The Saint's Devilish Deal (6 page)

Esme swallowed, crossed and re-crossed her legs before clasping her hands in her lap. “What do you want? A payoff? You’ve seen the books, you know there isn’t much money. But if it’s money you want, I’ll agree to your price. I just need time to come up with the capital.”

She really didn’t know him at all. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he was. Surprised and a bit disappointed. “I need your money like I need another surfing championship,” he said, sitting up straight. “No, what I want from you is a bit more. . . ephemeral. I want your time. For three hours each day, you belong to me. No villa work. No guest handholding.” He walked around the desk to rest his hip against one corner. “No conferences with staff. No following the maids on their routine cleanings and no visits to the kitchen to give Gloriana instructions. For three hours each day, your time is my time.”

“You can’t be serious. That. . . that’s just. . .” She trailed off when his index finger traced the line of her jaw. He lowered his voice.

“No work. No phones. No villa. You do what I say, what I want.”

Her head rested against his hand for a split second before she realized what she was doing and jerked away from him. She pushed back her chair and paced the room.

“This is ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous. Not work for three hours every day? That surfing accident must have addled your brain.”

“Para-sailing, hang-gliding, the list goes on. You need to sell this vacation destination and you can’t do that wearing a suit, sitting behind a desk.” Santiago shrugged. “Three hours out of twenty-four each day. And at the end of these six months you’ll be perfectly prepared to run a high-end, adventure seeker’s paradise.” He swallowed hard. She would think he meant qualified to run Casa Constance. No matter, he would make sure she landed a prime position somewhere far away from Puerto Vallarta. Thank God she could no longer read him as easily as he could read her.

“But I can’t leave the villa unattended for three hours each day. There will be guests, staff who need direction.”

“We have a staff, we’ll use it. Now, about your deal. Three hours with me and twenty-one doing. . . whatever you please. What do you say?”

Her mouth opened and closed several times before she snapped it shut. Her hands clenched into fists.

“Come on, Esmerelda,” he said, drawing the e’s in her name out and rolling the r as he did when they were children. She shivered. “What is three hours of your time to save the day for Constance? Three hours. It seems like a fair trade to me.”

“And if I don’t agree to spend three hours each day at your beck and call, neglecting my business? My employees?”

“Then we don’t have a deal at all.”

Chapter Four

How could she still be attracted to a man as ruthless as he? He didn’t want the villa—he only wanted her to pass the time he was tethered to Puerto Vallarta. And here she was actually considering his plans. Not because he would help her save the villa, but because she still wanted him.

God, you’re a fool, Esmerelda.

Esme turned, looking up at the villa from the beach. Two minutes ago she listened to him politely infer that he wanted her back in his bed for as long as they were here and she wanted to smack that smug I-Know-You-Want-Me-Too look off his face. Now, as she walked the beach trying to come up with a way to tell him no, she realized she didn’t really want to. Sure, he lied. Taking her away from Casa wasn’t to teach her sports like para-sailing; he wanted to play. Just like always. Work a little, play a lot.

Four years ago he’d romanced her with promises of a future. Now, he was blunt enough to tell her he wanted her in bed, no promises at all. Great sex aside—and, yeah, her body still remembered just how Santiago’s fingers could play her—she wasn’t the same foolish girl she’d been back then.

And this time around no amount of work could create a buffer between herself and her memories.

She picked at her navy skirt and finally admitted that since he’d pulled his Napa act, she had played it safe. Challenging jobs. Unchallenging men who didn’t make demands. Who didn’t ask questions and were certainly in no danger of stealing her already broken heart.

Even Jason hadn’t broken her heart. Wounded her pride, yes. Surprised the hell out of her, of course. Since Napa and Santiago’s betrayal she prided herself on her ability to read people, but she didn’t see that Jason was using her. That she was the other woman, in danger of tearing apart a family.

Coming home, she admitted, was as much about facing her past with Santiago as it was about the villa or Constance. Only he was actually here, not just a memory she could examine and then put away. In the flesh, offering her a trip into the past. Could she survive another pass?

She’d nearly thrown herself into his arms twice, had been torn between rejoicing in seeing him again and hating that he was living in her home. In her room. She couldn’t do this for the next six months, so she had to decide now what she wanted: to have a fun fling that would leave her bandaging old scars or to desert Constance and the villa now.

To have no place to belong.

When this was over, whether she indulged in a summer fling or not, the villa wouldn’t be the same inviting respite.

Esme watched the tide roll in, obliterating a sandcastle in its path. All her hard work erecting the barriers around her heart were of no more resistance to Santiago than those grains of sand to the rolling waves.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, E. Suck it up and move on.

There was no choice. She couldn’t leave her villa to the likes of Eduardo Cruz. Another wave crashed in on the sandcastle, flattening the last lump of wall into nothing more than a few hundred grains of sand the pipers scavenged. One bird frayed the corner of a left-behind flag, unraveling it as it flew to the clouds.

Santiago wanted three hours of her time. Her skin heated at the thought. Three hours was too long; she would negotiate to two. Two hours away from the villa, but two hours when Santiago would not be there, either. And she would make sure those two hours were so filled with adventure—the kind not found in a bed—that she would keep her heart safe, too. She could make this work in her favor.

Esme stood, gathered her suit jacket and sandals, and took a deep breath.

Nothing mattered except holding on to Constance’s villa.

Not even a re-broken heart.

*

Santiago sat perfectly still behind the massive desk in Constance’s office. He’d expected every reaction to his plan. Except the reaction Esme gave. She'd run from the office as if her feet were on fire but not before he saw her expression. The same defeated look he'd seen in Napa when Tobias arrived at the bank.

Dios, you’re a bastard.

Just like his father. This was how Eduardo’s plans to have Casa began all those years ago. He’d offered the world to Magdalena’s father so he would approve of their marriage. Once gained, he’d done his best to destroy Magdalena so he could have this small piece of the Mexican Riviera. Magdalena thwarted him and from that moment Eduardo did his level best to ruin her. Ruin Casa and Constance, too. And now Santiago was doing the same thing, pretending to give Esme everything she wanted. In reality he would snatch it from her.

Marquez, dressed in green and blue board shorts and a tee shirt, knocked on the door, dropped a stack of mail on the desk, and exited just as quickly. His appearance shocked Santiago.

“Why are you here?” Santiago asked as he caught up with Marquez at the front desk. The older man was tanned from the summer sun, his black hair was highlighted from time spent outdoors, and wrinkles fanned out from his eyes. Veins stood out from his skinny arms and the Birkenstocks on his feet were well worn, nearly falling apart. Santiago couldn’t remember ever seeing him dressed so casually, not even when he taught Santiago to surf all those years ago.

“The light on the hill is tremendous today and I wanted to take advantage. I saw the mail at the front desk and decided to save a few steps for Con. . .” The older man shook his head. “I used to do that a lot for her. It is so strange that she is no longer here.” Marquez picked up an oblong, leather satchel leaning against the side of the gleaming mahogany. “Should I leave the mail now that you and Esmerelda are running the business?”

Santiago waved his hand. “Of course not. Thank you.”

He glanced at the clock. Nearly noon. Motioning the other man back into the office, Santiago turned away. “We’re only beginning to see the problems that Constance’s illness has caused the villa,” he began. Marquez frowned as he sat, putting the portfolio of art supplies beside him on the floor. “Constance valued your hard work, but with Esmerelda and me in the office during the daytime hours, we don’t need a full time reception worker as well.”

Marquez nodded, sadness filling his features. Santiago’s stomach clenched. This was why he didn’t like traditional business settings. Why he preferred working alone to working in crowded office buildings. Because sooner or later the boss had to be The Boss.

“I feared a change would come once Constance left.” The older man shifted in his seat.

Santiago was shocked by the graciousness of the man. He knew he shouldn’t be. This was Marquez, who took time to play catch when Santiago was a boy. Who taught Santiago to surf. And now he was being sacked by the very kid he’d been so kind to over the years. Santiago clenched his fists, his heart telling him not to fire Marquez but his head reminding him everyone would be out of a job in six months one way or another.

He couldn’t do it. Not while Marquez was sitting across the desk from him. It was cowardly, Santiago knew, but there it was. “We still have a few hours for you, if you’d like to run the place while I teach Esme how to para-sail and take her on a canopy tour.” The words were out before Santiago could stop them. Relief crossed the older man’s face.

“I would like that.” He picked up his bag and stood. “And I would like to paint on the hill in the mornings, when the light is good, if that is acceptable?”

Santiago nodded and Marquez left. Well, that went better than I imagined.

“It will get harder, you know,” Esme said from the doorway, pushing Santiago’s senses into full alert. She was here for one of two reasons: to accept his proposal or continue their minor war. He refused to acknowledge just how important her return was and instead lounged back in his chair as if he fully expected her to be at his office door.

“I realize this was one of the simpler boss exercises,” he said. Dios, but she looked good. Only three days in Puerto Vallarta and already those irresistible freckles across her nose were deepening. Her sandals dangled from her fingertips, and her jacket was draped across the other arm leaving her creamy shoulders sunkissed. She should look disheveled but instead appeared completely put together.

“Going forward we may have to fire more employees to cut our budget and I expect none of them to be as easygoing as Marquez,” Esme said, as if he hadn’t the slightest notion how to run a business. He supposed he deserved that since nine-tenths of the world, his family included, believed he’d immersed himself in the no worries, no work, no pressure life of a professional surfer. They didn't know the pain of getting caught under a wave, the training it took to stand up on a board in the middle of a crashing ocean. He'd never cared what anyone thought of his decision.

Until now.

He nodded at her assumption as Esme placed her suit jacket just so on the back of a chair before sitting to pull on her strappy sandals. Her shell pink toes wiggled and despite the fact that he preferred his women to be bold with their makeup, he felt his groin tighten. Tiny grains of sand slid from the bottom of her feet as she secured the straps. So she’d gone to the beach. Maybe there was more of the old Esmerelda hiding under those power suits than he originally thought. She finally sat back, crossed her legs, and tapped her fingers against the chair arm.

“Your proposal is ridiculous.”

He raised an eyebrow. Another unexpected reply. He waited a beat and the pulse at the base of her throat thrummed harder beneath her skin. Esme chewed on her lower lip for a second, and Santiago could see her mental armor being placed one piece at a time. Whatever she was about to say, it wouldn’t change his plans for Casa.

“Ridiculous or not, my offer is all you have to work with,” he said, hating himself as she twisted the ring on her finger. He closed down his emotions. Esme couldn’t want the hassle that a small-time resort brought. He would buy her another place, a better place, far away from his interfering family. Returning the villa to Magdalena, giving her a refuge safe from Eduardo Cruz, might also return her strength. That must be his priority. “Unless you want my contacts with the rich and famous and their willingness to be parted from their money to squash your innkeeper’s hopes.” It was mean-spirited, but a little reminder of his sphere of influence was never a bad thing.

She took a deep breath. “Two hours.”

Santiago clenched his jaw. He would accept her offer, but it irked him.

“Well then, Ms. Quinn, why don’t we have dinner to seal our fates?”

“Dinner isn’t part of our deal, Santiago, we have plans to make.” She turned away, busying herself with her suit jacket.

“We could discuss that ad campaign in more detail.” He dangled a carrot he knew she was powerless to resist. “Drawing in more guests over the next few months is crucial, you know, and with the crew arriving on Wednesday we need to have all our ducks in a row.”

Esme replaced the jacket over the chair back and crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s barely noon, I’m certain we can find time to discuss your advertising campaign this afternoon. After all, our non-working-afternoon bargain doesn’t being until tomorrow.”

“Ahhh, but I have plans for the afternoon. Since we have no guests arriving, my surfboard is calling.” He picked up the mail from the desk, shuffled through the correspondence and handed the stack of envelopes to her. “I’ve done my duty. Now, I’ll leave you to pen notes back to our satisfied guests and pull a few quotes from happy customers. Work fast, the restoration crews arrive in one hour. Bring four or five quotes to dinner with you. I’ll pick you up at six.” With that, he left the office, Esme gaping in his wake. He popped his head back around the corner, watching closely as she breathed deeply.