by Aimee Carson
After wiping a weary hand down his face, Paulo finally responded. “Yeah.” He dropped his hand to his lap. “I was a lousy excuse for a husband. Especially after Dad’s stroke.” His lips set, he shot his brother a rueful look. “I was too busy arguing with you about the business.”
Marcos slowly nodded his head.
After a hard swallow, Paulo asked one final question. “So why did you two marry?”
Marcos hiked an eyebrow, as if the answer should be obvious. “We got married because we fell in love.”
Paulo absorbed the blow, the blunt truth ricocheting, tearing holes in his long held beliefs.
Marcos went on. “Look, the months following Dad’s stroke were chaotic. We were all under enormous stress.” His shoulder rose and fell. “I can’t say I handled it any better.” He leaned his elbows on his desk, his fingers steepled together, studying Paulo over his hands. “But one thing I should have known was that your idea was never in danger of failing. Just like Dad, you’ve always been a shrewd businessman.” Marcos stood and crossed to the plate glass overlooking downtown. “I should have listened to you about starting the new line,” he said, staring out the window. “Maybe Dad knew you were better off running your own show.” Finally, he turned and fixed a steady gaze on Paulo. “It could be he left the company to me as a way of forcing you to take that step.”
Pursing his lips, Paulo considered the scenario. The concept was difficult to buy, but certainly within the realm of possibility. And, after all he’d just learned, someone could accuse his dad of being a foreign spy and Paulo would believe them.
“Maybe he did.” Paulo sent his brother a dry smile. “Or maybe he was just a bastard, through and through.” Marcos let out an amused scoff, and Paulo shrugged in resignation. “Either way, we’ll never know.”
And, while the overdue conversation with his brother had come with several surprising revelations, Paulo was only sure about one thing…he didn’t care anymore.
Marcos crossed back to his desk and leaned his hands on the surface, looking at him intently. “We could merge the two companies.”
Paulo watched his brother, the offer hanging between them. But as far as his business was concerned he had everything he needed. And he was right where he wanted to be.
In the driver’s seat.
“Thanks for the offer,” Paulo said as he stood. With a wry grin, he stuck out his hand. “Why don’t we just figure out how to be brothers?”
Marcos let out a small laugh, his face relaxing as he returned his handshake.
Paulo’s grin grew bigger. “I don’t do partners so well.”
As soon as the words left his lips, his thoughts turned to the one person he did team well with. Alyssa had felt like a partner in every sense of the word. At work. At play. And in bed. The longing to see her again was fierce, and brought a sucker punch to his stomach.
As Paulo headed for the exit, he was keenly aware of the huge, yawning space left by the one woman who had taken a piece of him when she’d left. Now that he’d completed the first task he’d formulated after his swim, he was at a loss over how to approach the second—and much more important—of the two.
How the hell was he going to make things right with Alyssa?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS late when Alyssa entered her apartment with her shopping bags, disappointed her mom’s retail intervention had failed. When her mother had stopped by and seen the state Alyssa was in, she’d given her a hug and dragged her out of the house. But after two weeks of crying, moping, working, and working some more, nothing could wipe away, even briefly, the vision of Paulo’s back as he had dismissed her at the club.
As she placed her bags on the sofa she heard the sound of Paulo’s voice on her answering machine, asking her to pick up the phone, and her footsteps faltered. A wave of longing hit—so strong she pressed a hand to her chest.
She missed Paulo. Her heart ached for him. His sense of humor. The way he made her feel. Real. Free. And alive.
Gloriously, gloriously alive.
Entering the dining room, she listened, slowly sinking into a chair as he gave up asking her to pick up and went on. His voice was serious, the volume low as he spoke. “There’s something we have to discuss.” Her throat closed over and her heart expanded until it felt too big for her chest. She’d been waiting two miserably endless weeks for some sign of a breakthrough, and she prayed this was it.
Paulo went on. “I’m afraid the success at the hotel has made you worthy of gossiping newspapers. I don’t know if you’ve seen today’s Miami Insider, but I wanted to warn you. There’s a small blip detailing your criminal record.” Numb, Alyssa listened to him let out a sigh, sounding frustrated as he continued, “We can discuss it at my brother’s anniversary party tomorrow.”
The click of the phone disconnecting was loud, and pain flashed bright, hot. And—just like a laser beam—it cleanly separated her heart into two. Neatly cauterizing the edges. No hope for healing remained. After treating her so coldly, there still had been no apology. Worse, Paulo hadn’t even called to talk about the two of them.
He’d only called to warn her the past had caught up with her.
Motionless, she stared at the answering machine. Right now, countless Miamians were reading about her shady history. She should feel…something. Humiliation? Defeat? Yet nothing.
All she felt was a crushing sadness. After days of hoping Paulo would finally come through, it was time to admit their relationship was circling the dead-end cul-de-sac of his heart. There was nowhere to go. No matter how stubborn she was, she had to face the fact that the man she loved couldn’t love her back.
Sagging against the table, she covered her face with her hands. He’d warned her from the start he was unavailable, but she hadn’t listened. And now he was going to pay the price for her mistake. Because who would want to schedule their precious functions at the Samba with a known criminal as its event planner?
The lonely silence grew as she dropped her hands and looked around her dining room. Her phone sat on the table next to the invitation to Bianca’s anniversary party. In lieu of a cupboard, several filing cabinets lined the wall, containing all the information she’d gathered over the years. Vendors, contacts, events she’d organized. Her gaze landed on the newspaper article about the reception at the Samba, now hanging on her wall. Everything that used to be important.
But what she wanted had changed.
Paulo was right: she’d paid her debt to society. She deserved to be happy. To pursue her dreams. She exhaled slowly, combing shaky fingers through her hair. But she had to quit her job at the Samba. Because, no matter how much he’d hurt her with his words at the club, the consequences of the article should be hers and hers alone.
She sat up and reached for the anniversary invitation on her dining room table. She hadn’t planned on going. And after the tabloid article about her it would be best if she stayed far, far away. But she refused to cower like a mangy dog anymore. Plus, she had to put things right for Paulo.
The Samba was important to him, and she couldn’t let the man she loved suffer because of her.
Alyssa concentrated on keeping her breathing easy as she stood in the doorway to the country club ballroom. Casino tables and roulette wheels circled the dance floor. While dealers shuffled cards and took bets, a small jazz band played in the corner. The sound of poker chips and laughter rang in the room as guests in cocktail dresses and suits milled about. She’d passed the Ducati on the way in, which meant Paulo was here.
Perspiration dotted her lip, and Alyssa ran a hand down the crepe jacket of her designer pantsuit, focusing on the texture. It was airy. Pretty, yet casual. And blessedly comfortable.
You look great, Alyssa. Now go in there and get this done.
After squaring her shoulders, she made her way through the crowd and, with no idea where Paulo was, randomly headed for the roulette wheel. As she passed the blackjack table she spied Tessa Harrison. For a moment their gazes loc
ked, and the stunned expression above the lady’s hand of cards was almost funny.
But Alyssa just ignored her and kept walking, too distracted by queasiness to give the woman much thought. The bumbling butterflies dancing in her belly were getting pretty rowdy. Because giving Paulo up, even if all they had left was a work relationship, was going to be tough. She’d never see him again.
Her heart crumpled at the thought, and she stumbled slightly in her casual high-heeled sandals.
“I was hoping to see you here,” Paulo said from behind.
She cringed and came to a halt, bracing for the hurdle she had to clear. The one she wasn’t ready for. The one she would never be ready for. Slowly, she turned to face him.
He was wearing a tuxedo, black hair trimmed but still long enough to keep the roguish look. And the mocha cappuccino gaze was the same. He looked too gorgeous for words. A tinge of unwanted desire slipped out before she could contain it.
His level gaze was guarded. “After the article, I wasn’t sure you would come.”
She fingered the edge of her jacket, hoping to soothe her frayed nerves. But she had a job to do. And, come hell or high tide, no matter how difficult, she was going to do it. “I’ve never run away from anything in my life,” she said. “And I certainly don’t intend to start now.”
“You ran from my bed that first morning.”
She blinked, searching for a response. “I was just postponing the inevitable.”
“And the second morning?”
Frowning, she tensed her forehead. “I had work to do.”
“Convenient, all these excuses,” he said as he stepped closer.
The deep voice and his proximity had the butterflies in her belly shifting from the Texas Two-step to thumping hip-hop. She turned to look out the window overlooking the bay, collecting herself before meeting his gaze again.
“We have a few things to discuss,” he said with a determined tone. “But why don’t we start with a dance?”
Heart beating furiously, she gripped the strap of her purse. She couldn’t get sidetracked by how good he looked, or how wonderful it would feel to be in his arms. And putting this off wasn’t going to make it any easier. “The time for dancing has ended, Paulo.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I’m moving out of the Samba. I’m going to rent office space for Elite Events.”
His brows pinched together in doubt.
“I’m going to tell Charles to hire an assistant,” she continued. “Someone who can help coordinate things while he looks for another event planner.” Alyssa cleared her throat, trying to loosen the tight muscles, but it was hard to keep her voice even. “I’m not renewing our contract.”
A dark look flickered in Paulo’s eyes. “Why?”
She stared up at him, torn by the answer to his question.
Shifting even closer, Paulo looked down on her. “You keep saying you don’t run. So what does this qualify as?” His stare was intense. “A fast walk in the opposite direction?”
Was he really trying to convince her to stay? Her work wasn’t that important. She could be replaced. And hadn’t he thought about what the newspaper article would mean? “It qualifies as me trying to do the right thing,” she said. “My past is now widely known in Miami.”
A furrow of disgust appeared on his brow. “That sleazy newspaper is a worthless piece of scum.”
Dear God, was he trying to make this more difficult for her? With her fist clenched, she tried again. “It could affect business at the Samba.”
“I doubt that. And it doesn’t matter if it does.”
She pressed her hand to her temple, forcing herself to go on. And this time she included a part of the truth. “I can’t have you paying the price for my sins.”
“To hell with the article. You’ve paid the price already. You shouldn’t have to keep on paying.”
She closed her lids, cutting off the vision of Paulo. The sound of the roulette wheel clicked in the background as conversation lagged. She hated how weak he made her feel. Hated how a few little words could sap her resolve to let him go.
But just because he’d come to Bianca and Marcos’s party, just because he was a man of principle who believed she’d paid her dues, was willing to brave the effects of bad publicity, it didn’t mean anything had changed. The rest was nice, but there were bigger issues at hand. Like the fact she loved him. And he couldn’t love her back.
She opened her eyes. “I can’t work with you anymore,” she said, and turned to walk away.
He grabbed her hand. “Don’t go.” His fingers firmly held her in place while his eyes searched hers, and then he shoved both hands in his pockets, staring at her as he shuffled his feet. An odd anticipation settled in her gut. She’d never seen Paulo nervous.
“I have something to give you,” he said.
Her gaze dropped to his tuxedo pocket. His fist was bunched, as if curled around an object. And, despite all the fresh air circling around them, Alyssa couldn’t find enough oxygen. Because with absolute certainty she knew Paulo had a ring in his pocket. Her heart lost speed, its rate barely able to supply blood to her brain, and time lapsed into slow motion.
Without saying a word, without so much as a peep of explanation, he began to kneel down, and Alyssa’s heart stalled completely.
Her lids stretched wide. That was it? She blinked. No discussion needed? The rushing rise of emotion blasted through her body, her thoughts swirling. Because popping the question and giving her a ring didn’t necessarily signify he was ready for an honest relationship.
He had put a ring on a woman’s finger before and it had meant nothing.
The pain she’d felt each time he froze her out came roaring back, and she dragged in a breath, her chest hurting. She needed him so much, and the thought of being married to Paulo, waiting for him to participate, was too painful to contemplate. Waiting…like Bianca had.
She couldn’t live like that. Which meant she had to refuse his offer.
His knee landed on the floor, and her thoughts raced. He’d chased her so hard. Dragged her out into the sunshine to breathe the fresh air of a life beyond work. To feel. To want. To love. And along the way he’d annihilated every ounce of her reserve.
As he began to pull his hand from his pocket, her legs turned to jelly.
She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t be strong enough to say no.
When he flipped open the box without a single word panic seized her, and she pivoted on her heel, blindly pushing her way into the crowd.
Paulo stared, dumbfounded, at the sight of Alyssa disappearing into the small mob that had gathered around them curiously.
She was leaving.
The granite floor was hard against his knee. The collective held breath of the crowd around him was strained. But every cell in his body was too stupefied to move.
Alyssa was walking away. With his intentions so clearly stamped in his posture, she was leaving him. But it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been through this before. This feeling of desertion. Some of it was deserved, like Bianca. Some of it wasn’t, such as his father. His brother was a bit of both. But every single incident—every one of them—had hurt.
But nothing compared to the excruciating pain of watching Alyssa walk away.
He closed his eyes, clamping the jewelry box shut. The crowd began to murmur and shift, flowing around him, resuming their activities. But Paulo couldn’t move.
When he’d read that blasted article in the paper, his first instinct—right after squashing the need to tear the journalist apart—had been to fix the problem. Make it go away for her. But it was a done deal. There was no undoing the damage.
And then all he’d wanted was to find her and pull her into his arms. To protect her. But, because of his dumb actions, he didn’t have that right. And he wanted the privilege of being the one to take on the world for her. He’d thought he could make this easier by skipping past all the awkward parts and going straight to what he wanted…a life with Alyssa.
He opened his eyes and stared in the direction of the exit. He should chase her down. Talk to her. Try to convince her to change her mind.
Frowning, he lowered his hand to his knee. Or maybe he’d hurt her so much that she couldn’t forgive his asinine behavior. And what if he let go, cracked his chest open and let it all spill out, only to have her refuse his proposal again?
How would he recover?
With a scowl, Paulo slammed the door on the cowardly thought and stood up. Alyssa had faced down her fears so many times, in so many ways, it defied comprehension. Yet he didn’t have the guts to do it once.
Not once.
And if he didn’t have the courage to go after her, he didn’t deserve her. If he didn’t go after her now, she’d be lost to him forever. Her smile, her spunk, her cool wit and their combustible passion relegated to a distant memory—until he grew so old and bitter he wouldn’t be able to stand being on the same continent with himself.
Paulo shoved the ring in his pocket and took off toward the exit.
She didn’t have time to call for a taxi. Hoping to hail one from the street, Alyssa hurried up the country club driveway, her steps faltering when she heard a shout from behind. Her heart constricted, stealing her breath.
Paulo.
Moving quickly, she rounded the gate and dashed across the northbound lane, the cars held back by a red light. When she landed on the palm-tree-lined median, her heels sank into the grass. She glanced back and saw Paulo approaching. With her teeth clamped on her lip, she turned to stare at the cars whipping by between her and the sidewalk on the other side. Maybe she should take her chances. Just dart across and hope her timing worked out.
Good grief. She was desperate, but she wasn’t crazy. Her chest heaved as she blew out a sigh. And if Paulo was ready to talk, ready to have a real heart-to-heart, this was as good a place as any.
