Fierce Pride

by Phoebe Conn

  She didn’t need to be looked after. “Let’s just go to sleep.”

  He moved to lie on his back and drew in a deep breath.

  She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings and now felt she owned him an apology. “You’re the best, Santos. You even have handsome feet. Some guys’ feet are as hairy as a Hobbit’s.”

  He laughed so loud he would have awakened everyone in the house, had there been anyone else. “You always surprise me. I’m so grateful I don’t have Hobbit-like feet. I suppose I’d have to wax them.”

  “There’s another business opportunity that’s been overlooked.”

  Santos rose up to kiss her. “You want some ice cream?”

  She stroked his cheek. “Yes, but I’ll force you to work off the calories.”

  He rested his forehead on hers. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Tuesday morning, Manuel drove Santos’s SUV to the advertising firm. Santos still sat in the front where he could stretch out his leg, and Libby sat alone in the back. She wore the lime-green outfit she’d bought for the wedding and expected to stay out of everyone’s way. Santos had dressed in a black polo shirt and the khaki shorts which fit over his brace. He looked preoccupied rather than eager to model.

  The advertising firm’s name was posted in chrome letters on the front of a stark modern building. A petite woman with red-framed glasses met them at the door and introduced herself as Denise. She pointed out posters in the lobby as examples of their commercial work, but Libby recognized none of the products advertised. The photo studio was on the second floor, and as they entered the elevator, Santos winked at her. She knew exactly what he was thinking and nodded to make certain he noticed the camera above the control panel.

  The photographer welcomed them to his studio with a wide smile. He had a neatly trimmed beard and was dressed in black. “I’m Armand, and I’m so happy to meet you. I’ve seen you fight numerous times and am in awe of your superb talent.”

  “Thank you,” Santos responded. “I doubt I have much in the way of talent for what you have planned today. This is Miss Gunderson, a sister of my sister, Magdalena Mondragon.”

  Armand looked perplexed for a moment and then broke into a wide smile. “I’m delighted to meet you, Miss Gunderson. Denise and Roberto have the sketches,” he explained. “Come look, and you’ll see what we’re after with this campaign.”

  Roberto was tall with blond hair worn in a ponytail. His bright yellow shoes went perfectly with his red shirt and jeans. “We are beginning with print ads in all the popular magazines. Videos may come later. What we’re after today is a mystical look. We’ll dress you in black, with a dark background, so just your face and hands will show.”

  Ana Santillan rushed into the studio. “Traffic, sorry.”

  “Why is she here?” Santos asked.

  Armand gestured for the model to come close. “We want a variety of shots. Some with you alone, Santos, and some with Ana to show the cologne’s appeal for women.”

  “I won’t pose with her,” Santos stated firmly. His voice was low, fervent, without being combative.

  Ana rested her hands on her hips. “This is work, Santos. Nothing personal has to enter into it.”

  Wanting no part of their argument, Libby edged back slowly. She’d seen Ana in magazines, gotten a glimpse of her at the bull fight, but this close, the model was even more beautiful. She had a flawless complexion, her hair fell past her waist in golden waves, and her slim figure had curves where they were supposed to be. She was dressed in a pale green silk shirt, skintight back leather pants and black stiletto heels. Other than her tooled leather handbag, her only accessory was a huge pink diamond ring on her right hand. She looked pulled together in a way Libby never even approached.

  Armand waved a hand. “Please, there’s no reason to argue if we all regard this morning as a job to be done.”

  “Fine,” Santos replied. “Do it without me. Stick a bottle of the cologne in Ana’s hand and call it the ad.”

  “No, no, no,” Armand stressed. “Aragon cologne has your father’s signature on the label. He insisted you do the ads when he was unable to fulfill his obligation.”

  “He’s dead,” Santos reminded him.

  Armand pulled Santos aside and whispered, “He was paid one million euros for the campaign. It would dishonor his memory to refuse to pose, and there will be a tedious lawsuit for the return of what he was paid.”

  Santos gritted his teeth. “Fine, I’ll do it, but I will not be photographed with Ana. Do I make myself clear? If you want a lovely blonde, I’ll be happy to pose with Miss Gunderson, or you could put Roberto in a dress and shoot from the back.”

  Roberto laughed, but he didn’t appear horrified by the idea. Ana held out her hand palm up. “I was hired for the day. You know my rate, Armand, and I’m not leaving without being paid.”

  Armand looked between Santos and Ana, and his shoulders sagged as he gave in to both. “Denise, please take care of Miss Santillan. I’m so sorry, Ana. I believe we’re scheduled to work together again next week.”

  Ana left without commenting, and Denise sent a frantic glance over her shoulder. Libby didn’t move. She was such a poor substitute for Ana, she couldn’t believe Santos had even suggested it. The fiery way they’d reacted to each other told an even more troubling story. “I doubt I’d photograph nearly as well.”

  “That isn’t the issue,” Santos pointed out curtly. He lowered his voice so only she would hear. “I won’t be in an arena for months, so I can’t return what my father was paid. Please do this for me.”

  Libby understood she was trapped and had no choice, but she wasn’t Ana Santillan, and apparently that was all that mattered to him. That she might be horribly embarrassed was beside the point. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll turn you into a goddess,” Armand promised. “We’ll begin with hair and makeup. Teresa, Miss Gunderson should fit in the clothes and shoes we had for Ana.”

  Teresa, the makeup artist, was a striking gray-haired woman who spoke little English. Libby couldn’t respond to her questions posed in Spanish. She sat quietly in the makeup chair and tried to hold still.

  Teresa curled her hair with a curling iron, pinned the curls in place and went to work on her makeup. She applied a light foundation and blush. Libby had long lashes and did wear mascara, but not nearly enough to satisfy Teresa. She added several additional layers, a smoky green eye shadow, and darkened Libby’s eyebrows. Then she gestured for Libby to stand and drew her over to a rack of clothes, all slinky black.

  It hadn’t occurred to Libby that she and Ana were the same size, but the halter dress she was given fit perfectly. The platform heels also fit, but she had to practice walking in them. Teresa had her return to the makeup chair to remove the pins from her hair and brushed it into a bouncy head of curls. She sprayed it quickly, before a single curl could fall out of place. A glance in the mirror startled Libby. She hadn’t expected such a remarkable change in her appearance. The bright red lipstick was the cherry on the cake. Her own mother wouldn’t recognize her now. She was so eager to scrub it all off, she doubted she’d become Europe’s next hot model.

  Armand had already begun photographing Santos in a long-sleeved black silk shirt. Santos had kept on his shorts, but, seated on a stool, he was being photographed from the waist up. The lighting made his black hair glow, while his features were handsomely shaded. Libby licked her lips and tasted the cinnamon-flavored lipstick. When Armand looked around for her, she stepped forward.

  “What do you think?” she asked Santos. When his mouth fell agape, she took it as a sign of approval. “I’d no idea I looked so homely to begin with.”

  Armand laughed. “My dear, you are a natural beauty. Teresa has merely enhanced what you already possess. Now let’s change the seating to the bench. Can you straddle it, Santos? Miss Gunderson should sit facing left.”

  Santos moved to the bench Roberto pulled in
, and took Libby’s hand as she took her place in front of him. “I want my own photos of this,” he called to Armand.

  “I’ll be happy to provide a whole set for both of you.” The photographer kept one eye on a computer screen as he adjusted their poses for the camera. “I want you in profile, Miss Gunderson.”

  “Please call me Libby,” she answered as she followed his directions. They changed poses often, but Santos kept her pulled close. The lights were hot, and she hoped her makeup didn’t drip off into her lap, and it was difficult not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. She’d played minor parts in a couple of high school plays, but she’d never had to pretend to be a super model. She tried to look sexy and seductive on cue, but it was a nearly impossible challenge. Armand kept exclaiming on how beautiful she and Santos looked together, but she was merely a stand-in, and Ana would have known how to pout and bend her knee just so. She was completely worn out by the time Armand gave them a short break.

  “Let’s try something new. Put your left leg over Santos’s and pull the hem of your dress up to show off your legs.”

  Legs Libby could do, for days. “Like this?”

  Armand swallowed hard. “Perfect.” He took several shots and then pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Let’s have you straddle the bench now and pull up your skirt to again accent your beautiful legs. Roberto, where’s the cologne? I want you to hold the bottle, place it on the bench in front of you. Good, I want a few with both of you looking into the camera.”

  Santos tickled her to make her laugh, and Armand snapped photos quickly to catch it. “No one can laugh on cue, but that was delightful. Now let’s take a look at what we’ve done this morning.”

  Santos took a chair in front of the computer, and Libby leaned over his shoulder. “Santos looks so damn good alone, you don’t need me.”

  Santos had a different concern. “I look more like my father than he did. Was that your intention, Armand?”

  The photographer raised his hands. “You do resemble your father. I couldn’t hide it if I wished to. You’ll be pleased with the campaign, I’m sure of it. Now let’s look at the rest.”

  Libby held her breath, but she felt as though she were viewing a stranger. The beautiful woman with Santos had a variety of sultry expressions, but she recognized none as her own. The photos were spectacular, but she couldn’t take any credit for them. Teresa and Armand had turned her into someone else, and she was eager to become herself again.

  When they had seen all the shots, Armand raised his hand. “I want only a few more of Miss Gunderson alone. There’s a high-necked, long sleeved dress on the rack. Put it on please, and I’ll take the last shots.”

  Santos gave her an encouraging nod and being a good sport, Libby changed her clothes with Teresa’s help so she didn’t smear her makeup or tangle her hair. This time Armand wanted her to lie face down on the bench, kick her legs back, and hold the bottle of cologne in front of her. He took profiles and other shots of her looking into the camera with as sexy an expression as she could possibly produce. Nothing in the studio was real to her, and her stay in Barcelona grew stranger every day.

  When they were finally finished, Libby hurriedly donned her own clothes and shoes. She thanked Teresa for her help before leaving the dressing room. Santos and Armand were still huddled by the computer, and she waited for them to look up.

  “We’re discussing your fees,” Santos said.

  “My fees?” Libby repeated, thinking the quality of her work didn’t deserve more than minimum wage.

  “Armand’s photos prove you’re worth every euro Ana was paid.”

  Libby clamped her jaws shut rather than shriek in frustration. She wondered if Santos actually believed she was that good, or whether he was simply doing it for her. “May I speak with you, please?”

  He turned his back to Armand. “Of course, what is it?”

  “I posed as a favor to you,” she whispered. “It wasn’t about money, and I don’t expect to be paid. In fact, I refuse to take a cent, or euro, or whatever it is.”

  He frowned. “It could go into your college fund.”

  Apparently he thought she’d really earned the money, which was flattering but unnecessary. “True, but I won’t take it.”

  Balancing on his crutches, Santos shifted position to speak to Armand. “Libby won’t accept money for helping out today. However, I may pay her in cologne.”

  Libby laughed. “I won’t accept more than a single bottle.”

  Armand kissed both her cheeks, and insisted she sign a release before they said goodbye. “This campaign could lead to a very successful modeling career. Will I be able to contact you through Santos?”

  “Yes, but I’m not interested in doing anything more than we did today.”

  “What a pity. When the ads appear in magazines, you’re sure to hear from modeling agencies.”

  “I’ll have to disappoint them.” Santos gave her arm a tug, and she walked with him to the elevator. “I hope they use the shots of you alone.”

  They entered the elevator and Santos pushed the button for the first floor. “I won’t have much say in it, but I like the ones with both of us. It’s better for the image of the cologne.”

  “Guaranteed sex in a bottle?”

  “If a man uses it right,” Santos replied. “It has something to do with pheromones combined with the scent. I didn’t take chemistry in school, but a great deal of work went into combining the ingredients to create the scent. My father chose the final formula, so his name is rightfully on the label.”

  If Miguel Aragon’s reputation with women was widely known, which Libby thought it was, the cologne could probably have smelled like dried seaweed and still sold to men hoping to have Miguel’s phenomenal success with women. “It’s a killer scent, but I don’t need more than a single bottle to take home.”

  Santos teased her with a wide smile. “I’ll send you a case.”

  Manuel was waiting for them at the curb, and once they were seated in the SUV, Santos suggested they stop at one of his favorite places for lunch. “They have a delicious paella in a city known to prepare the best.”

  Libby was more anxious to get home. “Please, I look too silly in this clown face to be out in public.”

  Santos disagreed. “Does she look like a clown to you, Manuel?”

  “Don’t put him on the spot,” Libby cried.

  “You are lovely,” Miguel stressed.

  Libby muttered under her breath. “At least no one knows me here.”

  “They will soon,” Santos promised.

  The restaurant’s open patio was crowded, but Santos asked for the darkest booth inside. “I’d rather have lunch outside,” he murmured, “but people will bother us so often we wouldn’t be able to eat.”

  “Hiding inside is fine, and I’m grateful not to be embarrassed any further,” Libby replied.

  “Did the morning embarrass you?”

  He appeared surprised, but she couldn’t fault him. “You’re used to being photographed. I’m not, and especially not when I’m made-up like this.”

  He surveyed the darkened interior of the restaurant. There were other couples dining closer to the bar, but they were involved in their own hushed conversations. He leaned close. “I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable. No one is looking at you, except me. Let’s take our time eating, and when we get home, you may stand in the shower as long as you wish to become your own beautiful, natural self.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’d hate to run up your water bill.”

  He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “Thank you for doing the ads, I didn’t realize it was such an ordeal for you. I’ll send you two crates of cologne.”

  The waiter approached before Libby thought of a clever reply, and Santos ordered his favorites for them. She asked for iced tea rather than wine, but gradually relaxed enough to forget she must look like a woman from a low-scale escort service. Ana projected an air of elegant nonchalance, but after further study, Arma
nd would probably decide she resembled a deer in headlights and reshoot with Santos and another model. No matter where she started, her mind churned right back to Ana, easily one of the most perfect women on the planet.

  “You’re being awfully quiet. Don’t you like the paella?”

  Libby had to finish a bite of the seafood-laced saffron rice dish and swallow before she answered. “This is delicious, but…”

  “Go on, even on crutches I can take it.”

  She wasn’t certain where to begin. He might accuse her of simply being jealous, and she couldn’t deny it, but she didn’t want to land in the middle of their tumultuous affair. “All right. I’m here only for the summer, so I should probably stay out of it, but when Ana provokes such a heated response from you, it’s difficult to believe it’s over between you.”

  “Don’t worry. An enraged bull provokes a heated response from me too, but I don’t want to cuddle with him.”

  A slow smile slid across his very handsome mouth, so clearly he wasn’t taking her complaint seriously. “I hate fights, and I’m not trying to start one. It’s just that indifference is the opposite of love, not hatred.”

  His tone dropped to an unmistakably serious low. “I never loved Ana, and I don’t hate her now. I just don’t trust her when she’s sold what little privacy I have to the tabloids, and she’d do it again in a heartbeat. Had I known Armand had hired her for today, I wouldn’t have gone to the studio. I’m sorry if the way I spoke to her upset you.”

  “You didn’t yell, and in fact, you spoke to Armand, not her. The whole situation was bizarre. No one would ever ask me to take Ann’s place if there were any other alternative.”

  “Armand could have called another model, but he didn’t need to. I’m sorry you don’t realize how lovely you are. I’ll tell you more often. How would you describe yourself?”

  The question gave her pause. “Nordic, tall, slim, athletic.”

  Santos waited for her to add more. “That’s it?” He touched a hairspray stiffened curl and dropped it. “You have an angelic beauty combined with a flippant toughness that’s, frankly, intoxicating.”