Fierce Pride (26 page)

Libby held her breath, but she felt as though she were viewing a stranger. The beautiful woman with Santos had a variety of sultry expressions, but she recognized none as her own. The photos were spectacular, but she couldn’t take any credit for them. Teresa and Armand had turned her into someone else, and she was eager to become herself again.

When they had seen all the shots, Armand raised his hand. “I want only a few more of Miss Gunderson alone. There’s a high-necked, long sleeved dress on the rack. Put it on please, and I’ll take the last shots.”

Santos gave her an encouraging nod and being a good sport, Libby changed her clothes with Teresa’s help so she didn’t smear her makeup or tangle her hair. This time Armand wanted her to lie face down on the bench, kick her legs back, and hold the bottle of cologne in front of her. He took profiles and other shots of her looking into the camera with as sexy an expression as she could possibly produce. Nothing in the studio was real to her, and her stay in Barcelona grew stranger every day.

When they were finally finished, Libby hurriedly donned her own clothes and shoes. She thanked Teresa for her help before leaving the dressing room. Santos and Armand were still huddled by the computer, and she waited for them to look up.

“We’re discussing your fees,” Santos said.

“My fees?” Libby repeated, thinking the quality of her work didn’t deserve more than minimum wage.

“Armand’s photos prove you’re worth every euro Ana was paid.”

Libby clamped her jaws shut rather than shriek in frustration. She wondered if Santos actually believed she was that good, or whether he was simply doing it for her. “May I speak with you, please?”

He turned his back to Armand. “Of course, what is it?”

“I posed as a favor to you,” she whispered. “It wasn’t about money, and I don’t expect to be paid. In fact, I refuse to take a cent, or euro, or whatever it is.”

He frowned. “It could go into your college fund.”

Apparently he thought she’d really earned the money, which was flattering but unnecessary. “True, but I won’t take it.”

Balancing on his crutches, Santos shifted position to speak to Armand. “Libby won’t accept money for helping out today. However, I may pay her in cologne.”

Libby laughed. “I won’t accept more than a single bottle.”

Armand kissed both her cheeks, and insisted she sign a release before they said goodbye. “This campaign could lead to a very successful modeling career. Will I be able to contact you through Santos?”

“Yes, but I’m not interested in doing anything more than we did today.”

“What a pity. When the ads appear in magazines, you’re sure to hear from modeling agencies.”

“I’ll have to disappoint them.” Santos gave her arm a tug, and she walked with him to the elevator. “I hope they use the shots of you alone.”

They entered the elevator and Santos pushed the button for the first floor. “I won’t have much say in it, but I like the ones with both of us. It’s better for the image of the cologne.”

“Guaranteed sex in a bottle?”

“If a man uses it right,” Santos replied. “It has something to do with pheromones combined with the scent. I didn’t take chemistry in school, but a great deal of work went into combining the ingredients to create the scent. My father chose the final formula, so his name is rightfully on the label.”

If Miguel Aragon’s reputation with women was widely known, which Libby thought it was, the cologne could probably have smelled like dried seaweed and still sold to men hoping to have Miguel’s phenomenal success with women. “It’s a killer scent, but I don’t need more than a single bottle to take home.”

Santos teased her with a wide smile. “I’ll send you a case.”

Manuel was waiting for them at the curb, and once they were seated in the SUV, Santos suggested they stop at one of his favorite places for lunch. “They have a delicious
paella
in a city known to prepare the best.”

Libby was more anxious to get home. “Please, I look too silly in this clown face to be out in public.”

Santos disagreed. “Does she look like a clown to you, Manuel?”

“Don’t put him on the spot,” Libby cried.

“You are lovely,” Miguel stressed.

Libby muttered under her breath. “At least no one knows me here.”

“They will soon,” Santos promised.

The restaurant’s open patio was crowded, but Santos asked for the darkest booth inside. “I’d rather have lunch outside,” he murmured, “but people will bother us so often we wouldn’t be able to eat.”

“Hiding inside is fine, and I’m grateful not to be embarrassed any further,” Libby replied.

“Did the morning embarrass you?”

He appeared surprised, but she couldn’t fault him. “You’re used to being photographed. I’m not, and especially not when I’m made-up like this.”

He surveyed the darkened interior of the restaurant. There were other couples dining closer to the bar, but they were involved in their own hushed conversations. He leaned close. “I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable. No one is looking at you, except me. Let’s take our time eating, and when we get home, you may stand in the shower as long as you wish to become your own beautiful, natural self.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’d hate to run up your water bill.”

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “Thank you for doing the ads, I didn’t realize it was such an ordeal for you. I’ll send you two crates of cologne.”

The waiter approached before Libby thought of a clever reply, and Santos ordered his favorites for them. She asked for iced tea rather than wine, but gradually relaxed enough to forget she must look like a woman from a low-scale escort service. Ana projected an air of elegant nonchalance, but after further study, Armand would probably decide she resembled a deer in headlights and reshoot with Santos and another model. No matter where she started, her mind churned right back to Ana, easily one of the most perfect women on the planet.

“You’re being awfully quiet. Don’t you like the paella?”

Libby had to finish a bite of the seafood-laced saffron rice dish and swallow before she answered. “This is delicious, but…”

“Go on, even on crutches I can take it.”

She wasn’t certain where to begin. He might accuse her of simply being jealous, and she couldn’t deny it, but she didn’t want to land in the middle of their tumultuous affair. “All right. I’m here only for the summer, so I should probably stay out of it, but when Ana provokes such a heated response from you, it’s difficult to believe it’s over between you.”

“Don’t worry. An enraged bull provokes a heated response from me too, but I don’t want to cuddle with him.”

A slow smile slid across his very handsome mouth, so clearly he wasn’t taking her complaint seriously. “I hate fights, and I’m not trying to start one. It’s just that indifference is the opposite of love, not hatred.”

His tone dropped to an unmistakably serious low. “I never loved Ana, and I don’t hate her now. I just don’t trust her when she’s sold what little privacy I have to the tabloids, and she’d do it again in a heartbeat. Had I known Armand had hired her for today, I wouldn’t have gone to the studio. I’m sorry if the way I spoke to her upset you.”

“You didn’t yell, and in fact, you spoke to Armand, not her. The whole situation was bizarre. No one would ever ask me to take Ann’s place if there were any other alternative.”

“Armand could have called another model, but he didn’t need to. I’m sorry you don’t realize how lovely you are. I’ll tell you more often. How would you describe yourself?”

The question gave her pause. “Nordic, tall, slim, athletic.”

Santos waited for her to add more. “That’s it?” He touched a hairspray stiffened curl and dropped it. “You have an angelic beauty combined with a flippant toughness that’s, frankly, intoxicating.”

Astonished, Libby bit her lip. “My coloring is the only angelic thing about me, and I’m proud to be tough. Sports are a great excuse to kick people out of my way, and I’m good at it.”

“It would be very unfair to kick a man on crutches.”

He had such a wicked smile and seated so close, she felt the heat of his sleek body as well as the warmth of his affection. He might not stay with a woman for long, but when he was with her, he was truly there and not lost in his own scattered thoughts. Maybe that had been Miguel’s secret too. She stopped analyzing the life out of it and took another bite of paella.

“This is so good, but I can’t eat it all. Could we take what’s left home, or would that insult Tomas?”

“Let’s take it and eat it at midnight, or later,” he suggested with a sly wink. “Tomas works for me remember, and if I want to snack on tree bark, it doesn’t concern him.”

“Fine, I’m finished.” She blotted her mouth on her napkin and left a brilliant red lipstick stain. She shoved the napkin into her lap and assumed the commercial laundries must be adept at bleaching out a multitude of stains for the restaurant business.

She noticed a man approaching them before Santos did, and gave his left knee a squeeze to alert him. “Who’s this?”

“A reporter who covers bullfights.” Santos introduced her and then spoke to the man at length in Spanish.

Knowing the subject had to be Santos’s injury and recovery, Libby followed the jest of the fluid exchange of questions and answers. Santos smiled often and shrugged, as though the conversation were a friendly one rather than an incisive interview about his career. He brought it to a swift close, and the reporter nodded to her and walked away.

“What did he ask?” she inquired.

“He’d heard, or at least he said he’d heard, that I’d sustained a career-ending injury. I assured him that I haven’t. He also wanted to know who you were.”

“You introduced us.”

“A name isn’t enough for a reporter. To sell papers, they yank on every loose thread to search for a hint of scandal. I just tantalized him with your name.”

“Thank you, the last thing I need is to become involved in some sordid scandal when I look like the skank Barbie.”

Santos tried to muffle his deep laughter in his napkin and failed. “Did you play with Barbies when you were small?”

“I preferred a soccer ball, but Patricia loved them, and our mother sewed little outfits for her dolls. She had quite a collection.”

Santos leaned close and kissed her. “Let’s go home.”

By the time they arrived at the beach house, Libby was so anxious to shampoo the hairspray out of her hair she could barely stand it. “I have to shower until I look like myself again.”

Manuel helped Santos up the stairs and went down the back staircase leaving them alone in the hallway. Santos stopped at her door. “Come shower in my room.”

He had been so charming at lunch, she’d pushed Ana Santillan to the back of her mind, but now they were home, and the exotic model rolled right over her. The whole day had been so far from her normal routine, and it was no wonder she felt so conflicted. “I’d rather be by myself. I’ll see you later.”

He reached for the doorknob before she could open her door. “There’s one other thing I should tell you about Ana.”

Dreading it, she drew in a deep breath. “I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

“Did you notice her ring?”

“Who wouldn’t? It was huge.”

“My father left it to her in his will. He’d wanted to propose, but was too ill and didn’t want to leave her a widow. Had he been well, she would have been stepmother number four. My family is already a tangled mess without my sleeping with her. There’s nothing between us. Now come to my room.”

She remained by her door. “The ads had been planned for your father and her, hadn’t they?”

“He’d only told me he couldn’t do them and I should. He didn’t mention her, or how much he’d been paid for the campaign. I just fell into the ads unaware of what had been promised.”

Rather than criticize his late father, she followed him down the hall to his room. She did stay in the shower longer than usual, and by the time she’d dried her hair, Santos lay stretched out on his bed sound asleep. Even asleep he drew her close, and dressed in her lingerie, she curled up beside him. She matched her breathing to his, and slept just as soundly.

When Santos awoke, he found the dent left in Libby’s pillow, proof she’d taken her nap there, but he wanted her there now. He pressed his face into her pillow and found only the soft scent of his own soap, not a delicious hint of her. Annoyed she’d slipped away without waking him, he got up, took his crutches from the floor and made his way out on his balcony. He half expected her to be racing up and down in front of the house, but she was swimming, and Manuel stood on the beach keeping watch on her with his hands rested on his hips. Manuel could swim better than most fish, but Santos was certain he’d told her not to go in the water.

He watched until she walked out of the surf. She was wearing a black one-piece suit, the kind serious swimmers wore, rather than a tiny bikini, but she looked so damn hot he nearly drooled. He watched her shake out her hair, and could almost hear cameras clicking all up and down the beach. He wanted to be angry with her for disobeying him, but he ached so badly to have her again he couldn’t muster up a single bit of outrage.