After Hours Bundle (41 page)

“Just because I have kids doesn't mean I'm
dead.
” To his horror, Heather began to cry.

He stared at her, aghast.

“You think I'm a tramp, don't you?”

“No, no, no, no, no! I think you're a lovely lady,” Alejandro said desperately. “Really.”

“You think I'm ugly.”

“No! You are gloriously, stunningly beautiful.”

“Then you think I'm fat.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I do not think you're fat. You're like a—” he searched wildly “—a gazelle!”

“Now you're calling me an animal?”

“It was a compliment! Gazelle—you know, graceful. Svelte!
Dainty.
”

“You don't
waaaaaaant
me,” she moaned.

“I do. I want you, Heather, more than—than words can say. Madly. Passionately.”

“You do?”

He nodded, his hand over his heart. “But first, we must paint your toenails, yes?”

She gave a woeful sniff. “Uh-huh.”

“Excellent. Now, give me your scrumptious foot,
mi corazon.
Let me make it as lovely as the rest of you.”

Heather stuck out her foot and her lip at the same time while he thought wildly of what disease or disability to claim so that he could get out of this mess.

She sulked for a while.

Syphilis? Or erectile dysfunction? Eeny meeny miny mo, catch a whopper by its toe…please, lady, just let me go!

Then the heavens intervened. “By the way, you should know that I'm not really in the mood anymore, Alejandro.”

Praise God and all His angels.
Alejo dredged up a wounded expression. “But…I am devastated.”

She shrugged and tossed her hair over her shoulder. Then she folded her arms across her chest and pressed her knees firmly together. If he hadn't been so relieved, he might have poked his eyes out with the cuticle stick.

Women.
Hard enough to understand them when they were sober. He couldn't keep up with their lightning changes of mood then, much less adding alcohol to the equation. All he knew was that he'd been spared, thanks be to Jesus.

Alejandro polished Heather's toes for the second time that night, and then escaped from the room, only to run into Peggy Underwood, his other partner.

Peg, the spa's massage therapist, stuck her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat and looked pointedly at his crotch. Her eyebrows climbed into her hair. “Alejo, did your client try to Bobbitt you?”

He could feel his face sizzling. “No. She, um…”

“Tried to play footsie with your tootsie?”

“That about covers it.”

Peggy grinned. “Sweetie, it's gotten to the point where we can tell which women are your clients. The ones who come in for their pedicures in short skirts. They're absolutely shameless!”

“Yeah, tell me about it. I can't keep doing this, Peggy. If my buddies find out…” He shook his head.

“Alejandro. Since you've been doing pedicures, our revenue on them has shot sky-high. Like it or not, your fifty-dollar pedicures are bringing in over two thousand dollars a week, and don't tell me to hire someone else, because it's
you
they want. Shirlie tells me we get calls all the time, asking for the guy who looks like Jesse Metcalfe from
Desperate Housewives.
If you're not available, they say they'll wait.”

“But it's humiliating!” he complained. “You don't understand. Peruvian men don't give manicures or pedicures. They just don't! You have no idea what will happen if this gets out. I will be branded
rosquete,
be the butt of jokes, kicked off the soccer team!”

“What's a
rosquete?
” Peggy asked.

Alejandro shuddered. “It's very rude. It means big doughnut, and it's used to describe gay men.”

Peg snorted with laughter.

“It's not funny!” he hissed. “Not at all.”

“Sorry,” she said, trying and failing to smother her mirth.

“I'm telling you, I cannot do this anymore.”

She sobered. “Alejo, it's just until we get the business loans paid down. You said it yourself.”

“Yes, and my MBA loan, and—There's no end in sight. Meanwhile I'm dying inside every time I touch a woman's foot or hand!”

“Sweetie, how many men would beg to be mauled by beautiful women all day long?”

He growled.

“Plenty of Asian men do nails. Why shouldn't you?”

He growled again.

“I know, I know. But we'll keep your secret. None of the clients even know your real name, Señor Manos, and your friends just think you're an owner. It will be fine. Our secret. Just for a few more months.”

He groaned and swiped a hand over his face. “You don't understand.
Latino men do not give manicures!
”

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, Alejandro sat in dark slacks and a pressed white shirt in his marketing class, one of the requirements for the Executive MBA program at the University of Miami.

As usual, his gaze strayed from the professor's scintillating discussion of economics to the profile of Kate Spinney, a fellow classmate.

Kate's face was all angles and planes and chiseled features—like a young Katharine Hepburn. Even in her baggy, frayed khaki pants and oversize man's blue oxford shirt, her feet stuck into beat-up, brown penny loafers, Kate was gorgeous. And as far as he could tell, completely unaware of her looks.

Penny loafers. God, they were ugly! Women in Miami did not wear such things. They wore high-heeled, strappy, sexy sandals. They wore ankle bracelets and toe rings. They did not wear men's shoes or shapeless clothing.

But Alejandro had observed Kate for months now, and he couldn't imagine her in sexy, strappy heels or low-slung, skintight pants that bared her belly.

When it came to fashion, she was a walking disaster, and when it came to social grace…His mouth twisted wryly. Kate certainly hadn't been born in the South.

At the meet-and-greet cocktail party that kicked off the first semester of the program, she'd stood forlornly in her loafers, clutching a bottle of beer in her scrawny hands. She'd shredded the label using her ragged, unpolished nails within minutes, and she shook hands like a man: no nonsense, vice-like grip, brief nod and sketchy introduction. “Hi, I'm Kate Spinney from Boston.”

No, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” or “Nice to meet you.” Just the identifying tag and the impersonal hand-squeeze. That was Kate.

She had the intellectual capacity of a mainframe computer, and Alejandro wondered why she wasn't studying business at Harvard or Yale or Wharton. Overall, she seemed the sort of person who belonged in Miami about as much as a hooker belonged in a convent.

He was curious; intrigued. And he didn't know why, since his tastes in women usually ran to black hair, C-cup and size eight. Kate had springy, crazy, ginger-brown hair, tiny breasts that he'd guess were an A-minus and she'd be lucky to be a size two. In short, she was built like a string mop. And yet…he thought about her.

She wasn't an everyday, average woman, and he'd detected a hidden sense of humor behind her Yankee reserve. Every once in a while her green eyes went warm and sparkled with a sense of the ridiculous, etching lines of sweetness around her mouth. There was more to Kate than met the eye.

He turned his attention back to Professor Kurtz, a big burly guy with small eyes in a slab of face. But Alejandro couldn't stop his eyes from wandering back over Kate's messy, wiry curls and the way they clung to her delicate neck.

Kurtz was waxing poetic on the intricacies of supply and demand, using a certain brand of baby lotion as an example when Kate called out, “Excuse me, but that's incorrect.”

All eyes in the small auditorium swiveled to her, and then to Kurtz and then back to her.

The professor bristled. “What do you mean, incorrect?”

“I mean that your information is wrong. In 2002, Johnson & Johnson wasn't even marketing that product.”

“My information is reliable.”

“Johnson didn't put that new lotion formula onto the shelves until spring of 2003. They were still product-testing in 2002. I know this because Spinney Industries is their main competitor, and we introduced our version of that lotion in October of 2001, gaining the edge in the market.”

Kurtz blinked his small eyes rapidly. After a pause, he said, “Fine. Thank you, Miss Spinney.”

“You're welcome. And it's Ms., please.”

A collective rustle went through the class, some students hiding grins and snickers behind their hands. Kate appeared oblivious to this and the glare that Kurtz sent in her direction. She just swung her loafer-clad foot over her knee and bounced it gently as the lecture went on.

When she got tired of that position and put her feet flat on the ground, flexing them, Alejandro saw that the side stitching of her loafer had pulled free, leaving the sole flapping open and baring her little toe. Kate Spinney of the Spinney Industries family couldn't afford new shoes?

Ridiculous. The watch on her wrist was Tiffany, and he'd also seen her wear a Piaget. Her purse, though it was battered and worn, was an Hermès Kelly bag, which cost thousands of dollars new.

He found the sight of her little toe oddly endearing. She propped her chin on one hand and seemed entirely unconcerned that she'd just embarrassed their professor in front of the class.

From his position in the row behind her, he could see her doodling in the margins of her yellow pad. So far he could make out a bicycle, a sailboat and a beach umbrella. Literal, no-nonsense drawings, very illustrative of Kate's personality. He squinted to make out what she was sketching now, and chuckled when he saw a steak with eyes and legs. It looked uncannily like Professor Kurtz.

“Mr. Torres? Do you have something to add to the lecture?” the professor asked sharply.

Kate, along with a few others, turned and looked at him. So she knew who he was…He winked at her. She blinked, then raised a corner of her mouth uncertainly and turned back around.

“No, no. I just had something in my throat,” Alejo said to Kurtz. “Sorry.”

The professor pontificated some more with no further interruptions, and soon the class drew to an end. “You'll be pairing up next week to begin the big semester project,” he told them. “So keep that in mind. And please read chapters four through seven in your text.”

Alejandro followed Kate out of the room and caught up with her easily in the hallway. “Kate? I admire you for speaking up back there.”

She turned to face him, her green eyes wary over her high, aristocratic cheekbones. “Thank you.” She edged away a couple of steps.

He closed the gap again. “I was wondering if you'd like to work together on Kurtz's project.” He smiled down at her.

Surprise danced along those high cheekbones. Then her lips curved, and he caught a glimpse of a possible imp under her cool facade. “Are you sure you want to throw your fate in with mine? Kurtz doesn't like me much, especially not after today.”

“I'm not worried about that. So what do you say?”

She took another step back from him, and he realized that she was used to more personal space. He didn't move any closer this time.

“What's your background and experience?” she asked, all business.

Now she was starting to annoy him a little. That nose in the air, her head cocked as if to use the cheekbones for weapons. “My background and experience? I've worked in my, uh…family business since I was about eight years old. And I have a university degree in finance.” He looked a challenge at her. “What's yours?”

“I interned for years at Spinney Industries, worked full time there for three years. Before that I earned a BA at Harvard, in English.”

“Oh.
Harvard.
” Alejandro clicked his tongue. “Then I'm afraid I can't possibly work with you on the project.” He shook his head regretfully.

Her brow beetled. “Why not?”

“It's just not up to my standards. I'd be slumming.” He kept a straight face as he met her gaze.

“Slumming?” she said, her tone incredulous. “I beg your pardon?”

“No need.”

She made a strangled noise, and he grinned at her. “I'm feeling very egalitarian today, though. I might be willing to have a cup of coffee with you, even though you come from such a no-account family.”

Her mouth worked for a moment and then she laughed. His gamble had paid off: Kate did have a hidden sense of humor. “I'm so flattered.”

“Don't let it go to your head. So, caffeine? We have fifteen minutes before statistics class.” He put a hand on her back to steer her forward, but she stiffened immediately. Apparently Ms. Spinney didn't like to be touched. Alejandro removed his hand and she took a deep breath. Interesting.

They walked across the street to a little coffee house, where he discovered that Kate liked her coffee black, just like he did. She pulled a wallet out of her beat-up bag and tried to pay for hers.

“No, no,” he said. “I'll get this.”

“You don't have to buy my coffee.”

“I want to.”

“No, really—”

“I am buying your coffee, Kate,” he said with finality. He didn't care if, as a Spinney, she probably had a personal net worth bigger than the entire tax base of Peru. He stepped in front of her and put five dollars on the counter. Then he looked down at her little toe, poking out of its loafer. He winked at her. “You need to save your money for new shoes.”

Her mouth opened and closed, and then a tide of red washed over her face. “I can afford new shoes. I just happen to like these. They're comfortable. Broken in.”

“Is that what you call it?” From his superior height, Alejo noticed that one ear poked out of her untidy curls, and even the tip of it was red. “Because you may have noticed that your little piggy, there, is well on its way to the market.”

Her lips twitched in spite of her obvious embarrassment. “No, you've got it wrong. Remember, it's the big toe that goes to market. The little one runs all the way home.”

“Right, I'd forgotten. Well, the poor little guy has a ways to go, if he's running the whole distance back to Boston.” He handed her one of the paper cups of coffee.

“Thank you. And he just ran
away
from Boston, so he's not likely to be running back there anytime soon. But I appreciate your concern.” She took a sip of the coffee, her eyes glinting very green in the morning sunlight.

Alejandro eyed her over the rim of his own cup, as he drank some. “And why did he run away? How did he end up in Miami, of all places?”

His teasing had relaxed her some, since she blew out a breath and said, “Well, the other nine toes in the family shoe were cramping his style a bit. So the little piggy skipped off to business school as far away as possible.” She gave him a wobbly smile.

She was so…adorably uptight. Alejandro wondered what it took for Kate Spinney to relax. He wondered if she relaxed in bed, and what that fragile body looked like naked. Athletic, he guessed.

She seemed edgy just talking in the abstract about her family. So he changed the subject. “Well, some of us are glad that the little piggy ended up here in Miami. She's awfully cute.”

Red washed over her face again. “I think you gave her a sex change,” she said dryly. “And I've been warned about smooth-talking Latin men like you.”

It was his turn to stiffen. “I'm half Peruvian, half American,” Alejandro said. “And we
smooth talkers
don't like to be referred to as Latin. We're from individual countries, and don't appreciate them being lumped all together.”

“Sorry.”

“About calling me a smooth talker, or a Latin?”

“A Latin.”

He smiled. “That's okay. You didn't know.”

“You
are
a smooth talker.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Why, thank you. I do other things smoothly, too,
mi corazon.
”

“And a flirt.”

Alejandro found a table and pulled out a chair for her. “I stand accused of terrible crimes. I'm guessing they don't flirt at Harvard?”

She sat down gingerly, almost suspiciously.

“No, of course not,” he said, deliberately provoking her. “Yankees don't know how to flirt.”

“We do, too—”

“Well, then, Ms. Spinney, I hereby challenge you to a flirt-off.”

She snorted into her coffee cup. “A flirt-off?”

He nodded. “Yes. And if I win, you have to buy a new pair of shoes—shoes of my choice.”

“What if I win?”

“You won't. I'm a professional.”

“We'll see about that.”

“Like I said, it's not going to happen. So you really shouldn't worry your pretty little head over it, Kate,” he said, doing his best to wind her up.

“As we've discussed, my pretty little head,” she replied in ominous tones, “is Harvard-educated and dislikes patronizing men.” But she softened the statement with a reluctant smile.

“Maybe so, but you don't have the slightest idea how to flirt. Flirting requires charm, and you're no southern belle. It's one of the things I like about you.”

Her green eyes narrowed at him. “How do you
do
that?”

“Do what?”

“Say things that are insulting and then turn them around?”

“We smooth-talking Latins just have a way with words.” Alejandro grinned at her, loving the outraged expression on her face. She looked very sexy when outraged. In fact, if she were to ditch the awful pants and unspeakable loafers and sit there barefoot in just the shirt…maybe unbutton it a few more inches so that it hung off one shoulder….