When he raised his head, he played to that wildness. “You know where I’m going to do that next, mi amorcito? Hmm?”
She gazed up at him and shook her head.
“Between your legs.”
Grinning, he caught the hand that came up to smack him and wrapped it around the pig’s leash instead. “Good night, Kate. See you in class.”
She appeared to have lost her voice. When she found it again she yelled after him, “I’ll see you in hell, sport.”
He turned and grinned at her as he walked away into the night. “Great. I hear they have plenty of beds there.”
5
THE LATIN LOVER had kissed her. Kate still couldn’t quite believe it. Or rather, she could believe he’d done it, but not that she’d let him. She lectured herself sternly.
He’s a hound. He’d seduce anything in a skirt, and he’s just after you because of the Spinney money and the challenge. Remember, he said that flirting is a genetic trait in him—he can’t help it. So what are you doing, letting him stick his tongue into your mouth? What are you doing, allowing him to talk to you that way?
But his dirty words had given her a dirty thrill. Heat, moisture and electricity had flashed to the very place he’d said he wanted to kiss next. And they flashed there again as she thought about him.
She poured a little Purina Mini Pig Chow into a bowl for Gracious, amused that the pig started drooling and making noise as soon as she saw the bag. Then her amusement vanished.
Is that what I’m doing? Drooling and squealing over Alejandro Torres? Well, that’s disgusting.
Still, the guy could kiss. And his chest! She could tell, even through the T-shirt, that his torso rippled with muscle. Was his family business a chain of gyms? Did he work on engines all day? No—no grease under the nails. In fact, they were immaculate. But whatever Alejandro did, it was very male-oriented.
Kate found herself wondering just what he looked like without his shirt. Then she wondered what it would be like to kiss him without his shirt, be captive against that solid, hard chest. And finally she dispensed with his pants, too—who needed those, after all?
Alejandro strutted stark naked through her mind, and then turned around and strutted back. He winked at her. Kate turned down the air-conditioning, since the temperature seemed to be rising in the condo.
The problem was that however outrageous, the man made her feel things, made her feel alive. Shocks had rushed through her as soon as he touched her lips, threaded his fingers into her hair, hauled her against him. She’d almost liquefied.
Spinneys didn’t liquefy. She was certain of it. None of those prune-faced people peering out from the gilt frames in her parents’ formal living room had ever had a sexual urge: impossible. Spinneys didn’t make love; they bred the next generation.
Spinneys especially didn’t hook up with very tan, muscular hunks o’burnin’ love who could model tighty whities on a billboard or star in a Bowflex commercial. But…maybe Just Kate did. And hadn’t Maria Shriver married Arnold Schwarzenegger?
Hadn’t Kate come down here to Miami to escape being a Spinney? Break out of the preppy WASP mold? Wasn’t her goal to shake her booty on that table and have a good time?
Yes, it was.
So where did that leave her as far as twining tongues with Mr. Latin Lover? He’d probably helped dozens of women dance on tables. So maybe she shouldn’t act so predictably, Waspishly outraged at his words. Maybe she should hold him to his dirty promise, and use him for her own ends. Maybe Just Kate had a new boy toy, and the power could be all hers. She just had to figure out how to take it.
THE FLUORESCENT LIGHTING in the auditorium flickered and vibrated, hurting Alejandro’s eyes and annoying him. Thank God there were only fifteen minutes left of marketing and then they only had to get through the last class of the day: stats.
He’d come in a couple of minutes late as usual, earning a glare from Kurtz. And Kate hadn’t saved him a seat—stupid to be disappointed, since she’d tried to slap him for what he’d said to her, but he was. So he sat in the back row in case he fell asleep.
“Now for your semester projects,” Kurtz announced. “They will be worth fifty percent of your grade, so be thorough. I want you to work in pairs, and each pair will identify a business in the Miami area that you feel could benefit from a marketing analysis, new direction and plan. You will complete the analysis, come up with that new direction and forge a business plan that supports and executes the new approach. It’s a bonus if you can get the business to actually implement it, but of course I won’t grade you on that aspect. Any questions?”
Kurtz clarified a few things that students had concerns about. Alejandro wondered if Spinney Industries had a Miami office he and Kate could study. Or there was always Benito’s, the restaurant around the corner from After Hours. Benny hadn’t been doing so well lately, since a bottle of chianti had fallen on a customer’s head and given the guy a concussion. Benito was worried about a lawsuit, and his concerns had affected his cooking.
Alejo waylaid Kate as she exited the auditorium. “Hello, mi amorcito.”
“Well if it isn’t the Latin Lover,” she said with a smirk.
Interesting. He’d been expecting the silent treatment. “No, no. You can’t call me that. It’s far too generic. I’m unique. You wouldn’t just kiss any Latin Lover, would you, Kate?”
“Lower your voice,” she snapped, looking around to see if anyone had heard. She was so repressed it made him smile. He pushed her even harder.
“You’re embarrassed to kiss me? Why is that? Are you afraid that once we sleep together, I’ll wave your panties around like a flag? I won’t, you know.”
“Aren’t you presuming a hell of a lot, sport?” Her cheekbones flashed at him and her eyes glinted dangerously.
He looked into her eyes for a long moment and watched her color rise adorably. “No,” he said simply.
She flushed scarlet. “Wrong answer.”
“You’re sure about that?”
Kate didn’t reply. A pulse beat, wild and irregular, in her throat. It told him all he needed to know.
“So, about the project. We are still teaming up, aren’t we? Or are you welshing on our deal, concerned about your self-control around me?”
Her mouth opened, and then she shut it with a snap. “Listen here, sport. I don’t welsh on deals and I don’t have any issues with self-control. Got that?”
He nodded. Did she call everyone sport when she was angry at them? It was vile. “So why don’t we both think of a few businesses over the next couple of days and get back in touch?”
“Why don’t we just meet tomorrow?”
Because I’ll be fondling ladies’ feet all day. “I work tomorrow.”
“What is it that you do, again?”
“Accounting,” he lied. It was sort of true. He did keep the books for the business.
“Can’t you meet for lunch? It’s nowhere near tax season,” she pointed out.
He shook his head with regret. “I have a client whose books are in bad shape.” Yeah, if Peggy doesn’t start balancing the checkbook when she orders supplies, I’m going to wring her little red-headed neck. Again, it wasn’t a total lie….
“Well, okay. I guess we can talk about it when you come for the delicious tripe dinner with Wendell