The Wrong Man (6 page)

She’d been so caught up in his appearance she hadn’t noticed he wasn’t alone. Two men stood alongside him wearing similar clothing—jeans, T-shirts, and dusty work boots.

Finally getting her bearings, Talia found the wherewithal to talk. “What are you doing in my neck of the woods?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere pounding nails and cutting wood?”

“We had business at the zoning office and thought we’d grab a bite to eat while down here,” Tomas replied. “Any suggestions?”

The light changed and people started moving, steering around them since they blocked the crosswalk.

“There’s plenty, but it depends on what you want. If you’d like sandwiches, there’s a great place in the building over there.” She pointed across the street. “Their Reuben sandwiches are to die for. They’re stuffed full of meat and a special sauce created by the owner. There’s also a pretty good Brazilian place a couple of blocks up on the right.”

“Are you headed to lunch?”

“Yes.”

He spoke in Spanish to the men with him. They ogled her and used the word
morena
, which she knew could mean dark-skinned. That let her know they were discussing her, but she didn’t comprehend much else. Her high school Spanish was no match for their fast talking and advanced vocabulary.

After the men walked away, Tomas turned to her. “Let’s go,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Talia put a hand on her hip and cocked her head as if she didn’t hear him.

“I’m going to lunch with you.”

“I didn’t invite you.”

“I know. I’m inviting you.”

“Well, shouldn’t you wait for me to say yes?”

He started across the street, and after hesitating in stunned silence, Talia hurried after him.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

She gave up and went along with his steamroller behavior. Besides, she didn’t mind the company. “To get Indian food.”

He wrinkled his nose, which was kind of adorable on a man with his masculine features. “Never had it.”

“There’s a first time for everything, and that’s what I’m in the mood for.”

He grunted.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she said.

“It better be good.”

“It will be.” They approached the door of the restaurant and she turned around to smile at him. “I promise.”

She didn’t know why she did that. Maybe because he’d told her to smile more, and being in his presence made her
want
to smile more. He reached above her head and pulled the door wider, getting much closer than he needed to. He looked down at her with a sexy half grin that made her heart jump and private parts of her anatomy tighten in unexpected awareness.

“Promises, promises,” he said.

Chapter Seven

He was going to fuck her. He didn’t know when and didn’t know how, but it would definitely happen. If Talia kept smiling at him like that it would happen sooner rather than later.

Her hair fell past her shoulder blades in a luxurious mass, looking like she’d stepped out of a salon moments before. What he wouldn’t give to clench a handful of those locks and tug her head back to the perfect angle so he could taste the smooth lines of her throat. Her tempting bottom and curvaceous hips moved back and forth in front of him in a tangerine-colored sheath dress. The movement, not in the least bit overtly sexual, managed to be so nonetheless.

He loved women, but he drew the line at sleeping with another man’s wife and had never had an affair with a married woman—not knowingly, anyway. So he hadn’t considered her fair game. Now she was free, all bets were off. When they did the deed, he would have her wear the same black heels she had on today with the straps crisscrossed over her ankles. Imagining her in his bed, legs in the air, wearing those sexy shoes made his groin muscles constrict so tightly it became difficult to walk without discomfort.

An Indian woman dressed in a blue and gold sari led the way through the tables filled with diners. Cinnamon, cumin, curry—and other spices not so familiar—permeated the air. She seated them near the back in a booth with red seats and handed them menus.

Tomas set his aside. “What do you suggest?” he asked.

“Are you okay with spicy food?”

He leaned back and spread one arm along the back of the booth. He had to concentrate not to stare at her mouth.

“Of course. I’m Cuban.”

“Not all Hispanic people like spicy food, and I didn’t want to assume.” She perused the menu.

“You’re trying to be politically correct with me? Thank you, I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary. I’ve heard all kinds of things, believe me.”

She looked up. “Like what?”

“Like people assuming I came here by boat and got to stay under the wet foot dry foot policy.”

She frowned. “Um, didn’t you? I thought—”

“Yes, I did, but that doesn’t mean they have to assume it.”

She giggled. There was that smile again, lighting up her eyes and face. Yeah, he was going to fuck her.

“The trip must have been scary,” she said.

He nodded. “There were fourteen of us on a small boat, mostly men, but a couple of women and a little girl only ten years old. When we landed, we were almost out of food. We only had a few pieces of stale bread left, some fruit, and less than a liter of water. A few times I doubted we’d survive the trip, but we did.
Gracias a Dios
.” He kissed the gold cross on his neck. “What had kept me, kept all of us going, was the hope of finding a better life in the United States. Worth the risk, even though we could be turned back or even worse, die at sea.”

He’d made up his mind that if they didn’t manage to slip by the U.S. Coast Guard, he would try to enter through Mexico, another route some Cubans took to enter the country. As long as he had breath in his body, he had intended to make it onto American soil. Not only for himself, but for his family back home.

“So all your family is still in Cuba?”

“Most. I have an aunt in New York, and cousins scattered in Florida and on other Caribbean islands. I’m not close to them, though. My mother and my two younger brothers live in Santa Clara, where I’m from. I had an older brother…” His throat constricted. He didn’t talk about his brother much, but he’d idolized him, and every time he mentioned Manuel, he experienced a wave of grief that never failed to take him unawares.

Talia’s small hand covered his on the table and squeezed before she withdrew. The brief contact comforted him, and he pressed on, the empathy in her eyes filling him with an urge to tell the rest of the story.

“My brother, Manuel, tried to come here before me. The smartest one in our family, he always made good grades in school and enjoyed science and math. We knew he would do big things if he could make it to this country and take advantage of the opportunities the United States offered, but he didn’t make it.” Ten years had passed and still his brother’s death remained an ache in his gut, almost as fresh as the day he learned of his passing. His mother had collapsed and didn’t leave her bed for days when they received the devastating news.

He shifted in the chair and rubbed his hands on his thighs to regain his composure. “As the second oldest, I offered to come next. My mother begged me not to after what happened, but I wanted to finish what he didn’t. She’s raising Manuel’s two kids now.”

Talia’s eyes filled with sadness. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

“It happened a long time ago,” Tomas said.

“But we never recover from the death of a loved one, do we? No matter the circumstances or when it happened.”

Her voice softened and sounded pained. He suspected she was very familiar with the loss of someone she cared deeply about.

The waiter arrived and he let her order for him. She requested samosas filled with meat to start, insisting he try them because of their similarity to
empanadas
. She ordered him a plate of lamb vindaloo, described as a spicy dish with potatoes and a splash of lemon juice. For her, chicken tikka nestled in a rich tomato cream sauce.

The food arrived piping hot in stainless steel serving dishes. The enticing aroma whet his appetite and he dug in, heaping spoonfuls of basmati rice and vegetables onto his plate. Each bite seemed better than the last, and he wolfed down the meal. He ate most of the naan bread himself, and not wanting to leave a single morsel behind, used the last piece to sop up every bit of the spicy curry sauce on his plate.

At the end of the meal, he patted his stomach. “Delicious.”

“I told you.”

“So you were right once in your life. There’s a first time for everything.”

She pursed her lips. “You refuse to give me one little bit of credit.”

Tomas threw up his hands. “All right, fine. You were right. I can’t believe I never tried Indian food before. Happy now?”

“You’re welcome,” Talia said, her smile triumphant.

Tomas drained the last of the mango lassi from his glass. “So, are you coming to my picnic on Saturday?”

“You really do want me to come,” she said, sounding smug. “I should let you suffer without my presence.” She rested her chin on her hand.

“Don’t get a big head, Talia. I just think you need it.”

“Oh really?” She tilted her head. “Something else I need, according to you. You’re quite the expert on me and my needs.”

He planned to be. “The fresh air will do you good.”

“I prefer my air filled with all the smoggy goodness of car fumes, thank you very much. I can’t think of any reason why I’d want to drive that far outside of the city with all the mosquitoes and bugs. Ugh.” She shivered.

He folded his arms on the table, watching her twirl a strand of hair around her index finger. “Aren’t you from Georgia?”

“Yes, but I’ve lived in Atlanta—the city—all my life. There’s a difference.”

She had attractive features and was quite pretty, with long lashes curled at the ends and smoky, dark brown eyes. He didn’t say anything else for awhile, wondering what it would take to get her alone and how receptive she’d be to the opportunity. He watched her until she fidgeted and played with the earring in her ear, gaze bouncing from him to the table and back again.

“So you really renovated the house all by yourself?” she asked.

She was referring to the property he’d purchased out in the country and now lived in. “Pretty much. You should come see it.”

He kept his voice even, firm, as if to imply she had no other choice but to obey. He didn’t often take women to his house because they couldn’t appreciate the tranquility of the country. His closest neighbor lived miles away, and he was glad for the distance between them. Before he left Cuba, citizens didn’t have the right to own and sell property. The laws were changing, but it was nothing like here. He was proud of his place and the fact he could call it his own.

“I’ll think about coming out this weekend,” Talia said.

She broke the link of their connected gazes by picking up the ticket the waiter had placed there minutes before.

“What are you doing?” Tomas demanded.

“I’m getting the check.”

He snatched it away and leaned across the table. “What kind of
pendejo
would I be to let you pay, especially after I invited you to lunch?”

Her mouth fell open. “I assumed—”

“That’s the problem. Too much assuming.” He winked to let her know he was joking and slid from the booth. “Come on. I can’t spend all day here with you. I have to get back to work.”

Talia followed him to the front where he paid the bill with cash, and she waited at the door when he went back to the table to leave a tip.

“Thank you for lunch,” she said once they were walking back the way they came.

“You’re welcome.”

They fell silent. She’d been enjoying herself and hadn’t thought about work or the mess of her life during the entire hour. She wanted to walk slowly to prolong their time together, but his long-legged strides made it impossible to do.

“Is this part of the truce?” she asked lightly, reminding him of his request at the housewarming party.

He chuckled. “It could be. You’re not as bad as I thought.”

“Me?” she huffed. “Huh.”

They came to the intersection where she had to veer right to get back to her building. “I’m going this way. I work on the top floor over there.” She pointed to the gray stone building. “You’re headed back to the work site?”

He nodded but seemed hesitant to leave. Parting ways was turning into an inelegant process, and the thought that he wanted to delay saying goodbye as much as she did was at once peculiarly electrifying and disquieting.

“I’ll see you around,” Talia said.

“Maybe this weekend? There’ll be plenty of food.”

“But no drama?” She immediately regretted the comment and the negative memories it conjured. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“What you said doesn’t bother me. You think too much.” He took a look at his watch. “I better go.”

“Bye.”

“Hey.” He caught her wrist, halting her retreat. Goose flesh pimpled the length of her arm. Her body’s reaction startled her.

She squinted against the sun peering over his broad shoulders. They were standing at an incline on the sidewalk, so he loomed even taller than usual above her. His eyes were framed by long, sooty lashes, and they were almost as clear as glass, pulling her into their depths.

His lips weren’t particularly full, but their sensual lines promised passion and pleasure and from what she’d heard, it would not be false advertising. She could only imagine the ways in which those lips could make a woman lose her inhibitions and beg for more.

“I had a good time with you today,” he said. “Thanks for introducing me to Indian food. Enjoy your afternoon.”

Before he released her, he rubbed his thumb along the inside of her wrist. She imagined the same calloused skin rasping across her nipples, and her pulse went berserk.

He released her as suddenly as he’d grabbed her, and then he walked away, crossing the street to the other side. His broad back disappeared between the ebb and flow of pedestrian traffic. Meanwhile, she couldn’t move. Her heart beat quickly from the alarming thought that had raced through her mind when he held onto her. She turned in the direction of her office building, confused by the turn of events.