The Rogue And The Rich Girl
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Shaken, he dragged a hand through the cropped length of his hair. Business, he reminded himself. Nicole was business. And he was a professional.
But his thoughts strayed to the upcoming night ahead. Business. Right. Sure. He’d sworn to do whatever it took to change her mind. Do it he would.
He shifted uncomfortably, his jeans suddenly too tight.
Poncho rounded a corner and slowed down. Ace ruthlessly shoved aside his thoughts as the governor’s unkempt lawn and gardens loomed in the taxi’s dirty headlight. In the month since Ace’s last visit, natural vegetation had choked the life out of the carefully planted gardens. There were no signs of activity.
Ace leaned forward. “What’s going on, mi amigo?”
The man shrugged several times. “No s'e.”
Ace rubbed the stubble on his chin. He’d spoken to Juan Rodriguez only two weeks ago. The man was anxious to meet Nicole. So where were the lights and welcoming committee?
Poncho stomped on the brake. The car jerked to a stop, spewing pebbles and dirt in every direction.
“Ace?”
Alone, he would have gone inside. But because of Nicole, he refused to take the chance.
Hairs on the back of his neck stirred in undeniable warning. “Turn around, Poncho. Get the hell out of here.”
Tires squealed as Poncho forced the manual steering to perform a feat it wasn’t designed for.
“What’s going on?” Nicole asked in a breathless whisper, evidently confused, obviously reading his panic.
On the back of Poncho’s seat, Ace beat an impatient staccato with his fingers. Mentally, he listed possibilities and options. He was aware of the nervous looks Poncho cast in the rearview mirror. “The governor was expecting us,” Ace said finally.
“You think something’s wrong?”
He nodded tightly. “I do.”
She fell silent for a few moments, moments he needed in order to think. A cloud sauntered away from the moon, affording him the opportunity to see her fingers were tightly knotted in her lap. Yet she didn’t say anything. Again he found a reason to admire her.
Dragging his attention away from Nicole, he cataloged the things that didn’t make sense. Leaning forward, he quietly asked Poncho, “Who knew I was coming here?”
“Se~nor Rodriguez.”
“Anyone else?”
The man met Ace’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Even I did not know, until Ricardo tell me tonight.”
The answer only raised more questions. Acid churned in his stomach. The rebels were obviously more of a threat than Rodriguez or Ace had thought.
“I take you to mi casa, no?” Poncho offered.
“Gracias, mi amigo.” Ace knew they would be somewhat safe with his friends, a whole lot safer than if they strung a hammock between two palm trees.
“Is his home big enough for us?” Nicole asked quietly.
“No.” Ace wondered how she would react to an evening of camping out on the home’s dirt floor. The first time he’d stayed with the Maldanados, he’d thought of Elana. He knew the idea of spending five minutes in the house would have made her painted toes curl in her satin pumps.
Would Nicole’s reaction be any different?
“Is Poncho married?”
“With five kids.” He waited for a reaction. Lord knew, his ex had had definite problems when he’d mentioned kids. “Five noisy kids.” Ace wished he could see Nicole’s expression. Would her lips be curled in disgust at the thought of what having five kids would do to her career, not to mention her figure?
The issue of children had been the first of many to cause serious problems between him and Elana. He wanted kids—had a desperate burn in his gut to right the wrongs inflicted by his family.
But that wasn’t to be. Sometimes he felt a pang of regret, but he’d learned to live with it, by risking his life so children could live longer.
“I hope Mrs. Maldanado won’t mind the extra people.”
“She probably won’t even notice,” Ace said wryly.
Poncho jerked the car to a sudden stop in front of a small shack. Ace climbed out and went around to Nicole’s side. It was now or never.
“Let me help you,” he said, opening her door. She placed her much-smaller hand in his palm. Awareness pulsed through him. It was as shocking as it was unwelcome.
Instead of letting her go as he knew he should, he closed his fingers around her hand, holding her captive.
Her eyes opened wide, bringing her gaze back around until it locked on his face. Neither said a word. Her breathing deepened. His did the same. Her lips—soft, full, sensual—parted in silent invitation.
An invitation he resisted RSVPing to.
What was wrong with him? At thirty-seven, he’d been around the block. So why did the thought of surrendering to the strangeness of night and kissing her bother him?
He’d already said he would do what it took. So why the hesitation? Suddenly the idea of using her gave him qualms. He disliked the flash of conscience.
Poncho cleared his throat, then slammed closed the trunk lid, shattering the illusion of their near intimacy.
“Mi casa,” Poncho said apologetically to Nicole.
Ace studied Nicole in the moon’s glow. Though the Maldanados’ home was rich compared to some on the island, it was poor compared with what she likely called home. To his amazement, she was graciousness itself.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Se~nor Maldanado.” She smiled dazzlingly.
Poncho’s face became a wreath of grins. “De nada, se~norita, de nada.”
She had more facets than the two-carat engagement ring Ace had given Elana. And Nicole’s smile was more intense. For a second, he allowed himself to imagine what it would feel like to experience its full effect, bestowed on him and no one else.