Lessons from a Latin Lover

by Anne McAllister

  He looked over to see if Molly had been watching.

  She was standing in the doorway of the shop, but she wasn’t alone. His father stood next to her, and waved him over.

  Joaquin hesitated.

  And then Trevor yelled, “Chopper’s comin’!”

  A thrumming noise made him look up to see the helicopter coming in from above the harbor. It hovered for a moment above the field, then slowly settled onto the grass. Then Hugh cut the engine and the silence was deafening. For a moment no one moved.

  Then Marcus shouted, “Lachlan’s home,” and all the boys ran to greet him.

  The door opened, and Hugh hopped out first, then Fiona and Duncan. Lachlan climbed out last, hampered by the cast up to his knee and a pair of crutches he wasn’t at ease with yet.

  The kids ringed him in respectful silence, as if they were afraid to get close. Then Lachlan said something to them—Joaquin wasn’t close enough to hear what—and grinned.

  The ice broke and all the boys laughed and crowded around him, every one of them talking at once. Then Trevor pointed in his direction, and all the heads swiveled his way. Lachlan nodded and beckoned.

  Joaquin started to walk toward them when he saw someone else framed in the chopper’s doorway. He was tall and dark-haired and he paused on the threshold, looking around as if he were searching for something.

  And then his gaze stopped.

  On Molly.

  She stood stock-still, staring, mouth agape. And then she shut it. For an instant her gaze flickered in Joaquin’s direction. Their eyes met.

  And then, as he watched, she turned to his father, said a few brief words and left him to take off running across the grass toward Carson Sawyer.

  Who else?

  It was a hell of a reunion.

  Joaquin saw it all: the sudden grin on the man’s tanned face, the quick jump onto the grass; the open arms—and then the impact of Molly’s body against his.

  The two of them pressed together, arms wrapped around each other. The fierce embrace, the hungry kiss.

  Oh, yes, the kiss.

  The image would be emblazoned on his brain forever—Carson Sawyer and Molly McGillivray liplocked.

  Just the way he’d taught her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE COULD FEEL Carson’s shock the instant her lips touched his.

  His arms went around her, steadying her, clutching her close, but more to keep her from toppling them both over than for any more romantic reason.

  For the moment Molly didn’t care.

  If it had been the kiss of the century, she would have rejoiced. That it wasn’t didn’t exactly surprise her.

  It was enough that she did it. It told Carson that things were changing, that she was changing.

  And it told Joaquin—dear God, she hoped it told Joaquin!—that she knew what she wanted in life, that she wasn’t quite the pitiful idiot he most likely believed she was after she had nearly melted—twice!—in his arms.

  She hadn’t had a chance to tell him herself that morning. He’d been gone when she’d finally dragged herself out of bed. She hadn’t fallen asleep till nearly dawn. And when she finally did, she’d slept like the dead. She hadn’t heard him leave.

  She figured he had probably gone to spend time with his parents and Marianela, a supposition confirmed by Fiona when she and Duncan had arrived at the field to meet Hugh who was taking them to Nassau to get Lachlan.

  “He was on my doorstep before any of us were up,” Fiona had reported, somewhat amazed. “He says he’s not interested in Mama’s prospective bride, but what else could he possibly be doing there?”

  Getting away from me hadn’t seemed like a very useful answer. And it was probably too self-centered to be true, anyway. The fact was, Fiona was most likely right. For all that he might not think he was interested in Marianela, he was going home to Barcelona. He was going into business with his father. How long would he be able to pretend that marrying a woman his mother approved of wasn’t also part of the Joaquin Santiago Life Plan?

  She hadn’t said anything, though. But later that morning, when she’d caught a glimpse of him driving everyone around in Hugh’s Jeep, she’d been increasingly sure her speculation was true. It hurt a little, but she refused to think about it other than to tell herself it was a good thing in the long run—and the fact that he was occupied with his parents and the prospective bride for the moment meant she wasn’t likely to run into him.

  She’d been surprised to see him show up at practice. And she hadn’t met his eyes when they’d spoken. But that hadn’t stopped her looking at his lips.

  She’d been kissed senseless by those lips. And dear God, she hadn’t been able to stop the wish that he’d do it again. The thought had sent such a shaft of panic right through her that she’d very nearly bolted past him to get back to the shop.

  But having run away, she hadn’t gone in. It was hot inside, she’d rationalized. There was work she could do on one of the mokes. And so she had lingered in the yard, tinkering with the moke’s engine while, in fact, most of her attention had been on the man playing soccer fifty yards away.

  And then his father had come over and begun talking.

  He didn’t know much about soccer, he told her candidly. He had never been much interested in games. But Joaquin, he said, had always been passionate, determined, driven.

  “He loves it,” Molly said in case his father hadn’t noticed. If Joaquin couldn’t say that much to his father, the least she could do was say it for him.

  Martin had nodded silently, and they’d stood together watching as Joaquin patiently instructed the boys. There was an enthusiasm and a quiet authority in his words and actions. The boys understood and responded to it. You only had to watch to see how involved he was. And his intensity was contagious. The boys who had gone through the motions while working with her were passionate for him.

  And then he’d put it to work in a game, taking a tap from Marcus to move the ball deftly down the length of the field, all of the opposing team incapable of stopping him. The fluid grace of his movements made it all look effortless.

  “He is beautiful,” Martin murmured, sounding surprised.

  Oh, yes, he was that. She nodded, her throat so tight she was unable to speak.

  “And a good son,” he went on after a moment. “He is coming home to work with me.”

  Molly nodded. “Yes, he said.”

  “I was afraid he wouldn’t want to,” he confided, his eyes still on his son. “He was never interested in the business when he was younger. And it seemed wrong to force him. It was important to let him play. So he could be happy with his choice.”

  “Yes.” It was obvious, however much Joaquin felt that his father didn’t understand what drove him, that the older man loved him deeply and wanted him to be happy. But for Molly, being the recipient of Martin’s confidences was unnerving.

  It made her feel as if Martin believed she knew Joaquin better than she did.

  But on reflection she realized she did know him. She knew what he loved, what drove him, what satisfied him, what made him happy.

  She even knew the taste of his passion.

  She just wasn’t supposed to, she thought guiltily.

  It had been an enormous relief that Hugh’s helicopter had appeared just then, and the increasingly loud thrum of the chopper’s engine cut off all possibility of further conversation.

  Best of all, though, had been the unexpected sight of Carson. He hadn’t come with Dena Wilson after all. Instead he’d stood in the chopper scanning the field, looking for her, then finding her. His eyes had lit up.

  Molly’s breath had caught.

  “Please excuse me,” she’d said to Martin. And with one quick glance at Joaquin whose expression told her he knew exactly who that was, she ran.

  Away from feelings she should never have had. Away from the man who made her feel them.

  But toward something, too. Toward her fiancé. To show Carson that she loved
him. To prove to herself—and to him—that now was the time to take their relationship to another level. To find passion with the right man.

  And to show the wrong one that she could do it.

  Carson staggered under the impact, catching her, holding her.

  “Hey, Mol’! What’s this?” He was grinning until her lips touched his. She smothered everything else with a kiss like no other she and Carson had ever shared.

  It was deep, intense, and, on Molly’s part at least, determinedly passionate.

  So what if they were in the middle of a helicopter landing pad with half the island’s teenage boys looking on? Maybe they would learn something.

  She was. She was learning that kissing Carson was nothing like kissing Joaquin. Carson’s kiss was warm and pleasant and lovely, and his arms were comfortable, familiar and strong as he held her close.

  But there was no zing. No sizzle. No passion. No “give me more.”

  Not yet.

  But it was early days, she reminded herself as she pulled back. Carson had no idea how she was feeling, what she wanted. Right now, in fact, he was looking at her a little dazed, a bemused and slightly bewildered smile on his face.

  “Wow,” he said, the smile turning into a lopsided grin. “I guess I should come back more often.”

  Molly put an arm around his waist. “Or not leave.”

  His brows lifted. “Not leave? Hard to run everything from here, Mol’,” he said almost apologetically.

  “I know. I do. Really.” There would be time enough to discuss things like that later. She raised up and kissed his cheek. “I’ve missed you. I’m just glad you’re home.”

  “Yeah, me, too. We’ve—” he raked a hand through his hair “—got a lot of catching up to do. Things to talk about.”

  Molly nodded, relieved that he’d come to the same conclusions. “Absolutely. Let’s go.”

  “Wait. Before you two run off,” Fiona hurried over to them. “I wanted to invite you over tonight. Since Lachlan isn’t going to any of the homecoming stuff—”

  “Except the soccer tournament,” her husband interrupted.

  Fiona rolled her eyes. “Except the soccer tournament,” she echoed drily, “we thought it would be nice to have an open house at our place so all the homecoming islanders can drop by to see him. That means you.” She poked Carson in the chest.

  He nodded agreeably. “Sure. All right with you, Mol’?”

  It would probably mean seeing Joaquin. He would be there with his parents and Marianela. But so what? Molly thought. She couldn’t avoid seeing him forever. She didn’t want to avoid seeing him. She wanted to continue to be friends. Didn’t she? “Sure.” She mustered her enthusiasm. “We’ll bring some food.”

  “And beer,” Carson promised.

  Lachlan gave him a grin and a thumbs-up.

  “Where you staying?” Hugh asked as he tossed luggage in the Jeep. “I’ll run your bags by.”

  “He’s at the Moonstone,” Molly said before Carson could answer. He raised his brows in query and she explained, “They had a last-minute cancellation, and I know you like being on the beach more than the harbor side.”

  Carson nodded, obviously pleased. “Thanks. Sounds good.” He turned to Lachlan. “You need help getting to your place?”

  Lachlan leaned on the crutches, looking tired but glad to be home and shook his head. “I’ll manage.” He jerked his head toward the pitch where the boys had returned to practice with Joaquin who had his full attention on them.

  “You get him to do that?” he asked his sister, wonder in his voice.

  Molly shook her head.

  Lachlan smiled. “Might’ve been worth breaking my leg for.” He waved a crutch and wobbled precariously. “Come on, you lot!” he yelled at the boys. “Let’s see how good a teacher Santiago is.”

  HE DIDN’T watch her leave.

  He had more important things to think about. Nothing in Joaquin’s life had ever been more important than soccer.

  Until today.

  Today he couldn’t keep his mind on anything.

  No, not true.

  He couldn’t keep his mind on the game. He had no trouble at all keeping his mind on Molly, on wondering how she was doing with Carson, wondering what she was doing with Carson.

  From the looks of their kiss, Joaquin reflected grimly, she would have him dragging her to the altar by nightfall, desperate to get her to bed. Visions of Molly in bed punched him in the gut. The memory of her in his arms taunted and tormented.

  “Ooof.” The ball hit him in the head.

  “Hey!” Lachlan’s voice broke in. “¿Qué pasa, amigo? What’s up?”

  “Sorry! Just…distracted…” Joaquin gave his head a quick shake and tried to focus. But he was out of sync, a step late.

  For the first time in his life he was glad when Lachlan called things to a halt.

  “Go home. Get lots of rest. Be here bright and early,” Lachlan told the team as they gathered around him. He consulted his schedule. “First game is at nine. We play at ten. But come early. It never hurts to watch the earlier game. You can learn something every time you watch an opponent,” he told them sternly. Then he sent them off and turned to Joaquin. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I told you. I was distracted.”

  “You’re never distracted. Unless…” Lachlan eyed him, and Joaquin tried not to fidget under his narrowed gaze. “You worrying about what your old man thinks?”

  His old man? Hell, he hadn’t given Martin a thought. Now he looked around and spotted Martin standing on the sidelines talking to Carin and Nathan Wolfe.

  “Yeah, maybe that’s it,” he murmured.

  “Well, don’t let him worry you,” Lachlan advised. “Come on. Let’s go home. I’m glad to be back, but I need to get off this leg.”

  There was no possibility of saying he wasn’t going to go back to Lachlan and Fiona’s tonight. His parents were there. Their friends were there. Everyone he knew on the island would be there.

  Undoubtedly Molly and the love of her life would be there.

  Unless she’d got him into bed already and they had more interesting things to do, Joaquin thought, his jaw closing with a snap.

  He didn’t really believe that. Not at first. But as the hours passed and more and more people dropped by to eat and drink and chat—and Molly and Carson weren’t among them—he began to wonder.

  He helped Hugh, who was grilling steaks and shrimp and local spiny lobsters for the multitudes. He kept track of everyone who came to get a plate of food. No Carson. No Molly.

  Finally Hugh decreed that they’d grilled enough, but it was a good place to stand and keep an eye on things, so Joaquin said he’d just stick around in case anyone came late or wanted seconds. Nathan Wolfe’s father and both of his brothers and their wives and children did come late. And while he grilled for them, he watched in vain for Molly.

  He spent a while talking to Hugh’s father-in-law who seemed pretty much a clone of his own business-obsessed parent. He chatted with the parents of several of the soccer players. He made sure he always had a good view of who came and went.

  He never saw Molly and Carson.

  “You can stop lurking by the grill now,” Fiona said finally. “We’ve all had more than enough.”

  “There might be a few stragglers,” he suggested.

  “I can’t think of anyone who isn’t here or hasn’t been.”

  “I haven’t seen Molly,” he said before he could stop himself.

  “I imagine she and Carson have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Which was pretty much what he imagined, too. And he didn’t like the idea.

  “If you’re desperate to be useful,” Fiona suggested, “come and help crank the ice cream freezer.”

  He cranked the freezer. It was on the deck. He could still see the door and the path to the beach. But it was dark now. He wouldn’t see them if they came that way. He dished up ice cream.

  He consulted hi
s watch and prowled the deck. When Hugh asked sarcastically if he was on sentry duty, Joaquin went into the kitchen and washed dishes, prompting his mother to point out to Marianela how domesticated he was.

  At that point he’d had all he could take.

  It was after midnight. He left.

  It didn’t matter where Molly and Carson were. He knew what they were doing. It gave him a pain in the gut.

  The Grouper was rocking when he passed. Down near the dock, the Sand Dollar had a reggae band that he could also hear. A lot of folks out and about, standing in groups, laughing and talking.

  He opened the gate at Molly’s and stopped, wondering what the hell he’d do if he walked in on them in midseduction. Surely Molly wouldn’t bring Carson back here knowing he might walk in at any time.

  Or maybe she would. Just to make a point. Show him what a good teacher he’d been. The pain in his gut got worse.

  He heard the creak of the porch swing next door and Miss Saffron said, “They ain’t home yet.”

  He didn’t know if the breath he let out was a sigh of relief or not.

  By one he had nearly paced a rut in the rug.

  No Carson. No Molly.

  By two he was craning his neck over the gate and looking up and down the road. No Carson. No Molly.

  By three he was deep in the bottle of Jack Daniels he’d found in the cabinet, when he heard the murmur of voices outside. Seconds later the latch opened and Molly came in.

  “Where the hell have you been?” The words were out before he could stop them. He was scowling like an overbearing father.

  Molly, cheeks flushed, hair disheveled, stared at him. Her brows arched. “I beg your pardon?”

  He set his whiskey down with a thump. “There’s thousands of people milling around. Strangers! Who knows what could have happened!” It was irrational and insane and he knew it.

  “Indeed,” she murmured. “Who knows?”

  He scowled. “We missed you at Lachlan’s,” he said pointedly.

  “We hoped to get there. But Carson spent time with Lachlan and Fiona on the flight from Nassau, so he’d seen them. And he wanted to go see the Cash brothers. Have you met Euclid and Erasmus?”