More Than a Mistress (Latin Men Book 5) Read online

  “Why aren’t you working?”

  “They said they didn’t need me.” If they didn’t need her on such a busy night, she was fairly certain they’d be letting her go soon.

  “Pedro may not celebrate Valentine’s Day, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to see me here when he arrives. And to be honest, I don’t want to be here when he does, because I don’t want to see the two of you doing kissy face while I pretend it’s no big deal all by my lonesome. Two’s company, and three is a crowd. I love you, but I’d rather go home, thank you very much.”

  “You do realize you’re the worst friend ever?” Sonia asked, softening the words with a smile.

  “So you’ve told me on numerous occasions.” Jackie blew her a kiss and sauntered to the red Aston Martin parked at the curb. “Tah-tah, love.”

  With a heavy sigh, Sonia turned on her heels and ran up the stairs to her apartment. She stripped off her clothes and jumped into the shower.

  She didn’t mention it to Jackie, but she was a little disappointed at Pedro’s suggestion that they not exchange gifts. She’d started thinking he might be seeing someone else and was running out of excuses for his indifferent behavior.

  As she stepped out of the shower, a knock sounded on the door. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and Pedro had his own key and wasn’t expected to come by until much later tonight.

  “Just a minute,” she called out.

  She donned a comfy robe and padded into the living room. Peering out the peephole, she saw a deliveryman in the hall, holding a square red box with white ribbon, and a bouquet of flowers.

  Sonia opened the door. “Can I help you?”

  “Sonia Kennedy?” the young man asked.

  “That’s me.” She smiled.

  Pedro had tricked her. Just when she was about to give up on him, he did something so romantic, so surprising, when moments ago she had been thinking about how he lacked spontaneity.

  “Here you go.” The young man was smiling too.

  “Thank you so much.” Sonia buried her nose in the roses.

  “There’s more,” the man said.

  “More? What do you mean?”

  “More flowers. Stay right there.”

  Stunned, Sonia remained in the doorway, and within minutes, the young man returned carrying two more bouquets. Her mouth fell open. “Are you serious? This isn’t a mistake? All of these are for me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She laughed giddily. “Let’s go inside.”

  She led the way and set the first of the bouquets on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. The deliveryman set the other two beside them.

  “Do you need me to sign something?” Sonia asked.

  “Oh, I’m not finished. There’s more.” He grinned even broader, as if he was enjoying this interlude, and walked out of the apartment.

  Wait a minute…

  Sonia stared at the empty doorway he’d disappeared through. These gifts were not from Pedro. Sure, it was romantic, but also very extravagant. He couldn’t possibly afford to get her multiple bouquets of flowers—red roses, no less—on Valentine’s Day of all dates.

  When the young man returned, he came back with two more bouquets.

  “Please tell me this is the last one,” she said.

  “No, ma’am. There’s one more, and I’ll be right back.”

  He returned with the last bouquet. While the others were two dozen roses each, this one contained what looked like forty-eight. It was huge and beautiful, and the arrangement with white peonies interspersed among the ruby petals presented a lovely contrast.

  “Somebody really loves you,” the young man said, extending the clipboard to her.

  She laughed shakily. “I don’t know if that’s necessarily true.” She scribbled her signature.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day.” He left and shut the door on his way out.

  Sonia stared at the arrangements, overwhelmed and flattered, but also worried. Pedro did not buy her dozens of roses, and when he saw the arrangements, he would be pissed.

  She found the card on the last bouquet and flipped it open. Happy Valentine’s Day. Esteban.

  Unfortunately, the doorbell rang at that moment, and then she heard the key in the door. Pedro walked in, took one look at all the flowers and his smile froze, then disintegrated.

  He slammed the door. “What the hell is all this?”

  “It’s a gift,” she said.

  “From who?” His nostrils flared.

  “Esteban.”

  He walked over and looked at the arrangements. “What is it with you and this guy? He obviously has a thing for you, and don’t tell me that he doesn’t.” His jaw hardened into a rigid line.

  “You’re overreacting,” she said, which was the exact wrong thing to say.

  “And how would you feel if I received gifts from some woman? Would you be totally fine with that?”

  “No, but…”

  “But what, Sonia?”

  “What do you care? You don’t show any interest in me at all. Do you even still want to be with me?”

  “What the fuck kinda shit is that to say to me, mami? We’re in this together, right?” When she didn’t answer, he laughed. “Oh, I get it. You got this rich motherfucker sweating you now, so all of a sudden, I’m shit?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. But you don’t act like you’re in this, like you say.”

  “What’s that?” he asked sharply.

  His gaze was directed past her, and she followed his line of sight to the gift-wrapped box.

  Her stomach dipped. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “Well, I guess whatever it is it’s going to be better than what I was going to do. I was gonna take you out to dinner tonight as a surprise. They fired me from Azul.”

  “What!”

  “Yeah. The pastry chef didn’t appreciate me questioning his tactics, so they got rid of me.”

  “Baby, I’m sorry.” She reached for him, but he brushed her off.

  “I came by thinking we could at least have a good night together, something to make me feel better after the shitty night I had. I even stopped and picked up a box of chocolates.”

  He extended it to her.

  “Thanks,” Sonia murmured, taking it.

  He laughed bitterly. “You don’t even look like you want it. I guess a box of chocolates don’t compare to five hundred thousand fucking roses and whatever is in that box. Why don’t you open it?”

  Sonia swallowed.

  “Go on, open it. I can’t get any more upset than I already am.” He crossed his arms.

  Reluctantly, Sonia set down the box of chocolates and picked up the gift Esteban had sent over. Slowly, she opened the package, and a bag of sour gummy worm candy sat inside. Unable to help herself, she smiled.

  “What is that?” Pedro asked.

  “Sour candy.” She lifted out the bag and held it up for him to see.

  “He gave you a cheap bag of candy for Valentine’s Day? Who gives sour gummy worms on Valentine’s Day?” He laughed. “You did okay with the flowers, but that was a dopey, cheap move with the candy. Who is this guy?” He shook his head, laughing even harder.

  Sonia glared at him. “Sour gummy worms are my favorite candy.”

  Pedro stopped laughing. “I knew that.”

  “I hate chocolate.”

  “I knew that,” Pedro said.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  He sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his hair. “So, do you want to go to dinner or not? I’ll go home and take a shower, and we could—”

  “You know what, I’m gonna pass on dinner. I wasn’t expecting you until much later, and right now, I’m tired. I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine and go to bed.”

  “So that’s it? That’s how we’re going to spend Valentine’s Day?”

  “You didn’t care about the day anyway, right? It’s a stupid holiday created by ‘the man’ to get our hard-earned money
, so what difference does it make?”

  A muscle in his jaw flexed, nostrils flaring as he tried to keep his temper under control. He muttered something in Spanish and then said, “Fine. If that’s the way you want it. If you change your mind, I’ll be at home. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll find someone who wants my company.” He marched toward the door.

  “Maybe I’ll find someone who wants mine,” Sonia shot back.

  He froze, hands fisting on either side of his hips. Tension swelled in the room as the silence stretched between them.

  Without turning around to face her, Pedro asked, “Are you fucking him?”

  The shocking question sent her mind reeling into previously uncharted territory. She imagined her and Esteban naked, his intense eyes staring down into hers as he pinned her beneath him. His body thrusting into hers, his cologne filling her nostrils and staining her skin with its scent.

  She closed her eyes and shook her head to erase the erotic image. “No,” she said huskily.

  “Would you tell me if you were?”

  “Yes.”

  He finished walking to the door and slammed it on the way out.

  Sonia really needed the comfort of a drink now. She poured a generous glass of wine and settled on the sofa. Flipping on the TV to a news channel, she curled her legs beneath her.

  A few minutes later, she admitted to herself that she wasn’t paying attention to the newscast, and picked up her phone. She took a fortifying swallow of wine and then sent a quick text, thanking Esteban for his generosity in sending the flowers and candy.

  Minutes later, he responded.

  Don’t thank me. You deserve it.

  She stared at the words for a long time.

  What was he doing to her? Making her want, making her ache, against her better judgment.

  She closed her eyes and imagined herself beneath Esteban again, and the flesh between her legs pulsed with desire. The shame of guilt washed over her.

  Are you fucking him? Pedro had asked.

  No.

  But she wanted to.

  Chapter 11

  Sonia finished checking inventory in Esteban’s wine room. A few days ago he’d called her from the West Coast to find out if she was available to work a last-minute cocktail party for two couples at his home. She’d considered telling him she was busy, but in the end accepted the offer.

  She and Pedro had barely spoken since their Valentine’s Day tiff, and when she told him she’d be going to Esteban’s tonight, all he said was, “Enjoy yourself.”

  Stretching her arms overhead, she took one last glance at the room to make sure everything was in place, and then turned out the light.

  Nearby she heard the sound of softly playing music. The Spanish tune flowed through the speakers, the distinctive strum of a guitar heightening the sexy, contemporary beat. Walking into the bright, open kitchen, she found Esteban in front of the grill side of the massive gas range.

  “I finished the inventory.” She stood at the stone counter of one of two islands, watching him work.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Have a seat. I’m almost finished.”

  “I was going to head out,” Sonia said.

  “Not before you taste this food. Besides, you didn’t eat anything tonight.”

  “I was busy with the guests.”

  And she didn’t have much of an appetite, uninterested in the heavy hors d’oeuvres Delores had prepared. She was too worried about her relationship with Pedro and knew they needed to talk, but didn’t have the courage to confront the disintegration of their relationship—or her strong attraction to the man standing before her.

  He looked at home in the kitchen without a jacket—relaxed, and very sexy with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to right below his elbows. Beneath the material, his muscles rippled, and his back and shoulders appeared broader as they tapered down to a narrow waist and a very nice-looking ass.

  “All the more reason why you should have a seat and let me feed you.”

  The smell of cooking meat perfumed the air, and what little resistance she’d convinced herself she needed crumbled under the strain of hunger.

  Sonia sat on one of the stools and watched him work. She’d never seen this side of him. He moved easily through the kitchen, obviously having done this many times before. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Esteban said enigmatically.

  “I can’t argue with that.” Sonia rested her chin in her hand and watched him turn the asparagus with metal tongs. “So tell me something I don’t know.”

  He flipped the meat, and the flames below flared up as the juices fell onto them.

  “I started in the kitchen because of my father.” A faint smile softened his profile.

  “You worked with him in the closed-door restaurant,” she guessed.

  He nodded. “Most days. Whenever I could. He taught me everything I know about food and taking care of the customer.” He left the stove and poured a glass of Malbec from the bottle on the counter, then slid it over to her.

  “Thank you. Salud.” Sonia swirled the wine in the glass and then tasted it. Berry flavors and nuanced notes of chocolate and cocoa powder were abundant in this particular vintage.

  “My father loved his job and taught classes on cooking and wine. My mother and I helped wherever he needed us. It was truly a family business.”

  “They must have been very proud of you and your success.”

  “They were.” She heard the mixture of pain and affection in his voice.

  Esteban plated the steaks alongside the grilled asparagus and set the two dishes on the stone countertop of the island. Next, he deposited chimichurri in glass mise en place bowl between them.

  Sonia inhaled deeply. The food smelled divine. “So you do this often, cook yourself a late night meal?”

  “This isn’t late. Americans eat dinner too early. This is around the time I normally eat in Buenos Aires.”

  “At this hour? It’s after ten o’clock!”

  He nodded, smiling.

  “Well, I guess I’m on Buenos Aires time, and I don’t regret it.” Sonia sliced the tender cut of meat, perfectly cooked to medium rare.

  “You should never regret anything that’s pleasurable,” Esteban said.

  She looked up at him. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

  “Not everything.” He sipped his wine, keeping an eye on her.

  “I’m shocked. And what don’t you have an answer for?”

  “You.” The response came immediately, as if he’d been waiting for her to ask the question.

  Sonia laughed. “I didn’t know I was a question.”

  “You’re a question.” His eyes narrowed a little. “A big question I’ve been trying to figure out for a while. Do you want to know what the question is?”

  “I’m not sure I do.”

  “I’ll tell you anyway. I didn’t make a good impression on you the first night we met, and since then I’ve been trying to figure out how to convince you to give in to the attraction between us.”

  She laughed louder this time. “My, my, what makes you think I’m attracted to you?”

  He didn’t smile. “Don’t pretend. We’re attracted to each other, and I think we should explore the chemistry between us.”

  Sonia placed a morsel of meat into her mouth, and it practically melted on her tongue. The seasonings and chargrilled taste were exceptional. “Mmmm. You did a good job.”

  He chuckled and spooned a dollop of chimichurri sauce onto her plate. “I appreciate the compliment, and since you obviously want to change the subject, that’s what we’ll do. So tell me something about you.”

  Sonia shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. I’m an only child, and both of my parents are dead. I was raised in Atlanta by my uncle. The end.”

  “There is more to that story,” Esteban said. He wasn’t eating. He sat with both elbows on the stone top, and the powd
er-blue shirt wrinkled around his muscular arms.

  “Nothing you want to hear, believe me.”

  Sonia felt in no position to share the sorrowful details about her parents. They were often described as an eye-catching pair, her mother with cinnamon-brown skin and her father with a paler complexion from his mixed-race heritage. From all accounts, they’d loved each other when they met and lived a charmed life, attending parties and in general enjoying a young, carefree existence. They split when her father’s drug use became unsupportable. In the end, cancer stole her mother, and drugs stole her father.

  “Is this music from Argentina?” she asked, hoping to change the subject again. Although she was curious about him, she did not welcome questions about her private life.

  Esteban nodded. “The song you’re listening to is ‘Adiós Nonino.’ What do you think?”

  “It’s good.” She swayed a little to the melancholy tune. She heard violins, flutes, and an accordion.

  Esteban smiled. “You really do like it,” he said.

  “I like all kinds of music. Country, rock ’n roll, reggae, and neo soul.”

  “With such eclectic tastes, you can’t possibly have a favorite artist.”

  She giggled. “I do have a lot of favorites,” she admitted. “But if I had to narrow down my choice to one, I’d pick Jill Scott.”

  “Jill Scott,” he said slowly. “The name is vaguely familiar.”

  “She sings and acts, but started her career as a spoken-word artist. Which makes sense. Her songs are like poetry. She makes me…feel. I would love to meet her and pick her brain.”

  Esteban looked at her so intently, she felt exposed. Dipping her gaze to the plate, she speared an asparagus with her fork.

  “How is the food?” Esteban asked after a few minutes of silence.

  “The food is good. Excellent, I should say.”

  Esteban’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And the company?”

  “The company is good, too.”

  “Not excellent?”

  Sonia swallowed, the tiny quiver that so often plagued her belly when she was near him making its presence known. “Yes, excellent.” She continued eating.

  The conversation lightened when Esteban told her about his weakness for cars, particularly sports cars. “I have ten at my home in Argentina.”