Chapter 15
15
H ours later, I’ve showered, changed, and run errands. Life is normal…and yet I’m still seething and overheated by Alejandro’s parting shot. How can one man irritate and arouse me in a single sentence?
Argh! I need to forget him.
My doorbell rings, and I scowl. I’m not expecting anyone. It’s probably someone trying to sell me something, maybe Girl Scout cookies. One of the neighbor kids was hocking them yesterday, and the thought of indulging in mindless sugar the minute competition season is over is tempting.
It’s for the kids, I tell myself as I open the door.
Someone stands on the other side, all right. It’s definitely not a Girl Scout.
“Alejandro.” His name slips out as a whisper.
“Good evening, querida .”
When he murmurs that endearment, I melt. Every time. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why does it bother you when I call you darling?”
“Because I’m not your darling. We’re working together to solve a common problem.”
“We are. But I fail to see why that has to be the end of it.” I open my mouth to set him straight, but Alejandro bulldozes on. “I’m sure you'll invent some reason soon, but for now, let’s not argue. I came to talk.”
“Talk?” About what? I'm hoping he has a new clue about the blackmailer, but his face says he’s got something more personal on his mind.
“Nothing more,” he promises.
I’m not sure I believe him, but he’s roused my curiosity…and my libido. But he does that just by being near me.
“All right. Come in.” I step back to admit him.
Alejandro shakes his head and holds out his hand. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Not the club,” I warn him.
“You’re right. Not the club.”
Now I’m really curious.
Sliding into the sandals I keep by the door, I grab my purse and keys off the nearby table. “Will this ‘talk’ take long?”
He raises a dark brow. “Hot date tonight?”
I can hardly wrap my head around my interest in him, much less imagine being attracted to anyone else. “With my pillow, yes. I’m tired.”
“You work too hard. Let me cheer you up first.” He holds out his hand to me again.
This time, I take it and let myself out the door. “Where are we going?”
“The nature of a surprise is that you should be surprised.”
“So you won’t tell me?”
He sends me a dazzling, unrepentant smile as we walk toward the condo complex’s parking lot. “That would spoil it.”
“You know that annoys me.”
“I know you’re used to being in control and making all the decisions. A little relaxation will be good for you.”
People have said that to me for years. Generally, I ignore them. “That’s your opinion.”
“And you can’t change it.”
“Okay, but you’re wrong.”
“How about humoring me, then? Pretend.”
I roll my eyes and hold in a smile. He’s persistent, if nothing else. “Whatever.”
Alejandro shoots me a victorious grin but wisely says nothing more.
When we reach the parking lot, he lifts his key fob and presses a button. A sleek, black Mercedes convertible, so new it still bears the temporary plates, beeps and flashes its lights a few feet away.
How nice to be able to afford the luxurious place that houses their business and four-wheeled trinkets like this.
He assists me into the car, then rounds to the driver’s side, and eases in. “My father was a wealthy man.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“No, but I saw the way you looked at my car. I’ll bet you had similar thoughts about the club. I’m answering your unspoken question. My father was a wealthy man, and he left me his fortune.”
“Not your mother?”
He shrugs and starts the car. “I’m the only part of him my mother will have anything to do with.”
“They divorced?”
“In the Catholic church, no. They separated when I was twelve.” He backs out and steers into the gorgeous summer night.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“You can’t like someone you don't know.”
Wait. He wants me to like him? Is this a…date?
“My father was a philandering bastard, if you’re curious why they split up. I remember my mother sobbing whenever my father didn’t come home. They became my tears, too. He acted as if his affairs were both common and acceptable. Maybe that was okay in his generation. Maybe it was even accepted in his native Argentina. But it was never okay with me.”
Alejandro is sharing something so shockingly private with me. Why?
“You run a sex club. And you believe in commitment?”
“Yes. If you speak vows, you should mean those words with your whole heart. Don't you agree?”
“I do.” Is he trying to tell me he’d be faithful? Why does he think his loyalty matters to me?
If I’m honest, his insistence thrills my treacherous soft side. Having a man like Alejandro in my life would be wonderful…but distracting. Indulging isn’t an option. Our search for this blackmailing bastard and my need to win the California Dance Star consume my every thought and waking moment. My commitment is to winning. Romance would only interfere.
“Take my friendship with Del,” he goes on. “Del and I met in college. We quickly became friends—both outcasts to some degree, being foreign-exchange students here in Los Angeles. We discovered we shared a lot of similar interests and passions.
“So after graduation, we decided to put our degrees to work on something mutually satisfying. Del used his marketing degree and social media skills to promote the club. I used my finance degree to secure the funding, run the back end, and reinvest our profits. We operate in the black, and each year is more profitable than the last. But two years ago, I had the opportunity to sell out my half for triple the amount.” He shrugs. “Long ago, I promised Del I would stay in until we were both ready for a change. I declined the opportunity.”
“That cost you a lot of money, no doubt.”
“Losing the friendship would have cost me more.”
“You can afford to say that; you have your father's money.”
“Not so much anymore. I put a fat chunk of it in a trust for my mother. She thinks I set it up with my money. But the bastard owed her more than he could ever repay. I thought this was fitting.”
I stare at Alejandro as if seeing him for the first time. In a way, I am. It’s hard not to like him when he's protecting his mother and defending his friendships.
A moment later, we stop in front of a local ice cream shop, quaint and somewhat old-fashioned. In a few hours, after dinner, this place will be crawling with families. But now, it’s nearly empty.
“Ice cream?”
“I assume you like it.”
“I haven’t eaten dinner yet. I was planning to nuke something frozen before you stopped by.”
He climbs out of the car and helps me out. “Who needs dinner when there’s ice cream?”
“Someone who needs protein and nutrients. Ice cream isn’t a dinner food.”
Alejandro slips an arm around me, and I try not to melt against the solid, musky heat of his body. Why does he have to be so damn sexy?
“I won’t tell your mother if you won’t,” he teases.
“My mother died when I was six,” I choke out. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth; the truth only makes me more vulnerable to him. But withholding that fact after he confessed so much of his past seems petty.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “I hardly remember her. I have this…impression of her laugh. I don’t even know if it’s true or something I made up to make myself feel better.”
He squeezes me against his side as we approach the counter. “So your father raised you?”
“Along with my brothers. They’re all athletes.”
“Which is why you are so driven to win.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Second place is nothing more than first loser. It’s our family motto.”
“That explains so much about you.” He turns to the teenager behind the counter. “A scoop of chocolate peanut butter and…raspberry amaretto. Shanna?”
“None for me. I have to fit into my costume?—”
“She’ll have the same.”
“I will not!”
“Then pick your favorite flavors.”
“You’re going to force me to eat ice cream?”
“I’m taking you away from ambition for a moment so you can just enjoy life.”
When was the last time I did that? I think back through the weeks, which become months…and quickly turned into years. The realization stuns me.
I hesitate, then I shrug. It’s ice cream, not a commitment. Tomorrow, I have a grueling practice. I’ll work the calories off.
“Chocolate chip cookie dough and French vanilla.”
Alejandro pays as another teenager behind the counter assembles our cones. In moments, we wander to a little table outside with our ice cream as the sun drops closer to the horizon, with the California breeze stirring all around us.
After the first taste, I moan. “This is amazing.”
He smiles. “I discovered this place a few years ago. It’s part of my weekly ritual.”
“Where do you put it?” I eye his hard body because I’m no stranger to his ripped abs.
“I make up for it with plenty of weights, cardio, and carrots the rest of the week. But life is meant to be lived, isn’t it?”
Have I ever thought about it in that context? “I suppose so.”
“You’ve been incredibly single-minded for years. Dance has been your focus, your ambition.”
“And my passion.”
“No one watching you dance would think otherwise. You’re very talented. You know that, right?”
I can dance. When I watch footage of competitions, it’s clear I hold my own in a room full of talented dancers. I even believe I’ve started shining just a tiny bit brighter because I practice harder and want it more.
“I’m pleased with my performances.”
“Does ambition make you happy?”
His question unsettles me. I’ve never thought of my life in a happy/unhappy context. It just is. Of course I’m frustrated that I’m not yet a champion. But I will be one. And once the trophy is in my hands, life will be very sweet. My sacrifices will have been worth it. Of course, questioning my life choices is too easy to do when I have a man like Alejandro in front of me, reminding me of everything I’ve been missing.
“Why shouldn't it?” I ask.
“The way that ice cream cone is dripping down your fingers and the fact that I rarely see you smile, I suspect you’ve spent so much time dancing, you’re out of practice when it comes to actually living.”
Dancing is life for me. So what if I don’t eat a lot of ice cream? “Why do you care?”
“Because I’m the man who would like to see you happy.” He brushes tender fingertips across my cheek. “What’s the worst thing that could happen if you don’t win Saturday night? Or ever?”
Immediately, I reject the thought. But it’s a fair question, one I ask myself during long nights when aching muscles, nagging injuries, and loneliness keep me awake.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “I can’t let that happen. Failure isn’t an option.”
“You can’t control what happens.”
Yeah, that’s what worries me.
“So what happens if you never win?”
I hate to even think the answer. To speak it seems unbearably personal. Yet Alejandro poured out a part of his soul to me. He didn’t mock me when I told him about my mother, the rest of the family, or the reason for my ambitions. I have no reason to hide from him…except that he keeps slipping behind my emotional barriers, which scares the hell out of me.
Why can’t I put distance between us? Why do I even care about his feelings? Normally, I have no problem with pushing people away, but Alejandro is…different.
“I would feel like a failure,” I whisper.
“You would consider yourself a failure, even after everything you’ve achieved?”
“Probably. My family would think I’m a failure. I have one brother who’s been the top decathlete in the world. One played in the Super Bowl. Another who sprinted his way into record books. My father won two gold medals. I can’t compete.”
“Who asked you to?”
“You’d have to understand my family. For years, my brothers have endlessly tormented me.”
He shrugs. “The nature of men and their sisters. Their way of showing affection is to harass you. More manly than hugging.”
It isn’t that simple, and I don’t know how to explain it. “Family aside, I couldn’t give up dancing. I want to win, more than anything.”
“I wouldn’t suggest you give up dance. I merely think you should take the floor to indulge your joy, not to pursue a trophy. The journey is the treasure, not the prize at the end.”
“Now you're a philosopher?”
Alejandro shakes his head and places a soft kiss against my ice-cream-cold lips. “Just a man who wants to see you smile. Will you?”
He’s so comfortable with himself. Somehow wiser than a man who runs a club for sexual indulgences should be. He makes everything seem so easy. Even personal discussions, which I usually loathe, feel freakishly natural. No pressure. No scolding or telling me how to do things. No taunting me about my failures. Just a steady voice, a tender touch, with lots of insight.
Lovely…but none of that will put a trophy in my hand.
I wrap my fingers around his and smile. “There. Are you happy?”
“I’ve seen more genuine smiles on a politician.”
Sighing, I sit back and lick at my cone. “Why does it matter to you if I’m happy?”
Alejandro pauses, seeming to weigh his words. “You matter. I would hate to see you sacrifice everything for something that may never happen. You gave up frivolities, friendships, and romances for a hunk of metal and a title.”
He’s right…and wrong. Being a champion is everything to me.
“This is why I don’t date.” I get to my feet. “I don’t expect you to understand. No one does.”
He stands and meets my glare. “You’ve ended more than one dance partnership to pursue winning over valuing the relationship. What has that gotten you except a bad reputation? Those partners invested in you, cared about you. You cast them aside.”
“I had to! One was so injured, it was clear he was never coming back.”
“Would he have tried harder to recover if you had given him both a reason and a partner to return to?”
Guilt slices through me. Maybe. Likely not…but maybe. Curt was a hard worker and possessed the drive to win. Last I heard, he was selling insurance.
“Martin dropped me in competition. I couldn’t risk it happening again. I lost faith in his ability, and a couple without trust can't function.”
“The drop must have been painful, and I understand why you wouldn't want to partner with someone ill-equipped for the job. But as you say, trust is essential. After nearly two years together, you never gave him a chance to rebuild it between you.”
“What are you, my dance pimp? And before you start in on Jonathan, that decision was mutual. He wanted to get married more than he wanted to dance.”
Surprise flashes across his dark face. “Really? My mother will be happy to hear that. She hates you because you ran off her favorite.”
I sit again. “Ugh! Everyone thinks that. We…just knew it was time to move on, both of us.”
Speculation crosses Alejandro’s face, but he doesn’t ask if I slept with Jonathan. For that, I’m eternally grateful. “And now, you have issues with Kristoff. What will you do if we don’t find our blackmailer in time?”
Good question. I’ve been putting that decision off. This is my year to win; I can’t imagine forfeiting. But… “If we don’t succeed in flushing this blackmailer out, I won’t have a choice. I like Kristoff. He’s so talented. He’s got great work ethic?—”
“But you have no problem leaving him behind?”
“It’s business.”
“And you won’t let anything or anyone stand in your way, will you?”
His soft question nearly crushes me with guilt. I shove the feeling aside. Give up over half my life and the chance to finally reach my dreams? “I can’t.”