by Aimee Carson
“Distinctive,” Charles finally finished.
She added “politically correct” to her list describing the manager.
“Alyssa wants to go after the Myer reception,” Paulo said.
Irked by his tone, she shot Paulo a frown. Both men were looking at her as if she’d declared she wanted to organize the inaugural ball for the President.
Charles adjusted the wire-frame glasses on his nose, looking uncomfortable. “I’ll leave you two to your discussion.”
She watched Charles walk away and then turned back to Paulo, prepared to resume the debate. “I’m quite capable of handling this job.”
“You have no experience with an event of this size, and there’s not enough time.”
“Everything for the reception is in place. There’s plenty of staff to help.” She held his gaze, feeling less then steady despite her tone. He hadn’t been this worked up during the conversation about his wife. His red T-shirt hugged the muscles beneath and, combined with the well-worn jeans, fostered a James Dean look. But this rebel most definitely had a cause. And its name was the Samba. “They just need a new venue,” she added.
A few beats passed as his eyes slowly narrowed to questioning slits. “Did you have anything to do with the pipe incident at the Twin Palms?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for goodness’ sake.”
“No strategic sabotage?” Her cheeks flamed as he went on. “Or convenient accident?”
Alyssa forced her chin to remain level. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
He waited a moment before going on. “Well, unless your days consist of more than the usual twenty-four hours, how are you going to pull this off in two weeks? And deal with the last-minute details of the grand opening?”
“I’ll manage.” Of course it wasn’t quite as easy as she’d made it out to be, but she wasn’t afraid of hard work. He simply stared at her, and she exhaled with a force that matched her frustration. “I’m tryin’ to do the job you hired me for.”
“Yes.” He set his water bottle on the bar and sent her a grim look overflowing with doubt. “A job I’m not entirely convinced you’re ready to do,” he finished softly.
Alyssa’s heart slowed to a dull thud. He didn’t think she could do it.
That was what this was all about. He simply believed she wasn’t capable.
As the depressing thought settled deeper, her chest grew tight. When he’d kept her on, despite her record, she’d thought it signaled he had some respect for her abilities. That all those events listed on her résumé—the ones she’d sacrificed so much to organize—counted for something. Meant something. But, when push came to shove, they didn’t matter enough. And his doubt hurt, because the one thing she was absolutely sure of in her life was her skill as an event planner.
And to think she’d almost begged this man for a kiss.
“You don’t trust me,” she said.
He paused before replying. “This is business. It isn’t personal.”
The words cut off her breath in her throat. It was personal when your work was all you had. “It would be foolish to pass on this opportunity,” she insisted.
His face shifted through a sequence of emotions until it landed on resigned agreement. “You’re right.” He stepped closer, and her heart responded to his proximity, though his reluctant tone did little to repair her wounded pride. “But let me make myself clear.” His frown grew deeper. “You’re not to make a single decision without checking with me first. I want to know what you’re doing every step of the way. And I expect detailed daily reports on your progress.”
Breathing hard, she met his gaze. He wanted reports? She’d give him reports. Squaring her shoulders, she said, “Not a problem.”
Feeling the need to flee, she turned and headed for her office. Hand in a fist, her palm was damp. And not just from nerves.
He pushed her sensual buttons just by entering a room, torching her blood and leaving her in flames. When she’d come out of her office and seen him across the lobby it hadn’t mattered how many lectures she’d given herself, every cell in her body had done a happy dance. How could she have the hots for a man who didn’t respect her work?
Her whole life was wrapped up in her business.
Her nails bit into her palm. Okay, so she would show him just how good she was. He’d never doubt her again. And she would enjoy watching him eat the crow she served him.
Once Alyssa had sold the bride-to-be on relocating her displaced event to the Samba, the two weeks passed in a flurry of activity. On the surface, Paulo had managed to keep his interactions with Alyssa strictly businesslike. Their daily meetings, complete with printed reports rivaling the size of the Dade County phonebook, had been brief.
Because Alyssa never stood still for long, working nonstop.
This morning the hotel had been crawling with temporary hires hustling to produce today’s miracle. And directing the chaos, calm and in control, had been Alyssa with her phone…displaying the to-do list that consumed her life.
A to-do list that had served its purpose well, because tonight the reception had gone down without a hitch. And now his concern wasn’t that she couldn’t do her job, it was that perhaps she did it too well.
At first he’d been pleased with how hard she worked, but as the days wore on watching her slowly kill herself organizing this event had had him rethinking his opinion. So did the exhaustion in her face. No one should work that hard. Ever. Especially when someone else reaped the majority of the awards.
Namely…him.
Disturbed, Paulo frowned as he rode the elevator to the top of the Samba. Not satisfied with merely shifting the arranged event to his empty hotel, Alyssa had set out to exceed the bride’s previous expectations. Guests had lingered in the lobby, enjoying cocktails from the waterfall bar, before moving on to dinner in the reception hall. But by far her greatest coup had been the dance area she had created from scratch on the rooftop deck.
Paulo exited the elevator and took in her efforts. Hurricane candelabrums lined the railing, while floating candles adorned with white orchids drifted in the pool, casting a gentle light into the nighttime sky. Low sectional couches of dark mahogany and white cushions were arranged in cozy groups, emulating a trendy nightclub. An ethereal gazebo of draping swaths of white fabric made up the temporary dance floor.
And now that the last guest had finally left the building he needed to find the woman who was driven to perfection at her business.
He spied Alyssa standing at the far rail and, like a cell phone set on vibrate, his body hummed with awareness.
In the days since their disagreement, every night had been filled with dreams of her. And every morning he opened his eyes to find his body tangled in the sheets, soaked with sweat and burning for Alyssa.
The multitude of tasks she’d had to accomplish for tonight, every one of which he’d overseen, had thrown them into constant contact. Alyssa had gone back to pretending the attraction didn’t exist. But with every activity the underlying sexual tension between the two of them had climbed higher and higher. Until he’d thought he’d spontaneously combust.
Paulo studied her. In her standard suit and pumps, she radiated confident professionalism, but she was so much more than that. Now his need for her was about more than putting out the fire and ending his preoccupation. He wanted Alyssa to learn to release her passionate side. To immerse her in the kind of pleasure that would remind her she was a beautiful, sensual woman.
With mounting expectation, he approached her. Alyssa’s face glowed from the flickering candlelight and the neon lights of South Beach beyond. Her black jacket was tailored, but a slip of silk peeked from beneath.
“Are you ready to kiss and make up?” he asked.
“That would turn this personal,” she said coolly.
He resisted the urge to smile. “You’re still mad at me.”
“More like disappointed.”
He leaned an elbow on the rail. D
ishes clinked in the distance as the staff gathered dirty cocktail glasses, bustling to clean up the aftermath. “I’ll admit I had serious reservations about your abilities. But never let it be said I can’t admit to being wrong. And as for the kiss during your motorcycle lesson…” A fleeting look of desire crossed her face, only to be replaced by one of embarrassment, and he leaned close, hoping to bring the first expression back. “On that issue, I concede to your wisdom, too.”
Staring at him, she tipped her head. “Have you considered you might be overestimating your charms?”
His smile finally won. “It’s high time we give in to the inevitable.” To bring his point home, he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, savoring the smoothness. “I already have.” Her eyes went from silver to slate, and fierce need slammed into him with the force of a head-on collision, killing his grin.
Hell. He was right back where they’d left off the day of their ride.
Hard. Wanting her.
By now her poise was back in place. “Nothing is inevitable,” she said. But despite the words her protest sounded thin, and there was a husky quality to her tone. “And don’t you have better things to do than monitor every move your event planner makes?”
“Monitoring my event planner’s moves has become a favorite pastime of mine.”
“Yes,” Alyssa said dryly. “And I can’t figure out how you’ve managed to build a thriving enterprise with priorities like that.”
Paulo’s lips quirked at her tone. As if success could only be achieved by those who bartered their soul to the devil along the way. Like the years he’d spent consumed by his job. He’d almost given up racing his motorcycle, and though Nick had always stopped by the office to see him Paulo had never once enjoyed the club he’d helped his friend finance. Not until he left Domingues International.
“I’m living proof you don’t have to kill yourself to build a prosperous business,” he said. And that was just one of many lessons he wanted to share. Starting tonight. “I worked hard for the last ten months, restoring the Samba, but I still found time for the things I enjoy.” Doubt radiated from her face, and he lifted an eyebrow. Fun shouldn’t be this hard to sell. “With the pace you keep, eventually you’ll burn out. Something I learned firsthand.”
“I’ve never seen you in a suit and tie. So I can’t picture you as a burnt-out executive.”
“Life’s too short to spend it with a noose around your neck.” He let out a small scoff. “A concept my family never understood.” Paulo gripped the metal rail with both hands, staring at the city lights and fighting the threatening return of bitter memories. “I don’t do suits and ties. Ever. But burnt-out executive I know well. Now…” He sent Alyssa a mock stern look. “Have a seat while I go find us a drink,” he said, and then headed for the bar.
Alyssa stared after him, wondering how a man could look so dashing in simple dark pants and a navy dress shirt. Despite the hellish work schedule, she’d missed their earlier easy camaraderie. With a flutter of nervous anticipation, Alyssa settled onto a couch. One of the staff wandered by, snuffing out the candelabrums that lined the railing, slowly lengthening the shadows on the deck.
When Paulo returned with two champagne flutes, he handed one to Alyssa and sat down beside her, throwing her instantly on guard.
Hoping to keep a lighthearted atmosphere, Alyssa sent Paulo an assessing look. “I always pictured you more as a beer connoisseur. I’m surprised to see you drink champagne.”
“I do, but only when forced.”
His words made her smile. “Who’s forcing you?”
“The situation,” he said as he threw his arm along the back of the couch. And though he didn’t touch her, the potential was hard to ignore. He raised his drink between them. “To South Miami Beach’s event of the year, and Elite Events for making it possible.” Paulo tipped his flute against hers, and the delicate ting of crystal on crystal rang in the air. “Seriously,” he said, his face reflecting his words, “you did an amazing job.”
The sincerity in his tone floored her—one of those moments of candor that knocked her off her feet, affecting her as powerfully as his touch. Her smile melted away as warmth seeped into her heart. And it had nothing to do with the kind of heat Paulo usually excelled at creating. This kind seeped all the way to her soul. How could one man’s words so effortlessly swing her from abject misery to unadulterated high? She was supposed to be gloating.
“Thank you,” she said, surprised by the pressure of tears behind her lids.
Jeez, Alyssa. Blubber like an idiot, why don’t you?
Feeling silly and overemotional, she sipped her bubbly champagne before continuing. “You worked hard, too.”
And he had. Paulo had been there every step of the way, working alongside her. Wherever an extra set of hands had been needed, he’d rolled up his sleeves and pitched in. She’d learned that, despite his charm and piles of money, he was no slacker. Because when the linen vendor arrived late, and Alyssa had briefly panicked, it was Paulo who’d helped her spread the tablecloths on the dinner tables.
And the sexy billionaire hotelier surrounded by swaths of hot pink had been a sight to behold.
She shifted her gaze away from his, taking in the ambience. Dinner in the reception hall had been lovely, but the deck was her creation. Her baby. And throughout the evening she’d hovered behind the scenes, ensuring everything went smoothly, proudly watching from afar as the affluent crowd enjoyed her efforts.
To date, the most satisfying moment of her life.
Paulo set down his glass. “But I didn’t come just to sing your praises.” The only light now came from the candle on their coffee table. “I came to convince you to lift your embargo on men.”
Her heart relocated to her throat and picked up its pace. Alyssa gripped her champagne glass, but didn’t reply. Respect as colleagues was one thing, but a relationship was a more difficult can of worms. One she wasn’t sure she wanted to open.
As her silence lingered, the side of Paulo’s mouth twitched. “Last I checked, a vow of celibacy wasn’t a requirement for an event planner. Wouldn’t be much competition if it was. And the time to break that vow has come.” Paulo shifted closer, his hard thigh pressing against hers. And the look he sent her lit her more effectively than if he’d doused her in brandy and set her ablaze. An Alyssa flambé.
Time for the close-to-the-bone truth.
She’d never wanted another man the way she wanted Paulo. Which was probably why it had been easy to give men a pass for a while…until now.
“I was hoping to start our new affiliation with a dance.” Paulo glanced at the band members who were packing up their equipment. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to salsa with you.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Too bad. Because one of my prerequisites for involvement with a woman is the ability to salsa.” The left corner of his mouth tipped up. “But in your case I’ll make an exception.”
Alyssa ignored the thrill of desire coursing through her veins. Obviously he had picked up on her weakening resistance and was feeling cocky. Too cocky. She worked hard for a deadpan face. “Am I supposed to be flattered?”
His dimple grew deeper. “Very.”
Holding back the smile, Alyssa pursed her lips. “That’s an interesting assortment of rules.” She lifted her hand and ticked them off on her fingers. “No suits. No ties. No women who can’t salsa.” She arched an eyebrow, letting him know the last one was rip-roaringly ridiculous. “Any other additions to the list I should be aware of?”
“Only one more.”
“And what’s that?”
“No more engagement rings.”
There was no mistaking the warning.
Paulo leaned closer, his eyes searching hers. “Is that a problem?”
His dark hair hung seductively to the side of his forehead, and his proximity sent her temperature spiraling, bringing memories of him wrapped around her on the Ducati. The rest of her body was busy remembering as wel
l.
She stared back, breathing in his sandalwood cologne, knowing she’d regret it if she pushed him away. By the end of her motorcycle lesson, deep down she’d known the war within was over.
And she’d spent the last two weeks in Paulo’s constant presence, thinking about the possibilities the entire time she’d been planning this event. Tormented by every accidental brush of his arm. Every brief touch of his hand. The occasional searing look. Until his simple presence robbed her of the ability to breathe. And finally she’d concluded she wanted to know, had to know, how it would be between them. The fact he’d stated up front it would be limited to a brief affair made it seem almost attainable.
Because did her past really matter if a permanent relationship wasn’t part of the equation?
Rubbing the condensation on her glass, she finally replied, her words soft. “No. That’s not a problem.”
Eyes dark, he ran a finger down her neck, trailing flames as he went. “You’re lucky I’m a patient man.”
“Lucky?”
“Yes.”
“You think highly of yourself, don’t you?”
“I suppose.” He laid his hand at the base of her throat, and the warmth it generated rivaled the effect of an entire bottle of champagne. “This morning, I almost dragged you out of the reception hall and back to the office.”
Goosebumps pricked. She knew the exact moment he was referring to, but she sent him a false innocent look. “To discuss work?”
He leaned close, his mouth almost touching hers. “Nope.” A light brush of his lips across hers evoked electrifying messages. “You see, I have this ongoing fantasy involving you, me…” he took her lips again, this time drinking deeply before pulling back a fraction “…and the top of that desk of yours.”
Lips aching for more, the pulse in her neck throbbing beneath his hand, she swallowed hard. “And do I get any say in these fantasies?”
“Absolutely.” The fire in his eyes set her belly blazing, and his hand slid lower, dipping under her jacket. “I’ll let you tell me all about them in my room.” Their gazes locked, and his fingers brushed the curve of her breast.
