Before I Do Amazon

by Freethy, Barbara

  "You're pulling out all the stops." She felt overwhelmed by his offer.

  "I know what I want, and I know how to get it," he said forcefully.

  "If you were going anywhere else, I would have already said yes. But you're going to Argentina. I told you about my father, about his absence in my life. The memories I have of my home country are bittersweet and painful. I don't think I can go back there, not for any amount of money in the world or because of your enticing offer."

  Even as she said the words, she wondered what the hell she was doing. The man was offering to solve all her problems for one short trip to Argentina and one even shorter dance.

  "You don't have to see your father," Nick said. "It's a big country. He won't know you're there unless you want him to know."

  "I wouldn't want to see him."

  Nick stared back at her. "Are you sure about that?"

  "Pretty sure. Of course I've thought about it, but I always came to the conclusion that it would be a mistake to reconnect with him. He deserted me. Maybe he had reasons to divorce my mother, but he should have tried to stay in my life."

  "Staying in your life isn't the same thing as being a father."

  There was a hard note in his voice now, and she saw something in his eyes that surprised her. He was very good at hiding his emotions, but there was a flicker of pain behind his words. "Are you close to your father?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "No."

  "But he's in your life?"

  "If you're asking if he and my mother stayed together, the answer is yes. But if you're asking if I grew up in a happy family and had a great relationship with the man who fathered me, the answer is no. I've been Thomas Hunter's greatest disappointment."

  "How is that possible? Look at you. Look at what you've accomplished."

  "It's not what my father wanted. He wanted me to take over his business—he's a venture capitalist and runs a successful financial firm. I chose to go my own route. He wasn't happy about that."

  "What about your mother? Are you close with her?"

  "My mother died when I was eighteen."

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

  "Of course you didn't. Let's get back to you. I need you, Isabella. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get you."

  For a split second, she wished he needed her for more than a dance partner, but that was a foolish thought. This hard, driven man was not the kind of man she wanted in her life. He thought he could buy people. He hated emotion. He was all about money. They were as different as two people could be.

  Yet, there was something they shared, a disappointment in their relationships with their fathers. It was a tenuous connection, but she related to the pain she'd heard in his voice earlier. Nick knew something about not being loved the way he'd wanted to be. And so did she.

  "Isabella?" he pressed.

  "I don't know."

  "If you're worried that what happened last night might happen again, I can assure you that it won't. I will respect your boundaries."

  She hadn't been worried about him trying to kiss her again, but now that he'd mentioned it, he'd just given her another reason to say no. The attraction between them would probably only grow with more time spent together. And that attraction couldn't lead anywhere.

  "Let me think about it," she said finally.

  It was clearly not the answer he wanted, but he reluctantly accepted it. "All right. I'll show you the ballroom. That might change your mind."

  As they went down in the elevator together, she felt like she couldn't quite get her balance. While her body was in San Francisco, her mind was in Argentina.

  Should she reconsider her quick refusal?

  Her mother would not like to see her go to Argentina, and out of respect to her mom and all the hard work she'd put in over the years to give her a happy life, she should stick to her original decision.

  On the other hand, she was an adult now, and if she wanted to reconnect with her father, she should be able to do that.

  "Isabella, are you coming?" Nick asked, his hand holding the elevator doors open.

  "Yes," she said, suddenly realizing that they'd arrived at the Mezzanine level.

  The ballroom was just a few yards away from the elevator and as they stepped through the double doors, she was once again blown away by the size and the opulence of the room.

  "It's huge," she murmured.

  "We can close it off to a quarter of this size and install a hardwood floor. Mirrors and possibly a ballet barre could be rented."

  "Yes, they could," she murmured, thinking that the space would be perfect, and the price was definitely right.

  She turned to face him. "What if I don't go to Argentina with you? Does this all go away?"

  He hesitated. "No. I'll still let you use the room for four weeks. But you won't get the cash for accompanying me on the trip, and I won't be able to invest in your studio."

  He was still being extremely generous.

  "I really want you to think about my offer," he continued. "You don't have to see your father. It's a big country. I seriously doubt you'll run into him."

  "I'm not worried about running into him. I'm worried about wanting to run into him."

  He met her gaze. "Maybe that would be good. You could get closure."

  "I don't need closure. I need distance."

  "You've had distance," he reminded her.

  "And why would I want to change that?" she asked, feeling herself weakening. Over the years, she'd definitely thought about her homeland, and not just her father. She had some special memories of her time there. Did she dare to go back?

  What was she so afraid of? She didn't have to see her father or any of her relatives. No one would know she was there. And it would be a short trip.

  If she said yes, a lot of her problems would be solved. Was she really going to let her father steal anything else away from her? What would she be proving by staying away? That she was too scared to be in the same country as him? That was unacceptable.

  "All right," she said. "I'll go."

  Relief flooded his gaze. "You're sure?"

  "Yes, but I want everything in writing, at least about the dance space and my salary for the trip."

  "I'll have an agreement drawn up this weekend. You won't be sorry."

  "I hope not, but I have to be honest, my stomach is churning right now. I feel a little sick."

  "Maybe you're hungry. I haven't had breakfast. Have you?"

  "No, because someone demanded I get down here in thirty minutes."

  He offered an apologetic smile. "Let me buy you breakfast. I know a good place not too far from here."

  "Not far from here?" she echoed. "I'm surprised you wouldn't take me to the hotel restaurant."

  "It is excellent, but I have somewhere else in mind if you're game."

  "Lead the way." If she was going to trust him to take her to Argentina, she could trust him with choosing a place to eat.

  He held the ballroom door open for her and gave her a warm smile as she passed through. Since she'd agreed to go to Argentina with him, he'd visibly relaxed.

  Maybe she'd have a chance to get to know the real Nick over breakfast. It might help her figure out how to get him to loosen up and embrace the tango. If he did let down his guard, he might be amazing.

  There was a lot simmering beneath the surface of Nick Hunter. She just wondered if she was brave enough to go digging.

  Chapter Six

  Nick took Isabella down to the garage where his silver Mercedes convertible awaited. Once inside, he lowered the top and said, "It's a beautiful day. We might as well enjoy it."

  "Sounds good to me," she said, as he drove out of the garage. "I must say I didn't really expect you to drive a convertible." She grabbed a band out of her bag and pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

  He liked that he'd surprised her, because he knew her opinion of him wasn't that high. He couldn't blame her. He'd been a stiff-necked ass the last twenty-four hours
, but now that she'd agreed to go to Argentina with him, he felt like he might actually be able to dance the tango and buy the land he wanted so badly.

  "What kind of car do you drive?" he asked.

  "I don’t have a car at the moment. My apartment building charges a lot for parking spaces, so I take the bus or use a car service. It's a lot easier now that I don't have to stand out in the street and flag down a taxi. I can just go on my phone and call the nearest car."

  "Technology eases our lives once again," he murmured.

  "So where are we going?" she asked as he drove down a steep hill toward the bay.

  "Sausalito. A friend of mine owns a café on the water. She makes incredible waffles."

  "Friend as in girlfriend?" she asked curiously.

  "Friend as in friend."

  "It's hard to believe you're single and unattached. What's wrong with you?" she teased.

  "I've been told I'm too dedicated to work, not sensitive enough, and very unforthcoming with personal details."

  "Well, at least you have some self-awareness," she said dryly. "Do you agree with that assessment?"

  "I have been all those things," he admitted. "Building my business has not left me a lot of time for personal relationships. I've been a bad date and a worse boyfriend. So it's not really that surprising I'm single."

  "Don't you want more in your life than just a business? I doubt your hotels will keep you warm at night."

  "Someday, but not today. Surely, you can understand that. All of your goals appear to be business related."

  "That's a good point."

  "So what about you?" He shot her a quick look. "Why are you still single?"

  "Well, I'm not as old as you are, for one thing," she said with a laugh. "I'm only twenty-seven. I have plenty of time."

  "I'm not that far ahead of you at thirty-three."

  "You've really accomplished a lot for your age, Nick. I looked you up online last night, and your credentials are quite impressive."

  "You looked me up?"

  She gave an unrepentant shrug. "I like to know who my students are. I have to say, while I learned a great deal about your business, there wasn't much about you. I guess your former girlfriends kept their criticisms private. Aside from a few photos of you and super models, there wasn't much personal information."

  "Like I said, I'm busy—so busy the tabloids can't keep up with me."

  "I can't imagine what it would be like to have to dodge the press."

  "It's not fun to have camera flashes going off in your face and any woman you happen to stand next to proclaimed as the new love of your life."

  "Fame and money come with a cost."

  "They do," he said, and he wasn't just talking about the press.

  Isabella gave a little sigh as he drove over the Golden Gate Bridge.

  "Look at the view." She waved her hand toward the bay. "You can see forever; nothing but blue sky and blue water."

  "I'll take your word for it," he said, focusing on the Saturday traffic to Sausalito.

  "I haven't been out of the city in a few months. Sometimes I forget that there's another world away from San Francisco."

  "You'll be seeing more of the world very soon."

  "When exactly are we leaving for Argentina?"

  "Friday afternoon. It's a long flight, we'll get in Saturday morning. The performance is on Sunday night. We can fly back Monday, or if you'd like more time to explore, you can stay longer. Does that work?"

  "Yes, I was worried that it might be at the same time as my friend's bridal shower, but that's the following weekend. I definitely cannot miss the shower, as I'm one of the bridesmaids. And Liz would probably kill me."

  "You'll be back by then. Is Liz a long-time friend?"

  "Since college. I made some of closest friends my freshmen year in the dorms. We've stayed close since then."

  "That's impressive. Most people drift apart."

  "We worried about that, so we made a pact. No matter where we are or what we're doing we'll always stand up for each other at our weddings. Three down and five to go."

  "There are eight of you?"

  "Yes, one bride and seven bridesmaids at every wedding."

  "I've really never understood the concept of a huge bridal party. If a bride or groom needs that many people to get them down the aisle, maybe they shouldn't be getting married."

  Isabella laughed. "That's not the point of it. It's about being surrounded by your friends and feeling their love and support."

  "You should only need the love and support of the person you're exchanging vows with."

  "Well, that's true. Liz doesn't need us, but she wants us to be there, and we want to be there for her."

  "And everyone is showing up?"

  She nodded. "So far, it's worked out, but I have to admit there's been a flurry of engagements lately so it's getting a little crazy. Laurel and Andrea got married last year. Liz is tying the knot in June, and Julie is planning a November wedding for when her fiancé gets done with baseball."

  "Who is her fiancé?"

  "Matt Kingsley."

  "Really? Your friend is marrying the Cougar's star hitter?"

  "Yes. He's a great guy. Do you like baseball? I might be able to get us tickets to a game."

  "The hotel has season tickets, and I love baseball. I used to play when I was a kid."

  "What position?"

  "Pitcher."

  "Of course. You would like to be in a position to control the game."

  "I did like pitching," he admitted. "But the catcher actually calls the game, so the pitcher doesn't have all the power."

  "Close enough."

  "No sports for you?"

  "Just dance. Anything that involved hitting or kicking a ball was not in my skillset."

  He liked how honest and self-deprecating Isabella was. She never tried to portray herself in a more positive light. She was happy in her own skin, and he hadn't met too many people like that.

  "Liz was one of the best athletes in our group," Isabella continued. "She's a little like you—ambitious, competitive, and always wants to be the best. Fortunately, she also has a big heart and a fiercely loyal streak where her friends are concerned."

  "What does her fiancé do?"

  "He's in public relations now. So is Liz. In fact, they work together at Michael's sister's company. But Michael used to be a pro football player, and I think his aspirations lie more in coaching than in promotions."

  "What's his last name?"

  "Stafford."

  He nodded. "I've heard of him. What is it with your friends and professional athletes?"

  She laughed. "I have no idea. But Liz and Michael met in high school, long before he was a famous football player. They actually didn't like each other when they were kids. I guess what they say about love being the flip side of hate is true. Once Liz and Michael reconnected and got past the old rivalries, there was nothing but love." She paused. "Liz is getting married at the Stratton Hotel in Sonoma. My friend Maggie works there and got her a deal. Do you know the hotel?"

  "I do. I tried to buy it a few years ago, but the owner wouldn't sell. Apparently, she has a personal attachment to the place."

  She glanced over at him. "You make that sound unusual. Don't you have a personal attachment to your hotels?"

  "I love my hotels, but if it made sense to sell one, I would. If it's good business, I can't let emotion get in the way."

  She sighed. "I don't think I'm going to be a good businesswoman. I often let emotion get in the way. Just the other day I agreed to let two girls take lessons for free because they gave me a sob story about their single mom. I later found out they had two wonderful parents who just didn't want to spend money on dance until they got their grades up."

  "Did you kick them out?"

  "No, because I thought if they wanted to dance that much, they should be dancing. I did, however, speak to their parents, and we worked out a schedule where the girls have to do their homework befor
e they dance. That way we all win."

  "And the parents agreed?"

  "The mom said yes right away, but the dad kept saying dance was frivolous and the girls were wasting their time."

  "Well, isn't it a little frivolous?" he couldn't help asking.

  She frowned. "No. Dance is an art. Art is an important part of our culture."

  "But it doesn't pay the bills."

  "Sometimes it does."

  "Not for most dancers." He wondered more about her background. "You said you danced professionally before you got injured. Was that lucrative?"

  "I wasn't getting rich, but I could get by."

  "And you've never thought about going back to the theater?"

  "I'm a teacher now."

  He didn't usually like to dig that deep into a woman's life, but her restraint was only making him more curious. "It feels like you're leaving something out of your story."

  "I wasn't telling you a story," she returned. "I was a dancer. I'm not anymore. That's it."

  "And you don't miss dancing?"

  "I dance every day with my students."

  "That's not the same thing."

  "Dance is dance; it doesn't matter where you are or who you're doing it with." She paused, gazing over at him. "You'll see, Nick. Once you stop worrying about making the right steps, you'll fall in love with dance."

  "I seriously doubt that," he said, pulling off the freeway at the Sausalito exit.

  If he was going to fall in love, it wasn't going to be with dance, but it might just be with Isabella.

  That errant thought sent a disturbing wave of uneasiness through his head.

  He didn't do love. He didn't get attached.

  And Isabella was the type of woman would settle for nothing less than a man's heart and soul—definitely not the woman for him.

  * * *

  The Seagull Café was a tiny restaurant by the harbor in Sausalito. It looked more like a house than a restaurant with blue siding, white shutters and window boxes filled with flowers. Isabella was surprised by Nick's choice. The café looked warm and homey, not at all sophisticated, not at all the kind of place someone like Nick would go for breakfast.