by K Ayers
LOVE ME
THE VEGAS BOOK 1
K. AYERS
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persona, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 Kathleen Ayers
www.kathleenayers.com
All rights reserved.
Except for use in a review, no part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed orelectronic form without permission.
Published by Kathleen Ayers
ONE
Holy Crap.
Cassidy Davidson’s stomach was churning almost as much as the old Jeep Wrangler’s transmission as the vehicle lumbered up the mountainside towards the Vega estate. She put the Jeep into low gear, ignoring the gasp of the engine as it trudged up the mountainside. Even though the road was wide and paved, the Jeep had seen better days and the gears stuck as she shifted. Miriam, her boss, told her to stick to the budget, and the Jeep was the cheapest rental found in San Miguel Allende.
The Vega hacienda, a ‘cozy cottage’ as her boss Miriam Logan referred to it, stood at the peak of this particular mountain. Cassidy couldn’t recall the name of the mountain. Even if she could, her Spanish was deplorable. Embarrassing really. She’d tried to listen to language tapes on the plane down to Mexico but kept falling asleep.
Cozy cottage, my ass.
The large estate peeking through the carefully manicured gardens looked more like something from “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.” Not remotely cozy. Visiting grandiose homes was common in her work for Luxe but the amount of money some individuals spent on houses never failed to astound her.
She slowed the Jeep as a guardhouse came into view. Just to the left of the guardhouse was an imposing wrought-iron gate. A large bald man wearing sunglasses came out of the guardhouse and motioned for her to roll down the window. He didn’t speak.
“Hi. I’m Cassidy Davidson with Luxe Properties.” She held out her business card and passed the man her license. “I’m expected.”
The man reminded her of a gorilla in a suit. As far as she could tell, the guard didn’t possess a neck. His head seemed to sit right on top of his beefy shoulders. The polarized sunglasses hid his eyes, but Cassidy got the feeling the guard was giving her the once over. She gave him a nervous smile as her stomach gave another unfortunate lurch. She’d been to plenty of grand homes but nothing like what she could see through the gate.
Grunting, he took the license from her outstretched hand and stared at her for several seconds. Handing back her license, he meandered around the Jeep, stopping to peek in the windows, and glance underneath the vehicle before turning back to stand before her.
“Bueno.” Walking back to the guardhouse, he picked up the phone inside and spoke rapid Spanish into the receiver.
Cassidy chose to overlook the gun holstered at his back. Miriam warned her before the trip that many of the very wealthy Mexican families employed bodyguards.
The gate swung open. Putting the vehicle into first gear, she drove up the driveway, looking in wonder at her surroundings. The Vega estate was stunning. She could make out two guest cottages on the other side of the main house and what looked like an outdoor gazebo. Rows of neatly planted grapevines sloped down to disappear at the farthest edge of the property.
“This is like something out of a Telenovela,” she said to herself.
Cassidy followed the drive as it snaked around the vineyard, pausing to take several photos for the brochure. Stunning vistas greeted her at every turn.
If Miriam’s sister hadn’t gone into premature labor, Cassidy wouldn’t even be in San Miguel de Allende. Luxe was only a part-time job to help pay the bills while she worked on her P.H.D in Historical Architecture at Rice University in Houston.
Luxe was Miriam Logan’s real estate firm specializing in luxury sales and rentals for the very wealthy. Houston was full of the uber-rich, including a large community of ex-pats from Mexico City. Cassidy’s duties usually entailed traveling to various mansions in Houston and the surrounding area then wrote descriptive blurbs about the property. Her love of architecture was a natural fit. Typically, she didn’t leave Texas, or even Houston, but Miriam had begged. Landing the Vega rental was a huge feather in Miriam’s cap.
“And I get to see the church,” she said under her breath, “and scads of colonial buildings. Fountains. Courtyards.” The drive curved slightly before ascending once more to deposit Cassidy and the Jeep in front of one of the most beautiful homes she’d ever seen. Miriam had said Alejandro Vega was worth millions. She hadn’t lied.
Cassidy could see instantly that at least part of the house was colonial in style. If it was original that meant that Alejandro Vega’s home dated back to the late 1700s. She got goosebumps just looking at the stonework.
The house was a faded sepia color with a spray of bougainvillea crawling up the stucco walls. The vines sagged under the weight of brilliant pink flowers as they spiraled around a pair of large windows in the front. Double doors, heavy and ornate stood at the top of a series of tiled steps.
The house looked like it belonged on a postcard. Or in one of her textbooks. She could hardly wait to get inside and look around. Hopefully, the housekeeper or a caretaker could tell her the history of the home. According to Miriam, Alejandro Vega was in Mexico City where his company, Vega Petrol was headquartered. His brother, Luis Vega, had set up the rental and Cassidy’s visit. Alejandro would not be in residence. Thank God. Miriam confided Alejandro Vega was difficult and he wasn’t especially keen on renting out his house.
Alejandro Vega was known for being the CEO of one of Mexico’s largest oil companies, his brilliance in petroleum engineering, and his penchant to date gorgeous women. Miriam had spoken to him on the phone and deemed him brusque, arrogant, and full of himself. At least that was her assessment. Which meant Vega hadn’t responded to Miriam’s sugar sweet Southern charm.
Alejandro Vega didn’t sound like someone Cassidy needed to run into. She’d had her fill of snobby rich men before she’d even heard of Vega. Back in grad school, Cassidy became involved with Chad, youngest son of a hedge fund father and his debutante wife. Chad was her boyfriend for nearly a year. When he took her to the Hamptons for a visit, Cassidy caught Chad in a compromising situation with his former girlfriend, Morgan, in the family’s boathouse.
The image of Morgan on her knees and Chad with his pants down was an image Cassidy would never forget. She walked out of the boathouse that day and called an Uber to take her to the airport. Stupidly, she forgave Chad, but two days after an awesome weekend of makeup sex, he’d texted her it was over. Chad and Morgan married a year ago and honeymooned on a private yacht off the coast of France.
Cassidy thought she was in love. Chad had been slumming.
Stepping out of the Jeep and grabbing her camera, Cassidy pushed Chad out of her thoughts. She smoothed down her pale green linen dress, wishing linen didn’t wrinkle so much. Even though she was only meeting the housekeeper, she nevertheless wanted to present herself as professional. The platform sandals were definitely a bad call. Navigating the cobblestones of the driveway was a challenge. It took all her concentration to get to the front door without falling on her ass.
She pressed the doorbell and waited, checking her folder to make sure she had everything ready. Miriam told her to take the photos and do the write up. Mr. Vega was supposed to sign the rental agreement electronically, although Cassidy also had a paper copy to leave behind with the caretaker. If Cassidy could get the photos, she could finish the write-up and the brochure and have the next few days to herself. Tonight, she had an online class from Rice that would take up most
of her evening, and then tomorrow she had an appointment with the San Miguel museum to view a collection of books on architechture. Her last full day she hoped to visit the church of La Parroquia de San Miguel Arcángel, the most photographed church in Mexico. The church was a last-minute addition to her research. It was one reason she’d allowed Miriam to talk her into this trip. Cassidy would have one hell of a dissertation.
Alejandro Cooper Vega heard the tinkling of the doorbell but didn’t move to answer it. Marisol would answer the door. Wasn’t that why he had a housekeeper? Marisol nearly had a fit when he arrived late last night from Mexico City. Unexpectedly. That had been fun. Watching the entire staff of the hacienda suddenly come to life as his car came up the drive, scrambling about like ants to ready the house. It had been almost a year since his last visit. No wonder his staff was a bit lax.
He still wasn’t completely onboard with his brother’s idea to rent out the house. Strangers, he’d argued with Luis, probably drunk Americans, would wander around his house, spill wine on his furniture and swim in his pool. Not to mention fucking in his bed. Honestly, it would be better to sell the estate completely, but Luis wouldn’t hear of it. He insisted that once Alejandro moved Vega Petrol’s headquarters to Houston, he would want to come to San Miguel de Allende for holidays. Or to entertain business associates.
‘You can’t sell the house.’ Luis insisted. ‘You’ll regret it. Who cares that Marta did the renovations? She has good taste. Except for dating you.’
“Luis is the one who wants to use this house. San Miguel is very trendy just now,” he said under his breath. After speaking to the Luxe agent on the phone, Alejandro decided he would come to San Miguel and meet with the woman himself. Miriam Logan was a chatty, overly friendly woman with a grating voice who annoyed Alejandro the moment she opened her mouth. There was no way he would allow a woman like that into his house without supervision.
◆◆◆
A soft knock sounded on the bedroom door. “Senor Vega?” Just the top of Marisol’s dark head popped through the door. “The Luxe agent is here.” The maid looked down at the floor as if studying the design of the tiles.
Why did Marisol always act as if he would bite her if she got too close? “Put our guest in the formal living room, please.”
“Si, Senor Vega.”
The footsteps padded away from the door as Marisol returned to lead his guest into the living room. The Luxe agent could wait a few minutes. Miriam Logan could sit and count the amount of money she would make if he allowed her to rent his house.
Alejandro liked this house even though he didn’t spend much time here. He’d bought it on a whim to give Marta something to do. His former girlfriend was an interior decorator and owned an art gallery. Luis hadn’t exaggerated. Marta had wonderful taste. She knew which fabrics would complement the original stone and she’d chosen the art that hung on the walls. She’d also restored the exposed stone of the walls and refinished the exquisite floor tiles and wood beams. Marta directed the gardeners to create the masterpiece of plants and flowers that surrounded the house. Alejandro’s only contribution had been to write the checks and insist on adding a pool to the nearly two hundred-year-old house.
Sometimes Alejandro imagined himself the patron of some ancient family living in this hacienda, the father of a brood of children and a beautiful wife. Pity that love and marriage weren’t part of the Vega DNA. One only had to look at Javier Vega, his father, to see that. Five children with four different wives. His father was currently dating a young model who seemed determined to be the next ex-Senora Vega.
While love was definitely on Marta’s agenda, it hadn’t been on Alejandro’s. Marta had lasted the longest of all his paramours, but Alejandro had been clear with her on his opinions of marriage. When he’d found her in the arms of a Colombian soccer player ten years her junior, Alejandro should have been incensed. Instead, he’d been annoyed that Marta made a scene. She was always making a scene. Relieved that the relationship was finally over, Alejandro wished her well and went to have a drink with his brother. He’d felt nothing when he saw Marta and her soccer player in bed. Not anger. Not jealousy. It bothered him he hadn’t. One ex-girlfriend told Alejandro he wasn’t capable of emotion.
He glanced at himself as he walked past the floor-length mirror that graced one wall of the master suite. The custom-tailored Armani suit he wore fit perfectly. He didn’t want to give Miriam Logan the idea that this was anything other than a business meeting. Why Luis offered the rental listing to Luxe was beyond Alejandro. He wondered if his brother was sleeping with Miriam Logan.
Probably.
Pasting on his ‘boardroom smile’, Alejandro walked through the bedroom door to greet his guest. Annoyed at having to handle a whim of his brother, he meant to keep the meeting short. Miriam Logan could take her pictures and leave a rental contract for him to sign at his convenience. Or not.
TWO
Shit.
The housekeeper who didn’t understand English, lead Cassidy into a large, airy room with heavy furniture and motioned for her to sit. The woman kept saying Señor Vega followed by a string of Spanish. A sick feeling of dread unfurled in Cassidy’s stomach. She should phone Miriam. Alejandro Vega was not supposed to be here.
She tried to excuse herself, but the housekeeper ignored her. Cassidy made it halfway across the room before stopping in her tracks as a man walked into the living room. Not just any man. A beautiful man. Maybe the most beautiful, utterly gorgeous man Cassidy had ever seen. He walked towards her with a confident, self-assured stride pausing only to say something to the housekeeper.
The housekeeper nodded and pointed at Cassidy.
Double shit.
His eyes swept over her in masculine assessment and the room suddenly grew warm. His eyes were the color of the sky on a clear summer day. An amazing blue that was a striking contrast to the inky black of his hair and olive skin.
She knew she was staring but couldn’t seem to look away.
Oh, for God’s sake.
Cassidy had often heard the phrase, “he wears clothes well” and Vega was living proof of that. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that his suit was custom tailored. And horribly expensive. The clothing moved gracefully against his body as he came closer. A goatee and the line of a beard stretched along his jawline.
He showed no surprise at her reaction. Cassidy was sure women stared at Alejandro Vega on a regular basis. Had he not been an engineer and CEO he could easily have earned his living as a model.
“You are the agent from Luxe?” Even his voice was beautiful. A deep tenor with just the barest hint of an accent. “You are Miriam Logan?” He sounded surprised.
Well, Mr. Vega that makes two of us.
“Yes. I mean no.” She sounded like an idiot. Her awareness of Vega was making her nervous. The living room felt as if it were shrinking around her.
I need to quit staring at him.
The goatee wasn’t entirely black. As he drew closer, Cassidy could see threads of gray in it.
“Which is it?” The dark brows lifted above those startling blue eyes. He seemed annoyed.
“I’m Cassidy Davidson. I’m with Luxe Properties.” She composed herself enough to stick out her hand in greeting. “I apologize for being surprised. I wasn’t expecting you, Mr. Vega.”
He took her hand, the warmth of his touch sending a delicious shiver down Cassidy’s spine.
“Who else would you expect, Ms. Davidson? It is my house. Were you expecting my brother?” He had beautiful hands. A light scent of citrus clung to him, mixed with something spicy. The aroma was intoxicating.
“Your brother?” She shook her head in confusion. “No, I thought perhaps a caretaker. Miriam told me you were not in residence.”
He released her hand slowly as if he knew sparks were flying down her wrist. Cassidy sensed he was pleased she didn’t know his brother.
“Then I am a surprise, no? Please, sit, Ms. Davidson.” He motioned to the couc
h and moved to sit across from her.
“I suppose so.” Her heart was fluttering madly. He was just a man. An incredibly sexy man who looked at her with interest flickering in the depths of his cobalt blue eyes.
Cassidy knew she was cute. Passably pretty. But Vega’s interest surprised her. Her heart beat harder in her chest.
A small crease appeared in his forehead. “I would ask you to call me Alejandro, but based on your pronunciation of my last name, I will assume that you do not speak Spanish.”
“My Spanish has a lot to be desired.”
“At least you are honest. You will be happy to know you won’t need to speak Spanish in San Miguel. My housekeeper, Marisol, does not speak English, but she is probably the only person in all of San Miguel who does not. The city is filled with expats from the U.S. And Canada. English is spoken everywhere.” A lazy smile accompanied his words. “Except here, of course. Marisol would not have been an adequate tour guide.”
The heat of his gaze seeped through her skin. When Alejandro Vega smiled like that he no longer appeared cold and intimidating. How many women shucked their clothes and fell into his bed after seeing that smile? Dozens, no doubt.
“It appears you are stuck with me, Ms. Davidson, to give you the walk-through. But I will tell you, I am not completely comfortable with the rental of this property. My brother Luis dabbles in real estate, not I.”
That was an understatement. Luis Vega was well known for the developments he financed with his Texas-based partner. Miriam said Luis, who she’d met at a charity event in River Oaks, was sex on a stick. Cassidy found it hard to believe any man could top Alejandro in that department.
“Miriam mentioned meeting your brother at a benefit for M.D. Anderson Hospital. I’m sorry she’s not here to discuss the rental with you directly. A family emergency kept her from coming to San Miguel. I will do my best to address your concerns about renting with Luxe.”
