The Wrong Man (13 page)

He bent close to her ear and placed both hands, palms down, on the counter in front of her. Goose bumps sprang up on the back of her neck, and her nipples pushed against the lining of the robe. He liked to get close to her, and when she didn’t wear heels and he tipped his head down, it truly made her feel small—
pequeña
or “little one”—as he called her.

“I think the right man could have you barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen making pancakes,” he said in a confident voice. Almost as if he thought he was that man.

She laughed at the thought of her making pancakes. She’d never made them. “Then you have nothing to worry about, because you are not the right man,” she quipped.

He laughed and swatted her on the behind.

“Ow,” Talia said, though it didn’t hurt.

“Order me whatever you order for yourself, but add extra sides,” he said on his way out the kitchen. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“When you eat that much then I’m the one stuck having to help you burn off all those extra calories,” she called out, smiling to herself.

“As if you mind,” he called back.

****

Flat on his back on Talia’s bed, Tomas stared up at the ceiling.

“Are you almost ready?” he called for the third time.

They were on their way to a
quinceañera
party for one of his friend’s daughters. Well, they would be on their way if she ever came out of the bathroom. He’d arrived thirty minutes ago to pick her up, dressed and ready to go in a black jacket and white shirt. He’d been waiting ever since.

“Would you be patient!” she hollered back. “It takes time to look as good as I do every day.”

And she called him arrogant.

The light in the bathroom extinguished and Tomas sat up. Talia came out wearing a gray, sequined cocktail dress, loose on top, but the fitted skirt clung to her round hips and bottom. She’d styled her hair in a lustrous array of curls piled on top of her head.

“What do you think?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

“
Muy bonita
.”

“Really?”

One corner of his mouth lifted into an indulgent smile. She preened under his gaze, dark brown eyes lighting up the way they always did whenever he paid her a compliment. He never grew tired of that expression in her eyes.

“Stop fishing for compliments and let’s go.” He still teased her whenever the urge hit him.

Talia slapped his arm. “I’m not fishing,” she said tartly.

Later, they sat at a table with two other couples in a banquet hall filled with friends and family members of the birthday girl.

“I had no idea these
quinceañera
parties were so extravagant,” Talia whispered.

The catered dinner, a chocolate fountain, and a five-tier cake represented only part of the elaborate setup. Selena, the birthday girl, had arrived wearing a pastel-blue princess dress with her escort and twelve-member court. The stretch Hummer dropped them off in front of the banquet hall before they made their grand entrance.

A live band playing a mix of pop music and traditional Latin sounds had half the guests dancing. Vases in the middle of each table contained flowers in soft-hued colors—pastel blue, muted green, cream, and rose.

Tomas nodded. “The parties are an important rite of passage and represent the transition from being a girl to becoming a woman, but I think the tradition has lost some of its meaning as each family tries to outdo the other. I’ve known families to go into deep debt if they didn’t have friends and family members to help offset the cost. Selena’s mother, Maria, grew up poor and her parents couldn’t afford a nice party, so she wanted to make Selena’s
quinces
special and memorable.”

“Seeing her dance the first dance with her father was very sweet,” Talia said quietly.

A wistfulness filled her voice and he saw the longing in her eyes. It was near the end of summer and they’d been together for several months, but he didn’t know much about her parents except that her father had died when she was an infant and her mother had died during childbirth. She seldom talked about either of them.

Tomas put his arm around her shoulders, prompted by a sudden need to protect and comfort. “They practiced the waltz for weeks.”

“They looked good out there,” Talia said.

Tomas explained the symbolism of the other events at the party. “Remember when Selena changed from wearing the flats to the heels and received the last doll?” Talia nodded. “They symbolize her maturity now that she’s a woman.”

He ate the last piece of cake on his plate, and sensed Talia’s gaze on him. The adoration in her eyes made his chest swell. She made him feel that way quite often—proud, as if he were some kind of hero.

“I’m glad you brought me. Thank you for sharing your culture with me,” she said softly.

If anyone had told him three months ago he’d be at a party with Talia Jackson and lucky enough to be sharing her bed, he’d think they were crazy. He’d always been attracted to her, he realized, but she’d been married, untouchable. All the friendly animosity between them he now had to admit was nothing more than unacknowledged sexual tension.

She’d started doing thoughtful little things for him lately, like creating special smoothie packets that combined flavors she thought he’d enjoy—mango, papaya, and coconut milk. One smoothie she called the muscle builder, which included protein powder, and another packed with raspberries and bananas she said was good for his heart. His heart. Other women only seemed concerned about the organ between his legs.

She placed her soft hand at the back of his neck and applied pressure, lifting her lips. Their mouths met in a slow, gentle kiss.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“Do I need a reason?”

Something inside him stirred. A faint, peculiar emotion that made him want more. Permanence. Monogamy. Those words used to scare him but had a more attractive ring to them now.

He and Talia had grown close, and he’d shared details with her about his life that he’d never shared with anyone. He’d told her about his childhood in Cuba and the devastation of losing his father in a boating accident at the age of nine. His poor upbringing presented a striking contrast to hers. While his family had relied on barter and government rations to supply their needs, she’d never had to ask the cost of anything because price didn’t matter. He grew up in a small house with his brothers, mother, a cousin, and his grandparents. She grew up in a mansion with a nanny, servants, and the only other family member, her grandmother.

Manny, his Cuban friend who owned the restaurant, shuffled over. He had a slight limp from a bone fracture that never properly set when he was a child.

“We’re going over to the restaurant afterward,” he said. “Are the two of you coming?”

“Is the band playing tonight?” Tomas asked.

“Sure is. Food and drinks on me.”

“Food?” Talia interjected. “After all this, you plan to eat again?”

“Trust me, you’ll be ready to eat again once you get through with all the dancing.” Manny winked. “See you two there.” He ambled away.

“You want to go?” Tomas asked.

She nodded vigorously. “Of course. Sounds like fun.”

Sometimes, when she reacted so happily to one of his suggestions that they go out with his friends, he wondered what her life had been like before. And why he hadn’t met more of her friends. Outside of Shawna and Ryan, initially bewildered but now wholeheartedly accepting of their relationship, he didn’t know anyone else close to her. Not friends and not family, either.

She seemed to have a strange relationship with her grandmother, a woman she seldom talked about but who could influence a change in mood with only a phone call. On those days his only goal was to make her happy and lose the pinched expression she wore after one of their conversations.

“We’ll stay a little longer, say goodbye, and then leave for the restaurant,” he said.

Chapter Sixteen

The patio of Tío Manny’s Restaurant overflowed with a boisterous group of diners when Talia and Tomas arrived. A five-piece band rocked out a vaguely familiar Spanish tune, one she’d probably heard Tomas listening to in the car. The electric guitar player hunched over her instrument, face scrunched into concentrated lines while customers stood on their feet clapping and cheering.

Manny waved them over and introductions were made. Of the nine people at the table, Talia recognized four from the birthday party.

In addition to pitchers of margaritas, everyone had their own drink—
mojitos
,
Cuba Libres
, and for the less adventurous, good old Georgia sweet tea.

The waitress came over. “What can I get you two to drink?”

“A
Cuba Libre
for me, and a
piña colada
 
for her,” Tomas replied.

Manny shouted across the table to be heard above the music. “Bring out more appetizers.
Empanadas
, a couple more shrimp cocktails, and stuffed avocados.”

“Manny, where are we supposed to put all this food?” Talia teased.

He leaned forward with a twinkle in his eye. “The party’s just getting started,
querida
.”

Moments later, Manny pulled her from the chair, and with the group cheering her on, she stumbled through the salsa steps. Manny didn’t allow his limp to limit him at all, and she laughed and covered her face when she stepped on the poor man’s foot.

“Don’t worry, you’re doing fine,” Manny said.

Tomas sat back and smiled, his gaze fixed on her so intently she blushed.

For the most part, the group refrained from speaking Spanish so she wouldn’t be excluded from the conversations. That all changed when Bianca arrived. The fun and excitement Talia had cultivated with the others took a nosedive.

Tomas stood to greet her, and she rose on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. Her full bosom pressed into his chest and her lips landed close to his mouth.

“¿
Que bola, mami
?” He slipped an arm around her narrow waist to give her a one-armed hug.

The pretty Latina made her interest in Tomas, and that she didn’t like having Talia around, obvious. She sat down on the other side of Tomas and leaned in close, laughing and touching his forearm, tossing her hair every so often. Talia gritted her teeth at the behavior, but what pushed her over the edge was how she spoke to Tomas in Spanish, and he responded in Spanish, so Talia couldn’t participate in the conversation.

She rose abruptly from the table and walked into the dining room without saying a word, found the bathroom, and locked herself in. Only Maybeth ever made her feel insecure, but seeing someone make a play for Tomas right in front of her evoked the same feelings of inadequacy her grandmother regularly inspired. Months ago he’d denied sleeping with Bianca, but what about now? They hadn’t made any promises to each other, and though she didn’t think he was seeing anyone else, she hadn’t asked.

And what had he and Talia been doing these past months, anyway? Didn’t that count for something?

How long she stayed in there she didn’t know, but when she exited, Tomas waited in the dimly lit hallway.

“Are you okay?” he asked, brow furrowed. “You’ve been in there a long time.”

“Do you care?” Talia snapped, doing what she knew to do—defend, fight, deflect.

His head jerked back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Talia repeated nastily. “You know damn well what I’m saying. Maybe we’re not in an exclusive relationship, but you need to check Bianca.”

“Check her?” The frown lines deepened.

“It means you should tell her to back the hell off,” Talia said, placing her hands on her hips. “I don’t care what you do when we’re not together…” The untruth almost choked her coming out. “But you’re here with me.”

“Everybody knows we’re here together, and Bianca is a friend. I told you that before.”

“Maybe you see her as a friend.” She poked his chest. “But she wants more, and she’s being disrespectful. Talking to you in Spanish, touching all over you like you’re her man. Maybe I should go out there and rub all over one of your friends and let him feel me up. How would you like that? You know what, maybe I’ll do that right now, and let’s see how you like it.” She stared up at him, defiant. She’d gotten so worked up her breath came in short bursts.

His face transformed into a tight mask, and his jaw muscles worked as he fought some hidden emotion. “I understand,” he said in a controlled voice that still managed to vibrate with displeasure. “You’ve made yourself very clear.”

He pressed her back against the dark paneled wall. Scowling down at her, his light brown eyes became stormy and darkened. When he spoke, he enunciated each word. “And I never want to hear you imply, insinuate, or suggest another man is allowed to touch you again. We are establishing right here, right now, that this—us—we’re exclusive. ¿
Comprendes
?”

His mouth came down, hard and crushing, punctuating the words without giving her the chance to agree or disagree. He more or less branded her with the searing heat of his lips, one hand to the back of her head and the other around her waist so she couldn’t move. Their tongues tangled in a heated, open-mouthed kiss.

Clutching the front of his shirt, Talia held on tight as he grabbed handfuls of her ass to pull her taut against him. Their hips grinded against each other, and even when a man cleared his throat and passed by on the way to the bathroom, they didn’t stop the hot and heavy make out session.

When he lifted his head, her nipples were hard and she was shaking. He drew such strong emotions from her—anger, joy, passion. Always the extremes and no middle ground.

His own breathing was ragged and heavy. “¿
Comprendes
?” he repeated. His voice sounded like sandpaper had been dragged across his vocal chords.

“Yes.” Talia lifted her fingers to her swollen, trembling lips. She’d learned her lesson. “I’ll meet you outside. I need to go reapply my lipstick.”

“Leave it. Let them see and know what we were doing.” He outlined her mouth with the tip of his tongue and pressed his mouth firmly against hers again as a reminder he meant what he said.