Hot Latin Men 1-5 Omnibus

by Delaney Diamond

  Rafael looked formidable in a black shirt and black jeans that hugged his muscular frame. His deep voice floated across the aisle to her as he whispered to his son, stirring her emotions.

  Her eyes lowered to the words of the e-reader in her hand, but no matter how she tried not to think about what Rafael had done to her and made her feel, she couldn’t suppress the thoughts of their interlude in the kitchen. Every time he came to the house to see Ricardo, feelings of desire awoke and simmered beneath the surface.

  She denied to herself that she looked forward to his visits with Ricardo, but each time the doorbell rang, her leaping heart betrayed the same excitement her son openly expressed. Fear she wouldn’t be able to resist him in California filled her. Yet oddly, he hadn’t done anything since that evening to make her feel he still wanted her.

  He never again suggested they have what would amount to a sexual relationship to satisfy their mutual needs. In fact, he didn’t even appear interested anymore, which conversely increased her attraction to the idea, despite her reservations.

  How could she even contemplate such a thing? To make love with Rafael meant she would be at the mercy of her feelings. She’d already reluctantly acknowledged she couldn’t become intimate with him without risking her heart in the process. Not when she knew at the end of a couple of months they would be divorced and living on opposite ends of the country.

  The disturbing thoughts whorled around and around in her head like a circling bird of prey. She turned off the e-reader, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.

  Not for the first time, she wished he’d never touched her.

  * * * *

  When they landed at Los Angeles International Airport, as planned, Rafael walked ahead of Rebekah and Ricardo. She watched as he fielded questions from the photographers who encircled him as soon as they recognized him. With Ricardo’s hand tucked securely in hers, she walked swiftly past as if she didn’t know him. His personal assistant, Lydia, approached and hustled them into a waiting limo.

  Ricardo’s eyes opened wide. “I’ve never been in a limo before,” he whispered in awe.

  “Lucky you.” Lydia grinned. Her dark eyes crinkled at the corners behind black-framed glasses. “I didn’t ride in a limo until my high school prom at seventeen years old.” With her slender body and blue and black shoulder length hair, she barely looked more than seventeen at the moment, though Rebekah knew she was in her early thirties.

  “Is it always so crazy for him?” she asked, referring to Rafael.

  Her eyes drifted to Ricardo, who knelt on the leather seat and peered through the tinted windows at the passersby. Her unease grew tenfold when she thought about his safety and how the media exposure could affect him.

  “Not always,” Lydia replied. “Sometimes one or two fans will approach him for an autograph, but if he’s lucky, no one will bother him and he can sail through.” She shrugged. “Then other times, you get the circus like today.”

  A few minutes later, their luggage was in the trunk and Rafael slid onto the seat. Lydia tapped the glass partition separating them from the driver, and they pulled away from the curb.

  Rafael rested his arm against the back of the seat and turned to Rebekah. His fingers lightly touched her ponytail. He hadn’t touched her since the night in the kitchen. The warmth in his gaze heated her blood and tripled her pulse.

  “We’re on our way home,” he said.

  “I can’t wait to see your house.”

  He only smiled at her.

  The intensity in Rafael’s eyes caused a thread of fear to run down her spine. On his turf now, the constant interaction would erode any emotional barriers she tried to erect against him. The battle of wills had begun.

  She knew two things about her husband. He loved a good fight. And he never lost.

  * * * *

  Instead of going straight to the house, they took a detour and went west on I-10 toward the Santa Monica Pier.

  Ricardo’s eyes lit up when he saw the Pacific Ocean. Pointing through the window to the pier, he said, “Mom, look! There’s a Ferris wheel.”

  “An entire amusement park is located there, and an aquarium,” Rafael added.

  “Are we coming to this beach?” Ricardo asked.

  Rafael nodded, giving his son an indulgent smile. “Yes. This is where we’ll build the sand castles.”

  “Can we stay the whole day?”

  “Sure can.”

  “Yes!” When they pulled away, Ricardo craned his neck to keep the pier in sight. “I can’t wait.”

  On Highway 10, they went north. Since she’d never been to California before, Rebekah felt some of her son’s excitement when she recognized the community names of Brentwood and Bel Air.

  Before long, they arrived at Rafael’s residence in the affluent neighborhood of the Hollywood Hills. They pulled into the gated compound, and the closing gate shut out the rest of the world.

  Though not a mansion, the house was a far cry from the motel room they used to rent on a weekly basis ten years ago. They stopped at the end of the driveway in front of the sprawling four-bedroom and four and a half bath ranch house. A lush, green lawn and pebble gardens gave the impression of having landed at an oasis.

  “Wow,” Rebekah murmured under her breath when they entered the house. She stared up at the vaulted ceilings and open rafters of the living room. She recognized Mexican paintings and sculptures in the tastefully decorated room of large furniture and earth tones.

  A signal from Lydia prompted Rafael to look at his watch. He grimaced. “Make yourselves at home and take a tour of the house. I need to make an important call in my office in the back. It shouldn’t take long.”

  When he disappeared, Ricardo looked up at his mother. “You heard your dad,” she told him. “Let’s check this place out!”

  With Ricardo leading the way, they walked into the media room where a lowered screen hung from the ceiling. A wet bar and plenty of seating for guests made Rebekah wonder if Rafael entertained often. Both rooms boasted large windows and offered breathtaking views of the Los Angeles area and the canyon below.

  On the back side of the house was a small brick building, which Rebekah guessed was Rafael’s office. There was a hot tub, and blue-green water filled the oval swimming pool, which was afforded sufficient privacy by the trees and bushes around the perimeter of the yard. From the back yard, they stepped into the modern, black-and-white kitchen with charcoal tile. Dropped ceiling lights hung over the counters flanking the sink.

  Rafael found them in the master bedroom.

  “You were quick,” Rebekah remarked.

  “Fortunately. I needed to discuss some changes in a contract we’re in the middle of negotiating.” His eyes found hers. “Well, what do you think?”

  The master bedroom was just as tastefully decorated as the rest of the house. The oversized king bed in the middle of the room faced a large window that looked out onto another view of Los Angeles. Deep blue dominated the decor. Two small couches with blue and green pillows in the sitting area sat on opposite sides of a massive coffee table with magazines stacked on top of it. There was a spalike bathroom, a white fireplace, built-in bookshelves, a wet bar with several bottles of liquor, and a refrigerator in a corner gave the impression of a self-contained room.

  “You have a beautiful home, Rafael. You’ve done very well for yourself.”

  His body had taken beatings for years, but it had paid off. The young man from Mexico City had become a millionaire who lived among celebrities in the privacy of the Hollywood Hills. Although she never approved of his line of work, Rebekah was proud of him.

  “I like it,” Ricardo piped up.

  Rafael switched his attention to his son. “You do? Have you seen your room yet?”

  Ricardo shook his head.

  “Vamonos.”

  Rebekah followed behind, her stomach twisting at the strong relationship already developed between them. The separation would be difficult when the end of the
summer came and they returned to Georgia.

  Chapter Eleven

  For the next couple of days, Rafael remained preoccupied filming new commercials for the chain of gyms that had licensed his name. During the interim, he dispatched his assistant to help Rebekah and Ricardo get acclimated to their new environs. She drove them around, showing Rebekah places where she could go shopping, the best restaurants, and pointed out some of the tourist attractions she could return to on her own.

  On Saturday afternoon, after the final taping, Rafael pulled his late model Range Rover into the garage and parked next to the Lexus sedan he’d left for Rebekah’s use. She had told him the night before she and Ricardo would venture out alone and go to the Santa Monica Pier, so he was surprised to see the car in the garage.

  He entered the house and walked into the kitchen, and he stood for a moment at the French doors. Through the glass, he could see Rebekah and Ricardo in the pool. He eased open the door and stepped out.

  She wore a purple, one-piece bathing suit tied around her neck, but because of the immediate tightening in his loins at her appearance, it might as well have been a string bikini. The water glimmered on her dark skin, and the suit lifted her breasts and showed off the curve in her waist and the flair of her hips. Her long, dark hair was plastered to her back, and he watched as she brushed a loose tendril from her face.

  She frolicked and played with their son, splashing water on him, and tossing around a brightly colored inflated ball. Her throaty laughter and his squeals of delight filled the back yard.

  “Okay, sweetie, I’m tired. Let me take a break.”

  “Dad!”

  Rafael smiled. “Looks like you two are having fun.”

  “Mom’s tired. Are you coming in, Dad?”

  Rafael’s gaze traveled behind his son to Rebekah. “Yes, I will,” he said.

  * * * *

  When Rafael returned, Rebekah was seated in one of the chairs around the pool. The sight of his long, well-muscled legs in a pair of dark swim trunks made her abdominal muscles clench in reaction. Her eyes remained riveted to his masculine form until she realized he had spoken.

  He gave her a questioning look. “I said, I thought you were going to the Santa Monica Pier today.”

  Rebekah blinked, clearing her throat before she answered. “He didn’t want to go without you,” she explained.

  “Are you going back into the pool?”

  “I’m tired. It’s your turn. Have fun.”

  Rafael nodded. Then he took off running alongside the pool. “Incoming!” he yelled, and did a cannonball into the deep end.

  Ricardo clapped and held up his arms in the sign of a touchdown. “I wanna try!”

  Rebekah sat forward in her chair. “Ricky, I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetie.”

  “He’ll be fine. I’m right here. Go ahead, mijo. Let me see what you’ve got.”

  Rebekah remained perched on the edge of her chair until Ricardo was safely lifted into his father’s arms after landing in the pool with a much smaller splash.

  “Bien hecho!”

  She watched father and son laugh together, Ricardo’s little arms wrapped around Rafael’s wide neck.

  “I wanna go again,” she heard her son say in a loud whisper.

  Rafael boosted him out of the water, and Ricardo repeated his actions. Two more times he got a running start and jumped into the water near Rafael. Convinced she had overreacted, Rebekah sat back to watch their interaction. On the fourth try, though, Ricardo missed his footing and went crashing down on his hands and knees on the hard concrete.

  Rebekah shot out of the chair not one second after he hit the ground. Without looking at her, Rafael lifted his hand to forestall her rush to Ricardo. He waded over to where Ricardo remained on the ground.

  “Get up, let me see,” he said. His voice held none of the cooing warmth she would have used with Ricardo after such a nasty spill.

  She stood there, with her hands on her hips, longing to rush over to him. It was difficult to watch him stand gingerly and edge over to his father, his brown face furrowed in a frown as he tried not to let the tears spill from his eyes.

  Rafael lightly tapped Ricardo’s skinned knee. “Looks fine to me. How do you feel?”

  “Okay.” His voice was soft and wobbly.

  “Try it again, and this time, watch your step, understand?”

  Ricardo nodded. “Yes, Dad.”

  His voice sounded stronger, but Rebekah felt as if her heart would explode in her chest. She watched, holding her breath as Ricardo took off running again. After two more successful cannonballs, he seemed back to normal, and both he and his father turned their attention to playing with the ball.

  In order to survive the rest of the afternoon without having a heart attack as she watched them roughhousing in the water, Rebekah went into the house to shower and change clothes. By the time she finished and started dinner, they had left the pool.

  She finished cooking while Rafael and Ricardo showered and dressed. Rafael cleaned Ricardo’s scrapes with hydrogen peroxide, much to the boy’s dismay, and placed an adhesive bandage on his skinned knee. Over dinner, they made plans to go to the beach on Sunday.

  After the meal, Ricardo went to his room, and Rafael helped Rebekah clean up and put away the leftovers.

  “Dinner was delicious. Thank you.”

  Rafael had a housekeeper who came only during the week and cleaned, cooked meals, and did laundry.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Rebekah turned the water on in the sink to wash the few dishes.

  “I know you didn’t approve of what I did with Ricardo today, but I’m glad you didn’t interfere.”

  Rebekah took a deep breath filled with the clean, male scent of Rafael from his not too long ago shower. “It was difficult.” She turned off the water and turned to face him. “Rafe, I know you’re trying to make him tougher, but he’s only eight years old. He’s not a grown man.”

  “Not yet, but he will be, and the sooner his training starts, the better.”

  “Training?”

  Ricardo rested his hands on the counter and stared out the window at the fading light. “He needs toughening up, Rebekah.” He looked at her again. “He can’t run and cry to his mommy every time he takes a fall. And you shouldn’t be there to hold him every time he does.”

  “I’ve been taking care of him all this time, and he’s turned out just fine. He’s also had other male influences in his life—my brother Adam, and he spends a lot of time with my father.”

  “Your father?” He sounded skeptical. “Has your father ever run through a few punches with him?”

  “You don’t live in the streets of Mexico City. You live in the Hollywood Hills, for heaven’s sake! I live in a suburb of Atlanta.”

  His gaze pinned her. “Do you have any idea what’s going to happen when other kids find out who his father is? They’re going to test him, challenge him, and make him prove he’s strong and able to fight like me.”

  Rebekah had never thought about it before, but she realized Rafael may be right. Kids could be cruel. As a middle school teacher, she saw how the boys behaved, full of testosterone and the need to prove their manhood long before they entered it.

  “He’s only eight.” Would they gang up on her baby?

  “That’s why we start now.” His look softened. “I know you’re worried, but he’ll be fine. He needs to toughen up. If he doesn’t, the other children will eat him alive. When he falls, he needs to get right back up and act as if nothing happened.”

  That’s what Rafael had done. She’d been to very few of his underground fighting matches, unable to stomach the brutality of the sport. She’d seen it all—bruised ribs, a dislocated shoulder, fractures—nothing could keep him down. No matter how many kicks and punches were leveled at him, he kept on fighting.

  In the ring, the adrenaline had kept him going, and she sensed he couldn’t really feel the blows. Only later, once he was at home and she h
ad to clean his cuts and bruises, and he soaked his sore muscles in a warm bath, did he show any indication the fighting took a toll.

  “I’ll teach him how to fall and how to tense his muscles to deflect the power of a punch. He won’t start a fight, but he’ll know how to stop one. There’s a difference.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have been such a good fighter,” Rebekah joked with a weak smile.

  “He would have to learn these things anyway, but I admit, having a pro wrestler as a father could be a negative.”

  “I guess it could be positive too,” Rebekah said. “He could threaten to have you beat up the other kids. Or he could even throw out the ‘my dad can beat up your dad’ card.”

  Rafael chuckled and leaned against the marble counter. His eyes lit up as his handsome face transformed into lighthearted merriment. “I need to remember that and remind him he can use me to threaten the other kids whenever he needs to.”

  Rebekah laughed too, and she could feel herself falling, tumbling into long-buried feelings. What was she doing here living under the same roof with the man who should be her ex-husband, talking about how to raise Ricardo and…enjoying it?

  Secretly, she’d missed seeing him the past few days while he shot the commercials. Would he spend more time with them now?

  Rafael looked thoughtfully down at her. “Let’s go out to dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Where did you have in mind? Ricky mentioned—”

  “Without Ricardo. Just you and me.” His gaze didn’t waver, and his voice was different. The lowered bass rippled through her, heating her skin.

  Her breath stalled for a moment. “Just the two of us?” She followed up her breathless question with another. “What will we do with Ricky?”

  “I’ll hire someone to watch him. My housekeeper may even be willing to babysit for the night. I’ll hire a car, and we’ll get dressed up and go somewhere nice.”

  Trying to appear nonchalant, although she was excited by the prospect of an evening out, Rebekah said, “Sounds like a good idea. It’ll be nice to get out and see the city at night.”