“So maybe I should find a beautiful woman to ride with him.”
Amalia said nothing. Rafael had to know Stefano was married. Did he think Stefano would be unfaithful to his wife for a balloon race?
“No thoughts?” he pressed.
“None you want to hear,” she murmured. “Turn at the second traffic signal, right. Then three blocks to Via Escondito.”
“Maybe I do want to hear,” he said.
She hesitated a moment, but knowing she was almost home, she felt reckless. “It’s that stupid bet. Don’t you think the two of you could find better use for that much money than betting it against each other? There are hungry children, sick people, homeless in the world who could benefit.”
“I give to charity,” he protested.
He couldn’t see it; his type never would. She shook her head. He lived so differently from the masses.
“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll turn over my winnings to your favorite charity. You just name it and I’ll sign the check right over.”
She looked at him in astonishment. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Why not? The money isn’t the important part of the wager, the winning is.”
Amalia turned to look out at the street. She couldn’t imagine carelessly dismissing fifty thousand Euros.
When he reached her apartment building a few minutes later, he stopped in front and looked up through the windshield. The building was old, but still interesting, with stonework embellishments and tall windows.
“Is the inside also old, or has it been renovated?”
“The building is almost a hundred years old, so of course the inside has been renovated.” About fifty years ago, but Amalia saw no need to tell him that.
He looked at her. “I’m sorry you won’t be going with me. I love a challenge.”
Amalia frowned. “I’d be no challenge.”
“Getting you on my side would be the challenge. Teammates should share the goal. Would you throw your heart into my race, or hamper it at every turn?”
“We’ll never know, will we?” she asked. He was so close she could see the faint lines radiating from the corners of his eyes. See the deep-brown irises that almost melded into the black pupils.
He rubbed a finger lightly down her cheek. “Seems a shame.”
She jerked back. “Thank you for the ride,” she said hastily, throwing open the door and scrambling from the car. She made a quick dash to the front door and hardly felt the rain. She was churning with the emotional onslaught of his touch that had her insides turning to mush. He was wrong—she’d be no challenge to him at all if he ever turned his attentions on her!
She turned and watched as he tooted the horn and drove away, puddles splashing from the wheels. Long after the tail-lights had merged into traffic, she gazed after the sleek black dream machine. She didn’t even own a car. Not that she needed the expense as the bus served her perfectly well. She and Jose had a nice flat, nothing like the home she’d grown up in, but the best she could afford. Her job was good, and in only a few years she’d be able to return to her own education.
Opening the door to the flat, she saw she’d beaten Jose home, probably because of the ride Rafael had given her. She’d start dinner then change. Afterward, she would read up on what she could find on the Internet about hot air balloons. She knew only the rudimentary facts about the sport, which she’d gleaned from Stefano’s enthusiastic discussion when he returned from some ballooning event.
She did know long jumps meant trips beyond the one-to three-hour ones near a festival site. They were rarer than the gathering of balloonists in favorite spots like Barcelona or London or Albuquerque, New Mexico, in America. Those races followed some prescribed activities, like waves of balloons in the morning flights or just before sunset. They also required a chase crew to pick them up when they came down. If there were competitions, it was usually dropping beanbags in target sites. Points went to those who dropped the closest to the center or who dropped earlier rather than later.
Once in comfortable and warm sweats, Amalia turned on her computer. She told herself she was learning about the sport to talk more knowledgeably with her boss. But she also searched for what would fascinate a dynamic man like Rafael Sandoval. Doing a search on his name, she began to read about his life. Some aspects she knew, other items were new. A complete dossier online. Did he know people could find out so much merely by tapping a few keys on a computer?
Despite her own reservations about flight, she wondered a bit wistfully what it would be like to sail soundlessly over the countryside, going where the wind blew, seeing farms and towns from the air with a man who made life seem more exciting than anything she’d experienced.
His own parents were divorced. According to one source, he maintained “cordial relationships” with both, whatever that meant. She missed her parents all the time. She couldn’t imagine having mere “cordial relationships” with them.
“Hola, I’m home,” Jose called.
So much for dreaming about hot air balloon rides and sexy millionaires who took to the air! Reality returned: she had dinner to finish.
* * *
Rafael let himself into the empty house from the garage. It was raining like a monsoon outside. The house was dark and a bit chilled. He flipped on the switch to illuminate the mudroom, then stepped into the hall. Turning on lights as he walked back to the kitchen, he considered the bet he’d made. Then he almost laughed remembering the outrage of Vicente’s prim PA when he’d suggested she might sabotage his flight.
He didn’t know what had made him drive back by Vicente’s office building at the end of the working day. He had wanted to talk to Amalia to see if he could glean any information to explain why Vicente had suggested she be part of his crew. It made even less sense now that he knew Teresa was going with him. What was Vicente’s thinking? He couldn’t seriously suppose that Teresa would distract Rafael from his goal of winning the race?
The short car ride with Amalia hadn’t given him much insight except he now knew she deplored the bet for altruistic financial reasons. But she didn’t seem to have a special interest in Vicente’s winning. Or his losing.
But she intrigued Rafael for other reasons. She seemed as jumpy as a cat with dogs baying. He’d caught her watching him the few times he’d actually gone to Vicente’s office. Rafael was used to that from women, but she never flirted with him, never acknowledged any interest besides the looks he’d feel from time to time. If he glanced her way, her eyes would already be moving away.
What made her tick? He’d given her even more reason for Vicente to lose by promising his winnings to her favorite charity. An offer which she had not jumped on. That puzzled him as well. Most people he knew would instantly come up with a name or cause to gain that much money.
Stefano Vicente had long been a thorn in his side, ever since he’d made a rather underhanded maneuver five years ago that had cost Rafael time and money. Rafael would delight in showing up the man in front of the Business Alliance. Stefano had been the only ballooner in the group until Rafael took up the sport. Vicente liked to brag, but those bragging rights would be curtailed when Rafael beat him—especially since he was the newcomer to the sport.
The bet presented a new personal challenge as well—piloting a balloon farther afield. The trick would be with the weather and getting an ongoing reliable way to indicate the wind factor. How much fuel could he carry to keep airborne longer, without being too much weight for lift? The logistics suddenly seemed daunting enough to fire up his determination