The Unexpected Honeymoon (7 page)

“Fortunately, you're on vacation. Going to bed late is part of the bargain.”

“You mean like calories not counting?”

“Exactly.” Slipping the papers into their file, he rose to his feet. “I'll walk you back to your villa.”

“There's no need. I'm sure I'll be perfectly safe.” Wasn't as though she was wandering some anonymous street in Mexico. “If not, I've got pepper spray in my bag.”

“I won't ask how you got a weapon through customs,” he said with a chuckle. “But I do insist on walking you. Even in the safest of resorts, unexpected accidents can occur.

“Besides,” he added, the words coming out low and close to her ear. “It would be rude of me to let you travel unescorted.”

Heaven forbid,
Larissa thought, tugging at her shawl. With the way his voice sent shivers traveling down her spine, she'd rather the rudeness.

 

CHAPTER FIVE

“T
ELL
 
ME
 
ABOUT
New York City,” Carlos said once they'd left the restaurant. “What do you do there?”

“You mean, when I'm not planning weddings?” She gave her shawl another tug. If she pulled any tighter, she'd choke herself with the silk, but at least the action gave her something to do with her hands. She'd tried leaving them down by her sides, but felt awkward swinging her fingers near the edge of his jacket, like she was waiting for him to snatch her hand in his grip. Larissa wondered if he felt the awkwardness, too, because he had his hand stuffed deep in his pockets.

“I work for an advertising agency,” she told him. “Media sales.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“You're being polite.” Media sales definitely wasn't interesting, at least not to her. “But it pays the bills a lot better than catering.”

“Ah, so you did plan events.”

“Waitress. Before that, a cashier at a florist. NYU didn't pay for itself. I had to come up with the money somehow.”

“You're not from New York originally, are you?”

He stated rather than asked. How they segued from her attending New York University to her hometown, Larissa wasn't sure, although she could guess. Eight years of Big Apple living hadn't completely killed her twang. “I moved there when I was eighteen.”

“Because you wanted to attend NYU.”

“Because it wasn't Texas.” As she expected her answer earned her a look. “In a small town, your reputation is pretty much set at birth,” she told him. “I wanted to go some place where I could stretch my wings.” Not to mention finding a happily ever after was a heck of a lot easier in a city where you weren't completely surrounded by taller, thinner and blonder. Wasn't as if her grandmother cared if Larissa left; she was glad to be done with her.

“How about you?” Tired of talking about herself, she decided to turn the tables. Maybe in his answers, she'd gain insight into what made him so cynical. “What made you go into the hotel industry?”

“Born into it,” he replied. “The Chavez family has a long tradition in the hospitality industry. In fact, my grandfather built one of the first luxury hotels on the Baja peninsula.”

“Wow. I'm impressed. Explains how you and your cousin both got sent here.”

“You'd be hard-pressed to find a hotel in this country that doesn't employ a Chavez.”

“So the name is like Smith.”

He chuckled, the warm sound slipping under her skin. “In a way. In addition to being large, we're encouraged to learn the business from the ground up, even if that means working for our competition. My very first job was on the grounds crew for a rival property when I was fourteen years old. You'd be amazed what you can learn about the business weeding gardens. Watch your step.”

They reached a section where the walkway stepped down. In spite of the area being well lit, Carlos still reached over and took her elbow. Unlike this morning, when she had a bulky terrycloth robe to protect her, this time his hand touched bare skin.

This was getting ridiculous. There was absolutely no reason for one man to cause this much physical response. Yet here she was, her entire body tingling from the slightest of contact.

“Did your wife work in the hotel business, too?”

He stiffened at the question.
You can't stop poking that nerve, can you, Larissa?
Part of her wondered if she broached the topic on purpose, to distract from the awareness stirring in her stomach.

“Mirabelle was a fashion model,” he replied. “We met when I was working a property in California.”

That distracted it, all right. Of course his wife had been a model. A man like Carlos, with his magnetic looks and natural virility, would attract only the best. “She must have been very beautiful.” Tall, long and leggy, no doubt.

“Yes, she was.”

“So you lived in California,” she said, shooing away the jealousy that immediately cropped up.

“For a while. Mirabelle had...health...issues so we moved back to Mexico City. I thought being close to her family would help her feel better.”

The stilted, practiced tone of his answer unnerved her. He was holding back. Larissa could sense the “but” hovering in the air, the same way she could feel the torment he fought to keep from his voice. All of a sudden, what had been awareness grew into a desire to wrap her arms around him and bring comfort.

She preferred the awareness.

They grew quiet after that. Now more aware of his proximity than ever, Larissa hugged her shawl close to her body. The flimsy material needed anchoring against the sea breeze anyway. She looked across the beach to the ocean which loomed black next to the silver land. Between the moon's brightness and the walkway lights, she could make out the white of the foam left behind each time a wave crashed. “I wonder if the tide is going in or out,” she mused aloud.

“Out,” Carlos replied. “See the line?” He stopped and pointed to a strip of land where the sand shifted from silver to the color of gray cement. “That is the high tide mark. The sand above the water is freshly wet, which says the water has already been there and is starting to recede.”

“I'm impressed. Is knowing the high tide mark part of your job, as well?”

“More a sign that I walk this path too often.”

“And how often is that?” she asked.

“Twice a day at least. It's the only way to see what's going on...”

His voice drifted off at the end, along with his attention. Following his gaze, Larissa saw that he'd focused on a shadow up beach, right at the surf line.

“Is that what I think it is?” Looked an awful lot like two people reenacting the famous beach scene from
From Here to Eternity.

A giggle pierced the night air. Moments later, the shadows became upright and ran toward the villas. Larissa tried hard not to giggle herself. “I see what you mean about forgetting your surroundings. Love and paradise.”

“Indeed.” From the tension in his voice, the scene made that raw nerve flare again. Had Carlos ever rolled in the surf?
What hardened your heart? Had it been his wife? Her illness?
So many questions danced around her head.

As it turned out, the shadows were staying in the VIP section. Before Larissa realized, she and Carlos had arrived at the beachside entrance to her villa. The pathway ended only a few feet beyond, disappearing into a stretch of silver that became the lip of the lagoon. Larissa could see how the shadows had gotten carried away. With nothing but palm trees and sand, it was easy to feel like the only two people on the planet.

“Thank you for walking me home,” she said.

“Thank
you
for staying so late to help me.”

She went to smile up at Carlos, only to be attacked by a case of nerves dancing around her stomach. Silly, but all of a sudden she felt like a teenager saying good-night on a date. A part of her knew she should turn and head through the door, while another, stronger part, remained rooted to the spot, capable of little more than swaying back and forth on the balls of her feet. “What time are you presenting your proposal to the Stevases?” she asked.

“Nine o'clock,” Carlos replied. “Why?”

“Would you mind if I joined you?”

“You have already given up part of your tri—”

“I don't mind,” she interrupted. “I'm invested now. I want to see what Linda Stevas thinks of my ideas.” What she didn't want to think about was how the suggestion popped into her head as soon as she realized saying good-night might be the last time she spent time with him this week. “So, do you mind?”

“Not at all. In fact, your presence would be very...welcome.”

The way he said the world, rolling it off his tongue, turned the nerves into butterflies. “Then, I'll see you
mañana?
”

“Mañana,”
Carlos replied. “I am looking forward to it.”

His gaze had dropped to her mouth, causing her breath to catch. Larissa rose on tiptoes, compelled by a need to lean closer, only to catch herself before the moment got out of hand. This wasn't a date.

Spinning around, she unlocked her hotel door and slipped inside, clapping her hand over her mouth as soon as she closed the door behind her. What just happened? Had she really been waiting for a good-night kiss?

* * *

How long he stood on the walkway after Larissa went inside, Carlos wasn't sure. Long enough for the roaring to leave his ears.

He watched as the light went on in her living room, and when her silhouette appeared in the window, he stepped closer to the building out of her line of sight. The move made him feel improper, as if he were behaving like a voyeur, instead of a man struck dumb by his reactions.

He'd almost kissed her.
Staring into her eyes, feeling her body's warmth, he came a breath away from tasting her mouth. Had he lived without a woman in his bed for so long, he could no longer bury his baser instincts? And after all his warning to Jorge about leaving her be. What, he wondered, would she have done if he had kissed her? There was a voice in his head telling him she'd been expecting him to.
Wanted
him to.

Above him, Larissa stood looking outward. Looking for him or staring at the ocean? The angle and shadows combined to hide her expression, so Carlos couldn't tell. Nothing could hide her figure, though. Every contour, every gorgeous curve was on display for the world to see. How on earth could her fiancé find another woman more attractive? And that boy in her high school. Were they both blind? She was... Awareness flared anew. Gritting his teeth, he willed the arousal away. It was the moonlight. The moonlight and all her talk about weddings making him think impractically. Larissa Boyd was recovering from a broken heart. Worse, she was an incurable romantic. He would not take advantage of either. Tomorrow he would be back in control. After all, he wasn't the same lovesick fool he was five years ago. This time he knew the difference between a moment of lust and something more.

For one thing, he couldn't feel “more” even if he wanted to.

* * *

“Señor Chavez!
Buenos dias!
” In contrast to his small size, Paul Stevas's voice boomed through the terrace lounge. Calling out was hardly necessary, as the room was nearly empty. This time of day, the guests who were interested in eating preferred the full-service restaurant or their rooms.

Paul had selected a table overlooking the ocean. Linda was there, too, her short brown hair clipped off her face. In her tank top and shorts, she looked more little girl than married woman. The woman sitting beside her, however... Thanks to her curves, Larissa's navy striped shirt and white shorts looked far more alluring than they were meant to be. Carlos's body reacted immediately, nearly stopping him in his tracks. Unwelcome, but not completely unexpected. He already decided last night that daylight would do little to dilute her appeal.

“My apologies for being late. The staff meeting ran over.” Doing his best to ignore the bare leg swinging in his peripheral vision, he put on his best smile. “I trust you haven't been waiting long.”

“Only a few minutes,” Paul replied. “Larissa has been sharing some of her ideas with us.”

“Is that so?” he asked, taking a seat across from her. Took some effort, but he managed not to drop his eyes to her lips.

Color seeped into her cheeks nonetheless. “I was telling them how we thought, since this was an anniversary celebration and not an actual wedding, they might prefer something untraditional,” she told him.

He sat and listened while she described La Joya's version of the Mayan wedding ceremony. A beachside ceremony that involved offerings to the four points of the compass. He'd always considered the ritual more gimmick than following true culture, but Larissa wove the details into a magical ceremony of love and commitment even the most traditional of shamans would love. No wonder the Steinbergs couldn't wait to sign a contract. Her enthusiasm was infectious. There was no bitterness, no reluctance in her voice to give away the fact that many of her suggestions came from her own ceremony. His admiration grew.

“What do you mean purify?” Paul asked, interrupting the spell. “Do you mean with a smoke?”

“More like incense,” he supplied. “The shaman will add copal to the altar fire. It emits an aroma that smells very similar to frankincense. Usually he waves the smoke around the participants before allowing them to approach. That way you are ‘presentable' to the gods.” He didn't go into the rest of the ceremony. It largely consisted of mystical elements best left experienced. In a true Mayan ceremony, the shaman would also make a ritual sacrifice. Thankfully, the mystic La Joya used was modern and wise enough to substitute a bloodless sacrifice instead.

“Once the shaman finishes the ceremony, he'll declare you officially committed to one another and your guests will commemorate the moment by showering you with flower petals,” Larissa finished for him. “What do you think?”

The young couple exchanged a look.

“Everything sounds wonderful,” Linda said. “Beautiful.”

“But?”

“It's the incense,” Paul said. “I get the point of the whole purification ceremony, but we don't want any smoke.”

“None at all?” There was no mistaking the disappointment in Larissa's voice. Modern or not, all shaman insisted on purification rituals. Vetoing the incense meant vetoing her entire proposal. To his surprise, Carlos found himself disappointed on Larissa's behalf. Did the Stevases not realize how hard she worked on this proposal? Hours of thought and effort down the drain. He arched a brow at his surrogate coordinator.
See? Never happy.

“It's not that we don't like the idea,” Linda said, at least having the good sense to sound apologetic. “I loved everything else.”