eventually many headed to Washington. Port Delgado is closest to Port Blakely, which handles the trade in and out of Seattle. So this became their home.”
Marcella noticed when his speech focused on the tale his accent cleared and he spoke English in a slow but exact manner. The muscle in his jaw twitched and his Adams-apple bobbed in his throat as h
e slowed his speech around certain words he wanted to say precisely. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his lips.
“The settlers were once planters, mostly coffee bean farmers, and some have become quite prosperous.”
“Like Juan Juarez?” She queried.
Diego smirked. “Si, like Juan Juarez. However Señor Juarez’s wealth followed him from Colombia.” The levity in his tone lifted and his broad shoulders seemed to bulk with tension. “The pain and suffering of the migrants he stole from has made him the Prince of Port Delgado.”
“Yes, I remember reading about his expansion of ownership of the shops along the boardwalk.” Marcella finally remembered why she felt she knew Mr. Juarez. If she hadn’t been so distracted with Richard and the funerary she would have remembered sooner. The man had a lot of clout in the city.
Diego’s eyes darkened, he gave a slight nod. “He used to own this one.”
Marcella paused. “Used to?”
“It is my place now.” Diego informed her.
“Oh?” Marcella didn’t know how to respond. Her gaze swept the walls. There were pictures of famous South American musicians and a few politicians. Diego’s intense stare switched and focused beyond their table. Marcella felt compelled to look over, seeing an old man who sipped from his soupspoon. “The man there, he is Jesus Rodriguez, I remember him.”
“You do? From where?”
“Thirty years ago he was the biggest importer out of Colombia. That was before Juan Juarez took his land and forced him to America to work in the factories here. He’s had several strokes.”
“Sounds like Mr. Juarez is a gem of a guy.” Marcella said.
“You had business with him?” Diego asked. “The day we met you were meeting with him?”
“Yes. He sold me, um, my gallery an Egyptian figurine called a funerary. It’s one of the treasured items that was buried with a Pharaoh between the 13th and 26th Dynasty.”
“Sounds fascinating.”
A large pot of yellow rice with a broiled lobster baked in the center arrived. It smelled divine. Her stomach muscles tightened and her mouth began to water. She looked up at Diego and he sipped his wine.
“This is wonderful. It smells delicious.”
He set aside his wine glass and accepted the large serving spoon. Marcella handed him her plate and watched him dish out the fluffy yellow rice, rich with shrimp, clams, scallops, lobster meat, green peas, and crab legs.
“Thank you,” she said accepting the plate.
“It is respectful that I offer you the first bite,” he said.
She looked at him curiously, her fork in hand. “Is it?”
“Yes.” He set aside the potted meal and drew the plate to the center of the table. Then he forked some of the seafood and steamy rice, blew it cool and extended the fork to her. Marcella opened her mouth and accepted the serving. She smiled, chewing.
“Tastes better this way, no?” he nodded for agreement.
“It does.”
The meal had a scrumptious spicy flavor. Her favorite was Aborrajado, deep friend plantains with stuffed cheese. Marcella sampled her meal mostly with Diego feeding her. She listened to his wild tales of the people and customs of Port Delgado’s residents from South America. When she asked twice if Colombia was the place of his childhood or if he was from around here, he slipped past the questions. She didn’t mind. His humor compensated for his aloofness. Not funny, ha-ha, but funny with witty humor that made her notice a person leaving the bathroom with a tissue stuck to the bottom of his shoe, or a wife picking at the waiters tip left on the table when her husband’s back was turned because she felt it was too much. He observed people and their habits mostly, causing her to do the same.
It should have been a relaxing, innocuous conversation, but every time she caught his eyes they lowered to her lips and she felt her pulse race.
Dessert arrived. A decadent slice of chocolate pecan torte was placed in front of her. Marcella loosened the top button to her jeans discreetly, and she kept babbling, adding in the conversation the similarities to Delgado and her home. He nodded and listened intently but he never pressed, letting her offer what she chose, questioning nothing. She liked that.
“One bite for me, nena,” He placed the spoon of decadence to her lips.
“Oh, I’m going to pay for this. I shouldn’t,” she said thinking of the extra pounds that would expand her middle. She didn’t want to spend the rest of the day sucking in her diaphragm so he didn’t notice her tummy.
“One.” He insisted.
She accepted a spoonful of the rich chocolate dessert onto her tongue. It tasted dark, sensual and delicious, despite the jumble of nerves and the attraction between them making whoopee in her tummy.
“Good, no?”
“Fabulous.” she said, licking her lips. His jaw tightened and his attention narrowed on her when she did the action, she could tell he was affected too. Thank God. She thought she was crazy feeling this connection between them so soon. Susan wasn’t going to believe this.
“Let me,” she said reaching for the spoon. His hand dropped away and she scooped up some of the chocolate then brought the spoon to his mouth. He stared at her for a moment and she thought he’d refuse. A darkness full of mystery flashed behind those dreamy eyes, but flickered away. His mouth parted and his tongue emerged, just partially, but the action of accepting the velvety smooth dessert, destroyed the wall of resistance she’d been erecting. He winked and licked his lips.
Marcella’s nipples tightened against the confines of her bra, and her thighs tensed, unable to hold back the flood of heat rushing from the very core of her being. This man. This man.
“Join me upstairs.”
“What?” she asked.
Diego cast her a mischievous grin. “I said before, you please me. The office upstairs has a pleasant enough suite. Join me.”
“I uh, I don’t think I understand what you’re asking? Are you propositioning me?” she said, hoping the language barrier between them was at fault.
“You are sexy, Marcella. Very. Is it wrong for me to want to know more?”
Marcella fumed in silence.
“You look at me with distrust. Ven aqui.” He offered his hand. “There’s nothing to fear. Join me.”
“I don’t speak Spanish,” she snapped.
“You sure about that?”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know Marcella, something about you feels like we should be familiar. I haven’t asked why...”
“If you mean am I of Latin descent, I suppose I am. My mother is black American and my father is Cuban.”
“Aha, see I knew there was something familiar between us.”
“Not familiar enough for you to presume I’d fall in bed with you.” Marcella said under her breath, keeping her voice tight with indignation but lowered.
“That was simply a wish, not a presumption,” he smirked. “I did ask.”
“Well I’m sorry to disappoint you.” She rose and immediately someone rushed her to help with her jacket. A flustered state of nerves, she grabbed her beret, purse and snatched her jacket from the man offering to assist. He charmed her over lunch, and she found him quite sexy. However, he poured cold water all over the sexy with his pompous arrogance. It felt almost as if he did it on purpose. She half expected when she left that he’d stop her, maybe offer the appropriate apology for ruining a really nice date. Ask for her phone number? Try to convince her she misunderstood his intentions. But he didn’t. Did the man just have women fall into bed with their legs in the air all the time? Was he serious?
Once out the door, she wondered if she was overreacting. It was instant. Garrett said she could be uptight at times. Susan said she needed to take more risks. Well she had, she flirted back, been open to a stranger. Indulged a little in the lustful yearning that allowed him to touch her hand, and didn’t object when he flirted back.
To hell with second-guessing herself. Nothing could be wrong with d
emanding respect. Besides he had been so damn arrogant and secretive, a very unappealing mix. She hurried away. He tipped his hat to her. She rolled her eyes.
Marcella walked faster. Once her feet hit the boardwalk she glanced back. In the distance he emerged at the window of the building. He stared after her. The look in his eyes nearly compelled her to stop, so she looked away and walked faster.
Chapter Five
Marcella threw her coat and purse to the chair. She was having a nasty morning. It started with the neighbor in the loft below who decided to blast his radio at the top of the volume at only four in the morning. Then Ginger had dashed away from her when she tiptoed out to the trash compactor. It took her thirty minutes to locate the feline, who had disappeared down the stairs and into another hall. To top it all off, the line in the pastry shop extended to the back of the small store, meaning she had to pass on her morning coffee. She needed her coffee. Sam always bought the cheap stuff.
