“I thought you were better than this, Saint, especially after yesterday.” With that she threw her fiery hair over her shoulder and stalked away.
“If we’re done with the dramatics?” Leo pointed to the water. “You walking out of the water. Teena is resting in the water. Come on, people, positions!”
Teena flashed him a come-and-get-me glance, which Santiago ignored. He watched Esme for a long time, hoping she would turn back and knowing she wouldn’t allow that kind of weakness. Once she was hidden from view Santiago turned reluctantly to the water. Surf God Plunders Fan, he thought to himself, imagining the image as a newspaper headline. Didn’t matter. His reputation could take it and if a little annoyance like this photo shoot would help save Casa Constance, he’d suck it up and get the job done. This campaign would pull in the last guests the villa would ever see.
Squinting, Santiago focused on the photographer. As soon as his finger clicked down, Santiago stood with his hands on his hips.
“We’ve done adventure, relaxation, and sex. We need to add in some family-friendly and romance-heavy shots. What about the wedding dress?”
“I’m ready to get married,” Teena chimed in from her position on the sand. Santiago ignored her.
Leo twisted his mouth and then called to one of the surfers and another female model to change from beach gear into formal wear. Santiago sighed. Good, the shoot was getting back on track. He glanced up the hill. No sign of Esme. Another sigh escaped. She would expect an apology, but Dios, he wasn’t offering one up.
“Saint! While the bride and groom are finishing up, I wanted to pass a few other shots by you.” Leo stood just outside the tent housing playback machines, video equipment, and computer screens. Santiago trudged through the sand and into the tent. “You know how the morning shoot went, but I actually arrived last night hoping for a few sunset shots. I think you’ll like what I have.”
Santiago clicked through one, two, five shots before he said anything. “Madre de Dios,” he whispered as he looked at the images on the screen.
“Nice, huh? Your romance shot ideas? These are perfect. You and that hot desk assistant by the pool, standing on the third floor terrace, feeding one another in the kitchen. I thought you’d seen me at least three times but just in case I kept quiet. She won’t object to being part of the feature, will she?”
Santiago swallowed hard and ordered his nether regions to behave. The image of him feeding a grape to Esme, clad in a bikini top and sarong, left way too little to the imagination. By the time they’d made it to the kitchen the scent of eucalyptus that surrounded her was gone. She had smelled like him. He clicked back, focusing on the picture of Esme standing on the terrace, her slim body bracketed by his arms as they looked out to sea. Her eyes were soft, her body pressed into his. Leo captured a devastating moment with the click of his camera. Combined with the image of them sitting on one of the poolside cabanas reading, these pictures would light up the phone lines. If only she would let them use it. This was the kind of sex he’d hoped to portray in the ad campaign. Seductive sensuality. The pictures held so much more punch than anything they’d shot on the beach that morning.
Or maybe that was only because the pictures let him imagine Esmerelda loved him. He looked closely at his face in the cabana shot. He looked like stupid Mark Darcy reading Bridget’s diary in that film. In love. Love? Could he be in love with Esme? No, he wasn’t. A little obsessed, perhaps, but not in love. Santiago Cruz did not fall in love, he reminded himself. He liked, seriously liked, but he did not love.
“I’ll take your stunned silence as a ‘Leo, you’re amazing’ and hold them in the keeper file. We’ll need a release from the girl, but you can handle that later. Chase!” Leo called through the tent flap as the other surfer walked onto the sand in his tux. “Listen, Saint, we don’t need you for a few more minutes. Why don’t you go convince the hot receptionist to join us so we can finish by lunch?”
Leo clapped Santiago on the shoulder and hurried onto the sand to direct the bridal shots, leaving Santiago to stare at the images of Esme on the screen.
Dios, he would have to apologize now. She would run screaming into the Mexican afternoon before letting him use these pictures in an advertisement, but use them he would. He would simply charm her into agreeing with his position. There were no two ways around it. The charming had to start with an apology.
*
Esme angrily stuffed another file into the proper place in Constance’s antique mahogany filing cabinet, berating herself for looking out the office window just one more time. Of course Santiago was going along with whatever that ridiculous photographer and crew told him. He was in the middle of a huge ego-stroke which he’d obviously been missing since he left the surfing circuit. Having twenty people fawn all over him was probably part and parcel of his life. The part she obviously didn’t belong in.
She grabbed another file as two swift taps sounded at the door. Santiago. No one else would knock at an open door.
No one else, save Gloriana, was in the villa. They were all planning the spoils of their Sex On The Beach campaign. She steeled her spine, grabbed a few more files, and turned.
God, he looked gorgeous leaning against the doorjamb with his left foot crossed over the right. The morning hours in the sun had kissed his shoulders and chest half a shade darker. Meanwhile she was covered with freckles from their week-long excursions. His hair still dripped with salt water and he hadn’t bothered to grab a shirt before he left that ridiculous tent filled with ridiculous people.
“Good morning, Santiago,” she said, proud that her voice didn’t wobble even a little bit. She ignored the fact that the sting she intended to put in the words didn’t quite make it past her lips.
“It is nearly noon, Esmerelda,” he said, drawing out her name the way he did when he wanted something. What? Her approval? He didn’t need that. For the next three months he could do whatever he pleased with the villa and she was powerless to stop it, agreement scratched on a napkin or not.
“I think you got the wrong idea down on the beach,” he continued. “We’ve been shooting a lot more than just sexy pictures and I think if you came down you’d see that.”
Esme rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen enough from up here, Saint. I don’t need a front row seat to know that you threw out the playbook for our upscale, trendy photo shoot when the models showed up this morning.”
“I didn’t throw out the playbook, I called an audible—and stop making me talk in sports terms. And what do you mean you’ve seen enough from up here? Were you spying on us from your almighty office?” A small tick began at the corner of his right eye and his fists clenched. “Rather than coming down, doing your part as the owner of the villa, you chose to spy on the workers and then undermine everyone’s confidence with your—”
“Oh, please, no one cared about my opinion. You are the media darling, after all.”
“Don’t start that with me again. It isn’t my fault I was born into a successful family or that I fell backwards into a career that put my face on the cover of magazines. We did a damn good job on the ad photos this morning which you’d know—” he stalked over to the window “—if you’d bothered to do more than watch us from a distance.” He turned, puzzled. “You can barely see the beach from here.”
Esme flushed. “I saw plenty.” Plenty of Santiago’s skin flush against that gorgeous model.
“With what? Binoculars?”
The flush deepened and Esme whirled around to put more files in the drawers.
“You were watching us work, through binoculars, like some kind of. . . what, police officer? You were staking us out? Dios, Esmerelda, you’re supposed to run this villa in six months’ time. That means taking part in decisions, not watching from on high and then handing down a sentence your workers don’t deserve.”
He would never understand, Esme knew, so she didn’t try to explain that as soon as the models and surfers appeared this morning she felt out of her depth. These p
eople played in the world while she picked up their dirty dishes and made up their beds. Worse, she knew the second they saw her they would see how head over heels in love she was and pity her. So she’d grabbed her most professional suit, spent an hour making up her face so that no trace of anything but professional distance shown through and avoided their presence as long as possible.
“I wasn’t watching from on high and I wasn’t staking you out. I was working. We talked about this,” she said and desperately grabbed on to the conditions she added to their deal. “I like morning office hours to catch up on paperwork.”
“What paperwork? The ad crew downstairs are the only guests in more than a month. You’ve filed Constance’s hospital bills and the mortgage payment cards, and created some kind of weird alphabetical system for deliveries—”
“How do you know about my system?”
“I needed to double check one of the Monday deliveries and you were still sleeping.” He shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. These guests whose paperwork you’ve been ‘filing’ haven’t charged anything to their rooms, they haven’t eaten any meals. Why don’t you stop hiding from your job and embrace all of the challenges it offers?”
He didn’t raise his voice, but Esme felt shamed all the same. She hadn’t been hiding, she was only. . . hiding, she admitted. From the crew, from his friends. From him. Because that fall on the surfboard had messed everything up. She should be mad at him for taking her out in the water, for exposing her to all that adrenaline. She wasn’t, though. She liked the adrenaline. She liked him.
She loved him, and he was leaving in just over five months. He wanted her but he didn’t need her.
Sadly, she shook her head. “I don’t want to fight and I don’t need more challenges, Santiago, just making sure Casa survives is challenge enough for me.” Handing over a sheaf of papers, Esme sat behind her desk and clasped her hands on the blotter. “I wrote up the ad copy and roughed out a couple of advertorials for the magazines. There you go. My morning’s work.” Work she was proud of until she realized she was fighting for something she couldn’t have.
He sat, crossing one bare leg over the opposite knee, thumbing through her work. Every inch the professional despite his casual attire. “These are good,” he said, placing one page behind another. “Better than good. Perfect.” Santiago tossed the papers to the desk, grabbed Esme’s hand, and pulled her to her feet. “Come with me,” he instructed and half dragged her from the office.
“I know how to walk, Saint,” she said when they crossed from the parking lot to the wooden steps leading to the beach. “You can let go of my hand now.”
“And let you return to your hidey-hole? I don’t think so.” He marched with her across the sand, barely slowing down for her to pull the strappy, spike-heeled sandals from her feet. Santiago kept walking, past the photographer and a bride-and-groom couple, past the assistant holding a giant silver circle reflecting sunlight onto the pretending-to-be-newlywed couple, and into the tent.
Where Esmerelda’s own face peered from one of the screens looking as if bliss was a mere heartbeat away. Who had taken candid shots of her with Santiago last night?
“Before you take another bite out of me, I had no idea Leo arrived early until he showed me these pictures an hour ago.”
Esme released the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding and reached toward the screen. Leo had captured the essence of romance when he snapped the picture of Esme pressed against Santiago on the terrace, he’d put sensuality on the screen with the image of Santiago feeding her a grape, and made it seem old and yet still new with the picture of them reading on the chaise.
“Oh. My. God.” All the feelings she hid behind her suit were exposed for everyone to see. He’d probably already guessed she was back under his spell. Nothing to do about it now.
“That better be a good thing because there is no way I’m re-creating these pictures with Teena.”
“Better than good. These are. . . magic.” Esme turned to face Santiago, refusing to show her embarrassment because her feelings for this man who annoyed and attracted her were all over the computer screens. “This is exactly what I hoped we would get today.”
“Me, too.”
“Then why all the sex on the beach shots?”
He reached a hand up to trace her hairline. “Because sex does sell, pequeña, and we aren’t going to put all of our eggs in the luxury travel, family-friendly magazines. But I am sorry I didn’t make a point to get you down to the beach this morning.”
“Me, too. For not coming down here first thing.”
“Why didn’t you?” His brow creased as if her answer was the most important thing in his life at that moment.
I needed a little space from you. I need to keep my distance because you’re leaving. But she couldn’t pour her heart out to a man who didn’t commit. She might love this crazy, insufferable man, but how could he understand how out of her depth she had felt? Not just with the work, but with the people? On paper, Esme measured up to be a great hotelier. Could he understand that she wasn’t sure she measured up in real life? So, instead of confessing, she stuck with what she knew: work.
“I wanted to make sure the guest’s rooms were perfect and then there was the check-in paperwork. Marquez isn’t coming in today so I wanted to get started and then—”
“Liar.” But the words were sweet against her skin. “You’re here now and I need a signature release on these pictures so we can wow high-end travelers next month.”
“Esme! Miss Esme,” Gloriana called from the beach. Waving a thin envelope, she hurried across the sand. “A messenger came, he said this was urgent and should be opened right away.”
No return label on the envelope. She opened it and pulled away from Santiago. Her stomach dropped and she swallowed hard. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. She repeated the words silently as she grabbed for a pen and scribbled her name across Santiago’s photo release. In the grand scheme of things, the invitation in her hand didn’t matter. What mattered was Casa Constance and the ad campaign that might save it.
“Esme?” Santiago reached for her but Esme avoided the contact, shoving the release into his hands and dropping the invitation on the table.
“You should have answered at least one of the phone calls. The pleasure of your company has been requested at Isla Magdalena. It’s your father’s birthday party, don’t be late,” Esme said and walked away from Santiago on legs that felt like Jell-O.
Chapter Eleven
“She is your match, pequeño.”
“She is a good friend, Mama,” Santiago said. He looked across the dance floor to Esme, half hiding behind a palm branch. She wore the purple sheath again, and this time he vowed to see the kind of lingerie she chose beneath it.
He wanted her. The realization was a lightning bolt to his brain. Since she blew onto the beach this morning and then stormed back off after delivering the invitation he’d wanted to talk to her. But instead of talking he’d coerced her into coming to this party where she was obviously uncomfortable.
He wanted her to be happy, yet he was tearing away the home she loved. He was no kind of friend to her.
“She is more than a friend, mi hijo. Don’t try to fool your old mother.” Magdalena Cruz looked into Santiago’s eyes and for a second he was a young boy again with a vivacious mother who loved to laugh. A boy considering telling his mother he was in love, but this wasn’t the time and his mother wasn’t the woman to confide his secrets in. At least not this secret. For now, it had to be enough that there were no shadows in her eyes. “Tell me, when can your lovely friend come and have lunch with me?”
When hell freezes over. Of course, he couldn’t say that, not to Magdalena because she wasn’t the problem. The glowering man at the head table—the only man in the world who didn’t want to celebrate his birthday—was.
“We’re very busy readying Casa for guests. Why don’t you stop in for lunch one day? Gloriana would love to cook for yo
u.”
“Oh, Santiago, that sounds wonderful.” Her eyes shuttered as she looked through the terrace doors. “But I need to tell her all about Cruz men. What better place than home?”
“Ahh, Mama, but no two Cruz men are the same,” Santiago teased. A frown crossed his mother’s face and he wanted to kick himself. Rather than laughing with him, she would take the comment as a recrimination. He squeezed her hand, but she was lost to him.
At a tap on his shoulder, he turned. Eduardo. Santiago tensed for a confrontation.
“How are things at my villa?”
“It isn’t yours yet, Father—”
“No business talk tonight.” Magdalena’s voice lost a bit of its depth with the words and her fingers tightened on Santiago’s wrist. “Tonight we celebrate my husband’s life.”
Santiago clenched his jaw. What was there about his father to celebrate?
“I would like to dance with my beautiful wife on my birthday.” The words had the desired effect, at least on Magdalena. She smiled prettily and willingly went into her husband’s arms. Before Santiago could say anything Eduardo swept Magdalena into the crowd of dancers.
*
Esme told herself she was there for purely mercenary reasons. The excuse lasted for all of five minutes. Watching the formally attired crowd from a corner while she pretended to sip a glass of champagne, Esme admitted the truth. She was at the party for Santiago. The craziness of the photo shoot aside, she trusted him to keep the whole truth about the villa to himself. He’d saved her life when she stupidly fell into the ocean. He’d been honest about his accident and from what she had been able to find on the Internet, he had cut his ties with his family.
No, she wasn’t here to catch Santiago in the act of giving up company secrets—and how melodramatic was that? She was standing in this corner because he asked her to be there.
From what she could see, he didn’t need her here, either. He wanted her here. That was enough for Esme.
As Eduardo twirled Magdalena around the dance floor, Santiago headed straight for Esme’s side, a strange expression on his face. Anger? No. Concern, perhaps. For her? Esme couldn’t image why.
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